So let's take this from the top.

You claim to be, somehow, from the future, a real living person, and the property of Rose Potter, all at once.

You say you've been talking to her for... since her second year? Is that correct? Don't answer yet, I'm not done.

On top of all of that, your future knowledge apparently is infallible enough that you can talk about hyperspecific details about the Triwizard Tournament, but you can't guarantee any of the authenticity thereof?

Rose waited for her words to dissolve again. The response came quickly every time, but the delay - mostly on her words vanishing, with Harry's reply coming nigh-instantly, still unsettled her. The rhythm was just barely off from the speed of Pesterchum replies, with Harry's inelegant attempt at cursive appearing all at once.

It read:

RL, I don't know what else to say to you. You're clearly a very intelligent person. But I've not heard of you before today, even though Rose is fairly thorough when she talks about her life.

I've offered you a lot of trust. I've told you what happens to Cedric in my timeline. I'm telling you what might happen to try and stop it.

I've been trying to teach Rose what she can to do avoid my mistakes in the tournament, but they're going to read the names out tonight. You must return this diary to her possession.

I think I'll hold onto it for now.

Say, do you think I could run DOOM on you?

Rose made that joke already.

Oh.

And she slammed T. M. Riddle's journal shut in frustration.

With the heavy leather-bound tome on her lap, Rose was faced with a moment of quiet. One where she could finally contextualize all of the details she'd learned both last night, when she'd begun to write the boy in the diary, as well as this morning, when their conversation fruitlessly continued. There was a great deal that she could potentially derive from what this "Harry" claimed, especially if he was from the future, seeing as her own Seer powers were mostly nonfunctional.

Alternatively, she could just stuff the journal back into her drawer, and leave it for whoever the hell was claiming to be Rose Potter to pick up.

From within her fetch modus, Rose's phone buzzed.

It was Jade.

GG: rose!

GG: come on why arent you responding you dummy

GG: sheesh i thought i was the one who was supposed to have trouble sleeping too much!

GG: maybe that was rude

GG: i dont know. its been a long time

GG: how have you been?

GG: ugh thats also dumb i just saw you yesterday!

GG: everyones at breakfast and you missed yesterdays breakfast

GG: june is here too

GG: and jean i guess

GG: dave said you react pretty strongly to hearing about either of them :? or maybe i heard that from your friend tracey

GG: it doesnt matter that much... just come over! i saved a crumpet :B

It would be so convenient, thought Rose, to just pull the "already there" trick.

Instead of miraculously lifting her head from her phone to dramatically reveal that she'd arrived at her brothers' table, Rose busied herself with the horrifying task of getting dressed. Robe, check. Wands, check. Invisibility cloak - always.

Diary?

Rose juggled the weight of the book.

It could fit in a captcha card, as easily as Liv or Casey did, she reasoned. There shouldn't be any harm.

And so, equipping everything to where it was supposed to be, Rose finally strode out of the Slytherin Dorms, with only twenty minutes remaining at breakfast.

Yeah, I've got time.

Rather than be met with praise, fear, loathing, or any combination of the three, Rose's entrance into the Great Hall was practically devoid of reaction from anyone but those sitting closest to the door. Yet even those students failed to react to Rose's entrance with more than a glance at her, followed by a return to engaging with whatever crumbs may have been left on their plate, idly chatting with their neighbors.

Rose was lucky enough that her brother usually sat in the middle of the Hufflepuff table, meaning she had a full scope of the situation. How did she want to approach this?

Rose scanned the crowd. The Slytherin table was overpacked, even a day later, but some of the Durmstrang students had finally begun to disperse themselves throughout the other Hogwarts houses, too. (Maybe Jade was partially responsible for setting a good example? Rose couldn't be sure - she'd missed most mealtime gatherings the prior day, having instead picked up leftovers from the kitchen.) This in essence meant she could sit with her dorm-mates; Millie and Pansy were animatedly chattering about something, Daphne was using what looked like a dulled quill as a stylus for her phone, and Tracey was frantically typing on her phone, occasionally glancing away to what Rose assumed was a parchment of notes, though she couldn't really make it out from her awkward position at the front of the hall.

Maybe she should've worn the cloak to breakfast.

