۶•

{𝐇.𝐆.} ─ 𐙚⋆°. 𝓣he morning’s cauldron song yielded a reluctant truth: Hermione’s senses were haunted by your scent, lingering within every swirl of Amortentia like a spell that refused to fade. ݁ ݂ The project, the memories, and the fragrance had become threads of the same tapestry, so intricately entwined that no incantation could unravel them or conjure them away. ⋆˚ ᜔°