Chapter ElevenLavender and Hydrangeas

"Fairy wings," Winona orders as she sticks her hand out. Through my daydream, I sprinkle a pinch of the translucent wings into her palm. Winona crushes the wings in her hand before tossing them into our shared cauldron. I'm glad Slughorn let us work in pairs today; if I had to work on my own, I wouldn't have any thinking time.

I can't quite tell if Ames speaks in codes or if he just likes talking in circles around me. Maybe he just likes talking in circles to avoid actually saying anything to me; I couldn't blame him for that. Couldn't I? I'm not entirely certain if Ames and I are what one would call… friends. You would think that at this point Ames and I would have gotten to a place of a clearer friendship by now. Is it so unclear because he's a Slytherin?

Of course it's because he's a Slytherin.

The transition between partners during Defense Against the Dark Arts and acquaintances (maybe friends) in the Room of Requirement is always odd. We're always so hostile during class. I think I'm harsher on Ames when we're partners only because I know that people are watching us. What would they say if they saw the two of us laughing and talking like friends? When Kane and Dwight are at each other's throats, and when Holt makes Winona miserable, how could I let my best friends see me cozying up with Ames?

Something lightly taps me on the back of my head. My back instantly straightens and I turn around embarrassed to see Professor Slughorn behind me. "I let everyone work in groups today because Amortentia is a hard potion, Ms. Caplan," Slughorn says. He gives me a disappointed smile, which might be worse than a scowl. Even though Slughorn is the Head of Slytherins, I've always like him, but I sometimes think he's only aware of me because I'm Winona's best friend. He sighs, "It was intended that you all assist each other, not to have you sit around and hand Ms. Hurst the ingredients."

"Winona doesn't need my help," I counter. "In fact, she says I don't stir the potions correctly. I'd be doing her a disservice if I helped her."

"That's true," Winona nods. "Velma hasn't got a bit patience."

Professor Slughorn's tense smile eases after Winona speaks. "Well, Ms. Winona," he says. "So long that you don't mind Ms. Caplan getting her score based on your work, by all means, continue."

Once Slughorn has moved away from our seats, I kick Winona on her shin. "I have patience," I argue.

"You don't," she answers, tucking a strand of blonde hair back into her bun. "You stir too fast. That's why your potions always come out too thin."

"I would've helped you with the Amortentia if you had asked."

"I doubt it," she laughs. Winona stops stirring our cauldron for a moment to give me a frank look. "You know, Velma, if you tried harder in this class, you probably would've been invited into the Slug Club. Your status as 'Harry Potter's favorite student' qualifies you for it. Slughorn just thinks you're lazy."

I roll my eyes. I was disappointed when I hadn't been invited to Slughorn's Christmas party, but at least I wasn't embarrassingly livid like Kane had been. Kane had stomped around the common room when Winona had mentioned that she had gotten an invitation to the party.

"Who does Slughorn think he is?!" Kane had shouted. "I'm great! I'm fantastic! I'm going to be famous one day, and he'll regret not inviting Kane Alastair Long into the Slug Club!"

"You? What'll you be famous for?" I had asked, mainly out of curiosity.

"Quidditch, divination," Kane listed off. "Having great hair, or-"

"Being jackass?" I interrupted.

"Maybe I'll be famous for the murder of Velma Caplan," Kane had hissed back.

Winona stood up in between us. "Will you two stop?" she sighed. "Honestly, you're acting undignified, Kane. It's just a party."

Suddenly, the smell of buttered popcorn pulls me out of my memory. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Buttered popcorn that's just been popped in our microwave back home. Movie nights with my whole family while eating buckets and buckets of popcorn.

"Well, judging by your face, I'd say that I made the Amortentia correctly," I hear Winona say. My eyes open slowly, and I look to see Winona grinning at me while pinching her nose shut. I give her a questioning look. "Amortentia smells terrible if you do it wrong," she explains. "I figured the least you could do for me was be the guinea pig."

I scooch my stool away from our cauldron, as to not get distracted by the changing scents it's exuding. "Smell it, Win," I encourage her. "Tell me about what yours is."

"I smell... Freshly chopped mint... And steak and apple pie... God, it's making me hungry. And I smell..." Winona trails off. Her eyebrows furrow. "Something else. What is that?"

"Well, describe it."

"Soapy," Winona offers, inhaling deeply. "Almost chemically, but not in a bad way. It smells… sticky almost. It's really familiar. It's nice. It smells like it's trying to smell like coconut. Like something really artificial."

"Maybe it's some coconut soap."

"No… I don't think it's soap, but I…" Winona's voice trails off and her eyes snap open in surprise. But before I can ask her what she's realized, Kane is barreling towards us. He crashes in to me with his hands on my shoulders. "Did you guys finish?" he asks.

