5
Sirius had become a lot nicer to Amita since their last terrible brewing session. Slughorn had barely given them a glance before engraving “P” in their submitted vial.
“That’s an OWL level potion,” the man scolded. “I expect better from my students, especially from people of your disposition.”
Sirius had been fuming, not so surprisingly—how dare he compare me to them?—, but it wasn’t against Amita anymore, it was with her—don’t you think so, Amita? That old man is crossing a line!
“Yeah,” she had tentatively replied, not wishing for him to turn back to his earlier persona.
The only thing that made sense was that Sirius’ did not know before today that she had been disowned. It would explain the jabs he threw her way concerning her family and his distrustful attitude.
But Amita wondered why he hadn’t known.
Pureblood gossip spread like Fiendfyre and it was surprising that her removal from the family tree was kept a secret. Did the Sacred 28 families continue to respect the Rowles because they thought Amita was still a member? What were her parents waiting for to make her disownment public?
James cut off her train of thought as he sat next to her.
The orange flames licked at the wooden logs in the fireplace, releasing much more warmth than a warming spell ever could.
“Sirius told me about you getting disowned,” he started, eyes gazing at the fire. “In his own sordid sort of way, I can tell he’s relieved.”
“I know.”
It was nearly midnight already and the Common Room was empty. McGonagall had come to scold them at 11 to go to bed, but Amita had come back down with a book instead.
The book sat on the table in front of the pair, however, still unopened.
James reached his arm around Amita’s shoulders pulling her closer in an awkward hug. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault my family’s shitty,” the girl grumbled, burrowing her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t pry herself away. James was just so warm.
Tears slowly trickled down unto her cheeks and she half-cursed, half-sobbed, “Fuck.”
“That’s awfully Muggle of you,” James joked, tightening his hold on her.
“Fuck,” she whimpered again as her body started trembling.
“Nightmares again?”
Not trusting her voice, Amita simply nodded. James stayed silent too, the only sounds in the common room being the cracking of the flames and the sound of his palm rubbing circles on the back of her shirt.
“I dreamed I turned into a stag, but couldn’t change back,” he spoke softly, eliciting a wet chuckle from the girl burrowed in his side.
“That would suck.”
“Yeah,” he continued, “I was slowly losing sense of who I was, losing consciousness. I think it’s because of the whole “existing dilemma” we talked about yesterday. I think it unsettled me.”
Amita was surprised by how heartfelt and open James was, especially to someone he barely knew—no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else differently.
“I’m sorry.” Amita looked at him, only now noticing the frown etched in his brows.
“It’s not your fault my brain was having an existential crisis.”
“No,” she conceded, “I suppose not.”
Just now realizing how clingy she was being, she pried herself out of James arms and sat up on the couch. Even this far from him, she could still feel his body warmth.
“I keep dreaming of people dying because of the war,” she admitted finally, “but I just want to run away from it. Isn’t it cowardly? I’m supposed to be a Gryffindor, but at the first chance I have to get out of this free-falling country, I’ll seize it.”
Amita looked at James and noticed he was staring pointedly at the flames.
“I’m a pureblood from a Sacred 28 family,” she added, knowing she was digging her own grave, but unable to stop. “I’ll emigrate to the States while Muggleborns are fighting for their very lives. Isn’t it hypocritical?” She laughed darkly and leaned back against the couch to look up at the ceiling.
The ceiling was actually the roof of the tower. Multiple archways converged into a single point, reaching for the skies. She knew that above it, a rod would be fixed upon the tip of the tower, extending its reach even more so. Amita wished the ceiling of the Common Room was like the one in the Great Hall. She wished she could see the stars and feel so infinitely small, so insignificant.
“You remind me so much of Sirius.”
The response came out of nowhere, startling her. Amita waited for James to expand on what he meant, on just how both of them were similar, but he never did, only stared at the fire as the flames dimmed ever so slightly signifying midnight.
***
“Amortentia is tricky.” Slughorn moved his arms rapidly as he spoke animatedly. “Everyone will smell something different. People say it smells like whatever the one you truly love smells like, but it isn’t quite accurate. For many wixen, the concept of True Love does not exist. It is ever changing—like smoke—but systematically powerful.”
The man approached the cauldron in front of his desk and waved his hand in its vapour, thrusting the fumes in his direction.
“Cocoa, a stack of fresh paperwork and a slight flowery perfume.” The man giggled. “Any who—as I was saying—it's difficult to define the causality of the fragrance you smell because it can change, it is not always caused by romantic infatuation and because it might originate from a mix of people. We can’t all love only one person, after all.” He giggled again. “Now, go on! Come smell the brew.”
The few students who had taken NEWT Potions made a small line, both excited and stressed at the prospect of finding out what it would smell like for them.
Lily was the first of the Gryffindors to go and bent over slightly before straightening up twice as fast. Her hair and cheeks were now practically the same colour and Sirius laughed at the sight before patting her on the shoulder to let him try.
He smelled for a while and slowly his forehead crinkled.
“What is it, Pads?” James asked as he smelled the brew—Ah, my Lily-flower—“ What do you smell?”
“I don’t know, it’s pretty jumbled,” Sirius frowned letting Remus scoot over to smell.
“Forest dew and hot chocolate,” Remus smiled giddily and made way for Amita to smell.
The mix of odours tickled her nose, but she kept smelling the potion, wondering if she’d recognize anything.
The slightly dusty smell of the shop down in Knockturn Alley, filled to the brim with Muggle Artefacts charmed to be twice as effective; the smell of Lady Cardania’s Muggle Perfume; the smoky scent of a fireplace.
Amita smiled. The smell reminded her of home.
When everyone had smelled the potion, Slughorn concluded their Potions’ Theory class—thank Merlin it’s only an hour long—and sent them on their way.
Amita heard two Hufflepuff girls giggle as they recalled the potion’s scent and start gossiping animatedly as they headed for their common room. The sight of them holding arms and laughing released part of the constrictive pain she felt. If people could still laugh and play around, surely the war wasn’t completely underway.
It was a looming threat, sure, but it wasn’t an imminent danger.
Not like the sight of Aiden Carrow rounding the corner to the dungeons.
“Fuck,” Amita cursed under her breath as she hid behind a protruding column.
James raised a brow in amusement. “Playing hide and seek? On a weekday?” He mock-gasped.
Amita ignored James’ attempt at humour and begged to Merlin that the tall Slytherin would head for his Common Room without stopping.
He, in fact, did not.
But, he only stopped enough to sneer at James and resume walking, so—with a relieved sigh—Amita came out of her pitiful hiding place. The girl wore a tired smile, happy not to have garnered his attention, but it quickly faded when her gaze fell upon James’ clenched jaw.
“Did he annoy you again?” He practically belted in the corridor, startling both Remus and Sirius who had kept walking. “I thought I told you to come to me if he kept picking on you!”
“I haven’t seen him since the train thing—I swear,” Amita lied, suddenly scared of having disappointed him.
“Then, stop hiding like that!” He scolded harshly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Stop being so cowardly.”
The insult hit her more than she had thought it would, as yesterday night’s conversation played in her mind.
Amita bit her lip.
I guess she really was cowardly.
“Why are you talking to her like that?” Lily sped-walked over to them from the end of the corridor. “Come with me, Amita, he’s being a prat.”
The redheaded prefect looped her arm with the distraught girl and pulled her away from the Marauders.
Amita didn’t flinch.