~Rose's POV~

10. Tuesday blues

"When I got my letter to come to Hogwarts I was so proud of myself, I was also mystified, and living in a world without magic I did not understand the importance, the rare of the rare selection that was me. Because in a world like this, where Hogwarts is getting enrolments from hundreds of countries, there is less room for the teaching of the muggle born. This is an unfair custom, that if we do not take action now, what…"

I pause, running a hand through my hair, tangled and long, loose for once, hanging around me, in the sunset it looks like gold, like copper and bronze. It has gentle waves from the braid Roxy did for me during lunch; she has always been good at the creative things, using her hands to make small delicate creations, now that mystifies me.

I study the crumpled sheet of parchment, a speech for next week, the beginning of the prefect rounds, and the council meetings where we hear what the students would like to change within Hogwarts for the upcoming year. I have always liked to pretend that I have my life super together, but in moments like this, surrounded by my friends, who are listening to me rehearse the same bloody speech from the 99th thousandth time, I feel hopeless.

V interjects, stretching as she stands from my bed, and walks over, the blue t-shirt hanging down to her knees, swallowing her whole, taking the paper from my hand and quickly glancing it over, lip caught between her teeth as she studies it. Finally telling me her thoughts, voice heavy with exhaustion, and exasperation, she has heard it far too many times to not know what needs to be changed,

"The word 'custom' doesn't work, and 'action' sounds a lot like 'rebellion' and 'ungrateful'"

I snatch the paper back, hitting her on the top of the head with it, and I reread the sentence, replaying the words, and twisting them around in my head,

"Ughhh, fine, what do you suggest I change it to?"

She flops onto the bed, shaking her head in exhaustion, the bed a dip, waking up Dom, who promptly pushes her off, V screams as she hits the floor with a loud plop causing Lucy to roar with laughter and Dom to grumble explicates as she rolls onto her stomach, putting my pillow over her head and ears.

Roxy walks over, placing her hands on my shoulders and rubbing them, the message may be good, but the stress and nots of dress stay the same. Roxy's voice is soothing, soft and kind, friendly,

"I suggest we take a break, and come back to this tomorrow…"

I push her hands off and spin around, giving her puppy eyes, and going to the desk and grabbing a quill, scribbling down synonyms for custom, and putting them into the sentence, my mind working a step ahead of me, and my fingers ten steps behind me,

"It is an unfair habit, no, unfair tradition, unfair routine, way, ritual, ughhh!"

I drop the quill, it spins through the floor, head over heels, slipping past my fingertips and heading for the floor, letting it hit the floor, and I throw down the paper, watching it flutter after the quill towards the same ground, taking its time, I spin away from the work, falling back onto my bed, hair fanning out around me, Lucy's voice breaks through my anger and utter frustration, soft and a reminder of what Monday nights should be, whispering to each other about the latest gossip and drama taking place in school, me and V arguing on the transformation of human to animal, and if it would hurt, daring each other to go ask Professor McGonagall if it would. Her voice is sing-song as she speaks,

"Listen I'll take the bloody speech to James tomorrow at breakfast, he'll know what to change it too, and everything will be fine Rose,"

I sit up, so fast I feel as if I could have broken my neck, my eyes wide with horror, regaining my composure; I shake my head repeatedly,

"NO! Everything will not be fine, and it will be much worse if Potter sees the bloody thing, then he will know I'm not brilliant and, and,"

Roxy arches her eyebrows, curious as always,

"And? It's not like his opinion of you has ever mattered before? What's changed?"

My eyes bulge even wider, and Lucy joins in, crossing her arms over her chest, raising a single eyebrow,

"Yeah Rose? Since when are you so insecure about yourself, or what some random guy thinks?"

V cuts across Lucy, shooting me a 'you owe me one' look,

"She isn't insecure, she's practical, there's a difference, and James can be a snob,"

I still don't have a reply, so Rox takes another stab at getting me to speak, her eyes dancing with mischief, pulling out all her tactics,

"And Rose would know all about how he can be a snob, right?"

I pause, cheeks rosy, and change the topic, ignoring the back and forth conversation that just took place, how did James always seem to be finding his way into our conversations, since when did we care? My answer is curt, but jokey and dripping with sarcasm as well,

"It's late, you all should go back to your dorm, prefect patrols may not have started but teachers are still on the lookout you lot,"

Dom grumbles, throwing the pillow covering her face at me, her voice is muffled from sleep and exhaustion,

"Then let's spend the night? Ughh, I don't even have the energy to walk literally anywhere…"

I giggle, and punch her in the side, causing another loud groan to ring through the room,

"You can't stay 'cause I have to see Scorp in the morning…"

Lucy giggles, her eyes suggestive, batting her eyelashes, mocking me,

"She has to see Scorp Dom, remember tomorrows Tuesday,"

I take the pillow Dom threw at me and hit Lucy with it, smiling back at her wide, electric grin,

"That is so not fair, and it's not like we are going to make out or anything, it's just to talk, and have fun... That's all!"

