Chapter 5: Third Time's A Charm
Third Time's a Charm:
Throughout her childhood, Rose had always been told that she was very much like her mother.
In truthfulness the similarities between them were endless. Rose was very down-to-earth-just like her mother. She was never concerned with her wardrobe or her hair (at least not like her cousins Dominique and Roxanne)-just like her mother. She even preferred the company of boys to girls-just like her mother. Rose had her mother's hazel eyes, her mother's height, her curly hair, even her laugh. Most importantly, Rose was remarkably intelligent and that trademark undoubtedly made her her mother's daughter.
It was no wonder that people saw reason to point out any of this, as there was plenty of evidence to support the matter, nor did they see anything wrong with it. How could they? Hermione Granger-Weasley was one of the most accomplished witches of her time; a former war-hero, an advocator of elf-rights, one of the most renowned prosecutors that had graced the halls of Wizengamot of all time.
Nevertheless, comparisons can be tricky and it wasn't long before Rose began to notice that with each comparison made between her and her mother, the more of her was being swallowed up by Hermione Granger-Weasley's shadow. Did it matter that she was the only first-year in her class that had been able to trasnfigure a thumbnail into a butterfly on her first try? Her mother had been coined the "cleverest witch of her age!" Or what about the fact that when she joined the Hogwarts Duelling Club she had disarmed a fifth-year? Hermione Granger had beaten Bellatrix Lestrange.
And so began a quiet rebellion. To her mother's surprise, Rose received five detentions after the winter holidays in her second year for nearly melting Scorpius Malfoy's face off with an upturned bowl of soup. A few months later she snuck out into Hogsmeade with Fred and James and ended up attending a protest for orphan squibs, earning her two detentions for skiving class. Over the summer, she decided to permanently straighten out the curly locks she had been born until they fell in short and clean tendrils around her. The rebellion continued on in her third-year, when Rose purposely requested Divination to be part of her timetable, knowing it was a class her mother had performed miserably in (though after several sessions, she herself admitted that it would not have been her optimum choice). It seemed that Rose was determined to leave a legacy that was just as crooked as her mother's had been straight-edged. The only aspect of herself that she refused to change was her academic performance. That piece of the genetic pie was one she refused to relinquish.
Over time, Rose's resentment over the phrase 'just like your mother' simmered down to the point where she was able to swallow her distaste for it. As she transitioned into adolescence, the slivers of personality that deviated her from her mother amplified. Despite the cool-headed logic they both shared, Rose's temper was connected to a shorter fuse, which sharpened her tongue sometimes to the point of ruthlessness. Her love for sarcastic humor and quippy satire was a significant contrast to her mother's infallible idealism, prompting an occasional uncomfortable conversation at the dinner table. However, the most obvious difference emerged when Rose was selected for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Chaser…for despite her mother's many accomplishments, Hermione Granger-Weasley would never voluntarily touch a broomstick.
This thought allowed Rose to relish every moment on the Quidditch pitch, even through the most mundane of practices. It also meant she took every match seriously, and on this particular day, she had invited Al for additional practice in preparation for the upcoming match against Slytherin.
"I really don't feel comfortable doing this," Al was saying, "Are you sure you don't want to put on protective padding or something?" He floated across from her on his broomstick, his arms struggling to restrain a Bludger intent on squirming to freedom.
"Defnitely. I'm going to have to go through a lot worse with the Slytherins next week especially now that Malfoy's made the team as well."
"He's a Seeker, Rose. He's not going to be whacking Bludgers your way."
"Would you just set the bloody thing free?"
"Y'know, Dad told me that a Bludger nearly took out his entire arm once-"
"AL!"
Al rolled his eyes and groaned. Before she could say another word, the Bludger leapt from Al's arms immediately swerved in her direction, prompting her to sweep into a dive.
This was their typical routine. Dodging Bludgers first and then Quaffle practice. After ten minutes of Rose evading the lethal black ball, Al swooped in and captured the Bludger with his bare hands. It was an amazing skill, one that few Quidditch players at their age could accomplish and one that Rose valued during these lying sessions. When the Bludger was safely secured back in its trunk, Rose tucked the Quaffle under her arm and eyed Al with a look that said: ready for it?
He nodded. She tossed the Quaffle towards him and watched him pluck it deftly from the air, barely shifting his weight in the process. As he flew past her and dutifully positioned himself on the opposite end of the field, Rose couldn't help but admire his posture.
There was something beautiful about the way Al flew. Unlike James, who conquered teams with brute speed and force, Al had always threaded through his opponents with quiet elegance. Even on his hand-me-down broomstick, Al executed his moves with grace and precision. In the twenty minutes that followed, the Quaffle never once touched the ground. Even during the one time that Al had allowed the Quaffle to slip out of his fingers, he had corrected the mistake effortlessly by plummeting into a dive so low that his toes skimmed the grass. As Rose watched him regain altitude with ease, she was reminded that Al was perhaps the best Quidditch player that Slytherin had to offer.
What a shame, she thought, noting the way that Al's face blossomed into joy when he caught the Quaffle in his arms. She felt so protective over Al during moments like these, knowing that the poor boy wore his heart on his face and that people constantly used that for their own exploitation.
When the sun began to lower and the two of them landed on the grass, now sweating sufficiently through their clothes, Rose couldn't stop herself from asking:
"That was brilliant, Al. As usual. Why didn't you try out for the team this year?"
Al grimaced and scratched his head as he often did when pondering how to answer a difficult question.
"James," he said, settling for conciseness.
Rose scoffed. "Al, you can't let him rule your life at Hogwarts. Just because he's popular and Gryffindor Quidditch captain, he does not have the right to threaten you."
"He hasn't been threatening me," muttered Al defensively. "It's just that—he's got a point, you know—our whole family's rooting for Gryffindor and it would just make it more difficult if I played against you all."
