Chapter 11: Up to Something

Rose caught her parents the next morning in the Great Hall and, in hushed tones, tried to convince them that something was going on with Melisenda. She was trying her hardest to learn from her mistakes last year, to not assume that she knew everything and had to take care of everything herself.

The brightest witch of her age ought to be able to learn from her mistakes, right?

Rose made her case. It was, as far as she was concerned, airtight. Melisenda was sneaking around, trying to break into the forbidden Greenhouse Five ("Ask Uncle Neville what's in there, at least!"), clearly communicating with someone outside the castle ("To be fair, Rosie, you communicate with people outside the castle all the time," her father said reasonably), and even her own sister said she needed watching – in short, she was up to no good. She was talking about some kind of venom – what possible good could come from a venom?

Her parents, though, seemed unconvinced. It may have had something to do with the fact that they both looked faintly glazed and smelled of Pepperup Potion – perhaps they were too distracted by a late night after-Deathday-party with Uncle Neville to really grasp what Rose was saying. But they insisted that whatever was going on with Melisenda was clearly personal, especially seeing as it had caused a fight with her sister. She was twelve, Hermione said, and although it sounded like she wasn't a very nice person, there was no reason to involve the Head of the Auror Department and the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Plus they'd already caught Jeremy Davies, and Marduin was dead. The danger at Hogwarts for Rose and Al had passed.

They were saying this was "kid stuff," though not in so many words, Rose knew. Which she thought was incredibly unfair, given the kind of "kid stuff" they'd gotten involved with when they were exactly her age. Opening up the Chamber of Secrets and confronting a basilisk was no joke.

And then, worst of all, her mother had suggested that, if she was truly concerned about Melisenda, she should go to a professor, or the Headmistress. Rose just stared at her. In fairness, Ron was giving her a look too.

"But you're my mum," Rose said, feeling the tips of her ears growing warm.

"Rosie, you know I love you, and I am here for you always. But what you're talking about is Hogwarts business, not Ministry business. It would . . . it could prove difficult for Headmistress Sprout if we're too much involved here."

"But," Ron butted in, "Rosie, you know if you need us back here, we will be here for you in an instant. All right, love?"

"Oh, of course we will, Rosie," Hermione agreed. "In an instant, all right?"

And that had been that. Well, after Zeke Smith had barged up and introduced himself to her parents and Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry as "one of Rose's best friends in the whole school, and you'd probably remember my dad, sir." Rose wasn't sure what exactly the look was that had flitted across her mother's face, but she had a feeling her mum did not remember Mr. Smith kindly. They had all made a fairly quick getaway after that.

Rose rejoined Al and Scorpius at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Melisenda was nowhere to be seen, but Wendy Wilkes was staring fixedly across the room in Rose's direction.

"We really need to figure out what's in Greenhouse Five," Rose huffed.

"So no luck with the parents, then?" asked Al. Rose scowled and, by way of response, attacked an undeserving scone.

. . .

Before the end of the week, Rose had decided to ask Uncle Neville . . . er . . . Professor Longbottom what was in Greenhouse Five. She had to start somewhere with Melisenda – and if stalking had not yet panned out, she might as well exhaust her only other lead: Greenhouse Five. There was no real reason he should be suspicious of her asking, she reasoned. Near-terminal curiosity was a hereditary trait amongst the Weasleys; he had years of anecdotal proof of this being the case. And surely some other students had expressed the same curiosity. Roxy, for example. Roxy had been caught secretly growing a Venemous Tentacula cutting in her room at the age of nine, and even with that particular plant confiscated, Rose always worried about getting eaten by something green when she visited Roxy's room (Uncle George encouraged this hobby strongly).

They were working with Puffapods now in Herbology, which made Greenhouse Two a riot of color with their pink seedpods and purple flowers. Professor Longbottom had made quite a point at the beginning of class to impress upon the second years the value of Puffapod spores and the seedpods in Potion-making – probably to prevent students from doing exactly what they were doing now, which was throwing the Puffapod beans at each other just to watch them instantly burst into bloom.