Roxy shakes her head, climbing on the bed with us, causing it to dip lower,

"Scorpius and you is old news, how about you and my cousin Rose? I heard he's switching up the Quidditch schedule so you two can do your cuddly divination project, all alone in the evenings with romantic candle light, and the stars looking down, and his hands, and his eyes, and ohhh!"

I can feel the blush spreading like a wild fire over my already hot skin, and faint a blow to the heart, shaking my head at her, but still smiling, it seems almost impossible not to,

"Shut the bloody up you git!"

She giggles, throwing her head back, and Lucy joins in, I can hear Dom chuckle as well, V simply snorts,

I can't help but giggle with them, quiet, trying not to wake up the rest of the dorm. And I play over her words in my head, as they create an image, James and I alone, his arms around my waist, his eyes staring down at me, the stars causing the darkness to be as warm as my blush, as his smile, as the fire burning between us, I can almost touch the image, but before I can a word rings out to me, a word that Roxy said 'switching' and then 'schedule' and then 'me',

"Wait, he changed up your Quidditch schedule for me?"

Roxy stops and raises her eyebrows, her voice is softer, more mystified, as if she hadn't thought about how weird that is as well, she answers me,

"You didn't know?"

My heart flutters, and I try to stop the raising of my pulse, the way my breath caught, the way my lips part,

"No… I didn't…"

She lowers her voice, hoping that the rest of the Ravenclaw dorm who has been listening to our every word, will not hear, she seems excited to tell me, and I can't help but listen to her every word, as she whispers it like a secret in the candle lit dark,

"He said to me at dinner today that the schedule will switch 'cause someone is hard to please. And I asked who,"

I can feel my mind imagining his silky voice, the scent of coffee, and caramel, the undertone of after shave, the way his eyes will welcome me and draw me in, the way his lips trace every letter, and crack into a smile worth gold, she continues,

"And I asked who, and he said, "The Rose that recently became a Thorne in my side"…."

I scoff, throwing my hair over my shoulder,

"I AM so not a Thorne in his side, he like knows nothing about me, at all,"

Lucy elbows me in the side, causing me too look her way, her eyes dance at me, mocking me,

"Is that a blush I see? Is just the thought of our cousin causing you to get all hot and bothered?"

I hit her again with the pillow, pushing her off the bed, and continuing to attack her, but that is my only answer.

And soon they leave, out the door, singing bad music, and dragging a half dead Dominique Weasley behind them, falling down the stairs with a shriek, but calling back, "Were okay!"

I watch them stumble out of the portrait hole, crashing into it, and I close the door, blowing the candle out, and glancing one last time at my speech in disappointment,

The bed is warm, but not as warm as he is, no, stop it Rose, what are you thinking?

V's voice floats over to me, soft, apologetic,

"I wanted to say sorry…"

I turn over onto my side, hair slipping over my face, and I look through the drapes at her sleeping form, but her eyes are half open, watching me back, honest, stripped down,

"About what V?"

She sighs, turning onto her back, looking at the ceiling above us, the moon peaks into the room bathing her in its beautiful light,

"About telling James about your dream, how you said his name…"

I'm silent, I had hardly remembered she had, it seems like years ago, but I remember it clearly now, it hadn't hurt me, annoyed, yes, but they have lived within each other's lives, and me and her may be best friends but they're related…

"Don't…."

She shakes her head, sitting up; I can see the outline of her shadow,

"No, Rose let me finish…"

A pause, and in the silence I wonder if I have fallen asleep, but her voice is still coming from far away,

"That was pretty crappy of me…"

I open my eyes, I had hardly noticed they were closed, and I shake my head,

"It wasn't, you guys are close, I know that, V, I'm not stupid,"

She shakes her head again, titling it back, her chin pointing to the heavens, hair slipping onto her back,

"He may be my blood relative, but you are my sister, always Rose and I know you don't like him, not like that, and you don't like your life changing, or people coming into it without you letting them in, and I think it's partially my fault he has such an interest."

I lift my head a little, tilting it to the side in curiosity,

"What do you mean V? What did you say to him about me?"

She lies back down; I can hear the blankets move as she turns to face me on her side again, her eyes glowing in the darkness,

"Over the summer, him and I got closer, and I started telling him about you, about how we met, and how you're so very funny, I even shared a couple memories with him, of us on the beach, when we went to the candy shop in muggle London and stole those 5 pound lolly pops…."

