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SMOKE AND MIRRORS

act one ━ chapter six

. . . . . .

━ PROFESSOR SNAPE ━
september 1993

"WHY THE FUCK AREN'T YOU GUYS UP?!"

Oliver Wood was not happy. He had thought he was explicit enough when he sent out the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice schedule the previous week and after the deal regarding the party and a certain pair of redheaded twins a few days ago, the message was sure to have been received.

But when he awoke at half past four this morning, readying himself for their five o'clock practice, taking a seat in the common room while he waited for his teammates, two of them were missing.

He had since stormed into Fred and George Weasley's dorm room ─ the one they shared with Lee Jordan (unfortunately for Lee) ─ where the curtains were still drawn, leaving the room in a dim morning glow, and the covers were still thrown over the two brothers.

Lee had sat up in alert at the sound of his door banging open. But upon seeing a certain angered Scotsman, fell back onto his pillow.

Fred and George had hardly moved.

"It's five o'clock in the morning," Fred groaned from where he was lying flat on his stomach, drool pouring from his mouth and pooling on his sheets.

"Exactly," Oliver said, "and we have practice at 5."

"Oliver," George said through a yawn, "you are clinically insane."

Oliver took a step further into the room so that the three beds were circling him. "You wanna say that to my face?"

"Nope," George rolled over, his eyes flickering open and then closed again. He tugged his duvet closer to his chest, "because that would require me to get out of bed."

"Getting out of bed is a pretty standard requirement for you to play Quidditch, George." Oliver was grinding his teeth now. So hard he thought they might crack.

"Does this mean you are going to take your heartbreak out on us?" Fred groaned, half awake. Getting out of bed sounded like the worst kind of sanction right now.

Oliver was temporarily pleased they were all still so lethargic and had yet to let the sunlight in because he flushed bright red, his eyes falling to the floor. Still, he tried his best to sound confident with his words. "This has nothing to do with Katie."

"So she's not going to be at this practice then?" Fred asked, still as drowsy as ever as he planned to make Oliver so angry that he (fingers-crossed) stormed out and left them alone.

If it were possible ─ which Oliver now reckons it is ─ the captain blushed an even more evident shade of pink. He thought back to Katie, who was currently sitting in the Gryffindor common room downstairs with Angelina, Alicia and Harry who had all got up (very reluctantly) for their ridiculous practice call.

Despite Oliver's heckling for the Weasley twins to get out of bed, he was still dreading their first practice session of the year because let's not forgot that Katie Bell had broken his heart and was still on his Quidditch team.

"No, she is," Oliver mumbled.

"Right, so why are you punishing us?" George asked, peeking up from behind his covers to eye Oliver sceptically.

"Quidditch practice is not a punishment," Oliver asserted.

"It is with you," Fred muttered, hoping Oliver wouldn't hear (he did).

"I'd like to point out that this is so unfair on me," Lee said, still lying flat on his back but sticking his arm in the air to make sure his Quidditch-playing friends acknowledged his non-Quidditch-playing presence even while in the middle of a Quidditch-playing argument.

"Shut up, Lee. Go back to sleep."

"Love to," Lee smiled sarcastically. "But can't. Thanks, Ollie."

"Can't you just torture Katie with a private practice at the crack of dawn instead of screwing up my sleep schedule?" George asked.

"No," Oliver deadpanned, very much bored of their constant arguing back. "Five o'clock is a perfectly reasonable time for practice. Especially if we actually want to win this year. Because we do want to win right?"

The room became filled with an awkward and long silence, much to Oliver's annoyed surprise.

Finally, Fred grumbled cautious words from over the top of his quilt's hem. "If I say yes, will you piss off?"

Fred got his answer when a pillow from the bed closest to Oliver (Lee's) was launched at his head. "I'll take that as a no."

"Up. Now."

George waited for the sound of their dorm room door slamming against its lock before he whispered into the open of the dimly lit room. "What happens if we play dead in protest?" He asked his brother. "He can't technically make us. We have free will."

"Weasleys!"

Turns out, Oliver was standing on the other side of said door and could hear everything. He was hoping he would eventually hear the sound of shuffling feet from the other side without him having to shout at them anymore. But when that shuffling, signalling movement, didn't come, he gave them one last prod.

"I think we will actually be dead if we don't get up right now," Fred said. He was frozen in the position he lay in, clutching his covers, at the sound of Oliver's terrifying yell.

George did not want to get out of bed. But he sensed he had no choice. "You're probably right."

❋❋❋

"HE IS DERANGED, I'M TELLING YOU."

"Don't tell me this, tell him."

"Not one morning of peace with these two, is there?"