"Yes, we did," I answer, nodding.

"Yes, I did," Winona corrects me. She moves away from the cauldron, her shoulders tense and her cheeks pink. I wonder what she smelled. Winona grabs Kane by the arm and brings him in front of the cauldron. "Go on, smell it, Kane. What's it like for you?"

He eagerly puts his face toward the potion, almost sticking his head into it. Kane grins, "It smells like an ocean breeze or maybe like, like pine trees. And it smells like the world after it's just rained. Yeah... and it smells like my grandma's house."

"What does your grandma's house smell like?" I ask.

"Like the best xiaolongbao you've ever had."

"What about you, Velma?" Winona prompts me. "What do you smell?"

"It smells like Kane's grandma's house," I answer, pretending to waft the Amorentia towards me.

"Very funny," Kane says to me, unamused. He moves away from the cauldron and signals for me to take his spot. "C'mon, Vel," he says. "Go smell it."

Reluctantly, I close my eyes and smell the purple and blue potion. Immediately I feel like I've just landed nose first in a meadow full of lavender. I smile, but feel something heavy land on my heart. Lavender is one of my scents because Marissa and Mom used to grow lavender in our front yard. It was their special project, to border our fence with lavender. Mom died before she could see all the lavender blossom and before she could smell how good it made everything smell. Marissa kept the garden alive once Mom was gone, but when Marissa died there was no one to keep the lavender alive.

The winter break of my fifth year, only six months after Marissa died, was when Leigh and I had noticed that Aunt Iris and Dad weren't paying attention to the lavender. The two of us had walked back from the train station since Aunt Iris had work and Dad couldn't leave the house. The lavender wasn't dead yet; there was just enough purple still there to be noticeable.

"What do we do about the lavender?" Leigh had asked me.

Leigh, obviously wanting some reassurance, looked up at me hopefully. I didn't want him to see me sad, so all I could manage to do was glare at him. "I don't know, Leigh," I had hissed at him. Leigh was only twelve at the time and was still shorter than me. He withered under my glare. "We let the flowers die."

My little brother rocked back and forth on his feet. His curly bangs hung low in his eyes. "You don't think you can fix them?" he asked me meekly. I always hated it when Leigh talked to me like that. Scared and like a little kid. Like the way he would talk to Mom or Marissa. If he talked to me like that, then he expected me to help him, and somedays nothing hurt me more than knowing that I couldn't.

"I'm not about to do any underage magic," I respond harshly to Leigh. "I can't fix it, Leigh. Marissa never taught me how."

I hold onto the scent of the lavender and try to let go of the bad associations that go along with it. Hold onto the good ones. Mom and Marissa gardening, and Leigh and I play in the yard while Dad cooks.

I inhale again. Buttered popcorn. I feel like I'm ten again, standing in front of the microwave with Leigh and listening to the popcorn pop. I feel like I'm wedged in between Leigh and Marissa watching muggle movies with our cousins sitting around us as well.

The smell shifts to something I don't recognize. It's something that I can't find the words to describe, like trying to teach a blind person colors. It smells old, but not in an unpleasant way. Old in a dusty, ancient way. Something warm rises in my chest, and I become oddly aware of every nerve on my body. It's not a familiar smell, but smells like something that's always been there. The warm feeling continues to spread across my chest, almost as if a flower just bloomed from out of my heart.

I open my eyes to see Kane and Winona looking at me expectantly. "Lavender. Also buttered popcorn," I tell them, "and something else."

"Try to describe it," Winona says to me.

I rack my brain for the words that would do this smell justice. "It smells like seeing fireworks for the first time," I say with a small smile on my face. My voice grows faster with every word, the smell becoming more and more familiar. "It smells like color of sunsets, and it smells like the way freshly fallen snow looks, right before anyone's stepped through it. It smells like sunshine hitting you while you're playing outside."

Kane scrunches up his face at me. "You know that you're not making any sense at the moment, right?" he asks.

"I know," I answer, still smiling.

v

As much as I've grown accustomed to talking with Ames in the Room of Requirement, somedays I make a special effort not to talk to him. Not out of anger or spite, but to allow him to practice his singing spells. I try to tell myself that I let him practice because this is our studying time after all, but I know that I always make the extra effort because I like watching his spells fly about the room. The spells that Ames casts are like nothing I've ever seen before. No matter what the spell, when Ames sings they come out in bright colors and in big flurries of movement that spiral in different directions.

I stand leaning against the wall closest to Ames. He stands with his shoulders back and a focused, stoic expression on his face. He always stands like this before he starts singing. I look him over. Ames never takes off his robes or jacket unless he's practicing his spells. It's obvious that Ames is skinny, but if you look at him without the large robe or jacket on you can see that he's not that skinny. With just the white button up on, Ames looks thin, but not frail.

