Middle of the night encounter (get your heads out of the gutter :P) between third year Pidge and fourth year Lance.
If you knew the right places to look, the Ravenclaw tower contained a plethora of hidden secrets. One of the first ones students tended to learn was if you gave the enchanted doorknocker technically correct answers to her riddles but not the one she was looking for, she’ll still open the door but snark at you for several seconds. Ticia DeVaughn once missed a week of classes because she was convinced the design of the common room carpet contained coded instructions for brewing a mystery potion.
(It turned out to yield an unnecessarily convoluted but delicious stew. Ticia got a month of detention but declared no regrets when she fed half the Ravenclaw House.)
Pidge’s favorite so far was the secret passage to the wrap-around balcony. She often did her homework by candlelight under the stars - something about the night sky was calming and helped her focus. Half the time another student was there too, but every Ravenclaw understood a tacit code of silence on the balcony, especially at night.
Tonight Pidge hadn’t intended to do homework; she simply couldn’t fall asleep. It was better to be awake and outside than awake and listening to the other first-year girls snore. She leaned back in her chair, and a small blur of movement caught her eye from the direction of the Quidditch pitch. She leaned forward over the rail. Maybe it was just an owl? No, owls didn’t fly like that. The faint figure she tried to focus on moved too erratically. Someone was flying a broomstick after hours.
As quietly as she could, Pidge rushed back to her dormitory to find her broomstick and omnioculars. She felt relieved when she crept back to the hidden balcony and found the figure still zipping around the pitch. There’s no way she’d be able to sleep not knowing who’d snuck out. She searched for them through the onmioculars, fiddling with the settings and slowing down the speed to get a good look.
She huffed a laugh when she recognized the green string bean. Pocketing the omnioculars, Pidge cautiously climbed onto the wall, and in a practiced move leapt of the ledge onto her broom.
Cold wind brushed through her hair and Pidge resisted the urge to holler joyfully into the night air. She sped towards the Quidditch pitch, zeroed in on the quaffle’s trajectory, and snatched it from its path inches from Lance’s fingertips.
“What the - ”
Pidge flitted behind Lance, spinning the quaffle on her finger. “Looking for this?”
He whirled around, rocking slightly on his broom. “Hey! That’s not fair.”
“What about a perfectly legal steal isn’t fair?”
Lance huffed. “How about the parts where you’re a Seeker, I didn’t know you were on the pitch, and we’re not even playing a real match?”
Pidge tossed the quaffle from hand to hand, taunting him. “Except only Quidditch players are allowed on the pitch.”
“Well, no need to rub it in,” he grumbled.
“Oh,” she realized. She passed him back the ball. “You’re going to try out for the team. Let me guess - going for Chaser?”
“What gave it away?” he asked cheekily.
“You know, I’m no Keeper, but I’m fast and I can catch well enough. You want some help?”
“Why would a Ravenclaw Seeker help someone get on the Slytherin team?”
“Maybe I want to do some damage to the opposition.”
“Pidge!” He whined.
She laughed. “You gotta learn to take a joke, Lance. I want to help you because I’m bored and you’re my friend. Any other stupid questions?”
Chapter 2: Amortentia
This was also posted in my Tumbr Prompts - Plance work, but I decided since I love this AU so much I'm keeping all the one-shots here!
“Keith! What’s up, buddy, how was your summer?”
Keith glared half-heartedly at Lance from where he was trapped by the Slytherin’s arm slung around his neck. “I literally saw you on the train yesterday.”
Lance ignored him. “What do you think Professor Smythe has to torture us with this year?”
“Whatever it is it’ll definitely be torture.”
They took their seats and started unpacking the their cauldrons and supplies. Lance started flipping through Advanced Potion Making and whistled. “You’re not wrong.”
“GOOD MORNING, CLASS!” The door slammed open behind them and Professor Coran Smythe exuberantly strolled down the aisle between worktables and with an enormous briefcase. His voice, body language, and bright orange hair gave him a constant impression of living fire. Lance was certain that the hair must have clashed horribly with his Ravenclaw robes when he’d been a student like six thousand years ago.
