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(Y/n)'s POV

It appeared that I had demonstrated enough skill in potion-making to take on the role of a tutor, even if it was unofficial. Harry had come to me, looking for help with the mountain of assignments that Professor Snape had piled on us. "And what is—" I started to say, but was interrupted by a sudden cough. I quickly apologized and continued, "Amortentia?" My voice was thick, a clear indication that a cold might be setting in.

He glanced at his notes, but I was faster, snatching them from his hands and closing them before he could start searching for the answer. "That's not fair," he protested, a hint of frustration in his voice.

I was surprised he hadn't turned to Hermione for help, given her reputation as the smartest among our year. However, I noticed she was buried under her own stack of work, which likely influenced his choice. "You won't have your notes during the exams, so yes, I am being fair. Now, tell me what it is."

Harry frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to recall the details. "Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world," he finally said, his voice steadying as he gained confidence. "It causes an intense infatuation or obsession in the person who drinks it." 

I nodded, impressed. "Good. And what are its distinguishing features?" I leaned back in my chair, trying to ignore the tickle in my throat that threatened another sneeze.

Harry hesitated, his eyes darting back to his notes as if he was silently begging for them, but I held my hand up to stop him. "No notes, remember? Just think about what you know." Which is a lot more than he's giving himself credit for.

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to summon the information from his memory. "It—" He hesitated for a brief moment, "it has a distinctive smell that varies from person to person, depending on what each individual finds most attractive."

"And what about the effects? What happens if someone drinks it?"

Harry's expression shifted, a mix of seriousness and concern crossing his face. "Well, it can make someone completely obsessed with the person who gave it to them. It's not real love; it's more like a powerful infatuation. It can lead to dangerous situations if the feelings aren't reciprocated."

"Exactly," I replied, feeling a sense of satisfaction at his understanding. "And that's why it's considered dangerous. Love should never be forced or manipulated." I paused, my mind wandering for a moment to the implications of such a potion. "What do you think about that? Do you think it's right to use something like Amortentia?"

Harry shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "I don't think it's right at all. It's like cheating. Real love should come from genuine feelings, not some potion that makes you feel something you wouldn't otherwise."

I smiled, appreciating his perspective. "You're absolutely right. It's important to remember that true connections are built on trust and understanding, not on enchantments or spells."

Just then, I felt another cough building, and this time, I couldn't hold it back. "Excuse me," I said, covering my mouth to avoid being one of those rude individuals who leaves their germs hanging in the air for others to catch. "I really hope I'm not getting a cold." I sighed, looking out the window at the snowfall.

Harry looked slightly concerned, "Maybe we should take a break for today."

The clock in the library caught my eye, and a wave of panic washed over me as I registered the time. I was late. "We can definitely meet up tomorrow, same time," I replied, trying to sound casual though my words were rushed.

"Tomorrow is Hogsmeade," he reminded me.

I smacked my forehead in realization, the upcoming trip having slipped my mind entirely. As my palm made contact with my skin, I noticed an unexpected warmth lingering there. "Ah, right. Let's make it the day after tomorrow then."

"Sounds like a plan," A grin spread across his face as he nodded in agreement. I couldn't help but wrap my arms around him in a brief embrace before darting out of the library.

I power-walked through the corridors, my destination not being too far from the library. Upon arriving at the staircase that descended into the Slytherin common room, I had barely reached the last step when a firm hand seized my wrist, yanking me into the shadowy alcove beneath the staircase. It was a secluded spot, cloaked in darkness, easily overlooked by anyone who wasn't actively searching for it.

A startled gasp escaped my lips just before a pair of lips pressed against mine, momentarily silencing my surprise. The kiss was unexpected, yet it ignited a spark of warmth that spread through me, a rush of adrenaline that made my heart race. "You're late," Draco murmured after ending the kiss, his voice laced with irritation, a hint of possessiveness threading through his tone. Though the light was scarce, I could sense the annoyance etched on his features, the way his brow furrowed slightly, casting deeper shadows across his face.

"I was busy helping Harry with his homework," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, still trying to catch my breath from the suddenness of the kiss. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a mix of guilt and exhilaration. The truth was, I felt bad for doing this with him, whatever this is—there isn't exactly a label put on it. I was caught between my loyalty to my friends and the undeniable pull I felt towards Draco.

"Helping Harry?" he scoffed, his grip on my wrist tightening slightly, though not painfully. "You know he can manage on his own. You should be here with me, not wasting your time with him."

I let out a weary sigh at his stubbornness, fully aware that this is how he would respond. "Well, I'm here now," I stated, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. To my surprise, he threw out any smart remark he might have and he deepened the kiss, his fingers weaving through my hair with a familiar tenderness. Ever since that day in the medical wing, we had found ourselves entwined in each other's lives, sharing moments like this one. There were no labels to define us, no grand declarations of love or deep-seated feelings—at least, not in his eyes. He insisted it was all just for fun, a casual arrangement he dubbed "friends with benefits." The only rule we had was a simple one: we kept this little secret to ourselves. He was adamant on that part, like he was afraid of it getting out.

A part of me took it personally, as if he was ashamed of me, but I don't have the guts to ask if that was really why. I chose to live in ignorance, besides, no one knowing makes my life easier too.

