Author's Note: Hey everyone. This is just a two-part piece of literal Amortentia nonsense. I hope you enjoy! Part two will be up next week.
Rated M for coarse language and minor sexual content.
Alpha love to Kyonomiko and beta thanks on this one to CourtingInsanity.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Counting out his rose petals was proving to be an exercise in futility when coupled with the fact that Draco was simultaneously eavesdropping on the conversation behind him.
At the workbench to his right, Theo had managed to spill half a jar of pearl dust, and was cussing and huffing with more enthusiasm than Draco thought was strictly necessary. With a click of his tongue and a wave of his wand, the offending dust vanished from the floor, the table, and the length of Theo's robes.
His best mate flashed him a grimace and returned to portioning out his ashwinder eggs.
"Honestly." Theo sniffed. "Slughorn's barmier than I'd always thought if he thinks it's a good idea to teach a class full of seventeen and eighteen-year-olds to brew a potent love potion. I mean, imagine the carnage?"
Draco snickered, initiating a slow counter-clockwise rotation of his brewing potion with his wand. "Should be amusing," he acquiesced, distracted by the hushed conversation at the table behind them. His gaze swung across the room to face the door, and in his periphery he could see the nest of brunette curls belonging to the speaker.
"– told you, it's the same as it was two years ago," Granger was saying, and Draco snapped his eyes back to the front. "New parchment, freshly mown grass, and –"
Draco froze, awaiting the rest of her sentence – the part she had failed to reveal two years prior when Slughorn had had a cauldron of Amortentia at the front of the room along with Felix Felicis and Polyjuice. The thought brought an uncomfortable stirring to the pit of his stomach – the Polyjuice potion he'd swiped for Crabbe and Goyle to keep watch outside the Room of Hidden Things.
He swallowed, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind with a concerted lack of care.
"– and apples, I think."
"Apples," the Weaslette responded, a low haughtiness in her tone. It was still strange to share classes with the current seventh years – but not enough "eighth" years had returned to complete their NEWTs to merit the creation of an additional timetable. "Who do you suspect smells like apples?"
A tension came to Draco's stance, so thick that his hands stopped working, hanging before him like a pair of lifeless arthropods. He clenched his fingers together, forcing his hands to fall to his sides.
In a state of mild and discombobulated paranoia, he nudged his bag under the table with his foot – there were probably two or three apples tucked away in the front pocket. He sniffled, wondering at the potency of his body wash.
Clearly, Granger had already finished her potion and would have, of course, perfected it. Draco could almost taste the scent wafting towards their table on the breezy dungeon draft, but he already knew what it would smell like.
Books. Plumeria. Ink.
The same as it had smelled in sixth year. And presumably longer, if not for the absence of Amortentia in his immediate presence through earlier years.
"I don't know," Granger was saying, and Draco could picture the way the skin above the bridge of her nose would knit. The way her lips would twist to the side with consideration, her eyes shining with focus. "Do you imagine it'll be someone at Hogwarts?"
"Could be," Weaslette returned, and Draco shifted closer to his own table. "But no guarantee of that, of course. It could very well be anyone."
"Well, we know it isn't Ron," Granger said, and the two shared a laugh at some sort of inside reference.
"And thank Merlin for that," Weaslette huffed, a smile in her voice. "You were all wrong for each other, Hermione. At least it was short lived."
"Agreed," Granger said with a chuckle.
Draco's jaw was clenched with such a ferocity that it began to throb, and he opened his mouth, rubbing the hinge with a hand.
Beside him, Theo had cut himself on a rose thorn, grousing as he grasped his bleeding finger, his face pale.
"What are you even doing?" Draco drawled, shaking his head. Theo was usually clumsy to a certain extent but this was something else altogether.
Theo threw up his hands, looking disgruntled. "Fuck if I know, today."
"I think, if it is someone at Hogwarts, you should try and figure out who," Weaslette said with a girlish giggle.
Draco took a cautious step to make his way around to the other side of his table, under the pretense of cleaning up his ingredients.
As a result, he had to strain to hear the conversation, his face jutted forward and tilted to one side; Theo raised a brow and gave him an odd look. Draco fixed his attention on the jar of rose petals he'd borrowed from the classroom stores at the front, careful to keep his breathing silent.
