One for sorrow, two for mirth

Oh blessed day! The Amortentia assignment is going to be finally done, praise Merlin! Nothing can spoil this joyous morning for Hermione. She springs up from the bed, rushes to the shower, while other girls are still asleep, and after zealously brushing her teeth, she fishes a phial out of the white pouch and downs its creamy-yellowish glowy contents. It looks like a banana milkshake. If only it tasted like one… She sighs. This potion is going to be her everyday companion for Godric knows how long. Of course, she wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if she hadn’t read everything available on the Undead Malady. Her knowledge of PTSD has been quite casual before and, well, in the Wizarding World the treatment of any disease can be far superior. Unfortunately, it turns out it isn’t the case for PTSD. Severe cases are sometimes treated by Obliviation, but even that doesn’t help without fail, and no, Hermione is not that traumatised to resort to such drastic measures. After all, her everyday banana milkshakes do help, she’s just… worried that this is nothing but a stopgap measure. Hermione bucks up, ties her hair in a bun, and decides on an early breakfast. This potion always makes her hungry as a wolf. The view she stumbles on in their Common room is… a sight to see. It’s her one and only Crookshanks, the embodiment of scorn for all living things, sleeping comfortably in somebody’s lap. Somebody with long legs in jet-black trousers, sitting in the usual reading spot of Draco Malfoy. She steps closer, and the blondest of heads comes into her view from behind the high backrest. Draco is asleep, cheek pressed to his shoulder and the book lying right next to him. 'Draco, ' she calls, landing beside him. 'Draco, wake up.' She’d leave him be, but he probably has ten minutes left before the Common room is flooded with students, and some of them won’t miss the chance to screw with Draco while he sleeps. After a few nudges, he finally opens his eyes and jerks away as soon as he manages to focus on her. Crookshanks growls with great disapproval at this sudden movement. 'Granger? ' Draco rubs his face wearily, and then his glance falls upon the cat. 'Oh. Right. This thing.' 'How did you make Crookshanks lay in your lap for so long? I didn’t even know you liked animals.' His face changes, now a grimace of deep offence. 'Make him?! I couldn’t shoo him off! This ugly furball pounced at me and was positive I’m his new pillow or something…' Hermione takes her hissing pet in her arms. What Draco claims is absolutely impossible: never in his proud life has Crookshanks slept in someone’s lap. 'Oh, sodding Salazar, finally.' The unlucky cat whisperer scrambles to his feet, groaning. 'Granger, I think my right leg might be dead by now.' Her motherly urge to advocate for Crookshanks, honed over the years of battles with Ron, rises immediately: 'If it was so unbearable, why didn’t you just stand up and leave? ' She hugs her grumpy angel tighter. 'It’s not like a cat can hold onto a moving vertical surface.' Draco sighs, absorbed by the state of his numbed limbs. 'I knew this hairy imp is yours and you’d crucify me if I hurt it, ' he mutters, shaking his legs violently — left, right, left, right. She snorts. 'My, you might hate my cat even more than Ron does.' Finally content with the state of his legs, Draco pauses and squints at her. 'Weaselbee hates this beast? ' 'Oh, viciously! And it’s mutual.' As if he caught on to their talk, Crookshanks hisses at the mere mention of his sworn enemy. 'What’s its name again? ' Draco asks, leaning in and giving her cat a critical look. 'Crookshanks.' He nods, takes the right paw reluctantly and gives it a light pawshake. 'Mr Shanks, starting now you’re my absolute best friend.' Crookshanks gives a horrendous purr, very similar to the sound that a piece of chalk sometimes makes against a blackboard. Hermione splutters with laughter. This scene is so absurd that she can’t even stay mad at Draco for being favoured by her cat. Spooked by her outburst, Crookshanks breaks away from her arms and bolts. 'I take it even cats don’t want to befriend me, ' Draco sulks, picking up his books. 'Oh, no. You’re his number one buddy now, ' she forces through laughter. This is one of a very few moments in the last months when she feels genuinely happy. Hermione ticks it in her mind. That’s her own method of fighting the Undead Malady. It is done. After three months of hovering over a potion she’d never use in her life, Hermione is finally on the last step. One unicorn tear — and her Amortentia is ready. With great care, she drops a single tear into the cauldron and notices that she’s stopped breathing. Grass, parchment and toothpaste. When she takes her next breath, she’ll feel it all again. The lingering scent, reminding her of the person that’s been hers and now isn’t. The potion bubbles softly and gives out a purple fume. Done. Hermione can’t hold her breath forever, so she begs herself to stop fussing about that. It’s just a smell. Coming to terms with that takes a moment, so she gasps for air after finally managing it. She takes a deep breath and freezes. The smell running up her nose is anything but what she was expecting. The refined citrusy bitterness hits her and