Chapter 1: Explanations
I unconsciously sighed in relief as the portrait on my right swung out. My hand deftly slid out of my hair, the smallest amount of tension easing out of my shoulders. I had reverted to my nervous habit of tightly twisting the auburn strands around my fingers. Since I'd gotten older, my hair color had moderated, blending my father's red hair with my mother's brown. The curls bounced, perhaps in even tighter ringlets, as I released them.
I shifted my body weight nervously as a tall, lanky boy emerged from the hole behind the painting, his frame gracefully unfolding one limb at a time. He shook a shock of white-blond hair out of his eyes before turning to face me, zeroing in on my exact position despite my hidden state beneath the invisibility of the cloak. His intuition wasn't that at all, but a preciseness born out of years of practicing the same routine. I slid my hood back as he approached, knowing that, while he hated the way it made my head look disembodied, I hated talking to someone when they couldn't see me. It just felt impersonal.
I shook the silken substance back, my eyes focused on the smirking face of the boy in front of me.
"Didn't think I was going to make it Weasley?"
I rolled my eyes. "Of course not Scorpius." Though these midnight runs made me impatient and jumpy, I knew that that the Slytherin had never failed me. "And I've told you a thousand times- I understand the pretense in front of all your little house mates, but considering our partnership, the least you could do is show some civility and call me Rose."
He raised his eyebrows. "Easier to keep up the pretense if I never let it down, isn't it?" he inquired smugly as his hand slipped into the pocket of his robes.
His long pale fingers withdrew from the folds of his robe as quickly as they had entered the black, clutching a small glass flask in their porcelain grasp.
He stretched his arm out toward me, his hand opening palm up. I took the container, holding it up to the light of the torch bracketed to the cool stone wall. The contents were crystal clear- a perfect brewing of the Draught of Living Death. I expected nothing less.
"Thanks Scorpius- I'll send a school owl with the translation for ancient runes in the morning. Oh- and don't forget- be in the prefect common room fifteen minutes early tomorrow so we can go over patrol duty assignments."
He nodded simply. "Yes, Head Girl." I scowled. "Well, it isn't your surname, is it? And you'd better get to bed if you don't want us to completely disgrace you tomorrow on the field."
"Shut up- Head Boy," I retorted, tacking on the last bit for the sake of equality. He narrowed his eyes maliciously at me, but for the briefest of moments I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. I pulled my hood back up, shaking my head. Not possible- it had only been the flicker of the torches and shifting shadows. Scorpius Malfoy did not smile.
Without further exchange I unceremoniously turned on my heel. As I rounded the corner I heard the portrait to the Slytherin dormitories slide shut, and I continued on my way through the dungeons.
I crept silently toward the door, pulling my wand out of my back pocket. "Lumos."
The tip of my wand lit up at the utterance of the muttered spell. I held the Beech and unicorn hair rod up with one hand to examine the yellowed piece of parchment I held in my other. The map of the school grounds showed that just three dots were out in the corridors- Mr. Filch, Peeves and Mrs. Norris. Thankfully they were on the fourth floor and, as all three were standing by the library, it seemed the poltergeist had all of Filch's attention for the moment.
Tucking the parchment into a pocket on the inside of the cloak, I easily slipped into the classroom, not even needing to use alohomora. While there were locks on the potion ingredient stores, the room itself was never secured. I pulled the door to the frame behind me without closing it, wanting to avoid the noise it would make until I could be on my way back up to Gryffindor Tower.
Once inside, I wasted no time. I headed straight for the cabinet at the very front of the class, far left. I opened the door quickly, wincing at the squeak it produced. Hurriedly, I pulled out the flask at the very front and center of the wire rack inside with my left hand while simultaneously placing the one I had kept in my front pocket in its place with my right. Hands shaking, I ripped a piece of labeling tape off the roll next to the wrack and wrote my name with the supplied quill. I then pushed the wood and glass door closed and placed the original potion sample into the cloak with the map before marching directly out of the room.
After a quick check to my left and right from behind the heavy dungeon door, I stepped into the clear hallway and headed straight toward the staircase.
I sighed in relief when I hit the first stair, knowing that the worst was over. I trudged up the staircase, finally beginning to feel the tiredness that adrenaline had been pushing aside. I thought of the quidditch match against Slytherin the next day and darting side to side to keep the goalposts. The thought itself only served to exhaust me further. It seemed that lately, the further on I got at Hogwarts, the more difficult it was becoming to keep up.
