Author's Note: So it's been a while. If you've been reading my stories, I'm sorry this isn't the next chapter of Leftovers, though I have a large part of that written. Hopefully I'll post it some time this year.

I had written a "story" years ago, a series of one-shots from Draco's POV, with each chapter focused on a different physical sense. Now I have written one for Hermione. It's not related to the old one, but it follows the same format, where each chapter "touches" on a certain sense. I have chapter 2 complete, like 90 percent of Chapter 3 and 5 written, and about 80 of Chapter 4 written. Hopefully this translates into much faster updates. Good Godric, I will finish this!

Common Senses: Hermione

Chapter 1: Touch

Hermione tried for the third time to read the sentence on the page before her. It was no use, and would remain beyond her comprehension for the time being. Resigning herself, she leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, looking for stillness among the bustle of the ministry employees rushing to get to work.

It was her first day on the job as a librarian for the Department of Mysteries, and her hands trembled with nervous energy. She hadn't even known the position existed until a couple years ago, when Harry let slip he had consulted with one during an auror investigation. Apparently, lucky wizards and witches got paid to research ancient manuscripts about mysterious artifacts and synthesize that information for other Unspeakables tasked with handling the dangerous magical objects. She couldn't have written a better description for her dream job if she had tried. She raced to apply and finish library school, and once she'd graduated (with highest honors, naturally), she waited on tenterhooks to see if she passed the rigorous three-month vetting process required for working in the department of mysteries. She'd lost track of the number of background checks undergone and interviews under the influence of Veritaserum endured. Not to mention the invasive Legilimency sessions required. But it had all been worth it.

Now she just had to wait for the department liaison to pick her up from the designated rendezvous point in the Atrium. Why? She had no idea. She could have just as easily taken the lift to level nine and seen herself in, but the department seemed to revel in their whole cloak-and-dagger reputation.

Hermione took another deep breath, visualizing herself tucked in an alcove of scrolls that had never been available to the public, running her fingers over words that hardly any one even knew existed. The privilege of being entrusted with guarding this knowledge was almost more than she could bear. She felt as if she'd just downed a gallon of Felix Felicis. "Just don't screw this up," she whispered to herself.

"Miss Granger, I presume."

Startled by the cold and clipped voice addressing her, Hermione opened her eyes to find a fashionably attired witch staring down at her. Ah, the Department of Mysteries security liaison had arrived. She looked to be near Hermione's age, but with her expertly applied makeup, hair pulled back from her face in a bun, and elegant robes she seemed years older. Her face looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps she was a Ravenclaw a couple of years Hermione's junior? Shrinking and stashing her book into her robes, Hermione stood up, but was still dwarfed by the witch in question, who had a good five inches on her.

"Yes, that's me!"

Hermione would have offered her hand to shake, but something told her it wouldn't be welcomed.

"My name is Sharon Vernus. I have been instructed to show you around your new department. Follow me."

The woman turned on her heel and hastily clicked across the polished floor of the atrium, not sparing Hermione a glance to see if she was keeping up. Hermione nearly had to run to keep up with her long strides. They quickly made it to the elevator, and once inside, Sharon stood at the entrance, barring anyone else from entering. "You'll have to catch the next one."

"Is that really necessary?" Hermione asked, discomfited by the glares on the faces of the harried employees.

"Yes."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, mouthing sorry as the doors shut in their faces. Under other circumstances, she would have ignored Sharon's directives, but maybe this was some odd quirk of working in the Department of Mysteries she had never heard of. Still, she hoped the other mInistry employees didn't think she was the reason they couldn't enter the elevator. She could see the Daily Prophet headlines now, "Overinflated Ego of Golden Third Causes Ministry Lift Shutdown."

Hardly the attention wanted from a person working in a department where secrecy was of the utmost importance.

In complete and awkward silence, they descended. Considering it was only one floor below, it was the longest elevator ride of her life. Finally, the doors opened and a disembodied voice announced they had arrived at the Department of Mysteries.

The place was just as spooky as the last time she'd visited. Black tile lined the hallways, reflecting the eerie blue-white lights from the torches hanging on the wall, giving everything a monochromatic cast. The clicking of Sharon Vernus's heels echoed loudly down the long corridor as Hermione scurried behind her. At the end of the hallway, they reached a plain black door. To its left was a small staircase, which Hermione knew from past experience led to the Wizengamot's Courtroom.

Sharon opened the door and held it open for Hermione. Hermione stopped just inside the threshold, arrested by the sight that greeted her. Letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, she glanced down and nearly tripped. Black marble gleamed beneath her feet, tricking her eyes into thinking she was standing on the surface of water. Blue flames flickered on the floor, reflecting the candlelight coming from the sconces around them. As she stared at the walls that arched far above her head, the walls began to rotate, creating a blue blur as they spun faster and faster.

