They call it the Ever-Locked Room—and with good reason. No key opens it. No spell forces its hand. As the heavy door eases open (accompanied by a soft, musical shhfff not unlike a sigh), one is met with an atmosphere thick with heady scent. Not unpleasant—but perplexingly personal. Each person smells something different upon entering: cinnamon on parchment, butterbeer in the snow, the scent of an old jumper worn by someone long gone. This is the fountain’s doing.

At the very center of the chamber, set into a mosaic-tiled platform, burbles a grand fountain of Amortentia, its surface swirling with that telltale pearlescent sheen. Occasionally it spits a heart-shaped bubble that floats lazily upward before popping in a puff of glitter and questionable consequences. To the left of the fountain, a tangle of polished brass workbenches, glinting cauldrons, enchanted measuring vials, and cabinets labeled "DO NOT TASTE (again)" form the Potioneer’s alcove. This is where the more alchemical aspects of love are examined—potions brewed, hearts metaphorically (and once literally) melted, and infusions crafted that test the very limits of emotional manipulation. To the right, an entirely different chaos reigns. Here lies the Charmist’s wing, where emotion-based spells are cast, unraveled, and occasionally wrestled back into containment. Magical sigils in flowing, romantic script shimmer on the walls, and the air often sparkles with residual charm energy. It's not uncommon for rogue enchantments to manifest in spontaneous love sonnets or animated doodles of cupids in the margins of notebooks. Surrounding the chamber are alcoves and side stations for deeper research: a shelf of annotated love letters that write themselves anew every day, an ever-growing vine of fluttery, heart-shaped leaves that bloom when read poetry aloud, and a whispering cabinet of past connections—each drawer unlocking the emotional imprint of great loves long gone.

The lighting in the Love Chamber never quite comes from above. It shimmers warmly, like candlelight on water, and follows you like affection you hadn’t expected but secretly hoped for. At times, the whole room hums softly, like a lullaby you used to know. But beware. As beautiful and profound as love magic is, it is also volatile. Unspeakables are required to carry antidotes at all times, as even the most minor mishap has turned workroom banter into grand romantic confessions or awkward serenades over cauldron fumes. A misplaced gesture or flick of the wand can tangle emotions, memories, or even time itself when steeped too deeply in the language of the heart.

Love may be the strongest magic of all and, in the Department of Mysteries, it's also a dangerously fascinating one.