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James woke the way he usually did: coughing himself awake as Peter enthusiastically emptied what sounded like half a bottle of cologne into the room.
"Wormtail," James groaned, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, "I told you, if you insist on spraying an entire bottle of that wretched stuff, do it outside."
Peter looked thoroughly unrepentant. "You do realize it's one of your father's products? How upset would he be to hear his own son calling it wretched?"
"I'm the only one who's allowed to call it wretched," James muttered.
He shuffled into the bathroom, uncapped his toothpaste, and took an exaggerated inhale of the cool mint before brushing his teeth, desperately trying to replace Peter's overpowering cloud of cologne with something remotely breathable.
"You complain," Peter continued from the bedroom, "but the label says it's irresistible. Your father wouldn't lie just to sell a product, would he?"
A snort came from Sirius's bed.
"Face it, Pete," Sirius drawled without opening his eyes. "The only thing you're attracting with that stench is a swarm of pixies."
James escaped the dorm before Peter could apply another coat.
The Great Hall was already humming with conversation.
Bacon hissed on platters.
Fresh loaves of bread steamed as students tore them apart.
Cinnamon drifted from someone's porridge.
Tea leaves, marmalade, butter melting into toast...
His stomach growled.
He piled his plate with toast and spread thick raspberry preserve across one slice until it glistened.
Hogwarts never served a bad meal. If anything, the house-elves spoiled them. Still, every now and then he'd notice little differences.
Like how the breakfast tea wasn't brewed quite the way Mum made it. Or how the sausages lacked the peppery bite the butcher in Godric's Hollow always added.
Even the ginger biscuits—excellent by any reasonable standard—never had quite the same snap or the bright warmth of fresh ginger that filled the Potter kitchen.
Sometimes James wondered how much trouble he'd get into if he simply borrowed his broom after dinner, flew to the West Country, nicked a tin of Mum's ginger biscuits, and made it back before curfew.
Instead of heading back to the dormitory after breakfast, he fetched his broom and wandered down toward the grounds. The Quidditch pitch was perfect for drills, but not every flight needed to be measured in laps, dives, or goals scored. Sometimes he simply wanted to fly for the joy of it, letting the wind clear his head and remind him why he'd fallen in love with being in the air long before he'd ever played Seeker.
He kicked off from the grass and climbed until the castle shrank beneath him. The crisp autumn air carried the clean scent of the lake, mingling with damp earth, sun-warmed reeds, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers growing along the shoreline. It was the sort of smell that belonged to Hogwarts as much as old stone and polished corridors, and James filled his lungs with it as he banked over the water.
Movement below caught his eye.
Someone was standing knee-deep in the shallows.
"Morning, Evans!"
Lily looked up, raising a hand to shield her bright green eyes from the sun. When she recognized him, she smiled.
"How's the weather up there?"
James swooped lower until he hovered just above the reeds, the tips of the broom almost brushing the cattails.
"The weather's lovely. The better question is why you're standing in the mud."
She held up a wicker basket as though that explained everything.
"Looking for frogspawn."
James stared at her.
"That answer has somehow created six more questions."
Lily shrugged.
"You've got your hobbies."
"Flying is a perfectly respectable hobby."
"And collecting amphibian eggs is a perfectly respectable hobby."
James laughed.
"I think you and I have very different definitions of respectable. I'm up here enjoying the view, breathing fresh air, and pretending I haven't got homework. You're wading through pond water that smells like grindylows."
"It doesn't smell like grindylows."
"It smells close enough."
She rolled her eyes.
"It's for Potions."
"Whatever your reason, it still looks terribly damp." He nodded toward the basket. "Leave the future frogs where they are and come flying with me. We'll have far more fun."
"I'm in the middle of something, James."
"I promise no one's going to steal your collection."
Lily glanced from the basket to the broom, weighing her options.
"Just one lap?"
"Just one."
She set the basket safely on the bank before climbing onto the broom behind him.
The moment her hands settled around his waist, James forgot every clever thing he'd been planning to say. He focused instead on keeping the broom perfectly level while pretending his heart hadn't suddenly decided to beat twice as fast.
"Comfortable?" he asked, pleased that his voice sounded almost normal.
"I'll let you know after we land."
He pushed off.
The castle slipped behind them as they skimmed across the lake. Cool air whipped past, carrying the scent of fresh water and wet grass. Lily's laughter rang out when he dipped low enough for the broom's shadow to skim across the surface, sending ripples chasing after them.
James couldn't help smiling.
He had always loved flying. He loved the freedom of it, the speed, the feeling that the whole world opened beneath him the moment his feet left the ground. But with Lily behind him, laughing into the wind, he found himself noticing other things as well.
She smelled faintly of soap and clean cotton, with a light floral shampoo that reminded him of blossoms after a spring rain. Every now and then the breeze carried the earthy scent of the marsh from her robes—mud, reeds, and lake water mingling with something warm and clean. It should have been an odd combination, but somehow it suited her perfectly.
