Tuesday 29th November
- Eight -
A thick envelope arrived for Rose the next morning, earning a groan from her.
At least, she thought, at an attempt at optimism, it's not a Howler.
A package arrived too—and she barely glanced at the 'Weasley-Granger' name on the front, before ripping it open.
She was surprised to find herself holding an older edition of Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches, one that looked very similar to her father's old copy, which still haunted one of their family bookshelves,
"What—?"
"Hey! That's mine!" Hugo had spotted the book, and he practically leapt from his seat to charge Rose, grabbing desperately at the hardcover,
"Good morning to you as well, little brother!" she laughed, holding the copy out of his reach.
"Give it back—!" he grunted, shoving and tugging at her. Even though he was almost fifteen, Hugo barely came to Rose's shoulders—and Rose wasn't known for her height.
"Why on earth is Dad sending you this rubbish!?" Rose laughed, finally relinquishing her grip on the book. Hugo tore it from her hands, glaring at her, before storming back to his seat. Rose was surprised he'd extracted himself from his iPod for long enough to see her open the parcel—the boy was constantly surrounded by some kind of music. He barely spoke three words a day—Nana Weasley said he just thought in notes, not words. Rose just thought her brother might be a little slow.
"He's just quiet," Hermione always said, "Merlin knows where he inherited that from."
Though no one knew where he'd gotten his quietness from, he'd inherited the mousy brown of their mother's hair, which was arranged long and over his eyes. It did sort of add to the whole 'depressed musician' look he had going on, only added to by the pallor of his skin. Rose didn't think that was deliberate though, he just preferred to stay inside and practice on his array of instruments than go to Hogsmeade with his friends.
With a sigh, she opened the envelope, pulling out three sheets of parchment marked with her mother's neat script. She gave the letter a quick read—it discussed being mature, setting an example, counting to ten, and 'is Malfoy really that bad? Albus is good friends with him'—before reading the short addition from her father at the bottom,
P.S Mum wouldn't want me telling you this, but she socked Draco Malfoy right in the nose when we were in third year. Bloody brilliant. Also, good job on the Quidditch win.
Love, Dad
Rose snorted, just as Tessie sat down for the morning. The girl only ever caught the last ten minutes of breakfast—if she could make it at all—because she refused to sacrifice her sleep in.
"So your parents got the letter from the school, then?"
Rose nodded, tucking the letter into her pocket with a sigh,
"Mum's not impressed, to say the least. But Dad says she punched Malfoy senior when they were at school, so seems a bit hypocritical."
Tessie laughed, "At least your parents are interesting. I think the most rebellious thing my Ma has done was sleep through Sunday mass by accident."
Rose felt a twinge of pity, "Have you heard anything from them?"
Tessie's face fell a little, like it always did when her parents were discussed, "Nope. You know they refuse to learn about the wizarding mail system, so we're officially not talking. But they've stopped calling me a 'child of the devil' now, so that's progress."
"Oh, Tessie." Rose reached across the table, gripping her friend's hand, "They still love you, they're just… stuck in their ways."
"I guess. It's just… I can understand how having a witch in the family might've been a shock when they first found out, but it's been six years. And still they turn to the church for guidance, refusing to hear reasonable explanation. They think…" Tessie paused, toying with the bacon she'd piled on her plate, "they think they're being punished for something."
"Tessie…"
Tessie shrugged, attempting a weak smile, "Well, no point getting all weepy over breakfast."
"That reminds me," Rose said quickly, recognizing her friend needed a subject change, "Mum said you're absolutely welcome to spend Christmas with us again."
Tessie's smile twisted into something more genuine, "Oh, thank you, Rose. I'd love to."
"Fantastic, I'll tell Mum."
Tessie ripped off a piece of bacon, slyly tucking it under the table. When her hand reappeared, it was empty.
Rose laughed, "Is Athena under there?"
"She always appears when I get upset," Tessie smiled, breaking off another piece of bacon.
"A black cat. That's so… cliché, Tessie."
Tessie shrugged, but she didn't look as sad as she had before.
Rose received an official detention slip in first period, outlining her detention schedule with Malfoy—which would be every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon (between the last class and dinner) until the Christmas break. That was some extra eight hours she had to spend with Scorpius, alone. Rose's stomach clenched in dread all the way to four-thirty.
So, as dreaded things seemed to do, time sped up in anticipation of it. It wasn't long before Rose found herself walking the stone-walled corridor to her Potions classroom. She'd made this walk possibly hundreds of times since starting at Hogwarts, yet never before had it seemed so daunting.
