Sorry about not updating my other stories, I just got inspiration for this one-shot, and I couldn't get it out of my head! I figured I'd jot it down so I could continue with my others. Have you ever wondered why JKR never goes more on about that flowery scent he smells in his Amortentia? This is what they left out...Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: If I was JKR, I'd be writing this on a gold-plated laptop right now
It was after a Quiddich match. After creaming Hufflepuff, Gryffindor had, yet again, pulled out all the stops to make another mind-boggling, drunken-crazed party, as if such a feat as winning a Quiddich match had never been expected, much less experienced. Normally, Harry was one of the ones chugging firewhiskey in the corner, egged on by all the other bystanders, the one the hangover potion was brewed for especially the next day. After getting pissed beyond belief during a few such parties, the boy-who lived could now hold his alcohol pretty well, well enough be serious competition in some of the Gryffindor drinking games.
"Only Gryffindors," he thought, snorting, "would be stubborn enough to insist on continuing to drink long after they've forgotten what they're own name," remembering a few much than decent amount of times that had happened. He wondered what the drinking games were like in the other houses. They Slytherines who won probably got a pair of Moldy-Shorts trousers to frame, and the Ravenclaws most likely drank milk or some other healthy beverage. Merlin knows what the Hufflepuffs did. Maybe they all got pissed together in a circle, all holding hands. He shook his head to clear the image from his mind. All he knew was that Gryffindors could hold a serious, kick-ass party.
But that wasn't the main issue on Harry's mind. That was not what had caused the Chosen One to be sitting by the fire in his favorite chair, nursing a butterbeer, his back turned on the party in his honer. The reason he was brooding, his mind not soaring on the wonderful wings of drunkenness, had hit him soon after they had won the game.
After pulling up from the crazy dive he was forced to do to catch the snitch, the golden ball fluttering its wings helplessly in the wind, the entire team had, as usual, dog-piled him, screaming victory cries right into his bloody ear. He, as usual, had the huge grin that only winning one of these games could bring, the endorphins, the adrenaline and the "victory high" as he liked to call it, all mixing together into a feeling that he wished he could bottle. Ginny had bombarded him, teetering precariously off her broom, clinging onto him as if he were her vary soul. And that was when the problem had begun.
Once again, the Half-Blood Prince had proven to invaluable. Harry's Amortentia was bubbling along at the perfect shade and texture, his potion being further along than anyone else's in the class. Only a small part of this brain listened as Slughorn proclaimed his potion "Perfect!" as the larger part of his mind was melting at the wonderful smells being emitted from his cauldron. He could smell treacle tart, the woody smell of his Firebolt...and a strange flowery scent he couldn't identify. It seemed as though he might have smelled it before...Merlin, what was it?! Sniffing harder, he realized it smelled a bit like lilies.
Telling this to Hermione, she exclaimed,"It must be your mother, Harry!"
"But Hermione, I can't remember what my mom smelled like. And just cause her name was Lily didn't mean she smelled like one."
So he had left from class, unsatisfied. What was that mysterious scent that he apparently loved? And who, or what, did it belong to? However, the Quiddich game game was looming on his horizon, so he pushed that smell from his mind and focused on more immediate matters.
So when Ginny had hugged him, his world slowed and he had frozen when her flowery scent enveloped him, a smell that had a hint of lilies. He had already known that he liked her, really, really like her, but he had smelled her in his Amortentia, so-bloody hell, did he really love her?
So that was why Harry was sitting on the edge of a party that had, as the younger students went to bed, had turned, really, into an orgy. Seeing as he was normally passed out by this point, it was...interesting... to see the relations some people had. He quickly turned his back on the mess.
Damn her flowery...shampoo or whatever she used to smell like that! He couldn't be in love with her! Ron and the other Weasley's would take pleasure in personally disemboweling him, and Voldemort would be able to use her to get to him...his stomach clenched at the very thought of that Snake-Face even touching her; he would kill him before it came to that. Then he groaned, and flopped his head against the back of the chair. Merlin, he did love her.
"Great job, Potter," he thought to himself,"how are you going to get out of this mess?" Of course he had to fall in love with a girl who could get any bloke in the world, a girl who had got over him three years ago. He was highly considering venturing into the X-rated mess to find some serious alcohol, when the red-head of his dreams stumbled up to him, her eyes blurred, the very face of the word drunk.
"Harwy!" she said, slurring her words. her hair was all messed up, her quiddich uniform falling off. "We won!" she exclaimed, right before passing out, face first, right on his groin. Eyes widening, he gently pushed Ginny off him, and carefully layed her on the couch bedore hurrying up to his dorm. He hoped nobody would need the bathroom because it was going to be...occupied...for a while.
So how was that? Please review!!