There was more to it, thought Rose and her distaste for her older cousin deepened. Ever since Al had been sorted into Slytherin, Al had harbored an intense fear of being alienated from the Weasley clan. It explained why he never associated himself with his house-mates, even though he'd admitted that he got along very well with most of them, and hung around Rose and her friends instead. James had leapt on the opportunity of Al's Sorting to intimidate his younger brother even further, playing on Al's fears with not-so-subtle reminders of his popularity.
For whatever reason, James had been obsessed with asserting dominance over Al ever since the Potters were little. The problem was that James always knew Al's fear triggers and he knew them well. Whatever talent Al had in Quidditch had been squashed quickly by the fear of isolation, but Rose knew that it was all a result of James' fear over what people would say if they witnessed his own younger brother beating him on the pitch.
What a dreadful ritual, thought Rose, restraining herself from voicing her opinion out loud. She knew it was a sensitive subject for Al.
"How's Malfoy faring lately?" she inquired, switching to a subject they had plenty to talk about. She had never forgiven that boy for terrorizing Al's first semester at Hogwarts. Ever since the incident outside of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, she'd known he would be nothing but trouble and her encounters with him over the years had only proven it.
"Honestly, Rose, I think you like ranting about him more than I do," replied Al with a cocked eyebrow. "He's an obnoxious prat but believe it or not, I think his head's starting to come out of his arse. The other day he came to me after Quidditch practice and told me to try out next year."
"He did?"
"Well, he threw a towel at me first," amended Al, his face breaking into a grin. "So I threw him a body-bind curse."
Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Well done. I'm proud of you." When did you suddenly grow a pair?
Suddenly, she noticed that a dark figure had appeared over the horizon and was walking in their direction. The setting sun had cast a shadow so that it was impossible for Rose to see who it was, but Al's expression instantly flashed into recognition.
"Thia's here," he said, looking pleased, and then called out: "Took you long enough."
When the newcomer had arrived Al stood up and greeted her with a brief hug. Today, Carpathia was wearing an enormous black-fringed scarf that draped over her Gryffindor robes. Her hair, which had once been brown but had been dyed ink-black, was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing numerous silver piercings in her ears.
"I have other things to do besides watch you fly in circles all day," she replied Al with her usual, calm smile.
"And you didn't bring any snacks. What do I keep you around for?"
"Do you want your mate or a house-elf?"
Rose watched the exchange critically.
She had never understood Al's friendship with Carpathia Nott, even though she had nothing against the girl. They had shared a dormitory for more than two years and there was never a hair out of place, on paper at least. Though the other girls in their dorm found Carpathia's reserved demeanor unsettling, Rose hadn't had any qualms about the limited conversations exchanged with Carpathia every once in awhile when Carpathia did attempt to sociaize with the rest of them. Like many others, however, Rose was often puzzled by what she found.
Carpathia wasn't reserved because she was shy. In fact, when Carpathia spoke, people listened simply because she always had something rather odd and interesting to say. The puzzing bit was that…well, she didn't seem to want to make any friends. She didn't seem to care about anyone. Except Al.
"So Rose," said Carpathia, and when she shifted her head a stud glittered in her nose, "How was practice?"
"Entertaining ways to pummel your brother into smithereens next week, if you don't mind," replied Rose cheerfully.
"Ah." Carpathia nodded. "Best of luck then."
"As long as you don't tell him, luck won't be a problem."
"Haha."
An awkward beat passed between them before Al smacked his forehead, prompting the two girls to look swiftly at him. "I just remembered. The Hogsmeade outing is next weekend."
Rose clapped her hands in excitement. "Ooh, yes! Can't wait. I'm running low on sweets." She frowned. "Though you're not reacting the way I'd expect you to."
"It's Valentine's Day."
"Well, yeah. Cue the sweets. Hence excitement."
Al groaned, cradling his head in his hands. "It's not that. I've been putting this off for ages and it's bloody killing me. There's this…girl." He looked pointedly at Carpathia, as though he expected her to pipe up an answer.
Carpathia blew a strand of her hair out of her face. "Don't look at me. It's your infatuation, not mine."
'There's this girl," repeated Al, his face flushing. "I—I think I'm going to ask her to Hogsmeade but I need your help."
"Ohhhh," said Rose, drawing out the sound slowly. Curiosity welled up inside her. Al, fancying someone? This was the first she'd ever heard of it. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You know each other. Sort of."
"Do I? Who is this girl?"
Al looked at Carpathia again, his cheeks now the color of cherries. Carpathia exhaled and answered, rather sharply, "Isabel Marrieto. Ravenclaw. Second-year. Brown hair?"
"Oh," echoed Rose, blinking rapidly, "Her? You like her?"
"What's wrong with that?" retorted Al defensively.
"Well, I've never seen the two of you together."
"He gawks while she reads in the library, if that counts," supplied Carpathia, and Al shot her a glare.
From what Rose knew of Isabel, she was a pretty girl of Italian descent with pale freckled skin and long, brown hair (also rather well-endowed in the brain department, thank goodness). The only problem was that she fell under the category of what the Weasley Clan liked to call 'the family groupies'. Like quite a few Hogwarts students, Isabel regarded the Potter-Weasley children as semi-celebrities and harbored a deep desire to get better acquainted with them. Rose had become some sort of idol to her. The girl would practically leap across tables to exchange a few words with Rose during dinnertime and made a rather laughable attempt in shaking Rose's hand every time they passed each other in the hallway. Rose also knew she was among the young girls who would giggle and whisper to one another everytime James Potter passed by, which Rose saw as nothing short of idiocy.
Supposedly, this is what Al meant by the two of them 'knowing each other'.
"So how do you think I should—y'know—ask her?" Al was asking.
"I think you should make it simple," ventured Carpathia with a smile twitching at her lips, "A note with a signed photograph."
"Not. Helping," grumbled Al, flicking grass at her. "A note…and some flowers and chocolates, maybe? Would that do the trick?"