"Potter," interrupted a voice from behind her, and Rose jumped, turning around. Gruff, textured, and mostly unpleasant, Rose was unsurprised to realize that Professor Alastor Moody was standing behind her. His voice wasn't great to listen to, either.

"Hi, Professor," said Rose. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have your class today."

"Won't correct you," he said. "What's going on with you? Thinking about the Tournament?"

The Tournament was about the furthest thing from Rose's mind. With one foot, Rose traced the shape of a floorboard out.

"Not the tournament, then," muttered Moody. "What does a fourth year..." The Defense professor's muttered monologue became somewhat unintelligible, and Rose was almost considering just donning the cloak right then and there. He shook his head. "Well, make sure to come to class. You planning on joining the Tournament at all?"

"No," said Rose.

"Have you considered it?"

"No," said Rose. "But if you want me to consider it, I'm fairly sure I'll be saying no anyhow."

Moody's mechanical eye spun around in its socket, and Rose tried to pretend she couldn't hear June laughing again. Maybe she was imagining it.

"What's that book on you?" asked Moody.

"T. M. Riddle's journal," said Rose honestly.

Moody gasped out a harsh bark of a laugh. "Riddle's journal! Pull the other one, Potter." And with that non sequitur, he walked away from Rose, leaving her somewhat baffled by the whole affair. Rose shook her head, banishing thoughts of weirdly invasive schoolteachers in favor of psyching herself up for what she had known she'd need to do the moment she entered the Great Hall.

With a widening pit forming in her gut, Rose finally turned her gaze towards the Hufflepuff table.

There was Dave, like she expected, and Jade, like she expected.

And Jean, like Jade had warned her.

But no June. Her intel was off.

Rose weighted her options. If she missed breakfast, she'd have a huge problem staying awake enough for class - Rose had barely slept last night, having so been preoccupied with writing to her new, uh, "pen pal," that she had somehow forgotten most basic bodily maintenance altogether. She needed some strong tea.

Or, she thought, eyeing the brown pot in front of Dave, some coffee. Gods, coffee sounded amazing, right now.

Besides, the dallying was not helping anything. It certainly wasn't helping her increasingly wounded pride, smarting because - what, Dave made a move first? Because Rose had been overcome with some unidentifiable human emotion slightly offset from a desire for friendship towards this June girl? None of that had to matter. Rose was a big girl. Fourteen, if such a record was believable. Once Quake done Quick was released in three years, Rose had every intention to submit her very existence to the speedrunning site as her new personal best.

But to survive that long, she'd need to be sharp. And to be sharp, she needed one of two things. (Really, she needed both, but considering that the two-thing status was partially held by the nebulous act of "sleep," something she'd been unable to get the prior night, it left only the other thing as a source of rejuvenation.) And that thing was:

"Coffee," muttered Rose, as she strode over to Granger's table. "They've got coffee."

Her feet did the walking for her. Rose tried to focus only on the coffeepot ahead of her, a shining beacon of hope, but instead of Gatsby's sickly green, it was the life-giving brown of...

Rose was too tired for metaphors.

She reached the table, sat long enough for a set of dishware to materialize in front of her, grabbed the nearby pot, and filled her mug with it.

Now it was time to make a decision.

Should she merely captchalogue the life-giving mug in her hands, escaping from her peers and loved ones with the tweenage wizard equivalent of a classical Youth Roll? Or should she stay and try and salvage whatever few minutes were left in the breakfast period? The latter option did require talking to her friends and family, which was somewhat unappealing at this point in time. But the more Rose waited, the more likely that the decision would be made for her.

"Rose?" said Jean. "I am so excited you have joined us today!"

Option two it is, thought Rose, and she took a sip.

"Nice to see you too, Jean," she said, once she had satisfyingly not burned her tongue. With only just-too-much hesitation, she asked: "Is June still around?"

"Ah, no," said Jean, a light flush covering his face. "She had, ah, obligations that conflicted with the end of breakfast, and made her way out of your Great Hall early."

"Obligations," repeated Rose.

"I dunno," said Dave, startling Rose (who tried to contain her reaction best she could). "Not worth the fuckin' effort to figure out. Girl had to go so girl left."

