Restless
For the next week, the only thing running through my head was that deeply familiar scent, the sound of Malfoy’s voice so low in my ear, and the way that he had said Pansy didn’t smell of vanilla. The way that he said it, like he was admitting something shameful, made me wonder if the scent of the potion had any connection to its purposes. He had gone back to not talking to me again, which frustrated me to no end, though I couldn’t show it, especially in Snape and Slughorn’s classes, where I was in such close proximity to him that it was all I could do not to have every single thought be about him, and I was incredibly, painfully aware of any glance he might spare me, or any time he even showed he knew I was there. Our time alone was on my mind even at the end of the school week, and one day while sitting next to Ron and Hermione during lunch, I asked casually:
“So, does the smell of Amortentia have anything to do with it being a love potion?”
Ron and Hermione both looked at me from where they were sitting across the table, their hands intertwined even as they ate. It made my heart ache, but just for a moment. Luckily, Harry wasn’t there, or I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from quickly glancing at him, and that ache would’ve been much worse.
“That’s like, what it’s known for,” Ron replied, his mouth half stuffed with the warm lunch spread before us. “Shouldn’t you know that? I mean, didn’t you just make it, Ms. Slughorn’s Prodigy?”
I rolled my eyes, sending Ron a fake-angry look, and he grinned back at me jokingly. I nodded and shrugged, pushing my food around my plate. “I was...distracted, I guess, when Slughorn went over it,” I said.
Distracted. Funny.
“Whatever it smells like is most attractive to the one smelling it,” Hermione explained. “Some people smell flowers, or clean laundry, or fresh cut grass, or even something like fireworks or smoke. It just really depends.”
“Oh,” I said, though try as I might, I couldn’t keep the interest out of my voice, or the terribly feigned look of indifference that was written across my features.
“Why? What did it smell like to you?” Ron questioned eagerly, which earned a sharp nudge from Hermione. “What?”
“Oh, it’s okay. It smelled like...I don’t know, really. Kind of spicy, woodsy, something like that I guess. Malfoy was being a complete ass about it when he and I made it up last week,” I said, my eyes glued to my plate in front of me, which meant I couldn’t see the look that passed between my two friends, one that was full of well-meant, yet irksome pity.
“How? I mean, isn’t he always kind of awful to you?” Hermione asked, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Wouldn’t leave me alone until I told him, and when I asked him what it smelled like to him, he acted like it was some big secret,” I said, shaking my head at the memory.
I hadn’t told anyone the full extent of our exchange, too scared that talking about it would convince me it didn’t happen. And I didn’t want it to have been some figment of my imagination. Not even the way he had turned so angry so quickly.
“Out of curiosity,” Ron began, “What did his smell like? I can’t imagine what sort of thing that foul git finds attractive.”
The flash of his silver eyes when Malfoy had told me echoed in my mind as Ron asked.
“Vanilla and something else were his exact words.” I answered. “But he said that isn’t what Pansy smells like, which I thought was odd.”
“Vanilla? That’s...Wait, Malfoy and Pansy are dating?” Ron realized, a look of shock spreading over his freckled face.
I nodded vigorously. “You didn’t know? God, I’ve already run into them once while they were making out, and I nearly vomited. It doesn’t even seem like he likes her, anyways,” I added, though I wasn’t sure why. “Not that I expect he could like anyone after all.”
Ron let out a howl of laughter, and Hermione let out a snort as well, though her brown eyes caught the way I was nervously tapping on the wooden table.
“A match made in hell, those two,” Ron joked, and Hermione and I both nodded in agreement.
The rest of that day, my mind was spinning with the things that Hermione and Ron had told me. I guess it might’ve been entirely normal that he smelled something other than Pansy, but it was the way that he had hid it, the way that he had barely wanted to admit it that bothered me. I had honestly wracked my brain to see if I remembered any girl I knew smelling of vanilla, but I was coming up empty. I assumed my smell was just a generic male cologne or some sort of scent, because it surely didn’t smell like Harry’s more clean and fresh scent.