She pauses, and I can feel my heart racing, I hadn't shared those moments with anyone, because they were ours, and I felt just a little betrayed, but more than I felt betrayed I felt relieved, relieved she told me, V was always honest, sometimes it took her time, but she would tell me anything, even if she knew it would hurt us, because she knew honesty was the only policy,

"And I shouldn't have, but the more I told him, the more he asked…. And the quicker I answered,"

I roll over onto my back, looking at the same ceiling she was inspecting moments ago,

"So he didn't just suddenly notice me… Who am I to think he would? I'm an invisible, I've always been…"

She shakes her head, scooting closer, so that she is on the edge of her bed, peering into mine,

"No Rose, what I'm saying is he wanted to get to know you, and at first I thought it was because you and I were friends and I needed his approval but I don't think that was it, I think he wanted to know what you were like,"

I'm silent, and in the still between us she knows I won't answer, and for this time, this moment, in this silence I welcome the still and then she wraps her arms around herself, as my eyes drift close, and her voice is so quiet I barley hear her,

"Am I forgiven?"

The silence stretches on,

"Always"

The dream is a nightmare, they are coming for me, the sky has no stars, their eyes have no mercy, and they know my secret, and they have come to hurt me, to take me, and I am running, my feet pounding as fast as my heart beat, the pulse that seems to speed me forward in desperation, eyes as wide as the world that runs by beneath me. And there he is, behind me, chasing me, running me like a wild animal. His hair is as white as ice, his eyes as clear as glass, and I want to scream, to run, to hide. But instead I stop eyes connecting with his skidding to a halt, breathing hard, my irises wide, my heart in my throat. And he stops as well, and he and I watch each other, eyes guarded scared, scars right in front of our eyes, right there for the world to see. And I want to tell him, to tell him so I do...

"Scorp it's me, I couldn't hurt anyone, I'm on your side, our side…."

He is shaking, his hands buried in black robes, in darkness,

"I don't know you…"

And I step towards him, my footstep soft in a still that can't be broken, and then hands, strong hands, soft, callused and yet warm, so warm it was like a fire, and they are pulling me away, they are leading me away from him, and I want them to let me go, to let me fix this, but they weaken me, they always weaken me, and I turn hitting him hard, my hands balled in fists, small, but hateful, and I look up rage meeting rage, and I forget the boy I left behind with the silver eyes, and all I see is gold.

The grass brushes against my legs, slightly damp with moisture from the night, the dew drops are clear, clinging to each leaf, each strand, like tear droplets that shine in the morning dawn, but in this night they are awaiting the light, holding their breath until it shines down onto them, the stars shine is not enough, nor the moons rays, so they await the sun. The shrubs they are high, growing around my waist, as if trying to engulf me and pull me into the soil with them, they look like roots, and I am the leaves.

The world is silent; the night sky is large over me, seeming utterly endless, as it runs for as far as I can see in all directions. The forest looms before me, the trees rise to that sky, brushing the heavens, as if they were hands reaching from hell. The darkness seems to cling to those trees, and in the darkness I can feel the eyes, the ears, the silence waiting to be broken. There is a million reasons for its fateful name, Forbidden after all, for what haunts behind those trees, and runs on those grounds And I am quiet as I creep through the world, the quiet rustling of each green strand slipping over my skin, grazing my flesh, tickling me, but I am silent, because I cannot even force a laugh.

Last night I stayed up and I waited for sleep to come, I waited to welcome it, but with it came nightmares from the deep, that plagued me almost endlessly, and I was overwhelmed, with everything I had done in this moment, I was overwhelmed. There was a still last night, tonight that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand, and the same dream I had before in that little bed, in that little hospital wing came back, they were wizards, their clothes were the same, their wands outstretched, and I was waiting for them to take my memories, to take my mind away. But it never happened; I always woke up before it did, with a cold sweat and tears of regret. I am an orphan, and as an orphan there is a fear, a fear of being found, a fear of being one.

I stop and I let the wind run through my hair, it is early, around 4 in the morning, the suns light not yet peaking over that horizon and climbing in that sky, still sleeping in the stars, that blanket above us. The darkness I welcome, it hides the fear, the way my heart pounds in my ears, and the way I know I won't be able to look him in the eye.

He sits with his back to me, his hair standing out, like a star that hangs in the sky, in that night. And I slowly approach him, feet soft on the ground, eyes searching, analysing his posture, the slope of each muscle, of each dip and curve. He straightens his spine and glances over his shoulder when he hears the grass whisper against my legs.

