Scent of a Woman
***WARNING: DH SPOILERS***
Challenge Fifteen: Deathly Hallows Missing Scenes
Title: Scent of a Woman
Author: somigliana
Wizard/Witch: Blaise Zabini/Susan Bones
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/R
Genre: Romance/Drama
Word count: 1499
DH Chapter: 22 - The Deathly Hallows
Summary: A plain girl like Susan Bones had no business smelling like that - exotic and spicy and utterly alluring.
Defence Against the Dark Arts has been torture this year. Not because we have an annoying teacher like Look-At-Me Lockhart prancing about being self-congratulatory, or a dead boring teacher like Wands-Away Umbridge simpering away about hypothetical situations. No. Amycus Carrow (a pathetic excuse for a pureblood if I ever saw one) was teaching the Dark Arts this year. Well, the crude and unrefined side of the Dark Arts - the torture hexes. I don't think he knows the meaning of subtle. My mother says that he is what happens when the English wizards interbreed for one generation too many.
I tapped my quill against the desk, waiting for the class to begin. Talking to Draco wasn’t worth the effort. He’d returned from the Christmas holidays looking even worse than after the summer holidays (I can't imagine that he was opening Christmas presents with the Dark Lord), and now he's monosyllabic, at best. I've had my 'I told you so' gloat, but accompanied by sharp pity, it didn’t feel quite as satisfying as it should have.
Professor Carrow (some might term that an oxymoron in itself) came lumbering to the DADA classroom, and the quiet murmur of my classmates fell to absolute silence in a heavy wave. He might not be a particularly impressive man, but his punishments are quite enough to make the most verbose seventh-year shut it.
He leant against the desk, wheezing. The stairs get him every time. I suspected he’d been overindulging in the house-elf cooking, too, because his robes were stretched skin-tight across his lumpy shoulders.
“We’re doing the Deflindo Curse today,” he said, and he hacked a cough that made me want to cover my face with a handkerchief. At least he wasn’t picking his nose ... yet. “I like this one, because it makes lots more cuts than a Diffindo, only shallower.” He leered at the class.
I could almost hear his sadistic thoughts. Because it makes the victim hurt more.
I glanced around the class. Draco was scribbling in the margin of his book. Vincent looked excited (he probably falls into the Carrow category, if you ask me). Neville Longbottom was clenching his jaw. I wondered if he was going to put up a fuss today, because it was rather entertaining, truth be told. Susan Bones sat behind him, looking nauseated.
“And don’t get Deflindo mixed up with Deflayo ...”
She looked like she was sweating and just as Carrow was extolling the virtues of the Skin Flaying curse, her head hit the desk, and she moaned loudly. “Ungh ... gonna be sick.”
“Ah, fer ... Zabini!”
I turned towards Carrow with a mildly inquiring expression. “Yes, sir?”
I knew what was coming; Carrow disliked me. My fellow Slytherins have compiled several theories as to why this is - my Crucio is prettier than his, I’m Slughorn’s favourite, I never say a word in his class unless prompted, my mother told him to fuck off and die. I rather think it’s because I’m a full foot taller than he is and a hundred times better looking.
“Take Bones to Pomfrey, before she blows,” he said, sneering at me. It made his eyes cross even worse. I fought the smirk that threatened and slid from my seat.
I picked up Bones’ bag and took her elbow as she stood shakily. She gazed up at me with glassy, unfocussed eyes. Do not vomit on me! She swayed towards me as we stepped into the corridor, forcing me to put an arm around her waist.
My disdainful expression faltered slightly as I breathed in her perfume. A plain girl like Susan Bones had no business smelling like that - exotic and spicy and utterly alluring. A Hufflepuff had no right to make me want to touch my nose to her throat, to make me want to devour that sinful fragrance. Now if the Slytherin girls smelt like this, well, they’d see a little more action, perhaps. But Pansy always smelt overwhelmingly floral, Daphne overdid the musk, and Millicent smelt like Eau de Quidditch.
