Draco Malfoy grabs the can of broomstick polish before leaving for Charms class the following morning. He stays behind in the boys' dormitory a little while after everyone has left before rummaging through his things to look for it, telling Blaise he just needs his textbook when he lingers in the door. Only when he's certain they have all left, does he open it up and bring it to his nose.
It smells just like it had last night – just like it always does.
And… he supposes if anyone were to smell him in the Amortentia potion, this could be it. There aren't many other places he feels quite as home as he does on his broom. Malfoy Manor is his home, where he has grown up and lived his entire life, but it doesn't always feel like one, a home. Sometimes it feels a little too big, a little too empty, and a little too cold. It's a house, a manor even, though not necessarily a home. It provides a roof over his head, any luxuries he should want, and never once has he had to lift as much as a finger. However, it lacks something, something a manor and money has never been able to provide him… something he can't quite place a finger on.
It is nothing quite like the feeling of being all dressed up in his uniform and gear for a match, with the crowd cheering in his ears and the adrenaline running through his veins. It doesn't beat an afternoon once classes are over for the day, practicing diving and feeling the cold breeze in his hair and the warm sun on his skin. And, it doesn't hold a candle to a quiet night, long after curfew, somewhere so high the world below is merely a vast stretch of land, and he could touch the stars above him were he to reach his hand out far enough.
Sometimes, with the tallest of treetops far below, he likes to imagine he has left everything behind for a little while. All of his responsibilities, everything that is and will be expected of him, and his name and the reputation that comes with it. Just for a little bit of peace.
Finally he puts the lid back on before putting the can of broomstick polish away in his bag, the familiar scent lingering for a moment only. He sweeps his gaze across the room one last time, finds he hasn't forgotten anything, and leaves for class.
Though, whether or not Harry Potter smelled this polish– his polish specifically, he doesn't know. Not yet.
He keeps it tucked away in his bag for most of the day, and it's only when he digs through it for the textbooks he needs or the Transfiguration homework he has to turn in, that he looks at it. Every time he does, he's reminded of the fact that he's not quite sure how to go about this without it somehow going wrong – more so than it needs to anyway.
When Professor Flitwick is busy helping a student all the way on the other side of the classroom, back turned, he casts a glance in Potter's direction and considers approaching him. He could place it in front of him on his desk, open it even, if Potter happened to think a Boggart or something was going to pop out of there or something, and gauge his reaction. A minute is all he needs, maybe two.
The problem is, Potter is not alone. On the one hand, he highly doubts Granger will cause too much of a scene in the middle of class, like the serious scholar she is. At most she'll advise Potter not to touch anything Draco gives him, of course after casting some sort of charm on it to make sure he isn't trying to kill Harry Potter in the middle of Charms.
Weasley, on the other hand, is a whole problem in and of himself. One he'd rather not deal with unless he has to.
The next opportunity he sees is in Transfiguration class after having lunch in the Great Hall. He's turning in his homework on the Doubling Charm at Professor McGonagall's desk, when a certain someone happens to be doing the same thing.
Draco's gaze quickly reverts back to the rolled out parchment in his hands and pretends to look through it one last time as Potter approaches. Not a single word is registered however, when he hears his footsteps stop and feels his presence right beside him.
He should say something, he knows he should, but right then and there he can't think of anything. The same fire-like scent he had smelled in the Amortentia potion yesterday fills the air around them, and a warmth spreads beneath his skin.
His mind blanks.
By the time he snaps out of it, Potter is already back at his desk between his two friends, and he knows he has just missed his opportunity. Haphazardly he rolls the parchment with his homework back up, drops it in the pile on the desk and spins around to return to his seat next to Blaise. He all but drops into his chair.
"Everything alright?" he asks, and Draco supposes he must look as annoyed with himself as he feels.
"I'm fine."
Blaise looks at him for a couple moments, almost studying him, and then his gaze moves to the trio of Gryffindors on the other side of the classroom. Draco can't help but look as well, and the three are getting out their textbooks, quills and parchment when he does.
Potter happens to cast a glance in their direction just then, and Draco finds himself immediately looking away again. He begins searching for his own textbook as he notices Professor McGonagall writing on the board, and busies himself with flipping through it. Blaise, he finds, does not tear his eyes off the three until Potter does, and he supposes normally he wouldn't have either.
"You know, I talked to Pansy earlier today," Blaise says, voice hushed so as to not alert the professor, "while we were waiting for you this morning."
Draco hums in acknowledgment, glancing at the board to find the correct page. He takes his time flipping through the pages.
He trusts Pansy hasn't told him anything he has shared with her – knows she wouldn't.
"She agrees you've been acting odd lately." In the corner of his eyes, Draco spots him looking in the Gryffindor's direction again, in Potter's direction. "Ever since yesterday, you've seemed…" Draco feels his eyes on him again, feels them studying him, but he ignores it to watch Professor McGonagall. "Different."
"I'm fine."
"Never said you weren't," Blaise replies, "just said you're not acting like yourself."
A short moment passes, short enough that Draco doesn't even have the time to think he has decided to drop the subject, before he speaks again. "Does this have something to do with Potter?"
The cleverness of Slytherins is usually something Draco values and admires greatly, among their other traits, though now he'd much rather they adopt Gryffindor's lack of thinking too much. Only for a couple days at most, preferably, until he has sorted this whole Amortentia potion thing out.
Draco knows better than thinking he can hide anything for very long from Blaise. Crabbe and Goyle, certainly, and with Pansy it depends how interested she is in knowing, but Blaise will figure it out eventually no matter what it might be about.
