The swirling steam coiled around the room like London Fog in October. The sharp aroma of bitter herbs and earthy undertones of crushed mandrake root filled the comfortable room, all at once both comforting and unfamiliar to the pale blond boy hunched over a work table at the back of the classroom.

His steady, thin hands carefully and deftly sliced thin, identical pieces of fungus to add to the bubbling potion in front of him. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, impatiently throwing the knife down on the work bench he swiped his sleeve across his brow, mussing his bangs but not caring. Frowning, Draco Malfoy picked up the sliced fungus and slid the dry and slightly sticky strips into the cauldron, turning the brew a vivid pink before it mellowed slightly, he gently stirred, first clockwise three times, and then the opposite four times. Now he just had to wait.

Slughorn paced between the worktables, commenting and adjusting the technique of the other students. It was halfway through the year and he still hadn't said more than two sentences to Draco, not that he minded much, as the slight twinge of pain on his forearm reminded him, he had bigger things to worry about.

"Excellent job, Mr. Potter, a lovely shade of magenta you've achieved there, ladies, I'm warning you, this young man brews an excellent love potion!" Slughorn chortled, winking around the room at the crowd of sweaty and unamused faces. "But perhaps, Harry, it's I who should be warning you about the young ladies!" Chuckling at his own joke, the professor walked away. A quick glance told him that Granger was livid, her curly hair frizzed out in a halo around her head as she frantically stirred and chopped at the same time, how Potter had been surpassing both him and the mudblood in potions Draco didn't know. He didn't have the time to care right now.

"Ron," Potter whispered loudly, the idiot, he couldn't even whisper right. "How do you tell when it's done brewing?"

Weasley shrugged, clearly irritated. "I dunno, check your bloody book." His potion was a dark violet color, and looked to be the consistency of curdled milk.

"It smells like he scents you love, like what attracts you," Granger snapped, looking up from her potion and narrowing her eyes. "Damn! Why is mine taking so long, I know I didn't miss a step!"

"Oh." Harry nodded, pushing his glasses up on his nose before leaning into the cloud of steam above his cauldron. "Strong black tea, cardamom, soap..." his muttering trailed off.

Draco shook himself, no use paying attention to those idiots, as if Potter knew a ruddy thing about potions. Bending slightly to check his own potion he stiffened a bit at the familiarity of it, coffee and treacle, the clean scent of a rainstorm and damp leaves. Yes, that would seem right. He hated it. Not the smell itself, but the person behind it, treacle, Potter couldn't get enough of the crap. Potter. As much as he hated himself for it, as much as he knew what a disgrace he'd be to his family, to the greater plan they laid out for him, he couldn't get Potter out of his head. He pushed the potion to the end of his table, desperately trying to escape the intoxicating scent.

At the end of class he was so flustered it took him several tries with shaky hands to screw the caps onto his various vials. He was crouched down and shuffling through his bag when he felt someone bump into him, hitting the table and sending his potions book flying.

"Watch it!" Draco snarled, standing, brushing his robes off angrily.

"Sorry," Potter said automatically, running his hands through his hair and stooping to pick up Draco's textbook. Their hands brushed and a shock went through the blond boy's arm, making him jump slightly in surprise. Draco exhaled, coffee and rain and treacle, and, Merlin, his hair...

Potter stepped back quickly, turning and abruptly leaving the room, was it Draco's imagination or was there a flush creeping up the back of Potter's neck?

Harry stared across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, he was not actively trying to look at Malfoy, even though his hair looked particularly sleek and silvery today, he just happened to choose a seat at the bench that allowed him unblocked access to the exact seat where Malfoy sat, his back to him. That is until Ron sat down.

"So, who did you smell?" Harry blinked suddenly at the abrupt question, his gaze interrupted by his red haired friend.

"Sorry?"

"Merlin," Ron sighed impatiently. "In potions, who did your potion smell like?"

"Oh, I dunno, who exactly."

"What do you mean you don't know who! How do you not know the person you'd like to-" Ron flushed red as Hermione took a seat next to him.

"The person you'd like to what, Ron?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, unfolding her napkin and pouring herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Ron was just asking about potions, who they smelled like." Harry covered quickly, looking past his two best friends, if he leaned his head just a bit… Why yes, he could just about make out the back of Malfoy's head…

"Oh." Hermione blushed red and spooned mashed potatoes onto her plate. "Well, what did yours smell like, Harry?"

"That's what I've been trying to get out of him! He doesn't know who!"

"That's why I asked what, Ronald. Honestly, it isn't even supposed to smell like a specific person, it's supposed to smell like what attracts you!"

"Well! Thank Merlin-"

"Black tea, cardamom, broomstick wax, treacle, that really nice kind of expensive soap, ..." Harry trailed off a bit, trying (and failing) not to flush. "You know, I'm not really that hungry, I'm going to the common room, start that essay for potions."

"Okay," Ron shrugged, helping himself to more steak and kidney pie.

"Alright, Harry." Hermione watched him a bit, seeming to search his face before turning to Ron and asking him about the previous potions class.

It wasn't Harry's fault that he happened to stand up at the same time as Malfoy. Or that they both seemed to be headed towards the library. Harry followed the thin, pale boy from a safe distance, lose enough to follow but not be too suspicious. This plan was going great up until he made to the actual library… and promptly lost Malfoy in the maze of shelves.