"The flowers are useless!" Professor Longbottom had shouted several times, to no avail. Dax lobbed a fistful of the beans at Willow, laughing hysterically. Azalea threw a handful directly into Rose's face as Melisenda laughed just a little too eagerly. Fortunately, they didn't hurt too much when they popped. But Azalea had crammed several more into her fist and was winding up when Uncle Neville sighed deeply. "Fine," he muttered, then, "FINE! Bring all your pots to the far side of the room. NOW!" There was no mistaking the seriousness of his tone. The second year Gryffindors and Slytherins hurried to follow his instructions, with various degrees of tripping over the large number of flowering plants now littering the floor.

Professor Longbottom lined all the students up on the opposite side of the greenhouse, with the remainder of the intact, potted Puffapods they'd been meant to harvest the beans from for replanting. Pulling open a seedpod and deftly removing the exterior, he arced several seeds with expert aim directly into the new pots, one after the other, where they burst into riotous bloom and took root. Some of the students clapped. "Nice aim, sir!" Connor McLaggen called appreciatively.

"Now," Professor Longbottom said, "Ten points to whoever gets the most seeds into the pots. You cannot cross," here he traced his wand in a line over the floor as though drawing, leaving a clear red mark in its wake, "this line. Begin."

Herbology was much more orderly after that, although Zeke Smith kept "accidentally" throwing more Puffapods at the Gryffindors until Uncle Neville threatened to deduct points from the next person who was, "confused about the difference between stupidity and poor aim."

At the end of class, Rose stayed behind to help pick up all the seedpods that had fallen during the short-lived Puffapod-throwing-war. It seemed as though Zeke were trying to stay behind with her, but Al planted himself in front of Rose and loudly asked Zeke's opinion on who was going to win the Quidditch match this weekend. He met Rose's thankful glance and rolled his eyes as he practically steered a chattering Zeke out of the greenhouse. Scorpius watched him go with narrowed eyes.

After a few minutes of picking up the violently purple blooms in silence, Uncle Neville looked at Rose and Scorpius skeptically. "Out with it," he said, out of nowhere.

"What?" Rose asked in surprise and mock-innocence.

"You're a very nice girl, Rose, but I don't think for one second that you'd risk being late to your next class to help me clean up here unless you wanted to talk to me about something. Especially when you know I can just," here he stopped, straightened up, and waved his wand over his head in a sweeping motion. Rose and Scorpius watched as the remaining blooms swirled off the floor, dancing around the greenhouse, arcing overhead . . . and dropping, in a line, neatly into one of the compost bins.

Scorpius stood up and brushed down his robes, picking a couple of petal fragments off. "All due respect, Professor," he said, "You couldn't have done that five minutes ago?"

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to say what you needed to say," Uncle Neville said, grinning slightly. "So?"

Rose bit her lip, reminding herself that there was no reason that this question had to be weird, that it was completely within the realm of natural curiosity for her to be asking. "What's in Greenhouse Five?" she said, after a moment's hesitation.

Uncle Neville chuckled. "I should have seen that one coming," he said.

"You should have?" Rose asked.

"You're . . . let's see . . . number five."

"Ugh. James, Roxy, Louis, Fred?" Rose asked.

"Close," said Uncle Neville, "James, Roxy, Fred, then Louis. I think Louis asked me even though he knew James already had just to see if he would have any more luck. And Fred's trying to be more 'respectable' now that he's a sixth year with a girlfriend, but he's still his father's son underneath."

"Sooo . . .," said Rose in a leading tone, hoping Uncle Neville might finish her sentence or answer her question. He just watched her with his little half-smile, his arms folded loosely. Rose sighed. "You're not going to tell us, are you?" she asked.

"You know I can't, Rose. Sorry. To you and," he continued, in a pleasant voice that nevertheless carried a heavy undertone, "To Scorpius."

Scorpius had been watching the exchange silently, but now held up his hands. "I'm just here for moral support," he said.

"Are you?" Uncle Neville asked.

"I am Weasley's most moral of supporters," Scorpius replied seriously. Uncle Neville just raised an eyebrow before shooing them out of the greenhouse.

. . .