"Rose, you're late…"

His voice is soft, like music, but today it sounds like the guitar isn't tuned,

"I couldn't sleep last night,"

My voice is careful, almost afraid, and he notices the soft undertone of curiosity, and tilts his head, then he pats the ground next to him, gesturing for me to come sit, but I stay standing, as far as I can, as if ready to bolt,

"I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking…. What if I am one?"

He stops patting the ground and watches me with those silver eyes, he doesn't understand, but he doesn't pretend to, he cares, and he watches me, a fear shadowing his face as it shadows mine, and I see resentment, as if I am despicable, but it goes so quickly as if never there, and he looks away, at the stars, and his voice is timid, cowardly,

"You're too good to be one…"

But there is an uncertainty, as if we are both too young to know, to understand, and I wonder if I was one, if I was one would he tell his father not to vote, would he love me still, would we be friends? So I don't stop, I need to know, I need someone to say that you are fine, to reassure me,

"Scorp, what if when I turn seventeen, I go and I start hurting people, what if I'm cursed?"

He doesn't have a response, he just sits and watches me with those eyes, his back now ridged, the wind feels cold, dangerous. And the darkness of this night seems to hide the words we share. This darkness used to be ours, every Tuesday we would sit here, heads thrown back in laughter, tears of joy clear and transparent, the shadows watched us but they didn't hide us from each other as they do now. And in this darkness it is as if another pair of eyes, watches on, spectating,

"I am so afraid that I will be that monster, and I don't know what I would do if I was…"

My voice is broken, my arms automatically wrap around my small form, holding me together. And I keep going, and so he watches me, trying to think of what to say, trying to form some way of telling me it will be okay,

"I kept thinking, would I want them to erase my memory?"

He looks away, eyes full of an emotion I can't place, it almost looks like guilt, but the lighting must be wrong, I must not have seen right,

"And then I think about how much I want them to find a cure, or something to fix me,"

My voice is broken, staying broken, cracked, he still says nothing, he fears my words, hell, I fear my words, the world does, and that is why no one knows who I am, no one because who knows what they might think, and then after a small pause he speaks, clearing his throat as he does, as if that will make the words come easier,

"You don't need to be fixed because you aren't broken…"

His voice sounds like a violin, each word plucked on each string, lining a scale, that seems to sing like a falcon in the darkness, a warning call ,but I push onwards, always onwards,

"Scorp, what happened to your mother?"

He is silent for quite some time, we both are, the silence seems to stretch on for hours, haunting in the still and with the minutes that slide by, the sun peaks over the horizon, and begins to awake, stretching its rays as it begins to fly high, slowly turning the sky from black to whites, blues, greens and purples. The time seems to sing a sad song, and I wait for him to answer, his head bowed and then he looks up and he raises his eyes to meet mine, and he blinks heavily,

"She got sick Rose, the doctors didn't know what it was, but she's better now, Rose, she's okay,"

I close my eyes and I am taken a day ago, hours flashing by in my mind to the dim lighted corridor, the warm hand, the hazel eyes that held a warning, going from immature to mature in a split second, from a child to an adult, and I can still hear the way the words hit me like bullets, the way his voice didn't sound real, it was faraway, so distant if I wanted to, if I could I would ignore it, but I don't, I listen, and I hear James' voice in my head, his words ringing, singing a broken song, telling me a truth, a lie, an honest that made me want to scream, to cry out, "It was a forgotten one, Rose…"

But my eyes don't show the pain of his words, because they are closed, they are shut, shutting him out, the world out, and I know that I can't ask him, I can't ask him if he hates me, me the orphan he didn't spend the summer with because his mum got sick with someone like me, from someone I might be or become. And we keep reassuring ourselves to be honest, to be truthful, to let our hearts not soar, but the moment his answer hits me, I know he won't tell me, that I can't make him, that he doesn't want to hurt me, doesn't want to hate me. So that is why the still is so terrifying, that is why the still rings in my ears.

The silence is broken by the sound of shouts, happy cries, the voices I recognise as Roxy, Lucy, a grumbling Dom, Prewett, Fred, and the tromp of their feet as they begin to make formation, running, getting ready for their practice sessions no doubt, though Potter said that they didn't have them on Tuesday… Huh…

And their shouts from the Quidditch field are loud, clear, and happy, when have they ever been sad? There it is, and the still is gone, and Potter, loud over the rest, his voice sounds like an orchestra while Scorpius' sounds like a single string, a single, steady note, plucked, cracked, honest, no, Potter sounds like a thunderstorm, a thousand instruments playing every tune, every note, trying everything new, pushing the limit, it is making music, and I can hear his voice roaring, above, through me,

"Alright, so we are adding Tuesday mornings to our schedule okay?!"

