Chapter 4 : Amortentia and Potter
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I heard Filch walk off down the corridor, followed by Mrs. Norris. Then I looked over a Potter, who was looking at me with his absolutely amazingly awesomely beautiful hazel eyes. I kind of want to stare into them for forever. And then I started laughing, at the same time as Potter. Probably something to do with just how ridiculous the past ten minutes or so has been.
“You. Are. Really. Fast.” Potter manages to get out in between laughing. Of course I’m fast. I’m invincible.
“Of course I am!” I pant out, bent over at the waist, still laughing my head off.
After our laughter subsides, I look around the dusty room. Ah, the familiar smell of Muggle cleaner and the sweat and blood of many poor students who have served detention in this cursed room.
I walk over to one of the two buckets and pull out a sponge, grab some random trophy that nobody really cares about, and start to clean it. A distant corner of my mind is aware of Potter watching me intently, but I choose to ignore that. It’s usually what I do if something is making me uncomfortable.
“Hey, Smithe. Do you ever read any of these trophies?”
“No. They’re all just about boring shit that nobody really cares about except for some demented, immortal Squib and his terrifying cat. Why?” I rub at a particularly hard to get off spot of dirt, applying some of the elbow grease that Filch constantly warns us we’re going to need for detention.
“Ah. Okay. No reason, really.” Yeah, and pigs can fly.
“Yeah, and pigs can fly, Potter. You always have a reason.” Muttering several curses, I keep scrubbing at the dirt.
“Here, let me see that.” Without waiting for a response, Potter reaches out and grabs the trophy and the sponge. When did he get so close?
Potter, being male and freakishly strong, just wipes the dirt off like someone would wipe dust off of an outdated broomstick. Whoa. Since when did he have such great forearms? Wow. Um. I don’t know who this could get more awkward.
“There.” He said, a lot softer than normal, handing it back to me with a slight smile, not his usual smirk. Huh?
“Uh, thanks.” I say, also softer than normal. As I reach out to take the trophy and sponge back, our hands brush together. Which would usually just be a quick thing, if there weren’t sparks. And by sparks I mean the same tingly, weird, and somehow amazing feeling I got whenever I touched Potter. His annoying level just went up.
Of course, instead of just leaving it at a simple hand brush, he grabs my hand and holds it. What the fuck is that kid on?
“Do you feel that too?” he asks, staring very intently into my eyes. And then, of course, my eyes change color, back to their real sea green.
I’m sure that by now my eyes are bigger than the fucking moon and my lower jaw is hitting the floor. I just can’t feel it because I’m so shocked. The only thing I can feel is the heat of his wonderful hazel eyes burning into mine and the sparks where our skin touches.
“You, do, don’t you?” He half-whispers, half-murmurs, still staring right into my eyes. Oh, Merlin this is weird.
I clear my throat, nervously. “Yeah.” I say, just as soft as him. Is it just me, or is his face getting closer to mine?
“See? What did I tell ya?” Wow, my jaw is getting really familiar with the floor.
“Who’s that?” Potter and I say at the same time, turning around in time to see the red curls of Mary O’Connor disappear around the corner. Damn that girl.
“Uh. We should, um, get started. On cleaning, that is.” I manage to get out around the lump in my throat, still looking into his intense eyes. If he stares anymore, I’m going to be walking around with freakin’ holes in my head.
“Yeah.” He murmurs, letting go of my hand and turning around to polish some sodding trophies. If I hate him, then why does my hand feel…empty? What is going on here?
“Sooo, realized that you’re in love with him yet?”
“Holy shit, you have got to stop doing that!” I just jumped a foot in the air. Now my ass hurts. Thanks, Mary.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to scare the crap out of you. So, seriously, have you figured it out yet?” She said, sitting down across from me at the table in the library as was sitting at. It was a nice, secluded table; one that most people didn’t know existed. Mary, of course, did not fall in to the category of “most people”.
“There’s nothing to figure out”, I said, ignoring the part of me that was whispering “you’re lying, you’re lying, you do like him, admit it”. My mature and grown-up answer to that accusation is “screw you”.
