to tell you this," Hermione said under her breath, "but Harry's asking you on a date after potions class today."

I had barely even gotten into my robes when my friend kicked the door down. Not literally; Hermione was smart enough to avoid paying vandalism fines.

"A date?" I smiled, adjusting my red and gold tie, "we aren't allowed to Hogsmeade until Saturday!"

The tricky thing about accepting Harry's offers was this: whenever it came to stirring up trouble in the school, I was all for it. But when it was romantic...there was always a slight bit of hesitation. I didn't find myself ready to be his girlfriend, but a simple date would be satisfactory.

You don't have to be dating to go on a date.

"I don't think Hogsmeade is what he has planned," Hermione noted, sweeping up my satchel of books from the floor, "they looked incredibly devious about it when they told me."

"Where else are we going to go?" I mused, "the Quidditch pit?"

"He and Ron wouldn't tell me," she scoffed.

"Did you try threatening him?"

"Yes, but he still wouldn't budge," she huffed. There was a pause, where she looked me up and down in suspect, but then nodded her head in agreement. She would often scold me if my robes were on backwards, but there was apparently something missing. She exclaimed, "I brought you this!"

Digging into her bag, she pulled out a small glass bottle and sprayed a huge puff of mist all over my body without warning. I waved my hand in front of my face, collapsing in a fit coughing, my nose filling up with the pungent smell.

"What is that?" I wheezed, accidentally inhaling a good portion, "I think you put too much!"

Hermione frowned in disappointment.

"It's perfume," she said, rolling her eyes, "it's supposed to smell like Hot Chocolate and chestnuts."

"And why would I need to wear this?"

There was another pause, where she debated on spilling another one of Ron's unsubtle secrets.

"After some research, I read that perfume makes a boy more inclined to lean in close," she explained, beginning to pace, "so Ron and I obviously devised a plan to make Harry kiss you on your date."

"Why?"

"You don't have to, I suppose, but arguably it's been far too long since you two have done anything slightly romantic."

"I don't get it."

"It's always stomp stomp stomp, with you two," she guffawed, "never glide glide glide, and it's time you guys push aside your immaturity and get something done."

She was making absolutely no sense again, but then again, my brain wasn't wired at her level of intelligence. Maybe stomp and glide were something of the intelligent sort; I wouldn't expect myself to be able to understand.

I coughed again, "but I think you put a little too much."

"Oh, please," she huffed, grabbing my hand and yanking me out the door, "stop whining and get to class."

∞ ϟ

Per usual, Professor Snape was hissing about in a corner when Hermione and I arrived to Potions.

I wasn't sure what got him so stressed for the first day of the school term, but he was tapping his finger against his chin in thought. Pacing, and pacing, and pacing was what he was good at, and his black cloak billowed behind him like shadows to a ghost.

"Good morning, Professor," I said, waltzing into the room.

He snapped (or is it SNAPE-d? Puns were rather important) his head up when I spoke, and stopped fidgeting around.

"Miss [l/n]," he greeted, before turning his head to Hermione, who was joined at my hip. He narrowed his eyes at her, "Miss Granger."

The girl gulped, "Professor?"

"Get to your seat."

Nodding her head, her curls bounced up and down and she scrambled away to her seat, dragging me behind her. Once she was out of Snape's earshot, she slammed her books on the table and let out a giant exhale.

The tip of her nose was pink in annoyance.

"I don't understand why he hates me," she complained, "he likes you, and you're not even one of his Slytherin prefects!"

I laughed softly, "he doesn't like me, he tolerates me."

"I have never seen him give you that horrid death stare of his."

"I'm sure there's an explainable reason for it."

"I know there is," the girl scoffed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger in thought, "it's because I know a select few of Slytherins that fancy you."

When I heard that come out of her mouth, I instantly froze up.

She couldn't be talking about...him, right?

No, that was impossible. Draco was a jerk, and the only reason he was so straightforward and prissy yesterday was because it was in his nature. Not to mention I called him a twat. I should scold myself for ever assuming such a pompous jerk could ever hope to like me.

But did I let something slip in my sleep?

"I heard Marcus flint and Terrence Higgs got into a fight over you," Hermione scoffed, "don't tell Harry though, he'd probably throw them off the astronomy tower for it."

Phew.

"Sounds like Harry," I said, segueing my thoughts away from yesterday's incident, "he can be so protective sometimes—"

Before I could finish my sentence, the door to the dungeons swung open, and a trio of green-cloaked students came striding into the potions classroom. By the pompous attitude, late arrival, and stuck up smirks on their faces, I didn't have to think twice about who they were.

Crab legs, Gargoyle, and their fearless leader Curtain Drapes.

"You're late, Mr. Malfoy," Snape hissed, sliding out of his spot in the shadows, "there better be an excellent excuse for this."

The blond nudged Crabbe in the side, letting out a laugh. Apparently they found something amusing.

"Got lost," he lied, turning back towards the professor, "haven't been here for a while, you know?"

I furrowed my brows, the familiarity of that sentence tickling my brain. I couldn't put my finger on it... but Snape wasn't taking any of his fibbery.

"Seeing as you decided to rudely barge in at an unprecedented time," the professor hissed, disappointment dripping off his tongue, "make your way to the front and explain the potion we will be going over in this lesson."

Hermione glanced at me, as if to say 'thank god Harry isn't in this class'. She was right; Malfoy and Potter in the same class —or room, to be honest—was a literal recipe for disaster.

The whole class turned their heads as Malfoy swaggered up to the front of the classroom, his robes tucked messily into the buckle of his pants. He didn't seem to care that he had just been called out in front of the entire class.

Snape waved his hand at a giant cauldron of brewing liquid.

"This is Amortentia," he explained, "can Mr. Malfoy explain to me what that is?"

Draco smirked, "nope."

"How disappointing," the man crooned, turning to the class, "while you won't learn how to make this potion until next year, it's required to learn about it a year before."

Hermione leaned over to me, her voice lowered to a whisper, "I swear I've read about this before..."

"It's thought of to be the most powerful love potion in existence, " Snape continued, "and I would highly advise that none of you use this on any of your classmates, because the side effects are more powerful than any of your dimwitted minds could understand."

I stifled a laugh at Hermione's face when Snape said our minds were dimwitted. She looked just about ready to Wingardium Leviosa a stick up his rear end and blame it on a Hippogriff.

"Amortentia's scent mimics what you desire most," the man continued, waving at Draco, "and to demonstrate, will Mr. Malfoy please tell us what he smells?"

I noticed some of the Slytherin girls leaning out of their seats in infatuation, watching as the blond tilted his head over the boiling cauldron to take a whiff of the stuff.

A few moments passed, where he just inhaled the aura of the pink liquid in thought, his mouth watering at the scent. Soon after, he bit his lip in amusement, recoiling away as soon as he had decided he had enough.

"Hot Chocolate," he said bluntly, his smirk disappearing into a thinly pressed line, "and chestnuts."

As soon as those words escaped his lips, Hermione whipped her head towards me in panic, narrowing her eyes in confusion. Those two ingredients were in the perfume she attacked me with this morning. But...no, just—that's not possible.

I widened my eyes, just as confused as her.

"But that's only because I love Christmas," Draco clarified, stalking away towards his seat, "I don't even like Hot Chocolate."

Hermione let out a nod in confirmation, relieved that what Draco smelled was just his memory of Christmas days. I let out a heavy breath, grateful that the situation was just a coincidence, but then something struck me as odd; now I wasn't relieved at all anymore.

I swear I've seen Draco drink Hot Chocolate before.