turns into sweetness, accumulating at the back of her tongue. The scent is fresh, and the class is chilly as always, being down in the dungeons, but Hermione feels sunny warmth envelop her. Underneath, the citrus is toned down by the thick, dusty smell of the ancientry that she loves so much — old tomes waiting to be read, to share their knowledge… This fragrance is familiar, all of it amalgamated. Her glance unconsciously darts to the right, locking on Draco. He is standing beside Slughorn, arms folded, waiting for his work to be graded. With his shoulders squared, pale skin almost white against the jet-black robes, and distinctive platinum hair, he looks like that boy Kai, frozen by the Snow Queen. She is smitten at the sight. Hermione shivers and forces her eyes back to the cauldron. She is not smitten with Malfoy the Ferret, she is not . Draco is a handsome guy, yes, she has eyes, thank you very much. But she isn’t! Cannot be! While she is trying to reason with herself, her gaze ends up glued to Draco again. Stupid potion! Hermione turns her back to him impulsively; it’s a statement, she isn’t enamor- Her arm smashes against something hot and heavy, pushing it bluntly, and the calm of the class is ripped with loud clunks. It’s her cauldron. She falls on her knees, following a stupid urge to stop the splashing liquid from dissipating with her bare hands. The cauldron lies upside down and the potion — mauve, with a slight sparkle to it — is soaking into stones. 'No, ' she breathes out. This can’t be happening, not to her. It was a perfect batch of Amortentia, moments from being evaluated by Professor Slughorn. He is already here and helps her up. 'Oh, what a disaster, Miss Granger, I’m so sorry! ' he starts huffing and puffing, then picks the cauldron from the floor only to see for himself that there isn’t a drop of the potion left there. 'No, it’s me who- who should be sorry, Professor.' She needs to rack her brains just to remember the right words for such an occasion. Her thoughts are too hazy, overshadowed by stubborn denial: this can’t be happening. The result of her three-month work can’t be splattered over nearly everything around her. 'I don’t even know what to do about this, Miss Granger! I’m torn! Of course, you aren’t a straight-O-student for nothing — I am more than convinced that your work on the potion was impeccable.' Slughorn gives her a reassuring smile, yet the way he said this clearly implies a but. 'But you see…' And here it is. 'Giving you a perfect grade for an assignment I cannot review… Would that be a just thing to do to your classmates? ' She shakes her head, hoping that at least one of said classmates protests. But none of her friends attend Advanced Potions, and to those who attend, she is just another face in the class. Draco would probably stand up for her, but given his reputation, that most certainly would do more harm than good. Hermione raises her eyes at Professor Slughorn. She can’t be angry with him. Had it been Snape, he’d slap her with an atrocious T, strip Griffindor of a dozen points for a mess she made in his class, and maybe throw a celebration for his students. Yes, Severus Snape may be a hero and a martyr, but as their Potions Professor he’d always been obnoxiously biased. And Slughorn only does what he has to. 'I’m honestly torn, Miss Granger. But you should understand. I cannot give an O for an inexistent potion. My best offer is an EE, since I’ve seen your work during these months and all the steps have been made correctly. Or you can retry. Your choice.' Oh, this is unfair. This is her nightmare in the flesh. She is not taking an EE, this would mean she can’t get an overall O for the Potions N.E.W.T. But wasting her time for another three months?! She won’t even make it until graduation! Hermione feels panic crawling up her arms. It’s only a stupid grade, it’s child’s play, she should be ashamed to panic over such nonsense- 'Granger! ' She turns to see Draco storming up to her, his robe making a loud flap, his elbow knocking down the weight-scales and a couple of phials. Is he going to give her a Calming Draught again? She gasps when he grabs her by the shoulders and blurts a barely audible 'sorry' before crushing his lips onto hers. Panic storms over her even harder. What is he doing? Why? How can she stop this?! A hazed thought that she doesn’t actually want it to stop slips through the dark matter of her horror. The citrus scent she got so scared of only minutes ago is now like Ariadna’s golden thread, leading her out of this cold, dark abyss of helplessness. Hermione reaches for it with all of her being, and suddenly each of her senses comes back to her at once. An uproar of wild gasps and laughter booms in her ears, but more importantly… Draco Malfoy is kissing her. It floods her in a flash: the screams of their classmates fade, and his uneven breathing is now louder than anything else. Through her lashes, she sees a sliver of his cheeks, flushed in blotches. She feels his chest, strung against hers, and the thumping heart inside it, counting down the moments of this bliss like a Time-Turner. His lips, his tongue — greedy, demanding — make her yearn. And the scent, the bright citrus, poised by a heavy dusty undertone, is subtle, yet pervasive. All of it overwhelms her. He — in every way that she feels him right now — is overwhelming, and she longs to be swept away, as though she might die if she doesn’t return his kiss. His fingers dig into her shoulders, and the pain makes her snap out of it. She can’t kiss him back even if that really means dying. Or they are both dead. Hermione pushes him back with all her might, like she would if a man forced himself on her for real. But Draco has been ready to let go every second, so he flings all the way back to his table, stumbles over his robe and falls to the floor. 