Morgan watched as the Weasley twins slumped down into their seats during breakfast, besides Bianca and Leo, looking worse for wear. Sweat was lining their faces and there were still lost for breath as they complained about their Quidditch captain.

George's hair was practically soggy ─ and not with rain water ─ and Fred had patches under the arms of his practice uniform. They hadn't even changed out of their sweaty clothes (much to the delight of those around them!) and were stuffing their faces with whatever they could find out of desperation for some energy.

"What are they complaining about now?"

Maggie Ward, one of Morgan and Bea's Gryffindor dorm mates, was put off by her food being in such close proximity to Fred Weasley who was dripping with bodily fluids.

Kamilah Jenkins, the final roommate out of the four, couldn't agree more. "Hard to say," she faked pondering in thought. "The bacon is a little crisp today."

"I heard that, Jenkins," Fred shot her a death stare, his eyebrows raised in warning.

"I didn't," George said from beside his brother, "but I'm going to assume it wasn't very nice and to be honest, Kamilah, I really cannot be bothered for any more shit-talking today."

"It's eight-thirty in the morning?" Bea questioned.

George let out a long exhale. "And that's early enough for me."

Morning grumpiness clearly came easily to these two.

It was just then that Oliver Wood shuffled into the Great Hall, except the captain was dressed in his school robes, his hair combed neatly, and not drenched in sweat like his fellow teammates.

"Oh, speak of the bloody devil," Fred rolled his eyes as he continued to munch noisily on some toast.

Oliver ignored Fred's sly comment and sat down next to Morgan, nodding in the four girls' direction as a good morning, despite not knowing three of their names. He then turned to the tired twins. "Good work today boys," he said, with a cheerful smile as if earlier that morning meant nothing to him anymore.

Fred and George simply groaned in response and Morgan is pretty sure George was asleep by this point, just while sitting up. His hand was still holding onto a half-eaten chocolate muffin. His second one, at that.

"Work them hard did you?" Morgan chuckled to the Keeper.

"No, actually," Oliver said in a surprisingly plain tone. "But apparently, five o'clock is too early for a Quidditch practice."

She watched as the boy shrugged, absent-mindedly pouring juice into his goblet. Morgan gave him a second longer to clarify his statement but when he remained lost in his own world of apple juice pouring, she asked, "You're not joking, are you?"

His head turned towards her and he blinked a couple of times. "Did you think I was?"

"Oh dear, Oliver. It's a wonder they're still friends with you."

Oliver was briefly embarrassed by her initial response, feeling awkward that he had thought she would agree with him that five o'clock was a perfectly reasonable time for practice. But then he laughed it off, "Oh, I don't think they consider me a friend," he said, throwing a grape into his mouth. "More of an enemy, if I'm being totally honest."

She grinned back at him. "And you're fine with that?"

"If it means they work hard."

Morgan didn't really know much about him but from what she did know, she really did admire Oliver Wood's work ethic when it came to Quidditch. She respected how he had found something he was so passionate about that he would always work hard towards even when he was down in the dumps. And she liked how he had made his team his family. But she still chuckled and asked, "And do they?"

Oliver sighed, looking over at the exhausted Weasley twins before smiling sheepishly at Morgan. "I'm working on that."

❋❋❋

IT SEEMED THAT FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY ─ AND LEE JORDAN, FOR THAT MATTER ─ weren't the only three students perturbed by the Gryffindor Quidditch team's practice schedule. Casper Romero was almost equally pissed off.

"They were there for almost three hours. Three hours."

Bea just shrugged as she, the agitated boy and Morgan all entered the potions classroom for their two-hour lesson first thing. "They're committed."

"They're losers," Casper corrected her. "Who hog the practice pitch I might add!" He was talking to the wrong people. "And of course, Flint took it out on all of us instead. I haven't been on the official team long enough for Marcus Flint to scream at me because those bastard lions don't have any sense of time."

"Watch who you're calling bastard lions, Romero," Maggie said as she and Kamilah took their seats behind the trio, who were now making themselves comfortable on the stools in the middle row. Snape was yet to arrive and the two girls knew that meant Casper wasn't going to shut up anytime soon.

"Sorry," Casper held his arms up in surrender but both Bea and Morgan knew he was not sorry. "But that Wood is a real control freak."

"Don't be mean," Morgan said.

"I'm simply being honest, Em," he said. "Leave your schoolgirl crush out of it, okay?"

Morgan knew he was just teasing her ─ there was no schoolgirl crush; she barely knew the Gryffindor Quidditch captain ─ but she could feel her cheeks slowly warm up. She decided to distract herself by fishing her notes and quill out of her bag. "Just because you're gonna get your arse handed to you this year because the Gryffindors are dedicated, does not mean you get to take it out on me. Capeesh?"

