Dear Miss Potter,

I have spoken to Professor Babbling about your request and have enclosed a series of worksheets. I would be much obliged if you would fill them out to the best of your ability.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

The sheer number of anti-cheating spells that had been embedded into the parchment was mind-boggling. They functioned similarly to a Sneakoscope, detecting deceit and lies. Rose recognized the content of the first few scrolls as belonging to the third year Ancient Runes curriculum – she'd begged Diggory for his quizzes and worksheets and devoured them eagerly – and flew through it easily.

In her past life, she'd attached herself to Ron like a limpet and taken Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. In this life, she still intended to take Care, but also planned on taking Runes and Arithmancy. Before muggle primary, she had practically lived in the Potter family library. She'd gone through the theory of the first few years, then turned big eyes on Remus and asked him to teach her Runes. She'd been interested in the subject since she'd seen Lily craft her ritual, and immediately regretted not being more curious in school.

Rose was good at Runes – she had a talent for them that mirrored Harry's talent for flying. She knew things, intuitively, that had Remus gaping at her and flipping through reference books to verify what she'd instinctively known. She had been bored to pieces last year, diverting herself with dueling in the Room of Requirement or cultivating her allies in Slytherin.

(somewhere along the way, some allies had turned into friends)

(she'd always cared too easily)

There were five sets of worksheets, each one corresponding to a year. Rose finished it all that day and owled it to Dumbledore with Wally, who nipped at her fingers affectionately before leaving.

(Harry had Hedwig. Rose couldn't look at her; most of the time, she pretended Hedwig didn't exist)

(when she caught a flash of that snowy white plumage, she saw a flash of green light and heard Hedwig screech)

A week later, she'd been sent an owl requesting her to write her Ancient Runes OWL with an attached list of dates and times. There had been a letter from Dumbledore reassuring her as well:

I have the utmost confidence in you, Miss Potter. I myself have never delved too deeply into Ancient Runes, but Professor Babbling assures me you are nothing short of a prodigy and that she has no doubt you will score an 'Outstanding.' Having examined that ward you carved into the trapdoor, I find myself in firm agreement.

Rose had signed up to take her OWL the day before her birthday, much to her family's dismay.

("Rose, you have a week to study – "

"I don't want to study on my birthday, and I know it all already! You know I do, Remus, you're the one who taught me!"

"But you're still twelve!"

"Well technically I'm twelve and twenty-one."

"Eight days, Rose!")

Finally, Rose had pointed out that she'd already owled her acceptance so there was no point in arguing and really, wouldn't it be better for Remus to channel his stress into helping her study?

He'd been absolutely brutal in his review, which she appreciated. Now that she knew how highly Dumbledore and Professor Babbling expected her to score, anything less would be a disappointment. It was an odd feeling, knowing that she had external expectations. It was different from the way she'd driven herself in Hogwarts last year – she'd known that she could bring home a list of T's and Remus and Sirius would be disappointed but still love her. But this – she needed to make a good impression on Professor Babbling. She was one of the foremost experts in the subject worldwide, she sat on the board of the International Society of Runes. She held Masteries in over twenty different runic languages, from ancient Egyptian to ancient Mandarin. She was, by all accounts, a genius, and a recommendation from her would go a long way in whichever Runes-adjacent career she chose.

(she didn't know what she wanted to do yet – she'd been an Auror for a year before she'd died, but she was tired of destruction)

(she needed to get rid of Voldemort first. Only then would Rose allow herself to think about her future)

In the end, the OWL was easy. There had been no practical aspect – the most difficult thing she'd had to do was a series of translations, and Rose had been doing those for fun since she was seven and in languages far more complex than Elder Futhark.