When they finally landed, Lily hopped lightly from the broom and retrieved her basket.
"If we're going to be friends," James said, "we're going to have to get you a broom of your own."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're not very good at sharing yours, Potter?"
James grinned.
"The privilege of being an only child."
The weekend disappeared far too quickly, and by Monday morning James found himself back in Potions, where Professor Slughorn beamed at the class.
"Now then," he announced, rubbing his hands together, "this week we'll be brewing one of the most fascinating potions in existence—Amortentia."
A murmur rippled through the dungeon.
James grinned.
He'd brewed the potion once before with his father during the summer holidays. Fleamont had insisted that while Amortentia couldn't create love, it was a marvelous lesson in understanding the complexity of magic. James still remembered leaning over the cauldron and breathing in the comforting scents that had drifted from the pearly steam.
Broom polish.
Fresh-cut grass after a summer rain.
Mum's ginger biscuits cooling on the windowsill.
The potion had smelled like home.
This would be easy. He'd done it once before. There was no reason he couldn't do it again.
His cauldron shimmered with its familiar mother-of-pearl sheen, the steam rising in elegant spirals exactly as the textbook described.
Perfect.
James leaned forward and inhaled.
He frowned.
No...
That couldn't be right.
He leaned closer for another cautious sniff.
Fish.
Stagnant pond water.
Wet moss.
And beneath it all, something suspiciously close to manure.
James recoiled, wrinkling his nose.
"No..."
He glanced back at the recipe, checking each line against his notes. Clockwise stirs. Correct temperature. Powdered moonstone added before—not after—the peppermint.
Everything matched.
"I must've missed something," he muttered. "There's no way that's right."
"What does it smell like?" Sirius asked from the next cauldron.
James grimaced.
"Like cursed pond water."
Sirius clicked his tongue thoughtfully.
"Hm. Perhaps your soulmate's a mermaid."
James snorted.
"Shut up, Padfoot. What does yours smell like?"
Sirius leaned over his own cauldron, inhaled deeply, and smiled to himself.
"Leather-bound books. A roaring fireplace. Eggnog."
James stared at him.
"No, it doesn't."
"It does."
"No, your potion smells just as foul as mine."
"It really doesn't."
He had followed every instruction exactly.
Measured every ingredient.
Timed every stir.
The potion should have worked.
Before Professor Slughorn could make his rounds, James quietly vanished the contents of his cauldron into the waste barrel and began scrubbing it clean.
He'd simply have to brew it again tomorrow.
There had to be something he'd overlooked.
After class, James made his way to the Hospital Wing with Remus's notes tucked under his arm.
The moment he stepped through the doors, the familiar smell washed over him. It was impossible to mistake: sharp antiseptic, simmering medicinal potions, clean linen, and the faint smoky tang of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. Madam Pomfrey somehow managed to make the place smell both painfully sterile and undeniably comforting. James's nose always stung a little when he first walked in, though after spending enough full moons there with Remus, he'd almost come to associate the scent with relief.
Remus looked up from his book and smiled.
"Hey, Prongs."
"You didn't miss much," James said, dropping the stack of parchment onto the bedside table. "Only three feet of homework."
Remus glanced over the assignments.
"And Amortentia."
James's smile faltered.
"Yeah."
"What did yours smell like?"
James rubbed the back of his neck.
"Haven't finished brewing it yet."
It wasn't exactly true. Neither was it exactly a lie. He certainly hadn't finished brewing a successful batch. "Probably the same as when I made it with Dad a few years ago."
Remus smiled knowingly. "Broom polish?"
"Obviously."
"And fresh-cut grass?"
James chuckled. "You know me too well."
"Your one true love has always been Quidditch."
"I was going to say flying, but close enough."
Remus laughed softly before looking back down at the parchment.
James studied him for a moment. "What do you reckon yours will smell like?"
The smile slipped from Remus's face. "I'm not going to brew it."
James frowned. "What? Why not?"
Remus closed the book in his lap and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.
"I didn't sleep much last night."
James knew better than to push when Remus sounded like that. Whatever answer lay behind his refusal, it wasn't one he wanted to give today.
"Right," James said, standing. "Get some sleep, Moony. I'll bring you tomorrow's notes too."
Remus smiled, grateful but weary.
"Thanks, Prongs."
That evening, James made his way to the library.
The scent of old parchment, leather bindings, candle wax, and dust greeted him as he wandered between the towering shelves. It was a smell he normally associated with essays left until the last minute and Sirius disappearing for hours with a stack of books twice his height. Tonight, however, he hoped one of those books might explain how he'd managed to ruin a potion he'd brewed successfully before.
He found Lily tucked away at a corner table, surrounded by open texts, rolls of parchment, and the wicker basket she'd carried around the lake that weekend. It still smelled faintly of damp reeds, lake water, crushed herbs, and fresh earth.
She looked up as he approached. "Research?"
James dropped into the chair opposite her. "I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong with Amortentia."
