Hi all.
This story was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition:
Round: Seven
Team: Ballycastle Bats
Postion: Seeker.
Prompt: Amortentia
...
We begin with Draco stumbling upon the Amortentia potion-the strongest love potion that smells different for each person based on what they love-after his encounter with Snape at the Slug Club Party in HBP.
Draco's head pounded with the rush that came from telling off that greasy, micro-managing, credit taking bastard. He stormed past the tables and the gaudy draperies, the sound of clinking glasses and socialization ringing in his ears. They haven't a bloody care in the world, he thought. Draco gritted his teeth. Everything you're doing now is working. It's not perfect, but it's working, he convinced himself, not wanting to make a stupid move in the face of something so important. If you mess up, you die, he reminded himself, clenching his fists to prevent himself from shaking.
He gave Blaise Zabini a look before sliding past the swags of chiffon and into the hallway. He passed by the door of the potions classroom where he'd been sitting in class only a few days prior. About to shoot past without a second thought, Draco caught the scent of something he thought would only ever exist in his memory.
Draco remembered the chiming of her voice as she helped him up into one of the high backed dining room chairs. She set the small plate in front of him. "Come now," she prodded Draco lightly. "I could have had the elves make it for you, but I wanted it to be right," and crossing her arms over her chest, she added dryly "I don't think they'd be capable of making these anyway."
He looked up at her with wide eyes, "What are they, Grandmother?" he asked, bringing his eyes back down to the three golden brown cake-like pastries. She sat down across the heavy mahogany table from him. "Canelés de Bordeaux," she intoned. "They're little cakes covered in caramelized sugar with vanilla custard. I first found them when I was in France with your grandfather years ago..." As he watched and politely listened to her reminisce about her days of travel in France, Draco breathed in, the scent wafting over him in layers. First came the pleasantly burnt sugary caramel scent, then the bready smell of the cake, and last a warm rich vanilla that seemed to infiltrate his nostrils as he leaned down to sniff them.
"Draco," she scolded lightly. "You are not a dog, darling. Now try one." He lifted a hand, surprised that the little cylinders were hard on the outside. He took a bite, the sugar crunching under his teeth. He was met by a rich thick custard bursting with vanilla as well as the airy lightness of the cake surrounding it. Incredulous, Draco finished off the three pastries in a heartbeat.
Durella Black smiled tenderly at her grandson as he licked his fingers clean. "I'm glad you liked them, Draco," she said.
"I can make them for you again soon."
He nodded enthusiastically.
Stopped in his tracks, Draco inhaled the scent of the Canelés de Bordeaux that wafted from the potions room. "How the hell…" he muttered quietly. He glanced around, and pulled out his wand. "Alohomora," he said, looking around to be sure no one was in the hall. He pushed the door open, half expecting to see the slim elegant outline of his grandmother, hair pulled back in a severe bun, laboring over the finicky pastry.
The room was empty.
Draco followed his nose, catching and identifying other scents as he moved to the back of the room. He barely caught the scent of his childhood bedroom back at the Manor, the sharp tart scent of freshly picked berries, the twinge lemon and sweet honey in a good cup of morning tea...
He finally stopped in his tracks. Draco uncovered one of the few small cauldrons covered with cheesecloth that lined the back table. A steaming pool of pearlescent liquid stared back at him. After uncovering the cauldron, the smell became incredibly strong. He read the card that sat in front of the cauldron. "Amortentia" it read in a curly script.
The scent of his father's leather office chair brushed by him before the complex and intense scent of the Beginning of the Year feasts overlapped. Then as the heady floral of his mother's perfume floated through, Draco was reminded of the Unbreakable Vow that Snape claimed he had made to his mother. He would never admit it, but he admired his mother's ferocity in fighting for his safety. Even if it did get into the way of his own plans.
The potion's steam rose up in a swirling tendril like an invisible hand was stirring it into a spiral and Draco caught himself breathing deeply and heavily. He found his heart thudding against his chest. He could have been standing there for a few seconds or a few hours, he couldn't be sure. He reached a hand out in a halfhearted attempt to catch the iridescent steam as it rose in lazy ringlets between his fingers, it was surprisingly warm.
He sighed, and tried to think of what Snape was playing at, agreeing to an Unbreakable with Narcissa Malfoy. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Draco didn't want the git to die because of some silly promise he couldn't keep. Watching the pearly stream of smoke, he felt a lump in his throat. He won't have to protect you because you'll be fine, he scolded himself, pushing back the hot tears welling in his eyes.
The smell of the Amortentia began to make him dizzy with memories, of what it was like to be so young again, of when he had a child's hopes and dreams; a child's ignorance and innocence. He was reminded of what it was like to be spared horrible details and when the most important thing in the world to him was his teddy bear. The rush of years that had snuck up on his blissful childhood dreams of Quidditch and Hogwarts and his Grandmother's pastries had quickly overtaken him with insomnia, scraggly hair, pallid skin, and fear that ate away at his heart like fire ate a piece of parchment.
Gripping the sides of the small cauldron with white knuckles, Draco thought about what it might be like if he hadn't joined the Death Eaters so blindly, so willingly. He would have been a bystander, without the most feared wizard in the world residing in his childhood home and without the burden of this monstrous task set to him. He could have had a future full of happiness, living somewhere in the countryside with a family. He could have had a future that smelled like this.
Sometimes Draco thought it was a joke, that the Dark Lord was having a great laugh over his struggle to destroy Albus Dumbledore. It wasn't, he told himself. You're in it now. He felt the tears finally fight through and stream hot rivulets down his cheeks.
Draco took one last whiff of the potion; the scent of what was in the past, what could have been in the future, and-of course-of Canelés de Bordeaux.
Hope you all enjoyed this little oneshot. As always, thanks for reading and all reviews are welcome!
Go Bats!
TheBentWingBird