Amortentia

Amortentia

The second Ron Weasley entered the first Potions class of his sixth year at Hogwarts, his nose was, as usual, filled with all the odd and unidentified scents that accompanied the dungeon. He, Harry, and Hermione sniffed with interest as they made their way to a table in front of a bubbling cauldron, innumerable odors wafting across the room and swirling in and out of their noses as they went. But as soon as they sat down, the simmering cauldron full of pearly liquid just an arm's breadth away, a new scent entirely hit Ron like a Bludger to the head.

It was a menagerie of the most delicious smells and aromas that had ever graced Ron's long, freckled nose, and was altogether familiar and strange all at once. There was a whiff of something that smelt vaguely like his mother's shepherd's pie and chocolate cakes, warm and inviting as they emerged from their old-fashioned gas oven. Then there was that clean, fresh scent that always accompanied long rides on his Comet Two-Sixty around the Quidditch pitch, cool mountain air and crunchy leaves blowing into his face. There was a subtle tang of what smelled a lot like Fleur's very expensive shampoo, but most everything was masked by a wealth of soft, flowery musk and a hint of some exotic herb; it was the most seductive and alluring thing he had ever smelled. He inhaled deeply, hurling each breath of the potion's fumes into his lungs as though it was his first gulp of air for hours. He saw Harry toss him a very contented smile, and he grinned back lazily. Hermione seemed to have abandoned riffling through the pages of her book at top speed and was instead slowly and methodically turning each page with unfocused and half-shut eyes, a tiny smile on her pink lips. He laughed mentally at her unusual slothfulness, and proceeded to fill himself with as much of the captivating smells as he could.

"Now then, now then, now then," said the paternal voice of Professor Slughorn through the haze of twisting vapors and glittering smoke spirals. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."
"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand. Ron noticed that his black-haired mate seemed to have a sort of contented mist clouding his green eyes as they met Slughorn's, and he supposed it was coming from the potion.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything--" Ron shook his head clear of the vivid aroma and realized that he, too, didn't have any equipment. He nudged Harry and inclined his head toward the empty space in front of him. "--nor's Ron--we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see--"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonigall did mention...not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today--"

Ron lost his sentence after that. He merely watched in a bored haze as the plump old teacher strode over to the cupboard in the corner, muttering about something, and shortly returned with two very shabby copies of Advanced Potion-Making and some rusty scales.

Hermione straightened up in her seat, no longer looking so drowsy and unfocused, hand poised on the table as though it couldn't wait to shoot up into the air, and slothful smile replaced by a hard and determined look she always had when eager to prove herself to a new teacher. Ernie Macmillan, who had joined them at their table, was also sitting erect, his usual pompously intelligent look clearly printed on his face. But Ron couldn't help but notice, with a tinge of irritation, that the Hufflepuff's blue eyes seemed to flicker over to Hermione's brown ones more than necessary. But maybe, Ron consoled himself as Slughorn ambled up to the front of the classroom, he was only looking for a sign of weakness, a signal of defeat from his intellectual superior. Ron smirked. Sometimes, Ernie really reminded him of Percy, what with his absolute refusal to be beaten.

Percy. The prat. Ron grimaced. Just as he was settling into a mental discussion of just how he would most like to injure the big-headed idiot that hurt his own family in an excuse to maintain his dignity, a waft of the enthralling scent carried itself up Ron's nose and suddenly, he didn't care much about Percy.

"Now then, I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at..."

Ron was startled by his new Professor's voice; he had almost forgotten that anyone else was in the room. Hermione, however, looked perfectly aware that there was a teacher in the immediate vicinity, as she seemed to be drinking in every insignificant word the old man was saying like Ron himself was drinking in the consuming aroma. Slughorn gestured at the various bubbling cauldrons placed around the room, but the redheaded sixteen year-old could not bring himself to look at them. He was, instead, fixated by the tiny golden glimmer in Hermione's brown eyes that never wavered from Professor Slughorn for more than an instant. In a moment of what he later qualified as insanity, he thought that he would quite like it if Hermione looked at him like that.

But he shook himself out of that silly thought thanks to a whoosh of air and color that indicated Hermione's hand rushing into the air. "It's Veritaserum," she said the second that the portly old man pointed in her direction. "A colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth."

Ron looked at the potion Slughorn was indicating, assuming that the lesson had begun while he was bust not paying attention, and saw that it looked like nothing more than boiling water. He remembered Harry had said something about Veritaserum once, but he couldn't quite recall what, as a fresh waft of scent had just swept past his face.

"Very good, very good! Now," he gestured at the cauldron by the four sitting Ravenclaws. "This one here is pretty well known...featured in a few Ministry leaflets too...who can--?"

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," Hermione said, her hand rocketing into the air.

