#dracoishot

– Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Draco Malfoy sat rigidly at his station, fingers tapping against the cool glass vial beside him. He hated how noisy Gryffindors were—especially when Weasley laughed like a dying hyena in the back of the class. But that wasn't the real problem today.

No, the problem was you.

You—sitting just one row over, your quill twirling in your fingers while Slughorn droned on about Amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to wizardkind. Draco knew it was ridiculous, utterly absurd, to be this bothered by you. You were just another Slytherin. You weren’t even friends.

But ever since the beginning of term, he’d been noticing... things.

The way you’d tilt your head when confused. How your robes always smelled faintly like something sweet—lavender? Vanilla? No. He didn’t care. He shouldn’t care. He had bigger things to worry about than whatever stupid perfume you wore.

And yet here he was, wondering if Amortentia would smell like that if he brewed it.

Slughorn clapped his hands. "Right then! Let’s get to it! Everyone step up and have a whiff—Amortentia, as you know, reveals the scent of what most attracts you. Quite fun, but remember—it doesn’t mean love. Just... infatuation, perhaps. Ha-ha!"

There was a bit of nervous laughter. Hermione went first, of course, listing off parchment, peppermint toothpaste, and "something... earthy." Potter followed, muttered something, and turned red. Pathetic.

Then it was Draco’s turn.

He walked up like he didn’t care—chin high, shoulders sharp, like a dagger sheathed in silk. He leaned in slowly, prepared to fake something generic.

But the moment the scent hit him—his mind blanked.

Sweet smoke. The faint smell of fresh parchment. Peppermint… and something warm and feminine—like lavender and firewhiskey at the same time.

He blinked.

No. No no no.

That wasn’t right.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy?" Slughorn asked, eyebrows raised. "Anything... interesting?"

Draco straightened instantly, schooling his face into a mask of polite boredom. "Smells like... books, I think. Vanilla. Old wood, maybe."

You arched an eyebrow at him when he sat back down beside Blaise, but said nothing.

Which made it worse.

Because now he was sitting there thinking about you thinking about him, and wondering what you smelled.

He peeked over at you.

Your nose crinkled when you sniffed your own Amortentia sample. You bit your lip. Frowned. And your eyes—those clear, sharp eyes—flicked briefly to him.

His stomach dropped like a stone in the Black Lake.

No. Absolutely not.

This was ridiculous.

There was no way in hell Amortentia was making him act like a lovesick Hufflepuff. He was a Malfoy. He didn’t pine. He didn’t crush. And he certainly didn’t blush every time you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Mate,” Blaise whispered, elbowing him. “You’re staring again.”

Draco scowled and looked away, crossing his arms.

He’d get over it. He’d have to. He couldn’t afford distractions—not now.

But later that night, when he passed you in the common room and caught the faint trace of lavender and smoke on your scarf—

He realized it wasn’t going away.

Not anytime soon.

💚 Bonus Draco Crush Headcanons:

Denial, denial, denial. Draco will absolutely convince himself it's just a weird phase. He’ll avoid you, then immediately look for you. It drives him insane.

He becomes over-aware. Of your presence, your scent, how close you sit in class. He starts correcting your potion ingredients not because he cares, of course. "You're doing it wrong," he'll snap, but he just wants to talk to you.

Possessive glances. If he catches someone else making you laugh, he gets this tight look on his face, but says nothing—because he doesn’t like you, right?

Internally panicking during Potions. He remembers that Amortentia scent for days. And when he figures out the last smell is you, he stops sleeping properly for a week.

Eventually… he lets something slip—accidentally. Maybe a sarcastic comment with too much softness in his tone. Maybe a compliment disguised as an insult. Maybe… he finally lets himself ask:

“What did your Amortentia smell like?”