Chapter 4: Tabula Rasa

It is not so much starting anew as changing references. Who ever forgets?

Aw, isn't he a cutie?

"It's tiny, noisy, and it bounces around — it's not cute, Dad."

"Now, Rosie, he's not at all bad. See, he likes you. Anyone who does can't be that bad."

"You're just saying that because you're my father."

"Precisely. We, your mother, Hugo, and I will always love you no matter what."

Ron and Rose Weasley, One Weasley Evening #588

Her sleep was punctuated by lapses between conscious and not; at six o' clock sharp (according to her watch) her eyes snapped open, no longer able to pretend they were trying to give her some rest. For a moment she wondered how James could have snuck into her room and re-painted the walls before remembering that she was now in the Slytherin dormitory. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nightmare to go away; it was still there when she opened her eyes again. Rose huffed, but rolled out of her bed anyway—as much as she felt she needed more sleep, there was a sense of urgency at the back of her mind that kept her widely awake. In a habit she kept her eyes closed until her glasses were safely perched in front of her eyes, and then she surveyed the room. Her two roommates were sleeping soundlessly.

Rose grabbed her school robe; it had had the silver snake crest sewn on the front as well as the green and silver linings added. She tossed it back under her bed, opting to wear Muggle shirt and jeans instead. In the same automated process she grabbed her small but important bag and went to the common room. It was nearly deserted save for one older witch sitting in a corner, reading a musty tome. Rose hesitated before took a seat near the large bonfire; it was soft and comfortable, though she had an odd sense that it was not quite what she had expected. She produced a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from her bag, and began writing the dreaded letter home.

Dear Mum and Dad,

It stopped there for a long time. Which should it be, pretend that her Sorting was as normal as others, or pretend—or more likely exaggerate—that she felt victimised? Should she just write about everything else and conveniently forgot about including her Sorting? She would have gone that path had it not been for her almost-a-dozen of cousins who, some more than others, were more than delighted to slander her; it didn't help that the Sorting was probably all parents' biggest concern for the first-years. Then, should she write down the reason? Dad would have a fit; he had a certain fondness for carrying family traditions.

Really, family could be such a burden sometimes.

The evil thought was gone as soon as it appeared, and by the time the letter was finished, there were stacks of crumpled pieces of parchment around her. When she stretched and looked around several people stared back in their distinct and visible manners. She ignored them, re-reading the letter for the final time.

Dear Mum and Dad,

You're right, Hogwarts is best seen directly instead of just read aboutYou can tell Hugo that I won't give himany details about Hogwarts and that he had better not badger me I met a Muggleborn namedZoltán Granger, now a Ravenclaw. While your surname is not uncommon, and he also didn't look like you, I can't help but wonder if he is related to you or Grandpa Granger in some ways.

We met Scorpius Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express and had slight arguments with James. Al and I also had another argument, actually, because Al sympathised with Malfoy and I did not—I thought he looked suspicious. I haven't talked with any of my cousins since then, actually. Malfoy was Sorted into Gryffindor, Al is in Hufflepuff, and I'm in Slytherin.

The Weasleys are not exactly friendly with the Slytherins; I think I can blame my cousins for that. They are not all as nasty as you said, Dad; at the very least my roommates seem nice.

That's all from me. I'm looking forward to hear back from you soon.

Rose

It was after rolling the parchment and sealing it with a tap of her wand that Rose realised she had absolutely no idea where the Owlery was nor did she have someone reliable to point the way. She glanced around the common room: most of the older students did not even seem to realise she was there. Rose set her feet on moving anyway—Dad had said that the more she stumbled around, the better she would be at eluding Filch.

She was only halfway through the common room when she heard someone mumbling and another person cleared their throat behind her. Rose turned around and was rather surprised to see Eleanor and Izanami standing side by side, the latter smiling bashfully while the former had something akin to a smirk on her face. They were both wearing their school robes, a stark contrast to her Muggle clothing—maybe that was why Eleanor sniffed slightly.