"From what you've described of Isabel, probably." The hint of sarcasm in Carpathia's voice was almost undetectable. Rose, who had picked up on this subtle jab, smiled to herself.
"…what about you, Rose?"
Rose snapped out of her reverie and quickly scrambled for words: "Oh, er, yes. Simple."
"Flowers or chocolates?"
Rose sighed. "Merlin, the endless clichés. None, Al. I think you should make it your own."
"Right," frowned Al, a worried line creasing his forehead. "What are your Valentines' Day plans then?"
Rose rubbed her hands happily. "I'll be spending my afternoon with the lads. It'll be a lovely day full of Butterbeer and slightly mysoginystic humour until I choose when to put a stop to it. You, Carpathia?"
"Oh—well," Carpathia had been caught rather unaware after being referred to so suddenly, "I don't really do Hogsmeade. I haven't been yet."
"You're joking," gasped Rose, her mouth falling open.
"See? I'm not the only one," smirked Al, reaching out to tousle Carpathia's hair until Carpathia shoved his hand away. "I would have gone with you this time but, alas, I'm trying to get a girl who's never spoken to me to go out with me."
Carpathia gave him a thumbs up.
"How is it that you've never been to Hogsmeade? It's the only time we get to leave this bloody castle with permission," exclaimed Rose as though this fact had somehow personally offended her.
"I'm from Scotland," explained Carpathia flatly. "I've been to Scottish towns. I just prefer to be… elsewhere."
Rose let out a puff of air. "That's complete bollocks. You can join us if you don't have any plans. You've never met the lads, have you?" Despite the fact that we're all in the same house, she added silently.
"Erm. Well," stalled Carpathia with a pained look on her face. Her eyes darted quickly towards Al, who was staring expectantly at her. "If you insist."
"I do," said Rose firmly, adding, "You can tell me all of Gareth Nott's weak spots."
"That reminds me. Do you think Malfoy has Valentine's Day plans?" demanded Al suddenly.
"Oh, I pity the girl who has to be on the receiving end of Wunderkind all day," said Rose with a roll of her eyes. To her utmost irritation, Scorpius was becoming increasingly popular amongst the girls in their year, even with those living in her dormitory. Phrases like "he's such a bad-boy" and "did you hear him say this the other day?" had somehow wormed their way into Rose's safe space, and up until now, she had never been so disgusted with the superficiality of prepubescent hormones.
"It's the new transfer student from Beauxbatons and she said yes," said Carpathia a matter-of-factly, surprising the two of them with a rare offering of gossip. "Gareth was going on about it today at breakfast."
"Chantal Gerhardt? He's got a date with Chantal Gerhardt?" Al yelped almost immediately. The two girls threw him quizzical looks at this outburst and his cheeks turned red as quickly as a muggle traffic light.
"Well, you know," he mumbled, "She has nice…skin."
Rose smirked. "The Slytherin common-room has become a lot more interesting these days, hasn't it?" With two male best friends, Rose had heard more than she'd needed to know about the new transfer student, whose name seemed to inspire such exoticism that the students in their year liked to refer to her in full. 'Chantal Gerhardt'- beautiful, spoiled, mean as a peacock, and very, very French. Or was it German?
Al's hand tightened into a fist. "Great. Boloody fantastic. Malfoy's got a date with Chantal Gerhardt and his ego's massive enough as it is." He pounded the grass, strengthened by newfound determination. "That does it; I've got to ask Isabel."
Carpathia let out a puff of exasperation and put a reassuring hand on Al's arm, fixing her grey eyes on him. "Stop worrying. She'd be mad not to say yes." After a beat, she added snarkily: "Just don't be your usual dorky self, is all."
"Well, thanks," retorted Al, though he reached over and tousled the girl's inky, cropped hair good-naturedly, prompting Carpathia to shy away quickly like a cat. "You're awful at girl advice, you know that?"
"Mmf," grunted Carpathia in response, a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks. Rose's gaze flitted between the two of them as inconspicuously as she could, and when her eyes met Carpathia's, she could swear that the other girl's bright expression had dimmed ever so slightly.
AAA.
Whoever invented the phrase 'all is fair in love and war' were right to put love and war in the same category, thought Rose when she entered the Great Hall on the morning of Valentine's Day.
It seemed as though Hogwarts had descended into chaos. All throughout breakfast, boys and girls were running across the room to different house tables, delivering their tokens of love, prompting a myriad of emotions ranging from tears of happiness to, well, tears of heartbreak. Some idiot Prefect who had been in charge of promoting Valentine's Day had allowed for special Cupid deliveries as well, meaning that students were able to arrange a quartet of fat, winged cherubs to their one and only, who would then be on the receiving end of several cringeworthy verses sung in perfect harmony. While some seemed to relish the disorder (like James and Fred, who had made a game out of who could tally up the highest number of Valentines' Day cards), others were not so amused.
"I'm getting a migraine," said Rose loudly as a flock of angels descended upon a girl sitting at the neighboring table whilst doing a rendition of 'Love is a hot, hot cauldron'.
"S'not that bad," shrugged Al, his mouth full of croissant. He had chosen today to sit with the Gryffindors.
A cupid zipped by above their heads, trilling gleefully. Rose growled and proceeded to shove a spoonful of eggs into her mouth so that she could at least distract herself with the taste of breakfast. When she swallowed, she said, "I wouldn't even mind sitting with the Slytherins today. At least they're relatively quiet."
Al shook his head. "Ah, don't think you'd like it. Scorpius' head is so inflated I swear I couldn't see past it."
"Has he got that many admirers?" exclaimed Rose, whirling around in her seat. Sure enough, the blond-headed git was swamped in roses and pink-polkadotted cards with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Several cherubs fluttered about him crooning, and Gareth Nott had stood up and was now imitating a conductor.
"Don't think Chantal's very happy," commented Al gleefully. Rose's eyes flickered to the other end of the Slytherin table, where she saw the pretty transfer student sitting amongst a crowd of girls. She was flicking her hair and chatting rather obnoxiously to her posse, but even that attempt at nonchalance couldn't conceal the fact that face kept turning back to Scorpius with a black expression.
