Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm not J. K. Rowling. I earn nothing from writing this; it is merely for my own amusement.

A/N: Okay, I'm supposed to update my other stories, but I've had the worst writer's block in years, so I'm combating it by writing this two-shot. I've wanted to write a soulmate AU for a long time, so when I saw the Soulmate!Au Challenge at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges I took the opportunity to write one.

In this universe, no one is born with the ability to smell. However, they do taste, since it is, I've researched, possible to taste things without being able to smell. However, the taste of food and such is not experienced with the same intensity as we, who can smell normally, experience in our daily life.

Warning: This chapter hasn't been beta read, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you notice anything, please let me know and I'll correct it.

Enjoy!

The Fragrance of a Moon Orchid

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He could still remember it. The last time his mother kissed his forehead.

She had been sitting at his bedside, smiling gently at him. Red hair visible through the darkness, taking the shape of a glowing halo. She was beautiful. Soft, life-giving and overflowing with kindness. And in the mind of a child, she had been immortal. Changeless.

Warm fingers had brushed through his messy hair, a futile attempt at controlling something they both knew was uncontrollable. Much like you, she had whispered. He had stared up at the ceiling, lost in trying to imagine how a fragrance would be experienced. It had, and still was, a mystery to him.

He had stared up at the ceiling, lost in trying to imagine how a fragrance would be experienced. It had, and still was, a mystery to him.

"Mom, when am I old enough to begin to smell things?" He had asked in wonder.

She had smiled warmly at him. At his ignorance, he later discovered. "Harry, lovely," A soft, warm breath on his skin. He still wondered what scent it must have had. "The ability to experience the fragrances of our world doesn't come at a certain age. It's not connected to you. It's an ability, a small piece of a puzzle, that only can be discovered by meeting a special person."

"When?"

"Right now, your world may be like a moon orchid, beautiful but without fragrance. However, soon it'll transform into a field of flowers. Just have patience." His beloved mother had whispered and bowed down to kiss him on the forehead. For the last time.

— ø Ø ø —

The orchid's white petals stood out like a ghost in the dark room. Illuminating the counter at the end of the shop together with a dozen other orchids. It made a bizarre sight for customers shopping at Scribbulus Writing Implements. After all, they had not entered the shop in look for flowers, no matter how beautiful they were, but for writing implements in all varieties. The orchid also posed as an unbearable reminder for some. 'Come over here, smell me, if you can.' Taunting their inability to smell, because few knew that a moon orchid was, in fact, a scentless flower.

Harry breathed out in satisfaction, forest green eyes carefully studying the masterpieces in front of him. They were blooming wonderfully. So well, that he began to consider if it was time to add another to his personal flower shop. He glanced around the room and nodded in thought. There was certainly enough space to add a few more, and the owner didn't mind as long as he kept them nurtured, pleasant to the eye and away from the writing equipment.

"Excuse me," A hoarse, masculine voice broke the silence and Harry glanced up in surprise. Stepping back, he lifted his arm from the counter and straightened his back to greet the customer with a pleasant smile. "Yes, how can I help you?"

As his eyes roamed over the figure in front of him, he momentarily forgot his white obsession at the counter. Harry had expected an elderly man because the voice that had greeted him had the familiar sound of a decaying voice, with small cracks in-between every word and an underlying indication of deep knowledge. However, now that he further studied the man, he could see no sign of aging. No, he could be no older than his late 20s, maybe early 30s.

A slim body and pale skin, giving Harry the impression that the man was the studious type. He could neither be considered tall not short, but his lean figure did give him the advantage of seeming taller than he, in actuality, was. Yes, now that Harry further studied the man, he had to agree with himself that he was more than pleasing to the eye. Dark brown hair carefully swept back and mahogany eyes. Lips forming incomprehensible words. Wait. "Wait, I'm sorry, could you please repeat that, Mr…?" Harry dug his nails into his palm, feeling his ears heat up in embarrassment.