"How?" Granger asked with a chuckle. "As if I'm going to walk up to every bloke sixth year and up and take a big whiff!"
The two girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. Draco couldn't recall Granger being so girlish before this year – perhaps with the pseudomasculine influence of Potter and Weasley exchanged for that of the Weaslette, things were different.
His gaze drifted up to land on the pair; the redhead was wiping a tear at the corner of one eye and Granger was chuckling, shaking her head as she bottled her potion into a set of vials. Her eyes sparkled with the glow of the smile vibrant on her face and Draco looked away.
"Probably not the best idea, but it would be funny!" Weaslette exclaimed. "I'm sure we can come up with something more subtle than that."
"For fuck's sake!" Theo exclaimed, his potion bubbling over and splashing onto the table.
Draco recoiled, lest he end up splashed with any of the Amortentia and wind up pining after his oldest friend or something similarly embarrassing. If the potion was even effective, given the extent of Theo's blunders.
He met Theo's panicked hazel eyes; his robes were wet with the potion. Exasperated, Draco shook his head.
"Just leave." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sure Pomfrey has something. I'll clean up your station."
"Fuck," Theo moaned, the syllable drawn out, before he turned and fled the room.
Draco looked up again to notice Granger and Weaslette's attention had been drawn ahead to the utter disaster that was Theo's performance, and for the briefest of moments, Granger's chocolate eyes locked onto his.
He looked down at his ingredients, allowing his lip to curl with the makings of a half-hearted sneer.
"Anyways," Granger said, and her voice was soft again. "I doubt it's worth it. Even if Mister Apples-Grass-and-Parchment does go to school here, he's probably taken."
"Yeah," Weaslette said with a sigh. "Or maybe he's gay – not that there's anything wrong with that." There was a hesitation between them. "Or, maybe his potion smells like you and honestly, what have you got to lose?"
Draco breathed in the scent of his own completed potion and bottled it as quickly as he could manage, his skin prickling at the overwhelming sensation of it.
"Fine," Granger said, and he caught the hint of a smile curling her lips. "I suppose it could be worth it, but I'm not going to hunt the poor fellow down."
"Please be aware, everyone," Slughorn shouted, interrupting Draco's covert reconnaissance, "that all vials of Amortentia must be turned in, and not kept for your own personal dalliances!"
"As if that's going to happen," Draco muttered under his breath. He had already seen three people pocket vials of the potion.
Granger snickered and glanced at him for a quick moment before looking away, her cheeks pinking. Evidently he'd spoken louder than intended. He locked his gaze on the table.
Draco's eighth year had been an interesting experience – if by interesting, one meant harrowing, horrific, and humbling. He was a pariah to the vast majority of the school, but at least he had Theo.
And Granger, for all her haughtiness and her snooty judgments, had been the least of the worst. She hadn't been cruel to him, even if he deserved it, but she hadn't had anything to say to him at all.
The first time he'd seen her he had been on his way to a meeting after the welcome feast – she had been made Head Girl, and he, for some reason, had been offered a Prefect position – and he'd recoiled with such ferocity that he'd knocked a goblet of pumpkin juice onto a passing third year.
All Draco had been able to think about at that moment in time was the way Granger had nearly bled out on the floor of his drawing room. How the echoes of her screams still clung to his slumber and the way he'd stood idly by and done nothing to help her. And then, how she had testified at his trial. He'd been beyond mystified to see her there, expecting she'd stumbled into the wrong court room by mistake.
To see her in the Hogwarts Great Hall had been such a stark and chilling return to his old normal that it had thrown him completely off his guard. Her eyes had narrowed, fixed on his, but then she'd shrugged and walked away from him. He'd been unable to keep his gaze from her through the duration of the meeting, and in the afters, he had lingered behind, a cold and empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Granger had fired him a look, and before he could think through his words with any sort of care at all he'd blurted out, "I'm sorry."
At her wide eyes, her parted lips, he'd steamrolled on in a breath, cursing himself all the while for his lack of composure. "I know – that does no justice to anything, and obviously I don't expect you to accept this, but I am, and at some point in my life there was a time where I realized all the nonsense I was spouting was just that, nonsense, but by then it was all –"
"Malfoy," Granger had interrupted, her expression incredulous.
His mouth had snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. He'd swept a chunk of hair away from his eyes.
