Secret Admirer: A Fred Weasley Love Story

Chapter 1: Love Potion

I walked briskly down the hallway to double potions with Professor Snape. I occasionally bumped into a student and apologized, making my way downstairs. I clutched my books to my chest and kept my head down, hoping to make my way through without being trampled by the elephants they call students.

Yup, so this is pretty much my life everyday. Keeping my face hidden from conversation, and practically running down the hallways to get to my classes on time. I loved my studies, they were my life. Everything about magic fascinated me. I was sort of a muggle born, my father was a wizard, but abandoned the magical world for my mother, a muggle. The secret wasn't kept for long when I was born and started tearing up my stuffed animals when I got angry. With my mind. When I was one.

So even though this was my fifth year at Hogwarts, I was still amazed and astounded by the magical world. To most wizard families, I came off kind of stupid and flabbergasted when I saw something new. I never can help but take out a notebook and pen to take notes when I witness a spell I've never seen performed.

Oh Merlin, I'm such a nerd. Please somebody help me.

I finally entered the dark, cold dungeons. I breathed in the scent of fresh herbs and something I couldn't quite place my finger on. Oh yeah. I remember: dead animals. I shuddered and sat down gently at my desk. I adjusted my oversized Hogwarts uniform and laid my books out on my desk, ordering them by size in a neat stack.

My uniform was much too big because the school didn't offer first year sized clothing to fifth years. And neither did the robes shop I went to in Diagon Alley. I was 5 feet tall, and for a 15 year old girl, that wasn't exactly normal. The majority of my peers towered over me, and the microscopic effect that I held on my classmates made me come off as the size of an ant.

My mother always told me I stood in a permanent cower, as if I was getting ready to be stepped on at any moment. She also said my pigeon-toed feet didn't help much either with my shyness that already radiated off of me. That comment kind of stung. However, when I arrived at this school via creaky leaking boats, and blindly following McGonnagal down the labyrinth that is Hogwarts, I managed landing in Gryffindor. Somehow. I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake. (Yet I'm told this never happens, go figure.)

A small explosion from the other side of the room snapped me from my thoughts and I whirled my head around to the source. Fred was fanning off a potion that was now smoking in his cauldron that he shared with his brother. From the looks of it, Fred was blaming it all on George. I figured it was a group effort though. Not that my tiny ant opinion mattered to anyone.

Professor Snape strided into the classroom and slid into his chair at his desk. He cast a disgusted look at the twins, and said in a voice as oily as his hair, "15 points from Gryffindor for brewing a potion without supervision, and failing at your attempt." Snape leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands on the desk.

"Today," Snape drawled, "You will be making a love potion." A low whistle was let out by some idiot, and a few boys glanced around the room, wiggling their eyebrows at each other. Immature delinquents, I thought, and rolled my eyes.

I then returned my focus back to Professor Snape, and continued to listen.

"Here are your list of ingredients," Snape said, sending pieces of parchment flying across the room to each student, "Now get to work. All the ingredients you will need are located in the cabinet." A few boys started to leap to their feet, but Snape stopped them from rushing to get their things.

"Not so fast. First, let us go over some facts about this dangerous potion. Now," He muttered, "Can any one of you imbeciles tell me what you will smell when the potion is mixed properly?" He looked around the room harshly, surveying our movements. Potions was one of my best classes, but Snape was creepy. He reminded me of a malnourished, greasy slug that was constantly in the mood to devour an annoying child.

Oh nasty. I think I just grossed myself out a little too much there.

I refocused and realized Snape was directing his glare at me. "Miss Stricker, can you tell me the answer?' I felt my face flush with color, I hated being put on the spot.

"Uh, you w-will smell the t-three things you l-love most," I eventually stuttered out. Snape just nodded. Come on! All I got was a shake of the head! I had extreme anxiety in front of people. One time, during a mandatory school play in elementary school, I passed out on stage. I didn't even have a line. All I had to do was stand and hand the princess her crown and walk off stage. That's it! But the hundreds of criticizing, calculating, harsh, beady little judgmental eyes staring at me from the audience turned my knees to Jell-O, and my brain to mush.

If you haven't picked this up yet, I'm painfully shy. And pretty much unapproachable. No wonder I only have one friend.

Eventually, the class got the order from Snape to gather our supplies. I raced with the rest of the class to the cabinet. Sitting back down in my seat, I started to prepare my ingredients.I skinned the ginger, popped the dybui berry into a little black measuring cup, and shaved the blue rock moss into my cauldron. I followed the instructions word for word, sometimes messing up a bit or dropping an ingredient when Snape passed by, staring at my cauldron intensely.

One painful hour later I hesitantly raised my hand to show Snape my final product. He sauntered over and drawled, "Very good. You've done an adequate job of brewing the potion." He poured my cauldron into a flask and raised it up to the light. Snape made a slight grunt of reluctant approval and took my bottle to his desk, inscribing my name in the cork of the flask with a spell.

I pondered over what I had smelled in the potion. There was mint, I had an obsession with that herb, books, no surprise there, and an unfamiliar cinnamon-like smell. I drummed my fingers on my chin, deep in thought.

What could that cinnamon smell be? I pondered. I took out my miniature notebook from my baggy pocket and scribbled down cinnamon in my scratchy handwriting. Snape dismissed the class, and I slipped my notebook and quill into my pocket and headed out of the dungeon, swinging my backpack over my shoulder.

Time to face the elephants again.