The man glanced unimpressed down at him, before sighing. "Riddle," He replied, and placed a quill, that he probably had been holding the last minutes, on the counter. "I am wondering whether you still have this model."

Harry picked it up, expecting one of the recent designs. After several minutes of close studying, he exhaled in confusion and looked back at Riddle. "When did you buy this?"

"I bought it… about 20 years ago, I believe."

The answer prompted another careful analysis of the man's age because the man couldn't be more than 30 years old. Harry glanced down at the quill, concluding that he must have bought it as a child. However, this model was specifically designed for an adult hand. His eyebrows furrowed in indecision and he pursed his lips. "I'll be right back."

When he returned from the storage room with a variety of boxes, Riddle sighed in defeat. "I would have loved to get the same model, but if it is out of production then I would rather have something similar, so please do not consider the one with everlasting ink. I find it mildly annoying, there are too many malfunctions with those types of quills."

Harry shook his head as he placed different models down at the counter. "Actually, most of the problems connected with everlasting ink quills have been solved, so you no longer have to worry about it suddenly spilling ink all over your paper. Would you still not consider it?"

"No, I am rather old-fashioned at heart, so, even without its flaws, it is nothing for me. Simple as that." As he spoke his eyes roamed across the room, until they fell upon the orchids occupying the sides of the counter. "Orchids are very aesthetic, I must say… But, I do not find myself capable of enjoying their beauty as much as I would have liked to. It reminds me too much of my inability to experience their fragrance." His voice was sharp, almost loathing, and Harry found himself momentarily stunned by the man's hostility against his obsession.

Swallowing, he murmured. "They don't have a scent…"

Riddle leaned closer to the flowers, studying them while murmuring. "Oh, really?"

"Or so I've been told. " Harry added silently, feeling his own self-pity and loathing surface.

Their eyes met and for a single infinite moment, they were nothing more than two human beings sharing a common suffering. A collective misery.

"My mother said that the world around us, who cannot smell, is like a moon orchid. It is a world without fragrance, just like these orchids. However, when we meet that particular person it transforms into a field of flowers." It had been unintentional to dig into such a problematic topic, but now that he had begun, Harry was incapable of controlling his foolish mouth. "Yes, the wonderful and various aromas of our world all blooms when we meet our soulmate." And he had to stumble and use the romanticized and slightly frowned upon term given to everyone's special someone. Swallowing, Harry hurriedly picked up one of the boxes and opened it slowly while whispering. "I apologize, that was insensitive,"

Riddle shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Ignorance is bliss, boy," He glances down at his watch and purses his lips in displeasure. "It seems time is running away from me. Please, which model would you recommend?"

"Well," he glanced at the boxes, "most of the models I've found do have similar qualities to your old quill, but I wouldn't recommend any of these. While they're based on the old models, they don't always work well and some have a habit of changing the color of the ink. However, you could try this design, it's our oldest. If it doesn't work well, then you just have to return it. We take returns as long as they're not used too much, a maximum of 2 days, I believe."

"I will try it out," Riddle replied in thought. "Thank you for your help." He whispered, dropped the payment in Harry's hands and strolling out the door. Gone before Harry managed to utter another word.

Harry stood still, staring at the closed door. The coins in his palm were cold with a touch of heat from Riddle's own hand. Yes, this was probably how a scent would be experienced, like heat and cold. Every time slightly different and extraordinary.

Now that he considered it, a moon orchid must have some kind of fragrance. Non-Fragrance must be a fragrance too. There must be a scent experienced as the absence of scent. Or maybe not, it was impossible for him to say.

He gripped the coins tightly, feeling hard metal bite into his skin. His heart broke in longing and suddenly he felt cheated, like a possibility had slipped through his fingers.

'You never know who, not until your hearts touch and heated skin meet skin. An atomic explosion and the world collapses… ' His mother had whispered years earlier, long before her death.

— ø Ø ø —

To be continued.

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