Of Love Potions and Idjits

Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his stool, eyeing the cauldron Professor Singer had laid out on the front bench. Potions had never been Castiel's strong suit – he preferred things that couldn't kill him if they went horribly wrong – but he'd gotten an E in is OWL for it last year, and thought maybe NEWT level was worth a shot.

Of course, Dean Winchester being in the same class had absolutely nothing to do with his decision. Not at all. Castiel spared a glance for the Gryffindor, who was seated right by him, lounging lazily on his stool like it was moulded to his (very nicely proportioned) body. In the dim light of the dungeons, Dean's dark blonde hair was transformed to brown, and the (one hundred and eighteen) freckles that dotted his left cheek, jaw and neck were all but invisible.

Maybe Dean saw him staring, or maybe he'd felt Castiel's gaze boring into the side of his face, because he turned his head and gave the Hufflepuff a grin. "Reckon Singer's gonna make us drink it, or something?" he said, nodding to the cauldron.

Castiel shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Dean's eyes (green, green, Merlin they were the greenest things Castiel had ever seen, and you'd think after five years of staring he'd be over them, but no, no, they still made his heart tap double time) and swallowing. Hard. "He cannot force us to do anything. I think perhaps we shall merely identify it, and then brew it ourselves." Dean gave a soft one-shouldered shrug, winked at Castiel (he was so glad he was sitting down, because his knees were suddenly utterly wrecked) and turned back to face the front.

Professor Singer chose that moment to bluster into the room, his robes open (as usual) and displaying the casual Muggle attire he was famous around school for wearing. "Alright, ya idjits," he began, dumping an armful of books and parchment on his desk. "Welcome to NEWT level Potions. Hope you all have your heads screwed on real good, because this course ain't no tea party like the junior years." Castiel blinked twice, quickly. Professor Singer's give 'em hell attitude, as Dean so eloquently put it, always surprised him, no matter how used to it he became. "Novak," the teacher suddenly barked, and Castiel jumped to his feet, glad his knees didn't give out beneath him. "Front and centre."

Castiel hurried around the benches until he was stood directly in front of the cauldron that had caught his attention earlier. The lid was on it, masking all sight and smell of the potion inside. "Yes, sir?"

"In this cauldron," Professor Singer began, addressing the seated class, "Is possibly the most dangerous potion you will ever have the misfortune to come across. Nasty stuff, it is. Not to be taken lightly." He eyed them all with a narrowed gaze. More than one of Castiel's classmates fidgeted uncomfortably on their stools. "And because I believe there ain't no time like the present to prepare you for the big bad world, we'll be brewing it. Now, Novak." Castiel straightened his spine and tried to look attentive. "Quit staring at me like that, kid. I'm gonna take the lid of this here cauldron, and you're gonna tell the class what's inside. Got that?"

Castiel swallowed. He desperately wanted to yell, why did you pick me? Anna's the whiz at potions, I don't know anything! But he stayed silent, merely nodding. The professor gave a gruff nod himself, then seemed to steel himself before reaching over the desk and lifting the cover off of the cauldron.

Leather. Shampoo. Aftershave. Apple pie. Castiel was immediately assaulted by each of those scents, all intermingled and yet easily told apart, mixed with something like snow and pine needles that reminded him of Christmas. He felt weak at the knees again, and his heart bounced in his ribcage like there was no tomorrow, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and his throat was bone dry and his palms had started to sweat and all of a sudden Castiel realised what he could smell. Who he could smell.

Dean.

"It's Amortentia," a voice said out of nowhere, sounding strangled and husky, and Castiel was both surprised and embarrassed to discover that it was his own. He cleared his throat. "A love potion."

Professor Singer looked impressed; he had raised his eyebrows. "Correct. Care to share the characteristics of it, Mr Novak?"

Castiel cleared his throat again. He stayed facing the professor because he didn't think he could bear to meet Dean's eyes. "The mother-of-pearl sheen of the potion, and the, um, spiralling smoke." He gestured to each feature as he named it. "And, ah, the smell."

"The smell?" Professor Singer looked incredibly smug for a crotchety Potions teacher. Castiel didn't think to dwell on it.

"Um, yes." He scratched the back of his head. (Dean always said he looked like he had sex hair – not helping, brain!) "It, um, smells different to everyone, according to what, um, attracts them the most."