Professor Slughorn was already there, as well as Malfoy, but she did her best to ignore the latter.
"I'm sure the two of you know where to find the necessary supplies. Unfortunately, I can't stay to watch you, so I'm trusting the two of you to undertake this project with maturity. Any issues will result in an instant failure." He looked at both of them with a solemn expression, and Rose felt a pang of regret at disappointing one of her favourite teachers.
"Alright, then," Slughorn finished, collecting a pile of parchment from his desk and striding for the door, his walk characterised by it's usually bounciness. He had such a light step for such a heavy man. But as he reached said door, he took a moment to look back at the two students with a grimace—like cooping the two of them together was akin to animal cruelty, "Good luck." His tone didn't bode well.
Right, Rose watched the door close, it's only eight hours worth of detentions across an entire month. It doesn't even add up to a full day, you can do it.
She couldn't ignore Scorpius any longer.
"How about you gather the ingredients, and I'll prep the cauldron?"
His face darkened, and Rose was confused until he muttered bitterly, "Figures."
"Figures?" her voice was falsely optimistic.
"That you'd assume I want to be bossed about."
Rose was sure to develop a twitch, trying to suppress the rage to throttle Malfoy. He deserved some kind of trophy for his ability to anger her in less than a minute.
Eight fucking hours. She couldn't do it.
"Well, apparently, you can't even walk past a potion without ruining it, so I thought you might like some guidance." She snapped, lighting the fire under their cauldron with a little too much vigour. She had to force the flames into submission before it took her eyebrows, hoping Malfoy hadn't noticed.
"My own potion was going perfectly, until you tattled," The bitterness of his tone mimicked hers, as he drew his hair into a messy bun. Rose fleeting realized she preferred it tied up, as his neck was no longer hidden by his usually collar-length hair, "now I'm having to repeat."
Rose was about to point out the injustice of it all—she hadn't done anything wrong, but she still had to put up with him—when she was grabbed by a fit of curiosity,
"What was it that you put in my potion, by the way?"
He paused, and she realized she thrown him a little, "You mean—"
"What did you slip in my potion that made it do…?" she wasn't sure how to describe it, but the memory of that black sludge wouldn't be leaving her mind anytime soon.
"I—uh—" he cleared his throat, "suspended Salamander blood."
It was Rose's turn to pause, and her concentration slipped from her flame charm (it died),
"Suspended? How?"
It was strange—Malfoy didn't look arrogant, or proud in that moment. He looked the opposite, and Rose struggled to recognize it at first because he'd never bothered with it around her before.
But nope, he was ashamed. Truly ashamed.
"I suspended it in Boomslang Skin, so it didn't take immediate effect—"
"So, the Boomslang Skin dissolved—like it's supposed to—and the Salamander blood was left react when I inevitably added the lacewing flies."
He nodded, his eyes jumping between the cauldron and his own shoes, "Which brought out the volatility of the lacewing flies—"
"Exacerbating the corrosive nature of their stomach acid, and the potion took on that form—" she filled in,
"Because Polyjuice is a transformative potion, and when correctly brewed, will take on the quality added to it in the final stages." He finished, with a shrug.
Rose was a strange combination of horrified and fascinated.
"You complete and utter twat." She marvelled, and his eyes finally snapped up from the floor.
"What?"
"You—" she struggled with the words, out of sheer anger, "the amount of forethought you put into this—it's absolutely preposterous! How long did you think about it for? Did you suspend the Salamander before class? You probably had to get special permission for access to the Boomslang skin! You—"
It seemed anger had wiped any trace of shame from his system, his eyes not struggling to meet hers now, "Right, like cracking my skull to get the edge in Transfiguration doesn't require forethought. You knew the essays were due Monday—and all you needed was one grade to finally beat me! You set up a move like that, throw me off for a day or two, and then you get rewarded for it. And Merlin forbid anyone question the 'Gryffindor Princess'—daughter of two war heroes, Prefect, front Chaser, teacher's pet—"
"That's bullshit, Malfoy! I earned what I have, every position and accolade was hard bloody work, nothing more—"
He snorted.
"And who the hell are you to talk! It must've been so hard for you when your entire family miraculously avoided Azkaban, coasting off money you made hundreds of years ago. I'm surprised you even learned to talk around that silver spoon in your mouth!"
