Harry could call it intuition; he could call it experience, habit. He could even call it pattern. And even though he war is ended and bygones are bygones, habits are hard to break. So when Draco started sneaking off and around during off times of the night and day for no real foreseeable reason Harry could could up with, he fell back into his own ways.
He'd even enlisted the help of Ron and Hermione, for which the latter complained and talked their ears off as she brewed the polyjuice potions.
"Honestly Harry," She says, irritation in her voice. "You're not little kids anymore, surely you don't still think he's plotting against you or something?"
Harry pouts all the way, arms crossed and petulant.
"He's up to something, 'Mione. I just know it."
Hermione sets him with the most unimpressed look as she pours a vial of that disgusting juice for him.
"Don't come crying to me then, when it blow up in your face." She warns, handing it over. "It should last an hour or so."
Harry gratefully takes it and downs it, groaning through the change.
Sneaking into the new revamped Slytherin dorms was actually a lot easier than he had thought it would be. Mostly because he looked Slytherin and he had learned of the passcode years ago when he and Ron polyjuiced into Crabb and Goyle. From there, though, he had to guess which way he needed to go while still looking the every bit pompous pureblood Blaise Zabini that belonged there.
Harry followed the faint smell he knows was Draco Malfoy— something gentle, just a tad sweet. Like freshly laundered sheets. If he had any kind of scent at all, he means. For a beta, he didn't have any kind of scent on him. Not that betas came with much of a scent to begin with, but Malfoy was particularly always had a freshly laundered scent clinging to him.
"Blaise? Is that you?" Draco asks, though he looks up and straight at Harry, and squints his eyes. "Can you help me find my glasses? I don't remember where I put the blasted things." He huffs in annoyance. "Why must everything be so dark and droll in here? Why does my case have to be black? Why couldn't they make it easily seen, like a neon green?"
"Glasses…?" Harry asks. He's never seen Draco with glasses. Why should he be wearing them anyway?
"Yes, yes, Blaise. Glasses. I'll hear about how you think these potions are gonna make me permanently blind later, but for now help me find the bloody things." Draco is shoving his face so close to things. Harry looks around and finds a pair innocently sitting on a stack of books near him. He picks them up and goes over to Draco.
"Here," he says, and unthinkingly slides them onto Draco's face. Draco stops, brow furrowing at such intimacy and Harry nearly freezes at thinking he's done the wrong thing. But Draco gives an eyebrow raise and a helpless grin.
"Not even a minute alone and you flirt with me, Blaise? Be careful, I think your desperation is showing." Draco rolls his eyes and pushes the glasses up on his nose more.
They suit him. They're black rimmed, squared, but not too huge. But the lense is thick, thicker than even Harry had.
"Now come on, hurry up. Don't have all day." Draco waves his hand and opens a potions book and starts to gather ingredients, strewn all around a set of desks on one side of the spacious room.
Harry helps, absentmindedly.
"If you're this blind, how do you see in class?" Harry slips, but curiosity was eating at him. Draco snorts a pretentious laugh.
"And here I thought you'd already figured it out by now; I thought you were smart." Harry bristles.
"I have, I just wanted to see if my answer was correct." Draco rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe him.
"Obviously, I memorized every step down the hall. Every spell, every page number of all the books, what they say. What would it look like for a Malfoy to be anything but perfect?" Draco sighs, beginning the potion. "I'd be the laughing stock of the entire Wizarding community— more than I already am."
"Why would you be?" Harry asks, and Draco turns to give him the most incredulous look.
"Have you got maggots eating your brain, Blaise?" Draco asks. "If these potions are hurting anyone, it's you. Affecting your perfect memory, is it?" Harry pauses, hoping he didn't say anything wrong. At the silence Draco looks up and looks him over, a slight scowl on his pretty face.
"You sure you're alright? You're looking a bit ashy." Draco comments. "You haven't even broken out your so called 'charm'. Maybe you should go to miss Pomfrey. Make sure you aren't getting sick from brewing this."
"No," Harry says a bit too quickly. "I'll be alright." And he remembers Blaise is an alpha, and is also a flirt. Heavy flirt. Which means he obviously attempts to flirt with Draco in private, so he saddles up next to him and puts an arm around Draco's waist, trying to be like him, and realizes how small and petite Draco's waist really is; uncharacteristic of a male beta. "But if I'm not, will you make me feel better?"
Draco looks to the offending arm then to Harry unamused and Harry thought he ruined it until Draco plucks his fingers from his waist and drops them. "Obviously, you aren't that sick."
They finish the potion, whatever it was, and Draco fills four stoppered vials of it.
"Should last me a few months.." he says to himself, then back to Harry. "I need help with the other thing." Harry nodded dumbly. Draco turned and started to unbutton his shirt, and Harry saw the bandaid like covering on his skin around his neck and shoulders— where scent glands usually were, especially for omegas. But why would Draco need those? Draco sits on a stool, shirt hanging off at his elbows and he starts picking at the edges to get at them, getting it to peel a bit off. "There. Just as usual. Rip it off like a bandaid."
"But—" Harry starts, even though he stood up behind him. "Won't it hurt?" Draco scoffs.
"Oh please, I've had worse. Just do it, Zabini." Harry carefully takes the peeled tab and peels it off slowly, until Draco exclaimed. "Goddamn it Blaise, just sodding do it!" Harry ripped the rest off in one tug, Draco letting out a pained cry. Once off Harry froze when the scent from Malfoy flooded his senses.
It was thick, sweet, cloying, and homey all at once. Like sitting by the campfire in the winter with a lover— don't ask him how that made any sense. Draco was speaking but he didn't hear it until his cheek was slapped and he froze, watching Draco closely as he stood to go to the other side of the room to a mirror and rips away the other two patches, muttering under his breath.
"Useless alpha males.." Draco's pained whimper hit him deep and he had the overwhelming urge to comfort him, give him everything he needed, especially when that scent turned a little bitter with the pain. Draco took a tub of cream from a desk near his bed. "What're you standing there for? If you aren't gonna help, then leave. I've no need for an alpha nitwit." Draco returns to the mirror, trying to apply it by himself.
Harry goes and takes the tub, Draco looking surprised before glaring. "So now you've decided you can think with your head instead of your dick?" Draco rolls his eyes and turns around, easily letting Harry apply the cream to his inflamed skin. Draco gives these little sighing moans that shoot desire straight down to Harry's dick.
But they never make it. The only thing on his mind that was more powerful than his desire was his confusion over the fact that Draco was an omega.
And that Blaise knew.
A/N: Enjoy! There isn't enough omega Draco in the wold. Which is a darn shame, considering I'm a SLUT for omega Draco.