"Such as…?" The professor's eyes sparkled beneath his bushy eyebrows, and Castiel began to feel suspicious. Why would Professor Singer have called Castiel to the front, of all people? And why the Amortentia, of all potions?

"I – I don't think that's any of your business, sir," Castiel heard himself say. The class gasped behind him, and he could have sworn he heard Dean stifle a laugh. "I mean –"

Professor Singer held up a hand. "I understand, Novak. Sometimes it's hard for someone to admit their true feelings." He captured Castiel's eyes in an unreadable gaze for a long moment. That suspicious sensation only intensified. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for guessing the potion correctly. Now back to your seat, ya idjit."

Castiel practically ran from the professor and slid back up onto his stool beside Dean. (Had they been sitting this close before? Castiel was hyperaware of Dean's hand, resting so innocuously on his knee, only inches away from Castiel's own splayed fingers.)

"Hey, Cas," Dean whispered, as Professor Singer began to lecture on the dangers of Amortentia. Castiel turned to his best friend (and oh Merlin, he smelt like that old leather jacket he always wore on the weekends, and that Muggle shampoo he liked, and the aftershave he said was called Old Spice and was therefore badass, and the apple pie he always insisted on having for dessert each night because it reminded him of home, and oh god, Castiel was so completely and utterly screwed) and tried to compose himself. "You were right to not tell him," Dean said quietly, leaning in close (I can count all the freckles now, Castiel's brain supplied unhelpfully) and smiling. "Just never thought I'd live to see you talk back to a teacher, man. It was awesome."

Castiel nodded stiffly and turned his attention back to the front. Concentrating proved a whole lot more difficult with Dean sitting so close, but Castiel managed. (Just.)

It was lunch hour, and Castiel was sitting opposite his friend Becky at the Hufflepuff table, who was rambling on about something called a television show, when someone plonked down on the bench beside him.

"Hey, Dean," Becky grinned, spearing her last slice of watermelon with a fork. "You ever seen that show Supernatural?"

Dean wrinkled his nose slightly, the way he always did when he was thinking about something. (And yes, Castiel found that adorable, there was no point in denying it anymore.) "That the one about those two brothers? And that angel dude?"

"You watch it?" Becky was poised over her empty plate, brimming with excitement. Dean had once told Castiel that she was a fangirl, and he'd been too embarrassed then to say he hadn't known what that was. To this day it remained a mystery, though Castiel supposed it had something to do with her constant quoting of things he had never even heard of.

"Nah. Sammy might've, though. I think some of his friends are into it. You know, his Muggle friends." Dean and Becky shared a look that spoke of something Castiel would never be a part of: the strange and sometimes sad world of Muggle-borns. He was a pure-blood, but had since come to understand a whole lot more about the Muggle world since becoming friends with Becky, Dean and, by extension, Dean's little brother Sam, who was only in second year. Unfortunately, 'TV' was not one of the things he could comprehend.

"Well the season premiere is on tonight, and I wish this place wasn't so medieval. I'm going to have to wait until Christmas break until I can watch the new series. I was just telling Cassie about it."

"You were?" Dean gave Castiel an amused glance. "I'm sure Cassie was intrigued."

Before he could say anything else, Becky jumped to her feet. "Gotta dash, sorry. I have Divination next, and I just can't be late." She dashed off down the hall, blonde hair flying out behind her. Castiel wondered if their incredibly one-sided conversation on Supernatural was over. Probably not.

"So…" Dean said, breaking his train of thought. "How was Arithmancy?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's quite simple really. I much prefer it to Potions."

"Singer's not that bad, man," Dean said with a teasing grin. "That lesson this morning was actually pretty fun, though I'm fairly sure I totally botched my brew."

"I am sure you didn't, Dean. I just don't understand why we're making Amortentia, of all things. Surely it could all go horribly wrong?"

"Nah, it won't," Dean said, giving Castiel a nudge with his shoulder. (And if heart-melting fire raced down his arm at that, well, no-one else needed to know.) "You're just pissed because of what he asked you, huh?"

Castiel bristled. "It was a total invasion of privacy, Dean; of course I am upset –"

"Whoa there, cowboy," the Gryffindor laughed. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be. But you were a bit – you know – abrupt to him."