When we were younger Ames had been the kind of skinny that made it look like it'd be easy to push down, which is exactly what Kane and Ridley liked to do. On top of that, Ames was short at the time, making him an even easier target for the boys to shove around. However, somewhere around our fourth year, Ames grew into his height and would've been lanky, but seemed to have made an extra effort to gain muscle mass. It was around that time when Ames started catching girls' eyes. Girls like Renata Santo, with her annoyingly perfect curvy-strong body and pretty eyes. More girls from other houses probably would've been interested in Ames's pale blue eyes and swept blonde hair if he weren't so… Slytherin.

Ames hums something and his humming slowly turns into the words of a spell that I can't recognize. A dark golden light starts to stream out from his wand, swirling around him in a circle. Ames's voice grows louder and more powerful with each word. The spell suddenly shoots upwards and bursts on the ceiling. Specks of light land in both of our hair. I look up to see the room lit up by a brilliant ball of light. A weather changing spell. A weather changing spell to make sunlight.

Ames looks up at the ceiling, the artificial sun lighting up his face. He stares up at the sun seemingly indifferently, but I see the looseness in his shoulders and the tug at the corner of his mouth. He's pleased with himself. He looks away from the sun at me; his pupils are still tiny from the bright light, making the light blue stand out. The quarter smile stays on his face. "You're leering," he says.

"I'm not," I retort defensively, feeling a blush rise up in my cheeks. "I'm… observing." Ames gives me a smug look. I roll my eyes and point my wand to the ceiling. "Meteolojinx Recanto," I cast, and the sunlight in the room fades away. I hold eye contact with Ames and watch as his pupils started to dilate. I tilt my head at him. "I just can't figure out how you do these spells."

"It's the same spell you learned," he answers, shrugging. "You could probably do them just as well. Faster and without speaking, I might add."

"Maybe, but the things you do are so powerful," I say, taking a few steps towards him. "How do you make your spells like that? I've tried singing them, and nothing even happens for me."

"It's not important how I did. What's important is that I can." Ames turns away from me at that, leaving me standing there like an idiot. He turns away from me, seemingly thinking that answer is enough. To be fair, usually I would settle for that answer. Usually I would sigh at his 'Ames-answer' and move on in my studying, but not today. I'm through with the dismissive way he talks to me all the time.

"Why do you always talk like that?" I snap at him.

Ames turns around. His eyebrows are almost raised, making his version of a surprised expression. "Like what?"

"In circles," I say exasperated. There is no way he isn't aware of the way he talks to me. "Like you're always finding a way to end our conversation before you really say anything."

"I don't do that," he argues.

"Yes, you do!" I exclaim, taking another step toward him. I let out a deep breath. "The mysterious act has gotten kind of old, Ames."

Ames raises his hands, like he's going to continue arguing with me, but then he looks at me. He really looks at me. He sees the anger and frustration in my face. He sees all the emotion that, unlike him, I'm not afraid to show. Ames drops his hands and sighs. "You won't like what you see," he says, staring at his feet, "if you get too close."

I almost laugh at him. Absurd. Confusing. Still mysterious. "That's not true," I say.

"It is," he retorts, a sliver of anger escaping through his voice. "Trust me. Velma, you shouldn't-"

"No, Ames," I persist. "Let me try. Just… let me try."

Ames scrunches one side of his face slightly, seemingly debating. After a moment, he lets out a breath through his nose. "Alright," he finally answers, moving to sit against the wall.

I follow him and sit with him. I leave a foot of space in between us, like I'm trying not to scare him off. It's as if he's a wild animal I'm trying to approach and domesticate. "How'd you learn to sing your spells?" I ask.

"Desperation mixed with trial and error," Ames replies quickly. He keeps his eyes shut and his head tilted against the wall.

"That wasn't so bad," I tease. Ames's eyes stay shut, but he nods almost as if he's in pain. "Can I ask you more questions?"

He hesitates. "I wouldn't."

"It won't even be about you, but you have to answer honestly," I urge him. His eyes slowly open again and Ames watches me out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he's not a wild animal. Maybe he's a butterfly that's landed on me, making me scared to move, or else he'll float away. Ames nods. "Why does Renata hate me?"

"Oh…" Ames breathes, messing with his hair. How can he always talk like that? Not monotone, yet so unfeeling? "It's complicated, but… in short, it's my fault."

"How?"

"It's always been…" Ames tries. His voice falters, and his face contorts into what must be a grimace for him. "You've always been you, Velma, you know?"

I feel my heart pound in my chest and heat rise up in my cheeks. "Oh…" I manage to make myself say, forcing the syllable out.

