Chapter Text
March 2014
You held the gem up to your eyes, admiring its milky glow in the dim light of the nearly empty dungeon room.
“So pretty…” You murmured.
“Careful with that,” Daniel warned with a sigh, his fingers brushing over a row of glass vials as though he were counting each one. “They’re expensive. At least help me put all of this away afterwards.”
“What did you brew?” you asked, leaning closer to the cauldron, curiosity dancing in your eyes as the liquid within caught the light and shimmered like liquid silver.
For a moment, he looked at you oddly, his familiar frown etched across his features, before he turned to fiddle with some lavender sprigs, seemingly lost in thought, the faint scent of the herb mingling with the fumes of the potion.
“Amortentia. Slughorn trusted me enough to let me brew a small batch for educational purposes,” he explained, his voice low but precise. “I’ll have to evaporate it right after I take some notes.”
“Wow, that’s so cool. And without supervision, too? My, Daniel, how sneaky of you!” you teased, grinning, the sound of your laughter echoing faintly off the cold stone walls.
"Pff, no, why? It's not like I'm some desperate bloke trying to snog. I've already got a girlfriend!" He huffed indignantly, playing insulted, yet his mind seemed entirely elsewhere, eyes flicking back to the potion as though it held all the answers.
You laughed, though it felt strange, hollow almost, like your voice didn’t belong to you.
"Here, come closer. Tell me what it smells like to you," he asked, a spark of excitement creeping into his tone after your awkward pause.
"What do you mean, what does it smell like to me?" you asked, leaning over the cauldron, the steam curling toward your face.
"It's supposed to smell differently to each person depending on what they are attracted to or desire most."
“So...if I'm craving some sugar quills, you mean I could down all this potion instead? No wonder it's considered dangerous.” You laughed again, though a subtle ache pressed against your chest, a reminder of feelings you weren’t ready to name.
"Because it is, you dunderhead. In fact, it's the most dangerous potion of all time. It's as serious as the Imperius curse, if not worse. Rumour has it that even children conceived under the influence of it are not capable of love at all, since the potion can't ever produce love itself. Only an illusion of it," he scolded, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness.
"Oh," you whispered, shame pricking at your cheeks as it always seemed to in his presence. You shifted your gaze quickly, desperate for something else to focus on. "I smell...herbs, I think." You scrunched up your nose, peering into the swirling liquid. "Smoke? Some dirt?"
Daniel elbowed you playfully to the side, the sudden contact warming the sleeve of your robe. "Are you sure you're not just trying to guess the ingredients, or are you really messing with me right now? Should I bring you a wit-sharpening potion instead?" His teasing tone softened the sting of his earlier seriousness.
"N-no, that's what it actually smells like!" you stammered, cheeks flushing as you tried to force your racing heart to slow. One more sniff, more deliberate this time, and the scent hit you.
Peppermint.
It was the same aroma you always asked him to add when he made you the lab rat for his mad genius experiments (or as he put it, “potion alterations"), and somehow, it was also what he seemed to smell like. Always.
Your eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but you quickly masked the reaction before he could notice.
"That's it? I guess you must be smelling the actual potion after all." He frowned, a shadow of disappointment crossing his features. You hated that look, so you forced your attention elsewhere.
"What does it smell like to you?" you asked softly, almost a whisper, your voice trembling just enough to betray your curiosity.
His eyes suddenly found yours, and for a moment, the dungeon seemed to shrink around you.
"It smells like..."
He paused, the words caught in his throat as he looked down, the surface of the cauldron reflecting a hidden sadness.
"Cassandra, of course," Daniel added, still unsure.
Neither of you spoke again that day. The air between you settled into quiet, punctuated only by the soft clink of glass and the muted scratch of his quill as you finished your work in the dim, lonely potions classroom.