(so far, the most difficult text she'd translated had been Cleopatra VII's treatise on Latin-Egyptian integration. Hieroglyphs were a pain in the arse)

She hadn't recognized any of the other exam-takers from Hogwarts, but it had been an enlightening experience, nonetheless. Rose had never realized how sheltered and privileged she'd been in both lives – Hogwarts was one of the top three European schools of magic for a reason, after all, for all that it'd fallen. The vast, vast majority of wixen weren't powerful enough to merit an acceptance letter, and instead went to one of the scattered hedgeschools to learn the branches of magic they were capable of. Hogwarts graduates, even the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, were practically guaranteed jobs in the Ministry (although muggleborns rarely made it to the higher levels). Even non-noble families got an enormous leg up at Hogwarts just by virtue of their attendance – there were fifteen non-noble seats on the Wizengamot, elected by the general populace, but even just campaigning for a seat required a letter of recommendation from a Noble family, so virtually everyone on the Wizengamot was a Hogwarts graduate. She'd existed in a bubble – everyone she knew either had gone or was going to Hogwarts. She hadn't even known other schools of magic existed in Britain until she'd thought to ask Remus why other students would be writing their Runes OWL with her.

"Surely there can't be that many people who failed the first time around?" she'd asked, confused at why the Ministry was holding the exam on so many different dates. There were only six, but still.

Remus had given her an amused look. "Not every school has enough students to offer OWL exams on-campus, Rose, nor do they follow Hogwarts' schedule. For many, this will be their first Runes OWL."

"There are other schools?!"

"Of course there are – even squibs can make the simplest potions, but a great deal of wixen can't manage even a hedgehog-to-pincushion transfiguration. Mostly the other hedgeschools are more general – household cleaning charms, common potions, that sort of thing, depending on how much magic the child has. Haven't you ever wondered why there were so many Herbologists? All the other subjects, even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, often require some degree of high-level wandwork in the upper echelons. Hogwarts is one of three schools in the country that offers schooling beyond OWLs. Most wixen just don't have enough magic for things like that."

Rose had arrived at the Ministry in wearing semi-formal robes, Sirius' hand on her shoulder. She'd walked into a waiting chamber on the seventh floor with thirty other wixen and their guardians and realized immediately how terribly she stuck out. Her shoes alone had probably cost twice as much as some of the other wixen's entire outfits. The robes she'd thought were semi-formal were far, far more expensive than anything else in the room.

She'd seen the resentment in their eyes, the judgement. She looked like a spoiled little rich girl who'd been drilled by a series of private tutors until she could take her Ancient Runes OWL three years early. She'd had every advantage, every privilege, and was rubbing it in with her very presence.

Rose didn't blame them. She remembered that feeling, that bitter resentment, that thought of you have no idea what I've sacrificed to get here.

Rose had been trained well, however, so a stranger would've seen none of this on her face. However, Sirius was no stranger – she was sure he saw the shock and guilt she couldn't quite disguise. He knelt to her level, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He was wearing his formal Wizengamot robes – he had a meeting to get to and had to leave soon to meet Andromeda.

"Your mother would be so proud of you," he said quietly. Rose saw several people eavesdropping. "She was well on her way to a Mastery in Runes before she died. I know she hoped you'd have the same talent, and she'd be overjoyed to learn that your talent didn't just match hers but outstripped it by a mile. She would be so, so proud of how hard you've worked to get to where you are now. She would've stood here with a quiet sort of pride, her hand on your shoulder. James, on the other hand, would probably have been hysterical with joy. Lily would've had to stun him and leave him at home. We're all very proud of you, Rose. You've worked hard to get to where you are now."

Rose smiled slightly, which had been Sirius' intention. He might not have been a Slytherin, but he'd been raised as a Black. He knew exactly how to play to an audience and proved it now in how he'd expertly turned the opinion of the room in her favor. His casual naming of herself and her parents would've had some wixen realizing that she was the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, an orphan. She hated pity, but she hated resentment more. She didn't begrudge them the sentiment, but she did begrudge their lack of subtlety.

"Thank you, Sirius," she said quietly. She didn't think Sirius was lying when he told her how proud her parents would be of her, either – he wasn't the type to lie to someone just to make them feel better or even to serve a greater purpose.