I scowled at her for smelling so delicious. “If you vomit on me, I swear I will leave you right where we stand,” I threatened. “And why the hell is your bag so heavy?”
She stopped moving her feet, and I huffed an exasperated sigh.
“Not the h-hospital wing,” she said, clutching a handful of my robes. “F-front pocket of m-my bag.”
I narrowed my eyes, realising what had happened, and I steered her into an empty classroom. “You took a Weasley sweet, didn’t you?” I accused as I dumped her into a chair. I almost sighed as her scent drifted away. Maybe she had a bottle of it in her bag, I thought as I rummaged through it. I swear I’d make my future lovers wear it.
She dry-heaved, making an awful retching sound, and I hastened my search for the antidote half of the sweet. My fingertips brushed against something warm, and I frowned, pulling out a Galleon along with the lint-covered pastille. “Here,” I said, pushing the sweet into her hand roughly.
While she chewed, I examined the coin, frowning. Why the hell was it hot? And then I spotted it. Instead of the usual Goblin runes, there were numbers and letters etched along the edge of the coin... Albus ... what in Merlin’s name did that mean?
“Hey, give me that!” Obviously she’d recovered from whatever Weasley-derived illness she’d had.
I glanced down at her over the edge of the coin and smirked. “A bit strapped for cash, Bones?” I drawled, memorising the series of numbers before flicking the coin into the air and catching it deftly.
She lunged for me, snatching at the coin. Instead of dancing away, I caught her, took a deep breath and smiled (the devastating one that makes girls swoon). “What’s it worth to you?” I raised an eyebrow, and I wondered how I’d thought her plain. Her cheeks were flushed with temper, and she was pouting. Perhaps baiting a badger was worth it, after all.
The Galleon had cooled in my fingertips, and I licked my lips (her eyes betrayed her, following the movement) and held up the coin between us. She grabbed the coin and leant past me to get her bag. I wasn’t quite ready to let her and her scent leave yet, though. I felt compelled to halt her and a little intoxicated, perhaps.
“Why did you take the Weasley sweet?” I asked, stepping in front of her.
“What’s it worth to you?”
I had to give her points for throwing my line back at me. I shrugged nonchalantly. “Just idly curious,” I said, sounding bored.
“I just didn’t want to see that curse being used,” she said, and her expression plainly said that she didn’t want to discuss it any further. “I’m sure you’d be very good at it,” she added, giving me a dark glare.
I frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending her scent swirling into the air between us. “You seem to enjoy the Dark Arts.”
I did, yes, to be honest. But I didn’t enjoy this brand of Dark Arts. My mother was a far better teacher; the Dark Arts were sinuous and subtle in her hands. “Not everything is what it seems,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
She probably thought that I supported Voldemort, too. The rest of the school put all of the Slytherins into one neat pigeonhole, didn’t they? Of course power was important, but any fool could see that Voldemort wasn’t interested in sharing his. What Snape was bloody thinking, I couldn’t fathom.
But Potter had failed miserably so far. The fucking Chosen One, indeed. Nobody knew what Harry Potter was up to these days, and I was intensely curious about it. My mother’s new husband had a better chance of living than I had of gaining access to the elusive DA, though.
I realised that she was staring at me with an odd expression on her face, and I kicked myself for dropping my guard around her, letting her see far more than I usually showed to people.
I turned on my heel, leaving Susan Bones and her scent and her puzzlement behind.
We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.
Later that week, at home for the Easter holidays, I discovered the significance of Susan Bones’ Galleon. I rolled my eyes at the stupid nicknames, of course, but hearing news of resistance was oddly comforting. Perhaps I would still have the opportunity to weave my own subtle power in a far less stifling political environment.
As Remus Lupin gave what I’m sure he considered was a heartfelt and rousing speech to Harry Potter, I thought that I’d have to find a way to listen in on Potterwatch again. Perhaps Susan Bones and her intoxicating scent would be seeing a little more of me next term.
Author's Notes: "We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving." Royal on Potterwatch - quoted directly from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Proof-reader: gelsey