The first thing she noticed were his hands. The fluidity of them. His fingers knew exactly what they were doing, as if they'd done it a hundred times before.
She wonders what else those hands can do. The thought of it makes her heart race.
She licks her lips, her mouth going dry.
She never particularly paid attention to Malfoy while he was brewing. In fact, whenever they were in the same room together she tried not to pay him any attention at all. She didn't want to give him a reason to call her a Mudblood, but she seemed to be giving him one now.
She couldn't look away.
She's always found a man using his hands—in a way that he knew what needed to be done—alluring. Ron would tease her about it in Third Year when she developed a crush on Oliver Wood. She just couldn't keep her eyes off his hands when he would handle his broom. She knew when to not look, it wasn't hard at all. She had some self-control. But why didn't she have any now?
She should leave, reminiscing on past crushes and fascinations while in the same room with an ex-Death Eater that wanted her dead less than three months ago is probably idiotic. But Slughorn offered extra credit to anyone who brewed Amortentia and obviously Malfoy—who was almost just as good as her in potions—had to take him up on it.
If she knew Malfoy was going to be here at the exact same time she was yesterday, she would have started her brew in Myrtle's bathroom. But it was a waste when he strolled in not twenty-minutes after she did.
They've been here for over an hour, adding the right amount of ashwinder eggs and stirring in the correct directions.
Any chance she got she would steal a glance towards Malfoy, specifically towards his hands. He's hunched over his cauldron stirring the Amortentia counterclockwise.
Since entering the room he has only said one word to her, "Granger." Not, "Mudblood." Which shocked her if she was being completely honest, she expected at least a sneer in his voice but he didn't give.
It was odd to hear him say her name like that, as if all the hatred he's had for her since First Year was nonexistent. Like it never happened, and it obviously did. She has the memories of crying in Hagrid's hut to prove it.
Something was off with Malfoy, and now that she's taken her eyes off his hands and raked them across his body, it's quite apparent.
His eyes and cheeks were sunken. He looked awful. Like he hasn't had a proper eight-hours of sleep or meal in ages.
She knew he didn't have it easy during the war, but nobody did. During his trial a month before term started, it was revealed how that Dark Lord was staying in Malfoy Manor. That it was his headquarters. So she couldn't exactly blame him for looking the way he did, if she had Snake Face in her home roaming about plotting for world domination she would have looked just as bad, if not worse.
But Voldemort is dead and Malfoy is free. So why does he look like the epitome of death?
She knows she can't judge him, but at least she knows how to use some beauty charms, thanks to Lavender and Pavarti.
She's nearly done with her own Amortentia, adding the moonberry, rose oil, and belladonna mixture into the potion.
She steals another glance at those hands—they're almost hypnotizing—but they aren't doing anything special, they're just repeating exactly what she just did. She can't help wanting to memorize each callous they have, every line and vein. She wonders how they would feel against her own skin. Would they be rough and clumsy like the bloke she met in a muggle pub right after the war, or will they hold a steady, firm grip, like she was an ingredient.
She's never had indecent thoughts about Malfoy before. She should be sick with herself, but surprisingly she wasn't. Maybe the war changed him just as much as it changed her. Maybe he isn't the same blood supremacist she once knew.
To finish off the potion she adds a pearl into the cauldron, stirring it one last time clockwise then again counterclockwise.
She hasn't made this since before she went on the run, she remembers what it once smelt like: parchment, freshly mown grass, and Ron's hair. She knows she won't be smelling one of those now, though. The thought of seeing Ron the same way she did two years ago makes her stomach churn. The feelings she once had for him disappeared after the war ended. She thought he felt something for her after sharing a kiss in the chamber of secrets. He claimed it was in the heat of the moment. She was devastated. Not even a week later, it was all over The Prophet of Ron and Lavender being an item. She didn't hate Ron for it, she couldn't. You can't force someone to love you, at least not authentically. But now it's been months since that happened and she can only view him as someone like a brother, in the same way she sees Harry. Sometimes she can't remember what she ever saw in him. Maybe it was the fact he was her first love that she tried to hold onto him for so long.
Since then she's only had the occasional one-night encounters with men she doesn't remember the names of. She almost laughs at the thought of what her past-self would have said about her trysts.
Her potion is done and the smells that hit her are almost too much to take in. She can smell the parchment, which isn't surprising in the least. But she smells the burning of a fireplace, the memories of what it brings almost bursts her into tears. She remembers how her mother and father would turn on the fireplace while they watched a movie, she always felt the safest in those moments. At home in the comfort of a blanket next to her parents. She still misses them, how can she not? It's been over a year since she had to obliviate them.. It had to be done, she's Harry Potter's best friend, his enemies were hers. She was fine with that, especially since they were fine. They were away in Australia, safe from anyone and anything that could connect them to her. She knew that they would never remember her, she knew that Monica and Wendell Wilkins would never remember a Hermione Granger. The charm is irreversible. Even after the countless nights crying herself to sleep, she did what anyone that was fighting a war had to do. Everyone had to give up something.