Malfoy's whole demeanour changed—he drew to full height, shoulders tightening—taking three fast steps to where Rose stood. She fought not to recoil,
"Don't utter a fucking word about my family, Rose." He hissed, "Don't you dare."
"Or what?" the words were fighting, but her voice wasn't even a whisper. She was too busy noticing how close he stood—the almost invisible blonde hairs that had started to escape from the leather hair tie, how the muscle in his jaw clenched—
"Why don't you just use a sticking charm?" she whispered, accidentally out loud.
He froze, "What?"
It felt like the classroom had shrunk, the walls restricting them to these close quarters. Or maybe it was feeling as though they occupied every space, the tension between them filling it up—like a solid, grabbable thing,
She didn't need to explain herself, but she did, "If you use a sticking charm," she explained quietly, "for tying your hair up, little strands won't fall out."
He stumbled, confused enough to respond to her ridiculous comment, "I, um, I don't like the feeling of the charm. It tugs."
Malfoy stepped back suddenly, and the tension in the air was popped as though someone had run through it with a pin, "I'm—" he went to run his hand through his hair, a reflex, before remembering it was tied up, and he forced his hand to drop,
"I'm going to grab the ingredients. We're wasting time."
"Ok. That's fine. Do that." She replied stiffly.
Rose tried to tune out the sound of Malfoy rustling through the cupboards, doing better when she pretended he wasn't there. She re-lit the cauldron, perfecting the temperature four times more than necessary, before waiting for him to set up their ingredient preparation.
"Is the temperature set right?"
"I'm not a complete idiot." She huffed, and he snorted as though he disagreed.
When they started the chopping and weighing, it became painfully obvious that the workload was reasonable for one person, but was not quite enough to keep two people occupied. It didn't help that either party refused to touch or be near the other, and Rose found herself doing some awkward hovering.
"You know," Malfoy said conversationally after nearly twenty minutes of silence, "nobody can push my buttons like you, Roza. It's a skill, really."
"Me? You're the shit-stirring one. You seek me out!"
"But you're so fun to wind-up. You make it easy."
"Prat." She snapped.
"See?" that smirk was back again, and Rose's urge to punch it off his face hadn't calmed.
But she knew why he'd picked the fight. And that was because ending a conversation like this—snapping, growling, smirking—was so much more comfortable and familiar than ending a conversation where the lines were blurred.
Slughorn arrived to let them out, apparently surprised when he found the two of them in one piece. Apart from their early argument, the rest of their detention had been surprisingly quiet. They snapped occasionally—that couldn't be avoided—but it seemed as though they'd mutually agreed that silence was the most painless way to pass the hours, just focusing on perfecting their potion.
Rose's friends were waiting for her dinner, watching anxiously as she approached the table and took a seat.
There was a tense silence—everyone watched her—and Rose focused on cutting herself a slice of steak and kidney pie.
"Well?" Tessie finally burst, and Rose lifted her gaze,
"It went exactly as you'd expect." Rose replied with a shrug, tugging a plate of green beans closer to herself.
"You two finally resolved all that sexual tension?" Georgette guessed, and Rose's brain chose that moment to remember a leather hair tie, and wisps of white-blonde hair.
"There's no sexual tension between us." Rose snapped, her face colouring, "All we did was argue. He insinuated that I'm treated preferentially because of my name, and I insinuated he was privileged because of his."
There was another silence, before Tessie laughed, "Well, that was anticlimactic."
"In what way?"
"It's just," Magda added quickly, "usually after any interaction with Malfoy, you usually bitch about him for at least an hour. Not," she amended, at Rose's raised brow, "that that is unjustified. We were just expecting the Malfoy rant of the year."
"It's kind of what you do." Tessie shrugged, "You fight with Malfoy, and then you come tell us how awful he is."
"Well," Rose was feeling defensive, as she recalled just how many times she'd done exactly that, "maybe I'm over Malfoy. I have far more important things to worry about than that prat. He is barely a blip in my day."
Her proclamation was met with another silence, and each of her dormmates watched her concernedly.
"What?" Rose asked.
"Oh my God," Georgette declared with absolute sincerity, "you totally snogged him."
"I didn't—!"
"Shh!" Tessie said quickly, ending the almost-argument, "Why on earth is Ewan Diggory walking towards us?"
"Christ," Magda groaned, "pass me an onion tart, quick."
"Why—"
"Now!"
Tessie shoved the tart into Magda's outstretched hand, and the girl promptly shoved the whole thing into her mouth.