'Granger, I’m dead gone on you…' he says in a loud, thick whisper. His gaze is blurred as if he’s heavily drunk. 'If you just let me braid your hair, just once, I’d be your slave…' Her rational mind is telling her that this is an act. He is helping her get a grade for the spilt potion. But what’s unravelling before her eyes is so believable that a horrible thought strikes her. What if her Amortentia really splashed onto Draco? He was in love with her already, could a double dose drive him mad? 'Professor Slughorn! ' she calls in despair, trying to locate their teacher. 'Professor, please, help him! ' Draco throws his head far back and laughs uncontrollably. 'Granger, ' he sighs, spreading on the floor like he’s stargazing. 'You remember the Yule ball? Oh, you were breathtaking… I was this close to ditching Pansy and asking you for a dance. One dance! I had a stupid hope that you wouldn’t turn me down with all those people around…' 'Professor! ' Hermione is ready to implore. She cannot have Draco grovel like this anymore. He’s digging himself a grave with every next word. The other students are already ecstatic. 'I’m on it, Miss Granger, please give me a minute! ' Slughorn’s voice barely cuts through the deafening guffaw. 'Your eyes, Granger, they are like-' her hapless Romeo doesn’t get to finish, because she muffles him with both her hands. 'Please, enough, ' she whispers. 'Found it! ' Slughorn rushes out of his study with a small phial. 'Miss Granger, you have to understand, I must finish evaluating your classmates' successes. Do you think you can handle your lovestruck admirer on your own? This is an antidote. If he just drinks this and has a good sleep in the Hospital Wing, he shall be fine again…' She nods and looks Draco in the eye. 'Draco, I want you to follow me now, ' she says calmly, as if talking to a rampaging child, and takes her hands off his mouth. 'I’d follow you to the ends of the Earth, ' he blurts out and jerks his face to hers, but she is ready now and evades his kiss. They both get up, tangled in a very bizarre hug, and she starts for the door, dragging her charge behind. 'The phial, Miss Granger! ' Slughorn chuckles and slips it into her satchel, since both her hands are busy with leading Draco to the exit while also holding him back. 'Oh, and it goes without saying, I suppose, that you’re getting a solid O for your Amortentia.' The moment the door shuts behind them, Draco jerks his hands off her and straightens his back. She can’t hold a sigh of relief. This was an act after all, oh, thank Godric! 'Please, forgive me.' His voice is a ragged whisper. 'I… This was the best I could come up with to help you, but you probably wouldn’t want such help ever. I-' She shakes her head and darts a glance towards the class. Behind the door, there is dead silence. 'Granger, you are the Queen of my heart! ' he screams, and laughter booms again. 'Let’s go, hurry! ' Hermione whispers and they almost run off to the empty hallway. They let themselves stop only after reaching the stairway. 'Again, Granger, so sorry.' 'Draco, stop it, would you? You tried to help me, it worked. I’m not mad. Thank Godric, no one paid close attention to your blabber about the Yule Ball though.’ He frowns. 'Why? ' 'Amortentia makes you fall in love the instant you drink it, but it doesn’t give you any false memories of being in love before that moment. And the Yule ball was way before.' 'Shoot. So I’ve almost blown it? ' She nods with a snicker. He stands really close, and she can feel the scent. That shameless culprit of everything that happened today. Sweet, bitter, and grounding — the Draco scent. Her glance slides down to his lips. She wants them on hers again. Is this adrenalin? Or does she honestly… The classes are not over yet, and the stairway is deserted, so she might as well check right now. 'I need to know, ' she whispers and lowers his head, tugging him on the collar. 'Granger, what-' 'Sorry, Draco, I really have to know, please…' And she touches her lips lightly to his. The scent cloaks her, urging her to press their lips together further. Her fingers slip from his collar to the centre of his chest. This seems to be the limit of his martyric tenacity, because he brushes her hand off and starts back, abruptly ending their kiss. 'Granger, what in blazes are you thinking? ' he hisses, drawing breath so harshly as if they’ve been violently snogging for hours. 'Draco-' 'I love you. But I won’t be a stand-in for Weasley.' This feels like a slap. She does lament everything she and Ron could have become, but she doesn’t want him back. And if Amortentia’s smell is a sign of anything, it seems like the one she wants… is Draco. 'Wait! Draco! ' But he’s already stormed off.