"I have a letter to deliver," Eleanor said, gesturing to a scroll she had in one hand. So did Izanami, after a more careful observation.

Rose nodded uncertainly. She continued walking. Half a minute later, when they were strolling down the halls leading to the Great Hall, Rose realised that, for all her pompous way of announcing herself, both Eleanor and Izanami seemed content to simply trail behind Rose. Feeling awkward, Rose turned her head slightly and said, "Do you know where to go?"

The same annoying smirk graced Eleanor's lips as she drawled, "Of course. It was just last night that they led us to the common room from there."

They turned at a corner and went down another stretch of hall. "From The Owlery?" Rose replied, a bit puzzled.

Eleanor's smirk was very pronounced. "My owl is very intelligent so it knows to meet me on my table this morning."

She could feel the back of her neck heating up. "Oh." Evidently they had been talking about different things the whole time.

"I need to go to the Owlery," Izanami muttered suddenly. She flushed. "Nagi—Izanagi—wake up early, so..."

"He has probably already used your owl," Rose finished, with a wary glance at Eleanor's upturned nose. She should probably rectify her letter regarding nice roommates. "Yeah, let's go."

Eleanor, in fact, continued to trail Rose up the grand staircase, until on the second landing Rose couldn't resist and asked, "I thought the Great Hall was located on the ground floor?"

Eleanor, three steps below her, replied, "You thought correctly. I simply want to complete my knowledge of Hogwarts."

It made sense, but Rose couldn't get rid of the lingering paranoia that Eleanor was planning something.

So far they hadn't encountered many sentient beings apart from one or two older students who didn't even notice them; the portraits too were mostly sleeping. Rose really didn't want to show Eleanor that she was incompetent, but they were already at the first floor without much destination apart from a logical reasoning that a room for owls must be located in one of the towers —

Rose yelped and would have fallen down the stairs had she not grabbed the railing: it was as if she had just walked through a cascade of icy water. She panted and whirled around. It was a ghost of a man with an extraordinary rumple on his neck. Rose involuntarily shuddered—walking through a ghost was definitely uncomfortable.

"Pardon me; it seems I have been lost in my thoughts again." The ghost sounded as though he was an echo of another world. His head bobbed slightly as he talked, and Rose was startled when she realised that the neck parted with each bob. "I am Sir Nicholas de Mimpsy-Porpington, Gryffindor's ghost. Pardon me miss, but you do look familiar and yet I am convinced I did not see you at our table yesterday..."

Rose glanced through him: her two companions were talking among themselves and ignoring her. She looked back at the ghost warily. "That's...I'm not a Gryffindor."

The ghost's eyes widened in recognition and his head fell off to on side—or nearly, as it was suspended by an inch of skin. He pushed his head back, fastened it with his ruff and said, "By George, you are the Slytherin." Rose, startled yet again, nodded numbly. The ghost ploughed on, "I know your parents, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, your uncle Harry Potter—I know all of the Weasleys born after the fifteenth century and nearly all of them have been in Gryffindor. Tell me." He paused when his head formed the fourty-fifth degree to the horizontal and flicked it back upright.

It was in this opening that Rose finally spoke, "You'll have to ask the Hat, Sir, as it was its decision." Through Sir Nicholas it was apparent that Eleanor had finally acknowledged them albeit with an impatient air. She looked back at the ghost with a straight face. "I'm just wondering, Sir, if you could point out where the Owlery is."

Sir Nicholas's brows shot up. "There's no need to call me 'Sir' (not when it holds no meaning, alas, time flies by so fast!). As for the Owlery, you can follow me, if." He jerked his head slightly, though thankfully it stayed on his neck. "You don't mind being seen with a Gryffindor."

"My family is Gryffindor through and through, Sir," she deadpanned, feeling she was entitled to be rather flippant, "I am looking forward to seeing them, as a matter of fact." Though the same couldn't be said about her cousins, but he didn't need to know that.