"They'd be proud of you too," she told him. "For raising Harry and I so well." She sent him an earnest smile that had several wixen sigh.

Sirius' smile turned fond. "Away with you, you little devil. I look forward to rubbing your accomplishments in Lucius Malfoy's face. But no pressure, of course."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Of course," she echoed dryly.

Sirius grinned and ruffled her hair in farewell. "Good luck, Rosie."

"Thanks, Siri," she chirped.

Rose turned back to the group of wixen. Without Sirius by her shoulder, she felt very exposed. She looked around the room hesitantly, making sure to paint her shyness all over her face. She caught the eye of one particularly sympathetic-looking witch, who smiled at her encouragingly.

"Hello," Rose said shyly. She looked at the girl standing beside the witch. "I was going to ask whether you were here for your Runes OWL, but that seemed painfully obvious."

The girl giggled. "It's alright, I wouldn't know what to say either. I'm Samantha Page, and that's my mum Eleanor Page."

"Rose Potter," Rose said, sticking out her hand. "Well met, Miss Page, Madam Page."

Several eyebrows rose. Several mouths fell open in shock. 'Well met' was the informal greeting used to recognize someone who was a superior or an equal.

"Er – well met," Samantha said, eyes wide, shaking her hand hesitantly. Her mother did the same.

"Which school do you go to?" Rose asked, before a thought occurred to her. "Or are you homeschooled?"

"No, I'm going into my seventh year at Alexandra's Hedgewitch Academy. It's very small, I don't expect you to have heard of it."

"I'm afraid I haven't. Would you tell me about it later? I've been very sheltered, growing up, and don't know much about the outside world." Rose looked up at Samantha Page with big, earnest green eyes. She saw the other girl practically coo.

"Of course, I'd be delighted," she smiled.

"Brilliant!" Rose chirped, beaming. "Thanks so much, Miss Page!"

Page gave a nervous-sounding laugh. "Please, call me Samantha, none of that formality."

"Only if you'll call me Rose," Rose said, smiling up at her.

"Er – alright, Rose," Samantha said faintly. Rose bounced on the balls of her feet and Samantha's shock vanished.

"Uncle Sirius will be picking me up after the exam," she informed her brightly. "We could take you out to dinner if you're available, Sirius is always encouraging me to make new friends."

Samantha glanced at her mother a bit helplessly. Rose turned her big eyes onto Eleanor Page, who looked frazzled.

"Well – if you're sure your uncle would be fine with it – "

"Oh, absolutely! Besides," and here Rose smiled a little mischievously. "Uncle Sirius put a frog in my bed last week, so he at least owes me dinner with a friend."

"A frog! Really?!" Eleanor Page seemed astonished that a Lord on the Wizengamot would do such a thing.

"Oh yes," Rose assured her. "He something like that once every few months so you'd think I'd be more vigilant. He put toads in my wardrobe over Yule, says it keeps me on my toes." She giggled.

"How… interesting," Madam Page said weakly.

"You can laugh," Rose assured her. She glanced at Samantha and grinned self-deprecatingly. "I'm well aware my uncle's absurd. When I was five, he turned my skin bright pink and kept it that way for days. It clashed something awful with my hair."

Madam Page and Samantha giggled.

The OWL was painfully, painfully easy. Madam Marchbanks' eyebrows had gone up when Rose had handed in her exam an hour before the exam had ended. She hadn't wanted to draw even more attention to herself, but she had limits – after looking over her work eight times, she could practically recite the thing verbatim. She'd memorized the translations, the explanations, even the essay she'd written for the bonus question on the hypothetical origins of Eihwaz. She just… couldn't look over it again. She might keel over.

"Sirius!" Rose cried, tackling him into a hug the moment he came in. "Where's Auntie Andy?"

"Oof," he said. "Hello to you too, Rosie. Andy had to run, something about Ted and doxies. How was the exam?"