Hermione's vocabulary was vast and expansive, so when she crossed the threshold of the Department of Mysteries for the second time in her life and was rendered speechless, she knew the exact word to describe her state.

Ineffable.

There were simply no words to capture how she felt in this moment. It wasn't that the place was all that intimidating (though it kind of was), so much as what all these doors represented. A new beginning. New knowledge. Stepping into the unknown.

The soft hairs on her arms stood up on end. She was here!

It took a lot to render Hermione speechless, and given the sight before her, she thought it could be easily forgiven.

"Any day now, Miss Granger!" a strident voice said, breaking through her reverie.

Hermione gave her tour guide a sheepish smile. Apparently, her offense was not as forgivable as she had thought. At least not to Sharon Vernus.

"I apologize. But everything is so amazing. I'm just thrilled at the opportunity to work here."

"We are on a strict time-table, so please keep your gawking to a minimum."

"Right."

"I've been told you've been here before." Sharon said. She looked at Hermione expectantly, which Hermione gathered was her cue to expound, though Sharon had neither asked nor said please.

"Only for one night back in 1996." Hermione paused. Had it really been almost ten years since that fateful night? "But I was a bit preoccupied at the time with fighting some Death Eaters."

"Then I don't think I need to warn you that you should not presume to know anything."

"I wouldn't dare," Hermione lied, struggling not to roll her eyes.

"Now that you're authorized to be here, you'll need to drink these potions," Sharon said as she thrust three vials of various shades of blue at her. "By tomorrow, they will have taken effect, and you will be able to walk through without the Entrance Chamber trying to disorient you."

Hermione nodded, quickly downing the first potion. Mistake! It was so foul she barely managed to keep it down. Not to mention that it burned along the length of her esophagus. By the time she'd imbibed the first vial, her eyes blurred with tears from her coughing fit.

"Whoops! I forgot to warn you. It's a bit...rough going down," Sharon said, her mouth curving up slightly.

Of course you did, you supercilious viper.

"I've had worse," Hermione lied again.

Pinching her nose, Hermione chugged down the second and third potions in quick succession. Once finished, she stared at the circular room that surrounded them, trying to get her bearings while trying not to vomit over the floor.

One of the twelve doors opened and a tall and wiry wizard stepped out.

"Hullo!" the Unspeakable said in a cheerful, energetic voice.

"Gregory Kelly, this is our newest addition, Hermione Granger," Sharon said. In contrast to Gregory's voice, her voice held as much vim and vigor as a rotting corpse.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sharon. No introductions are needed. Who doesn't know the famed Hermione Granger?"

Sharon pursed her mouth, as if she too had just drunken the odious anti-disorientation potions.

Hermione looked away, trying to hide her smile.

"Right, well, Miss Granger is our newest librarian," Sharon said.

The Unspeakable reached out his hand for a shake. He was an older gentleman with thinning silver hair and a very large grin. Her right hand full of the vials, she reached with her left and clumsily shook his hand. "Sorry! Hand full. Nice to meet you."

"Ha! I see Sharon has subjected you to a little departmental hazing."

"Has she now?" Hermione said.

"Those anti-disorientation potions are pure rubbish. Literally." Greg waved his wand up and down in a complicated series of circles before uttering an incantation. "There. That should do it. You'll need to cast it every now and again. But it should hold for at least a fortnight."

Sharon gave her an unrepentant smile, which Hermione coolly returned. "Welcome to the Department of Mysteries," Sharon said.

"Thank you, Gregory," Hermione said, as she tucked the vials into one of her pockets and secretly vowed to repay Sharon for her welcome.

"Anything for Britain's renowned war heroine. And call me Greg!" With a wave and a bow, Greg left them.

"Now that that's taken care of, I suppose a tour of the place is in order."

Hermione nodded, determined not to speak any more than she needed to.

Sharon pointed at the various doors, naming the Love, Space, Thought, Time, and Death chambers, as well as the Hall of Prophecies. Then she pointed out the Library, Artifacts, and two Testing Rooms.

"And what's behind those last two doors?" Hermione asked.

"The Staff Offices and the break room. I figure we'll start with the places where you'll spend the least time. This is the Love Chamber," Sharon said.

Hermione's heart sped. She hadn't been able to go there last time, but remembered how the door had nearly melted Harry's magical unlocking penknife, which he'd used to try to pry it open.

Sharon waved her wand, and after whispering her incantation, the entrance opened with a squeak.

