Hello friends! It's been a while since I've posted anything due to a constant heavy work load at school.
This is a two part story, about Amortentia and the things that both Draco and Hermione smell!
Hope it's interesting. Drop me a comment or two if you please :)
Books, Strawberries and Sugar Quills
Six moments. Three very distinctive smells. One potion. Draco Malfoy reflects on the things he smells in the Amortentia.
X
[One-Books]
November 14, 2002
Draco Malfoy paces back and forth in the flat he shares with his girlfriend of six months.
She's been missing for three hours now.
Okay, so she's not exactly missing. In fact, he knows exactly where is-she went out to lunch with his mother three hours ago. By missing, he merely means that he had expected her back way before now.
He's growing impatient. And worried. Sure, his family has changed their views on muggles and muggleborns since the end of the war, but this is the first time he's ever left his mother and his girlfriend alone before.
Just how long is long enough before it becomes acceptable to check on them?
-And not look like a bloody paranoid lunatic?
As if on cue, the front door opens. The first thing he sees in her chocolate brown curls, followed then by her floral summer dress and half a dozen shopping bags. He sighs-half out of relief and half because he knew his mother would take her shopping. His girlfriend is not a materialistic being by any means, but when paired with his mother...
She smiles, kicking the door closed behind her. "Hey honey."
"I take it you and my mother had a good time," he teases, moving across the room to help her with the bags.
"Thanks. And yeah, we did," she confirms, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.
He takes advantage of her closeness, snaking his arms around her (while still holding onto four bags) and pulls her flush against him. He captures her lips in his, sucking her bottom lip between his. It elicits a moan from her throat before she giggles and pulls back.
"Hardly inside the door and you're already attacking me," she scolds playfully.
He feigns feeling offended. "Attackingyou?"
She nods, teasing him.
"Well, that'll teach me to miss you then," he replies, turning his head to the side as if to ignore her.
"I'm kidding," she giggles, pushing herself onto the tips of her toes to get closer to him. She hooks her arms underneath his and over his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.
He chuckles softly, tightening his hold on her as he buries his face in her curls, nuzzling the crook of her neck with his forehead.
She smells like books. Like old, dusty books. Like brand new books. It's a smell that's just so...strictly her.
"You were hanging around my parents library, weren't you?" he murmurs, pulling back just far enough to look at her.
She looks back, her hazel eyes smiling.
x
March 1991
She's there again, in the library. That Granger girl. The Gryffindor with the bushy hair, buck teeth and dirty blood.
She's always there.
Every time he's there, she's there. And so, naturally, he's beginning to wonder if she ever really leaves. He knows she does, of course, because they have classes together. But he wouldn't be surprised if she'd somehow figured out how to clone herself so she could be in both places at once. Not only is she that (regrettably) smart, but she's that much of a bookworm.
Speaking of bookworm, she's always attached to a bloody book. Always. He's never not seen her without a book in her feminine little hands-not that he pays (that much) attention. Whether it's a text book or a novel, she's always carrying around some sort of book. Maybe she's got a book fetish...
Or a library fetish.
Her nose is currently stuffed between the pages of the very book he's looking for to finish his potions project tomorrow before the train ride back home for the holidays. He saunters over, placing his book bag on the table in front of her roughly-to purposely annoy her.
She looks at him, her brown eyes wide with curiousity. "Hello," she greets him politely.
"I need that book," he replies.
"Oh, well, I'm kind of in the middle of-"
"I need to finish the project, Granger."
"Well there's plenty more on the shelf," she offers.
"Why would I get it from there when you've got a perfectly good copy I can use?" he points out, very rationally, he thinks.
She blinks. "Because I'm using it?"
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Please, Granger. Everyone knows you've had the project done for weeks now. You don't even need the book."
"True," she agrees, "I don't needthe book. But I'd like to finish it, it's really quite interesting."
"Leave it to you to read an entire text book because you actually likeit," he smirks, holding out his hand for her to give it to him.
She glares at him then, gaining confidence as she closes the book and begins to pack up her things. "I'm not giving you the book, you can get your own."
