Summary: Rose M. Weasley doesn't seem like the kind of girl to journal. But when she does, she follows strict rules. To not let her eccentric best friend get her into trouble. To not get a fifth detention. To avoid certain Gryffindor boys at all costs. The problem is, following these rules isn't always the easiest. Especially when there's a Malfoy involved.
Rating: M for language.
I shouldn't be starting yet another story but there's something about Rose and Scorpius that I can't stay away from. Any feedback is hugely appreciated and keeps me from going mad in the early hours of the morning. Love, H x
'She is something to behold, elegant and bold' - Georgia, Vance Joy
Wednesday 6th September
3:14pm (Or, the time I should have been in Care for Magical Creatures)
NOTE TO SELF: Stop letting Bea convince you into rallying with her when you should be in Care for Magical Creatures.
NOTE TO SELF #2: If Bea proves impossible to dissuade (she will), avoid getting into arguments with particular Gryffindor boys when at aforementioned rallies.
NOTE TO SELF #3: In fact, if one can help it, avoid particular Gryffindor boys at all cost.
Wednesday 6th September
3:38pm (Still not in Care for Magical Creatures)
In my approximate five years and one week of being a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I, Rose Weasley, have had precisely three detentions. That being said, this number is remarkably low considering the amounts of times I have gotten into trouble due to the reckless people I insist on keeping around as company.
Beatrice Shacklebolt, I'm looking at you.
And, on the third day of my time at this school, it appeared as if I was going to get my fourth. The detention itself doesn't scare me (Sorry, Mum) but what does bother me is the reasons why I will most likely be forced to scrape Dung-Bombs off of the cabinets in the Trophy Room.
Because, at the end of the day, I can handle a detention; what I cannot handle is a detention given due to likes of him.
The likes of him being an approximately six foot (six foot, one exactly), blonde haired, pompous and utterly dislikeable prat.
But, I digress.
The beginning of this debacle - now officially titled "The Time Rose Weasley Received Her Fourth Detention" - started with a lovely, if not overly assertive, sixth year Ravenclaw that I happened to call my best friend.
And what a best friend she is.
Beatrice Shacklebolt, most infamous yet renowned activist of her age, and I had been friends for as long as I had been in school. Like most friendships based in a place where you generally stuck with those you lived with, it seemed almost inevitable that we would fall into each other's laps.
The origins of said friendship take me back to being a little eleven year old red-head, standing on the platform of Kings Cross, surrounded by one too many relatives to bear. My father (bless him) had sent me off on train with clear instructions; be a Gryffindor, be a good girl and, most importantly, beat Scorpius Malfoy in every test.
And much to his dismay, I haven't particularly mastered either three.
While I love Gryffindor house - how can I not, literally every member of my family hails from there - there was something about it that just didn't quite sit right with me. Albus, on the other hand, my eleven year old cousin and companion, dreamed of nothing more than be welcomed into the realms of crimson and gold. And even at eleven years old, I was determined to be something different.
So as soon as we boarded the trains, luggage packed away, and waved our goodbyes, I began my search.
"Where are you going?" Albus asked me, nervous and rather unsettled in the new environment. His older brother's confidence was not a hereditary trait at that point, but instead something he apparently learned through adolescence - but we'll get onto that later.
Puffing my chest out, and putting my hands on my hips. "I'm going to find somewhere to sit."
"Can't we just sit with James?" he asked meekly.
I don't think even I could reconstruct the expression of horror and embarrassment at the thought of sitting with my cousins on my face that I had at that point. In a sea of Weasleys and Potters, it was hard not to drown. I had made a point the night before - in the midst of my late night list creating and resolution making - to promise myself I would learn to swim.
Albus, as observant as my loveable cousin is, took one look at my face and nodded. "Alright, I guess." He wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to get into an argument with me on the train. "I'll go find somewhere too."
With a decisive nod, I temporarily cut my ties from him and started down the corridor. Most of the compartments I walked by had been claimed; loud, obnoxious Second Years who were so thankful to no longer be the youngest, some Fifth Year girls excitedly catching up on the news of the summer, and Seventh Year boys engrossed in a game of Wizard's Chess.
But the final compartment I poked my head into contained a small, dark girl who was animatedly dictating to a hovering parchment and quill. Even at eleven years old, Bea was as fierce as she was pretty. Her black, spiralling curls had been accosted into two tight braids that stuck waywardly from the top of her head.
Her forceful dictation stopped when I opened the compartment door. She looked at me; first with contempt for disturbing her business, then with curiosity.