Rose smiled to herself. "Where's your Valentine?"
The tips of Al's ears turned red even just at the mention. "It's coming," he mumbled, his green eyes glancing at the Ravenclaw table towards the back of Isabel Marrieto's head.
"So what did you settle with?" prodded Rose, "A note? A small present, perhaps?"
"Well, ah, actually-"
"Isabel Marrieto! A tune for Isabel Marrieto!"screeched a red-cheeked cherub with brown locks. Rolls of fat spilled out of its small toga as it batted its wings furiously towards the Ravenclaw table, almost knocking into Rose's head.
Rose threw Al a look of mingled horror and betrayal. "No.You didn't."
"They're not that bad," defended Al weakly. He began to shovel his food into his mouth with brute speed, until Rose firmly gripped a handful of his red hair and lifted his head away from his breakfast.
"Get a grip. She'll probably love it. Watch."
The angels arranged themselves in a fanfare line before the Ravenclaw girl, who had now stopped eating altogether and was staring in shock. Then, they simultaneously inhaled one monstrous breath, and sang—in impeccable barbershop-style:
O my love's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June
O my love's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
Rose threw Al her filthiest glare. Did he have to pick the one song associated to her name? When they were little, her cousins had relentlessly tormented her with the lyrics, chasing her around the yard while proclaiming Rose goddess of the universe and all flowers. God, she was going to murder him.
"It was in their default category," muttered Al, sinking lower and lower into his seat. "It's the only one I knew."
The song carried onto three more verses, which prompted James and Fred to lead a crowd of students into singing along. Even some of the professors swayed their heads and mouthed several words to the tune. By the time it was finished, Al's head was lying slumped on the table in utter embarrassment.
And now the great finish. " 'Dearest Isabel'" read out the first cherub in the line. He had three chins and cheeks the size of apples, but he continued in a lordly tone, " 'Will you be my Valentine? Love, Albus Potter'" And with that, the line of angels rose into the air, bowed as one, and burst into a shower of shimmering red hearts.
The Hogwarts hall dissolved into laughter and applause. Rose patted Al's downturned head weakly for comfort.
"Did she see it?" groaned Al into the wood of the table.
"I think the whole school saw it," said Rose, struggling not to smile. "Come on, don't look like such a wuss. Keep your head up."
Al lifted his head, his cheeks red as tomatoes, and then turned towards the object of affections. Isabel was sitting frozen at her seat. She swiveled slowly towards the Gryffindor table, her bright-blue eyes wide and shell-shocked. When she saw Al looking at her, she opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it and looked away. Her brown hair fell in a curtain around her face as she bent over her plate and finished breakfast, as if nothing had happened.
Rose's heart ached for the crestfallen expression on Al's face, and she leaned over to pat her cousin on the arm.
"Was that a no?" asked Al quietly.
"Just wait till you get a Valentine that's equally bizarre," Rose suggested, choosing to ignore the question and putting on a wide smile for him, "Then we'll go laugh about it over Butterbeer at Hogsmeade."
Al pushed his plate away, suddenly without appetite. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not like I'm James or anything." He took off the green and silver scarf and threw it on the table as if it had been suffocating him. "I'm the odd Potter, remember?"
"Al, that's got nothing to do with any of this."
"Oh really?" he snapped moodily, "I suppose it has everything to do with my lack of looks then, or how I seem to be failing everything except for Potions-"
He would have continued on his self-deprecating rant if it wasn't for the enormous, animalistic roar that shook the room then, silencing the students and causing the cherubs that were delivering their cards to stop mid-verse.
"Blimey. What was that?" Rose heard James ask in bewilderment.
The roar resounded again with a significantly more animalistic quality. Out of nowhere, a thick, golden dragon burst out of the walls, causing screams of alarm. It circled the room in a magnificent dance, showering the room with sparks that slowed and melted away before touching the students. It's not real, thought Rose in wonderment, just an apparition. But who on earth could conjure up such a thing?
As if it had heard her, the dragon then swooped down towards the Gryffindor table, and a thrill of fear raced through Rose's veins as it veered towards her and Al head-on. It landed on the table forcefully, its paws sinking through their breakfast harmlessly. Its tail looped around the table's legs like a cat. The dragon's translucent scaly face regarded Al's terrified expression with dewy eyes, and then it opened his mouth and roared again, this time emanating a jet of fire right into the redheaded boy's face.
Rose bit back an alarmed cry, reminding herself that it wasn't real. The dragon closed its mouth and the fire halted abruptly. Then, with one last intent look at Al, it dematerialized in a loud puff of smoke.
Al blinked several times, his hair standing on end as if he'd been shocked though the fire had naturally left him untouched. In his hand was a small sliver of parchment, still sparking and as crisp as if it had just come out of the toaster. On its surface were words, which had been burnt in rather crudely, that read:
Be mine.
The students that had observed the spectacle now resumed their talking in hushed whispers. Several girls down the Gryffindor table began giggling amongst themselves, until one of them looked straight at Al and laughed:
"Some bloke must really like you."
Al stood up abruptly, his face burning with emotion. He crumpled the dragon-delivered note in hand and shoved it down his pocket.
"Thanks Priscilla," snapped Rose, silencing the older girl. She turned back to Al, startled over his reaction, "Are you alright? Who was that?"
"Don't know, don't care," he replied, his voice low and full of humiliation, "I just want to be alone, Rose."
"Why? I thought it was brilliant!"
Al exhaled, grabbing his bookbag and scarf. "She said no," he stated, as if it were the most important thing in the world. Then he stuffed the remainder of his croissant into his mouth and stormed out of the Great Hall, ignoring the taunts and jabs he received along the way. Rose stared after him, feeling utterly helpless.
AAA.