Now for the third scent she couldn't catch it right away. It nearly took her five-minutes to get it, and when she did she just couldn't understand. It smelt like cedarwood. A scent that reminded her of absolutely no one and nothing. It confused her. She tried scouring her brain but found nothing.
A rough huff startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up and noticed Malfoy, gripping the edge of his table till his knuckles were pure white, staring into his Amortentia. His nostrils flared, whatever he smelt, he did not enjoy it one bit. She laughed, she didn't mean to but it just happened. He immediately met her eyes, they looked murderous. Who knew smelling the things you loved the most could make you look lethal.
She quickly looked away, cringing at the fact Malfoy had heard her. Maybe she could pass it off as a cough? Unlikely.
She was hoping Professor Slughorn would be here any moment to check on her potion so she can make a run for it to the comfort of the Gryffindor common room. But obviously luck was not on her side.
"What's so funny, Granger?"
She stopped breathing for a second, at first thinking maybe it's her ears playing tricks on her. But when she looks up and Malfoy is still staring at her, she knew what she heard was him. She gulps. "Hm? Did you say something, Malfoy?" She's surprised how even and smooth her voice came out. Her blood is on fire, she was not prepared to talk to him. She can only blame herself for that, though.
"Yes, I asked what's funny." His voice came out clear, held a tone that didn't give off annoyance, but impatience. His right eyebrow lifted slightly, he almost looked amused.
She wanted to fall into a hole, maybe she can find herself a White Rabbit and follow it just like Alice did. Have tea parties every day and get high with the Caterpillar. Oh, how she wishes she could be anywhere but here. But, alas, she was and for however much longer Slughorn was not. She tried to muster up any left-over Gryffindor courage she had from the war to answer him, "Oh… nothing, Malfoy. Why'd you ask?" Maybe if I play dumb he'll brush it off, she thought.
He sighed, "Well, I only ask because you obviously found something very funny that you had to laugh out loud while staring at me. So what is it? I've felt your beady eyes scorching me this entire time, whatever you want to say, say it."
I can feel my face heat up. Was I that obvious? Okay, maybe I can't act dumb now.
"It's nothing, Malfoy. You just looked–"
"I looked what?"
"Funny, is all." She internally cringed at her confession. Maybe, her Gryffindor courage wasn't entirely gone after all.
He huffed. "Okay, Granger."
That was it? Not, "Mudblood" or any other cruel remark revolving around her sex and blood-status? What the actual hell is wrong with Malfoy?
Before she could dwell on it any further Professor Slughorn walked in. "Sorry, you two! I was a bit busy with some Slytherin First Years, hope I didn't have you waiting too long."
"Nope." They replied at the same time. Her breath shook, his hand twitched.
Slughorn huffed a laugh, "Great. Now, let's look at your potions."
Thank God.
As soon as she was dismissed—being told that her Amortentia was perfect and that the extra credit will be added to the exam they had last Friday—she bolted towards Gryffindor tower, wanting to be in her dorm room away from him.
But, of course, luck was not on her side today.
"Granger, wait up!"
She halted, what else could Malfoy possibly want from her?
He came up to her out of breath, "Bloody hell, you walk fast."
"Sorry… what did you need?" She just wanted this to end quickly, she did not want to spend any extra unnecessary time with Malfoy. God, what she would do to be under her covers reading Hogwarts: A History right now.
He looked uncomfortable, his usual pale ears turning a slight red. Rubbing the back of his neck, he huffed out, "Look, I just wanted to apologize."
To say she was shocked would be an understatement. Her mouth nearly fell to the floor. Was this actually happening right now? "I… wait, what?"
"I wanted to apologize, okay? For everything."
"Is the Ministry forcing you to do this? To apologize to every person you've wronged?"
"What? No! Granger… look, I know I was an awful person to you–"
"That's an understatement."
"–and that this is long overdue–"
"Another, understatement."
"–I'm not looking for forgiveness, but I need to say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hexing your teeth Fourth Year. I'm sorry for making fun of your hair. I'm sorry for calling you a Mudblood," he cringed at this part which surprised her. "I'm sorry for being an absolute shite person to you. I'm sorry for standing by while my Aunt–"
"Shut up! Don't..." She felt her heart constrict. Thinking about that night on the draw room floor in Malfoy Manor is just too much. Pushing back her tears, she stared Malfoy in the eyes, "Malfoy, just stop. I appreciate… whatever this was, but you apologizing to me does absolutely nothing. You're still the same schoolboy that let Death Eaters into the school Sixth Year. The same schoolboy that would terrorize me and my friends. The same schoolboy that once wanted me dead. The same schoolboy that devoted his life to Voldemort," he flinched. "So save your breath." She was tired, and Malfoy acting like this—odd and so not him—was not helping. She can already tell the only way for her to get a decent night's rest was going to be caused by taking some dreamless sleep.
"I know it doesn't change anything, but I just needed you to know that I'm sorry." With that he turned left down to the dungeons.
She stood there, not knowing what really shocked her more. The fact Malfoy actually apologized, or that the same cedarwood that she smelt in her Amortentia smells exactly like Malfoy's cologne.