The morning of the first Quidditch game of the year dawned bleakly. The light seemed thin as it streamed through the heavy, low clouds on the ceiling of the Great Hall. Al looked glumly at the ceiling and kicked his legs against the floor as he and James reviewed some last-minute plays during breakfast. Other Gryffindors kept largely to the other end of the table from the team, giving them some space to get their heads in it before the game. But the non-Gryffindor Weasleys felt no such compunctions to give their cousins space. Dom and Lucy made it quite clear that they would be supporting Gryffindor today, stopping by the table in tandem to wish Fred, James, and Al luck. Molly, of course, would be supporting her own house, but was rather too kind to stop by and say so. And Roxy was supporting Ravenclaw as well, most likely, Rose thought, because she liked to watch her brother lose. Her normally dark reddish, tightly coiled hair was bright blue today, courtesy of a Charm from one of her friends.

The professors perhaps were not supposed to openly take sides, but that didn't stop Professor Longbottom or Professor Flitwick from leaving the Head Table to whisper some encouragement to their respective houses. In fact, most of the professors seemed to have taken sides, sporting either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw colors this morning, with the exception of Wistorren, who'd likely forgotten there was a game on, and a visiting guest Rose didn't know who was talking with Callister. He was a dark-haired, pinched-looking man with a sharp goatee, fully grey, and a strange way of talking with his hands. Rose wondered briefly what class he'd be guest lecturing for before being distracted by hubbub from Louis warming up his announcing skills down the table.

Scorpius and Al had both tried to talk her out of it, but Rose was determined to skip the game today after what they'd overheard from Melisenda the other night. Something was going to happen around the Quidditch game today. If her parents weren't willing to help, she'd have to go back to tailing Melisenda on her own. She quieted the voice inside her that wondered if she was making the same mistake as last year, trying to do everything alone. And alone she would be, since Al was fairly essential to the Gryffindor team. She'd had a hope that Scorpius would . . . but no. Apparently, he felt it was more important to support Al at the game. Rose tried to be angrier about this, but ultimately couldn't work up the feeling. It wasn't as though he were choosing Al over her, and even if it was, they were best friends. It made sense that Scorpius would want to be there to support Al.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a pang as she watched Scorpius trail after Al and Adeline Cadamus, the new Gryffindor Seeker, who were deep in some sort of strategic conversation. Dax clapped Scorpius on the back and said something that made him go slightly pink. Annabelle, Willow, and Katie were just behind them, dressed in their respective Gryffindor-est finery (which, for Willow, meant that she deigned to wear a Gryffindor scarf only after much pressure from Annabelle). Rose had waved them all on and said she'd needed some time to catch up on schoolwork.

She'd have to find a better excuse next time, though. No one had believed her in the slightest.

It was pretty easy to find Melisenda. She'd been at breakfast that morning as well, sitting at the Slytherin table as usual, talking animatedly with Azalea and Valissa. Rose wondered briefly what it was like to have a conversation with Melisenda, rather than just a constant barrage of insults. She'd never be likely to know.

After breakfast, she tailed Melisenda out of the Great Hall, and, feeling just a little proud of herself for being right, followed her again when she broke off from her Slytherin friends and headed into the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts rather than outside with the rest.

It was much harder to follow her surreptitiously here, as the corridors had emptied very quickly once breakfast was over. Quiet had settled over the stonework, and even footfalls on the carpeted floors sounded loud in Rose's ears. During classes, there would usually be chatter from the portraits, but she thought they must all be crowded into the few frames that had a distant view of the pitch; most of the paintings she passed were empty of their occupants.

Still, Rose tried to hang back and at least make it less obvious. She'd wait until Melisenda turned a corner, then sprint the remaining length of each hallway, turning just in time to catch where Melisenda turned next. It was apparent at this point that Melisenda was not going to either the Slytherin or Gryffindor common rooms. Nor was she headed in the right direction for the library. She was heading, as much as it was possible at Hogwarts, steadily upwards – Rose thought they might be approaching the Divination classroom.

As she bolted down the next hallway, she thought she heard . . . no, now she was sure she heard voices around this corner. Melisenda must have met whomever she was going to meet. Rose slowed and paused. She couldn't quite get close enough to hear what they were saying without turning the corner, and she daren't risk that with more than one person on the other side now. She didn't think she knew the second voice – a man, from the sound of it. A professor? Rose immediately thought of Callister, but couldn't hear well enough to be sure. She pushed herself against the wall and waited.

