The Angel and The Demon [ Tomarry

Brewing Up Trouble

A/N: I took a lot of liberties with the making of Amortentia, so the process that I have here is definitely not the canon way of doing it (if there even is a confirmed way of making it).

—

It was the last Potions class of the year and finally— finally— their final potions were complete.

Only took about half a year. Merlin, Harry thought, how could anyone ever want to be a Potions master if it took so long? In the span of their whole life they could probably make, like, three potions. Tops.

Silently, the cauldrons were floated out to their respective brewers, a lid on each one to make sure the smell of Amortentia wouldn't be in the room until Snape started grading.

Most teachers already had their final grades done, but no, not Snape. Of course not. He had to wait for dramatic effect.

Since the final project just needed to smell like Amortentia (because, y'know, it needed to be Amortentia), Snape could just smell the potions to make sure they were right— not like in courses like transfiguration, which required quite a bit of theory work.

Harry would know. It sucked.

And, of course, seeing as Snape was Hogwarts' biggest sadist, he was going to grade their final project in front of them. Like a jerk.

The Gryffindor common room that morning had been a frenzy— Harry had seemingly been the only one calm.

Hermione had been pacing the floors, pouring over a few of her trusty potions textbooks. For some reason, she was convinced that Snape was going to give them a pop quiz as a second part of the final grade— she then convinced Ron, who convinced Seamus, who convinced Dean, who convinced Lavender, who convinced...

Yeah, it was a frenzy.

In fact, Harry had been the only one in their year in Gryffindor who was taking potions to not be worried about a pop quiz.

Why? Well, Snape could suck on his balls, that's why. Maybe if he died his hair red like his mother, Snape'd be happy to do it.

Uh-oh Harry, he thought to himself, that's too much. It's not like it's a secret, but absolutely no one needed to hear that.

Looking around the Potions classroom in the present, Harry was sure the only people who were calm were himself and Tom— Tom because he definitely got top marks, and Harry because... hey, it's not like Snape would have ever given him a good grade anyways.

"I wonder what I'm gonna smell," Harry said, thoughtfully. "I'm thinking treacle tart, what about you?"

Instead of answering at first, Tom grabbed Harry's waist and pulled him close, before sticked his head into Harry's hair. "Hmm... Oranges," he then answered, before letting Harry go.

As soon as it was said, a slight acidic taste appeared in Harry's mouth, who frowned in consideration. That would mean Tom was lying. But why?

"Hey, 'Mione, what about you? What do you think you'll smell?" Ron asked from behind him, cutting off his thoughts.

"Well, what's your favourite smell?"

"Oh, I dunno... fresh cut grass, maybe?"

"Then anything but grass."

Ron blanched. "Hey!"

It was obvious that Ron was about to retort (Harry couldn't see him, but he could basically taste the comeback in the air), but was cut off when Snape started to open the Amortentia.