Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I never will, either…
3
"Rosie," Chris said, grabbing her hand at the mouth of the Great Hall. "Come sit with me – you always look so miserable with the Gryffindors."
Rose glanced up at him, slightly surprised at his proposition. Would they even let a Gryffindor at the Ravenclaw table? Before she could object, she was sitting next to him, a piece of chicken and some green beans on her plate. Chris's arm was snaked around her waist protectively. He speared his green beans and asparagus with his fork.
"I saw your rank," he said, his voice low and bit grainy.
Rose struggled not to spit her chicken back on her plate. Her rank was not the first thing she wanted to talk about. In fact, she would greatly like to forget it. Since failing her transfiguration essay, she completely missed a practical exam in charms and slipped up twice in potions. The ranking would reflect that. Rather pointedly, she imagined.
"Have you seen it?" he pressed, his mouth half-full of green beans and asparagus.
"No," she replied, gently putting her fork back on the table.
Chris removed his arm from her waist and continued chewing. Rose glanced at him, her heart pounding against her chest.
"I'm disappointed," he said, staring at his plate, his fork on the table. "You aren't even in the top ten anymore."
Rose stared at him, unable to breath or blink or…
"I would think that someone with your capabilities would be able to come out at least in the top ten, even when slacking off."
His voice cut through her like a knife, the words echoing her own thoughts and fears.
"I don't…I don't know if you do deserve that second spot," he said softly.
Rose glared at him, her breathing ragged. How dare he suggest that? She worked harder than everyone else in Gryffindor. In fact, she was the only Gryffindor in the top twenty.
"If you really had that kind of mind, then you would at least be in the top ten, wouldn't you? I think those Hufflepuffs deserve it more than you."
"You're wrong," Rose muttered.
"What?"
"You're wrong."
"I'm wrong?"
"Yes."
"How'm I wrong, Rose? Hmmm? Is it that I'm supposing you may, perhaps, actually have the potential to have the second spot? Or maybe it's just that you don't."
"I work harder than every other fucking Gryffindor," she hissed, her anger palpable.
"Watch your language – it makes you sound uneducated," Chris said gently. "And I'm not suggesting that you don't, Rosie. I know you do. That's what just…I don't know…frustrates me more. I just…I don't want you to set unrealistic goals."
"I'm not setting unrealistic goals."
"I understand you think you can climb back to the two spot. But…look, you might not honestly be sharp enough. And…and that's ok…come on, now, don't cry."
Rose stared resolutely at her cold chicken and bit down hard on her tongue. It was one thing to think all these things – that she just was incapable of reclaiming her rank. It was another to hear them spoken by someone else – someone you respected. She pushed herself up from the table. Chris grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.
"I want you to succeed," he said.
Rose turned to look at him, his warm eyes encompassing her.
"But if it's going to make you miserable, forget it."
"No," Rose said. "No. I'm going to do it."
She stood up again, removing herself from his sphere of influence.
"Where are you going?" he asked, standing up.
"I need to…I need to work on charms," Rose said, beginning to walk down the hallway. Chris followed after her with promises to help.
"I have to do this alone," Rose said.
"You can't do this alone. You've been doing this alone. See how it turned out?"
He grabbed her wrist again, spinning her around. He pointed at the wall, the long list of rankings posted there. Rose followed his finger: 15. Rose Weasley. The page glowed briefly orange, and when it settled an updated rank was there. 17. Rose Weasley. She turned away from the parchment and burst into the library, sinking into a chair with a charms book.
"That isn't going to help you," Chris said.
"Then what will?" Rose snapped, looking up from the book.
"Practical application."
Rose pressed her lips together and glanced from the book to Chris and back to the book. He was right. He was always right.
"Come on. I know of an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor," he said.
Reluctantly, Rose let the book flop on the chair and she followed after Chris to the abandoned classroom, telling herself all the while that this was the only way to climb in the rankings.
3
"So, Rose Weasley. It's fast nearing the end of the year," Professor Longbottom said, putting on his professional teacher hat.
Rose struggled not to roll her eyes, imagining him at the end of the year picnic at Shell Cottage, his face smeared with barbeque sauce from the ribs. The professional teacher hat did not suit him very well.