He groans loudly. "Granger don't be such a wuss-"
"Don't be such a prat!" she whispers back loudly. She might've yelled, if she weren't in a library. "Just because your father gives you everything you want, doesn't mean everyone else in the real world will too. Besides, we've had this project for weeks now so it's not my fault you left it to the last minute."
"For your information I didn't leaveit to the last minute, most of it is done," he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "And by the way, not all of us are over-achieving little swots."
She rolls her eyes, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "You're not all that smart, either."
Her last comment nearly floors him as she spins on her heel, her bushy hair nearly hitting him in the face as she walks away from him.
Not as smart? Not as smart as her? He grumbles to himself, clenching his fists at his sides as he marches over to a bookcase to find the same book. He'll show her who isn't as smart.
As he sits down, in the very chair she had just occupied, he can't shake the smell of old books out of his nose. And it isn't from the bookshelves surrounding him.
X
[Two-Strawberries]
January 27, 2003
It's 7:46 p.m.
The first thing Draco hears when he walks through the front door after a long, frustrating day at work is the shower. Funny, he smirks as he slips his jacket off and hangs it in the front closet, he was just thinking about how badly he wanted to take a shower.
And then go to bed.
He begins to strip in the living room, leaving a trail of his own clothes down the hall towards bathroom.
Converse shoes. Cardigan. T-shirt. Wifebeater. Jeans and belt. Socks.
By the time he reaches the bathroom and closes the door behind him, he's wearing only his boxers.
Which doesn't last long, seeing as seconds later they're lying on the floor next to his girlfriend's bra and knickers. The silhouette of her slim, curvy body through the glass shower doors arouses him. He tip toes across the bathroom floor so as to not disturb her, carefully sliding the door open before stepping inside and closing it behind him. The water is somewhere between warm and hot, like it always is when she takes a shower, and it's foggy and muggy. She's standing underneath the shower head, her back to him as she rinses her hair. He watches for a moment, mesmerized as the water cascades down her skin and onto the shower floor beneath her feet.
He reaches out for her then, unable to handle the distance anymore, and he circles his arms around her waist from behind. She squeals, jumping in surprise as she whips her head around to see him.
"Merlin's beard Draco! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
He chuckles softly, nipping her shoulder with his teeth. "Sorry..."
"Liar," she giggles, leaning her bare back against his chest.
She fits perfectly against him. Every curve. Every crevice. It's like she was made for him-emotionally, mentally, spiritually and, of course, physically. He never understood that saying "home is where the heart" is, until he fell in love with her. She is his home.
She turns around in his arms as he pushes her gently against the tile wall. She gasps at the sensation of the cool tile against her hot skin. That gasp turns into a moan when he begins kissing and sucking on her neck. One hand palms her breast and the other cups her mound as he travels lower, leaving a trail of hot kisses over her wet skin.
Her skin smells (and tastes) like strawberries. Strawberries are, coincidentally, his favourite fruit.
Her fingers tug at his wet hair as he moves lower-across her stomach and thighs...
Needless to say, he isn't going to bed any time soon.
x
April 1993
She'd punched him.
She'd legitimately punchedhim. A hex, he had been expecting, sure. But a punch? With her fist? No, he hadn't been expecting that. Least of all from goody-two-shoes-Granger.
But then, he thinks, perhaps it really isn't all that surprising. She is Granger, after all. She's small, and innocent looking, but he knows more than anyone that she can be quite...aggressive at times. Passionate. Opinionated. She is, after all, the only person he knows who can go head to head with him in a battle of wits. She isn't afraid to back down from a fight if she truly believes in what she's fighting for. And she isn't one to allow herself to be bullied-especially not by him. [Which is what makes bullying her so much fun.]
So yes, perhaps he should've expected it. But nevertheless, she'd caught him off guard by slamming her fist into his face. It was out of utter shock, embarrassment and (admittedly) a little bit of fear that he'd ran away.
And now here he is, two days later, alone in a stuffy old class room with her. He thinks about all the things he could do to her. Taunt her. Hex her. Curse her. He thinks about all the different ways he can hurt her-all the things he can say and do. The possibilities are endless; he's been stacking ammo for years.
