Chapter Text
XXX
Harry sipped distractedly on his pumpkin juice.
It'd been a long day. Snape was still a slimy git that was lacking in shampoo-usage, Draco was still an inbred idiot, Ron still ate with the table-manners of a mountain troll, and their new Potions professor was a kind of 'bad touches' variant of creepy.
Still better than Snape though, but considering that Gilderoy Lockhart could probably teach Potions better than Snape – even after his accidental memory erasure – that really wasn't saying much.
His juice tasted funny.
Frowning slightly at the odd taste, whilst trying to come up with a reason for it, Harry glanced around the room. It wouldn't do to have someone sneak something they'd bought from the twins into his pumpkin juice, he didn't feel like spending some time as a canary today.
Still, he didn't have feathers yet, nobody else seemed to have reacted oddly to their pumpkin juice, meaning that it was only his that tasted oddly, and Harry couldn't see anyone suspicious-looking within range.
Shrugging absently to himself, Harry took another sip of his funny-tasting pumpkin juice.
It tasted a bit like... weird. Whatever it was that had been added most certainly did not taste of pumpkins. It tasted more like something he'd find on Madam Pomfrey's shelves. Basically, it really tasted quite disgusting, only with a hint of something comfortably warm.
Obviously, someone had spiked his pumpkin juice with some manner of potion. The question was what kind of potion, for what reason, and who'd done so.
It didn't taste like anything else he'd personally tasted whilst in the care of the school nurse, so that erased quite a few variations of potions. It also didn't taste anything like polyjuice – for which he was grateful, as that would've completely ruined his pumpkin juice – or anything he could remember having forced down his throat in Snape's classes, which ruled out a lot more unpleasant concoctions.
Musing curiously at this new issue, Harry took another sip of his pumpkin juice.
Perhaps the smell would shed some light on this interesting conundrum?
Sniffing absently at his obviously tainted pumpkin juice, Harry came to the conclusion that it smelled a lot like pumpkin juice, with a hint of... fresh morning air? That was weird, he could've sworn he'd tasted old socks in there somewhere.
Staring suspiciously at the oddity that someone had tainted his pumpkin juice with, Harry finally let out a sigh.
“Hermione, can you explain to me how something can smell of 'fresh morning air' and taste like old socks?” He turned to the brightest witch of their generation.
“Wha-?” Hermione looked at him for a moment, clearly considering if she'd seen him hit his head on something whilst not truly paying attention.
“I'm trying to figure out what they poured in my pumpkin juice.” He explained absently. “It tastes a bit like old socks, but smells like fresh morning air. How does that work? I thought smell and taste were supposed to be very closely linked?”
Hermione's mouth dropped open as she stared at him with mild horror. “Someone poisoned your pumpkin juice?”
“'Poisoned' is such a strong word...” Harry waved off her horror. “And it's not like any of Snape's poisons actually managed to give me more than a stomachache.” He paused. “I wonder if that's why he was so insistent on getting the Defense position, you know, so that he wouldn't have to suffer through my immunity to his fantastic poison collection. It would explain a lot.”
Hermione made a sound of frustrated despair. “Harry, please, focus. Potions are dangerous. Drinking potions that you don't know what they do is a Bad Idea.”
“Well, I should certainly say so, I mean, it tastes like old socks. This is just cruelty to all fine tasters of pumpkin juice out there. If pumpkin juice isn't sacred, what is?” He begged his female friend for an answer.
“Harry. Shut. Up.” She growled out in response, clearly not amused by his dramatics when she thought that he might be in serious danger. “What did you say it smelled like?”
“'Fresh morning air' and pumpkin juice.” Harry shrugged, then took another sip of the odd liquid. “Tastes a bit like pumpkin juice, old socks, and burnt hair.”
“Don't drink it!” Hermione yelled at him, snatching the goblet from his hand to inspect it for herself.
“Hermione, you know as well as I do that non-medical potions haven't worked on me since the end of second year.” He paused. “I still say we should shove basilisk fangs into Neville's arm and heal them with phoenix tears, it would probably help him keep himself reasonably safe in Potions class.”
“Not the time, Harry!” Hermione snapped back at him, sniffing the liquid. “This smells like... Luna?”
Harry paused at that, confused at why his pumpkin juice would smell like Luna. Especially since he felt he had a fairly good idea of what Luna smelled like, and that whilst it was most certainly a pleasant fragrance, it didn't have anything to do with fresh morning air.
Hermione looked as confused as he did, until understanding dawned with a kind of confusedly amused horror. “This is Amortentia. Someone slipped you a love potion, Harry.”
Harry blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Huh. Well, there goes my instinctive urge to blame the twins.” He shuddered slightly. “Even if they were guilty of it, I still don't think I could blame them for it... for mental reasons.”
“Despite their strange sense of humor, I doubt they'd try to slip you love potions, Harry.” Hermione pointed out distractedly.
“For my sake, Hermione, I hope you're right.” He nodded solemnly, before suddenly pausing. “Wait, isn't Amortentia supposed to smell like what you love?” He asked the witch in front of him curiously, his lips twitching upwards in a distinctly gleeful way.
“Harry, my romantic interests are not to be discussed, are we clear?” She asked in a very accurate portrayal of McGonagall.
Harry nodded, a dazed look in his eyes. “No questions asked, none at all.” He grinned smugly. “But I'll be remembering this conversation during the long lonely nights at the Dursleys.”
“Harry James Potter! Someone slipped you a love potion! This isn't the time to be pondering threesomes!” Hermione growled at him.
Harry blinked. “I wasn't.” He stated honestly. “But know that my door is always open should you ever need a third wheel.”
Hermione paused. “Wait, you're not completely in love with whoever made the potion.” She pointed out.
“Of course not.” Harry huffed indignantly. “I can throw off the Imperius, I'm immune to all poisons and most harmful potions, and I'm in the midst of a very nice daydream containing two very pretty witches.”
“Gah! I give up!” Hermione threw her hands up into the air, her frustration reaching the boiling point.
“Can I have my pumpkin juice back?” Harry asked curiously. “It tasted quite awful, really, but it'd be hypocritical of me not to drink it.”
Hermione turned her narrowed eyes towards him. “Harry James Potter. We are going to have a Talk.”
Gulping nervously at the capital 't' in Talk, Harry hoped that it would involve neither the 'friend speech', or the 'birds and the bees', figuring he ought to be fairly safe from the 'let's see other people' since they weren't dating in the first place.
By the time they arrived at an abandoned classroom, hidden enough that Hermione could yell at him without anyone overhearing, Luna had somehow decided to join them.
Since Harry wasn't arguing with Luna on principle – you could never tell if you won or lost, but it rarely felt like a win – and since Hermione was apparently distracted by Luna's fragrance, the Ravenclaw was happily included in the Talk.
Fortunately, the Talk wasn't so much a talk, as it was a 'God Yes Don't Stop!' kind of thing.
And that's why Amortentia is for wusses.
XXX