There is a chorus of responses and groans, and he laughs, I can almost see with my eyes closed the way his eyes would crinkle, the way his hair would fall back as his head fell, the way the dawning light would make him look like a candle flame, how each graceful step would trace a memory worth everything, a memory that's cost I couldn't pay for, the way he would run backwards encouraging them to follow, the way his eyes would follow every movement they made, smart behind the façade, I shake my head, horror painting my face, and the image is gone as fast as it comes, no, I wasn't thinking of Potter, not like that, I was thinking of perfection, perfection which no one can reach, not even him. Not even his image.

I close the world off, the sound of the Quidditch team, the sound of my heart, the way it feels like I can't breath and so I focus on my breathing, in and out, the steady way the air slips past my lips, over each curve, Scorpius breaks the silence, his eyes are watching me from so far away, and he is wondering why I ask, he is wondering and so am I, I am wondering what the point was, my eyes stay squeezed shut, blocking, attempting, hiding in my head, his voice is soft, as if he doesn't want them to know we are here,

"You know what happened to my mom Rose, you always have known…"

And they fly open, looking at him, and the smile is forced, cracked at the edges, as if it will break,

"Yeah I know, I can't help but think it must have been so hard for you,"

He nods quietly, his eyes following every movement I make, calculating each turn, each blink, each breath, but they don't analyse, they admire, they are shy, not direct, not like… My voice sounds like air, caught in the wind,

"Scorpius? You do know you can tell me anything…?"

He watches me, our eyes only glancing at each other, afraid we both will admit our truths, my voice is so small, very tiny, very timid, I am shy like his gaze, like his heart,

"Right?"

He ducks his head, hiding the way his heart is caught in his throat, and in my head I am chanting, tell me, over and over, begging him, please, please, please, tell me James Potter is wrong, tell me he is a liar, tell me, Scorp tell me, say that your mom wasn't sick because of it, because of them….

His smile is broken, like mine, and each word calms my breath,

"Of course, you're a very understanding person BlackThorne,"

I watch him, and I go to walk away, to leave it all behind but he calls out,

"Rose, what did James tell you?"

And I stop, my breath quick and I close my eyes as if blocking out the universe, not just the world this time, and the Quidditch field no longer feels far away, and I can hear the rush of wind slipping past the brooms, and his never ending laughter, spontaneous, who? Only two weeks ago I would have laughed if someone asked me that, but now I feel a fear, a dread that I do know to whom the name belongs to. But for once, I pretend.

"James who?"

He stands; I can hear the rustle of his clothing, the way each fall of his foot crushes the damp grass beneath it, at a steady pace,

"You know who Rose, he said he talked to you, that he told you things…?"

And my eyes flutter shut, just for a moment, and they flash back to the hallway, the warmth of his touch, the way he grabbed my arm, the honest in his eyes, the earnest in his voice, the calm in the storm, the lack of laughter in those eyes…. "Hold onto the good ones…" When did he become so wise, I wonder what book he took that from, I wonder which parent told him it when he was growing up, I wonder… And then my eyes open,

"No one told me anything, and who would, Scorp, who?"

He narrows his eyes the smallest of fractions then relaxes them, and steps closer, we are parallel, face to face, no more hiding, no more pretending, no more glancing,

"Potter, what did he tell you?"

His hand is heavy on my shoulder, turning me to face him, I can feel his fingers raise my chin, we are centimetres apart, and it feels like miles, like air, like nothing, and yet a part of me wants him closer,

"He told me you have secrets, but he doesn't know mine Scorp, only you…"

His hands pull me closer, his breath smells like mint, like ice, cold on my skin,

"Rose, I won't tell, I wouldn't but you have to trust me, you have your secrets too, sometimes you are so far away, I wonder what you've seen, what the scars are from, and you don't' tell me do you?"

I shake my head, hair falling from my face, head upturned, arms wrapped around his waist, the green cloth is soft, but cold, everything seems too cold, too detached, not raw, not real, fake, as if a dream that I cannot place, as if a snow flake melting in my hand, and I am watching it disappear.

He continues, wanting to convince me, wanting me on his side, and I want to be on his side too, I do, I really do,

"Why don't you tell me?"

I whisper into the still, I whisper up to him,

"Because somethings are better not known…"

I can feel him nod, "Somethings are better not known…"

My eyes blink shut, just for a second, a breathe, considering what I do next, what I say next, what, what, and then I open my eyes and look into his, we are far too close for friends, and sometimes, in moments like this I wish we were more than that, more than just this…

I remember the first time he said Albus Potter was beautiful, the way he watched him from our compartment on that train, the way his eyes seemed to smile, the way his cheeks became rosy, I remember the way my heart sank, and the way I smiled and said, "He's not really my type Scorp, remember, we don't mess with the Potters!?"

