I remind people of treacle tart, new parchment, freshly mown grass and a broomstick handle. I smell like the hair of the people they dearly love.
I am all but a brew. But a mighty powerful one. So much so that Slughorn refers to me as one of the deadliest potion known to wizards.
I run in a large fountain in the Department of Mysteries. The Love room, they call it.
I do not create love. I create deep seated desire. Love cannot be replicated. Ask Riddle, he got the bitter end of my charm. For because of me, he never knew love.
This post is part of the 100 Words Challenge started by Nikita Azad of www.mrswritesalatte.com
I started in the first week of January but hardly kept up with the next few weeks. Catching up with the first five weeks now with prompts all related to the Potterverse.