Ron sighed in frustration. His plan was not working out as well as he had hoped. Harry and Hermione were supposed to be frolicking through the meadow by now. Instead, they were no closer to each other than before, they were starting to look at each other a little strangely and Ron was pretty sure the school didn't even have a meadow.
Sure, they had a Forbidden Forest with centaurs and vampires roaming about, but a bloody meadow was apparently too much to ask for.
Ron sighed. Pessimism would get him nowhere. He needed to think. He needed a strategy. He needed another way of approaching the problem. He needed to call in some backup. Time to engage "the team", as he liked to call them. Ron looked around the common room.
Lavender and Parvati. Useful for getting to Hermione and planning weddings, but Ron wasn't too sure about their strategic abilities. Dean and Seamus. Ron snorted. He supposed they had a certain bit of strategic ability, but asking them for help would be like asking Forge and Gred. You most likely wouldn't get the help you need, and you would end up with pink hair for your trouble. Good for moral support and getting one out of tricky situations, though. Ginny. Too young, and of course, his sister, so it was out of the question, really. Neville…ah, Neville. Perfect. Ron got up and closed in on his prey.
"Neville! I need you're help, mate!"
Neville looked up, a faint trace of concern crossing his face. "With what?" he asked warily. He was well aware of Ron's plan, and was entirely sympathetic to the cause, but he wondered what Ron could possibly want from him.
"Neville, you herbology expert you. Are there any plants that affect a human's sense of smell or affect the old libido that could be made into a potion that isn't poisonous? And that could be made quickly and quietly, without Harry or Hermione knowing about it?"
Neville looked slightly nervous. "Well, uh, yes, there are certain plants that affect smell. Make it sharper and so one. Professor Sprout is growing another plant that, prepared correctly, has certain aphrodisiac qualities. I suppose they could be put into a potion that wouldn't kill a person."
Ron chuckled just a bit evilly. Just a bit. "Perfect. You can make the potion and I'll slip it into their food or drinks or something."
Neville now looked extremely nervous and not at all convinced about the chances of this plan. "But…er, Hermione always helps me with potions. How am I supposed to make the potion without her help? You can't just mix the plants together and hope for the best. Something will go wrong."
Ron clapped Neville on the back. "Neville, have I ever let you down? I'll help you." Ron gave him a big grin.
Neville looked faintly ill, gulped and gave a weak smile.
Ron decided that he was pretty damn smart.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry was distracted. Hermione was distracted. So was everyone else for that matter. The potion, surprisingly enough, had worked. Both Harry and Hermione now had a sense of smell sharp enough to sniff truffles. The real problem was with the aphrodisiac portion of the potion. As Neville had predicted, something had gone wrong. They had put in far too much of the aphrodisiac and as a result, both Harry and Hermione were pumping out enough pheromones to attract an Erumpent. Which meant one really didn't need a heightened sense of smell to find oneself suddenly attracted to Harry or Hermione. Which meant that hordes of people were following both of them, suddenly desperate to take them to dinner, go to Hogsmeade or just find a cozy broom closet. Which meant that both were more than a bit homicidal.
But not exactly in the way one might think.
You see, Harry and Hermione did have heightened senses of smell, so each was completely aware of the other. Harry could smell the shampoo Hermione used; Hermione could smell the soap on Harry's skin.
And that was distracting.
In the arena of odors, Harry had gotten a raw deal. Human males, as everyone knows, can produce stenches not found anywhere else in nature, produce them in huge amounts and still think they're the bee's knees. In fact, in certain circles, the greater the stench produced, the greater the popularity of the boy. So poor Harry suddenly became aware of this cesspool of stink when Ron, oddly enough, offered Harry a morning glass of pumpkin juice after his shower. Nearly overwhelmed by the smell, Harry escaped into the common room, where it was slightly better. He sat down, gasping, wondering what the hell was going on. As he sat there, trying not to breath through his nose and failing, he became aware of a delicate scent drifting through the air. It was an odd mix of…citrus… ink…and parchment, he finally decided. It didn't sound like an appetizing combination, but Harry was entranced. It was a wonderful smell, comforting, fresh, warm and enticing. It cut through the other odors like a knife through warm butter. It wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He glanced around, wondering where it came from when his gaze fell on Hermione, sitting in a chair, frowning.
You see, Hermione was having a similar problem. Although she didn't have to deal with an onslaught of natural odors, as girls did not usually subscribe to the "stink is neat!" philosophy, Hermione did have to deal with all the artificial smells girls used to cover up and attract. Sharing a room with Lavender and Parvati practically knocked her out, so she too had escaped to the common room. She had noticed Harry practically running down the stairs, but was too wrapped up in her suffering to pay much attention. Besides, when Harry came down, a lovely smell had come into the room. It was grass and fresh air, warm, clean skin and soft clothes. It came through the swirling miasma of scents and enveloped Hermione. Her eyes drifted close as she inhaled and she felt them flutter open as her gaze fixed on Harry, who was looking at her with the oddest expression on his face. He almost looked…hungry, but then she blinked and the expression was gone.