But he had shaken his head, and he had said, "Isn't he lovely…." Maybe then I should have given up on that little bit of hope that he was there but he became a brother, a friend, nothing more, and sometimes that space between us was the only thing keeping us together, the secrets keeping us interested, the web wanting us to unspin but unable to, too caught up in everything…

Overtime, slowly, we got closer, but never this close, never with our eyes searching each other's, never like this, he loves me and I love him and some days it is that simple, and other days everything is so complicated, so messed up, I love him, I always have, as a brother, as a friend, and in moments like this, more, I love him more, he is all I have ever known, and he is reaching for me, but he doesn't have to reach far because he already has me, caught in his arms…

And the world is forgotten, and I am his, and the secrets between us are us, and it is all so messy, and one step closer is catastrophe, and neither of us are brave enough, have a back bone, have the strength, we stand parted and one, eyes on each other's, and wonder as we absorb every detail we already know by heart, and my heart is beating, I can hear it, the boom is no longer constant, but rapid, broken, repeated, crashed,

His breath is warm his arms are real, and I want to lean into them, but the cold seems to freeze me, to bring me down, to make me shiver, and a fear a dread, that these arms are too cold, the skin too pale, the eyes too piercing, and I want to look away, but I can't, and his words capture me again, and again,

"Remember when we first met?"

I can barely nod, but I do, my chest rising and falling with each struggled breath,

"You said to me, it's as simple as just two people who need allies in a battle they don't understand…"

And I smile, radiant, remembering, and my voice is soft, mingling with his,

"It was a quote from one of my favourite books, History through the Ages…."

He nods, and leans closer, his breath with mine; his heart with mine, the space isn't miles anymore,

"The treaty of the giants and the purebloods in the 10th century… Different people, that feared each other, but you can't blame everyone for just a few mistakes…"

My eyes feel wet, with the lack of sleep, the emotions that overflow, he continues, closer and closer,

"You can't blame yourself for the actions of the few, Rose, when you are the few of the extraordinary…"

I laugh soft, and I turn away, away from him, his eyes, his lips, his cold hands, the ice skin,

"Scorp, we are too young to know what extraordinary even means…"

And I leave him there, walking away, hands wrapped around me where his once were….

The classroom is mostly empty, I'm early, always early, the desks with pairs of 2 line the lengthy room, old and rickety, cages hang from the ceiling holding an assortment of animals, mostly muggle in kind, varying in shapes and sizes to be transfigured throughout the week, Professor McGonagall's desk is impressive as always, large and dominant, mahogany and oak, and stretching across the front of the class, organized neatly, with stacks of papers, ink, wands, spells, books, and so on.

The long walls of the room are decorated in ancient bookshelves, with ladders that lead up to them, a definite health hazard, chalk boards blank or filled, charts of spells, bones breaking, the change from life to thing, vocabulary lists, homework and due dates scrawled on long parchments that hang in the air, suspended, the high arch of the ceiling makes the room twice its original size, and the huge windows with dusty red drapes dulling the light, brushing the floor bathe the room in a dull gold.

The large clock ticks on and on in the front, nearing the beginning of class at 8:30 sharp, I sit towards the front, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep, and take my four essays on the changes from bone to plastic using the basic spells, of 1000 words out, placing them on the small desk space. The ink blotches stand out on the papers; I have never been any good at calligraphy or quill work, just another attribute of my muggle nature.

The classroom begins to fill with students of blue and red ties, walking together, alone, heads down, or up and laughing, scratching homework down as they walk, or running because they're late, striding with pride, or murmuring quiet 'excuse me's'.

A bag slams down next to me, breaking my train of thought,

"How was your early rendezvous with a certain blonde Slytherin?"

V's voice is sing song, but dangerously suggestive all the same, telling me I better tell her, or she will think the worse, she is neat and tidy looking, hair up, with a slight dash of make up to hide bags, her eyebrows raised, her lips upturned,

"Normal, thank you very much!"

A voice cuts in before she can reply, as another book bag slams down directly behind me, the voice is husky, like an orchestra, though since it is closer you can hear every instrument play, every chord, every note, like velvet, but like a knife as well, it mocks me, always,

"You're always welcome Black,"

I freeze, my mouth hanging open, and whip around, coming face to face with dancing hazel nut orbs, another pair of raised eyebrows, the black hair is pushed back, out of his eyes, slicked back, I can't help but think I prefer it messy, but shake the thought off, my mouth still hanging open as he continues, watching me amused, he likes the power he has over my anger, but only my anger,

"If you keep your mouth open you might just get something caught in it…"

His tone is suggestive, it must run in the family, since it reminds me of V's, and I snap my mouth shut with a loud crack and chuckle with a dark anger, my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline, arching high on my head in utter disbelief, in outrage,

"Black?!"