Casper took one look at her raised brows and decided to forget the fact that Morgan Samuels does not know a thing about Quidditch. Nor does she even follow it. "Yes ma'am."

Bea sighed, "Look, Cas, at least you'll be made captain next year right?"

Most of the boys on the Slytherin Quidditch team were in their seventh year and Casper was easily the best out of the rest of them. This year was his first year as an official player after long enough as a reserve and coming up was his first match not on the bench. Casper had been playing Quidditch all his life and he was damn good at it. But by the time he was in his second year and able to compete for a spot, all of the places were taken up by equally good players a mere year older than him.

But once co-captains Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey graduate this year, Casper is convinced he'll be on the top of the world (he's told everyone that captainship is his already).

"Better be," the Beater said. "Who else are they gonna give it to, that Malfoy kid? I'll shove his family name up my arse if Flint passes it onto him." There was a look of severe repugnance on his face before he brushed it off, crossing his arms casually. "Pucey will put in a good word for me anyway."

"Didn't that Malfoy kid get you all new brooms last year?" Bea scoffed at the mention of a snarky platinum blonde that Casper had been complaining about since the third year got an official place on the team before he did.

"We don't talk about that," Casper deadpanned, his voice laced with a rare severity. "Put it this way, if I was rich, I'd already be captain."

Once the rest of their class had arrived and filtered into their seats, Professor Snape got on with their lesson, chalk in hand, voice as monotone as ever.

Morgan was just thinking that even with his voice as dull as it was, she had never fallen asleep in one of his classes. Or any class for that matter. In fact, she enjoyed potions so much that she couldn't imagine not giving Snape her full attention.

That was until the potions professor told them they were to be brewing Amortentia once the note-taking was done and she practically threw her morals out of the window.

Amortentia is a love potion. And Morgan Samuels has a bone to pick with love. Or whatever love is or whatever it is supposed to be. She holds a grudge, heartbreak still very much prominent in her life and learning about whatever smell attracts her the most is not on her list of very long priorities. What is on said list is getting over Herbert Fleet.

Amortentia has no place in that.

"I don't think we should be learning about this," she said once the professor instructed them all to get on with it, noisy chatter filling the room. And even Morgan noticed the finality in her voice. There was no debate for her, no way of convincing her resolute mind that love potions were of use to her knowledge right now.

Bea and Casper eyed the stock-still girl, who was almost glued to the ground, refusing to move while the rest of their class started hurrying with ingredient hunting.

Beatrice looked over at the dark-haired Slytherin on the other side of Morgan. "I don't think I've ever heard her say anything like that before," she said.

Casper pursed his lips into a straight line in agreement before glancing back over at the brunette Gryffindor, apparently abstaining from Amortentia brewing. "Care to tell us why, Morgan?"

"Love is like smoke and mirrors," Morgan said with conclusiveness ─ her mind was made up on this matter. "So potions designed to evoke love are useless. It's fake news."

"Fake news?" Casper scoffed in amusement. He then slid his arms along the desktop before propping his chin onto his palms, staring up at the stubborn girl. "Care to elaborate?"

Morgan shrugged, looking ahead, before meeting the boy's curious gaze and saying, "Love doesn't exist."

Bea rolled her eyes ─ this was the final straw. "Oh give me strength, Morgan." She had heard enough of Morgan's heartbroken logic and decided it was probably best if she got on with some potions work.

It was then that Beatrice and Casper busied themselves with finding the ingredients for the set potion while Morgan busied herself with playing with her hair.

Bea was practically panting when she unloaded the hefty collection of various bottles and pouches full of things Morgan hadn't paid enough attention to be able to name onto the worktop. She had been cradling them with two arms just so that she would manage it all in one journey.

"Thanks for your help, Em," she said sarcastically, her arm exhaustedly falling onto her hip. "Really appreciate it."

It wasn't like Morgan to slack off work. She was never distracted in lessons and probably the only person Beatrice Fisher knew that had never fallen asleep in class. But right now, the way that Morgan was staring into space, like a futile statue, she might as well be asleep.

For the next twenty minutes, Bea managed to brew the potion with minimal help. Morgan sort of came to during her protest but she still stood rather bored and still, handing Beatrice the ingredients and tools she needed to complete the potion.

"I think," Bea said slowly, her eyes narrowing onto the liquid before her, then falling back onto her book with the instructions laid out. She took a step back to admire her handiwork. A thin pearly surface resided at the top, and steam spiralled out of it. Bea compared it to the example picture given in her textbook. "I'm done," she declared, happy with this evaluation.

"Yay," Morgan said caustically, her eyes now trained in disgust on the love potion. She cursed its deceiving existence.

