6th Year, March 14th, Potions.
'Alright students, gather round now! Yes, yes.. come on.'
Professor Slughorn beamed at the shuffling students, they formed a flimsy circle around a dark brown and wooden table, on it were three cauldrons of peculiar sizes. A medium-sized, charcoal colored and plump cauldron held transparent liquid that had fog rising from it. On the other side was a tiny, small one was filled with a liquid similar to fizzing pop. And finally in the middle-
'Can anyone tell me what these three are?' the large man behind the table asked, waving a hand around.
Immediately two hands shot up, one belonged to Harry's best friend, Hermione Granger. Frizzy, curly hair touched his shoulder as she practically stood on her tiptoes, clearly eager to answer.
The other belonged to Tom Riddle. He stood on the other side of Harry, and his hand was undoubtedly much higher than Hermione's, which was probably why Slughorn had chosen him first. The Slytherin shot his best friend a smug look before answering,
'On the right, I can only assume it's the Draught of Living Death, which is an extremely powerful sleeping draught that sends the drinker into a deep-like slumber, similar to suspended animation.' it was perfectly word-for-word, textbook accurate. Slughorn claps his hands,
'Very correct, m'boy. Ten points to Slytherin. And how about you, Miss Granger? Care to tell us what's on the left?'
Hermione smiles, but Harry can tell it's somewhat strained. 'Yes, Professor. It's the reverser for the Draught of Living Death. It's the one known antidote, commonly known as the Wiggenweld potion, which can revive the drinker from the sleep it induces.'
'And another ten points to Gryffindor! Well done, you two. And yes, that's also correct Miss Granger. It is indeed the Wiggenweld potion, the opposite of Draught of Living Death. However, it isn't only known for its reversing effects on that specific potion.. it can also be used in many different refreshment drinks at your local bar, it's known for its rather quick effect of energizing the drinker. Very useful if you want to pull an all-nighter on your due essay!' he chuckles,
'But what's the middle one, sir?' a Gryffindor speaks up, peering at the cauldron between the other two. It was creamy white, with a faint tint of pastel pink. It was certainly the most interesting of the three, its steam spiraled above the cauldron, and Harry found himself inching a bit closer to it. Tom Riddle held his waist steadily, preventing him from moving forward any more. He looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow, which he returns with a sheepish grin.
'Ah, yes.. this, my dear child, is-'
'Amortentia..' Tom muttered under his breath as his eyes widened. 'It's the most powerful love potion in the world.'
'Why, of course Mr Riddle!' Professor Slughorn exclaimed, clearly pleased with Tom's swift identification. "Ten more points to Slytherin! You sure are the potion's prodigy, Riddle.'
Tom Riddle acknowledged the points with a modest nod, and Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for his friend. The attention of the class shifted back to the cauldrons as Slughorn lifted the cauldron up carefully with his wand, levitating it a few inches off the table.
'Now, as Mr. Riddle correctly pointed out, Amortentia is a powerful love potion. It's known for its distinctive smell, which varies based on what each individual finds most attractive. For example, I smell pineapples, something lime and.. white chocolate.' Slughorn explained,
The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift as soon as Slughorn said "love potion". The students exchanged curious glances, and a few suppressed giggles escaped. Harry saw Tom glance at him for a moment, before looking away just as quickly.
'Now, now, don't get any funny ideas!' Slughorn chuckled, addressing the dangerously interested looks on some students' faces. 'Amortentia doesn't really create love. It simply induces a powerful infatuation or obsession for the brewer, real love can never be imitated. It's a dangerous potion and should be handled with extreme caution.' he guided the floating cauldron through the crowd of students, 'I'll give you each a smell, for you to experience it for yourselves.'
The students seemed to have formed an orb around the cauldron, each of them practically leaning in and dipping their noses into the liquid before Professor Slughorn would float it away quickly, and let someone else try it. Hermione was the first to go,
'What do you smell, Miss Granger?'
Hermione's eyes closed as she inhaled the fumes, 'I smell.. fresh parchment.. just-cut lawns.. and.. mint.. toothpaste.' she snaps out of her daze as Harry elbows her, she looks at him with a grateful smile before returning to his side. Harry watched with fascination as the cauldron floated towards him this time. After an expectant look from Slughorn, Harry let himself in the spiraling steams.
It was the most enthralling and luring smell Harry had ever experienced. Treacle tart and the wooden broomstick handle of his trusty firebolt- and..
'Mr Potter?'
Harry's eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?), he cleared his throat, vanishing the blush that had crept up into his cheeks. 'Er- nothing, professor. I'll pass.'
Professor Slughorn chuckled, 'Well alright then Mr Potter, if you want to keep a certain someone from knowing who you like.. I won't fault you for that.' he winked at him, his eyes discreetly passing between him and Tom. Harry shot him a puzzled look before Slughorn went on to the next student.