"My love's like a red, red rose," said an ostentatious voice out of nowhere, prompting Rose to nearly jump out of her own skin. She'd been walking back to her dormitory to prepare for her trip to Hogsmeade. A hand snaked out and pulled her backwards into the corridor.
She turned and nearly collided head-on into the face of her best mate, Rowan Thomas. The boy's tanned face—which had darkened significantly to the color of hot chocolate since his trip to the Maldives over the winter holidays- was pulled back into a mischievous grin. His dark brown eyes sparkled as she opened her mouth to scold him.
"Don't scare me like that-"
"That's newly sprung in june!" echoed another voice, even more obnoxious, and Rose felt an arm swing around her shoulders. Her head swiveled to the face of her other best mate, Drew Caraway. Of course. They were inseparable.
He flicked the long strands of blond hair out of his eyes (an annoying habit that seemed to have sprung up recently), and regarded her with a humorous expression. "You don't seem very newly sprung. Right, Rowan?"
"Hardly a fresh rose at that one," smirked Rowan.
"Shut up, you two," retorted Rose with a roll of her eyes, pushing Drew off her.
"We wanted to give you these," said Rowan, handing her two heart-shaped red cards that seemed to have been cut out of cardboard very recently. "For putting up with all our mischief over the years."
"And for resisting our charms with amazing banter," added Drew, "You're the best Valentine we could have, Red."
"Oh, that's sweet of you two," replied Rose, smiling at the nickname and pocketing the two cards. Was that a blush she was feeling? "It's been a pleasure."
"Know any girls that might want to go out with us?" grinned Drew, leaning in with puppy dog eyes. Rowan pulled the boy away, rolling his eyes and grimacing at Rose apologetically, and just like that the moment of sentimentality disappeared.
Rose pushed Drew's face away from her own with a sigh. "Should have known. Have either of you seen Al since breakfast?"
"No. Has he talked to Isabel yet?" asked Drew, "She didn't seem very keen after this morning."
"No, not yet-" Rose replied, her voice catching as she spotted the familiar mane of straight, brown hair heading down the hallway amongst a group of second-year girls. Speak of the devil. "I'll catch up with you two later. I've got something to take care of."
"Alright, we'll see you later," said Rowan, nodding and pushing Drew along. "Just wanted to double-check our plans for today. Eleven at the Three Broomsticks, yeah?"
"As always," replied Rose as an incoming crowd of Hufflepuff first-years heading to Transfiguration jostled the two boys further away from her. She slapped her forehead lightly as she remembered her invitation to Carpathia. "Oh Merlin, I almost forgot. You don't mind if I bring someone along, do you?"
"As long as it's not a bloke!" called out Drew before the two disappeared down the corridor.
Rose shook her head with a wry smile, and then turned towards the source of her attention. The gaggle of second-year girls had dissolved into fits of giggles by the archway leading out of the Great Hall, thoroughly enjoying the exchange of Valentine's Day gossip this morning had to offer. Good grief, thought Rose, pained at the thought of having to deal with extra estrogen-y females. She put her best 'I'm older than you so don't mess with me' face and strode over, taking a deep breath.
"Hi," she inquired in a loud, authoritative tone. "Isabel, right? Could I talk to you, please?"
Her words seem to cut through the crowd like a knife, and the girls split apart to reveal Isabel at the far end, her mouth a perfectly-shaped O.
"Oh, hi Rose," she replied, her voice barely above a squeak. "I'll talk to you girls later, okay?" she whispered softly, and the girls surrounding her slowly ebbed away into the distance, whispering amongst themselves.
Rose scrutinized the girl. She was built tiny and very pretty, possessing an ethereal quality to her thin, mousy features. Freckles lightly dusted the bridge of her nose her wide, school-girl eyes were the color of blue daffodils—no wonder Al was smitten.
"Look, I don't want to impose on your day's plans," said Rose, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. "I was just wondering if you'd given any thought to Al's, um, invitation."
"I'm—I'm not allowed to go to Hogsmeade," Isabel replied, barely concealing a stutter. She is really intimidated, thought Rose with surprise. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.
"Sure you are, if a third-year invites you and you get permission from your Head of House. That can't be your excuse," reprimanded Rose with a sharp look.
Isabel flushed and then sighed in resignation, dropping her arms to her sides. "You're right. I just—I'm just not sure if I can-" her eyes darted up to Rose's face in apprehension, "I don't think I like Albus the way he likes me."
"Why not? He's the nicest bloke you'll ever meet."
"It's just that-" Isabel paused, and then seemed to regain a certain amount of courage. "I—It was so sudden and I had no idea he even liked me or knew who I was. I don't want to cause problems and lead him on or anything."
Poppycock. Rose felt a deep surge of resentment and pushed on.
"Look, Isabel, I don't know what you're playing at, but if you're hoping to snag someone like James Potter to be your boyfriend, you've got another thing coming. For one, he's three years older than youand you're twelve for Merlin's sake-"
"I wasn't—I wasn't thinking about-" spluttered Isabel, turning beet red. She steadied herself. "That's not why at all. I just don't know who he is! I have no idea why Albus would go ahead and do something public like that, especially since we've never even had an actual conversation."
"Fine," admitted Rose, realising that she'd gotten a bit carried away. "Sorry. I just mean—and you can listen to me or not, but I'd like to think I know what I'm talking about since I'm related to him-give it a go. Al is a wonderful bloke, he's not somebody who picks whoever, and for some reason he's absolutely mad about you. Can't hurt, right?"
She watched the words weigh in on the younger girl's mind. How much did Rose's opinion truly matter for a girl who apparently thought quite highly of her?
"No, you're right," said Isabel finally, her shoulders perking up. "He is a really lovely bloke. I don't know why I didn't think…thanks, Rose. Do you know where he is?"
"The Quidditch pitch would be my best guess," said Rose with a leap in her chest. Well done, Red. "Thanks, Isabel, it means a lot to me and to Al, obviously. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." She turned on her heel and walked with a slight skip to her step in the opposite direction.
