Hi Friends. This story is going to be a series of short, unrelated drabbles. A drabble is a short, one-shot story, usually less than 1000 words. I end up writing them for different reasons: Competitions, fanfiction games on Discord servers, etc. Each one will be a new chapter and I'll update the story summary with each one.
This first one is written for "Game of Drarry" Discord server's "Exploding Snap" game. My prompt was: Write a Drarry fic of 400-680 words following this prompt: Werewolf Harry needs help with his new heightened senses; Healer Draco enters.
So here you go. I hope you enjoy. 💛💛
A Nose for Trouble
"Well, now, what seems to be the problem?"
Draco grabbed the chart as he turned to greet the next patient. It'd been a ridiculously busy day, and he wondered if he'd hit some new St Mungo's record of the most patients seen in a single shift. He realised later that he probably should have been reading the chart and not pondering his day.
So it was his own fault, really.
"Malfoy," a rough voice said in surprise, followed by a strained, "Ohhhh, fuck."
Draco froze. The man on the bed looked…unexpected. His dark, usually messy hair was longer than it usually looked in the newspapers, but it was the scruffy beard and piercing green eyes that had something in Draco's stomach twisting uncomfortably.
He cleared his throat and straightened his minty-green Healer's robes. He could do this. He was a professional, for Salazar's sake. "Mr Potter. What seems to be the problem?"
Potter's nostrils flared, and Draco felt the unexplained urge to take a step backwards, to flee, but those green eyes begged for him to come closer.
Potter closed his eyes, then slowly brought his hands up over his nose, breathing into his palms. "I need a potion," he said, and his voice sounded as though it were being forced through extreme pain. "I need to make this easier."
Draco glanced down at the chart in his hands. He really should have read it first, but now, Potter was watching, and the sound of the man's heavy breathing filled the room.
"Are you in pain?"
"I'm fucking miserable, that's what I am. Pain? Yeah, but I can deal with that. It's the smells. It's horrible. Hermione said there are potions that will dampen my sense of smell until I learn to deal with it."
It? Deal with it. Draco gave in and flipped the chart open and placed his wand on the magically sealed medical record. He glanced down the page until the answer jumped out at him.
Werewolf.
And it was recent. Merlin, how the Prophet hadn't caught wind of this, Draco didn't know, but he was trained by both his parents and his profession to hide his reaction, so he simply nodded as if he understood and closed the folder.
But Potter was right there, having moved soundlessly while Draco read, and now he was looming, standing in Draco's personal space. And was he sniffing him?
"I don't understand," Potter muttered, his tongue darting out to moisten his full, bottom lip. "Why does everyone else smell so bad, but you smell…"
He took another deep breath and let out a little moan of pleasure that nearly made Draco's cock twitch. It didn't, because he was fucking professional, but nearly.
"You smell delicious," Potter finally finished. "Gods."
"Right," Draco said, making a concerted effort to step back, away from the other man. "Well, we most certainly have those potions you requested."
Draco pulled out his notepad and scribbled down a list of potions generally distributed to newly turned werewolves: the newly improved Wolfsbane Potion, Pain Potion, and Sensory Dampening Potion. He ripped off the sheet of parchment and handed it to Potter, who was running his hand through his hair now, looking frustrated.
"I'll have the Mediwizard bring in your first doses so you have them on hand, but I recommend getting that order filled at the apothecary as soon as you can." He needed to leave, needed to pull himself away from Potter's green eyes and hard body.
"Draco?"
Draco paused at the sound of his name uttered so quietly by his former rival.
"Have dinner with me tomorrow. Please."
Draco knew it was a mistake, but he turned around and saw Harry's sagging shoulders. He looked so alone. Everyone else smells so bad, Harry had said.
Well, who was he to keep his delicious aroma from a starving werewolf?
He sighed. "I'm off at seven tomorrow."
Harry's resultant grin was almost feral, and Draco fled before he could embarrass himself. Salazar, even professionals had their limits.
