Amortentia

She stood alone.
Is any activity going to take place without her friends? Her hair spilled over her shoulders as she angrily turned away from Brown and Patil, who were giggling at something. She must be uncomfortable being alone. Pansy gave them a look of disdain as well, and whispered something to Blaise. Granger opened her textbook in mid-air and tried to read the paragraph. This girl is incorrigible. Slughorn entered the office with a greeting, looked around the class and asked ruefully:
“Oh, doesn’t Mr. Potter go to Potions?”

Of course, no lesson is complete without a mention of Saint Potter. Don’t blush, you’re not responsible for them.

Granger, of course, did not hear my thought, she just slammed her textbook shut and began nervously tapping her toe on the stone floor.

Granger, of course, did not hear my thoughts: she just slammed her textbook shut and began nervously tapping her toe on the stone floor.
I leaned back against one of the pillars. So it is very convenient to observe her without attracting undue attention.

I noticed a long time ago. “They didn’t have enough credits for this course, sir,” Granger said apologetically. Merlin. Haven’t heard her voice of a long time.
I even held my breath, looking intently at how her lips were moving. It is high time to acknowledge this.

This year should not repeat the previous one. You can’t think about her endlessly, you have a lot of other problems. I stepped forward, placing myself between Pansy and Blaise. My place. Among those like me. Slughorn began to lead the lesson in a distressed voice, but I didn’t hear him at all. In vain I went closer to her

We were now separated by several meters, and I distinctly smelled her shampoo. Some kind of clearly Muggle, completely ordinary, why did I remember him so much? I looked to the right again. Pansy smiled faintly.

She probably thinks I’m sneaking a peek at her. Granger suddenly broke into a smile, too, and before my heart had time to jump joyfully, the voice of damn Potter came out. Well, of course.
Never a moment without a hero.It feels like she’s always going to be surrounded by those boobies. Like two guards. Reminders that I certainly can’t get close to her without dropping a couple of taunts at her. I came to my senses only when Granger’s hand habitually flew into the air.

“Granger, sir.”

“In that cauldron over there, Veritaserum is the truth serum.”

I wonder if I get Granger Veritaserum drunk and ask her what she thinks of me, will she say anything nice? I wanted to slap myself on the cheeks. What are you thinking about, Draco? Well, come on, say it.

“Here’s a Polyjuice Potion. It’s awfully difficult to make,” said Hermione.

Difficult, but tempting! Transform into someone who has absolutely no problems. No bad label for you, no father behind bars, no job, no huge gap between you and the girl you like.

Which comes up to the next boiler, looks into it and smiles in a special way warmly and gently, as if remembering something important, dear. She probably thinks of me with a completely different expression on her face.

Admit it, you yourself brought it. She came into this world open to everything, without any prejudice or hatred. You created your own and her present. In which you are enemies that will never, under any circumstances, be able to be together.

“It smells different for everyone, depending on what they like. For example, I smell mown grass, new parchment and toothpaste, mint.” Hermione said.

I wanted to boil Amortentia, give Granger a drink with it, so that only I would be her first, second, third, hundredth, millionth smell.

What kind of weird preference is that anyway? Grass, parchment and toothpaste!

This girl is devoid of even the slightest hint of romance. How did I manage to fall in love with her?

Hermione turned away in embarrassment and then looked up and looked straight at me.

Now the heart is beating. I took in a breath.

A moment passed, she returned to her place, and I stood as if stunned.

Of course, she just accidentally glanced at me, there is no other explanation. She may have been embarrassed that she named her favorite scents in front of the whole class. But there was nothing in these fragrances. It’s even a bit cute.

Well now Draco you’re definitely going crazy. First you resent that Granger has no romance at all, and then you call it cute.

Everyone hurriedly surrounded the cauldron with the love potion, and I decided that it would not be too scary to come closer and breathe in the aroma.

The very first thing I felt was the smell of the shaft of the very first broom that my father gave me in my early childhood. Then there was not yet a whole list of now irreparable mistakes. Clean slate, build life as you wish. Don’t talk nasty things about forester Hagrid in Madam Malkin’s store, don’t insult the Weasleys, don’t try to sound smarter in front of Potter, because you yourself don’t understand anything in life.

The smell of apple shampoo was not at all surprising, only bitter notes slipped through it for some reason.

And something else, sweetly cloying, diligently hammered into my nostrils, but as soon as the memories began to stir in my head, Slughorn slammed the lid of the cauldron. I hurried away from the table and ran my hand over my face nervously. It got incredibly stuffy.

– Liquid luck! Granger’s voice flinched again, and I finally listened to Slughorn.

That’s right, Miss Granger! Liquid luck. Difficult to manufacture and disastrous in case of error. One sip – and you will be successful. Until the potion wears off. So, today I offer you the following: a vial of liquid luck to the student who, in the remaining hour, will prepare a decent-looking Drink of Living Death.