By the time Ewan arrived next to them—his little piggy nose pompously in the air, like usual—Magda had chewed and swallowed the tart, and was grabbing for another.
"Hello, Magda," Ewan began, ignoring the girls around her, "I apologise for interrupting your dinner, but I was wondering if we could chat outside the hall for a moment, about this weekend?"
"Hello to you to, Diggory," Tessie muttered darkly, and Rose tried to suppress a snort of laughter.
"Couldn't we wait until after dessert, Diggory? I'm eating at the minute." She waved an onion tart, which she was halfway through.
Ewan looked a little put out—Rose pitied him for half a second before he opened his mouth, "Well, my schedule is rather full, being Head Boy and all, so it is a struggle to—"
"Alright, fine." Magda said quickly, "How about you go out there, and I'll meet you as soon as I've finished my tart?"
Ewan's brow was creased, but he recognized the compromise, "Well, ok. But please be along quickly, as I don't have time to dally about waiting, being Head Boy and all."
"Just a minute, I promise." Magda smile was too wide—only someone who knew her well knew it was patronizing, and Ewan headed for the doors.
"Rose Jean Weasley-Granger," Magda growled, as soon Ewan was out of earshot, "You owe me big time for this. I swear to Merlin, that boy is such a prat."
She rose, grabbing more onion tarts and stuffing them in her pockets.
"But he's enamoured with you, Mags," Georgette grinned, "And he probably doesn't have time for crushes, being Head Boy and all."
The group burst into giggles, and even Magda dark expression softened a little, "Christ."
"What on earth are all the onion tarts for Magda?" Tessie asked, as Magda stepped away from the table.
"Well I don't want the prat to try kiss me, do I?" was Magda's parting explanation, before she stomped off to meet with Ewan.
Rose felt a little bad for Magda, seeing as it was Rose's fault that she had to go on a date with Ewan. It seemed silly now—the altered roster had only ended in argument, and Rose had never managed to give Malfoy her scripted apology anyway.
Ewan had been crushing on Magda for years, and he attempted to ask her out at least once a month. It was so predictable that it was practically clockwork. Boys were like moths to flame around Magda—the girl just rolled her eyes, as though male attention were some giant inconvenience to her.
But actually, if Rose thought about it, each of her friends had their fair share of attention. Tessie had the long-distance German boyfriend she kept writing to, even if none of the others had seen a photo of him. Georgette knew lots of boys from the Quidditch club she played with in summer, and—if the stories she regaled with glee were true—she knew a few of them in the biblical sense, making good use of the unisex shower rooms.
Rose was the only one who didn't really get looked at like that. Her closest male friend was Albus—and she had the feeling cousins didn't count. No boys asked her out—not like Magda. No boys wrote her—not like Tessie. The last contact of intimate nature she had had been a sloppy snog with Willem Fowle, in a game of Truth or Dare at Georgette's birthday party back in July.
She wasn't much into self-pity, it was simply a bitter observation that made her chest hurt a little. The little anxious voice inside of her—loud when it chose to speak—grabbed the idea and ran, and Rose found herself running through her flaws, imaging what boys said about her when they thought she couldn't hear.
Once, when they'd been in third year, Malfoy had launched a particularly vicious attack. They'd been walking out of Herbology, and Rose had one upped Malfoy in class. He decided, in his anger, to loudly list each and every one of her physical flaws, so everyone could hear.
"Yeah, but who'd want to look like that? Hair like a bird's nest, those ridiculous freckles. Flat chest, bulky calves—I'd mistake her for a man if her hair weren't so long. And if you could get past that, there's such an insufferable personality underneath it all; it doesn't nearly make up for her physical deficits."
Rose had managed to hold her tears until she'd reached the dorm, as not to be seen by Malfoy. But when she'd finally reached the comfort of her dorm, the floodgates had opened. She'd been so self-conscious that she'd even tried to charm the freckles off her face—luckily the spell had been a dud.
Now, at least, she knew Malfoy's attack was a cutting response to being beaten in class, but the nasty little voice never hesitated to remind her of the words. Especially now—when she felt the sting of unspoken rejection—all the words tangled up in horrible knots in her mind, barring sleep.
At one am—when her exhaustion and inability to sleep reached its frustrating height—Rose rolled out of bed, grabbing a few things, before heading briskly out of the Gryffindor tower.
A/N: As always, reviewed are super appreciated, I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying this so far!