Slughorn's dungeon always smelled like burnt nettles and damp parchment. But that day, all Draco could smell was jasmine.
Emma had taken the seat beside him in Potions—not because she wanted to, but because all the others were taken. At least, that's what she claimed.
He didn't buy it.
"You're late, Miss Hawthorne," Slughorn boomed. "Partner with Mr. Malfoy today. I'm sure you two will manage not to hex each other for a full hour."
Emma rolled her eyes as she slid onto the stool beside Draco. "Lucky me."
Draco scowled but didn't respond. His heart was already beating too fast, and the last thing he needed was her knowing it.
They were brewing Amortentia.
Of course they were.
The most powerful love potion in existence. The one that smelled like whatever attracted you most.
Around the room, students leaned over steaming cauldrons, sniffing curiously. Giggles broke out. Someone swooned. Someone else knocked over their beaker.
Draco pretended to be bored. Internally, he panicked.
Emma leaned slightly over their cauldron, watching the silvery steam curl into the air.
"Well," she murmured, "that's interesting."
"What?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.
She gave a small smirk. "It smells like rain on pavement. Mint. And..." she hesitated, then shook her head. "Never mind."
He stiffened. "What?"
"Nothing, Malfoy. You wouldn't understand."
He turned back to the cauldron. Inhale. Exhale.
Vanilla. Old books. Something floral—like jasmine.
He looked sideways at her, at the curve of her lip as she focused on stirring clockwise, at the freckles sprinkled across her cheekbones like constellations.
He hated this.
He hated her.
Right?
Wrong.
"Careful, Malfoy," Emma said casually. "You're staring again. Try not to drool in the potion."
Draco's hand jerked, and the stirring rod slipped into the cauldron with a loud plunk. The entire table jiggled.
Emma burst into laughter. "Smooth."
His face burned. "Shut up."
She leaned closer, voice low, teasing. "Or what? You'll write to your father?"
Draco clenched his jaw.
That was the thing about Emma—she knew exactly where to strike.
And he didn't know if he wanted to hex her or kiss her.