The voices were fading now. Rose poked her head around the corner saw no one down the next hallway. She cautiously stepped out. She couldn't even hear voices anymore.

I lost them? No, it couldn't be. She walked the length of the corridor, heart racing, sure at any moment Melisenda and her companion would leap out from any of the closed doors and . . . she didn't know. Yell at her? Curse her? Make fun of her freckles?

But there was no sound, no doors bursting open, and no evidence even that two people had passed this way just moments ago.

Rose had lost them.

. . .

Rose thought she'd been wandering the upper corridors for hours – and she probably had. From here, she could hear the faint rise and fall of cheers and chants from the Quidditch game, enough to know that it was probably going to end sometime soon. And still, there was no sign of Melisenda. Where could she have gone? Rose had been down every corridor, she was sure of it. She'd even started opening doors, where they were unlocked. No one was here.

And then she heard voices again. Faint, but approaching. A girl's and a man's. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying . . .

And she realized the flaw in her plan.

Here she was, in the middle of a corridor during the middle of Quidditch match, with absolutely no idea what she planned to do if – or more likely now, when – Melisenda and whoever else came upon her. It had been quite different when she was the one doing the following; she could have easily turned and left at any time. Now, though . . . what would happen if they found her here, alone? Melisenda alone Rose could handle. But her companion was a complete unknown. For all Rose knew, she thought wildly, she was just having remedial lessons of some kind, it was a professor with her, and this was all just a misunderstanding.

Somehow, Rose didn't think this was the case.

So she did the only thing she could think to do. She ran.

Being a second-year now, she was pretty well familiar with many parts of the castle. This was not one of them. She knew she was fairly high up, and that she should be headed in a downward direction if she wanted to get back to the more typically populated spaces. She didn't think anyone would bat an eye at finding her near the library. But between all the trick staircases and ensorcelled doors, there was no telling how, exactly, to get "downward." She was at an intersection of corridors now. Behind her, voices. Ahead of her . . . right, left or straight ahead? She guessed.

Left she went, and left was wrong. She dodged into another smaller corridor that branched and still felt as though she were climbing. Right, then. Now straight ahead. Now right again, down a corridor with pale rose-colored stones inset into the walls. At least she couldn't hear voices now. Still lost, though.

Rose sprinted around a corner . . . and almost bowled over a girl sitting in the middle of the corridor. There was no response from the girl as Rose fairly screeched to a halt next to her, panting loudly. Rose realized with a jolt of surprise that it was Azalea Selwyn. Was she in on it too?

But there was something wrong.

Azalea was too still.

Azalea was a lot of things. She was, in Rose's general experience, a bit shrill, often hysterical, and she very much enjoyed snubbing Rose at every opportunity . . . but she wasn't usually this still – eerily still. Nor was she usually sitting cross-legged in the middle of a deserted corridor, staring at a plain stone wall, and humming quietly to herself. And she hadn't reacted – not at all – to Rose's nearly running straight into her. She just sat, one hand twisting round the end of her dark ponytail.

Something was wrong.

Rose approached her more quietly. "Azalea?" she asked uncertainly. There was no response. "Azalea?"

Azalea turned slowly and looked up at Rose. She blinked a few times, her eyes curiously blank. Then, like a light coming back on, her eyes snapped into focus. "Weasley?"

"What . . . er, what are you doing?"

Azalea was still sitting on the floor. She looked around the corridor, drawing a quick breath in. Her dark eyebrows furrowed. "I . . ."

"I just came 'round the corner, and you were here," Rose said, trying to be helpful.

Azalea got to her feet. It looked as though she were trying to hurry but didn't quite have control over her limbs. She took another deep breath and glared at Rose. "What did you do to me, Weasley?"

Rose was taken aback. "I . . . what? I just . . . you were here when I got here!"

"Where is 'here'? What do you want from me?"

"Nothing! I don't want anything! I was trying to find . . . anyways, I was walking through one of the upper corridors, and I turned a corner, and you were just sitting there!"

