The Scent Of Malice | drarry

sixteen | jupiter's moons

Harry's mind was in a whirl. He was sick to the point of losing sleep over the whole disgusting complicated situation, terrified by his own emotions and the lack of trust he suddenly found in them.

He felt almost betrayed by his own body, by the  sickening adrenaline that still fired through his veins whenever Malfoy was anywhere near him and made him hate himself to the core.

It's fake, you moron, get over it, he chastised himself mentally, though that knowledge strangely didn't help.

If anything, his attraction to the other boy was growing stronger by the day - Malfoy wasn't exactly growing less attractive, or attempting to avoid Harry like he'd claimed he wanted so badly. In fact, he was just as malicious and attention-seeking around Harry as he ever was, though the two of them danced carefully around recent events.

But under the surface, Draco was also still struggling to come to terms with the revelation. He hadn't realised how dependent his ego truly was on Potter's interest in him until he thought that it was taken away, and found himself desperate for validation where he could get it.

It all came to a head one Monday afternoon in Astronomy class.

Harry had been kept behind after Herbology and was therefore late to the class, flustered and slightly rain-soaked from the run over. Ron and Hermione weren't in that class, and Harry's lateness meant he was forced to take the nearest available seat when he finally arrived at the top of the tower.

This happened to be the seat on the end of the table next to Draco Malfoy, who made no effort to accommodate Harry when he sat down, meaning he was rather cramped in an effort not to make contact.

As Professor Sinistral droned on about Jupiter's moons, Harry busied himself with getting out his textbook and parchment, trying not to drip rain on the paper or indeed on the boy sitting next to him.

"Ew, it reeks of wet dog in here," Malfoy announced loudly with a wrinkle of his perfect roman nose, causing some giggles from the Slytherin girls in the room.

"Oh, that's interesting! I sprayed some Amortentia before I came up," shot back Harry sarcastically, generating some laughter of his own. "Wouldn't have had you down as the bestial type though, Malfoy. Interesting."

Malfoy didn't respond to that, which Harry thought was odd at first, before he realised that the actual punishment for his disrespect was far, far worse than an insult.

He became quickly aware of the slender hand under the table which pushed aside the length of robe material covering Harry's left thigh, revealing the dark fabric of his trousers in one firm, deliberate movement.

The hand rested a couple of inches above the knee for a second, not at all softly, and Harry's senses went wild.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he choked, sliding his own hand under the table to grip Malfoy's wrist; it was an attempt to tear the pressure away, but Malfoy was stronger than Harry and his hand only crept higher the more he resisted.

Then he began to push down on Harry's leg so hard that Harry could feel the cool silver of his rings pressing through to the heat of his skin, and it made him shiver.

"Malfoy, please-"

But Malfoy didn't even falter, his grey eyes fixed firmly on his work, answering the professor's questions when asked and writing lines of perfect script in his free hand, while the other dug hard grooves into Harry's thigh beneath the table.

There was no indication of what was going on other than a slight flicker in his irises, but even then only if you knew what you were looking for.

Harry thought about protesting properly but couldn't imagine how terribly Malfoy would react, and besides, it was hot, so instead he let go of the sharp wrist and shifted his hips as hard as he could away from the boy without drawing anyone else's attention. But the hand was unyielding, practiced, certain.

His index finger began to trace deft patterns into the inside of Harry's thigh - was he spelling something?

A hot flush rose to Harry's cheeks; he was amazed that there was any blood left in his body to even go there with all of the flow to his crotch. By now he was paralysed by Malfoy's touch, all hope of pushing him away was completely lost, and every fraction of his attention was agonisingly focused on a few specific square inches of his body.

"Which is the nearest to Jupiter of the four Galilean moons, Mr. Potter?" Professor Sinistral asked, making him jump. She was apparently oblivious to the fire threatening to consume Harry as she spoke, as was everyone else in the room.

Malfoy's hand became softer, which was somehow worse and provided more torment than the rough treatment of before, and Harry gasped. How the fuck was he supposed to think about moons at a time like this, when the boy who drove him crazy was running his hand secretly all up his leg?

"Er, Callisto?" Harry guessed after enough time had passed for it to be awkward, his voice higher pitched than usual.

Professor Sinistral sighed. "Callisto is the furthest, Potter. Think closer."

"Closer, eh?" Malfoy whispered, and his hand slid another stretch up Harry's leg. It was all the dark-haired boy could do not to whimper.

"Ganymede?" he croaked, and again the Professor shook her head.

"Closer."

Malfoy's hand obeyed. Harry squirmed. It was between two now: Io and Europa, and he knew full well which it was. He wondered if he should get it wrong on purpose - Malfoy's hand was tantalisingly close to his crotch, and he wanted to see whether the other boy would actually go there.

Curiosity overruled; Harry sighed and allowed himself to be engulfed by the fire in the pit of his stomach. "Europa," he muttered, and Malfoy's fingers slipped victoriously up as high on Harry's thigh as they could possibly get, brushing over his bulge tantalisingly as they did so.

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to bang his own head on the desk or bang Malfoy on it more, torn between despising the bastard and being totally consumed by him.

"You're such a dick," he hissed.

Malfoy smirked without raising his head. "I know that you knew it was Io, you freak."

They remained that way for the rest of the lesson, Malfoy's heavy-ringed hand pressing malice into Harry's burningly sensitive skin, and then the bell for the end of the class rang and Malfoy finally let go.

"Come on, Potter," he said gleefully, standing up and stretching ostentatiously. "You not coming to Charms?"

"I can't," Harry hissed, loathing radiating off his every cell as he spoke. He glanced around; everyone else was busy packing up to leave and was paying no attention to them, so he felt safe to speak.

"Why not?"

"You know why not, you evil son of a bitch. Why the fuck would you do that to me?!"

Malfoy licked his smirking lips and rested those beautiful hands calmly over his flat stomach. "Because I can. Because I wanted to prove you aren't over me."

"I told you myself that I'm not!" Harry protested. His jaw was so clenched he could barely speak through it, and he resented Malfoy for standing up so early because it forced Harry's head to tilt right back to see him, and drew attention to his own reluctance to stand.

"You're a sadistic shit, Draco Malfoy. What did you even gain from that?"

"I liked watching you get all upset and hot over me," Draco grinned proudly. "But if you're trying to subtly ask if I embarrassed myself and got hard like you did then obviously not because I'm not gross."

"Obviously I'm going to get hard if someone touches me like that, Malfoy, don't flatter yourself," Harry sighed.

When he took off his robes for a shower later that night, there was the imprint of a serpent on the inside of his thigh from Malfoy's ring. Somehow, Harry knew that was deliberate.

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a/n: it's getting hot in here!!

please vote and comment if you enjoyed, and i hope you're looking forward to the next instalment🤍🤍

~ paradisedraco