“But, Professor Sharp, I thought amortentia was a sixth year spell?” Amit calls from the front, hand raised but speaking prematurely, as studious as ever. And pedantic, perhaps, but he was sweet enough that it could be ignored. It all fairness, you’d been thinking the same too, but being new, you’d rather not question your professor. You didn’t even know what amortentia was in the first place, seeing it wasn’t in any of the textbooks you’d used to catch up with, evidently because nobody had learnt it yet either.

“Correct, Mr Thakkar,” Sharp says, slowly pacing the front of the classroom. “However, with the O.W.L.s coming up, I believe attempting a more challenging spell will be beneficial to all. Now, can someone tell me what exactly amortentia is?”

Samantha Dale raises her hand. God, these Ravenclaws. “It is the most powerful love potion, and its smell differs from person to person depending on what they’re attracted to. However, it can be dangerous as it induces intense obsession, rather than true love.” Professor Sharp praises her answer, and sets out the instructions on the chalk board. “Now, remember, distributing amortentia is strictly banned at Hogwarts, and anyone caught doing so will be expelled. Understood?” Everyone murmurs the obligatory ‘yes’ and gets to work.

“Amortentia, pft.” Ominis scoffs from beside you. “Surely they must have better things to teach us instead of a love potion, especially when we aren’t even allowed to use it. It’s essentially worthless.”

You and Sebastian grin at his grumpiness. “Are you anti-romance, Ominis? I never struck you as such.” You smile, your amusement clear through your tone. You didn’t see it completely necessary to be taught such a potion yourself, but you weren’t so disheartened as Ominis seemed to be. He mumbles something noncommittal in response, and the three of you get on with brewing your potions, all going mostly smoothly until Gareth, unsurprisingly, explodes his potion from across the room.

Once you’re finished, you’re left with a bubbling pink potion, with a smell so overwhelming it would give you a headache if it didn’t also give you a minor thrill. The smell was almost burnt, like someone had blasted confringo over and over again, singed the ends of their robes or their hair. But it was also spicy, like cinnamon or cloves. Warm, but also masculine. You’re comforted for a moment by the smell, before the familiarity of it seems to take root in your stomach. It was Sebastian. It was him through and through. You supposed you’d never really smelt him before, not consciously, but his smell had always been around with how much time you spent in each others company. But Sebastian was your friend, wasn’t he?

“What does yours smell like?”