"Oh? Did you have a problem with it? Mine smelled of something woody and baked goods."
"I've brewed it before. At home with my dad. It worked perfectly." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Today it smelled like someone bottled the bottom of the Black Lake."
Lily tried—and failed—to hide a smile.
"What ingredients did you use?"
"The ones Slughorn handed out."
"So... preserved."
"They're perfectly good ingredients."
"They're perfectly adequate ingredients," Lily corrected. "There's a difference."
James folded his arms. "You're telling me frogspawn from the lake is somehow better than frogspawn from the cupboard?"
"I'm telling you fresh magical ingredients retain properties that preserved ones gradually lose."
"I've never noticed."
"That's because," she said with a maddeningly smug smile, "you're not as good at Potions as I am."
James let out an offended gasp. "Evans, are you insulting me?"
"I'm stating an observable fact."
"I got an Outstanding."
"So did I."
"I brew perfectly respectable potions."
"You brew perfectly respectable explosions."
James laughed despite himself. "Do you really bring all your own ingredients to class?"
Lily nodded toward the basket. "Most of them. Slughorn thinks it's ambitious."
James peered inside. There were bundles of knotgrass, jars of frogspawn, reeds tied together with twine, sprigs of peppermint, and several plants he couldn't even name.
"So that's why you were collecting amphibian babies."
"They're tadpoles, Potter."
"They're frog jelly."
Lily rolled her eyes.
"If you want to try again tomorrow, I'll bring you enough fresh ingredients to brew another batch."
James brightened. "I know a few places around the grounds where we could find some."
"I'm good," Lily said, patting the basket. "I already know where all the best ingredients grow."
James smiled. "Of course you do."
They stayed longer than either of them intended, comparing potion notes until Madam Pince began extinguishing lamps and loudly reminding students that the library was, in fact, closing.
By the time they packed away their books, the corridors were empty.
James glanced toward the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower.
"We're going to get caught."
Lily sighed. "Probably."
James grinned at her, excited for the opportunity to be close to Lily again like when they flew around the lake the other day. "Unless..."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a silvery bundle of fabric.
Lily's eyebrows rose. "Is that an Invisibility Cloak?"
James couldn't help looking pleased with himself. "It has its uses."
"You mean breaking school rules?"
"I was going to say facilitating late-night academic discussions."
She laughed. "I suppose that's one way to describe it."
He held one side of the cloak open with an exaggerated flourish.
"After you, Evans."
She hesitated for only a second before ducking underneath beside him. The space beneath the cloak was suddenly much smaller than James remembered.
Close enough that he caught the familiar scent of soap, clean cotton, and the faint earthy fragrance of herbs she'd gathered that afternoon. Mixed together, it reminded him of rain-soaked gardens in early spring.
"Ready?" he whispered.
Lily smiled. "Lead the way, Potter."
Together, they slipped silently into the corridor, invisible to everyone but each other.
The next afternoon, James set his cauldron over the flame with renewed determination.
This time, he measured every ingredient twice, counted every stir aloud under his breath, and watched the temperature as carefully as Madam Pomfrey monitored Remus after a full moon. By all appearances, it was flawless. The potion shimmered with its familiar mother-of-pearl sheen, sending delicate spirals of steam curling toward the dungeon ceiling.
James leaned over the cauldron and inhaled.
The same putrid smell hit him immediately.
Stagnant water.
Wet earth.
Something that had spent far too long rotting in the back of the Potions cupboard.
And, unmistakably, dung.
He groaned and dropped his forehead into one hand.
"How?"
He grabbed his notes, comparing every step to the recipe for what felt like the hundredth time.
Behind him, Peter made an exaggerated gagging noise.
James didn't even look up. "What's your problem now?"
"Evans just walked in carrying a basket full of... whatever she dragged in from outside."
James glanced toward the classroom door.
Sure enough, Lily had just arrived. Her robes were damp around the hem, flecks of mud dotted her sleeves, and a loose strand of red hair had escaped her braid. She carried the same wicker basket from the lake, now overflowing with freshly gathered herbs, reeds, jars, and bundles of roots.
She caught his eye and smiled before making her way over.
"Morning."
"Where've you been?" James asked as she slipped into the empty seat beside him.
"I told you," she said, setting the basket on the bench between them. "I was getting those fresh ingredients."
James looked down into the basket.
Knotgrass.
Reeds still damp from the lake.
Wildflowers.
Crushed herbs.
The rich scent of fresh earth clinging to newly pulled roots.
He wrinkled his nose—
Then stopped.
The smell was familiar. His heart gave a small, startled jolt.
Slowly, almost afraid to confirm it, he turned back toward his cauldron and breathed in again.
James stared at the potion.
Then at Lily.
Then back at the potion.
"Oh."
Lily looked up from unpacking her ingredients.
"What?"
James let out a quiet laugh, equal parts disbelief and embarrassment. "I don't think I messed up my potion after all."