“We both know you’re lying. But whatever, I shouldn’t pressure you. Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.” She leaned forward across the table, clasping her hands and looking for all the world that she was some army general plotting the greatest espionage plan of all time. Now all she needed was one of those jackets and a lot of medals. Maybe some sunglasses. And a machine gun. Can’t forget that. What about a scar, right there, down the side of her face? And then one arm in a sling. But then she couldn’t do the clasp-hands-and-lean-forward thing, which would ruin the army general look. And she would need a map with a bunch of those little wooden thingies representing armies and navy fleets and all that crap on the table. And maybe a cigar, a Cuban one. But then she’d need a little moustache or something, so let’s forget the cigar. Anyways, smoking sucks. Gives you lung cancer and kills you. Lovely stuff, tobacco and nicotine. I hate all those cigarette companies that make millions off of people who are addicted to something that’s killing them and anyone who spends too much time sucking in the vile second-hand smoke that pours from the disgusting, nasty, little stick of white-
“Hello? Anyone home? You’ve been staring at me with this blank look for the past minute. And now you’re ignoring me. Wonderful.”
“Wha-? Oh. Right. Sorry about that. I space out a lot. I was thinking about how you would look as an army general and then I got side tracked by Cuban cigars and, well, one thing led to another. What did you want to know?” I looked at her, blowing some of my currently green hair out of my eyes whilst trying to look respectable and mature. I may or may not also have been cross-eyed, studying the small silver piercing at that end of my nose. Yes, I am the picture of mature and respectable.
“You look like an idiot right now”, Mary informs me, all matter-of-fact. “And I wanted to know what hex you think would be best for a blithering idiot who won’t leave me alone. Oh, and keep in mind this blithering idiot is the bloke you ‘hate’. He seems to think that I would be the perfect ‘young Marauder’. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” My brain seems to be moving rather slowly. I blame it on detention last night. Being stuck in the same room as Potter, a.k.a. the Blithering Idiot, does funny things to my head. But not in that way, you morons.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?” I groaned, thumping my head against my Potions essay, which just so happened to have a painful and hard table underneath it. “Owwww... why do I always hurt myself?” I whined.
“You always hurt yourself because you’re a bit of a dumb-ass, and I wanted to know if you had any idea what Potter is talking about when he tells me he wants me to become a young Marauder.” Mary said, sighing and looking at me like someone would look at a small child who hurt themselves doing something and then kept on doing that same thing and consequently hurting themselves. Story of my life, right there.
“Um, excuse me, I am NOT a dumb-ass, you must be confusing me with Potter.” I take a minute to glare at her. Me, a dumb-ass? Ha! That’s funny. Mostly because she is dead right. “Yeah, the Marauders are a group of four guys, James Potter, Fred Weasley, Albus Potter, and, somehow, Scorpius Malfoy. They’re probably trying to recruit you because of the whole map thing. What was that about, anyways?” I ask, eyeing her carefully. No one lies to Myra Smithe and gets away with it.
“Not my secret to tell.” She said, shrugging. Dammit.
“Fine, don’t tell me, see what I care.” I muttered, frowning.
“I see you care a lot. Don’t worry about it; I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually. Do you think I should join them? The Marauders, that is?” she asked, biting her lip as she glanced around the library.
“If you want to. They’re a lot of fun to have around, the Marauders. Well, except for Potter. He’s no fun whatso-freakin’-ever.” I looked at Mary, who was still looking around the library like she’d never been in one before. “Hey, have you ever been in this library before?” I asked, thinking I knew the answer already.
“Um. No, but I’ve been in Muggle libraries before. Just never a wizard one. Yeah, I think I’m going to go and talk to James. See you later.”
“Yep. See ya later.” As her footsteps faded away, I went back to my essay. I think Slughorn made us write about Amortentia on purpose. I mean, really. I’m writing about one of the most powerful love potions that wizard-kind has ever brewed while I’m denying that I’m in love with my archenemy? I think Slughorn and Mary are in cahoots with each other. Next thing you know, we’re going to be brewing Amortentia in Potions class, but I’ll end up with Potter as my partner. And then, of course, the potion will blow up, Potter and I will swallow some, and we’ll fall into a potion induced love/obsession thingy with each other. With my luck, it’ll happen. Trust me.
“You have GOT to be kidding me.” Potter and I exclaimed at the same time.
“No, Miss Smithe and Mr. Potter, I am not kidding you. The ingredients list is on the board, the page in your textbooks is 189, you two are partners, and the potion we are brewing is Amortentia.” Why, why, why, why, did I have to think that? I knew it was going to come back and bite me in the ass. Merlin, if I’m dead (or worse, in a potion-induced obsession/love with Potter) by the end of this class, then all my worldly good can be split between my friends. They can fight over them and I’ll laugh from my position in purgatory.
“I’ll go get the ingredients.” I say, almost like someone set my brain to auto-pilot. Hey, that’s cool. I didn’t know I could do that.
“Yeah, whatever.” Potter snarls in the way of a response. Holy shit, he’s in a bad mood. I haven’t even started in on him. (By that I mean I haven’t started teasing him or pissing him off…yet.)