Harry noticed Hermione quickly taking out a note-pad, her quill scratched frantically onto it before it returned into the pocket of her robes. It was at that point did Professor Slughorn finally go around everyone and put the cauldron back in its place. He pulled out a tiny vial, inside was something that looked very similar to water. He pinched it carefully between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up for everyone to see.
'And does anyone know what this is?' he asks,
The person to raise their hand first was Hermione this time, who confidently answered. 'That's Felix Felicis, professor. Otherwise known as Liquid Luck.'
'Liquid Luck, yes.. the name speaks for itself, doesn't it? Liquid Luck, as you rightly said, is one of the most powerful and mysterious potions in the wizarding world. A sip of this elixir can bring extraordinary luck and success to the drinker in all their endeavors. Until the potion wears off, of course.'
He held the vial up, the liquid inside shimmering with a golden glow. The students watched in awe as he carefully recorked it and placed it back on the table.
'However,' Slughorn continued, 'as magical as Felix Felicis is, it must be used with great caution. It's a challenging potion to brew, and misuse can lead to dire consequences. It's not a shortcut to success, my dear students, but a tool to enhance your own abilities when used wisely.'
Professor Slughorn took his wand out, tapping the table with it thrice. Immediately, the dungeon's torches were lit, casting a warmth in the chill. The desks and tables rearranged themselves orderly, and cauldrons were moved on top of them, ready for making.
'Now, in this hour of class I want you all to successfully brew a vial of Amortentia, and I want a foot long essay on the details for the preparation of the Living Draught of Death and its counterpart, the Wiggenweld potion. You'll need it for your next class. The person with the best results will receive little Felix here.' he swirled the tiny vial around, 'You'll find the recipe on page two-hundred and sixty-eight. You can tell when an Amortentia is successful by the steam produced from the liquid, the tighter it loops around, the better.'
The class listened attentively as Professor Slughorn went on to explain the properties, preparation, and responsible use of Amortentia. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the potion known as Liquid Luck. The idea of having luck on his side, even for a brief period, was tempting.
As Professor Slughorn's instructions echoed in the dungeon, the students hurriedly gathered their ingredients and set to work on brewing Amortentia. Harry found himself working alongside Tom Riddle once again, their cauldron positioned near the back of the classroom.
The distinctive aroma of the love potion began to fill the air as the students combined various ingredients. Harry cautiously added a sprinkle of powdered moonstone and observed the changes in the potion. Beside him, Tom skillfully handled the ingredients, his focus unwavering.
'Careful with the valerian roots, Harry. It needs to be added gradually,' Tom advised, his voice low.
Harry narrowed his eyes at him, 'Why are you helping me? Don't you want the potion?' he whispered back, but still following Tom's suggestion. Tom smiles faintly,
'Even if I did give you my excellent advice, I'd still produce the most qualified potion.'
'Right, thanks,' Harry replied sarcastically, appreciating Tom's guidance. As they worked, Harry couldn't help but glance around the room. The intense scent of Amortentia seemed to amplify the atmosphere, causing subtle reactions among the students.
Hermione, immersed in her meticulous work, occasionally sniffed the potion and jotted down notes. Ron, on the other hand, appeared to be struggling with the ingredients, creating unintentional comical reactions from the love potion's scent.
As the potion bubbled and emitted its powerful aroma, Harry couldn't ignore the captivating fragrance filling the room. It was a mixture of the smells he had detected earlier — treacle tart, broomstick handle, and the same intriguing scent he couldn't quite identify.
Tom glanced at Harry, a knowing look in his eyes. 'Quite an interesting combination of scents, is it?'
'Yeah, it's... unique,' Harry replied, trying to sound nonchalant. A spike of curiosity piqued as he looked at Tom, 'Say, what do you smell?'
'Me? What about you?' Tom prodded while stirring his cauldron carefully, 'You were being quite secretive about it.'
Harry huffs, turning back to his bubbling potion. 'Well, nevermind then.. I can't really tell what I smell anyway.' Tom raises an eyebrow at that.
Tom had smelt ink, salt and.. something else he can't describe, yet it was so, so painfully familiar.
When he looks to his right, he sees his potion-making partner focused on his own cauldron. Idly, Tom wonders what Harry could have smelt from the potion. Could it have been something woody, like the handle of a broomstick he so dearly loves? Or could it have been treacle tart, his favorite dessert since first year? Perhaps, maybe the rose he had gotten him for Valentine's day, in their second year. Or all the flowers he'd handed him throughout February 14th every year up to the present?
It could have been something else, like grass in the rain, parchment, burning fires..
The thought of Harry possibly smelling someone else made Tom feel rather ill.
He was running out of lilac stems, he realizes briefly. He swiftly moves away from his desk and makes his way to the ingredients cupboard, reaching a hand above his head to grab a jar of them.
'Oh, wait.' he turns around to see Harry walking up to him, 'Can you grab the rose petals? I have one left.'
Tom turned to face Harry, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, the usual air of confidence that surrounded him wavered. He studied Harry intently, as if trying to discern something beyond the surface.
