LIAR

amortentia

Hermione walked through the stone corridors of Hogwarts alongside Harry, their footsteps echoing in the familiar, drafty halls. Despite the tension of the past year still hanging in the air, the castle buzzed with students' chatter, a bittersweet attempt at normalcy. Hermione felt a flicker of comfort from the routine—the rhythm of classes, the scent of old parchment and fresh ink, the way the early autumn air made her feel awake and alive.

"I'm glad McGonagall has kept the changes to the curriculum," she said, her voice bright as she clutched her books to her chest. "I mean, more practical applications of defensive spells is absolutely necessary after everything we've been through."

Harry nodded beside her, though he seemed distracted, his green eyes scanning the groups of students milling about. She knew he was still ever-vigilant, the past year having sharpened an edge in him that even peace couldn't dull.

"Yeah," he replied absentmindedly, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Necessary, I guess."

Hermione paused for a moment, biting her lip as she considered her next words. Her gaze drifted across the corridor, catching a glimpse of platinum blond hair at the far end, vanishing around a corner. She sighed softly, her thoughts straying to something—someone—she hadn't been able to stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried.

"Have you noticed how... unwell Malfoy looks?" she asked, her voice lower now, almost tentative. "I mean, he's pale as a ghost, even more so than usual. He looks exhausted. Do you think he's... well, alright?"

Harry's head snapped toward her, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why do you care about Malfoy?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "You know Ron would have a fit if he heard you say that."

Hermione bristled at the reminder, but she held her ground. "It's not about caring," she protested, though a twinge of guilt made her words feel unsteady. "I'm just observing. He's still a student, after all, and if something's wrong—"

"Hermione." Harry's voice was stern, his gaze sharpening. "After everything he's done, you're not seriously worried about him, are you? People don't just change overnight."

She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry. "Maybe not," she murmured. "But it doesn't mean we shouldn't pay attention if—"

"Let's just drop it," Harry interrupted, his tone making it clear the subject was closed. "We're late for Potions anyway."

Hermione pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to argue. Instead, she fell silent, letting Harry's words settle into an uneasy knot in her chest. They made their way to the dungeons, the air turning colder and heavier with the scent of damp stone and the faint, acrid tang of brewed ingredients.

Slipping into their usual seats, Hermione set her books down and forced herself to focus on Professor Slughorn, who was already explaining the day's assignment. "Today, we'll be brewing Amortentia," he announced, his voice cheery as ever. "The most powerful love potion in existence. But remember, it doesn't truly create love—merely obsession, which is a far less reliable thing."

Hermione perked up despite herself, her curiosity piqued. Brewing Amortentia was advanced magic, requiring precise technique and a deep understanding of the ingredients' interplay. Her competitive side stirred, knowing she'd be aiming for perfection—as always. She cast a quick glance across the room, and her gaze landed on Draco Malfoy, hunched over his cauldron. Even from this distance, she could see the shadows under his eyes, the gauntness in his face that made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Stop it, she chided herself. Focus.

She prepared her ingredients carefully, taking a deep breath as the potion began to shimmer with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Soon, a thin mist spiraled from her cauldron, carrying the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of Amortentia. Her senses flooded with familiar, comforting aromas: freshly mown grass, crisp parchment, and—