Ron looked over and recognized the bubbling slop as well. He, Harry, and Hermione had all had a drink of the disgusting concoction in their second year at Hogwarts in a failed attempt to wrestle information out of Malfoy about the heir of Slytherin. He grimaced, and noticed with amusement as Harry did the same, at the memory of the foul, sloppy ooze slinking down his throat. He shuddered. Hermione did not seem to be reminiscing on the unpleasant thought (Ron snickered at the thought of a thirteen year-old Hermione covered in black fur) but instead was gaining momentum; her hand was in the air before Slughorn had even time to mention the potion in front of them.

"It's Amortentia!" This time Ron definitely noticed a sparkle in her eye as she shouted the name of the potion into the cold dungeon.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," Slughorn said to Hermione, looking quite dazzled at her eagerness to answer his questions. "But I assume you know what it does?"

Her voice quivered slightly with excitement. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world!"

Ron was lost after that. 'The most powerful love potion in the world.' Spinning through his mind at top speed were all the various girls' goblets we would love to tip love potion into. Fleur (though he could never admit it to anyone), Lavender, Parvati, that cute fifth-year Ravenclaw with black hair, Hermione...

Hermione? Ron couldn't decide whether to smack, scold, or laugh at himself. Hermione? Ha! That was rich. He glanced at her blabbing on about the stupid potion. She had interrupted his daydreaming with her encyclopedia answers and had even tricked his brain into picturing her draining a love potion, looking at him with those big brown eyes, rushing forward with flaring cheeks and eager lips...

"Stop that!" he scolded himself mentally. "You're being stupid! Pay attention like you're supposed to!" He decided that Hermione was having too much of an impact on his already stressed mind.

"And it's supposed to smell differently to each of us according to what attracts us," she continued enthusiastically. "And I can smell freshly mowed grass and new parchment and--" Her cheeks quickly turned a deep pink.

"And what?" Ron thought curiously. "Krum?"

"Oh, there you go again," said another voice in his head. "You're twisting things around."

"You know it's true," said the first voice scornfully. "She's always going on about that prat. 'Viktor this, Viktor that.' Merlin knows she's more than attracted to him."

"Oh whatever."

"Don't whatever me!"

"You don't think she's attracted to someone else at the moment? Or anyone at all?"

"There is no room for optimism in this discussion!"

"Just stop thinking; it's not doing you any good at the moment."

Ron agreed with himself.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" asked Slughorn; ending the mental argument raging in Ron's head.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger?" Slughorn repeated excitedly. "Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
"Oh that's right, kiss up to her, you old git," Ron thought.

Hermione shook her head. "Not, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

Ron saw Malfoy lean over and whisper something in the ear of a smirking Nott, glancing back at Hermione, and he attempted to suppress the burning desire to punch something. The two Slytherins snickered and Ron felt his ears go red. Hermione and Slughorn, however, did not seem to have noticed. To the contrary; Slughorn beamed at both Harry and Hermione, who were sitting next to each other. Ron felt surprisingly resentful of this, and even more resentful of the fact that Ernie's eyes kept flicking over to Hermione. He felt a sudden urge to drag her out of the room and away from all the prying eyes.

With Harry, of course.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you speak, Harry?" said Slughorn jovially.

Hermione turned a deep shade of pink and looked very pleased with herself.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. Hermione beamed at him.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Slughorn said warmly.

Ron felt a certain pride in Hermione, and snickered at the look on Malfoy's face, which was quite identical to the one he wore when she had punched him in third year.

The bushy-haired girl turned to Harry, absolutely luminous with glee and said quietly, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh Harry!"

Ron felt, for reasons he could not determine, a pang of jealousy and indignation at the glowing look Harry was now receiving. "Well, what's so impressive about that?" he said, not bothering to keep the fact that he was annoyed out of his voice. "You are the best in the year! I'd've told him so if he asked me!" Which was perfectly true, and he knew Hermione knew it was true, and he waited for a glowing smile in thanks, but she just shushed him and cemented her eyes back onto Professor Slughorn with a wide grin plastered on her face. He scowled.

A fresh waft of what he now knew as Amortentia drifted into his nose, and once again he lost his train of thought while exploring that alluring, seductive scent. He sniffed happily, chocolate cakes and crisp wind and that flowery perfumed smell filling his head.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course," Slughorn was saying. "It is impossible to imitate or manufacture real love." To his surprise, Ron's eyes had placed themselves on Hermione. "No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession."

"Obsession..." he thought.

"It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room..."

"Powerful..."

"Oh yes--when you have seen as much of life as I have," Slughorn said to a smirking Malfoy, "you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."

"Obsessive love..." Ron thought drowsily, that plaguing, captivating, flowery musk clouding his mind, his eyes on Hermione's glittering brown ones; the bushy tresses curling around her neck; the sun illuminating her soft pink cheeks. "I like the sound of that..."