The tiny door hid behind it a room similar in size to the other spaces she had seen before, which is to say it was enormous. Unlike those spaces, though, the room was light and airy. And for a room in the Department of Mysteries, it seemed rather unmysterious. Just beautiful. It was full of high, arching windows, which must have contained prisms in them for the light scattered, forming rainbows that danced along the walls, bathing them in colors. Above their heads, all manner of birds flitted about, their coos gently floating down from the rafters. In the far distance, she saw a waterfall. At its base was a small lake with what looked like swans swimming in its waters. There was even a garden full of flowers, their fragrance perfuming the air. And in the middle of the garden stood a well.

She had been told that the Love Chamber had a fountain of Amortentia bubbling within. Perhaps that well was the source.

"This room is typically off limits, and you would only be called here under special assignment," her tour guide said.

"Sharon, do you have a moment to discuss a work issue?" a voice called from behind them.

Hermione turned around to see another woman, about their age, enter the Love Chamber just before the door shut them in. Like Sharon, she looked fashionably put together. Not that Hermione was a slob, but perhaps the dress code here was more formal than she expected.

"Of course, Felicia." Turning to Hermione, Sharon said, "Why don't you go take a little walk," clearly dismissing her.

Fine by her. She wanted to explore and would much rather do it in the pleasure of her own company.

She'd only traveled a few feet away when Sharon let out a bark of laughter. "I know! Isn't it ridiculous?"

"Work issue, my arse," Hermione mumbled under her breath, walking away even faster.

"Granger, make sure to keep to the path," Sharon shouted.

Hermione's jaw clenched, but she forced a smile on her face before turning around. Sharon and Felicia were watching her. Hermione did not think herself a paranoid person, but she got the distinct impression that they were judging her and found her wanting. "Of course."

Thankfully the path led her where she wanted to go, the garden. She passed through its entrance, walking between two tiny groves of pomegranate trees. Hummingbirds darted by, sipping nectar from the colorful flowers in between bouts of fighting with each other. Butterflies as colorful as the flowers themselves fluttered about. It was like walking in a fairyland. She did not care what Sharon thought; Hemione would find a way to work here as often as possible.

She had traveled about a quarter of a mile around the path when she came across an ivy-covered alcove recessed within a wall. It was about eight feet off the path, and in it was an old and unassuming slab of white marble. It had the usual markings, but instead of being ribboned with grey, the veins were purple. And as she got closer, she saw that she had been mistaken. Pearly-violet beads of liquid formed from the rock's surface, trickling down like veins in the rock.

She was within three feet when the smell hit her. Perhaps it had been covered up by all the other scents in the garden, but this close it seemed to envelop her like warm bath water. Whatever it was, it smelled divine. Hermione rolled her neck, feeling all her tension leave her, while her heart started beating faster.

She stretched out her hand, reaching for the purple liquid.

And suddenly the world fell out from under her. Or rather, her legs were swept out from under her as she was tackled to the ground. And on top of her was a very large, firm, and decidedly male figure.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," the man said, his breath warm against her neck.

Goosebumps erupted all over her skin at the warning. The deep, masculine voice rumbled along the length of her spine, all the way down to her toes. The pull of the violet elixir was instantly forgotten, replaced by ruminations about posh accents and cultured tones.

Hermione tried to see the owner of the shiver-inducing voice, but he had cradled her head to his chest, probably in an effort to protect her from hitting it on the ground, she surmised. How thoughtful of him.

"You're surprisingly quiet."

She was?

"Can you breathe?" he said. "I'm not crushing you, am I?"

Just as she answered, "No," he rolled them over, so that now she was laying on top of him.

The sudden movement made her feel light-headed. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her stomach felt as if she'd just been tackled again.

Hermione blinked, trying to orient herself. Her forehead still rested against his reassuringly firm chest. He must be tall, she thought, given that his head was somewhere above hers, and she felt his legs extend past her feet. And, she sniffed, he smelled wonderful. Parchment, soap, and sandalwood.

What was wrong with her? Her brain felt incredibly slow, which was so odd, since it seemed capable of registering all sorts of external stimuli pertaining to the male she was now lying on top of.

For instance, from her position, she could see down the length of his body. His clothes looked expensive, and she knew they were soft, as she could feel them under her cheek. She could see one of his pale hands—the one not cradling her head—and on one of his long, elegant fingers was a thick silver band inlaid with a large square-cut black stone. He held it against his side, but it twitched as she nuzzled her face against his robes.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione shivered again in the man's arms. Shaking her head, she tried to push herself up, but felt the man's arms tighten around her.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what's come over me. I've never felt this way before. If you could just lead me over to a bench…again, I'm so sorry. I normally would never," her brow furrowed, at a loss for words.