Sir Nicholas nodded within his ruff "I should hope so. Right, this way, Rosalind." He glided before her; he oddly went as though he had legs and couldn't just float straight through the obstacles.

"Rose," she corrected automatically while half-jogging—Sir Nicholas seemed to have forgotten either that he was guiding someone or that the ones he was guiding were first-years. It turned out to be quite the exercise just to move beside him, doubly so because she had to climb through a lot of sets of stairs. At around the third floor, Sir Nicholas stopped, muttering to himself, "Now where's that..." Rose had barely caught up before he snapped his ghastly fingers and went off into a corridor somewhere in the west.

She wondered if he was deliberately confusing the Slytherins.

Sir Nicholas took them through a tapestry—depicting a man with turban in front of a cave—on one of the empty corridors ("Just tap and say 'Open Sesame', whatever that meant.") which revealed a staircase and they soon came out through another tapestry (of racing horses, of all things). He took them across the hall, past the bust of Herpo the Foul ("Don't ask. Just, don't ask how it got there. You could ask the Bloody Baron, actually."), around the corner and up a set of moving stairs. She was very much out of breath by the time they got past tapestry of someone teaching trolls how to dance (and then died of getting clubbed by the trolls) when Sir Nicholas inexplicably stopped to revere a section of the corridor. When she was finally close enough to see his eyes aimed at her, he muttered, "A good lot. Perhaps..."

"Pardon?" She wheezed, bending over slightly and looking at the wall in front of Sir Nicholas. It looked as though it was a re-constructed like a jigsaw puzzle with obvious spider-web gaps among the pieces. On the wall was a plank which read

Frederick Gideon Weasley

1978 – 1998

Don't blow up too much of the heaven without us

Rose gaped at the plaque, feeling nonplussed. The family would rarely mention an Uncle Fred who had died in the war-that-must-not-be-mentioned, lest the mood of the room should be sombre and everyone would look apprehensively at Uncle George. The cousins had long learned that the topic was too grim to be mentioned. That line, though...'blow up the heaven'? Who in Merlin's pants would say something that, well, crass?

"Never mind that," Sir Nicholas said, breaking Rose out of her stupor, "We are close now."

He glided off, though this time Rose ran so that they were side by side. "Hang on! What did you mean — " She was cut off as Sir Nicholas effortlessly floated over a hole on the floor while Rose nearly fell into it in her chase. After jumping over the hole and catching up to Sir Nicholas again she continued, " — Not important?"

The ghost turned his head, his face politely confused. "I beg your pardon?" His speed was decreased slightly. Rose breathed a bit too much in relief.

"That plaque!" She jabbed a finger over her shoulder. "What does that mean? He's dead, and they make a joke out of it?"

In an instant, Sir Nicholas was in front of her. He glided backwards, and she was slightly annoyed that she couldn't see what was ahead. "I have no idea what they have been telling you children, but it was your family who asked for that carving."

Rose's eyes widened. Sir Nicholas nodded as much as he could in his rumple. "Indeed. Death is not to be feared — to be eternally rested, as well as united (because I know for a fact that none of your noble family would choose a fate like mine)."

Rose stared at him. He stared back, as intensely as a pale ghost could. "Mind you, it is not so much giving up as having a faith, and therefore hope, to look forward to. Not," he chuckled somewhat bitterly, "that I've ever known that luxury."

She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it again. Sir Nicholas sighed, looking over her shoulders. He suddenly stopped. "You are too young to understand. But we have dawdled enough." Looking over her shoulder, Eleanor and Izanami had finally caught up with them; the former had abandoned her refined air and resorted to scowling like an angry Weasley cousin would.

Sir Nicholas bowed and hovered aside, gesturing to a simple wooden door previously concealed by his body. "The Owlery."

"Well then, thank you for your service," Eleanor said dismissively.