"Who are you?" she asked, not quite rudely but blunt enough to make me blink.
I slipped into the compartment gingerly, my earlier confidence having waned significantly, and stuck a pale hand out to her. "Rose," I introduced. She simply raised an eyebrow at my hand, then took it gently. I let out a breath of relief. "Can I sit with you?"
Bea gave a nonchalant shrug, something I know knew to be habitual. "Sure. If you don't mind listening to me make my to do list for the year."
For the year? There was definitely a moment there were I considered the fact that Beatrice might be certifiably insane. What sort of eleven year old plans their entire itinerary for their first year of school?
Still, as intimidated as I was, she was the only person I had found so far that seemed moderately tolerant and wasn't part of the Potter-Weasley clan. I was going to take anything I could get.
I sat down on the opposite compartment bench, and began organizing my bag beside me. Almost as if I had never come in, Bea continued her ranting at the quill and it picked back up to its ferocious speed against the parchment.
Her dictation continued on for the next ten minutes or so, while I buried myself in a very well loved copy of Hogwarts: A History. Where my dear father had multiple words of advice to give me upon starting school, my mother had one.
I was about a third into the chapter on the segregation of the Houses when Beatrice finally introduced herself. She dropped into her seat with a dramatic huff.
"I'm Bea Shacklebolt, by the way," she declared as she tucked away her parchment and quill. I looked up at her from my book, of which had caught her eye. "You like reading."
It was more of a statement than a question.
I nodded. "Yeah, I do. My mum's a pretty avid reader so I guess it brushed off on me."
Her amber eyes studied me silently for a few moments. The thing about Bea is that she can appear so quietly invasive, the way her eyes can decipher your every thought in a matter of seconds. I suppose she liked what she deduced on that first day because she hadn't left my side since.
"Have you decided what House you think you're going to be Sorted into?" She folded her hands in her lap, and continued her studious gaze. It was a strange feeling to be watched; it wasn't unlike being interrogated, but it certainly held less aggression.
It was my turn to shrug. "My entire family is in Gryffindor."
Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Not a bad choice. A bit brutish, if you ask me. A lot of my family have been in Gryffindor, some in Hufflepuff too. Have you heard of Kingsley Shacklebolt?"
That name was as familiar to me as my own grandparents'. The tales of the Order of the Phoenix were not something often talked about over family dinners, but there was enough historical context in them that they featured in many of the books in my family Library.
I nodded.
"He's my Great Uncle. Nice enough fellow. Always brings Sugar Quills when he visits."
I nodded again, unsure what to say. Bea's intense stare was still present and I couldn't bring myself to meet it. Looking back to my book, I turned to the next page.
"I could see you in Ravenclaw, you know," said Bea. When I looked up, she had dropped her gaze and had begun fiddling was a small pendant on her wrist. "That's where I'd like to be Sorted."
Ravenclaw. I would have been lying if I had said I hadn't pondered it. For the most part, I wholeheartedly believed that the dark blue of the House would suit me much better than crimson. Red on red rather clashed. But there was a small voice - small, yet pronounced - in the back of my mind that reminded me of where my family loyalty lay.
"I hear the Sorting Hat takes your own choice into consideration," I said, quite quietly. "You could ask it to put you in Ravenclaw."
Bea laughed a little, the warm sound of windchimes. The sound settled the writhing in my stomach. "Oh, I should think that I wouldn't need to. I think I'd fit in there quite well."
I thought so too. In fact, Bea was probably the perfect poster child for Ravenclaw. She was evidently smart, organized and analytical. I just wasn't quite sure if I was up to par.
The Sorting Hat obviously thought differently.
She reached under her seat and pulled out her own bag, twice the size of mine and probably four times the weight. From it, she began to retrieve her school books and pile them onto the table in front of her.
"I think Potions is going to be very favourite class," she mused, as if answering a question I hadn't even asked. "I can't wait to learn about all the different ingredients and techniques. Do you know there's such thing as a love potion? My older sister told me about it. How ridiculous is that. I'm sure there are much better potions with more interesting uses."
I, too, had heard about the love potion. Amortentia was a word I had picked up from my older cousin Victoire last Christmas. She had been teasing Teddy about a girl who had a crush on him, and she said he'd "slipped her Pumpkin Juice some Amortentia". After a bit of reading, I decided that my opinion was similar to Bea's on the matter; what a frightful thing to behold.
Bea was in the midst of detailing what she had already read of the Potions curriculum when the compartment door slid open, and a familiar figure stood in the doorway. Albus gave me a smile and a tentative wave - he was not alone.
