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Olfaction is a major sense and one of the most important.
The smell of baking bread, tea, and a textbook makes her feel happy and warm. Peach cobbler brings back childhood memories. A minty aftershave reminds her of Krum. Grass reminds her of quidditch games in the stands, cheering her friends on.
Smell is nostalgic and provocative—it makes people think and remember.
It can prevent danger. Poison avoided, poor choices of a significant other detected early on—Hermione thinks of them as one in the same.
Monoxide alarms have nothing on the ability to smell the unwashed and unhygienic quidditch player out.
It’s possible Hermione is traumatized from the time Harry set her up with a teammate.
It was a casual date and they got lunch. They went back to Hermione’s place to watch television. Her room stunk like him for hours. His stink somehow got into her sheets and pillows and he just sat on their bed as they talked and watched television. It was the kind of stink that she couldn’t get used to despite him being over for hours.
It’s the kind of stink permanently imprinted into her senses.
She had to stay with Ginny that night to give her room time to air out.
He returned a jumper he borrowed and she had to throw it away.
It scared her off dating for several months.
She’s always liked the way people smell but she especially likes the way women smell. They seemingly have a million products but they all go together.
She didn’t realize it at first but she would follow Fleur around by her perfume. Fleur is the kind of person to have an expensive signature French perfume.
At Hogwarts, Hermione would catch a hint of the smell and turn her head to find the owner of it. She hadn’t connected it to Fleur then because they never interacted.
It drove her mad.
She would walk down a hall and catch the faint traces of it.
After everything, she finally got the chance to spend time with Fleur.
Thankfully, Fleur was not disturbed by Hermione stopping mid-conversation with Ginny and grabbing Fleur’s arm. Fleur looked at Hermione’s grip and raised an eyebrow but did not pull back. “Can I help you?”
“It was you.” Hermione says and Fleur’s playful look grows confused.
“Pardon?”
“The perfume.”
She hears Ginny facepalm. “Hermione.”
Fleur’s confused look brightens until she’s laughing happily. “It is nice, yes? A classmate bought it for me my first year and I’ve worn it since.”
Hermione nods. “It smells great.” It is probably the most civil conversation they’re ever had.
“Would you like the brand?”
“No, that’s alright. I like it on you.” Hermione’s cheeks blaze when her words catch up with her.
Fleur gives her a mischievous look. “I suppose you better find me more, if you enjoy it.”
“I suppose I should.”
Fleur is the kind of person to chew someone up if they make the mistake of falling in her grasp. She figured out Hermione’s number and made sure to press the advantage.
Fleur would press against her, lean over her, and find any reasonable way to ensure she’d get close enough for her perfume to stick in Hermione’s sense. The new knowledge amused Fleur to no end. It opened the door to a conversation and then eventually a true friendship.
The scent of Fleur’s perfume would stick to Hermione’s clothes. She would cling to Hermione even after they went their own separate ways.
Hermione never minded.
She felt like she was taking a piece of Fleur with her. It was nice. She felt like Fleur was still with her, it was a reminder of the time they spent together.
She didn’t smell like an unwashed locker room.
The first time Fleur kissed Hermione, she smelled Fleur’s lotion and tasted her lipstick for an hour.
The longer they dated, the more Hermione’s stuff smelled like Fleur. Her sheets, her clothes, and eventually her home.
Then it became their home.
Somehow, she ended up here.
Fleur had to work late so Hermione is alone at the “We Didn’t Get Murdered” anniversary party. This creature decided to corner Hermione.
Hermione hates reporters.
Hermione detests uncomfortable parties.
Hermione loathes being flirted with by people who just want her for her name and status.
Hermione is being drowned in a perfume that smells like a toxic cleanser.
She is miserable.
The reporter has touched her scarred arm twice already. People love to do that.
Her nose is burning and she wants to scream. She wants to ask what apple the reporter tortured to smell this rancid. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
Another stupid question in a long line of borderline offensive questions.
She takes a step into Hermione’s space and places a hand on her arm—again. Hermione might actually punch her. Reputation and charity money be damned. She’s going to punch this reporter. “I am just so thankful that you were there.”
A familiar smell surrounds her and Hermione smiles. Fleur wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her away from the reporter. Fleur does not look pleased.
“Miss Delacour! What a lovely surprise.” The reporter lies through her teeth. She’s nearly glaring at Fleur.
“Yes, I do love finding people flirting with my girlfriend.”
Hermione gets chills from how cold Fleur’s tone is. She doesn’t need to be polite like Hermione.
Although, it still may affect donations if there’s a scene.
The reporter’s smile is glass. “I hope we can talk later, Hermione.”
The reporter retreats with a semblance of dignity. “Hermione, hm? Are you on a first name basis with pretty reporters?”
“Only the ones who like women.” Fleur pinches her side and Hermione laughs. She kisses Fleur in a room full of uptight wizarding high society. “Her perfume scarred me.”
Fleur grins. “It was like a four year old with a chemistry kit made sour apple but added too much alcohol.”
“That’s it!”
Fleur tugs her into a hug and idly sways with her to the music. “I’ll protect you from getting your nose hairs burned off. I would hate for you to have to sleep with Ginny tonight.”
Hermione groans. “I never should have told you about Charles.”
Fleur shook her head. “How did you last hours sitting next to him?”
“I was friends with Ron before he discovered the wonders of soap. I’m resilient.”
She laughs and Hermione feels it vibrate in her chest. “You won’t be stopping her for her perfume then?”
“What can I say? Things that are French just smell better.”