At the ingredients cupboard, someone comes up to me as I’m grabbing more and more stuff off of the shelves.
“My!” Whoa, take it down a notch or two, Dom.
“Hey, Dom, do you mind getting a little, you know, quieter? Just a thought.”
“Okay, fine, I won’t make you go deaf if you really insist. You know, you and James working together is perfect! Especially when we’re brewing Amortentia. I bet all this partnering is doing wonders for your hidden relationship.” Four galleons on crack…that is gonna pay off someday soon, I tell you.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. You just keep telling yourself that while I go and curl up and die at the possibility of me and Potter being in a relationship. Hope you’re happy. You’re responsible for your best friend being dead.”
“Oh, you know that you would never do something like that! Anyways, I love you too much to ever hurt you! Now go back to your sweetheart, I think he’s going to get worried that you’ve been away for so long.” Four galleons on crack, four galleons on crack, four galleons on crack, must resist strangling, must resist strangling…
I get back to the desk that Potter and I are sitting at and dump all the ingredients down. Incidentally, whoever came up with this potion must have had like a bazillion ingredients on hand, ‘cos there is a crapload of shit in this stupid potion. Amortentia. Really, Sluggy?
“How long has Dom thought that you and I are in a ‘relationship’?” Potter asked, his lip curling at the mention of us together. Am I really that bad? (That was a rhetorical question, voices in my head.)
“You seriously didn’t know about that? She’s thought that we were secretly dating since Second Year, and nothing I have ever said will convince her that we’re not.” I paused, thinking about something that struck me as odd. “Could you hear us from all the way over at the cupboard?” I asked, jerking my head to said cupboard, which was on the other end of the room.
“Uh. No. I can… read lips.” What? Potter is capable of doing something that requires actually intelligence? Dammit, he’s not as stupid as I’ve been kidding myself into believing he is. (Yes, I do know that Potter isn’t stupid, I just refuse to admit it. Yes, I’m really stubborn. It’s one of my many qualities that annoy the crap out of Potter. It’s actually quite hilarious when Potter is throwing a fit because I’m being a stubborn ass.)
“I’m sorry; I must not have heard you correctly. Could you repeat that?” I asked, honestly hoping I hadn’t heard him correctly (but knowing that I had).
“You heard me. I learned to so I could tell what other Quidditch players were going to do out on the pitch.” We both took a moment to look up at the sky-or ceiling, as it is now- and send a quick prayer to the Quidditch gods. They exist, okay? Don’t argue with me. It’s true.
“Well, then. Now that I am shocked beyond words, can we get started on this stupid potion?” I ask, adding a few curses directed at said potion under my breath.
“Yeah, sure. Um…” Potter picks up the Potions book and flips through the pages to 189. We both look down a list of directions and other nonsense that seems to end a mile after it begins. He flips the page. Both page 190 and 191 are covered in directions about Amortentia. I let out an honest-to-God whimper. Yeah, I’m so courageous. That’s the Gryffindor in me.
“Wow. Uh. This is going to take a while.” Potter says, running his hand through his hair.
“Ya think? I’m pretty sure my brain just crawled out of my skull and went over in the corner and died.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. Well, we’re going to have to get started sooner or later, right?” he asked, looking at me in a way that remind me of the way he looked at me last night when he- you know what? I’m not going to think about that.
“Right.” I mutter in response, sending a quick prayer to every deity I know of that I wasn’t blushing.
Half an hour later, I was ready to rip my hair out by its roots and start dancing on the table top. You know how we were being all civil earlier? Like, not arguing and everything? Well, that didn’t last too long. Especially not after we got to the hardest part of the potion. I swear that the guy who came up with Amortentia was either a sadist or a sociopath or a psychopath or a combination of all three. I mean, is it really necessary to ask for the urine of a forty-eight-year-old red-and-yellow spotted newt? And then say that you need exactly two and a half fluid ounces of the disgusting stuff? And, of course, that was just the beginning of a whole congregation of nasty ingredients that shouldn’t be found in a rubbish heap, much less a classroom. Do you know that dried rat tails look like a pieces of string that twitch? (Don’t ask why they twitch. You don’t want to know.)
“Ugh! Christ, this smells like shit!” I exclaim, turning my head away and gagging. “Isn’t Amortentia supposed to smell good?!”
“Yes, but you must’ve messed up! It’s supposed to smell good by now!” Potter snarls in answer.
“Oh, sure, I messed up! It’s just as likely that you screwed up!” I yell back.