He smirks, it seems to come naturally, and he leans forward in his chair, biting his lip as he does so, my eyes can't help but dart down to it for a quick moment, and then back up, his eyes are seeming to smoke alive, the movement is graceful, almost like a predator, as he leans in, caging me in his gaze, I hate the way it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up,

"Your last name? Do you not know it?"

He is being sarcastic, it drips off of each syllable, his eyes laughing at me, his lips making fun, knowing how mad I'll get, but I cannot help but fall into his awaiting trap, I swallow hard, and lean closer, lightning bolts shooting from my eyes, closer to him,

"It's BlackThorne you idgit, and Thorne if you must, but I'd rather you not call me anything…"

He smiles, the smirk staying planted, his teeth look perfect, but what about him isn't? His voice sets every nerve on fire with utter annoyance, and it keeps going, never getting the hint to shut up, like a wildfire, a disease that I cannot prevent, but I will not let take me, his words play with my heart strings, not that I know, for I am ignorant, and afraid, so I call it anger, as long as I can, anger at him, his voice rings at me, daring me, always one step ahead,

"I don't like Thornes, they hurt, but Black, my middle name is Serious after all, it means were meant to be, Black,"

I attempt to stop myself from putting my face in my hands, or punching him, but I choose the first, I am unable to not do so, and I burry it in them, my palms are soft, my eyes shut, my head heavy, shaking it back and forth, and when I do reply looking at his winning gaze, it is with utter and complete dislike, as I stutter, the words broken in anger,

"That is the stupidest, the most idiotic, I, arghhhhh…!"

I turn front, tossing my hair over my shoulder and huffing in annoyance, how dare he say we were meant to be, does he not have a bloody girlfriend?! V stares at me, for a long moment, eyes analysing me, thinking me over, the way I'm angry, the way I'm mad, sometimes I wonder what she sees,

But Potter isn't done; his hands rest on either side of me, on the seat, as he leans in by my ear,

"That means together we are Serious Black, an incredible individual, at least I think so, don't you V?"

I shoot her an evil look before she can respond, and turn to face him; he easily dodges my flying hair, ducking, and waiting for me to scream at him, and oh do I,

"Since when do you sit this close to the front of the bloody class Potter?"

He grins, his teeth catching the light, like pearls, dimples appearing like magic on both cheeks, his eyes sparkling with dreams, he tilts his head, accenting his sharp jawline, that I swear could cut me,

"Is it so wrong to want to sit closer to my love?"

I close my eyes, hands going to my temples, and rubbing them in soft circles, my heart skipping a beat with every word he says, I wonder why I'm not breathless yet,

"WE do not know each other well enough to even begin with the endearing terms, Potter…"

He laughs, throwing his head back, eyes laughing with his lips, I watch the way his tongue licks them, the way his head shakes back and forth, I don't like how his hair doesn't shift with it, but stays in place, a part of me wants to reach up and mess it up, but I wouldn't dare.

His voice is smoky and intoxicating, causing that all too annoying blush to spread through me, and over me,

"There you go again thinking my world revolves around you, I was talking about McGonagall, darling,"

I feel the blush rising in my cheeks and thank every god, and superior figure that has ever existed in the history of time, that McGonagall walked in at that moment, saving me the embarrassment of making a half-hearted response,

But before the class can even begin he continues,

"I saw you storm inside this morning, did you and Malfoy have an argument?"

I bite my lip in frustration, and I see V out of the corner of my eyes scrunch her eyebrows together in surprise, her eyes saying, 'tell me everything'

But I address Potter first, my voice cold,

"Aren't you curious? And by the way calling a teacher who is ancient 'love' is utterly appalling,"

He laughs, soft and musical, but dark and mysterious as well,

"You just wish it was you I was saying that to, not her,"

And without turning around I finally have the chance to mock him and take the opportunity in stride,

"Now isn't that a little self-centred James, after all, my world doesn't revolve around you,"

He laughs again; I can feel his breath, warm on the back of my neck, causing a shiver to run down my spine,

"Your right, your world doesn't revolve around me, yet…"

My mouth falls open but she begins teaching, picking up the essays as she does, and my response is taken from my lips, literally…

The class seems to speed by, running at full steam, the class goes on and on with his eyes on me, and as soon as the bell rings I am up, and gone, out of the room, and running out the front door, towards that small hut of Hagrid's, for our next class, but before I can get far I feel a hand grab onto mine.