I also couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of him so close, and about the way his shirt had clung to him and the way his rolled-up sleeves gave such a show of his strong forearms and large hands.
Stupid. You’re being stupid.
And I was, I realized, as I felt Malfoy’s Potions book in the bottom of my bag at the end of the day as I packed my things in my last class. I pulled it out and held it as I swung my bag onto my shoulder. What inspired me to take it, I didn’t know, but as I saw him walking briskly towards me in a slowly emptying corridor after classes had ended for the day, I regretted my actions. Immediately. At the sight of him, my stomach twisted and my heart sped up, my body remembering our interaction the evening before. His walk was really more of a prowl, and it caused the first and second years in the hallway to scamper on their way, knowing well enough by now not to get in Malfoy’s way when he was in a mood. Looking like a vengeful painting come to life, he stormed up to me, his black robes swirling around him, his tie slightly loosened and his hair disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it during the day. I was near one of the windows that looked out onto the courtyard beyond the stone wall behind me, and I paused as he approached me, something deep within me forgetting my precious self-preservation instincts once more.
“You have something of mine, don’t you,” He demanded, holding out a pale hand.
I huffed, looking at the fading pink slices that still marked that particular hand. “You don’t have to be so rude, you know. I did grab your book for you, after all.”
My voice sounded much more confident than I felt, but I was the tiniest bit relieved that whatever stupid no-talking rule he had made for himself about me seemed to have been thrown out the window. That vile, small part of me that was always craving Malfoy’s attention bristled with interest as his lithe body stood in front of me.
Malfoy’s silver eyes pierced mine, then flickered down to where I held his book tight against my torso. “I didn’t ask you to put your filthy Muggle hands all over it, Adler. I turned back around to get it after I left, but it was already gone, thanks to you.”
The hallway was entirely empty now, so I felt my stupid sense of bravado go up a bit. “If it’s so dirty now, why would I give it back?” I sneered, the cold wind from outside brushing my back as I backed into the window well.
He towered over me, once again reminding me of his growth spurt over the previous summer. “You’re fucking insufferable. Give me my book.”
“Why should I? You’re being a dick,” I answered, leaning back against the wall.
“Merlin’s beard, Adler, can’t you be anything other than painfully fucking annoying for once in your life?” Malfoy snarled. “Just give it here. I need to be somewhere, and talking to you is wasting my time.”
His words...stung, and I despised that they did, even after the frequency of his verbal attacks. And just then, an idea popped into my head. I finally had a bit of leverage over Malfoy, and I never truly had a large upperhand in our arguments. Granted, it was a stupid idea, but when had I really ever had good ones when Malfoy was concerned?
“Tell me what happened to your hand, and maybe I will.”
Red hot anger flared in Malfoy’s eyes. “Excuse me?”
I held his gaze, even as it sent my heart racing. “Tell me why your hand was all cut up the first day of term, and I’ll give your book back,” I said slowly. “A bit dense today, aren’t we?”
Malfoy’s hand shot up and grabbed the front of my school uniform sweater, tugging me closer, making my breath catch in my throat. His grip was so tight my collar was uncomfortably restricted around my throat, and I squirmed slightly.“You’ve got some fucking nerve today, Adler. What the fuck makes you think you can talk to me like this?” Malfoy seethed, once again invading my space, his cologne faintly tickling my nose. “I won’t ask again. Give. It. Back.”
“Tell. Me. What. Happened,” I said, mimicking his angry tone.
Malfoy scanned my face for a few moments, and I hoped my nervousness wasn’t splattered around my face. He let go of my sweater slowly, his hand still close to me, before he, with a feather-light touch, ran his hand down the curve of my side to rest at my hip.
“Why do you care? What, has the little Muggle started feeling ? ” He asked, tilting his head to one side.