"Swoon?" the man said.

"I think I was going to say drape. I would normally never drape myself over a complete stranger."

The wizard holding her chuckled, causing her to vibrate slightly against his chest. "We're most definitely not strangers," he said, in that deep voice of his, which now held a tinge of amusement.

She pressed her forehead into his chest again, trying to suppress another shiver as his voice rolled over her. "We're-we're not?"

"Surely you haven't already forgotten me, Granger? I was convinced I left quite an impression on you."

Hermione pulled herself together to finally lift her head and found herself staring into the familiar grey eyes of-

"Draco Malfoy?" she sighed. What arresting eyes he had, she thought. The black of his robes really made his silver eyes stand out, and she stared intently, discovering the flecks of amber and the deep navy ring around the edge, surrounded by thick, long black lashes. And his hair, like strands of moonbeams, so luminous and lovely.

She hadn't seen him this close in quite some time. Well, she'd never seen him this close full stop, but it had been two years-not since their five-year Hogwarts reunion-that she'd been in his presence. Granted, there had been the occasional sighting of the white blond head at excursions to Diagon Alley or a random wizarding bar, but she always made sure to keep her distance. They were not what anyone would call friends.

Which was a shame, really, because he was very, very handsome, especially without his customary sneer. She would not mind having such an impeccably dressed, good-looking man for a friend. No, not at all.

"The one and only," Malfoy said, his lip curving up at one corner in a smirk. Her eyes dropped down to his mouth. Had his lips always been so full? And so pink and perfect? She raised her finger and touched them, amazed at how pink and perfect they were.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a light pink. He dropped his head back against the grass, looking towards the roof and ran a hand through his hair. "We should probably move away from here."

Malfoy gently disengaged himself from her and stood up, brushing his hands against his trousers.

Hermione blinked, then blinked again. "I feel funny."

How else to explain the disorienting effect he was having on her? Her heart still pummeled the inside of her rib cage, her head felt full of clouds, and her stomach was a swarm of butterflies. And all because of him. Would wonders never cease?

Apparently not, for Draco Malfoy was holding his hand out to her. And she not only put her hand in his, but marveled at the way hers seemed to disappear in it. Had he always been this big? And tall? And broad?

He tugged her to a nearby bench, situated about ten feet away from the alcove. A giant bush full of red roses grew around it, and they sat down amidst its profusive blooms.

With her free hand, she rubbed at her eyes. "What's wrong with me?" she said with another breathless sigh. "I feel like I drank butterbeer."

Malfoy turned his face away, and she saw him smile, but when he looked back at her, the smile was gone. He turned her hand over in his, his long fingers held at her pulse point. "Your heart's racing." His fingers traveled to her jaw, resting against her cheek and just barely threading into her hair as he tipped her head back ever so slightly. "And your eyes are practically black with how big your pupils are. Shouldn't really be that surprised though. You were inhaling the fumes of Primamore for Merlin knows how long."

"Huh?"

Hermione took a deep breath, breathing in the roses around her, though there was the occasional whiff of soap, sandalwood, and parchment mixed in. Sluggishly, her mind began to fill in the gaps. It couldn't be Amortentia. She wasn't obsessed with him, just hyper aware and appreciative of everything about him. Hermione pieced together that she would have reacted this way to any unsuspecting individual she happened to meet; she just had the bad luck of falling into Malfoy's muscled arms.

"It's a potion that's supposed to mimic the effects of first love," he said.

"That's what it feels like?" she asked, still slightly dazed.

Malfoy's pale eyebrows rose slightly, and a smile teased at his lips, though never truly formed. "I wouldn't know."

"Oh, you've never been in love before either?"

Now Malfoy grinned at her, a blinding smile with even, white teeth. The potion must have still been affecting her because she felt her face flush. Without thinking, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"I just meant that I've never entered this chamber without casting some bubblehead charm variant first. Don't want to accidentally fall in love with the wrong person." He pulled out his wand, and cast a spell, presumably one of the bubblehead variants he'd mentioned.

Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what she'd just admitted. And to Malfoy of all people.

Why could she not have lost herself in the Space Room? At least then she could have found a black hole and promptly jumped into it.

"Merciful Morgana, kill me now."

"Cheer up, Granger. You aren't actually in love with me."

Hermione whimpered. Malfoy brushed his thumb against her wrist, almost as if he were trying to comfort her. She stared down at his thumb, which circled around one of her freckles over and over again. "Just give it a few more minutes, and the effects should clear from your system. Then you can go back to hating my guts."