New, different, feminine, delicate, and I spin around, she is tall, elegant, her hair piled high on her head, a dark red, her eyes like lightning bolts, a light blue that seems almost see through, she seems unsure of herself, but at the same time confident, brave, and she obviously knows who I am. Her voice is light, happy, curious, asking a question she already knows the answer to,

"You're Rose?"

I stop, halting, and look down at her hand on mine, and she follows my gaze but doesn't let go,

"Yes, I'm Rose and you are?"

She laughs, soft, it reminds me of Lucy's laugh, hell she looks a lot like Lucy, just shorter, younger by a year, her eyes are just as youthful though, and her voice just as intriguing, in fact her and Lucy could be sisters, just the eyes are different,

She watches the way I watch her and her laughter seems like an echo, her answer brings everything back into focus,

"I'm Rose, Rose"

Recognition goes through me,

"Rose Weasley, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She shakes her head, and leads me my hand still in hers, glancing behind me at her relatives that are following me to our class at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and then starts walking quickly, pulling me with her,

"Walk with me?"

I glance over my shoulder, I can see my friends and Potter walking towards us, and I can't help but want to run away with the strange girl, just to escape those eyes, that voice, the anger it seems to spring,

"Sure…?"

The grass is soft, the wind slipping through my hair, and our steps are quick, escaping the people behind us, no wonder, James is so very protective over who his younger relatives talk to. Her question causes me to pause and rethink for a moment,

"You know Scorpius Malfoy, right?"

My steps halt for just a second, and my heart plummets, she didn't want to talk to me, she wanted me to talk to him. But the smile is pulled on, and my eyes don't shift from hers, my gaze remains steady, and my answer leaves her just the right amount of interested,

"Were close…"

She looks at me, her eyes darting over my face, behind her the sky seems to reflect my insecurity, shining light down on us, but with dark clouds on the horizon, we are walking again, almost jogging away from the raven haired boy who has just noticed us talking, and is walking quickly after us, no doubt wanting to hear what we are saying. Her voice is soft, a whisper,

"How close?"

She wants to know if were together, and there is a part of me that wants to say we are, but I swallow that, and it disappears beneath me,

"Not like that, were friends, that's all…"

She looks relieved, and stops, but I continue walking, and she calls out, causing me to turn,

"You wouldn't mind say something to him about me, would you?"

And a different voice interjects, colder than normal, harsh and demanding, though still warm, still causing me to blush, thank god my back is to him, them, as I quickly turn back to face the forest,

"Who, cousin?"

Rose stutters and glances at my back, and he follows her gaze to me, I can feel their eyes, but she responds quickly,

"Thanks Rose, see you around Jamie, I gotta go to class…"

And so she is gone, I can feel his eyes on me, and they are analysing, calculating, wanting a response, but I start walking again, nose in the air, so he falls into stride next to me,

"Who does my cousin want to date Black?"

I stop and turn and stare at him, today he looks more complex, an emotion I have not seen before crossing over his face, he needs an answer, and he will do anything to get it, that sends a chill through me, a chill of excitement, as if the game is on,

"My name isn't Black, your cousin can date whoever the hell she wants, and it is not your responsibility to ruin anyone else's love life but your miserable own, understood?"

He smirks, and the chill turns into a shiver, but I try not to mirror the look, and continue walking, only watching him out of the corner of my eye, his voice is ironic, sarcastic, and intoxicating, as always,

"I think my love life is rather good, though I appreciate your concern, I let you know if there is a vacancy,"

I literally stop walking and stare at him, and snort loudly,

"No need, I would rather marry McGonagall, and that would actually, probably work out,"

He chuckles and slings a hand over my shoulder, his arm heavy, but warm, I can feel each muscle flex and turn as we walk, the way that the warmth seeps from his skin to mine, the way I try not to lean into the simple touch, the way his hand is strong and the strength in each muscle amazes me, I want to touch it, but instead I brush his arm off, shrugging it off,

"And as well, you shouldn't have changed the Quidditch schedule around for divination class…"

He looks down at me, eyes sincere, golden, like two unearthly jewels that I have never seen before, there is a candle lit in each one that burns and calls me, seeming to want me to get closer, seeming to make me step closer, I can see the flicker of uncertainty, the small fear of honesty, but over that comes the utter bravery, and his words light every part a flame, so that I am burning for him, burning by him,

"I didn't change it for divination I changed it for you…"

I can't seem to blink, to look away, and neither can he, and so we watch each other, and he continues, his words like silk, but heavy like velvet, rich and so rare and calming that all at once they are a sliver of heaven,

"And I don't do things like that for just anyone…"

I lick my lips, and I see him watch the simple movement, my voice is soft, I hardly realize that we stopped walking,

"James, since when am I not anyone?"

He steps closer,

"You're not anyone, you're Rose…"