But all she'd said was, "Thank you; I appreciate that."
And then as she'd made for the door she stopped, her gaze landing on him again. "It's over now – and it is what it is, and we're all doing our best to move on, yeah?"
"Right," he'd choked, feeling a harsh burst of air chase from his lungs with the word.
And Draco had watched as she walked away, his throat feeling at once thick and dry.
His eyes fell on her hands, quick and deft as she packed up her ingredients. She sealed her jar of rose petals; her fingernails were kept short but groomed and painted with a natural, glossy sheen.
He wondered at her hobbies and interests now that she was through the other side of a war. Whether she had always had an affinity for keeping her nails, but her ceaseless study habits got in the way of such vanity.
Sometimes he wondered the strangest things about her.
Granger stepped out from the far side of her table and Draco, in a panic as she neared, grabbed his jar of rose petals and made his way to the front of the class to return them to Slughorn's cupboards.
But to his horror she followed, her own jar of petals in her hand. Draco was trapped in the store room as she approached the open doorway. He couldn't get by to escape the room without brushing against her; he froze.
She would be less likely to smell him if he wasn't moving.
Granger faltered as she dropped her jar onto the shelf, her eyes fixed on him; Draco relaxed his shoulders, letting them fall. He quirked a brow and made to dash for the entrance.
But she was right behind him, her steps measured and brisk.
"Attention!" Slughorn proclaimed as the two of them passed by his desk. Draco paused, turning to face the Professor and Granger stopped beside him. He inched away from her. "Next class we will begin with something different – a paired project!" Slughorn gave a boisterous chuckle and Granger huffed beside him, folding her arms.
He felt a smirk tug at his lips; no doubt Granger didn't like group projects in case her classmates were inadequate.
"And just for fun," Slughorn continued, looking inordinately pleased with himself, "your partner will be whoever is nearest you!"
Draco shifted another step to the right but the only person even within speaking range was Granger. He felt a groan slip from his lips, and she fired him a scowl. He could have sworn he saw Slughorn's eyes pass right over the two of them.
"Fine," she snipped, eyeing her fingernails. "But if you mess this up for us –"
"I won't mess it up," Draco scoffed. His gaze fell to the downturn of her lips and quickly away, feeling his heart rate escalate in his chest. He met her eyes for a moment. "It could be worse – you could have been standing beside Theo."
Granger gave him a bright, incredulous 'ha' for his troubles. "Thank Merlin for small mercies, then."
Draco didn't know what to make of that.
With a wave of Slughorn's wand, the assignment appeared on the board. It would involve a certain amount of research and preparation prior to the actual creation of the potion – or in this case, they would be creating an antidote.
"Fine," she repeated, more to herself than to him, as if she were steeling herself for the injustice that was being partnered with him. Then her sharp eyes snapped to him. "We'll meet in the library to prepare – tonight?"
Draco swallowed, his tongue feeling intrusive. "Quidditch."
"Tomorrow, then," Granger said, dropping her chin in a patronizing manner. He gave her a feeble nod. "Fine."
He watched her walk away again.
He wasn't certain, but maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world if Granger realized her Amortentia smelled like him – although Draco didn't want to deal with the inevitable fallout that would come with such a revelation.
Such as the fact that his Amortentia was a blatant replica of Granger's own feminine scent.
Granger was sure to make a fuss and would probably insist that the potion was faulty; she'd state that there was not a chance in all the seven circles of hell that she would ever be interested in him.
There was obviously a certain amount of denial going on in the situation, if Granger somehow harboured a deep-seated and well-buried interest in him.
For all he knew, the interest wasn't romantic in nature – perhaps she wondered at his mental state, or whether he had gone off the deep end and that interest was parading as attraction.
Draco had done wrong by her for years – but he wasn't sure his ego could handle all that.
Added to the fact that there was obviously no future for them, and he wasn't even certain how he was the object of her interests to begin with – maybe it was faulty.
Maybe there was someone else who smelled the same as him, and he'd been so caught up in certainty and discomfort at the thought of her knowing that he hadn't even considered the thought.
Unlikely.
Just like she was probably the only one who smelled like books, plumeria, and ink. And even if there was another, he would still know it was Granger he was scenting.
It would always be Granger he was scenting.