But Azalea was having none of it. Her hands had balled into fists at her sides, and her eyes narrowed. "I don't care who your parents are, Weasley, or how important they think they are," she seethed, "You can't hex me just because you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Rose asked incredulously. What was going on here?

There was a tense moment where Rose actually thought Azalea would go for her wand. She still out of breath from her manic sprint, but her mind started trying to summon a memory of all of the spells she'd learned that might be useful. Uncle Harry had taught them all Expelliarmus, of course. Her father had shown them a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and made them swear not to tell her mother. Aunt Ginny had very publicly shown all of the Weasley-Potter-Lupin children how to do her famous Bat-Bogey Hex, although none of them had one quite as spectacular as hers. Rose's mother had, in secret, also shown her a Weakening Hex, which was quite tricky, and made her promise to only use it if absolutely necessary. That was Hermione-level efficiency all over – why learn a bunch of fiddly little hexes when you could learn one that would weaken any spell your opponent could throw your way?

Thankfully, Rose was spared any need to duel (duel?!) with Azalea by the sound of students thronging back into the castle. She must have been closer to the main corridors than she'd thought. And the Quidditch game was over.

The return of the normal noises of students laughing and shouting seemed to jar Azalea. She gave a start and shook her head once, briefly. "I'm going to tell Professor Callister what you did," she sniffed.

"I didn't –"

"I'm going to the Quidditch game now," Azalea cut in. "Try not to hex me in the back, Weasley."

Now Rose was just confused. She started to call after Azalea. "The Quidditch game is –" but thought the better of it. Azalea would probably just think she was trying to jinx her if she kept yelling.

Author's Note: Ok I know the end of this chapter is all serious and mysterious, but I cannot get over the idea of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny having a "night out" in Hogsmeade with Herbology-professor-Neville and Leaky-Cauldron-landlady-Hannah Abbott. Like, obviously they would attract too much attention in the Three Broomsticks, so they go to the Hog's Head instead. Plus, that way they get to catch up with Aberforth, who has spent the last two decades refusing point-blank to sell the pub, even when the remnants of the original Dumbledore's Army banded together to raise enough money for him to retire quite comfortably. He can't hear very well anymore, but he insists that only helps business given the kind of dealings that typically happen in the Hog's Head.

Anyways, in my headcanon, Hannah mostly bustles around helping Aberforth around the bar and rolling her eyes with Ginny and Hermione as Neville, Ron, and Harry get progressively drunker and progressively louder. Neville relates, in agonizing detail, the latest exploits of whichever Weasley-Potter child has most recently gotten themselves into trouble. Ron reminisces mistily about all the trouble they got themselves into while they were at Hogwarts. Harry mutters under his breath that none of that was his fault, really, and they should believe him because once Voldemort was dead he definitely managed to stay out of trouble, a comment which causes Hermione to laugh so hard she nearly falls off her stool - she knows exactly how much trouble Harry still gets into on a regular basis, because she's the one who has to approve all his reports. Ginny can, and does, drink them all under the table (except Hannah; no matter how much she seems to drink, no one's ever seen Hannah really drunk, even Neville, and they've been married ten years).

The night ends with the six of them making their wobbly way back to Hogwarts. Ron and Neville are singing some sort of traditional wizard ballad (Neville has a surprisingly nice voice). Ginny joins in - loudly and in a different key. Harry and Hermione have never really picked up on these things, even after all these years. Ron notices and tries to teach them the chorus, but by that time they've reached the castle and Hermione keeps having to shush him so they don't wake every single portrait up on their way to the rooms they'll be using for the night.

In the morning, Neville is kind enough to share some of his and Hannah's stock of Pepperup Potion. The large stock, comprising several liters aliquoted neatly into vials, had been a Christmas gift from Ron and Hermione one year (mostly Hermione). Neville is still sort of hopeless with Potions, and Hermione has made a habit of keeping him well stocked with some standard brews he might need around.

Headmistress Sprout knows all of this is happening, of course, and has (with much grumbling to mask the fact that she thinks this is all hilarious) prepared to take on Neville's classes the next day - just in case.

Thank you for reading!

Love always, bbh