Sir Nicholas didn't budge."I beg your pardon?" He said, dangerously indignant. "I'll have you know that I normally don't help Slytherins."

"That's why we're grateful, Sir Nicholas," Rose interrupted. Seeing as Eleanor was about to rebut, she sent her a brief glare before looking back at Sir Nicholas, hopefully looking sincere. "I personally thank you for taking up your time."

Sir Nicholas's features softened somewhat. "Oh, is that so?" He glanced at Eleanor, who stared back defiantly, before re-focusing back on Rose with an inexplicable expression. "I shall excuse myself, then." He drifted through the wall.

Just as the last of Sir Nicholas's robe disappeared, Eleanor turned to Rose. They had just locked eyes when Sir Nicholas's head re-appeared (all three yelped). Sir Nicholas looked slightly amused. He said to Rose, "Your nature and nurture currently equal each other, so I am willing to know you with a blank slate." He nodded and disappeared, leaving Rose to be thoroughly perplexed. Nature and nurture? Blank slate?

Eleanor's huff broke her musing. She and Rose looked at each other with varying degrees of exasperation.

"After you," Eleanor said snappishly. Rose, not in the mood to talk, simply went to the door and opened it. The Owlery was a circular room with many windows and hay covering the floor. Overhead, all the way to the nearly unperceivable ceiling, were around a hundred of owls of all species, all of them sleeping, and some of them hooted and flapped their wings when she opened the door. Closer to the ground, there was also a very familiar yelp.

"Rose!" Al gasped from the floor. Rose's attention was not on him, but on Malfoy, who was standing next to Al with a slightly flustered look that smoothed rather quickly. Not even Al could have been so surprised by the sound of the door that he had fallen on his rear, so she wondered irritably what the two of them had been doing. For that matter, what had Al had to do with Malfoy. Maybe Malfoy had hexed or threatened him.

"Weasley," Malfoy greeted coolly. She just gave him a stiff nod. Malfoy paid her no mind, for he was now staring at something behind her.

"Um, hi," Al said squeakily, getting up to his feet. He approached Eleanor and Izanami tentatively. "Um, I'm Albus Potter."

Eleanor looked at him with such haughtiness that Al cringed and Rose sympathised with him. Then Eleanor turned her attention to Scorpius, then back to Al. She pursed her lips together.

"Oh, my, Malfoy," she said, "Sucking up to a Potter, now? How low has your family fallen."

Malfoy's lips formed a lopsided sneer. "And you, Selwyn? A half-blood Weasley? Surely you could do better than that."

"Scor!" Al stepped back, looking aghastly at Scorpius. "I thought — "

Malfoy blinked, his sneer slipping off. Eleanor smirked. Rose sighed mentally.

"Be quiet," she muttered to Eleanor.

The pureblood looked taken aback for once. "What?"

Rose looked at her in the eyes. "He's not worth your time." To prove her point, she forced herself not to look at Malfoy as she strode to the nearest owl perch, where Cantabile had apparently chosen to sleep. Rose grabbed at Cantabile with slightly more force than necessary. Cantabile squeaked as he struggled against her grip. Rose absently loosened it even as her mind went back to Al and Malfoy. Malfoy, she thought, he couldn't just leave me with Al, could he? She cried out when something sharp poked her palm. Rose let go of her owl and it twittered, flying to a perch that was very well out of her reach. She cursed mentally with words that would never be said in front of Mum — how was she going to deliver her letter now? "Come down here, stupid bird," she muttered, glaring at the owl. Cantabile suddenly dove toward her (his wings were still folded), and when Rose caught him it was like catching a tennis ball spewed by a serving machine. The owl twittered as Rose tied the letter to his feet with forced gentleness.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled to the owl, shakily stroking his head with her non-smarting hand. "It's Malfoy, you see. Er, could you just deliver this to Mum? You don't—you don't have to come back if you want." As she said it, she realised how stupid it was to let her pet, the connection between her parents and her, decide the future of said connection. Though maybe if Cantabile went on strike Rose wouldn't have to find out Dad's response...