"I have your crumpet," said Jade. Right. Other people existed. She had taken a seat next to Dave, across from Jean and Jade.

"Thank you," said Rose, and the girl across the table smirked before pulling out a familiar fetch modus. Rose raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to seriously leave decaptchaloguing my breakfast to the whims of your ability to use a metaphorical drawing tablet?"

"Hey!" said Jade, eyes on her modus, a metaphorical tablet stylus in one hand. "I only drew, like, FOUR stupid Johnny-O-Fives. Look, this looks like a crumpet."

Jade turned her modus to face Rose, and Rose grudgingly admitted to herself that the drawing looked like a crumpet.

The modus's detection software scanned the doodle, and within seconds Rose's plate was crumpetful.

Rose took a bite.

"It's warm," she noted. "Nice."

Jade grinned, and Rose felt a pang of guilt for only thinking about John when seeing it. Now that she knew that Jade and John were siblings, the resemblance was very obvious. "I haven't used captcha cards in years," said the Durmstrang girl, oblivious to Rose's inner monologue. "It's kinda nostalgic, heh. Thanks for giving me the chance to use it."

I wonder what John would look like if he was a girl.

"Planet fucking Jupiter to Rose, good morning, you got to breakfast late, all good?" These words shattered Rose's train of thought altogether. "Just like. You gotta eat. I'm always fuckin' lining up these freshmen and telling them that they're tired all day because they skip breakfast, but I guess missing out on Tony the Tiger's mantras and fuckin' aphorisms means you don't have that shit ingrained in you from day negative zero."

"Part of a complete breakfast implies that you are meant to eat other things during that meal, because Frosted Flakes aren't actually enough to count as 'complete,'" commented Rose idly.

"Damn, fuckin' really?"

"I love this back and forth," commented Jean. "I have no idea what is happening."

Jade flashed another grin. "You get used to it," she said.

Rose finished her crumpet.

"So," she said, following another sip of coffee. "June is..."

"She may be here for later meals," said Jean. "Is there a point of concern for you?"

Rose's brain unhelpfully did not fill in a response for her, and she only weakly shrugged in reply. Dave looked at her askance.

Oh gods, Rose hoped Dave hadn't seen through her crush.

In response to Rose's weak shrug, Jean gave a weak smile, and then Dumbledore clapped his hands at the front table.

Rose gratefully returned to her coffee, one ear tuned to the Professor's speech.

"I'd like to once again thank our Beauxbatons regiment for joining us last night, and hope that they enjoyed the provided breakfast! As I am sure everyone is eager to return to exploring their new surroundings, or in the case of everyone else, exploring those who are exploring their new surroundings, I will keep things brief.

"Today is the last day to sign up for the Triwizard Tournament, and the Goblet of Fire will be taken down at two hours to dinner tonight. Students in their fourth year and up may enter as solo participants," and here his eyes twinkled, or maybe the steam from the mug was getting in Rose's eyes, "and thanks to popular request and several attempts by our very eager first-years, students in their third year and below may put their name in the Goblet of Fire for the chance to win a replica miniaturized Goblet. Professor Flitwick has already affixed the terms and conditions to the Goblet's pedestal - anyone is free to read it, and there will be roughly..." Here he paused.

From two seats to the right, Flitwick piped up. "Twelve total winners, four from each year per school," he said.

"Twelve," said Dumbledore. "Such an auspicious number. But thank you to the students who submitted feedback; we are listening."

"Wonder if they'll sell that shit in a gift shop next year," wondered Dave aloud. "Hell, do we have a gift shop? Unless you count the entire fuckin' Diagon Alley as this school's gift shop."

"Shh," said Jade.

"Diagon Alley?" asked Jean.

"Shh," said Dave. Jade rolled her eyes, and Rose tried to pay attention to Dumbledore's announcements again.

"And that is roughly all I can think to say," said Dumbledore. Oh, Rose had missed it. Ah, well. "With that, you are free to resume your wizardly or witcherly habits!"

Rose wondered what habits counted as wizardly or witcherly, and resolved to ask the diary later.

"What habits count as wizardly or witcherly?" asked Dave. "Like is that arbitrary or is there like a biological fuckin' marker between wizards and witches?"

"I think it's just meant to be inclusive, Dave," said Jade. "Ask your sister later?"