Beside him stood the very blonde haired boy my dad had pointed out at the station, the one I was supposed to spend the next seven years intellectually annihilating. At first glance, he didn't seem so deserving of this. He was similar to Albus in his stature; just the right amount of First Day timid and wearing a gentle smile.
But, you know, this was well before I knew any better and well before he opened his mouth.
"Hey Rose," said Albus, awkwardly running a hand through his forever messy hair. "Want some company?"
Bea was looking at the two of them, her mouth slightly open and indignant, evidently displeased with yet another interruption. She pressed her lips into a thin line before looking over to me, and raised an eyebrow.
"Are these friends of yours?"
Attempting to will away the blush that was slowly rising in my ears, I forced a smile. "Bea, this is my cousin Albus Potter. And, uh -" I looked at the blonde boy, whose name my dad had told me on the platform. "- Scorpius, is it?"
Malfoy nodded, his smile widening a bit. "Hullo." His voice was more controlled than it should have been at the age of eleven, and even without saying anything more, I had the suspicion his vocabulary was something to be envied. He had an air of old money about him, but that was something I couldn't have understood then.
"Well, come in if you're coming in," Bea instructed briskly. "You're making a draft."
The boys shared a look but shuffled into the compartment anyway. And that's, I suppose, where it really began. How we all became completely entangled in each other's lives, and how I, for the next five years and one week, would find myself facing a fourth detention.
Well, that's the beginning of it, anyway.
Wednesday 6th September
5.32pm (Dinner time)
So, it is confirmed. Rose M. Weasley has officially received her fourth detention. Angels are falling from the sky, my mother is weeping, and somewhere, I'm sure, Circe is rolling in her watery grave. Another tarnish on the two-parts Golden Trio child.
Eh, what can you do?
Wednesday 6th September
5.34pm
Do you want to know what the worst thing about Bea is? She is entirely unsympathetic, even when it comes to your unjust punishment due to the provocation of some immature, incorrigible imbecile.
"Well, if you didn't want detention, you shouldn't have hexed him," she said, in her very special matter-of-fact way. Bea sat next to me at dinner, and carefully unrolled her cutlery from her napkin. "Honestly, there are better ways to deal with annoying boys than violence."
"It wasn't exactly violence," I protested, though I felt truly chastised. Bea had a knack of doing that to me. "Nobody got hurt."
"You inflicted an Infinity-Itching hex on him, Rose."
Well, excuse me. That's the last time I do something for you, Beatrice.
I huffed. "Last time I checked, itching is not hurting."
"It's still grievous bodily damage."
Grievous bodily damage, my arse. He's quite probably sitting up in his dormitory wallowing in the fact that his perfect, porcelain skin is now tainted and girls won't want to kiss him for the next few hours. How will he ever survive?
"So, what do you have to do?" Bea asked, pouring herself a Pumpkin Juice.
Even though food at appeared in front of us, my appetite was somewhat absent. I buried my face in my hands.
"I have to clean up the Dung-Bombs in the Trophy Room on Friday," I mumbled. This wasn't the worst of detentions. Once, Professor Shafiq, Potions teacher and Slytherin Head of House, had me clean up after a class of First Years. Who knew that making Pepper Up potion could be so disastrous?
Bea hummed in response, her interest in the situation obviously waned. I have such good friends. Good friends that who really, at the end of the day, are kind of at fault.
Okay, well probably not at complete fault. It was me who hexed someone, but I wouldn't have had to hex someone if I wasn't in that exact place at that exact time doing the exact thing Bea wanted me to do.
So, really, it's kind of Bea and mine and pretentious-Gryffindor-boy's fault. I need to deduce.
Wednesday 6th September
5.45pm (Or, the Deduction of Who is Really at Fault)
I was halfway between a morning of double Potions and Herbology when I was ever so rudely accosted in the hallway by a rather energized Bea. She bounded up to me, multiple piles of brightly coloured flyers in her hands, and a determined look on her face.
"I need your help," she said, brandishing a handful of flyers at me.
Another thing about Bea: she will do anything for a cause. Free rights for mermaids, equal marriage for House Elves, subsidized horseshoes for centaurs; she has done a rally for about every cause under the sun. She was what my mother would call a "force of nature". In fact, they got along rather well.
Groaning, I took the flyers from her and read it aloud: "Welcoming of Werewolves?" I frowned up at her. "What does that even mean?"