"Rose?" called out the girl timidly from behind her.
Rose turned towards her, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I know it's a bit…strange to ask now…but could I have your notes for second year Charms?"
Blimey. Rose plastered on her most encouraging smile. "Sure." Isabel smiled in gratitude before turning and heading towards the Quidditch pitch, her pace swifter than normal.
Rose shook her head at what had just transpired and headed back to her common-room, feeling rather pleased with herself.
AAA.
Hogsmeade was beautiful this time of year. Even in February, well past the cold days of winter, the town still held a picturesque quality of sleepy fireplaces and white rooftops. Rose even relished the crackle of dried leaves crumpling under her feet, leftover remnants from a time when the weather had been too bitter to venture outdoors. Of course, with Carpathia walking beside her, she kept these observations to herself. Carpathia wasn't quite the type to chitchat.
Carpathia seemed much more subdued than usual. On the path there she would occasionally stop at a tree, cocking her head upwards as if she'd spotted some unique specimen and then, before Rose could inquire what it was, would move on with the same fluid grace as a ballet dancer.
"So what do you do when the rest of the third-years are in Hogsmeade?" asked Rose, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Carpathia shrugged. "I read. Walk around the forest."
"What's there to do in the forest?"
"A lot, actually."
"And you don't find it boring?"
Carpathia shot Rose a half-smile, and Rose was aware of the dark contrast between her white skin and the black trees behind her. Dressed in equally black robes and sporting short, jet-black hair, she looked like some sort of enigmatic spirit among the trees. "Well it's forbidden, isn't it?" And she left it at that.
Rose had to admit that while the forest suited Carpathia, the liveliness of Hogsmeade did not. Carpathia looked just as out of place on the busy shopping streets as she did sitting amongst her boisterous Gryffindor peers during dinnertime. Even the yellow glow of the Three Broomsticks seemed to highlight her dark clothes, emphasizing her as a misfit rather than welcome her in as it did for everyone else. When Rose spotted Drew and Rowan sitting at the back of the establishment and gestured for Carpathia to sit down with them, the girl looked like she wanted to disappear.
Nevertheless, she sat down anyway.
"Hello lads," said Rose cheerfully, turning towards Drew and Rowan, who were regarding Carpathia's presence with raised eyebrows. "Drew, you need to shave off that moustache."
Drew sputtered to life and wiped a layer of white frothy liquid away from his upper lip. "Gah! Well, shall I order two more Butterbeers? What would you like, uh, Carpathia?"
"Butterbeer's fine," she replied, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ears.
Drew shot Rose a look that clearly said: This is who you meant when you said you were bringing someone along? Rose kept her face impassive and Drew disappeared into the crowd, heading towards the barkeep.
"I like your piercings," commented Rowan, glancing at Rose as though he wanted confirmation that this was the right thing to say.
"Thanks," replied Carpathia, managing a faint smile.
"Did they hurt?"
"Nope."
"Thinking of getting my own set right here," joked Rowan, shifting his head to the side and pointing at the cartilage above his right ear. She simply stared back.
They waited for several long awkward minutes, during which Rose and Rowan exchanged silent words with their eyes, until Drew returned with three mugs of Butterbeer and distributed them to each person.
"So where's Al?" inquired Rowan, taking another sip from his butter-beer.
"With Isabel," said Rose cheerfully. "Let's just say I had a few words with her. Cheers to me."
"Cheers to that. Hope you didn't petrify her with your words, Red," Drew laughed, raising his glass to her before sucking the remainder of his beverage down in one gulp. He set it down with a satisfied 'ahh' and then drummed the table with his palms. "Alright, anybody fancy a bite-"
"Oh no, let me," interrupted Rose quickly, getting up from her seat. "I'll leave the three of you to get better acquainted." She ignored the flash of despair across Carpathia's eyes, though it pricked slightly at her conscience. "Just be a mo'."
She headed for the bar table, and just her luck, found herself caught in a sweep of student traffic as a crowd of fifth-year boys headed for the door. In the midst of the commotion, she stumbled and crashed into the person in frint of her.
"Watch it!" snapped a girl's voice, faintly accented.
Rose winced as she got to her feet, shaking red tendrils out of her eyes. "Sorry, it was an accident-" she stopped as she found herself looking at Chantal Gerhardt, the pretty new exchange student from Beauxbatons. And pretty she was. Rose knew that it was rather creepy to stare, but how could a third-year look so…well…put together? Her hair was swept up into a graceful bun. Her green eyes were tilted imperiously as they looked down at her, as if she was used to looking at people like they were ants through a magnifying glass. For god's sake, it looked like she'd never even heard of the word 'acne'.
"Um. Sorry," Rose mumbled again, tearing her eyes away and feeling, for the first time, rather shabby in comparison.
"Maladroite," Chantal muttered, still glaring as she picked a speck of dirt off her blouse with fingernails the color of pink pastel.
Rather well-hearsed in French herself, a familiar tension settled on Rose's shoulders as she realized who exactly Chantal reminded her of. Just ignore her, Rose,she thought, she's probably just as condescending and conceited as—
"There you are," cut in the voice of Scorpius Malfoy and Rose winced in displeasure. "So, obvious question-are you avoiding me?"
"Obviously, yes," sniffed Chantal, flipping her hair.
"Right. Expected that." Scorpius exhaled irritably, and the next few words came out, rather insincerely, "Did I do something to make you angry?"
"Why did all those girls give you so much attention?" demanded Chantal, her French accent rising dramatically.
"Don't know if you've noticed, since you're always preoccupied with your own reflection, but I'm a pretty impressive specimen myself."
"I don't like it, Scorpius."
"To be honest, Chantal, I don't care."
Chantal's foot hit the floor comically. "There are so many other English boys who would have been glad to show me around, but I said yes to you only because Papa says you're supposed to take care of me."
