When Professor Granger receives a howler at breakfast, even owls stop flying.
It’s Ron. He’s breaking up with her.
“—as long as Malfoy is all you talk about, it’s ov—
Hopeless, the witch sets the envelope on fire, but it’s already too late: the Potions Master is already smirking.
“It wasn’t you,” she says as soon as she steps into his classroom before the morning’s lessons begin, not expecting to find a few students already seated at their tables.
“The… Malfoy that Ron mentioned,” she repeats more quietly though no less harshly once she’s crossed the gloomy room as casually as possible, her chin raised high, to his desk. “It wasn’t you.”
Busy stirring some kind of liquid, her former classmate turned co-worker doesn’t look up from his cauldron as he retorts, “Is that so? What’s with the urgency, then? You didn’t even take the time to clean up that cruddy pumpkin juice stain on your blouse — you know, the one you caused in your panic.”
Caught off-guard by his comment, the witch tightens her robes over her chest, painfully conscious of the heat rising to her cheeks.
“Yes, well, you’re one to talk about cleanliness; your classroom reeks of your cologne. A shower is generally more effective at masking odors, you know. I’m sure your students would appreciate.”
That makes him pause and meet her gaze for two seconds that seem to last an eternity.
“What?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“Nothing.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I just think it’s interesting that you mention it, considering I’m not wearing any perfume today.”
She scoffs. “Yes, right, because I’m totally imagining that scent of apple and eucalyptus currently assaulting my nostrils. Of course.”
“Professor?” A student calls, catching both their attention, as Hermione realises all the stools have now been taken. “Is the class cancelled?”
“Oh, no. Actually, it’s already started,” Malfoy replies before she can, devilish grin back on. “Professor Granger, why don’t you share with the rest of the class what you just smelled in your Amortentia?”
