“What do you smell, Eliza?” Skye asks you, as you stand what should have been a safe distance from the cauldron Snape has bubbling in the middle of his classroom. Streams of pink smoke loft occasionally into the air as your professor’s voice continues to cut through the crowd, droning on about how you need to study amortentia to know how to identify it and therefore avoid it. A better policy seems to be just don’t touch any potions you don’t know.
You try hard not to lean forward but it is intoxicating. Skye elbows you and raises her eyebrows; clearly hoping your nose might provide some juicy gossip.
“I smell chalk and freshly cut grass and—“
Your eyes find the real thing you are smelling on the other side of the room. Murphy McNully, one of your closest friends, who is beside Rowan, the two chatting in hushed tones about something clearly amusing. He laughs — the kind of bright, full laugh that consumes his whole face — and you feel the warm trickle in your chest you haven’t been able to explain for weeks, at least until this very moment.
“Leather and shoe polish,” you finish with a whisper. The words flow from your mouth like they’re the solutions to a riddle because they are. You are in love with Murphy McNully and somehow you hadn’t put two and two together until it was right under your nose.
You take another whiff and enjoy the fragrance you associate only with your rambling friend. It’s a pleasant blend of masculine comforts, rustic and warm like the boy himself. McNully catches your eyes across the room. He smiles, always so friendly, though something in your face must be off because he frowns soon after, returning his attention to Rowan and the rest of your class on his side of the room.
“That’s an odd collection of scents,” Skye muses. “I just smell the pitch.”
“Predictable. Maybe I’ll give those bludgers some amortentia next practice and see if they’ll chase after you like some lovesick puppies so I can take the day off.”
Skye cackles even though your joke wasn’t that funny and Snape snaps at the both of you.
“Is this stuff getting to your head, Parkin? Making you dumb?”
“No, Professor.”
“Then I advise you keep your voice down and pay attention,” Snape says, speaking to Skye but looking at you as well.
“Yes, Professor.”
Snape turns on his heels and heads back towards his desk. Skye lets out a breath, shaking off her scolding. You wish you could shake off your feelings, too: joy, fear, anxiety, doubt, hope, and love above all the others.
As the class ends, your quidditch crew prepares to leave and head to the pitch for practice. McNully usually never misses an opportunity to come with you all and practice his announcing skills but when Skye calls out his name in the corridor of the dungeon, he mumbles something under his breath. He doesn’t even meet your gaze as he rolls down the hall and out of sight.
“Someone’s a little grumpy.”
The worry fills your chest like a balloon, making it hard to breathe.
“Isn’t that odd, though? He’s always chipper.”
“So are you and you look like a house-elf denied her supper,” Skye laughs, patting you on the back as she runs ahead to catch up with Orion and the rest of the gang. But you can’t join in the joyous run. McNully is somewhere less than pleased about whatever he saw on your face during potions.
You arrive at the locker rooms and change into your quidditch gear, a little slower than usual. Your brain won’t stop replaying images of the dinners spent playing wizard chess with the dimpled blond currently getting situated in the announcer’s booth, the late nights in the common room, your legs up on his lap, memorizing quidditch strategy, and the after-match hangouts where you often found excuses to be close to him, grab his hand and congratulate him on commentary you arguably didn’t hear given your focus on the match. How had you not seen before just how much he meant to you and just how many of your tiny fantasies about how nice it would be to have a boyfriend involved soft blue eyes just as you closed your eyes to be kissed or running your hands down crisp white collars as you snuggle close in front of the fire, or the pleasant warm laughter of mirth-filled lungs as warm hands run through your hair, just as soft and strong as McNully’s? Everything you hoped for had been right in front of you for well over a year.
When the team assembles and takes to the air, you hear the faint calls of Murphy’s voice from the booth as you bat at the first bludger. He had come to practice after all, just not with you.
“And Griffin whacks the bludger away from Parkin with a—“
There is an odd and long silence that follows and it seems the whole team notices. The entire friendly slows, each broom taking to a lazy bob as your team’s statistician stands in stasis.
“… some level of accuracy,” he finally says with a cough.
