"Gather around everyone, don't be shy!" Professor Snelling was probably the most upbeat Potions Master Hogwarts had ever seen, flitting around at the front of the class in bright yellow robes that absolutely did not match the aesthetic of a Hogwarts Dungeon. She waved the students closer, a grin on her face so wide it made her smile lines turn white against her pink cheeks. It was nearing the end of their sixth year, and she wanted to give them all a taste of next year's curriculum, to get them excited enough to take her class again next year. "That's it, come on up. Don't lose your partners now! Alright. Now," she sang as she slipped her wand into her robes with one hand, and swept the lid off a pink cauldron with the other, "can anyone tell me what this is?"
Steam spiraled up from the cauldron, and just like that, the usual suspects were rendered virtually useless. Rose Granger-Weasley could have guessed it from a mile away. Scorpius Malfoy would have recognized it, if it wasn't right in front of him, pushing his attention elsewhere. Fred Weasley II knew all about that distinctive, mother-of-pearl sheen. Even Gwendoline Avery knew Amortentia when she saw it. Yet while the other students remained enthralled in the lesson, four of the best students in class had checked out the moment that scent hit their noses.
Rose tried her best not to look at the platinum blond next to her as she took in the smell of overgrown grass on a crisp summer's day, which surrounded her almost a year ago when she tackled him to the ground and sent them rolling down the hill until they lay laughing, eyes bright in the sun. She shuddered at the smell of parchment, which brought with it visions of late night study sessions and meetings they never mentioned afterward. Then there was the scent of fire; she closed her eyes against those memories.
Gwen bit her lip at the smell of the rain-soaked ground, which she leapt from to catch his broom. She avoided eye contact with the curly haired boy across from her, unable to resist the scent of custard, which was present in so many of his father's joke products. When she smelled licorice, her fingers twitched, and she clasped her hands together behind her back.
Fred inhaled deeply, and with every breath he drank in freshly cut grass, Otters Fizzy Orange Juice, and wood - the kind that his old broom was made of, the one he used to sweep her off her feet. He didn't bother to hide the way his eyes drifted toward the dark haired girl across from him, or the way he leaned into the smell of her as it surrounded him. His eyes found hers just before they flicked away, and he was so lost in her face he hardly even noticed the tall blond boy standing next to her, with his arm around her shoulders.
Scorpius nearly choked on the smell of hay, just the kind that littered the owlery the night they had their first real conversation, just the two of them. He cleared his throat, nostrils flared, and stared at his feet as he took in the scent of cinnamon-sprinkled hot cocoa. His arm tightened around the dark haired girl beside him as he breathed in the salty scent of the sea. All the while, he wouldn't let his gaze stray to the redhead on his other side.
It wasn't until Albus wedged his way between the lot of them and called out the answer that those four students snapped out of their dazes. For the rest of class, none of them would look at each other, but each one was caught staring while the other wasn't.
The entire summer before their seventh year passed without any of them telling a soul.