“You stupid girl! This is all your fault! I swear to Merlin that I’m going to fail Potions, and it’s going to be your freakin’ fault!”
“You idiotic boy! This isn’t my fault! You’re as much to blame as I am! You can’t go around blaming people for your mistakes your whole life! Life doesn’t work like that, you dumbshit! You’re going to have to grow up sooner or later, so just grow up now and get it over with!”
“That doesn’t change the fact that this potion is crap! If you can’t do anything to help it, then you can just go and take your bloody life lessons and shove them up your ass!”
“Shove this up your ass, you bastard!” I scream at him, grabbing a handful of some unknown substance and throwing it at him. As I throw, some of it (a powder of some sort) lands in the potion. I suck in a huge gulp of air, preparing myself for the impending explosion. Instead, the potion seems to transform before my eyes. It turns from an ugly blackish-brown color to a beautiful rose color. And then the smell hits me. It smells like pine needles and black tea and sunshine and…something else. Something that I know I’ve smelled before, but I can’t place. The smell I can’t place is my favorite. It’s a musty smell, sweet and strong and bitter and amazing.
I look up from the cauldron and meet Potter’s eyes. As I do, a jolt like electricity sweeps through me, from my head to my toes. I have to step back a little at the force of the feeling. I look into his hazel eyes again and I see that he felt it too.
What is going on?
Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on? Like, now? Because I am totally lost here. I mean, it’s bad enough that we have to brew Amortentia in Potions, but add to that the fact that Smithe is my partner, and you have a recipe for disaster. But I was expecting a heated argument, detention, and an explosion. Not this. Never this. I feel an electric jolt when I look into Smithe’s eyes, which are that sea-green color again. And I can tell she feels it, too.
And then there’s the smell coming from the Amortentia. It smells like broomstick polish and freshly mowed grass and coffee and…something else. Something that smells sweet and flowery and citrusy and fresh and clean.
The only thing I can do is just stare at her, and more specifically, her eyes. Her beautiful, deep eyes, eyes that whisper of the sea and of wild things and of so many hundreds of emotions it makes me want to take a step back. How can one person have felt all of that?
“Good job! You have successfully brewed Amortentia, and on your first try, too! Ten points to Gryffindor, for each of you. Now, because you did start…er, arguing, and I did hear some inappropriate language, I am going to have to give you detention tonight. You will be cleaning dirty cauldrons tonight, no magic, of course. Report to my office at 7:00 sharp.” Professor Slughorn’s voice broke through the…trance I was in.
“Yes, sir.” We both said at the same time. We really need to stop doing that, the whole speaking-in-unison-without-meaning-to thing. It’s getting pretty annoying.
“Very good, then.” Slughorn turns to address the whole class, his huge belly jiggling as he moves. I don’t know why that guy doesn’t get new coats. Seriously, the buttons are practically popping off of this one. Those things are dangerous projectiles. A hazard to all the innocent, unsuspecting students in this classroom. And now I’m starting to sound like Smithe. Great. Just fabulous, really. “Class, put some of your potion in a vial and bring it up to me. Then you may start cleaning up.” Sluggy said, stroking his moustache with one hand. How is it that he’s bald, but he still has a lustrous moustache? That he strokes?
“How can he be bald but still have such a lustrous moustache?” I heard Smithe ask, almost to herself.
“I don’t know. I was just thinking the same thing.” I answer, even though I know she wasn’t expecting any response.
“Rhetorical question, Potter.” She said, without missing a beat. She reaches up her sleeve, and I realize she’s getting her wand. Whoa, there’s no need to hex me for answering a question! I didn’t even insult her!
But, instead of hexing me into next week, she just conjures up a vial and fills it with Amortentia. Now I feel like a real idiot. Smithe looks at the potion funny as she puts the stopper in the bottle, frowning, almost like she’s trying to figure something out. The look on her face makes me wonder what she smelled in the potion. Did she smell something she can’t place, like me?
“While I bring this up to Slughorn, can you clean up?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Yeah.” I say, trying not to get lost in her eyes (again).
As Smithe walks past me, she brushes up against me, on accident (maybe?). To my surprise, I get a whiff of the same thing I can smell in the Amortentia. The same thing that smells sweet and flowery and citrusy and fresh and clean, all at the same time.
What is going on?
I am so incredibly happy that I got this typed so fast! Please please please please please leave a review! I swear I live off of reviews. They’re better then soda and candy and pizza and ice cream and pancakes and waffles all mixed together. Seriously. So, if you want to make me happy (and you know you do) then leave a review! Thanks for reading, and I’ll try and update ASAP.
-The Beast (I am such as beast, it’s not even funny XD)
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