They both realized separately who the good smell was coming from, both blushed profusely and then both wondered why the other was blushing. Oh, yes, Ron and Neville's little potion had worked but uncharacteristically, Ron had failed to look past the opening and into the middlegame. He just assumed that Harry and Hermione would fall into each others arms. This was not the case. Both Harry and Hermione had powerful resolves and if they didn't want to acknowledge something because they thought it might harm the other, then by Merlin, it would stay unacknowledged. This, however, made them very cranky.
Their heightened sense of smell, coupled with their hypersensitivity to one another's pheromones and their completely subliminated desire for each other, meant both were ready to kill any other person who came sniffing (so to speak) around their dear, dear friend. And given that Hermione was the smartest witch around and Harry was one of the most powerful wizards to come through the school in some time, the homicides promised to be inventive and bloody to the extreme.
Hermione and Harry were currently in broom closet, sitting side by side, waiting for the trailing mob to withdraw. Thanks to a clever use of a Vanishing Spell, both Harry and Hermione were able to disappear long enough to duck into one of those oh so handy rooms. Hermione suspected that Hogwarts had a knack for making certain rooms appear when you really needed it.
Harry grit his teeth. "Hermione, if one more guy comes up to you, I'm going to hex him till he doesn't know which way is up!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, and I suppose your adoring fan girls are any better? You very well know that I have no idea why I've suddenly become attractive to most of the student population here. Obviously it's some sort of spell or potion, but I can't believe that someone could use a Love Potion on both of us that affected the entire school! I mean, it's illegal and completely dangerous!"
Harry huffed a breath, annoyed. "Hermione, you haven't suddenly become attractive to the school. You already were, they're just acting on it now. I can't believe Justin actually asked you to go to Hogsmeade, especially when I already talked to--" he mumbled.
"You did what?" Hermione interrupted, eyes flashing dangerously, conveniently forgetting her own similar behavior.
Harry began to look nervous. "Er, I just asked him what he was planning on doing for your date." He grinned at her. "Just looking out for you, Hermione."
"I can look out for myself, Potter," she grumbled, forgiving him in a suspiciously short amount of time. "Please stop acting like my older brother. I already have Ron to do that. As if I can't take care of myself! Honestly!"
Harry flashed a crooked smile at her. "I know you can. I just want to be sure that you're happy. Everyone needs a little help once in a while."
Hermione shook her head. "What I need is to figure out why we're attracting the entire population of Hogwarts! And why can I smell everything so well today? I could smell breakfast from my room today. I don't know how, but they must be connected. And why can I smell you so we--" she stopped suddenly, blushing.
Harry looked at her curiously, wondering what had made her blush. "I told you already, Hermione. You're attractive already. Everyone's just acting on it. I think that's what we should be focusing on. Besides, I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong with me. I think I'm a werewolf, Hermione," he said solemnly.
Hermione looked at him sharply. "What? Of course you're not a werewolf. Don't be ridiculous."
Harry looked at her earnestly. "What about my sense of smell? I can smell your hair, I can smell your skin." He left out the part about her scent being the only thing keeping him sane in this new world of smell. His subconscious aimed a kick at the shins of his resolve. His resolve snickered and stuck out its tongue. "That's not normal. Remus said he can smell things others can't." He paused for a moment and sniffed the air. "You smell nice. What kind of perfume do you use anyway?"
Hermione sighed. "I don't use any. Harry, I promise you're not turning into a werewolf. I know all about the symptoms, remember? I learned them third year. I have the same heightened sense too and I'm sure I'm not a werewolf. Besides, even if you were, I would tell you what was happening immediately and I would fix it."
Harry smiled. "There isn't a cure for lycanthropy, Hermione."
Hermione glared at him. "I would find one. I told you that I would fix it."
Harry chuckled this time. "You fix everything, Hermione. What would I do without you?"
Hermione laughed softly as she laid her head on his shoulder. "You probably would turn into a werewolf. I'd have to keep you in my room every full moon. Crookshanks would just love that."
Harry looked down at her fondly and kissed the top of her head gently. "Somehow, I think my life would be much worse than that. You make everything better, Hermione. You make me happy. Even when you're knee deep in books and parchment." He shifted toward her and put an arm around her. This was better, he decided. His other arm draped itself around her midsection. Much better.
Hermione looked up at him with suspiciously shining eyes and smiled. "You make me happy too, Harry. Except when you're playing Quidditch. Then you make me terrified. Now go to sleep, Harry. We'll deal with the mob tomorrow." Her arm, seemingly of its own accord, snaked around his waist and settled there. She reached back and tangled the fingers of her other arm in his.
And so they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other arms.
When they told Ron the next day what had happened, neither understood his howl of frustration.