Just as the kiss lingered, an irritating tickle crept into my throat, forcing me to pull away abruptly. I coughed, a sharp sound that caught me off guard, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I might actually be coming down with something.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern etched across his features.

"I'm fine," I managed to say, though my voice was hoarse and unconvincing.

"You don't seem fine."

"I am," I replied, brushing off his concern with a casual wave of my hand. "But now that we're here, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Go on," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the stone wall. My eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness and I could see him much easier.

I pointed back and forth between us, "What we have here—this casual arrangement—is it exclusive to just us, or...?"

He fixed me with a piercing stare, his demeanor turning grave. "Are you seriously suggesting that you've been with Potter as well?"

I couldn't suppress a frustrated roll of my eyes. Of course he would go straight to that. "No, Draco," I said, rubbing my temples in exasperation. "I just want to make sure it's just the two of us right now. The last thing I need is herpes or whatever." I added that last part on a whim when in reality I just wanted to make sure it was just me because...well I feel like that part is obvious by now. Not that I'm saying I like him or anything, but a little crush was undeniable.

A smirk danced on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. "Herpes? Seriously?" He stepped closer, the space between us vanishing as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, sending my heart racing. "Or is it that you'd feel a bit of jealousy if I were sneaking around with someone else?"

I let out a scoff, though a part of me acknowledged he was spot on. Still, I refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "Says the one who nearly had a stroke at the thought of me kissing Harry Potter."

Draco's expression shifted, a mix of amusement and irritation flickering across his features. "That was different," he insisted, crossing his arms defensively. "Potter is—well, he's Potter. He's the golden boy that gets everything he wants, and I—" He hesitated, contemplating his next words, "I have you, and I didn't want him to have that as well."

I nodded, a flicker of understanding igniting within me. Yet, before I could voice my thoughts, a relentless cough seized me, more intense and prolonged than before—I couldn't hold it back. I pressed my hand to my mouth, but when I pulled it away, blood stained my palm.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I felt myself teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. The last sound that pierced through the haze was Draco urgently calling my name, followed by the comforting embrace of his arms as he caught me, preventing me from hitting the stone floor.

💚🐍

I was awake, yet my eyelids remained firmly closed, and my limbs felt as though they were weighed down by a heavy blanket. It was a feeling similar to that of sleep paralysis, where the mind is alert but the body remains unresponsive. I could hear murmurs around me, the familiar voices of my professors engaged in a quiet discussion about my condition. "Who in the world would want to curse this poor girl?" I recognized Professor McGonagall's sharp tone.

A curse? Initially, I blamed my unusual discomfort on the harsh cold of the season. Who would do this to me? I searched my mind for a name or a face—anyone who might hold a grudge. However, to the best of my knowledge, I had no enemies, at least none that I knew of.

"Clearly someone lacking in skill," Professor Snape chimed in, his voice laced with contempt. "It seems they attempted the Curse of the Bogies, but as you can see, their efforts have gone horribly wrong." His words dripped with disdain, as if he were discussing a particularly unsightly potion gone awry rather than a student in distress. I could almost picture him, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that trademark scowl etched on his face.

The murmurs continued, a blend of concern and frustration. I could sense the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as if the very atmosphere was charged with the weight of their worries. Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice broke through the din, "But surely, we must consider the implications of such a curse. It's not just a prank gone wrong; someone was intentionally trying to harm her."

"Indeed," McGonagall replied, her tone softening slightly. "We cannot allow this to go unaddressed, her mother is furious." I could feel the urgency in her words, a sense of responsibility that seemed to radiate from her very being.

As they spoke, I tried to focus on their voices, to will my body to respond, to open my eyes and reassure them that I was still here, still fighting against whatever had ensnared me in this state. But my limbs remained heavy, as if bound by invisible chains, and my eyelids refused to budge, sealing me in a world of darkness.

Draco's voice cut through the chatter, instantly silencing the room. "Will she be alright?" he inquired, his tone tinged with concern.

Dumbledore's voice, steady and comforting, broke the ensuing silence. "Yes," he answered. "She just needs some rest right now, but she will wake up soon. You should head to your common room young man, it is past curfew."

A gentle sigh caught my attention, unmistakably Draco's. "I wanted to stay," he whispered, his voice tinged with a touch of regret. "She was kind enough to be by my side until I woke up, and I wanted to do the same."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall responded, her tone soothing. "But you can be assured that she won't be left alone." With that, I heard the soft sound of footsteps moving away from the bedside, realizing she was guiding him out.

"Are you sure, Severus, that you can handle the entire night?" Dumbledore inquired shortly after their departure. "I could easily find someone else to take over for half the shift."

"It will be fine," Severus replied, and I sensed a presence drawing nearer, followed by a hand brushing against my forehead—icy and unsettling, sending shivers coursing through my body, yet I remained immobile. "She's still warm."

"The potion you administered will require time, Severus. As you can see, the color is returning to her skin; there's no need for concern," Dumbledore reassured him.

"I'm not concerned. I made the potion myself; I know it will work," Severus snapped, his voice as sharp as ever.

Dumbledore let out a deep, weary sigh, the kind that spoke of countless burdens carried over the years. "I understand your frustration," he said, his voice steady yet imbued with empathy. "We will uncover who is responsible for this." His words hung in the air, a promise.

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