"I never hated you," she practically whispered. And now she highly doubted she would ever be able to do so, even if she wanted to.

Hermione focused on the facts. She did not have feelings for Malfoy. It was all a trick. Not his handsomeness, obviously. That was all too real, but her reactions were not her own. She was in thrall to Primamore, not Malfoy. Only it was hard to remember that with his fingers gently trailing along her inner wrist.

Hermione slowly pulled her arm back into her lap. She frowned at the loss of contact, then frowned even deeper when she realized what she was doing.

She cast about for anything to distract her from the feelings she was currently experiencing. Good Godric! How had she overlooked the most obvious topic of conversation?

"You work here?" she blurted out. "How did I not know that?"

"It's not something I could normally disclose, but since you are here, I can confirm that, yes, I work here."

Hermione's brows rose to her hairline. "You? You're an Unspeakable?" She never would have considered it, especially given what happened the last time a Malfoy entered the Department of Mysteries.

"Yes. Me," he said, sounding slightly irritated.

"What do you do here?" she asked, more politely.

"I know lots about mysterious artifacts and how to handle them. We all receive basic training in everything, but I work primarily with Acquisitions. I specialize in dark objects, to the surprise of no one."

"How long have you been here?"

"A few months."

"Oh. So you're a newcomer too? Tell me, what did you think of the anti-disorientation potions?"

Malfoy gave her an odd look. "No idea, as I never had any. What are they for?"

Hermione growled. "Nothing."

Malfoy threw his arm behind the bench, his fingers brushing against her curls. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not telling the truth?" he said, his lips once again curved into a smirk. When she caught herself leaning towards him, she made sure to sit back against the bench.

Hermione closed her eyes. It was disorienting, her body feeling this way when looking at Malfoy. "Do you know when the effects are supposed to go away?"

He must have leaned over her, because it got darker behind her eyelids. She felt his fingers encircle her wrist. "Why?"

A furious clicking broke the relative peace in which they'd been cocooned, and it quickly grew louder. Hermione tensed.

"Are you alright, Granger?"

Hermione opened her eyes, blinking at the sight of Malfoy leaning over her, concern in his face.

"I-"

Of course it was that moment that Sharon Vernus ran around the corner, practically shouting, "Granger, where are you?"

Hermione grit her teeth. Where did she get off calling her Granger?

"Oh there you-" Sharon practically skidded to a stop on the gravel path when she saw Hermione and Malfoy together on the bench.

"Ugh, she touched the potion didn't she?" she asked.

"I did not touch anything," Hermione said, trying not to raise her voice. Realizing that Malfoy was still holding her wrist, she pulled away and stood to her feet. She wobbled a bit, causing her leg to brush up against Malfoy's. He rose as well, placing his hand at her back to steady her.

"Clearly, you've been affected in some way. How else to explain the moony looks you're giving Draco?"

Draco? Interesting.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Granger has a crush on me?"

"Ha!"

Hermione turned to look at Sharon, whose bark of laughter had cut off any objection she would have made.

"What witch in her right mind would ever fall for you?" Sharon teased, her voice musical and bright. So very different from the bored tones she'd subjected Hermione to thus far on their "tour."

Hermione got the distinct impression that the answer to Sharon's question was none other than Sharon Vernus.

And if she was not mistaken, perhaps Malfoy liked Sharon too. It was hard to tell.

Hermione winced, feeling like she had been, well, not stabbed in the heart, but possibly pricked. She reminded herself-again-that it was the potion talking. In a few minutes, she'd be perfectly fine. And gloriously rational.

"We need to finish the tour. Come on, Granger."

They hadn't even started the tour! Hermione's hands clenched into fists. And why did Sharon keep calling her Granger?"

She felt Malfoy's hand brush against hers. "Down, girl," he said, quietly so only she could hear.

Hermione glanced over and found him smirking again. She blushed, then shook her head. These reactions could not go away soon enough.

"We don't have time to waste," Sharon said, tapping the imaginary watch on her wrist.

Says the woman who just spent fifteen minutes catching up with her friend.

"Goodbye, Draco," Sharon said.

Draco waved, and Hermione felt that little niggling in her chest again. Squaring her shoulders, she walked towards her tour guide, ignoring the feelings of jealousy burning inside her.

It's just the Primamore. It's just the Primamore. It's just the Primamore.

"See you around, Hermione," he said, his voice still sending shivers down her spine.

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "Goodbye," she said before running to catch up with Sharon.

To Be Continued

Please review. It would mean the world to me. I am open to constructive criticism too, but if you just hate this, you don't need to waste your time continuing to read this or my time by sharing any vitriol. We all have better things to do. Be well!