It had been easier to ignore her when she'd been on the opposite side of a war, when he'd been preoccupied with the mess that his own life had become, and then when she hadn't been present for his seventh year. But now there was a distinct lack of distractions in his life and Draco found himself in a state of constant awareness of her and her wild head of hair. He found it to be quite tousled and dashing if he was honest.
He didn't even understand it – he wouldn't have been able to explain where it came from, even if it was to save his own skin. He didn't know how he would possibly begin to tell her.
No, it was best she simply wasn't aware.
Which didn't make the fact that they would be working together on an assignment any less a case of poor timing and bad circumstances.
He fixed his hair all the same, adjusting a small piece that lay out of place, and straightened his tie, smoothing a wrinkle from his shirt. He winced, feeling the heavy roll of tension through his shoulders. This was a terrible idea.
How was he to make it through a Potions preparation session with her? Without her catching a single whiff of his scent? And without making a total mockery of himself?
Granger's expression shifted as she approached the table at which Draco sat, his books and parchment already spread across the bulk of the table, leaving a small space for her to work at the opposite corner.
With a heaving sigh, she shifted some of his sheets of parchment into a stack and placed them out of the way so she could sink into the seat across from him.
"I was using those," he drawled, his tone lofty and infused with the impression of rolled eyes.
"They were blank," Granger returned, her lips pressed together. "Look, Malfoy, I don't want to work with you either. Obviously, we're on the same page with –" She halted, lips turning into a frown as she stared at him. She recoiled, her nose wrinkled, and then blinked several times. "Malfoy, have you bathed in cologne?"
"Oh," he exclaimed, looking down at himself in surprise. "Perhaps that last spritz was unnecessary."
Granger looked as if she were going to be sick; her expression would have been comical if not for the fact that she was clearly repulsed by him.
Better the devil you know.
"Try the last dozen spritzes," she clipped, shifting her seat further down the table with a thick swallow. "If you've got a date after this or something, here's a hint – a girl likes to be able to breathe."
Draco stared at her, clicking his tongue. "Noted."
She shifted her chair further down, landing closer to the corner he had originally delegated for her. "Let's just do this quickly, then. Have you been through the required chapter? We need to first determine the effects and severity of our poison, and then –"
"I know, Granger," Draco said, waving a dismissive hand. "Believe it or not, I also have an 'O' in Potions." He drew a sheet of parchment from his bag. "I've already assessed the poison Slughorn gave us – but feel free to run your own tests."
She blinked, clearly lost for words, and Draco wondered if it was the first time that had ever happened. Her fingers closed around the corner of the page, and her eyes scanned his tidy printing.
Which, he happened to know, was five times nicer than her messy scrawl.
"No," she said, clearing her throat. "This should be fine."
The underlying admission of trust made him suck in a deep breath – even if it was a simple trust that he wasn't about to botch his own grade to ruin hers.
His lips curled with a smirk as he stared at her. "Good."
"So," Granger went on, looking uncomfortable. "You've done all the preparation work on your own – I expected we'd work on it tonight."
Draco's gaze dropped to the table as he tapped the end of a quill into the worn wood of the surface. It must have been one of the tables that had survived the explosions of war. "No need to linger with me, then."
As if she'd misunderstood his point – which, of course she did, given she didn't know his motives for keeping her away – Granger frowned, a furrow coming to her brow.
"You know, Malfoy," she began, her voice soft as she looked at him through thick lashes. "I don't hate you... and if we're going to be working together, this doesn't need to be difficult."
He sniffed, lifting his chin. "I make everything difficult, Granger." His lips twitched.
She rolled her eyes. "Obviously," she muttered, tapping his assessment to make a copy of it, and tucking her own sheet into her bag. "Fine, then. We'll complete the assignment and if you could do your best not to make my life miserable in the meantime, I'll count it a win."
Draco stared at her. He couldn't help it – despite his mocking of a moment prior, her words stung. They'd been truth for far too long. "I don't intend to make your life miserable. Not anymore, anyways." He glanced away, assembling his books and parchment.
Granger frowned, sinking back into her seat. "I know," she hummed, "I didn't mean it in that way – I shouldn't have –"
"It's fine," Draco clipped, shoving a stack of parchment into his bag with a concerted lack of finesse; he winced upon feeling the pages fold and bend in his hand.