Warmth bloomed in my core, and I barely had half a mind to be mad at myself as Malfoy touched me more intimately than he ever had. I could’ve sworn his pale cheeks were just a shade redder than usual, and his hand felt hot on my hip, even through the thick wool of my top. His face was eerily void of any emotion, even disgust. Leaning forward, Malfoy grabbed my chin and tilted my face up roughly so I was more level with him, his breath swirling through the loose tendrils of hair by my face. I fought the urge to rip my face away as he held it so tightly his fingertips dug into my flesh.
“I don’t care ,” I said with as much fire as I could muster. “Just like you didn’t care that night in the Room of Requirement.”
Malfoy bristled, and I knew I hit a sore spot. “I didn’t,” He spat.
I didn’t respond; I merely looked at his strong face, a few strands of his white hair free of their usual styled place and hanging down into his eyes. Leaning down, he went to whisper in my ear as he spoke.
“Sounds like you wanted me to.” His voice was hard, gruff, low, and quicker than lightning, he snatched his book out of my tight grip, his elegant face perfectly smug and satisfied with himself. “Thanks, Mudblood. You could at least try and not be so predictable,” Malfoy taunted before walking away without another word, leaving me frozen and shocked for the second time in less than two weeks.
Fucking bastard.
Thanking whatever god was out there that no one saw that embarrassing exchange, I took a moment to collect myself before continuing my way back to my dormitory, my face still warm with a rosy blush. I had no clue how feeling Malfoy touch me had gone from something that made my flinch and my stomach twist with disgust to something that...that…
Something that I did not want to admit, not even to myself.
I tried to justify my body’s reaction as I walked, telling myself it wasn’t because it was Malfoy , but because I just wasn’t used to being touched like that, and hadn’t been in a while.
It sounded pathetic, even to me.
It almost felt like any of Malfoy’s touches stayed long after he had left, like anywhere he touched left an invisible, but permanent mark that haunted my every thought for hours and hours after. I felt the ghost of his hand on my waist the rest of that night, even as my mind was foggy with sleep and I could barely keep my eyes open. Even as my body battled for rest, my mind kept replaying the way his long fingers had so nimbly traveled the sweater-covered lines of my body, the way that he had seemed so sincere, because any time we had any interaction that wasn’t entirely filled with spite and heat and disdain, I was stupid enough to entertain the thought that he might be...different.
Of course, I hated myself for it.
And what the hell had he meant when he had said predictable? If anything, my body’s shockingly quick reaction to his should’ve been the last thing he expected, unless he had said that just to antagonize me further. I groaned quietly in my darkened room, the moonlight peering through the glass window. I needed rest, and I needed to stop thinking about Draco fucking Malfoy.
After a while of tossing and turning, I decided that just lying there was useless, so quietly and carefully, I made my way out of my dorm, my four roommates still sleeping soundly. The gentle swish of my shoes accompanied me as I carefully left the tower, making sure with every step that I wasn’t about to get found out by Filch or a professor. Eerie quiet surrounded me as I walked, so at odds with the normal bustle and commotion of the castle, but I found that I quite enjoyed it.
My walk went on without disturbance until I saw another shadowy figure occupying the corridor I was walking down, and I immediately ducked into a little alcove, afraid it was Filch on the prowl. The figure walked closer, and I realized that it was Harry, his hair messy and his eyes bagged with sleeplessness. He passed by me without noticing, and I, ever the curious and nosy Ravenclaw, followed him, keeping back a few feet so as to not alert him to my presence. Sure, he could’ve just been out for a walk like I was, but there was something about the tenseness of his frame that made me think otherwise. Maybe it was the fact that he pulled out the Marauder’s Map, clearly searching for someone as he walked.
We wound through the hallways, Harry’s pace picking up after a few minutes, and suddenly he rounded a corner and entered into the boy’s bathroom. I paused just outside the door, and was about to walk away, before I heard a familiar, snarky voice.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his voice muffled by the closed door. I pressed my ear to the door to hear better, before remembering a charm and muttering it quickly so that the two boys’ voices could be heard clearer.
