This is just a small bit of fluff/drabble that was floating about my head for the past few days. It's set during the Half-blood Prince, after Harry leaves for one of Dumbledore's lessons. Hope you like it, and please leave a review! They really do make my day.


"D'you reckon Dumbledore will teach him anything exciting? A spell that'll make You-Know-Who tap-dance or something?" Ron asked conversationally, kicking back his chair and taking a large bite of apple.

"Ron, everyone knows that there is a spell for that, and they also know that it's highly illegal."

"Oh, right, the Imperius curse. It's been a long week," he said in his defense. "Anyway, you mustn't get caught up on a technicality like that."

Hermione simply looked up and shook her head at the freckled ginger, who was leaning back in his chair looking absolutely contented. She found it impossible to suppress a smile, and tried to cover it up the best she knew how.

"Shouldn't you be working on your potions essay?"

"Oh, it's just extra credit," Ron replied unconcernedly.

"Ronald, he assigned that to you because you need it," Hermione said sternly.

Ron sat up reluctantly. "But I haven't got a clue about Amortentia! How am I supposed to write nine inches on it?" he complained, putting on his best begging face. "Help me, Hermione?" he pleaded.

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes, though smiling all the while. "You can write about the smell, that's the most obvious characteristic."

"Yeah? That's right, you said everyone smells something different," Ron remembered. "Funny, I'm not sure what it was I smelled, but it was awfully familiar. Strawberry or something." He sniffed experimentally, moving closer to Hermione, who was looking decidedly pink. A look of realization dawned on Ron, and his face promptly turned a deep shade of maroon.

"You might want to mention the potion's appearance, it's rather unique," Hermione's voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched.

"Ah, right, thanks," Ron coughed awkwardly. "You know," he began, feigning a yawn. "I think I'll call it a night, this isn't due till Thursday, and I'm beat."


Hermione watched Ron's shape disappear up the staircase leading to the boy's dormitories, and her eyes drifted over to the large grandfather clock in the corner. It struck 7 o'clock, and Hermione giggled rather girlishly, holding a lock of her bushy hair up to her nose, and breathing in deeply.

"Strawberry," she whispered to herself.