'Rose petals,' Tom repeated, his voice low and contemplative. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the jar of rose petals on the shelf above him. He handed the jar to Harry, and the other's fingers touched his briefly, always surprisingly warm against his cool skin. It was enough for Tom to somehow want more, and his heart rate picks up for a moment when Harry smiles at him gratefully, green eyes shining against the light and all.
'Thanks,' Harry said, breaking the intense gaze between them. He returned to his cauldron, the jar of rose petals cradled in his hands. Tom watched him for a moment longer before turning back to his workstation.
As they resumed their potion-making, a subtle tension lingered in the air. The room was filled with the sweet and intoxicating scent of Amortentia, adding an extra layer of complexity to the atmosphere. The students around them were engrossed in their own tasks, but Tom couldn't shake the awareness of Harry's presence beside him.
Harry carefully added the rose petals to the potion, and as the fragrance wafted through the air, Tom couldn't help but inhale deeply. The scent was a melange of captivating notes, and Tom's keen senses identified each one. Ink, salt, and that familiar, elusive aroma he couldn't quite place.
They worked in tandem, a silent understanding guiding their movements. The rhythm of the brewing process was almost like a dance, each step synchronized between them. Tom found himself stealing glances at Harry, observing the concentration etched on his face.
Tom noticed the way he was biting the inside of his cheek in concentration, the way his tousled black hair made his hands twitch and yearn to smooth it down. He noticed the way Harry's hand wrapped around his wand, stirring and adding ingredients. He noticed the way his green irises were so beautiful, special and unique in a way Tom wouldn't be able to find the same color anywhere else in the world.
What he didn't notice, was the way he seemed to be inching closer and closer to Harry, until they were pressed up against each other, elbows and shoulders touching the other. Harry casts him a questionable look, Tom looks at him a bit more.
A bit more..
And oh.
It's only then that he realizes how close to Harry's face he was, centimeters apart from each other, at the back of the classroom. Their proximity sent a jolt through both of them, the air thickening with an unspoken tension. Unwillingly, his eyes trailed towards Harry's lips. Pink and parted, a flush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. His eyes were wide, a seawater green that Tom could drink.
He noticed the way he wanted to lean in, to close the distance between them so badly. The way he wanted Harry to notice, to finally understand that no, his valentine's day flowers aren't platonic, his kisses on the cheek and forehead aren't just friendly- so many things, so many hints that he was almost tempted to just kiss him right here and now-
'Tom?' Harry whispered under his breath,
'Yes?' Tom murmured, their foreheads touching.
And then, he notices that Harry smelt like..
Oh.
This was serious, wasn't it? Tom thought grimly, yet somewhat amused. As a child, he always thought he'd have no need for silly, foolish things like love. But there was no other word for what he felt when he listens to Harry's laugh, when he talks about the most mundane or exciting topics with him, when he thinks he can stare at Harry's smile for hours on end, and still feel the same.
'What's wrong?' Harry mumbled, his eyes glancing away from Tom's. He decides that he doesn't like the way Harry's eyes are focusing on something else other than himself, so he gently grabs and tilts the other boy's chin up. Their lips are closer, and Tom can feel Harry's breath on his mouth.
There, in the back of the classroom, where the shadows creeped through and where the light didn't reach, Tom realizes that he was in love for the first and last time.
His tender grip on Harry's chin doesn't let up, Harry's half-lidded eyes stared into his, and Tom feels like everything else was oddly silent. It felt as though it were just the two of them in the entire world.
Tom had never wanted something- someone, so badly before. It made it hard to breathe, the way he could so easily kiss him, and yet he couldn't.
'It's nothing.' he says quietly.
His other hand goes to grab Harry's, the warmth his skin provided was something Tom wanted to consume dearly. He looks into his eyes, and his heart felt like it was malfunctioning.
'I love you.'
He's said those three words two-hundred and sixty-eight times. Two-hundred and sixty-eight moments he's spent, saying those words. And each time was different, each time was more desperate, vulnerable, open. The words have been engraved into his skull, into his tongue and mouth, repeating them over and over, for the one person that he truly does feel for.
Harry looks at him, eyebrows knitted together with confusion. Tom felt a pang in his heart, it hurts more than a wooden stake impaling it. Tom wants to kiss him.
Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against Harry's forehead. It was a gentle, lingering touch, a silent promise that held more than words ever could. Tom savored the warmth and softness beneath his lips, his thumb caressing Harry's cheek.
'No, it's nothing,' Tom repeated, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that Harry had never heard before. 'Let's focus on the potion.'
Harry blinked, 'Okay. Yeah-' he clears his throat softly, 'Okay.'
Tom took a step back, breaking the intimate closeness between them. The room suddenly felt colder, as if a warm spell had dissipated into thin air. Tom found himself wishing he would've saved the moment a bit longer.
'Love you too, Tom.' Harry whispers rather weakly, turning back to his cauldron. Tom smiles, even though he wants to explode every cauldron here.