Putting on her Here-Are-The-Following-Reasons-I-Am-Right voice, she said "This is an important cause, Rose! Did you know that 87% of people inflicted with lycanthropy go unemployed? The stigma around the disorder - which is now highly manageable, I might add - is absolutely atrocious and it's ruining people's lives."
"True," I murmured, flicking through the papers. Which it was. Even though the stigma had significantly improved, fears of werewolves still lay under the surface bubbling away. "But how exactly is this going to help?"
"Awareness is the key, Rose," Bea said promptly. "Werewolves shouldn't have live in fear. They could be your friends, your classmates, your -"
I put my hand up. "Hey, save your breath for the non-believers."
Tucking the flyers into the pocket of my robes, I started back down the corridor towards Herbology when Bea's hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Her eyebrows were raised alarmingly.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Uh, I don't know, fellow Ravenclaw and scholar, doing what we're supposed to be doing and actually attending lessons?
I gently wriggled my way out of her grasp. "Going to Herbology?"
Bea began shaking her head furiously. "No, no. Do you think I gave your flyers to hand out in class? I need you to come hold a demonstration with me."
"I figured that would, you know, happen at lunch or something."
A nonchalant shrug. "It's almost lunch. What's one class? Besides, it's Herbology."
"I like Herbology, thanks." And I liked Professor Longbottom. I also liked to think that we were quite chummy. It doesn't matter that he's technically a family friend, but he doesn't seem to mind when I spend the class doodling and ogling the back of Bran Fenwick's head. Neville's a believer in true love, I reckon.
Bea rolled her eyes. "You like perving on Fenwick without being seen. Honestly, you're kind of pathetic sometimes." As if that was going to convince me into joining her, she still tugged on my arm. "Come with me, please."
"No," I said, crossing my arms indignantly. "I'm going to class like a good student." I turned to walk away from her, flyers sticking out of my pocket. I could hear her muttering under her breath behind me but I would not give in.
Not this time, Shacklebolt.
"I'll give you my notes on Ancient Runes if you do it!"
I froze. Ancient Runes was the worst class I have ever had the misfortune to take. I thought it would be interesting - reading about it certainly was - but Professor Nordstrom was possibly the most boring person alive. Taking Ancient Runes was like driving a fork into your brain for a solid fifty minutes. Taking notes about Ancient Runes was twice as painful.
Beatrice, however, loved Ancient Runes and had the neatest handwriting I had ever seen.
Begrudgingly - oh so begrudgingly - I turned back to meet her already smug smile. Damn, that girl knew me better than anyone and was very willing to use it against me.
I let out a sigh. "Fine. I want six weeks worth."
"One," she bartered, shaking her head but keeping her grin. She practically skipped to my side and looped her arm through mine. "We're really going to make a difference, Ro."
"Three," I challenged in return. "And yeah, we'll see."
So, here we were, slacking off Herbology (sorry Nev!) to stand on the Second Floor pestering as many people as we could passing by. We were rarely disturbed by teachers - everyone knew by now that arguing with Bea was pointless - and for the first half an hour, it all played out as it usually did.
That being, it played out as being terribly dull.
It was precisely thirty four minutes into our supposed rally (I was counting), when things started to happen. Things that may or may not have lead to the fourth detention.
And so the deducing begins.
"Fifty three percent of lycanthropy carriers are under the age of 30," Bea called out, waving her flyers at whoever passed by, "This means approximately 210 wizards and witches are unable to find employment due to the stigma! Will you fight back? Will you - Oi!"
Bea's ranting was cut off as a Quaffle whizzed past her head, flying through her wild mane of curls she had left down today. It was followed by a distant "Whoops, heads up!" and two very familiar male voices.
The first boy to appear running up the staircase was my dear cousin. Despite once being a timid, nervous smidgen of a child, Albus Potter had grown into the Potter family confidence with ease. Plus, it helped that he learned to comb his hair.
As soon as he saw the pair of us, he shot us a toothy grin, his green eyes lighting up. "Good morning, ladies. I see you're on the hunt again."
He went to reach for one of Bea's flyers, which she promptly snatched away. "It's not a hunt, Al. It's a cause."
One of his eyebrows shot up, and underneath his mouth grew into a smooth smirk. "Well, what's the cause today?"
"Ending the stigma against lycanthropy."
"Nice," he said, and he actually seemed quite impressed. Bea's blush was not hidden well by her complexion either. I will never understand the impression Potter boys seem to leave on women. "Let me see then."
