Scent.

He smells like grass and aftershave and a little bit like heaven.

My nose itches for a hit. Sometimes, I have to go looking for excuses to lean in and have a whiff. It's quite undignified, really. I only hope that no one notices.

It's a smell that sticks to his clothes. When he leaves his scarf behind on the common room sofa, I surreptitiously steal it away. Sirius comes poking around to check if anyone's seen a lost scarf, but I am deliberately unaccommodating. I tell Sirius to tell James he should look after his belongings better.

Later, when I am alone, I take it out like something I covet. I wrap it around my neck and smell the starchy material, and it's James. James in the fibres, James woven in the folds of red fabric. I inhale deeply and smell that musky scent that I associate with him now.

When James returns that night after Quidditch practice, I return the scarf with an indifferent helpfulness. He gives me a half-arm hug, throwing a grateful arm around my shoulders and squeezing.

The blood rushes to my face.

He smells different now; sweaty, the smell of grass much more pronounced. It shouldn't be an enthralling fragrance, but it is. As I change out of my school robes before bed, I desperately hope to catch his subtle presence on my clothes, but he had not held me long enough.

It is only the following morning that Sirius approaches me again.

"So, you found the lost scarf after all?" he asks, with a certain knowingness in his tone.

I shrug and reply candidly, "A quick Summoning Charm did the trick."

"You deserve a reward for finding it," he says, and tosses me a sock.

I hold it up, staring at it balefully. I give Sirius a confused look.

"It's James's," he explains. "Since you seem so determined to get a whiff of him every time he passes. I chose the smelliest garment he owns. You should be pleased."