"Damn it." he muttered, earning a hiss of disapproval from Madame Pince. Choosing a row at random, he began to search for the blond boy.

Potter wasn't the cleverest person in the world, he had practically burned a hole in the back of Draco's head during dinner, and it was incredibly obvious that he was following Draco to the library. That's why he disappeared so quickly into the labyrinthine system of shelves. He couldn't say he wanted to be cornered and interrogated by the Gryffindor boy, well, cornered maybe… Draco shook his head, shoving the image of Harry pushing him against a book shelf and kissing his collarbones out of his mind. No, Harry- Potter- was the last thing he needed to think about right then.

"Malfoy-" Damn it! Draco whirled around, he thought maybe the section on the history of magical schooling would have thrown Potter off, no such luck.

"What is it, Potter? Asking me to help you read?" He sneered, staring Potter down as he approached.

"No, I- I just had some questions about potions..." Potter ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more, Merlin, why was that so attractive?

"Why don't you go ask your mudblood girlfriend, Potter? She can hardly keep her mouth shut about that sort of thing, or that Weasley scum, he might know a thing or two if he ever opened a book-"

"Look, Malfoy, I don't if it's because you're rich, or if it's because you're just a plain dick, but I'm just trying to talk. What gives you the right to start spouting off rubbish about my friends? Why do you think you're above everyone? Nobody put you on a fucking pedestal. Whether it's because you're rich, or fucking attractive, or a pureblood, I don't care Malfoy, God! I just wanted to talk to you about class like a normal person!" Potter through up his arms in frustration, taking deep breaths, clearly angry.

Draco paled, his lip curling into a snarl before he saw the simultaneous mixture of outrage and exasperation on Potter's face. He softened. Maybe he just wasn't used to this, because he was in Slytherin, because he was rich, because of his father's beliefs. Because- wait, bloody hell, did Potter just call him attractive?

"Sorry..." Draco muttered, flushing a bit. "I shouldn't have- Sorry. We've never just had a conversation, Potter." Damn, quidditch season had made Harry very fit, he observed, looking the boy up and down discreetly.

First, he apologized, genuinely apologized. Malfoy's don't apologize, and then- Merlin, was Malfoy checking him out? Harry gulped nervously, it was warm in the library, too warm. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he quickly wiped them away.

"So, Potter, what is it you wanted to ask me?" Malfoy's cool grey eyes once again met his own, a slight (and he meant slight) smile crossed Malfoy's lips.

"Uh, right. Um, Malfoy,"

"Draco. You can call me Draco." Mal- Draco, smiled a bit more.

"Oh, alright, Draco," Harry felt color rise in cheeks, damn him. He cleared his throat. "Um, I wasn't sure I had made my potion right, and I know that you did because everyone knows you're brilliant with potions. Um, anyways, I thought maybe I messed it up when I was making it because I couldn't think of the person who it smelled like-"

"It's not usually supposed to smell like a specific person," Malfoy leaned against the bookshelf, his eyes still maintaining contact with Harry's. "It just smells like the things that attract you."

"Right, yeah, but I couldn't tell, some of the things weren't necessarily what I thought that I'd smell-"

"Like what?" Draco gazed imperiously at Harry, the frankness of he question made him flustered, he cleared his throat and looked at the ground before responding.

"Broomstick wax, treacle, black tea, cardamom, that really nice expensive soap..." Harry rn his hands through his untidy hair, his voice shook slightly. "Sandalwood and cloves."

Draco blinked, he swallowed and Harry could see a flush creeping up his neck.

"So, what did yours smell like?" Harry mumbled a little, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers nervously.

"Coffee, rain and damp leaves, fresh bread, Turkish Delight, treacle tarts, dusty books." Draco's gaze wavered, his blush deepened.

Harry took a cautious step towards him, they were only about a foot apart now. "Funny." Harry tried to appear nonchalant, leaning against a shelf, slipping and just as he was about to fall-

Draco grabbed Potter's shoulders and caught him before he could hit the ground, he leaned close, helping the other boy to his feet. The distance between them closed then until they were practically touching. Millimeters separated them.

"What was funny?" Draco whispered, he smelled treacle and rain.

"What?" Harry blinked dazedly.

"Just then, before I caught you, you said something was funny."

"Oh, right. I was just about to say… Um," Potter- Harry- flushed deep scarlet. "You smell like nice soap and sandalwood, cloves."

Draco closed the distance between them, pushing Harry against a shelf and pressing their lips together. Harry's lips were soft and pleasantly cool against his own. Draco tangled one hand in Harry's thick, dark hair, the other hand rested on the flat planes of Harry's chest.

Harry's arms seemed to instinctively wrap themselves around Draco's neck, the blond boy's lips were hot, nearly feverish, but nice- this was… nice. Merlin, this was nice. Harry pulled away, keeping his arms around Draco's neck. He moved to kiss the other boy's jawline, pressing his lips to the sharp contours of Malfoy's face.

"Treacle and rain." Draco murmured into Harry's hair. "You smell like treacle and rain." Draco pulled Harry in, colliding their lips once again, fire and ice. Green and red. Treacle and cloves.