"It was alright," she said. She wasn't worried about Ted – doxies were venomous, yes, but Andromeda was a Healer.

Behind her, she heard Samantha scoff.

"Rose is being modest," Samantha said. "She was the first one of all of us to finish."

Sirius grinned at her. "Well, considering she's been studying since she could read, I'm not surprised." He looked down at Rose. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Rosie?"

Rose perked up. "Oh! Sirius, this is Miss Samantha Page. She said she'd be my friend! Samantha, this is my guardian Sirius Black."

"Well met, Miss Page," Sirius said, offering her his hand.

"Well met, Lord Black," Samantha said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "None of that, now. Any friend of Rose's is a friend of mine. Call me Sirius."

Rose cheered inwardly, then noticed a few other students lingering nearby.

"Do you want to join us?" Rose asked them. "They're Samantha's friends," she added to Sirius, still clinging to his sleeve. He'd changed out of his Wizengamot attire.

Sirius grinned at them easily. "Please do," he said. "The more the merrier, after all!"

"Er – if it's not too much trouble," one of them, Michael Brown, said.

Rose wanted to cackle.

It was a wonderful evening. Sirius took them to the Leaky Cauldron, taking a moment to send a Patronus to Remus to tell him of the change of plans. Samantha and her friends goggled at the Grim-like dog (she wondered if any of them had ever seen a Patronus before – she suspected not. Only half the Aurors could produce a shield, let alone a corporeal one). He'd glanced at the group for a moment before asking if they'd minded adding two more.

And so it was that Harry and Remus flooed in, Harry ducking his head to hide his scar. Sirius had gotten them a private room, so the only people who stared at him were Samantha and her friends. They were still in shock from meeting her and Sirius though, so their reactions were far milder than they would've been.

Rose had had ulterior motives for inviting Samantha and her friends, of course, but she genuinely wanted to expand her horizons. She begged them to tell her everything about their Academy, listening eagerly to their stories. Harry drew Michael Brown into a conversation, asking if he was related to Lavender Brown.

(Rose pushed away the memory of blood-soaked curls before they could overwhelm her)

"She's my cousin," Brown grinned. "You should see the stuff she writes about you in her letters home."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "There's not much to write about though; doesn't it get boring?"

She was grateful for her brother. He was charming and humble, and by the time Samantha and her friends had flooed home, he'd extracted promises to write from all of them.

Really, Rose thought. If Harry truly wanted to rule the world, all he'd have to do is talk to people. They'd be calling for his rule in a week.

The most absurd part was that Harry was just a genuinely likable person. He was mild-mannered, cheerful, and didn't have to fake an interest in the lives of others. Rose wielded her earnestness like a weapon, but for Harry it was so ingrained he didn't even notice.

(she envied that part of him)

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. Rose had gotten an Outstanding on her Runes OWL and would be joining the sixth years come September. Her ears still rang from Hermione's shriek when she'd found out.

("What do you mean you wrote your Runes OWL?! We won't even be taking Runes 'til third year!")

(Harry, popular boy that he was, had invited a frankly terrifying number of people – Rose had a sneaking suspicion it had been to give her an easier inroad to them)

(but he had also invited the Weasley twins)

(she hoped they hadn't noticed her avoidance – it had been easy last year, two years, a House, and a castle between them, but at the party there had been nothing but some trees and grass)

(Rose had introduced Macha then – had come with the occamy on her shoulder, warming herself in the sun. It was the perfect setting – she'd played the happy, naïve little girl all day, giggling apologetically that sorry, Macha's not allowed to go outside on her own, she's very small you see, and we're worried about her. With Potter Manor behind her and the Boy-Who-Lived beside her, the wixen who'd known Harry well enough to be invited had accepted Macha's presence with surprising ease)

(there had, of course, been more than a few protests, but all it took was a conversation with Harry to ease them into hesitant smiles)

(Rose played the innocent little sister and Harry played the self-deprecating, doting older brother)

Theo had written her a letter positively dripping in jealousy. They had to write each other via Blaise – he couldn't exactly afford to be seen corresponding with the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.