"I would not willingly share the information he asked for with anyone. It is far too humiliating."

"What about me?"

"What?" Castiel looked up from his cucumber sandwich, and all of a sudden there Dean was, leaning in, clearly invading any kind of personal space that may have existed.

"I said, what about me?" Dean gave one of his small half-smiles that hit Castiel somewhere in the stomach (and maybe a little lower, too). "You can tell me anything, right?"

"Right," Castiel echoed faintly, because no-one could refuse Dean when he was like this. No. One.

There was a pause. "So?" Dean prompted. "What'd you smell? Becky's perfume?"

"What? No!"

"Meg's?"

"No, Dean, I –"

"Then what, Cas?" The bell rang for afternoon class, but neither of the two boys moved. "Come on, you can tell me."

Castiel looked at Dean, really looked at him, from the tip of his wayward hair to the toes of his scuffed brown boots. He looked at his arms, hidden beneath folds of robe, and at his stomach, flat under his school shirt. He looked at his Gryffindor tie, loose around his neck, and at the small scars that nestled by the corner of Dean's mouth. He looked at his nose, at the spray of freckles across it, and at his lips, pink and full and slightly open to reveal a set of not-quite-perfectly-straight white teeth. He looked at his ears, his forehead, his cheeks and his eyes, those eyes that had started all this to begin with, because certainly they were far too big and far too green to be anything but illegal.

"Cas?"

"You." The word slipped from Castiel's lips, and for a moment he couldn't breathe, because now Dean was looking at him, and it burned him up all over, and he didn't care that they were late for class, because Dean was looking at him like there was no-one else in the world and maybe Castiel was looking at Dean like that too.

"Well, good," Dean whispered after days and months and years had passed. "Because I don't know how much longer I could've kept this up."

And then Dean was leaning in, close, closer, and was wrapping his hands around Castiel's backwards yellow-and-black striped tie, and his eyes were opened wide and his pupils were blown out huge, and he wouldn't let Castiel look away or close his own eyes, and then there was only a paper-thin bubble between them, and Dean burst it without thinking twice, and his lips were on Castiel's and they were kissing and he tasted like apple pie and Christmas and Castiel felt boundless.

"About time, ya idjits," a voice said behind them, and they broke apart with a wet smacking sound that made Castiel cringe. Professor Singer glared at them. "I didn't think it would actually happen on the same day, mind you, but it just goes to show how right I was."

That suspicious feeling that had been lurking inside Castiel solidified, then, and all the pieces floated back together. "You did this on purpose!" he said, louder than he had intended. A blush began to spread like a tide from his collarbone to his hairline.

"Obviously," the professor said, sounding amused. "Pamela owes me ten Galleons, now. Cheers, boys."

"You were taking bets on us?" Dean sounded part-horrified, part-impressed. "You and Professor Barnes?"

"And the rest of staff, Winchester. You think we don't know a thing or two about romance? Merlin, the amount of times in a day you two gave each other those puppy eyes was not subtle at all. Now, I'm happy for you and all, but you'd best be getting the hell out of Dodge and to your next class, you hear me?" Castiel found himself nodding, and saw that Dean was too, almost unconsciously. They both stood and carefully edged around Professor Singer, walking slowly.

"Um," Dean began, choosing his words warily, "I suppose we should thank –"

"Outta here, Winchester. Don't make me take away any points."

"Yes, sir." Castiel grabbed Dean's hand in his own, turned, and practically ran down the walkway, dragging the Gryffindor along behind him. They slipped out the doors of the Great Hall and looked at one another, speechless.

Suddenly, Dean began to laugh, and it was so infectious Castiel couldn't help joining in. They were laughing so hard by the end of it they wound up collapsing against the wall, unable to support themselves. Dean's fit subsided first and he looked over at Castiel, suddenly serious. "I know you hate skipping, Cas, but it's only Charms." He pushed himself up off the wall and stood in front of Castiel. He wrapped a hand around his Hufflepuff tie once more.

"Well, if you can think of something better to do, then I suppose one class would be tolerable."

"Oh, trust me, I have something much better in mind." Dean gave Castiel that small half-smile, then, waiting for him to return it before closing the distance between them.