Bea's judging eyes studied him for a slow moment, before tentatively handing him a bright orange flyer. He flicked his eyes over it, then back to her with a smile.
"Shouldn't you be in class?" I scrutinised. "Ginny would have a fit if she knew you were bailing on dear Professor Longbottom."
Albus let out a single ha! "You think Mum will have a fit? What about you, daughter of Hermione? I thought your passion for learning and inability for tardiness ran in your blood."
I tried very hard to ignore the jolt of guilt in my stomach. Where my mother was all in favour of equality and activism, missing classes she was not. I narrowed my eyes at my cousin.
"Well, I suppose we both better keep our mouths shut then."
"I didn't think that was possible for you, Rosie."
For Merlin's sake.
It had always stricken me as quite a concept that both beauty and arrogance came hand in hand when in regards to the male species. Or at least, teenage males for that matter. Scorpius strolled - because standard walking was much too plain for a boy like Malfoy - to Albus' side, retrieved Quaffle in hand.
He offered Bea an easy grin. "Alright, Shacklebolt? You're looking awfully pretty today."
Bea simply returned him compliment with one of her own. In the form of her middle finger. Both of the boys chuckled, and share a look. Their look. A look the two had somehow concocted between the pair of them that held some hidden meaning no outsider could decipher.
I hated that look.
"Are you quite finished?" I asked, stepping in between them. I gave them my sharpest look possible. And trust me, that was sharp. I once made a Third Year cry.
Probably not my finest moment, but alas.
I mean, honestly. Surely they had better things to do. Run along boys, break some hearts, violate some broom cupboards, whatever it is you 'cool kids' get up to these days.
Malfoy grinned - that stupid, stupid grin. "You're in a bit of bad mood today, aren't you?"
Narrowing my eyes at him, I took a step back as he stepped towards me. It was universal knowledge that whenever in his presence, I was generally in a bad mood. There was times, once upon a ancient time, where this wasn't always the case. I tried not to think about that.
"If you're going to stick around, at least take a flyer," Bea said, waving a blue sheet in front of his face. He barely even registered it, keeping his eyes on me.
Ugh, such a git.
"I'll take one from Rose," he said. There was something in his voice when he said my name that literally made me want to curl up in a ball and die. I don't think there is anyone on earth who is capable of being so smarmy, and disgusting, and all around completely intolerable.
But perhaps I'm biased.
I wrinkled my nose (and I imagine, stuck it up in the air in distaste). "A flyer is flyer. Take it from Bea."
"But it's more special from you."
Iwasliterallygoingtopunchhimintheface.
"Do you even care, up there on your little high horse?" I asked, quite venomously. It was probable that he didn't. I highly suspect he does not care about anyone but himself - well, except maybe Albus, but he doesn't count.
Malfoy's eyebrows shot up immediately. "Merlin, Rosie. I'm not a monster."
Debatable.
"That's surprising," I said, drawing out my words. "I could swear that I'd seen horns grow out of your head on occasion. You know, usually when you're waltzing around like the demon you are."
I could hear both Bea and Albus sigh together. Look, I'm not proud of the way Malfoy riles me up. Even his presence makes my hair stand on end. There are just some people in the world that you cannot stand, and Malfoy was my person.
Wait, not like, my person. Just my person who had that effect on me.
Wait, no, like not an effect but like -
Nevermind. He was a prat. I hated him.
Malfoy's smirk lost it's mirth, and grew cold and calculated. It was not often he was seen like this, but when he was, it was usually around me. There was a time where I would have said it was the blood in him, and I would have waved it away until he returned to himself.
But not today.
"A demon?" he said, his voice almost quietly demanding. "Really? How is it up there on your pedestal? Is it good to sneer down on everyone with judgement? You should probably check yourself at some point, I wouldn't want to see you fall."
Albus, our conflict radar, stepped to his side. "Come on, leave it be." He placed a firm hand on Malfoy's shoulder.
"Yeah, Malfoy," I sneered, clearly incapable of helping myself ever. "Leave it be."
"Oi, that means you too." Albus' glance at me was sharp.
Bea followed my cousin's cue, coming instantly to my side and looping her arm through mine again. "Come on, we'll go to another floor. There's no point in getting into an argument where neither of you have done anything wrong." Her voice was calm but persistent, and held every ounce of logic.
The tips of my ears were burning. Why were they always burning?
Malfoy scoffed, but turned away with Albus anyway. "Whatever. Shacklebolt's right - no point into getting into a drama when I haven't done anything wrong."
Oh, Malfoy. You are always doing something wrong.