I shook my head to myself, vaguely aware that I had just emerged into the first floor. Those thoughts would not do- I just needed to get to my soft bed up in the tower, and all would be better in the morning. With this goal I willed my eyes to stay open just a little while longer and plodded on to my right, moving toward the next staircase.
It was then that it happened. It was simple and stupid at the same time. It shouldn't have happened.
My wand somehow worked its way out of my back pocket, falling and rolling away toward the staircase by the entrance to the Great Hall with a dull clatter. I cursed under my breath, hurrying toward the fallen object. Hadn't Uncle Harry always told me not to keep my wand there? Explained to me that there were better places, that it wasn't secure? Of course I hadn't listened, thinking that there was no need to worry about someone taking it. It was just my uncle being an auror, hardened by war- it wasn't practical advice for me.
How wrong I was. I had just never considered this particular scenario.
After the initial shock of the sudden noise in the utter silence, I hurried forward, focused solely on where the wand had disappeared into the shadows, eyes peering down at the dark floor. Perhaps that's why I didn't notice that I wasn't alone.
"I don't know whether you're a Potter or a Weasley," rang out a clear, severe voice, "but very few students have access to an invisibility cloak. It would do you well to show yourself."
The speaker then stepped out of the shadows, holding my wand in their hand.
I bit my lip and closed my eyes, a hundred curses ringing through my head.
With a few seconds of consideration, I realized there really was no choice. I straightened solemnly, my stomach dropping lower by the minute.
I flicked my eyes open, and pulled off the cloak to reveal myself.
The headmistress blinked once. If she was surprised, her face didn't betray it. I saw only a calm seriousness as she pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Very well," she said after a few seconds of appraisal through her square spectacles, "Follow me Miss Weasley."
The older woman's dark grey and maroon tartan dressing gown swished around her as she turned toward the main staircase without looking back to check my progress.
Obediently, I hung my head and slowly moved my feet to follow after her. My worst nightmare was coming true.
Despite being no more than ten minutes, it felt like days before we emerged through the door at the top of the moving spiral staircase.
I was no stranger to McGonagall's office, though I usually visited under much different circumstances.
The expansive desk, the cluttered shelves, the tartan throws over the chairs and the sleepy portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses were all familiar. I nearly smiled at the memory of being called up to the circular office on the first day of classes at the beginning of the year to be debriefed on my duties as head girl, but the muscles surrounding my mouth merely twitched before the weight of my current situation crashed down around me.
At best, I was about to get a severe lecture about aimlessly prowling the halls at night. At worst, my career at Hogwarts was about to come to an end.
As I considered whether the headmistress would soon be snapping the wand she was still holding by her side, McGonagall bustled straight through the door to sit behind her desk. She shuffled her papers about so busily that I almost began to think that she had forgotten I was there. I lingered uneasily in the no-man's land between the door and the chairs facing her desk before her voice made me jump.
"Miss Weasley, if you don't mind, it is late and I would very much like to settle this matter so I can go back to bed," she stated calmly, shooting me a piercing glare. I nodded my head, swallowing as I sunk into the chair opposite her desk. The portraits behind her chair shifted uneasily in their sleep, several sneaking peeks from beneath their half-closed eyelids.
"Why am I not surprised…" intoned a deep snarky voice on the far right.
"That will not be necessary Severus," warned McGonagall, her expression becoming severer by the moment.
The sallow faced man I recognized from my history books as Professor Snape simply looked amused and didn't bother to pretend to go back to sleep. Instead, he stared directly at me, his piercing black eyes intent to see what would happen next. He obviously found the entire scenario enjoyable, and I remembered how my father and mother said they had never gotten along with the potions master.
I hardly had time to consider what that actually meant before McGonagall's dire tone snapped my attention back to the present instead of my parents' school days.
"Obviously, you have made a very serious infraction in the rules tonight Miss Weasley. Imagine my surprise, after gathering a couple of cookies from the kitchens, at finding an invisible student wandering the halls at night. Think of my astonishment when I found it was the Head Girl! How do you explain yourself?" The headmistress' tone was furious and scandalized, her pitch rising steadily. Her beady eyes penetrated my wide blue ones, waiting. My mind raced for an adequate reason for being out in the corridors after curfew.
There was no way I could use my responsibilities as Head Girl as an excuse. I knew I had already betrayed my guilt through my demeanor, and there was hardly an excuse in the world I could employ to explain my use of the invisibility cloak or the Marauder's map. For a moment I considered saying I had just come to sneak into the kitchens for a snack, but quickly remembered that the professor had been coming from there. Never mind that it was obvious that I had been coming from the other side of the Great Hall.