"Yeah, whatever," said Dave, scratching his chin. "I'mma head to class soonish, though, so if anyone's heading towards Herbology ell em kay."

Rose decaptchalogued her phone. "I'm free for another hour, so I'll be finishing my breakfast on my own time, if that's okay?"

"I can stay with you," offered Jade. "I'm just shopping around different classes anyway."

Rose hesitated.

"Or I could join Dave?" offered Jade.

With an awkward nod that left some of Rose's hair in front of her eyes (apparently today's headband wasn't doing its job very well, and Rose was certainly going to conduct a performance review on its quarterly efficiency), the fight seemed to leave Jade.

"See you when you're more awake, then," said Jade. "And don't be shy to text me whenever, okay?"

"Okay," said Rose, feeling as if she was missing something.

She looked to Dave, who put his hands up in a "don't-ask-me," gesture. Or maybe it was a "not-my-problem" gesture?

Jean stood from the table.

"Well, I must go somewhere now, but if you would like, I can accompany you for a moment, Dave," he said.

"That sentence was so fuckin' hard to parse," replied Dave. "But sure, whatever, Hégbert."

"Heyg-bert?" repeated Rose.

Dave put his hands up again. Definitely a "don't-ask-me" gesture, then. "I just say shit, dude," he said. "Don't ask me."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" asked Jade.

"I appreciate the concern, seriously," said Rose. "But I'll be okay. Just need to catch up on some reading before class."

Some of the tension left Jade's furrowed (furred? furryrowed?) brow.

"Just remember to take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'm doing that right now," said Rose. "Sometimes mornings are meant for only you and a plate of cereal."

"Plate of cereal," noted Jean. "British cuisine astounds me every day."

"I meant bowl of cereal," said Rose.

Jean looked at Dave, who put up his hands in a "not-my-problem" gesture.

"Alright," said Jean. "Goodbye, Rose. See you later, I presume?"

"Likewise," said Rose. She finished her coffee, and idly began to sort through her fetch modus to find the diary.

When she had finally found the right card, her brother and her friends were gone, and Rose had secured an empty table in a mostly-empty dining hall.

She decaptchalogued the diary of T. M. Riddle and began to write.

Hello, Harry.

I'd like to request some more information from you.

I'd like to request you return this diary to Rose Potter.

Rose didn't write a reply, just stared at the page in consternation.

Shockingly, for the first time, Harry's missive extended itself.

R.L., why are you writing in me right now, anyway? Isn't it breakfast? Go be with your friends.

Oh my gods. Rose was going to break something.

I prefer for my magical benefactors to provide less commentary on my personal life, thank you.

And before you make any comments about how my first message was my own commentary on my personal life, I had no idea you were a haunted diary at the time.

That's great. Please give this book back to Rose Potter.

Why should I?

Because Mad-Eye Moody shouldn't still be drinking from his flask!

Rose had no idea what to do in response to that utterly incomprehensible sentence, so she chose to ignore it.

Why should a retired old man's beverage choices be of concern to you?

I- look, I'd rather not waste my time repeating myself to someone who really shouldn't have this diary in the first place, read Harry's neat-yet-messy scrawl. If Voldemort's dead, then that should be the real Mad-Eye, right?

Sure?

In hindsight, maybe I do want advice on my love life.

Your exposition is somewhat lacking.

Do you want a full rundown, then?

Not particularly.

But I'm also still not feeling the urgency to track down this Rose Potter.

You're haggling for information with a book.

I've suffered worse indignities.

Ever tried haggling with a sphere?

Yes, actually.

Then we are comrades united in a global struggle.

Or should that be globular?

"What are you still doing here?" asked a familiar gruff voice.

"Debating the shape of the earth," said Rose. Mad-Eye didn't seem fazed.

"That's not Tom Riddle's diary, you know," said Moody. "I destroyed the original myself."

"Do you often wander up to little girls to brag about your destructive achievements?" replied Rose. In the diary, she scrawled:

Mad-Eye's here too, if you'd like to chat.

No, replied Harry, the word big and bold and underlined three times.

Well. Seemed Harry Potter knew how to get a message across after all.

Mad-Eye's Mad-Eye whirled. "Writing letters?" he asked.

