Original Story ID (in French): 4526958
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, those rights lie solely with the awesome sauce that is J. K. Rowling. I'm not making any money off of this translations.
Furthermore, this story was written, in French, by the lovely nono-chan230, who gave me permission to translate it as my independent studies project. I feel privileged that she allowed me to translate and publish her story.
Original Author's Notes: (With my additions in parentheses) I note that each "party" is independent. (I'm going to assume here that this means Ron/Hermione vs. Harry/Hermione). This will not necessarily follow logically from the points I address from. (AU People, don't like, don't read). The world of Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. (And no money is made, etc. etc.) I also warn that these will be relatively short chapters. (They are certainly long enough for me. Phew! This translation stuff is hard!)
Pourquoi Les Hommes Aiment Les Femmes
Why Men Love Women
They always smell good, even if it's just shampoo.
I abhor potions, I detest them, I hate them, I really detest them, I am repelled by them, I curse them, I have a horror of them, I…
Harry had been working at his Potions essay for two hours. Two hours, and he'd arrived at nothing. In front of him lay his Potions book and five rolls of parchment, three of which he had filled. The only thing his current parchment read was "Evolution of the chemical properties of powdered Chimera scales since the sixteenth century."
There are nights when one comes up with nothing. Such as this night. Harry looked up from his book and cast a quick glance around himself. There weren't many people. Two fourth year girls were having a discussion between themselves. A sixth year boy was trying, in vain, to put three encyclopedia-sized books into his bag. Dean and Seamus were playing chess. Ron had his gaze fixed on his Transfiguration homework, but Harry suspected he was sleeping with his eyes open. Hermione was curled in a chair and reading a book. The young man sighed and buried himself in his potions text, then began to write.
But who cares about the evolution of powdered Chimera scales? Eh? Does anyone give a fuck? This will never have a purpose for anyone!
He was roused from his thoughts by the smell of orange blossoms coming off the hair that had just fallen onto his shoulder. He turned his head to find Hermione reading his homework over his shoulder. He loved the way she smelled. Whenever she was close to him he smelled that smell and everything became simple. Harry closed his eyes and savored the moment. He opened them when she spoke to him.
"Do you want me to help you finish?"
He smiled and nodded. It would take half the time to finish his potions assignment.
When Harry finally put the last period at the end of his paper a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
"You're the best Hermione!" He said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
She smiled in return and walked off, leaving behind a scent that Harry couldn't help but keep smelling. He put away his work and went up to his dorm, not realizing the effect the smell that a simple shampoo had on him.