CHAPTER ONE

The stories surrounding children born from the Amortentia potion were well known throughout the wizarding world, and no one was unfamiliar with the rumours that circulated. It was a subject often discussed in hushed tones, but the story that consistently garnered the most attention was that of Tom Riddle, a name that was synonymous with both fear and fascination.

For years, his story was tangled with the speculation that he, too, might have been born as a result of an Amortentia potion. After all, it seemed like a logical connection to make—the idea that someone so emotionally detached could be the product of an artificial love potion.

However, the truth about this speculation was far more complex than anyone cared to admit. Although Tom Riddle's apparent lack of emotion led many to assume he was a direct product of Amortentia, the truth was that he had never been influenced by the potion's magic. It wasn't that he lacked the capacity for emotion altogether—rather, he was never exposed to the emotion of love.

The potion, while capable of creating intense infatuation, did not erase or distort emotions entirely. It simply worked to artificially create a deep attachment or affection, making someone feel a love that wasn't naturally developed. But, despite all the rumours and conjecture, no one truly believed that the potion could entirely remove the ability to feel love.

The very idea that someone could be incapable of experiencing love simply because they hadn't encountered it before was a misunderstanding of how emotions work in the human heart.

Among the many who had heard of Amortentia's power, most were simply indifferent. Potioneers, by and large, cared little for the moral implications of the potion's effects; they were far more focused on experimenting with it for various purposes.

However, there was one individual who held a deep and personal interest in Amortentia—Dahlia Jones. Unlike most witches and wizards who might have seen the potion as a curious tool for love or attraction, Dahlia's reasons for studying it were much more complex and deeply rooted in her own past.

Dahlia was not one of the children born from the potion, but her mother had been. And it was this connection that drove Dahlia's passion to understand the potion, not for the reasons that many of her peers might have thought, but to uncover the truth about its limitations.

Dahlia had long believed that Amortentia's effects were only temporary and that it did not have the power to strip away genuine emotions. Her mother, a woman who had always been seen as emotionally distant—perhaps even incapable of love—had been the subject of countless rumours and judgment. Many of the parents in the wizarding community spoke in whispers about how Dahlia's mother had never truly loved her daughter, and they believed she was bound to raise her child poorly.

The assumption was that Dahlia would grow into a troublemaker, simply because of the way her mother was perceived. These whispers spread quickly, and even more so after Dahlia's mother passed away from a prolonged illness when Dahlia was still at school.

Dahlia, devastated by the loss, took a year off to grieve, which led to her being held back a year in her studies. During this time, rumours about her mother's death began to swirl—some students even speculated that it had been a suicide and that Dahlia's mother had been driven to despair after realizing that the man she had used Amortentia on had found out the truth. These rumours further fed into the narrative that Dahlia, too, was born as a product of the potion and that she could not truly love, much like her mother.

The truth was known only to Dahlia and a select few professors who were aware of the real circumstances surrounding her mother's death. Yet, despite their efforts to suppress the rumours, they continued to grow, twisting into more and more bizarre stories.

In the eyes of many, Dahlia was destined to live up to the rumours—whether she liked it or not. She played into this narrative, and rather than rebelling against it, she allowed the rumours to shape her life. It wasn't that Dahlia was completely indifferent to the gossip; rather, she found an odd sense of enjoyment in watching how people reacted to her love life.

Whenever Dahlia had a new lover, she knew it was only a matter of time before they used her for their own amusement. They would experiment with the idea of her lack of love, wondering if the rumours were true. Dahlia was fully aware of this, but it never bothered her.

It gave her a sense of purpose, something to occupy her time and attention. She had no intention of committing to anyone because she didn't want to relinquish the amusement that these relationships provided. Each new lover simply served as a continuation of the cycle, fueling the rumours about her inability to love.

This, in turn, only contributed to the whispers, and new rumours emerged about Dahlia's reluctance to commit. It was said that her fear of commitment was yet another sign that she was incapable of genuine affection. But Dahlia knew the truth about love—it wasn't that she couldn't feel it, but rather, she had come to believe that love was better suited for other people, not for her. She had been labelled with a title she couldn't escape, and over time, she had learned to embrace the fact that love wasn't something she needed.

She didn't want it, and she went to great lengths to shape her life in a way that ensured she would never have to feel it. Every decision she made, every relationship she entered, and every interaction she had was carefully crafted to maintain her emotional distance.

She convinced herself that love was a concept for other people—something that might bring them joy or pain, but not something she needed. By avoiding deeper connections, by embracing the rumours and letting them guide her actions, she insulated herself from the vulnerability that love inevitably brought.

Dahlia told herself that love was overrated. Why let it complicate things when it had the potential to hurt so much? She had seen how love had played out in the lives of others, how it had led to heartbreak, betrayal, and grief. Her mother, despite the misunderstandings about her ability to love, had suffered in her way, perhaps even more because of the emotional distance she had built. Dahlia, however, refused to make herself vulnerable in that way. She refused to open her heart to anyone who might one day break it.

So, she remained detached, observing the emotions of others from a safe distance, never allowing herself to be swept away by the possibility of affection. It became a sort of armour for her, a way to protect herself from the uncertainty and the risk that love always brought.

It wasn't that she had never experienced affection or that she was incapable of it; it was simply that she had learned to suppress it, to bury it deep within herself. She chose to live without it, believing that she was better off without the complexities that love could bring.

In a way, Dahlia had convinced herself that she didn't need it. She didn't need anyone to validate her, to show her affection, or to fill the emotional void that others sought to fill with love. She had her sense of control, and that was all she needed. The rumours about her only reinforced this idea—if people believed she was incapable of love, then that was just another reason to continue living without it.

It was easier, after all, to stay detached and unburdened by emotions than to risk being caught in the messy, unpredictable whirlwind of love.