"Done better than us then," Casper said, from where he and his partner stood on the next bench over. In their cauldron, instead of a silky sheen, there bubbled a thick goopy sludge, oozing from within.

"Guys." Morgan, without warning, pulled them all from their previous conversation. Despite her reluctance to the love potion making, the concept of Amortentia and its multi-faceted abilities still made her curious.

When Beatrice and Casper looked over at her, she was staring, with her head cocked to one side, at their professor at the front of the room. "We're all wondering right?"

Bea had in fact been wondering the same thing. She, followed closely by Casper, walked over and stood beside Morgan, the three of them now looking intently at Professor Snape.

"I just can't see him smelling anything," Bea said. The wondering in question was what on earth Professor Snape would smell in his Amortentia. It was a puzzling thought and one they had to leave up to their imagination.

"Children burning?" Casper offered.

"Retching toads?" Morgan suggested.

"He must smell something," Bea pointed out. "He's probably taught this lesson a million times."

"Maybe Snape is in love."

"Gross." Morgan was back to being disgusted by everything around her. She decided to change the question and leave the professor to his marking. "I think the real question is what do you guys smell? Bea?"

Casper and Morgan watched as their friend approached the steamy cauldron and dip her head towards it to investigate. After a bit of thought, Bea listed a variety of scents she could identify. "Honeysuckle. Peppermint. And ripe pineapples." She finished with a nonchalant, content shrug. "Nice."

Beatrice had always been a very unbothered person when it came to love. She didn't care for it and had no desire to experience a relationship. At least not yet. And definitely not like her friends did. She would easily get attracted to any walking thing ─ referring back to Jason Samuels as a prime example ─ but even then, she would seize up at the thought of dating one of them. Far too much commitment.

And Morgan saw it again now. A natural nonchalance to the idea of love. Bea didn't care what she smelt ─ it didn't mean anything.

"Funny," Morgan deadpanned, folding her arms across her chest. "Jason likes pineapples."

"Much like the rest of the population," Bea smiled sickly-sweet before hastily turning their attention onto the Slytherin boy beside them. "Cas?"

Seeing as Bea had apparently brewed an operational potion, unlike him, he jutted his neck out in the direction of the two girls' potion on their worktop and his brows furrowed in concentration as he took in the haze. "Urm white sugar," he said. "Christmas?" This time with an unsure head tilt before he went back in for one last inhale. "And Lily of the Valley."

Bea and Morgan had the exact same thought. Their eyes met each other in a rapid swift movement of realisation. Casper Romero smelt his best friend in a love potion.

Morgan was going to have a hard time not telling Edie that Casper's Amortentia reflected her faultlessly.

"Right, you next," Casper said nodding to Morgan as he stood up a little straighter. He hadn't caught on to what the two girls were smirking at but he didn't like the number of possibilities it could be referring to.

Trying her best to swallow her teasing smile for Casper's sake, Morgan took a step forward to inhale the floating mist pouring out of the cauldron in front of her. She was reluctant to the idea of it being a love potion, but couldn't help but be curious.

Orange peel and marmalade was the first thing she picked out. Bitter and sweet, citrus intertwined with the warm mist. Next came the smell of new books. Naturally. She could pick out the ink embedded into the fresh, clean pages. And last, the distinct smell of an untouched bar of soap; minimalistic elegance and grace with pure simplicity.

All of them made perfect sense to the astute Gryffindor. She loves marmalade more than anything else ─ she has it every morning for breakfast on toast. Then, of course, she writes for the school newspaper and is an avid reader, hence the inky delight. And finally, well, soap is soap. It smells nice and does the job just fine. Morgan prides herself on the simple things in life and she finds that new soap, in its cute, little package, is just that ─ beautifully simple.

But Herbert used to share her marmalade on toast with her. He likes to read. And he was far too much of an environmentalist to ever use any sort of shower gel that was packaged up in plastic and made too much waste.

She shook her head to rid her thoughts of Herbert Fleet. That wasn't healthy, Bea made sure she understood that.

But if she eliminated Herbert on the basis that she got him into marmalade on toast and the fact that they were students in a school required to do a lot of reading. Then the combination of scents she was met with now, was a complete mystery. She couldn't pinpoint the smells to anyone (else). No one with that familiar scent (sure).

"Dunno," she shrugged, taking a step back and looking at her two friends. "Something orangey, I think." There was no need to indulge in this nonsense. Especially not to her two glaring classmates that had heard enough of her Herbert Fleet talk.

And so, instead of looking at this fact logically, Morgan ignored all signs that maybe her soulmate was just a stranger to her right now, someone she hadn't met. And took it as further evidence, that there is no way in hell that love exists.