Cantabile hooted, nibbling at her thumb rather harshly. Rose sighed and dropped the bird. He fell halfway to the ground before regaining his preferred height. Rose watched Cantabile, slightly paranoid that the others, who had been oddly silent, were not-so-discreetly observing her. She turned around slowly to find that most of them were either tying their letter or petting their owl. She found herself narrowing her eyes at Al, who had a little problem tying his letter around an impatient Aetherion's foot. What had he been doing before, flirting with Malfoy?

There was a squawk and a girlish shriek. Rose giggled when she saw Malfoy sitting on the hay-covered floo with tousled hair and a barn owl (his, most likely) floating tauntingly above him. Her lips flattened when Al rushed to Malfoy, coaxed his owl to come down, and tied Malfoy's letter as the blonde got up and cleaned himself.

Eleanor was the one who spoke, "Oh, Malfoy, I've underestimated you. Looks like you've got yourself a minion; a Potter to boot."

Al stared at her, slack-jawed as Malfoy had the grace to glow rather pink. Al turned to Rose, his eyes wide and pleading. Rose's eyes only spent a second on Al's before glaring at Eleanor, who looked back with a twisted eagerness.

"Shut it," Rose hissed, walking past Al and willing herself not to look at those doleful green eyes. She paused briefly in front of Eleanor, drawing herself to her full height. "Didn't you hear me? He's not worth it."

As Rose exited the Owlery, she felt as though she had just left a part of heart with Al.

Returning alone was perhaps not the brightest of ideas since she got lost at practically every turn and somehow wound up on Ravenclaw's tower. A kind Ravenclaw prefect wrote her down at least a foot-long parchment of possible routes to the Great Hall (the Prefect owed Victoire something very big, seeing as he kept asking her about the oldest Weasley cousin). By the time Rose arrived at the Great Hall, it was already lunch time and her stomach had been growling so loudly she could have sworn the sound must have echoed around the corridors. When she sat down on the Slytherin table, many of the occupants gave her a brief glance, but all of them left her alone. She didn't mind; her socialising mood had evaporated.

She spent the rest of Saturday reading her textbooks inside her room for the lack of better things to do. She didn't get further than the tenth page of The Darkness Out There before her mind drifted for the umpteenth time to everything but the basics of duelling. Al's face kept appearing in her mind's eye, so she kept telling herself that Al was the one who chose Malfoy over her (some loyal Hufflepuff he is). Worse than that, he chose Malfoy, the one person Dad had specifically told her to not get too friendly with. Rose dumped herself onto her bed. She stared at the ceiling and wondered if Malfoy had hexed him. Al was usually the obedient and meek one, not the one to start up a rebellious friendship...

"Mudblood. Blood traitor. You don't belong here."

A crowd, all of them glowing green like the depths of a lake, and all of them having red eyes.

"Yeah, I don't think she's a Weasley. I mean, did you see her eyes?"

An army of redheaded children screeched in a horrifying resonance akin to chalks scraping a blackboard.

"I know! Like a monster! Hey, do you think the Basilisk has eyes like those?"

"Ow!"

She had somehow done something — hit the bedside cabinet, apparently — that made her forehead stung. Rose shot up, feeling as though she was late for something important. As soon as she tried to remember, she noticed that the room was dark — hadn't it been lighter a moment before? Then light wheezing sounds reached her ears, coming from her roommates, and with great irritation she realised that it must have been some time around midnight — a quick look at the watch still on her wrist confirmed that it was three in the morning. Her body was as magnificent as always: refusing to go to sleep when it was night, and therefore resting time and going unconscious at the time she was supposed to be awake. She contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but memories of the Muggle tale of the dilligent ants and the lazy grasshopper banished that idea (and anyway she felt too wide awake to do that). She rolled out of her bed, put on her glasses, and silently dragged her feet up to the common room.