Murphy is struggling with numbers? That’s odd, you think and it seems everyone else is as confused as you, that is at least until Orion screams for you to focus from the other end of the field, clearly not wanting to lose practice time. But he doesn’t even need to call you from your daze. A rogue bludger is already heading for your team’s latest addition, Jason Samuels.
You fly as fast as you can, swooping down towards the goalposts in hopes of intercepting the ball as the rest of the team resumes play. With a great push, you dangle down from your broom and swing low, just hitting the edge of the wall and knocking it back towards the pitch below.
“And with an impressive show of athleticism, Griffin managed to protect our young keeper from a bludger that was—“
Murphy coughs like there is a frog in his throat. It’s alarming and your heart pulls for him. Without a thought for anything but wanting to make sure he is okay, you fly down towards the box where Murphy is sitting. His head is in his hands and his face is redder than it normally is. When he sees you, his eyes bug out a little, but he looks away. His attention is back on the game. He straightens his shoulders and begins commentating again.
“And Parkin shoots for the upper left and misses! A rare miss for the ace chaser, whom this season alone has scored 92.4% of shots on open goals in sunny weather.”
Wait, how come that stat was not an issue?
You hover a bit and stare at the boy who is proving quite the enigma. Your chest heaves a bit as you consider what might be happening, but out of the corner of your eye, a stream of black comes barreling through.
Instinctively, you press forward and swing your bat just as the bludger enters into Murphy’s commentary box. The bludger flies away to the east just as McNully covers his face, prepared for a sure to be painful smack right to the noggin. Your momentum, however, doesn’t stop just because you managed to knock the ball away. You pull up on your broom but can’t stop and land right down on top of Murphy, curling up in his lap as his wheelchair slides back into the wall. His arms wrap around you protectively, covering your head as the house banners fall down upon you in a giant crash.
Once your crash ends and the chaos subsides, you realize exactly where you are; seated on Murphy’s lap with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, canopied in the privacy of fallen tapestries. Murphy’s breathing is hard as his hands curl into the flesh of your back.
And for the first time since potions, he smiles.
“Griffin with the greatest save of the day,” he whispers, his hand reaching up to wipe a bit of dust off your cheek.
Your face is hot as you look deeply into Murphy’s eyes, unable to stop the smile on your face, too. And somehow, suddenly, everything feels right.
“And what were my chances of making it?”
He slides his hand into your hair as he tilts your face up to him.
“I haven’t a bloody clue.”
He shakes his head and laughs, his cheeks turning the brightest red you’ve ever seen. You start to speak but his voice interrupts you.
“I can’t think of a single thing but you when you’re near, you know that?”
“I— I can’t either.”
Murphy laughs, the hearty kind you missed just a little, and the matching smile on his face only makes it better. He pulls you closer to him, letting you rest your head against his chest. He takes a deep and stabilizing breath.
“Lilac,” he says more to himself than you, “And fresh clean linens.”
And now it is your turn to smile as you realize Murphy knows your scent, too— two people attracted by nothing other than each other. It’s impossible to resist the urge, just like this morning in Snape’s classroom, to draw closer to the source of such joy. Every part you longs to lift upward, to taste the thing you’ve been craving so intensely, the thing you didn’t know you needed.
“Eliza! Eliza! Are you okay?” Skye is screaming from somewhere nearby. You hear the scrambled sounds of brooms dropping onto the deck and footsteps rushing to your aid.
But McNully doesn’t care. His hand takes your chin and he kisses you full-on, not wasting a moment to seal your newly-declared affections. And all you can do is melt into him.
A faint breeze hits your face and you look up to see Skye standing now under the banners, her eyes filled with mischief as she takes you in.
“That chalk smell makes a whole lot of sense now.”
Murphy smiles and shakes his head slightly.
“I smell… like chalk to you?”
“Among other things.”
He laughs, “I’ll have you know my spell for the chalkboard reduces chalk use by 68.3% over traditional writing methods.”
You can’t help but smile. He’s back in all his quirkiness and something about the fact that he can be himself with you in his arms, open about your feelings, brings you more joy than you can say. And that joy is the kind of joy you hope to have every night moving forward with the boy who smells like chalk and leather by your side and loving you fully.