Neither of us say anything then. He looks away from me again, and my mind focuses in on his eyes. You could call them baby blue, but that makes his eyes sound gentle. Ames's eyes are hard and steely, like he's always bracing himself for the worst. Light, powdery blue. Not quite bright enough to be sky blue. Maybe it could be sky blue on a cloudy day.

He turns to make eye contact with me, and I go against every reaction in my body and keep the eye contact. His cloudy sky blue locking with my stainless steel gray. "What are you thinking right now?" he asks me quietly.

"Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?" I answer. I smirk at him and the corner of his lips twitch in response. "I'm thinking of other questions I can ask you." I hesitate, but slowly pull my necklace from out of my shirt. At the end of my necklace is a thin vial filled with the blue and purple Amorentia. "Easy question," I say, removing the cap of the vial. I hold it near Ames. "Smell it."

"That's not a question," Ames responds, looking at the liquid tentatively. "What is it?"

"Amortentia. Winona brewed it during class," I say. Ames gives me a pointed look and I roll my eyes. "I'm not planning on using it on anyone," I quickly explain. "I just… I wear it because I like to smell it. C'mon, Ames, you try."

"I've never smelt Amorentia before…" Ames admits, staring down at the vial uncertainly.

"All the more reason to do it now."

He takes the small vial from my hands. I watch him carefully. Ames inhales, and I feel a tug at my heart when his face lights up. Ames beams. "It smells like…" he begins. Ames's smile goes wobbly, like he's attempting, but failing to conceal that he can actually smile. "It smells like my first violin. I can smell parchment paper and cookies baking. And… and there's Mother's hydrangeas." The smile falls from his face. He swallows hard, and I can't help but remember how it felt to smell my mom's lavenders. His voice drops to a whisper, "I forgot what those smelt like…"

Ames slowly passes the vial back to me. As I secure my necklace around me, I keep my eyes on him. His already pale face seems lacking in even more color. His shoulders are slumped and he sits with an unusual dejected looseness.

My head tells me that Ames obviously doesn't want to be bothered by any of… this any longer.

My heart tells me that if I want answers, now is the time to get them. Now is the time that Ames is open.

"How many more questions do I get?" I ask him softly.

Ames considers this question. He stares up at the ceiling, his jaw tense and eyes clear. His hand stays so solidly between us. I reach my hand over to his, but just close enough to where our pinkies touch. It's such an insignificant motion, but I feel a warm tenseness spread through my body from such a taboo touch. I could pretend that touching him was an accident. I could've pretended that I was uninterested in him. I could've avoided the Room of Requirement all together. I really could've.

Ames releases a deep sigh, "Less than it'll take to scare you away."

"This'll be the last one," I promise. I take a deep breath and feel my entire body tense up as I ask my question. "What will you tell me about your mother?"

Ames's face stays calm, but he suddenly jerks his hand away from mine. "I'm a lot like her."

"Not that much," I argue.

"You don't know, Velma."

"Well, obviously I want to know!" I shout exasperated. Ames stares straight at the wall across from us as he slowly lowers his hand back down. This time he rests his hand completely over mine; it practically lights my entire arm on fire. I should hate Ames; I really should. Slytherins and Gryffindors. Hasn't the relationship between the two houses already been decided by predestination? Aren't we supposed to hate each other? My mind reels to think of anything else to think about instead of Ames Fremont's hand on mine. I can only think of one thing. "Did she want you to kill me that night?" I hear myself ask in a voice much more timid than my own.

I can't bring myself to look at Ames, so I look down at his hand instead. Every muscle in his hand seems tense as if he's actively forcing himself to touch my hand gently. Maybe what he's doing isn't out of kindness or fondness for me, but out of pity for me. "I thought you said the other one was the last question," Ames says, his voice strained.

Tears prick at my eyes, but I force them away. That night. Everything about that night makes me feel so inferior and weak. "Ames…" I say to him in a coaxing voice. "You said that you'd be honest."

He sits in silence for a beat. "She did."

I don't know how to feel about his response. Betrayal? Relief? Horror? "We were fourteen," I whisper, my voice shaking. I turn to look at him. "Ames…"

"I told you," he almost laughs. I feel his hand quivering over mine. "It's not good when you get close."

"You don't get to decide that for me," I retort.

At that, Ames finally turns back to me. His face is so close to mine. Half of his face, at least. His chin juts out towards me, but he tilts his head away from me, making himself into an odd contradiction. A tuft of blonde hair has fallen out of place and onto his forehead. I slide my hand out from under his to reach up and brush it back into place. His forehead tilts towards me.

"Do you think about that night a lot?" I ask.

He shudders and closes his eyes. "Too often," he answers.

"Me too," I whisper. I see his hand still resting on the ground between us. I could lay my hand on his. I think of how warm his hand was and how nice it felt.

I put my hand in my lap.