“I could ask you the same,” Harry shot back. “You’re always disappearing to odd places in the middle of the night.”
“Checking up on me? How utterly sweet of you, Potter.”
“Just making sure you aren’t doing anything you shouldn’t be.”
Malfoy snorted. “Like that’s any of your business.”
“It is when I know what I do about your father,” Harry replied. “I saw him there that night, you know. The night Voldemort came back.”
I held in a sound of surprise as Harry’s words. I had teased Malfoy before about his father being a Death Eater, but I hadn’t actually meant it.
“You’re full of shit,” Malfoy growled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harry laughed bitterly. “I don’t? Then pull up your sleeve.”
He couldn’t actually mean…
“And why would I do that?” Malfoy asked.
“To prove me wrong. That you didn’t get the Dark Mark.”
My stomach sank with dread. There was no way. Sure, Malfoy was evil and vile and terrible, but I didn’t think he’d be so stupid as to actully sign his life over to the Dark Lord. My heart was beating wildly as I waited for Malfoy’s answer with baited breath.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Malfoy defended.
“You do, or I’m going to Dumbledore about it,” Harry warned, and I hear scuffling that could’ve been the movement of shoes on stone.
Malfoy huffed. “Sure, go tell Dumbledore. Like that old piece of shit could do anything to me.”
“You better watch your fucking mouth, you prick. Dumbledore is the best wizard I know,” Harry growled, and it sounded like he pulled out his wand.
“Then you’re stupider than I thought. Get out of my way, Potter,” Malfoy said.
Harry shook his head. “No. Pull up your sleeve.”
“I’ll tell you one more time, Potter,” Malfoy spat, drawing his wand as well. “Move.”
“Pull up your sleeve.”
Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry mimicked his actions. At the same time, both shouted spells that I couldn’t quite make out, a huge crash and shatter of glass coming from inside the room.
Forgetting every bit of sense that I had, I shoved through the door, the scene before me violent and chaotic. Harry’s spells had hit the mirror and wall behind Malfoy, and Malfoy’s had exploded into the wooden stall to my right. They both froze, their chest heaving as they looked at me in all my sleepy glory as the water from the broken sink flooded out of the wall and soaked our feet.
“Of course, Adler shows up to defend you,” Malfoy growled, looking at me with disgust. “Even after you broke her little heart, she still can’t resist being your hero.”
My face blushed with anger, and I didn’t look at Harry even as he spoke. “I didn’t break her heart, and I have no clue what she’s doing here.”
Malfoy looked at my pinched face and laughed. “Poor Adler, not even misfit Potter wanted you, and you’re still trying to win him back.”
“I don’t want to fucking win him back. I came in here because it sounded like the two of you were trying to kill each other,” I responded.
“How much did you hear?” Harry asked from my left.
Looking Malfoy dead in his cold eyes and then making a show of looking down at his forearm that was still clad in a white shirt, I answered. “Enough.”
“You bitch,” Malfoy snarled at me, raising his wand once more.
I quickly pulled mine out, pointing it at him. Harry lifted his once more, and the three of us stood in a sort of triangle, Malfoy’s wand on me, and Harry’s and mine on him. Harry was still behind me, and I was in between the two wizards, the water that Malfoy had splashed on his face earlier still wet on his shirt and jaw.
Malfoy lunged towards me, and I tried to twist out of his way, but before Malfoy could even open his mouth, Harry shouted, “Sectumsempra!”
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the bolt of light from Harry’s wand hit Malfoy right in the chest, catching my left side slightly as it passed. Pain exploded in my side, warm blood immediately wetting my shirt. Malfoy stumbled back a few steps, violent red lines appearing across his torso as if some invisible being was drawing them. His pale face was even whiter as it twisted with pain, and he slumped to the floor.