Coran set the case down the case so gingerly half the class leaned away, expecting it to maybe explode. He took out three large glass containers of potions and undid the caps, flooding the room with a bizarre mix of scents. One looked like mud and snot had gotten down and dirty in a bubble bath. Another Lance could swear was definitely water. And the third looked like melted pearls and just exquisitely beautiful.
“Welcome to the NEWT level of Potions! I won’t sugarcoat it for you youngins, this course will be considerably more grueling than your previous years. I have had many a student cry during the midterm exams, but if you do, be sure to collect and bottle those tears! Could possibly be useful later on in the course.” Coran gave a gigantic wink. Lance jotted that down for future reference. “Gather round, I’ve got some interesting potions to show you all.”
Most of the class clustered around the silvery potion that had dancing tendrils of steam curling from the surface - never mind that it’d finished brewing days ago. Lance was no exception; he hovered over the heavenly scent. Emanating from the surface was the crisp smell that happens after a rainstorm, a smell you only get by taking a deep breath of worn leather, and…whoa, something citrusy that was so familiar but he just couldn’t place.
A sharp pain in his side snapped him out of his blissed-out reverie. Keith, who’d apparently pinched him, jerked his head toward Coran. The professor was looking at him expectantly.
Lance’s face heated. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
A few people in the class giggled while Coran just smirked behind his mustache. “Not to worry, my boy, that potion’s lovely aroma will muddle the heads of even the sharpest minds.”
“How much of it have you smoked, sir?” a Gryffindor asked.
“Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting class, and five points to Gryffindor for the interruption being funny.” Keith rolled his eyes at Lance. Coran continued, unperturbed, “Now can anyone take a gander at what this intoxicating concoction is?”
Lance raised his hand. “Amortentia, sir. The most powerful love potion in existence.”
“Excellent. Amortentia vitally dangerous and I must insist you never, ever use it on another person. At least without their explicit permission.” Coran smiled deviously like he recalled a fond but reckless memory. “However, it is also the only potion that smells and tastes differently to each individual witch or wizard! The aroma is that of things you are most attracted to!”
Rain makes sense, then, Lance thought. So does the leather, that reminds me a lot of a Quaffle. But what’s that lemon-like bit?
Pidge groaned when she got to the top of the stairs - finally - and reached for the doorknocker.
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
“Both words have got a bloody ‘r’ in them.”
The door swung open, but not without a snarky “Welcome back, Miss Holt” from the enchanted doorknocker. She dropped her book bag and collapsed with a sigh onto the nearest armchair.
First day of classes was always the worst, but never more so than with NEWT Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. And Quidditch season would be starting soon, so she had plenty of late nights on the pitch in her imminent future. Potions wasn’t bad, though. The only thing surprising about Potions this afternoon was how powerful the smell of Amortentia had on her. She knew it would be scents she specifically found attractive, but it had not prepared her for the overwhelming barrage of chlorophyll, ink, and something sweet and earthy Pidge had instantly recognized as Lance’s cologne invading her senses.
Pidge finally sucked it up and pulled out her Transfiguration homework. This was going to be a lot of reading.
Around the time Pidge had scrawled out two feet of notes, somebody poked her. “Your owl’s tapping on the window.”
Pidge stood, stretched out her back, and open the window where Rover the grey, fluffy Boreal owl was perched. He dropped a folded piece of parchment into her hands and settled on her shoulder. It was a note written in Hunk’s freakishly elegant script.
We’re outside your common room. Please let us in.
-Hunk and Lance
The second Pidge opened the door she got attacked by Hunk sweeping her up in a bear hug. Rover shot into the air and squawked indignantly. “It’s so good to see you, Pidge!”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a squeeze. “Missed you, too, Hunk.” He set her down and they both came inside. Firewhiskey crackled in Pidge’s chest when she saw Lance.
So that shows that another full summer away from my ridiculous friend has not dampened my feelings for him. Ugh.
He grinned at her and held his arms out. “What’s up, nerd?”
She smirked and gave him a hug. “More than you, loser.” When the hug lasted a little longer than she’d anticipated, she stood on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear, “Ravenclaw’s going to crush Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch this year.” Pidge felt Lance turn his face toward her and heard him take a deep, stuttering breath.
He suddenly pulled away from her, face flushed, and ran a hand through his hair. “In you - in your dreams, Pidge.”