𝙰𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊

3 0 0
                                    

ANASTASIAS POV

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


ANASTASIAS POV

The familiar scent of warm herbs and bubbling brews filled the Potions classroom as I sat down next to Hermione Granger for another one of Slughorns' extra lessons. It had been three days since the party and the taste of the liquor still burned my throat. Never drinking again.

Slughorn stood at the front, proudly holding up a flask of shimmering liquid. "Amortentia," he announced with a smile. "The most powerful love potion in the world. It reveals the deepest desires of your heart through scent - each smell is unique to you."

The cauldron was passed around the room, each student inhaling deeply and then whispering what they had smelled. My hands grew cold as it came closer. I wasn't sure if I even wanted to know what I'd smell.

When the cauldron reached me, I inhaled deeply, expecting something - anything. But there was nothing. No scent at all. My chest tightened, confusion blowing through my mind. What did that mean? I quickly passed the cauldron to Blaise. He took a whiff and a small smile crept onto his lips before he passed it to Draco.

Dracos cold gaze flickered to me as he took the cauldron, his face unreadable. He leaned in and inhaled, and for a brief moment, I saw something shift in his eyes ; a softness, like he'd caught a scent that stirred deep inside him. But then, just as quickly the mask was back.

"Nothing," he muttered, his voice so low it was almost lost in the bubbling potions around us. "I smell nothing."

The rest of the day dragged on, each lesson blending into the next. Herbology was a blur of sorting writhing vines, and during Defence Against the Dark Arts, my mind wandered during the shielding spell exercises.

By the time Anya and I returned to the Slytherin common room, I was desperate to shake off the tension, but the crackling fire did little to ease the tightness in my chest. As we walked in, I heard a familiar voice - Marcus Flint, talking loudly amongst other older students, their smug faces illuminated by the flickering flames.

"..and when the Dark Lord is fully back, those of us from the right families will rise. The rest, well... they will either fall in line or be left behind," Flint sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.

I froze, my stomach knotting. Anya and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us said anything. I leaned against the wall, listening as he went on.

"Take the Karkaroffs' for example," Flint continued, and my blood ran cold. "Old man Karkaroff was a snivelling coward, tried to run when things got tough. Everyone knows it, and his daughter? Well, she's not much better. Shame. A name like Karkaroff should mean something."

𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 - 𝐃.𝐌Where stories live. Discover now