"I was in the middle of doing that, wasn't I? Otherwise I wouldn't have asked you to come with me to this fantastic excuse of a town…"
"Miss? Would you like to order?" inquired the bartender, and Rose realized that she'd been so busy eavesdropping she hadn't paid attention to what was really happening.
Yes, a steak and spinach pie and three Butterbeers please," she annunciated loudly, trying not to sound too embarrassed.
"Dumbledore's arse, I don't care what Father says…you're crazy!" Malfoy was yelling as Chantal stormed past him and out the door in a flare of perfume.
The blond-haired boy uttered a growl of frustration and stalked after her, his fists clenched. Rose tried her best not to giggle.
"Trouble in paradise, eh?" commented a low voice to her right.
She turned and realized that the voice belonged to a fourth-year Hufflepuff who she distinctly remembered as being the Keeper of their houseteam—what was his name again? Corey? Conrad?
Rose pretended to look nonchalant. "Don't know what you're talking about. I never eavesdrop."
"'Course not," he nodded in understanding, stepping a little closer as a fellow Hogwarts student elbowed his way next to him at the bar. "Shame that you missed out. It's always spectacular when someone stomps all over Malfoy's ego."
A smile tugged on Rose's lips. A boy after her own sentiments. "Not a fan?"
He shook his head vehemently. "Definitely not." He had light brown hair that fell in curled tufts around his head. He's cute, thought Rose, noting the small wrinkle at the left corner of his smile. "It's annoying that he still comes up in every part of my life—even when I'm trying to impress a girl."
Her. He was talking about her. She found herself, for the first time, at a loss of words. "Erm."
Was it normal to have her heart thumping so fast and so loud that she could swear everyone within a meter's proximity was able to hear it? She'd certainly never felt this way around Drew and Rowan. "I…"
"In normal circumstances people say 'thank you'," he teased, his dark eyes sparkling, "Or even better, a 'thank you' accompanied with the person's name."
Rose found her voice. Merlin, her palms were sweaty. She reached up to fiddle with a strand of her hair…oh, but did that look weird? She instantly put her hand down. That definitely looked weird.
"I was going to," she said defensively, "You didn't give me the chance."
"Floor's all yours." He grinned. Dimples. Since when had dimples ever made her lose her cool?
"Thank you," she said stupidly.
Corey/Conrad raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, the grin still present.
His name. Right. Well, she did have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. "Thank you…erm…"
"Just say you don't know my name."
"I know your name!"
"What's my name?"
"Corey." She put a hand over her mouth and laughed despite herself. "Conrad."
"It's Carter."
"Ah." Carter. Carter McLaggen.The name swept back into memory. "Now I'm embarrassed."
"You should, Weasley," he said, nudging her shoulder playfully, "I'm quite popular, you know. And clever. Not a dead ringer for looks either," he added quite seriously.
Rose laughed. "Are you sure your name isn't Carter Malfoy?"
Carter gasped and threw a hand dramatically over his chest. "I'm calling it with this new friendship. A shame, too, since we were having such a good time."
"You were being a little hasty anyway with this new friendship. How do you know I wasn't counting down the seconds to leave this conversation?"
"I seriously doubt that."
"Why's that?"
"Because your pie and Butterbeers have been sitting there for five minutes now," said Carter, grinning wickedly.
Rose looked down at the table and registered the massive pie and the two mugs filled to the brim in front of her, golden-colored and bubbling happily away. Oh buggery.
"Sorry," she muttered, casting her eyes downward as she stepped away with her spoils in hand. A thought briefly crossed her mind: What would her mother have done? How would she have reacted? This was all so new.
"Don't be. It's a compliment," he replied, wearing an expression that was both teasing and kind. He reached over and touched her arm gently, prompting her to stop and look at him. "See you around, Rose."
She must have said something in return but had no idea what. As she walked back to her companions, she could still feel the thing in her chest thumping a million beats per minute, as if a cherub had stolen her heart and taken off in flight.
AAA.
When Rose returned to her table fully recovered (her cheeks had returned to the right color, thank goodness), she found Carpathia and Rowan sitting in silence. Drew was nowhere to be seen.
"I've got our Butterbeers," she announced, frowning. "What happened to Drew?"
"Amanda showed up, drama as usual. Started crying about some bloke who ditched her so Drew's having a chat with her outside," reported Rowan. He glanced furtively at Carpathia and cleared his throat. "Ah, I've got to head to the restroom." Without another word, he leapt off his chair and disappeared.
"I think I scared them off," observed Carpathia, accepting her mug. There was a look of mingled sadness and amusement.
"Sorry," sighed Rose, settling down on her seat and taking a sip of her Butterbeer. "They're usually a lot more friendly."
"I know," said Carpathia. "It's just that I'm not."
This wanton confession made Rose look at the girl in surprise. Carpathia was picking at the Three Boomsticks coaster absent-mindedly, as if the words she had just uttered didn't faze at her at all.
"What makes you say that?"
Carpathia shrugged. "It's what everyone thinks, isn't it?"
"I don't think you're unfriendly."
"Maybe. I just don't…" Carpathia exhaled, this time wearing a look tinged with frustration, "I just don't see the point of it all. I'm not good at meeting people even if I'd like to be."
"Well, why don't you just-" Rose stopped, pausing to reevaluate her words. "I dunno, practice?" Meet people from your own house. Hang out with people other than Al.
Then it clicked for Rose, as easily as it had the first day after Albus' had been Sorted and had come to her spouting gloomy prospects of his next seven years at Hogwarts. The misplaced Slytherin. Of course it was hard for Carpathia—why hadn't Rose ever thought of it this way before?
"It's my problem," said Carpathia quietly. "I'd like to be more open, like you, but I've always thought that it's better not to show people who you are. People always try to mold you into their expectations."
Like windowblinds that had suddenly slanted open, Carpathia's impassive face gave way to roiling currents of anxiety and self-doubt. Rose, abruptly touched by a sense of kinship through this unexpectedly candid confession, reached out and gently patted her hand, She knew who these 'people' were. They were Carpathia's parents. They were her own.