The obtrusive scent of the cologne he'd doused himself with was staring to make him feel ill and he needed a shower.
Perhaps he would simply use Theo's body wash instead of his own. But he wasn't sure whether he could forgo apples for the foreseeable future. And he would probably always smell like parchment, given he used the medium on a daily basis.
Cramming the last of his things on top of the now most certainly ruined parchment, he rose to his feet, slinging the bag across his shoulder.
"If we're done here, then," he said, his stomach rolling at the overwhelming stench of himself. He'd never be able to use this cologne again.
"Malfoy –" Granger said, blinking at the abrupt turn, but he was already making his best effort not to run from the library, and from her.
"You're really quite strange, aren't you?" Granger asked, eyeing him with caution from the other end of the table. "Is there a reason you're seated so far away?"
"No reason," Draco clipped, resting an ankle on the other knee, his hands interlocked behind his head. "So long as we can both reach the potion."
Which he could – sort of. If he shifted from his seat to reach forward.
He'd attempted to use Theo's body wash that morning in anticipation of the first lesson in which he would be working closely with Granger, but something in the formula made him itch, so he had needed a second shower with his own. And now that he was more potently aware of the fact, he could smell the fresh scents of grass and rainwater in the cleanser.
He had refrained from his usual breakfast apple to make up for it, but was already regretting the omission.
"Sure." Granger huffed, shaking her head. She blinked at him, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Say, Malfoy – what does your Amortentia smell like?"
He nearly choked. "Why?"
"Because," she said, a tilt to her head, "you're good in Potions. I'm trying to figure out where the scent of mine comes from."
Draco stared at her, frozen, wondering if he would trip over his words. "Well surely you know where it comes from, Granger; whatever your Amortentia smells like are the things to which you're attracted. It doesn't necessarily signify a person."
"I know," she said, waving a hand. "But nine times out of ten, it's the scent of the person you're interested in, right?"
He sniffled, clenching his jaw. "So they say."
"What do you reckon the chances are of someone smelling like parchment?" Her eyes fell to a stack of it on the table.
"I'd guess high," Draco returned, folding his arms, and then unfolding them. He picked up his quill, tapping it against the workbench. "We all use parchment all the time. It's quite unspecific."
"You didn't answer the question," she needled, her eyes fixed on him again. "Does yours smell like a person, or just a collection of things, or –?"
"I don't know," he drawled. "It's always a collection of things but you won't know if it's actually reminiscent of a person until you scent it on someone. Maybe you've just got a hard on for parchment, Granger."
She scoffed and her eyes narrowed as a flush rose to her cheeks. "No need to be crude."
He snickered. "It's fine. I've got one for the scent of ink, apparently."
She huffed a laugh through her nose, her lips curling as she looked at him. "Ink."
"Ink," he repeated, nodding.
"Well again, anyone could smell like ink," Granger reasoned. "I wonder how specific it truly is."
"Right, okay," Draco said, brandishing a hand. "Say someone smells ink, parchment, and the leather binding of a book. Or cotton, or toothpaste. How nondescript can you get? Although, I wouldn't be surprised if that's you, the amount of time you spend in the library –"
"Don't say it," she hissed, a smile tugging at her lips again.
He wanted to make her smile more. "I'm only playing, of course – wouldn't want to offend the library, whose Amortentia smells like Hermione Granger –"
She scowled, even as her lips twitched with the fight of a smile. "Oh come on, that isn't even fair – the library is a nonliving thing. It can't smell Amortentia."
"But if it could," he hedged, smirking.
She rolled her eyes. "It would probably smell me."
He loosed a laugh, feeling oddly at ease with the banter between them. She laughed as well, her mouth widening with a flash of white teeth that he'd never seen directed his way. Draco swallowed, looking away.
"And you probably smell like ink and parchment anyway," he muttered, jotting a quick note on the blank sheet in front of him to keep from staring at her chocolate eyes.
"Probably," she admitted. "I guess I don't know. I'd have to ask someone who can smell me in their Amortentia."
He tensed, his feet pressed hard into the floor. It took the length of several deep breaths, and many rapid pulses of his heart, to determine that her statement wasn't loaded in his direction.
"I'm sure the sods are plentiful," he finally said.
He didn't know whether he was willing to unpack the look she gave him.