However, most, if not all, of those things would get him expelled and so he decides to do nothing instead. Because, by doing nothing, he is, ultimately, doing more.
He looks at her from across the room, watching her hand scribble furiously across the page on her desk. Her writing hand, which is also her punching hand, is a bit swollen. He smirks. "How's your hand, Granger?"
"Better than your nose, I'm sure," she replies casually, not even missing a beat. Nor does she look up from her paper.
His gaze narrows as he pushes himself to his feet, swings his bag over his shoulder and saunters across the room. He stops in front of her desk, resting both hands on the edge and leaning down slightly. "You better watch yourself, Granger."
She sighs, looking up at him with a bored expression. "Why's that?"
"Because I could destroyyou."
"Good luck with that," she replies, rolling her eyes as she packs her own things into her bag.
He watches her as she stands up, pushing himself up straight. "I'm not kidding, Granger."
"I'm sure you're not."
"I will get back at you. When you leastexpect it."
She looks at him, an amused expression painted on her pretty little face. "Like I said, good luck with that," she says again. She lifts her arm again, but this time instead of punching him (which almost makes him flinch) she pats his cheek with an open palm, before spinning on her heel and leaving him alone.
Alone, stunned and somewhat confused.
Leaving him with the smell of strawberries-perhaps it's her hand cream-so strong that he can practically taste it. [Is it weird that he sort of, almost, kind of wants her to punch him again? Or at least touch his face...]
X
[Three-Sugar Quills]
July 2003
He watches his girlfriend from across the bedroom, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. She's sitting on the bed, her back against the headboard with her legs out in front of her, the blanket thrown over her thighs. She's wearing one of his work shirts-a long sleeved dress shirt, with the first three buttons undone giving him a sneak peak of her ample cleavage underneath. [She always looks so much better wearing his shirts than he does...] Her hair is thrown into a messy bun near the top of her head, loose tendrils falling over her shoulders, some into her face.
She looks so simple, yet so elegant.
So natural, so beautiful.
So right.
It's moments like these, when he's watching her read in the dim light of the table lamp beside her-when she's raw and naked (mostly figuratively) and oblivious to the outside world-that he wonders how in Merlin's holy name he got so lucky.
Surely he hasn't done anything to deserve it.
Surely sure she can do somuch better than him.
Surely she's wasting that beautiful and lovable mind and heart and soul on him, when she could be loving another.
And yet it is him, despite many protests, that she has chosen. And it is her.
She looks at him, acknowledges his presence, and then looks back down at her book. She's ignoring him, of course. For they had a fight this morning over something he can't even remember-that's true love, isn't it?
He sighs softly, making his way slowly towards the bed. He comes up along her side of it, resting his hands on the mattress as he kneels down on the floor. Folding his arms in front of him, next to her thighs, he rests his chin on top, staring at her intently.
Finally, she looks at him, placing her bookmark in between the pages as she closes the book.
He smiles sheepishly. "Hi."
"Hi," she whispers back, smiling softly.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I got you something," he murmurs, shifting slightly as he moves his left arm and digs into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a sugar quill, smirking when he eyes light up as he presents it to her. "You're favourite flavour."
"More like yourfavourite flavour," she teases.
"Yes, well, that's just a lovely coincidence."
She smiles, taking the wrapping off of the candy piece and taking a long, slow lick before placing it in her mouth. She closes her eyes, savouring the taste on her tongue.
He grins, watching her. She looks a child who's just been given a lollipop for good before. Cute and adorable. And then, at the exact same time, she looks incredibly sexy.
She shifts slightly, placing the sugar quill on top of the wrapper on the dresser next to her before looking at him.
He lifts his right hand, cupping the base of her neck and stroking his thumb over her cheek. "I love you," he whispers.
She smiles, leaning forward slightly to rest her forehead against his. "I love you too."
He can smell the sugar quill on her breath and it's because of that-and, partly, because she's just so kissable-that he close the gap, capturing her lips in his and slipping his tongue into her mouth to taste her.
x
March 1996
He's been watching her. Carefully.
