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â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
âWhen you have to make Amortentia in Slughornâs potions class, the last thing you expect to smell is Fred Weasley; Fred doesnât expect to smell you, either.â
The classroom is humid and swirling with steam as Slughornâs prized cauldron of Amortentia bubbles harshly at the front of the room. The potionâs mother-of-pearl sheenâ promising to reveal the smells that represent someoneâs deepest attractionsâ glints under the torchlight, and the entire class is restless: half are thrilled, half are mortified at the prospect of announcing their crushes to a room full of their peers.
Youâre stood in the middle of the line behind Hermione, trying to keep your faces neutral. âGod, Iâm nervous,â Hermione gushes. âWhat if I smellâ never mind.â
Ron, she means, of course she means Ron. Everyone but her can see how in love the pair of them are. Itâs actually quite disgusting. âYouâll be fine, Hermione. Itâs all bollocks, anyway. Youâll probably just smell books or something,â you laugh. She shoves your shoulder with a smile and turns back to the front.
Hermione gets to the front of the queue. âGo ahead, dear, go ahead,â Slughorn encourages.
Tentatively she steps forward. âI smellâŚfreshly mown grass and new parchment andâ" she pauses, âspearmint toothpaste?â You giggle at the obvious answer to who this could be, as she blushes furiously, stepping away from the cauldron and returning to her seat.
âVery good, Miss Granger! Now, Miss Y/L/NâŚ?â Slughorn gestures enthusiastically toward the cauldron. You nod with a tight-lipped smile and step forward, taking Hermioneâs place. You lean over the cauldron and inhale. Instantly, youâre hit with a smell unlike anything you know, but still with clear notes.
Slughorn claps his hands together. âWell, my dear? What do you smell?â
âI think itâs⌠gunpowder? Burned sugar, too. Erm, broom polish. Something warm like cinnamon, maybe...â you mumble, hoping to avoid announcing it to the class.
A few people whisper between themselves, speculating on who this mystery bachelor could be. Slughorn nods approvingly. âA thrill-seeker with an appreciation for home comforts, perhaps? Excellent. Miss Johnson, youâre next!â Your stomach flips. You straighten up too fast, cheeks on fire, as you realise thereâs only person who fits this description. Fred bloody Weasley. Youâd been denying that you had any kind of crush on him at all: his stupid pranks drove you up the wall, and you thought he was far too cocky for his own good or anyone elseâs. Still, Amortentia didnât lie, and youâd be lying yourself if you said you hadnât noticed the reluctant chemistry you had with him.
As Angelina takes your place at the cauldron, you scurry back to your table with Hermione. âHow embarrassing,â she mutters as you plop down next to her.
âTell me about it,â you reply, picking at your notebook.
Fredâs turn comes a few students later. He saunters up to the cauldron with his usual swagger, hands in his pockets, like he hasnât a care in the world. Lee gives him a shove forward, grinning. âGo on, Fred. See if thereâs anything other than being a nuisance that attracts you.â
Fred just rolls his eyes, leans in, and breathes deeply. Youâre watching him out of the corner of your eye as his posture changes almost immediately. His shoulders stiffen, just slightly and the cocky grin falters for half a second before he catches himself and forces it back wider than before. He straightens up, clears his throat, and shrugs.
âSmells like⌠erâŚwriting ink. Sea breeze. And⌠the smell after it rains.â
Lee raises an eyebrow. âRain and ink? Mate, thatâs the most boring thing Iâve ever heard. Give me a go.â
Fred elbows him hard. âWhat can I say? Iâm a simple man.â
Slughorn looks delighted. âThat smell is called âpetrichorâ, Mister Jordan, and itâs far from boring,â he muses. âHmm.. a scholarly mind with a penchant for nature. Fitting for a young entrepreneur like you, perhaps, Mister Weasley. Next, please!â
Fred strides back to his table, avoiding everyoneâs eyesâ especially yours. Despite his swagger, you can see his cheeks burning.
Class ends in a flurry of whispered gossip and excitement about finding their supposed lover. Youâre trying to slip out quickly, Hermione already having shot off to her next class, but Fred catches up to you in the corridor outside, falling into step beside you like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
âSo,â he says, voice casual, âgunpowder and burned sugar, eh? Very mysterious. Very sexy guy, Iâd say.â
You snort, refusing to look at him. âShut up, Fred. It could be anybodyâ plus, I think itâs all rubbish anyway.â
He gasps, hand over his heart. âIâll have you know Slughornâs Amortentia is as good as it comes!â
âLike youâre ever in class,â you mutter, walking briskly down the cloisters in the hopes of losing him.
âDetails, details,â he waves a hand, effortlessly keeping up with you in his long strides. âAnyway, clearly the potion was off. Mine smelled rubbish.â
âRubbish enough to make you go all stiff and red,â you reply.
He stops walking. You keep going until his hand grabs your wrist and spins you around. The corridor, thankfully, is mostly empty now, just the echo of footsteps farther ahead. Fred narrows his eyes at you, but thereâs a flush climbing his neck that he canât quite hide as he pulls at his collar. âI did not go redâ I was just⌠surprised. Strong batch, thatâs all,â he shrugs. âBesides, rain and ink? Thatâs just Hogwarts.â
You fold your arms across your chest and readjust your books in your arms. âSure,â you muse. And I smelled broom polish because Iâm passionate about furniture, you think sarcastically.
A beat of silence passes as you stare at each other, daring the other to crack first. Fred breaks eye contact first, kicking at a loose stone on the floor. âLook, obviously the potionâs designed to embarrass people. It pulls random stuff from your memory. Doesnât mean anything.â
âExactly,â you say quickly. âTotally random. I probably just smelled gunpowder because Iâm always helping you two idiots not to blow yourselves up.â
âAnd I probably smelled ink becauseâŚbecause I spilled some last night,â he adds, just as fast.
âPrecisely.â
âNothing deeper.â
âI agree, for once.â
Another silence. Longer this time. You both start walking again at the same moment, shoulders brushing as you turn toward the Gryffindor common room. You hide a small smirk on your lips, which youâre sure he can see from his vantage point.
Fred clears his throat. âSo weâre agreed. Amortentiaâs a load of rubbish.â
âComplete rubbish,â you confirm.
âDoesnât reveal anything real.â
âNope.â
âGood.â
âGreat.â
At last, you reach the Fat Ladyâs portrait. Fred speaks the password and gestures for you to go ahead: you both climb through the hole as it swings shut again. The common room is warm and noisy, full of people sprawled by the fire doing homework or playing chess.
Neither of you sits down. You linger awkwardly near the stairs. Fred rubs the back of his neck. âRight. Well. Iâve got⌠prototypes to test.â
âYep. Iâve got Arithmancy reading.â
âCool.â
âYeah.â
He nods and starts toward the boysâ staircase, then pauses, glancing back. âYou didnât⌠smell anything weird, did you? Like⌠anything specific?â
You meet his eyes for a second too long. You think about telling the truth, but the words are out before you can think about it. âOf course not. You?â
He shakes his head a little too firmly, sending his hair whooshing around his eyes. âNo way,â he scoffs.
You both nod and turn away and head to your respective dormitories; hearts hammering, both lying through your teeth, both knowing exactly what the other smelled, and both absolutely, positively, never going to admit it. At least, not yet.