"Yes it is, professor," Rose said.
"And as you know, coming next September, you will be beginning your fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Yeah."
"And at the end of that year you will take your O.W.L.s."
"Yep."
"And then go on to N.E.W.T. level classes."
"Mhmmm."
"Do you have any idea what you want to do for a profession?"
"I know what I don't want to do."
"And what would that be?"
"Work at the joke shop, work at the ministry, work with dragons, scoop poo, make coffee, chase dark wizards, sell stuff, teach, work as an accountant…"
"Ok, ok, I get the idea – you haven't a clue. Think about it over the summer, will you? Oh, and this is your award."
Professor Longbottom handed her an envelope. Rose took it and stuffed it in her bag, not really wanting to look at it right now. She knew what it was, her award for finishing the year ranking twelfth. It wasn't anything she could be proud of.
"Go and finish getting ready to leave," he said, closing up some of his drawers. "And congratulations on that. I know how hard you worked to get your rank back up."
"Yeah," Rose muttered, standing up and leaving. It was a huge disappointment.
3
Chris sunk into the seat next to Rose on the train, wrapping his arm around her waist in the familiar position they had adopted whenever sitting next to each other. She leaned into his embrace, letting herself be sheltered by his comforting arms.
"I can't believe we lost the cup," one of the chasers for the Ravenclaw team said angrily, throwing himself on the seat opposite Rose.
"We'll get them next year," Chris said, gently playing with the hem of Rose's shirt. "They're losing two of their chasers."
"They have solid second strings," Rose said, putting her hand on his. "They're both going to be sixth years and have worked together since second year."
"Who?" the chaser – Henry – demanded, balling his hands.
"Wood and Owens," Rose said, leaning against him.
"What's their weakness?" Chris asked, his thumb running over her palm.
"Uh…they're actually tighter than Helix and Pomp. You're going to be hard pressed to find some tighter. I think Wood's on her way to playing professionally, and you can bet Owens is going to try. Actually, Fred and Jim are probably the weak points on the team. I mean, sure, they get the job done, but they don't communicate well with the rest of the team," Rose said and sighed. "If they had tighter beaters, they'd be unstoppable. More than once, they could have used some back-up but Fred and James were preoccupied with something."
"Do they know this?" Chris asked.
"Dunno. I've told them enough times, but if they listened…you'd have to ask them."
"What's Ravenclaw's weakness?" Henry asked, on the edge of his seat.
"Your keeper," Rose said. "He needs to go. You need Hugo in there. Hugo's about three times more accurate as Todd, just so you know. It seems you guys are…blind…sometimes when it comes to your own abilities. But, other than your keeper, you actually have a rather well-rounded team and quite a few capable seconds. In the next few years, I'm confident you'll come out with the cup."
Chris kissed her on the top of the head and Rose couldn't hold back her grin. She loved saying something that pleased him, even something as simple as suggesting his team would win the cup. His grip tightened against her and the train began the grinding halt that would bring them to the platform.
"I have to go see to my prefect duties," Chris said, standing up. "I'll be in contact, Rosie."
"Ok."
Smiling his intoxicating smile, Chris slipped from the compartment, leaving Henry and Rose alone. Henry's demeanor suddenly changed; he relaxed and his hands loosened from their tight fists.
"I'd be careful if I were you," he said, standing up. "Chris isn't someone you can play."
"What are you talking about?" Rose asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat.
"I just…you seem blind…needy, almost. That's a dangerous place to be with Chris."
Rose stared at him, not sure what to say. What could she say? He was supposing she wasn't suitable to take care of herself, the same supposition that Fred and Jim had made. The same supposition that still burned her to the bone.
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said and pressed her lips tightly together.
"Sure I don't," Henry said, his sarcasm not lost on her.
He slipped from the compartment, a disappointed look plastered on his face. Rose shook her head. He couldn't boss her around. Hell, he didn't even know her. He probably didn't even know Chris, either. He and Greg were probably in cahoots, turning the whole school against the popular beater (soon to be chaser). Realizing all of Hogwarts was currently surging through the hallway, she grabbed hold of her trunk and pulled it after her, meeting up with Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey for the ride back to the Burrow.