She's miserable. And while usually, he'd find comfort and extreme happiness in the fact that she's completely miserable, it sort of irks him. He's tried to convince himself that it's because it isn't his doing-it's Weasel's, the little redheaded brat. But he knows, deep down, that that isn't the case. It's for an entirely different reason.
It's because when he looks at her, he sees himself. Her sunken, saddened eyes mirror his own. The distressed, unhappy look on her face reminds him of himself.
It's the way she walks down the hallways, hugging her books to her chest and staring at the ground-like her 11-year-old self. It's the way she watches after Weasley with longing when he's alone and contempt when he's with the flower-girl. It's the way she avoids everyone, shrinking into the shadows and hiding in the library.
It's easy for her to disappear, for she's just so unnoticeable. [And yet he's noticed.]
He wishes it were that easy for him. To disappear. But unfortunately for him, disappearing-ironically-bring him more attention than it should.
And so he's been watching her. Learning from her. Observing her.
She surprises him one night. Because instead of being in the library, like she always is, she's in the Astronomy Tower. More importantly, though, she's standing in his spot, with her hands wrapped around hisrail. He watches her for a moment from the entrance, wondering if she's thinking about what he's though so many times before. Wondering if she wonders what it would feel like to climb over the rail and step off the ledge.
He walks closer to her until he's standing next to her. She glances sideways a him but doesn't say anything. There's some sort of mutual understanding here. He folds his arms across his chest, staring over the horizon.
"Do you ever think about climbing over the rail?"
She blinks, looks at him and then looks away.
"I reckon that's the easiest part. Letting go would be the hardest."
She nods.
"Until you hit the ground, of course. Unless you die beforehand, in the middle of the air from shock. Then I suppose it wouldn't hurt at all."
"I didn't know you were suicidal," she comments dryly.
"I'm not. Just curious."
"Curiousity is the first step," she retorts.
"If you say so," he shrugs nonchalantly.
Silence falls over them once more. He mirrors her, staring out over the horizon, only stealing small glances every once in a while. That's when he notices how...disheveled she looks. It looks as though she's been crying, from her tear stained face and puffy eyes. That's also when he notices the sugar quill in her hand.
She's been eating those like they're going out of style, lately. Every time he sees her, she's sucking on one.
He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. "Isn't that against some sort of rule, seeing as you're the daughter of dentists?"
"What?" she asks, confused. Probably shocked that he remembers what a dentist is.
"Those sugar quills."
She smirks in response, one almost as good as his. "It's my rebellion."
He snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. "If that's what you call a rebellion, I fear for your kind, Granger."
"Baby steps, Malfoy. I have to start somewhere." She lifts it to her mouth, her tongue slipping out to lick it.
He wants to lick it too. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. He watches her as she puts it in her mouth, sucks on it, and then pulls it back out with a small pop.
And she doesn't have a clue.
And so he fixed that problem the only way he knows how-and it doesn't suck that it's all he's been able to think about in regards to her. He kisses her.
He takes her face in his hand, burying his fingers in her unruly curls and pulls her mouth to his. He crushes her lips with his, his tongue darting out to taste the residue left behind by the sugar quill that had previously occupied those lips.
Heavenly is the only word that comes to mind as he slips his tongue into her mouth, savouring the taste.
She moans, her hands bunching his robes into fists.
Devine, is the second only word that comes to mind.
He pulls back then, both of them panting. Their breaths mingle together-now they both smell like sugar quills. And perhaps, now, he'll be able to sleep at night.
"Good choice, Granger," he tells her, his voice softer than usual.
"T-thanks," she stutters.
He looks at her pointedly, his gaze narrowing just slightly. "No one can-"
"Know. I know."
X
September 1996
Potions
He's only partly listening to Granger as she drones on-and-on about Amortentia. Blah-blah love potion. Desires blah-blah. Most dangerousblah.
Slughorn removes the lid to the cauldron, attracting the desires of the girls standing closest to the potion, before he closes it back up. Before he closes it up, however, Draco gets a strong whiff of three, very distinct smells.
Books.
Strawberries.
And candy floss Sugar Quills.