Sharp March 2025 - 25. Amortentia
Aesop Sharp teaches the lesson on the strongest Love Potion known to wizardkind.
After yesterday's sadness, I decided to have this fun full of longing and gently torturing Aesop. What fun! 🤣
25. Amortentia (1.8k)
This lesson wasn’t a good idea…
That is, Aesop knew that he couldn’t quite just skip over this particular lesson, it was, after all, a part of the seventh years’ NEWT class curriculum, and while brewing and using a potion such as Amortentia was dubious at best and criminal at worst, it was his firm belief that the students should, at the very least, know how to recognise it and how to remove its effects should they ever encounter someone on whom this potion was used.
Still, every single year he taught this particular lesson, he made sure to keep his eyes peeled for any potential troublemaker who might try to pinch a vial of the finished potion, for whatever reason - he really didn’t need even more work on his hands, and brewing a antidote for this potion was more work indeed, as the students would find out the very next lesson as well.
Besides, it could be plain dangerous as well. He heard stories of people under the influence of this particular love potion becoming so lovesick, they turned violent against those who tried to keep them away from the object of their obsession. There were even cases of people dying, because in an attempt to get to their target, they put themselves into a dangerous situation. A particularly grisly case was that of a wizard from London, who, as a way to locate the person the potion made him believe he loved, climbed atop a balcony of a tall building. And then, once he saw them, he just… he just jumped.
Aesop cringed - that was before his time as an Auror, but from what he heard, it was not pretty. To cover it up wasn’t that much of a problem, he heard, as the Muggles who witnessed it (as well as the Bobbies who were called there) wrote it off as a suicide. Not the Aurors - they saw it as murder, seeing as the man would have never taken his own life had it not been for the potion. Apparently, the Daily Prophet spoke of little else than the dangers of Love Potions for weeks following the nasty incident.
Therefore, he felt it was his duty as not only a teacher, but also as a former Auror, to instill into the students just how dangerous love potions can be, and Amortentia most of all.
What never crossed his mind, however, at least until he was face-to-face with the situation, was the fact that he’d suddenly be surrounded by the smell of what he found the most attractive. And, well, any other year before it wouldn’t have exactly been a problem - yes, it could be slightly distracting, but he was old and experienced enough to be able to mostly ignore the incredible blend of smells.
Well, not this year.
He, of course, brewed a batch of the potion in advance, just to be able to show the students how a correctly brewed Amortentia looked, and how different its smell could be for every individual. The brewing itself went without a hitch, obviously, but once Aesop bent over his cauldron for the last time for one final stir, he very nearly froze in place.
Frankly, he should have expected it. Should have, but didn’t, and that was on him. For whatever reason, he presumed the potion would smell to him like it always did - this sort of pleasant light soapy smell, like freshly washed laundry that’s been left outside to dry in the warm summer sun, coupled with the scent of good quality drawing paper, and the smell of earth after a rain. He had been mistaken.
Because the moment he bent over the cauldron, the smell that hit his nose was one he couldn’t fully take apart and explain, but he very much knew where he knew the smell from.
It was her. Of bloody course it was.
There was something floral, though he couldn’t identify which flower gave off such a scent, floral and powdery, and there was a hint of something wild and sweet in the undertone of it, kind of like sour cherries. He breathed in deeply, his eyes closing subconsciously. It was only when a particularly large bubble burst upon the potion’s surface did he remember himself, and stirred the mixture before turning off the burner below his cauldron.
Bloody hell.
He knew that smell, and he knew it well. He encountered it in both his waking moments and in his dreams, and it drove him absolutely mad.
He allowed himself to close his eyes once more and again inhale the vapours from the potion deeply. And, at that moment, it was almost as if she herself stood there, right before him, her and her irresistibly addictive smell, and he was getting completely high on it. Oftentimes he only caught a whiff of it, when he walked by her, or stood next to her to see her progress in class. Sometimes, he was able to indulge in it for a little longer, like when she had tea with him in his chambers, their armchairs close to one another, so that they were able to talk quietly. Sometimes the smell lingered, and it drove Aesop to fantasies about her still being there with him, rather than heading to sleep in her dormitory.