"I'll tell you after class is over," he promises, and finally does Blaise drop it, even if only for now.
Transfiguration class eventually comes to an end, and he and Blaise are among some of the last to leave the room when it does. They trail behind the groups of students for a little while, watching some split apart and others merge together as they make their way to their respective classes. Draco spots Pansy with a couple other Slytherin girls, too engrossed in the conversation to notice them staying behind, and he watches her disappear down the stairs.
The two of them finally come to a full stop at the end of the hallway, and by now it's completely empty.
"So," Blaise begins, leans his back against the wall and looks expectantly at him, "what's going on?"
Draco would love to know the answer to that too, to be quite honest. First of all, supposedly he's attracted to Potter of all people, the very same one he's spent the last few years feuding with and glaring at and throwing insults at. It's absurd, really, the mere possibility he could be attracted to him. Attracted to what?
He clearly never grooms himself before going out among people. His hair is always unruly beyond measure, and none of his shirts have clearly ever been ironed, and he is most certain he has never tied his tie more than once the last two years at least. Potter just never looks very put together, does he. There always has to be something askew; a stray lock of hair, an untucked shirt, a top button undone. Draco can't imagine leaving the common room – the dormitory even – without brushing his hair and casting some sort of ironing charm at the very least.
It's irksome, lazy even, and… it's oddly attractive, in an irritating way.
Second of all – and arguably the most absurd part of all this – the supposed attraction might also be mutual.
Where does he even begin to explain all this, let alone process it?
"Draco?" Blaise says, and gently nudges his arm to snap him out of it. "This has to do with Potter, doesn't it?"
He nods, and he makes sure no one is around before he speaks. The hallway is as empty now as it was before. "I…" He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I smelled him in the potion we brewed yesterday."
"The love potion?" Blaise asks, even though they both know there is no other potion, and even if there is no other person, asks; "Potter?"
Draco nods again, and the two of them stand in silence for a while. They should be getting going soon, get to their next class before it starts and their house loses points, but neither of them seem to care at the moment.
"I…" Blaise begins, pauses to study him for a moment, and then he nods to himself, "that makes a lot of sense actually."
Draco blinks, nearly stunned into silence. "What?"
"You talk about him quite a lot, you know," Blaise says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. It isn't… is it? He mentions him here and there, sure, but that's because he – and his friends – always ends up getting on his nerves somehow. "Nearly every evening it's 'did you hear Potter got in trouble again', or 'did you see the state of Potter's hair today', or even 'Potter's apparently gotten himself a new girlfriend'. I should have realised."
Draco's not sure whether he wants to hit him to make him stop or simply put a hand over his mouth, but he stops before he can decide.
"I'm surprised I didn't catch on any sooner," Blaise continues, and Draco lets him, for now anyway, "it's painfully obvious looking back."
They're quiet for a moment, and he has to admit that this has gone much better than he had suspected it would. However, the silence is a short one.
"I mean, you talked about him for hours back in the common room on our first day."
At that, Draco huffs defensively. "I did not," he denies. He might have talked about him – perhaps voiced his opinion on the blatant rejection he'd received – but it had not been "for hours". "I was just–" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, and avoids Blaise's eyes. "He turned me down, for a Weasley."
The sound Blaise lets out is that of amusement, and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the grin forming on his face. "You reckon he fancies you, too?"
Draco is once again reminded of the can of broomstick polish in his bag, tucked away beneath his textbooks, and he knows Blaise is going to have a field day with this. He's lucky Draco enjoys his company.
Without a word, he opens his bag to begin searching through it. Blaise watches him curiously as he eventually pulls it out and shows it to him. He can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
"The broomstick polish Potter mentioned, said he didn't recognise," he says, and Draco knows he's already figured it out, "you think it might be this one?"
"I don't know," Draco admits, shrugging his shoulders. He supposes it could be any broomstick polish, but something tells him it might be, and he wants to find out whether or not that is the case. "I need him to smell it, see how he reacts" he says, "but it's surprisingly hard to do so without coming across as… threatening. I haven't had any luck getting him away from his friends so far."
Blaise studies the can of broomstick polish with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he begins, "I was talking with Pans a little while ago. She's been seeing this Hufflepuff girl lately that she met in Herbology–"
What? Draco hasn't heard about any of this. "Since when?"
"About a week by now," Blaise says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and he quickly moves on as if Draco isn't gaping at him like a fish left on land, "anyway, she's a Prefect and is sometimes assigned patrol routes outside at night–"
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Blaise raises an eyebrow. "You didn't know?"
"No?"
He tries recalling any moments he might have noticed her not listening, or perhaps looking somewhere else, or even hanging around anyone outside of Slytherin, but he comes up short. Instead, all he gets are flashes of unruly hair, and crumpled shirts, and poorly tied ties.
Perhaps… Perhaps he's the one who hasn't been paying attention.
"Draco…" When he looks over at him, their eyes meet, and Blaise's expression is hard to read. "They came into the Great Hall holding hands this morning. You didn't see that?"
Salazar Slytherin… He really is attracted to Potter, isn't he. As in, properly attracted to him, to the point he sometimes can't even notice anything or anyone else in the room. Who knows what else he has missed as well.
Draco eventually snaps back out of it and clears his throat. "Right, you were saying? Something about patrolling at night?"
"Apparently she sees Potter out there sometimes." He can't deny his interest has been piqued. "She's never reported him, though. Says all he does is hang around the Quidditch field for a bit, brings his broom sometimes, does some laps before going back inside."
"And?"
Blaise grins. "He's always alone."