You're just like your mother. She heard their voices once more in her head.
"You don't have to explain. It's alright."
"And you don't have to agree. Gareth…certainly doesn't agree." Carpathia looked away, as if that thought pained her most of all. "The only person who understands is…Al." And when she said his name, in that state of heightened emotion, Rose knew.
Who else would have had the audacity to send a flaming dragon to the person they admired? Who else would have dared make their affections so public, so wildly eccentric?
Oh, thought Rose, her heart panging as she remembered that Al and Isabel were probably tucked away in some cozy corner at this very moment, if only I'd known.
"I won't tell," said Rose, and Carpathia's green-gray eyes fixed on hers intensely. "I still think it was brilliant, what you did for him."
Carpathia's eyebrows drew together and she swallowed visibly. "Our friendship means the world to me." She smiled wryly to herself. "I hope he knows that."
And with that they sat in silence for awhile, drinking in their butterbeer and exchanged promises, until it was time to go.
AAA.
What a strange couple of days, thought Rose as she treaded quietly through the Hogwarts grounds, the leaves crumpling again under her feet. Thoughts of Al and Carpathia and silly second-year girls and boys with dimples flashed through her mind. The sun was almost setting in the distance, casting a dark-orange hue on the trees.
In the distance, she heard a sudden rustle of branches and stopped in her tracks, peering in the dark and hoping it wasn't some great, big bear about to burst out of the Forbidden Forest. But no. There were footsteps, and quite rapid ones at that, so it had to be a student. She followed the sounds with trepidation, scolding herself for being so nosy and yet unable to contain her curiosity.
Finally, she came to a clearing and saw a lone figure standing in the distance. By then, the sun was a bare sliver on the horizon. She shaded her eyes, peering outward. The lighting was almost too dim for her to see, but there was no one else who had such bright blond hair, or who walked with such self-assurance.
She frowned. Malfoy?
She took several steps closer, trying to minimize the amount of sound she was making with her feet. What on earth was he doing out here on his own?
Suddenly the space near Scorpius' feet burst into flames and she leapt back, almost crying out in alarm. She pulled out her wand, expecting him to turn around and attack her, but all seemed normal. Malfoy was standing calmly in front of the fire, humming a tune quietly. He was feeding the flames something from his hand.
The humming persisted and Rose's ears pricked in recognition. Why was it so familiar, like an annoying, distant lullaby?
"Love is a red red rose," Scorpius began to sing under his breath.
The Rose inside her slapped her forehead in exasperation.
"Not you too," she muttered and Scorpius' shoulders stiffened at the sound.
"Weasley?"
Bugger. She stepped out from her hiding place, tucking her wand back into the waistband of her trousers.
He swiveled around and crossed his arms, regarding her with a look of disdain. "It's not polite to spy on people, you know. They call it an invasion of privacy."
"It's not safe to conjure up fires in the middle of a forest, you know," retorted Rose, "They call it arson."
"Right and you're concerned over my safety, are you?" he said and Rose was shocked to hear the bite of bitterness in his voice.
"What are you doing anyway?" Rose demanded, stepping forward to peer into the flames. She spotted a flash of pink glitter and realized.
Cards. Valentine's Day cards. Their shiny, plastic covers had begun to disintegrate into the fire, but she could just make out the optimistic declarations of affection before they melted into flame.
"You're burning them?" she asked in quiet disbelief. "Why not just keep them?"
"Because they don't mean anything," Scorpius turned to look at her, displaying a half-hearted smile. "Do you think I enjoy the fact that there's plenty of people who'd write a nice card telling me how much they admire me, but no one who would actually own up to it and tell me who they are? I'm not fooling myself. I know it's because I'm a Malfoy…but it just reminds you of how much stupidity there's still left in people." He scoffed and threw another card into the fire, watching the sparks fly up with a look of satisfication. "And I like destroying things."
Rose watched the flames flicker over the boy's face, expecting to see a glimpse of emotion, but all she saw was a wall. A wall concealing whatever anger or hatred Scorpius must have been feeling but had never been allowed to express.
His snapped her eyes on her and, feeling uncharacteristically intrusive, Rose looked away. He reached for something in his pocket. From the corner of her eye, she saw a rose, its crimson petals still damp from dew, untouched by flame.
"Here. Take it."
She stared at him, her expression quizzical.
"Seriously," he nodded, tossing the splintered flower in Rose's direction. She caught it neatly in her gloves. "A second-year threw this at my face today and ran away the second I looked at her. I think she was afraid of my Dark powers." His face cracked into a sardonic smile. "Anyway, it deserves a little more appreciation. You like flowers, don't you?"
No, thought Rose, but she said nothing.
What would her mother have done? Would she have thrown it back in his face because he was a Malfoy? Or would she have grudgingly accepted this token of appreciation?
Rose closed her eyes briefly, trying to envision him as the living embodiment of devil's spawn that she'd convinced herself to hate, but she couldn't. Her encoutner with Carpathia had made her reconsider some of the events she'd always taken for granted. Yes, Malfoy was malicious and spiteful and she could vehemently disagree with him, but he did not deserve hatred. He was a thirteen-year-old with his father's shadow hanging over him, a shadow that was defined not by other people's love and admiration but by accusations of evil. How could Rose judge, when the shadow that had been cast over her had done nothing but draw people to her?
"See ya, Weasley." Scorpius extinguished the fire and left Rose on her own to watch over the pile of smoking, ash-burnt wood. As he strode off into the distance, he began to whistle, picking up the tune from where he had left off.
Love is a red, red rose.
AAA. Fin
Hope you enjoyed the intense focus on Rose in this chapter, as well as her role in introducing relationships that recur later on. She's a fiesty chili pepper of a character.
Cheers to all the reviews so far. Notes on how to improve are always appreciated.
Love,
Missuswitch