Felix Felicis as a gift? Snape had never shown such generosity. I looked with admiration at the little vial that Slughorn was pointing lovingly at. A sip that will solve all problems.

I looked down. Foolish thoughts. It’s all clear now. I kill Dumbledore, my family is safe, and Granger never looks at me without disdain again. A person cannot be lucky in everything, even if he drinks a special potion.

“You will find the recipe on the tenth page of the textbook. Only once did a student manage to brew a potion of high enough quality to win this prize. Wish you luck. Started!” said professor Slughorn.

Slughorn could only clap his hands, such an enthusiastic expression was written on his face.

Everyone quickly scattered around the office, feverishly leafing through textbooks and setting up boilers. I stared lazily at the fresh pages. I took a deep breath. She likes this smell. She also likes Potter and the Weasleys. And transfiguration, but the enchantment is much more. She likes pumpkin juice, but she also hates pumpkin pie. And she can’t stand me either. Probably.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and sincerely tried to focus on the potion, but the sight of Granger getting hot was distracting like never before.

Her cheeks were reddened, her lips were swollen from how often she bit them, her hair was disheveled, one strand was constantly falling on her face, which caused Granger to blow it off angrily from time to time, and a gambling light burned in her eyes.

Here she asked Potter something, then, hearing his answer, she shook her head angrily and began to reread the paragraph in disbelief.

I stared at the potion, waiting for it to start bubbling, and suddenly thought that in our park, at the manor, every morning the gardener mows the lawn, and it always smells like cut grass. And I brush my teeth with the damn mint paste. And all my books are always the most expensive and newest.

I started laughing. No, I just lost my mind.

Blaise  to my right chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing.

Your potion smells like me, Granger.

Absolutely crazy idea that for some reason haunted me. I did the tasks according to the textbook, but my thoughts were far from the lesson. It didn’t even matter if I got a bottle of Felix Felicis or not. Everything has lost its meaning.

I must have looked completely crazy. Especially when he noticed that Potter was brewing a potion from an old tattered book. Definitely not to Granger’s taste. And Weasley always walks around with old used textbooks. Only, I am alone, I fit all three points.

I smirked looking at Granger, and she, without noticing it, moved her wand over the cauldron, moving her lips in a subtle way, counting the right amount of stirring.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur. I brewed the potion, instantly realizing that it was far from ideal. But that didn’t upset me at all.

But Granger was simply crushed and shocked when Slughorn handed Potter the coveted vial with a proud smile, and then began to rant about the talent of the young Potions genius. If Snape were here, he would throw Avada at himself. Before that, having awarded it to Potter, of course.

I clearly saw how Granger sincerely tries to smile and be happy for a friend, but she, like myself, clearly did not understand why Potter had suddenly become so smart in Potions.

I clearly saw how Granger sincerely tries to smile and be happy for a friend, but she, like myself, clearly did not understand why Potter had suddenly become so smart in Potions.

As soon as the bell rang announcing the end of the lesson, she nervously stuffed her things into her bag and rushed out of the office. Something suddenly clicked in my head, and I rushed after her.

Pansy will no doubt pack my things and take me to her next class. Now I was worried about something else.

Granger stopped at an enchanted window a flight below. She stood with her head bowed and her book clutched to her chest. And it looks like she was crying

What is it? Disappointed at having brewed a wonderful but not perfect potion? Shame for not being able to be sincerely happy for a friend? Or maybe? .. A pleasant thought stirred in my head again, I tried with all my might to get rid of it, but in vain.

Maybe she figured out why she likes those three damn smells?

Granger must have heard my footsteps, because she turned around sharply, quickly wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Probably, out of surprise, she could not even look at me with her usual alertness and readiness to defend herself.

I looked into her eyes and immediately remembered what the third sweet smell was. The cup of hot chocolate that my mother always brought to my bedroom when I was sick as a child. She lowered her onto the nightstand by the bed, ran her hand through her hair and kissed her on the forehead. For some reason, his eyes stung. “Are you crying too?” – Granger’s voice brought me out of my memories, and I realized with horror that I was really standing in front of her and instead of sarcastic remarks or vice versa, something unrealistically cool and stylish, I almost cried.

I blinked hastily, driving back the tears. “Potter must have cheated somehow, so he brewed the potion better than you.” Ambiguous. I wanted to either hit myself with something heavy, or just evaporate. Granger frowned.

Are you trying to console me? I swallowed. Indeed, she will never take my words seriously, because she is used to something else. Your potion smells like me, Granger. Tell it to her, Draco. Tell. She kept looking at me with her eyes, and the little Draco in me was clutching a hot cup in his palms and inhaling the sweet aroma of chocolate.

“Forget it, Granger.” My voice must have trembled, but it didn’t matter anymore. I turned and left, giving her a quick glance over my shoulder. She stood alone.