firecracker ???

Harry had never arrived late to a class so smugly in his life. Moreover, a class he didn't even belong in.

He and Ron burst into the dungeon ten minutes after the bell, flushed and breathless, dodging floating cauldrons and nearly tripping over Ernie Macmillan's bag. Ron looked vaguely panicked. Harry looked like he owned the place.

Slughorn barely blinked.

"Ah! Harry, my boy! So pleased you could join us."

Ron coughed behind him. "Er—me too, Professor."

"Wonderful, wonderful," Slughorn beamed. "Grab yourselves a pair of scales. There's a spot open over there—beside Miss Black."

Harry's eyes immediately found her. Lyra didn't turn, didn't look up from where she was already delicately chopping sopophorous bean, but the slight twitch in her mouth gave her away.

Harry grinned.

He dumped his bag unceremoniously on the stool beside her and leaned in. "Surprised?"

"No."

"You missed me."

"No."

"You're wearing my favourite hair ribbon."

"I didn't know you had one."

"It's the one you wore on our second kiss."

Her hand paused, just briefly. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

Lyra exhaled slowly, not looking at him. "Try not to fail the class."

Harry grinned and pulled out his quill.

Ron, meanwhile, looked like he regretted every life decision that led to sitting in a dungeon next to Daphne Greengrass and being paired with a seething Theo Nott, who only acknowledged him with a quirk of his scalpel.

"Now," Slughorn said, gesturing dramatically to the shimmering cauldron on his desk, "who can tell me what this is?"

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Amortentia," she said. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world. It smells different to each person, depending on what attracts them."

"Precisely!" Slughorn clapped. "And Miss Granger, you may notice—"

"The steam forms spirals," she added. "Clockwise."

"Brilliant, my dear."

Harry leaned slightly toward the potion.

The scent hit him immediately — warm, sweet, dizzying.

Peony.

Vanilla.

And something soft and unmistakably her, like the skin behind Lyra's ear when he kissed it.

Next to him, Lyra was quiet. Perfect posture as always. Her eyes didn't move, but she'd leaned in almost imperceptibly.

Musk and cedar.

The scent of Quidditch leather and something sharp like wind.

Harry.

She didn't say anything. But her fingers tapped the side of her cauldron just once.

Harry turned to her. She was already looking.

Neither spoke.

But the twitch of her eyebrow said everything.

Yes. It's you.