"Any time Miss Weasley," prodded the professor, impatient.
I looked at my hands in my lap. "I- I can't professor."
My feeble voice sounded small in the quiet of the room, and I heard a distinct 'hrumphh" come from Snape's frame.
McGonagall ignored him and her eyes hardened even further, disappointment flaring in their depths.
"Then I must ask that you hand over the cloak for my inspection."
My stomach churned. I was sure my skin turned green, but there was no denying Professor McGonagall. She was strict, and there was nothing to be done but comply with her demand.
With a trembling hand, I lifted the lump of silvery substance from my lap and held it across the desk. McGonagall looked over her square lenses at me, watching my expression as she took it from my hand. Even in the dim light, I could see that all color had drained from my skin. Indistinctly I realized this was it- it was all over.
All the hard work and careful precautions. Hours of studying, quidditch practices, and perfect behavior was going down the drain, all because I hadn't put my wand in the appropriate pocket.
"Anything you would like to say?"
My heart hammered- I had to say something. McGonagall took a hard-line on the rules, so it wouldn't matter whose daughter I was. In fact, it might make it worse. However, she had also once been head of Gryffindor and I knew she valued bravery and honor above all else. So, summoning all the spirit of Godric I had within me, I spoke.
My lips quavered, and my voice shook. "The inside pocket," I whispered, feeling resigned and quite a bit younger and smaller than I was. Vaguely, I realized tears were beginning to spill down my cheeks, fiery hot and wet. Six years of deception were coming down on top of me with full force squeezing the salty substance from my eyes.
McGonagall studied my face, obviously shocked and concerned. I realized she hadn't expected the depth of my reaction, and suddenly looked curious to find what could have possibly caused it.
Her wrinkled hands shifted through the folds of the silky fabric, searching.
For a moment, she looked nonplussed. First to emerge was the Marauder's Map, and it was unceremoniously placed on the desk top after a quick glance. The professor was apparently not surprised to see the object in company with the cloak. Then came the small glass container, holding a smooth but too thick lilac substance.
"A mediocre attempt at the Draught of Living Death?" she questioned, still confused for the moment. I only nodded. Snape made a noise of disgust and several of the other portraits abandoned all pretenses, eyes wide open and leaning forward for a better look at the unfolding scene. A few flitted to their neighbors' portraits, whispering quietly among themselves with shocked expressions. Only the portrait of Dumbledore seemed to be valiantly trying to mind his own business, snoring just a little too convincingly.
McGonagall held the bottle in her hand for a long minute, ignoring her predecessors, considering its purplish depths. Then, instantly, I saw wisdom rest over her features and the clues click together.
It wasn't too difficult of a puzzle- it had been obvious that I had come from the staircase that led to the dungeons. I was carrying a sample of potion that was a) not large enough to affect anyone larger than a mouse, b) not adequately brewed to produce much of any effect, even in said mouse, and c) the final bit of the beginning-of-the term review curriculum for 7th year NEWT level potions students.
"This is serious…" she muttered to herself before turning her attention back to me. I wished she hadn't, such was the rage and intense judgment in her eyes. "and just how many times have you snuck down to the potions classroom to swap out your samples, Miss Weasley?"
The stern look on her face dared me to lie, and, curiously, triggered the hitherto dormant brazen bit of courage resting in my chest. Somewhat separated from the moment due to trauma, I realized that this was why the sorting hat had finally decided to place me in Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw after a full three minutes of deliberation so many years ago.
Fueled by this sudden fortitude of character, I decided coming clean was my best shot at redemption. After all, it wouldn't be difficult for McGonagall to determine if I was untruthful. If she asked me to brew a potion, all would be lost.
"Since winter term, first year."
Instantly, McGonagall's hand went to her heart. For a moment, I was convinced she was going to fall out of her chair. Alarmed, I remembered the tale of how the headmistress had taken four stunners to the heart all those years ago, before the bogus bureaucracy that was the Ministry at the time believed that the Second War had begun. Perhaps this was too much for her already-wounded heart to take. What would I do if she passed out?
In my concern, I hardly noticed the uproar that the occupants of the portraits had swung into, entirely unabashed. 'I never's and 'Unbelievable!'s echoed from painting to painting. That is, until a calm and steady voice broke through the clamor.
"Minerva- perhaps you should give the girl a chance to explain," Albus Dumbledore suggested, finally persuaded to intervene, though his tone was respectful. "I'm sure the girl has good reasons for her actions. Isn't that right Miss Weasley?" The half-moon bespectacled eyes turned to focus directly on me with the question, their bright blue depths sparkling with kindness. His face betrayed nothing but serious consideration.