Rose shrugged her shoulders in an "I-would-rather-be-anywhere-but-here" gesture. "Finished up, actually," she said. Mad-Eye grunted.

Rose stood from the table, brushed off her robes, and turned to exit the hall. As she left, Mad-Eye yelled: "If that book ever talks back, come to me immediately!"

Rose captchalogued the book and did her best to ignore how behind her, she could hear the professor fumbling for a flask on his belt.

Only a few minutes later, Rose found herself aimlessly wandering around. She still had some time before class (though not very much), and was spending it figuring out where she'd prefer not to go. Jade had been side-eyeing her all morning, so she likely wasn't welcome in Durmstrang's flower hotel (and if she was, it'd likely just be awkward), Dave was definitely in class with Hermione, and Rose didn't particularly want to see Ron or any of the other Slytherins, considering they all seemed to know something she didn't.

Dammit, she thought. Light powers, whatever the hell you are, can't you grant me any information at all?

But of course, the Light Aspect did not respond, because the Light Aspect is a fundamental building block of the universe, not a deity or other divine entity. It doesn't talk back.

Rose sighed, raised both of her middle fingers and pointed them at the sky. The sky did not take offense, because it is the sky.

Rose facepalmed. Stop the smarmy narration.

...

I didn't mean ALL narration.

Letting out a breath of stress, confusion, and anger, Rose checked her phone again. Immediately dismissing all notifications from Pesterchum, she double-checked the route to her first class in her head. This route, she noted, would take her past the Goblet of Fire.

Might as well see how good Flitwick is at contract law, thought Rose, and she made her way back to the front of the Great Hall, only to be stopped in her tracks by what she saw.

Of course.

Rose's breath caught in her throat. There, in middle of the otherwise empty hallway, in front of the legendary Goblet of Fire, was the girl. The one she'd seen at the entrance ceremony. The one with the beautiful hair, who was charming and witty and whose smile felt like a summer breeze and who, apparently, made her inner monologue wax sappy and poetic. That girl. June.

(Did it make the stupid summer breeze comment more or less sappy if the girl's name was literally June?)

And she was kissing someone. Pressed up against them, actually. The other party had their arms wrapped firmly around her, and their heads tilted briefly to the side as they demonstrated just why that form of kissing was attributed to the French, and-

The other party was a boy. Not just any boy, but the one who'd been at June's side through practically the whole ceremony last night. The one she'd hoped against hope that wasn't June's boyfriend. But, no, June was straight. Clearly, demonstrably, uncomfortably loudly straight.

Rose slipped around a corner and slid down the wall. Stupid. It was so stupid. She could still be friends with this girl. It's not like her being straight would make her any less fun to be around. The whole crush had been stupid anyway.

Joyful laughter, a man's and a woman's, carried itself down the hall, leaving Rose paralyzed.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Which left Rose the stupidest one of all, because here she was, crying about it.

== Rose: Be June.

She couldn't stop laughing. Jean couldn't either.

"I told you it would work!" he said, grinning. "You are June!"

"I am June," she said, and then she said, "and you were right, and I didn't need to be worried, and your universal Prankster's Gambit has put you over me once and for all."

"Yes, yes, lay it on however you wish," said Jean. "But it worked, and all you did was write your name on the paper, in your horrible scrawl. June Egbert, champion in the making, no?"

June flushed.

"I put June Serket," she said.

"Ah," said Jean. "For..."

June waved her hand, her gaze lowering. "It's too long of a story."

Jean shrugged his shoulders. June laughed again. "Another time," she promised. "Thank you for being my best friend."

"Thank you for letting me kiss you," replied Jean.

June stuck out her tongue.

"Catch up later?" she asked.

"Yes, yes," said Jean. "Catch up later." The wizard waved a cast of tempus and made his exit down the hall.

June took the other direction - she'd thought she'd heard something earlier, but with all the excitement of having magic itself recognize her name, she hadn't thought to investigate.

But there was nobody there.

With a shrug, June continu== June: Be Rose.

The invisibility cloak was like an old friend, wrapping Rose in warmth as she made her way to class.

There was nothing more to do.

Rose made her way to class.

She made her way to class.

She made her way to class, and