"Draco"—she cleared her throat—"I need to know what's different about this potion. What's it doing to you?"

She began chopping the Wiggentree Twigs to avoid holding his eye.

"Overheating, dizziness…" He trailed off.

She darted a glance through her lashes and found him staring at her lips. She'd been biting them.

"And arousal, obviously," she muttered, tossing in the Wiggentree Twigs. "Intense arousal, as it's been exacerbated by skin contact."

"It's…"

She looked up when he didn't finish. "Yes?"

He shifted, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "It's getting worse the longer it goes on." His eyes dragged over her body before closing tightly. "I didn't see that with the other potions. Before."

Hermione jerked a nod and cast her eyes down on the potions ingredients in front of her. She needed twenty minutes to cobble together an antidote. And she could only hope that it worked properly. The Bulbadox juice and daisy roots were her best guesses to counteract the increasing intensity, but she couldn't be sure without a sample.

There was nothing to be done for it. She just had to hope for the best.

She flicked his wand and conjured a chair near the doorway. "Take a seat."

The cauldron simmered into a bubblegum pink. She ran through the ingredients in her head, trying to account for the color.

"When you made this for Pansy, did you stir clockwise eleven times? Or thirteen times counterclockwise?"

The texture evened out. The color shifted into a pale baby pink. So close now. She picked up the Gurdyroot.

"You can't use that."

Her head snapped up. The doorframe was supporting him now, his back flush against it, and his knees weak underneath him. His eyes were squeezed closed.

"What?"

"The Gurdyroot will counteract the Ashwinder shells, negating—negating the effects." He took a shuddering breath. "You need to use willow bark."

Her heart thrashed in her chest until her ribs hurt. Willow bark had to be added at room temperature, and its effects only released properly if it was slowly, gradually brought to a boil. Another fifteen minutes, at least. Steeling herself, she banished the flames, summoned the willow bark, and began cracking it into fingernail-sized pieces.

"I'm sorry," she said numbly. "I should have started with the bark. It's going to be a bit longer. You—you should sit."

She chanced a look up at him as he stiffly lowered himself into the chair she'd conjured. He was clammy and flushed, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. Unable to either look at him or stand still, she began clearing up her station, darting around the room and putting things away by hand.

Five excruciating minutes later, the potion was cool enough. She sprinkled the willow bark into the cauldron and lit the flames, chewing the inside of her cheek while she waited.

He was quiet and still for the next ten minutes while Hermione worked, adjusting the temperature as she peered into the cauldron. If she hadn't seen his chest rising and falling out of the corner of her eye, she would have assumed he was catatonic.