I nodded weakly.
"Well then, let's hear it," McGonagall demanded, coming back to herself and taking back control of the situation. Dumbledore nestled back into his portrait, graciously pretending to go back to sleep.
I exhaled heavily and felt the weight of all my lies on my shoulders. Refusing to look at the present or past heads, I focused on the ground but managed to conjure up my strongest voice.
"I'm good at almost everything. I'm the best keeper Gryffindor has had since Oliver Wood, even my dad admits it. I ace my tests-,"
"honestly," I quickly added, quieting the murmurs around me, knowing that all trust had been broken. "Truly- I'm good at learning. I like to read, like my mother. My record has been spotless… you can give me veritaserum if you want, but I haven't broken any other rules."
I paused, considering how to explain how this all had anything to do with the serious offenses I had been repeatedly making over my entire career at Hogwarts. McGonagall was still steely eyed, waiting patiently.
"But I'm lousy at brewing potions," I finally admitted. I couldn't deny that just saying the words out loud, finally, lightened the weight on my chest minutely. Suddenly, a torrent of secret thoughts came tumbling out of my mouth, following the first. Soon, they were accompanied by a fresh batch of tears.
"The other practical elements aren't so difficult- I mean, transfiguration and charms just require a bit of mental focus. That's easy enough and not so different from learning theory. And everyone knows Divination- or Trelawney's version anyway- is rubbish, so I don't mind that so much," I paused, recognizing that I was rambling just as my mother often did when upset.
" But I c-couldn't tell anyone about potions. I knew that everyone expected me to be the best- look at my parents!" Anger suddenly and ferociously joined my personal pity party. "Why not! Hermione Granger-Weasley, brightest witch of the age! Ron Weasley, auror! Two of the 'Golden Trio!' There was no reason I shouldn't have been able to do it!"
I was sobbing in earnest now, enraged at my own behavior and the expectations I felt the wizarding world had of me. My vision was so clouded by salty wetness that I judged the bit of sympathy I thought I saw etched in McGonagall's face to be blurriness.
"Oh really Miss Weasley- surely you aren't that foolish. Here," she said, offering a handkerchief.
I accepted it, not considering the meaning of her words or her almost undetectably bemused tone due to my own embarrassment at my behavior, past and immediate. I wiped away my tears and as soon as my cheeks were dry, I willed myself to stop bawling like a child. There was nothing left to do but to face judgment.
"I suppose I should go pack my trunk," I mumbled, beginning to rise from my seat.
Instantly, I was met with rebuke. "Sit down!"
I immediately did as I was told, bracing for the onslaught. I hoped it would be brief, deciding the entire scene was already more than enough and that I wanted the end to come quickly.
"I will decide when to dismiss you- I still have several questions for you." I swallowed, waiting and aware of the keen scrutiny I was under.
"Is Mister Potter aware that you have been 'borrowing' his things?"
"No ma'am."
"Has he ever known?"
"No ma'am."
"Hmmm…very well. Then who is it?"
"W-what?" I asked, head shooting up from its bowed position, knowing full well what McGonagall was asking.
"Who has been supplying you with the potions?"
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Come Miss Weasley- if Mister Potter isn't supplying the samples, then no other student in Gryffindor is. I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Finnigan and Mr. Thomas are barely scraping by in advanced potions,
"You, on the other hand, have been receiving top marks. That leaves just a few other students who could be helping you- so who is it?"
I sat tight-lipped, unable to speak. McGonagall narrowed her eyes, fixing her gaze intensely in my own. I knew that her judgment would be as good as veritaserum, but I still couldn't tear my eyes from her face.
"Perhaps a Ravenclaw? Maybe Mister Corner?"
"No? Miss Boot? No, not her either. Hmm…well then…but surely not- Mr. Malfoy?" she finally questioned, almost out of obligation to rule out the possibility. I swallowed out of reflex, trying to calm my nerves. Immediately, I knew I had betrayed myself.
McGonagall sputtered for a moment, shocked.
"Unbelievable." She whispered, blustering with quiet fury.
At the exact same moment, unmistakably, two other declarations stood out over the new outburst of gossip from the portraits.
"Pity," muttered Snape.
"Interesting," mused Dumbledore, covering the word with a quick snore, eyes still closed.
A/N: Interesting fact: "Beech tree symbolism includes tolerance, past knowledge and softening criticism"