The common room was as dim as her room, much to her relief, because it meant that there was no other person around. Rose aimlessly wandered around the room, having never had a chance to explore it without people staring. The rugged floor was surprisingly warm; the couches and the sofas were comfortable and clean; the crackling green flame didn't blind the eyes, even giving off a soothing air. Rose stared at it, slightly mesmerised. In a rather detached fashion, a part of her acknowledged that there was something mundane and natural about this situation that made everyone's aversion to Slytherin highly ridiculous—

Rose started; there was a sound of hard surfaces rubbing together not too far from her. Her hand automatically went to her wand—who at this time of the night—

It was a human male much taller than Rose — a Slytherin, judging by the robes he wore. As he came closer to the light, she could see that his face looked harmless. In fact, his smile was pleasant.

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" He said, his voice was gentle and it calmed Rose. "Growing kids need their sleep." It struck her, a lot too late, that this was Slytherin's common room and such only Slytherins could be in it. It made her wary again.

He was now standing quite close to her, and she had to crane her head to look at him. It was a pain in the neck. "I can't sleep," she replied honestly.

He kneeled and suddenly his worried face was very close to hers. "Oh. Do you miss your parents?"

Rose looked down, her lips pouting on their own. "Not really—eep!"

He suddenly picked her up by the hips and sat her on the closest armchair while he sat on the footrest. When Rose gaped at him he grinned.

"To save your poor neck." He stuck out his hand. "Cadmus Rowle."

She took it tentatively. "Rose Weasley."

Cadmus cocked his head, shaking her hand. "Flitwick called you something else."

His hand was strong, but not as cold as she had imagined. Her ears were starting to get warm. "Er, that. I think it's..." she let go of his hand to fix her glasses. "It's my Nana's name, and double-barreled names are..."

He nodded, and she stopped babbling, suddenly finding the armrest very interesting. She flinched when he reached for her hand, but didn't withdraw.

"See," he said calmly, patting her hand, "You're one of us now. Slytherins take care of their own. I'm not bluffing," he added solemnly at her skeptical look.

"My cousins said Slytherins eat everyone, even their own kind," Rose mumbled, not looking at him.

She was thrown off when he barked a laughter. "They would," he said between his gleeful fits, "your cousins are all Gryffindors. I'd say that they are all reckless and loud, except that it's true."

She was about to retort, but his confident demeanor forced her to re-think, and she found that she agreed with this sentiment. The Weasleys, no matter who their mothers were, did have a penchant for trouble.

He laughed again when she said it. "Obviously. If there's ever any family descended from Godric Gryffindor himself, it's yours. But you." He stopped laughing, staring at her. "You're not like them."

Upset, Rose yelled, "I'm not—"

He held out his hand, and she stopped, becoming painfully aware of her quickened breathing. "I meant," he said slowly, "that you're smarter than them." Again, Rose was at a lost. He smirked. "We Slytherins don't charge into trouble head on. We think—and we conquer without losing too much."

She still stared at him. He sighed, looking at the grand clock beside the fireplace. "How about this: you can go back to sleep now, and this afternoon I'll show you around Hogwarts. The first rule to surviving Hogwarts is to know the castle inside and out."

Remembering her earlier run-in with Sir Nicholas, she replied, "You'd do that?"

He grinned and winked. "You might as well as make an Unbreakable Vow with me. See you tomorrow, Red."

"Red?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what your name means, isn't it? Unless you want to be a horse instead, like the other way to define it?"

"Um…"

He tapped his chin, looking mildly thoughtful. "Yeah, that fits. Red Snake, Slytherin's Weasley."

Rose's ears and face were as hot as the crackling fire near them. "Just call me Rose," she said, horrified by the whining sound of her voice.

Cadmus laughed again, though he refused to reply to her. Rose sunk deeper into the armchair and stared at the green fire. Maybe, just maybe, it would be alright after all.

Rose the cynic retorted, 'For ten minutes.