Can you imagine the look on Malfoy's face when he finds out? He'd written gleefully. It's going to be glorious.

(she had apologized profusely for not inviting him but he understood – it had been less a birthday party and more a chance for Harry's acquaintances to familiarize themselves with her, after all, and with Macha's reveal already straining their welcome, Theo understood that more snakes would've been pushing it)

Of course, Theo had added, that's assuming he hasn't already died of shock and jealousy from the knowledge that you have an occamy familiar.

(a ridiculous number of people at her and Harry's party had connections to the Wizengamot; a piece of gossip this juicy would've made the rounds in days)

It'd be a shame if he died, Rose had written back. I've barely begun.

(it was a good thing she lived in Potter Manor and not at Privet Drive this time – the elves of Potter Manor would block the entry of a non-Potter elf unless explicitly allowed)

(Dobby had cornered them in Diagon Alley. Having been forewarned, Harry and Rose had lied earnestly that we won't be going to Hogwarts but shouldn't we get our books and things so no one gets suspicious?)

When Rose had ranted about Lockhart, Sirius had gotten a dangerous look on his face.

("You mean a man with a proclivity for memory charms is going to have access to a school full of teenage wixen?")

(Remus' eyes had gone gold with anger)

Sirius had then scribbled off a furious letter to Andromeda, asking if she knew any investigators who could look into this because Hogwarts was a school, goddammit, not everyone had remembralls.

She and her family had figured out what to do about the diary too – assuming things hadn't changed, Harry would sneak Rose in under the Invisibility Cloak so she could steal it. They'd wrap it in layers of silk, which had magic-resistant properties, and call Penny, Potter Manors head house elf. Penny would hand it off to Sirius, who was used to handling dark artifacts, and lock it in a hidden room at Grimmauld who's express purpose had been to conceal dark artifacts. There were actually multiple such rooms; the locket was stashed in another. Then, when they came home for Yule, they'd watch Remus burn the horcruxes with fiendfyre. After all, though it was summoned with emotion, it was wild and required someone with a great deal of self-control to end. Remus, a werewolf who'd once fought against his very nature, was perfect for the job.

(Hufflepuff's cup, unfortunately, was out of their reach. Bellatrix was still alive, her betrothal contract still active, and goblins cared not a whit about wixen prisons)

Remus first had to learn the spell, though, and wanted them safe at Hogwarts before he began. It was a very neat plan, and Rose had next to zero confidence that it would work. Her life was never that simple.

It was nice to have people to plot with, though. She hadn't realized how alone she'd felt last year, keeping an eye on Quirrellmort and running around.

(it was odd – the memories of her past life were fading more quickly than ever. Even the emotionally charged ones, the ones that pressed on her occlumency barriers at every opportunity, seemed… muted)

Rose hadn't told them everything, though. They knew the important, You-Know-Who relevant bits, but the details of her personal life she'd kept quiet. In her past life, the only person she'd ever told about her cupboard was Hermione. After Ron had left, they'd talked about anything and everything to keep themselves occupied. Rose had confessed it in the familiar comfort of darkness, and she had made Hermione promise not to treat her any differently.

(Fred and George must've known – they'd gotten her things from the cupboard the summer before second year. Once they'd taken out her trunk, they would've seen the old, thin mattress; the little green plastic soldiers; the words, written in white crayon, proclaiming it 'Rose's Room.')

(they hadn't tried to talk to her about it, but they'd sent her foods and prank products over the summer, had told her after they'd bought the shop that she could visit any time she wanted)

(she'd never taken them up on it, but she had remembered)

(she could think their names now – it still hurt, but less so)

(maybe she'd even be able to talk to them this year)

(or Lavender Brown)

(or Anthony Goldstein)

(or Alicia Spinnet)

(or any of the other students who'd fought and died at her request)