Bea's arm in mine was tight as I began to regain a steady breath. I hadn't realized at first that it had quickened.
I watched them as they went, sauntering as the pair of them often did. Still, in his walk, Malfoy's shoulders were tense and dangerous - like barbed wire warning all to stand back. They were already a few feet away, but I heard him when he said it.
"Does this really have to happen every time you see each other?" Albus had hissed. Malfoy had visibly shuddered, as if releasing the anger from himself.
He shook his head. "It's not my fault she's still hung up on something that happened six months ago. I mean, honestly, move on with your goddamn life."
I didn't know I could move so quickly.
Within moments, my arm was out of Bea's, my wand was in my hand, and Malfoy's body was propelled a few metres forward. Everyone froze. Bea stared at me, Albus stared at him.
Oh, no.
Red blotches had begun to creep above the crisp collar of Malfoy's white shirt; angry and raw. He let out a cuss - a loud one - and spun on his feet to face me. Breathing through his gritted teeth, he advanced towards me, limbs failing against the material of his robe.
"What did you - ugh!" He had to stop in his walk, overcome by the need to scratch the fast growing rash that was beginning to cover his skin. "Rose, honestly, what the fuck?"
I gaped like a fish. Words formed in my throat but came no further. I think even at this point even Bea didn't know what to say. I'd done some bad things in anger but I'd never done anything this bad.
But he'd hit a sore spot. And he knew it was a sore spot.
"Jesus Christ, Rose," Albus admonished. He came to Malfoy's side, tearing off the robe for his friend to inspect his reddening skin. He gave a stern nod to Bea. "Get her out of here." Then to me. "We're going to talk about this later." It was both a promise and a warning.
"Talk about it?" Malfoy stammered amidst his scratching. "I hope you wring her bloody neck! You are so unhinged, Rose, absolutely delusional!"
I still couldn't make a sound. There was a feeling in my stomach, as if it was being sucked into itself, collapsing like a black hole. I was so angry, so terrifyingly angry.
Bea's hand found mine again, and she gave me a cool look. "Come on. Rallying is -"
Her words were cut off by an angry shout that rang through the hallway. In the middle of the debacle, I hadn't noticed a classroom door open and a small flood of students empty out. At the front of these students stood a very, very angry looking Professor McGonagall.
"Miss Weasley!" She strode towards me, her thin lips taut in a furious purse. "Please tell me that I did not just witness you inflict a hex upon another student."
Ohnoohnoohno. The feeling in my stomach was getting worse. It was spreading down my legs and into my feet.
Malfoy grunted, still scratching. "Well, it's obvious that you did, Professor. She's out of her goddamn mind!"
She simply pointed her finger in his direction. "To the Hospital Wing with Mr. Malfoy please, Mr. Potter."
Albus obliged, dragging a grumbling Malfoy from the vicinity and in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Bea's hand still held onto mine tightly.
"Well, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall pressed, her voice scratching my hot ears. "Would you like to explain here why you're out of class and hexing students, or would you like to do so in my office?"
I was going to get a detention. The thought was ringing through my head, alongside a thousand others. Malfoy's a prat. Bea's holding my hand. McGonagall's furious. What did I do? What did I do?
"I…" Damn it mouth, work for once!
With a brisk wave of her hand, she ushered me down the hallway. "My office it seems then. Come along Miss Weasley. Miss Shacklebolt, back to class."
Bea's hand dropped from mine and she gave me a soft grimace, but as obedient as Bea was, she was going to return to class. She quickly gathered any of the flyers that had scattered across the floor, and hurried away.
Leaving me to follow Professor McGonagall down the hallway and to my inevitable punishment. God damn it all.
Wednesday 6th September
7.42pm
So, upon deducing and upon yet another conversation about the debacle with Bea, I think the conclusion is that it was entirely my own fault. Well, not entirely, but mostly.
And I'm sure by now that his rash has cleared up, if not gone entirely. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it either. Bringing that up again, was just -
Nevermind. I'm not going to write about it anymore. I'm not going to think about it. He was kind of right; I did need to move on with my life. And that meant moving on without him in it whatsoever.
Wednesday 6th September
10.15pm
Rose,
Meet me at the Astronomy Tower in fifteen minutes. Don't bring Bea.
Al.
Oh bloody shit.
Wednesday 6th September
10.17pm
NOTE TO SELF #4: Next time you hex Malfoy, make sure Albus isn't close by.
NOTE TO SELF #5: Maybe just stop hexing Malfoy altogether. (Unlikely).