Now, however, the smell was stronger than he ever had the chance to smell it, and it was, frankly, turning his conscious brain into utter mush. It was like she stood very, very close to him, closer than ever. In fact, it was like she was standing so close, not a leaf of paper would fit between the flush press of their bodies against one another, so close, Aesop could almost feel the softness and the warmth of the delicate skin of her neck, where he’d buried his face, like he was a man starved and only her sweet smell could sustain him.
He could very nearly feel the phantom of her fingers in his hair, could feel his own hands closing tightly around her hips, attempting to pull her closer and closer.
Aesop opened his eyes.
Merlin’s bloody beard…
Sweat appeared at his brow, and his breathing was nearly laboured. He was leaning over the cauldron as if he truly was embracing the object of his admiration and affection just now, and yes indeed, he did feel a little confused as to how was she not there…
Shaking his head, he stepped away from the cauldron, though his legs felt like they were made of lead, and he immediately missed the scent that filled his nose so beautifully just moments prior. He put the cauldron under a stasis spell, to keep the smell contained until the potion was needed for the actual lesson, and used his wand to clear the air in the Dungeons of any remains of the potion’s vapours. Slowly, he hobbled to his desk and sat upon his chair rather heavily. Blindly, he reached into his robes for a vial of Wiggenweld potion, which he uncorked and drank its contents in a single swallow.
It was going to be an interesting lesson indeed, Aesop presumed.
—
He had not been wrong in his original assessment. The part of the lesson in which explained the origins, effects and dangers of the Amortentia potion went by alright. Aesop kept his distance from the cauldron, just to be able to clearly see everyone and insure nobody secretly took any of it. That’s what he told himself, at least, in reality, he was really steeling himself for soon having the entire room filled with the smell of the young Ravenclaw.
Speaking of her, he chanced a quick look at her, and it almost made him stutter in his speech - she was looking at the cauldron, ever so slightly leaning closer to it, her eyes half-lidded, and a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
He wondered what it was that she smelled, what scent it was that was alluring her like so…
The potions master cleared his throat: “You will find the instructions on the blackboard, additional information about the ingredients' preparation process can be found in your books, provided all of you actually brought them with you this time.” And with that, he turned around and went to sit down.
Soon, the room was filled with sounds of daggers clicking against cutting boards, book pages being turned, the instructions being copied from the blackboard, and ingredients being prepared. He watched the seventh years in near silence, for once having no essays or pop-quizzes to grade, which he was rather glad for - he presumed he soon wouldn’t be able to focus on any sort of grading anyway.
And he was correct - as the lesson progressed, he forced himself into a standing position, and made a little lap around the classroom, peeking at the students’ cauldrons over their shoulder, occasionally making small comments and recommendations when he saw someone was a little lost. However, it would seem most of the NEWT students were being meticulous in their efforts, as the air in the room was slowly becoming sweeter for Aesop’s nose, mellower.
He made his way over to the young Ravenclaw. She was visibly focused on her work, something he always deeply appreciated about her - her work ethic could be greater than that of a Hufflepuff. He stood behind her, perhaps just a little bit closer than he stood to the other students, peeking down his nose at the contents of her cauldron. He saw her tense for a moment but then relax again, gracefully stirring her potion.
“Good colour,” he praised slowly. Then, as if on its own accord, his hand reached forward and closed around her stirrer (and partially her hand). He led her hand for a few stirs, then opened his mouth to speak again: “and the consistency appears to be fine as well.”
He had to force himself to let go of her and step back, immediately missing the warmth of her body so close to his. However, even as he stepped back, he felt that sweet scent of hers lingering, tickling his nose and making him try very hard not to breathe too, well, obviously.
“You’re doing a good job, Miss (L/N). Do keep at it,” he said finally and walked (fled) back to his desk, to rest his leg (calm down) again.
Little did he know that the young woman breathed a small sigh of relief. For even as the professor stepped away from her, the smell of him remained in the air around her. A very lovely blend of sandalwood from the cologne he wore, a hint of Firewhisky, and a mix of various herbs that he used as ingredients. She didn’t know when she started finding the smell so appealing, but once she did, she got positively high on it every time her nose caught a trace of it.
And now she was surrounded by it…
Her cheeks were flushed, her neck a bit too warm, and whenever a pair of dark eyes landed on her from across the classroom, she felt like she was in heaven, and she felt like she was in hell.
Oh, Merlin, give her strength that the lesson today won’t make her lose her mind…
---
Hello! I hope you enjoyed this little story. You can check out all of my other stories over on AO3 ❤️
