January, 1995.
"We're so utterly screwed," Amelia muttered under her breath, her voice laced with a hint of panic as she flipped through her copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6.
With a new term, little changed. They huddled around the fires in vain efforts to catch up to the mountains of homework they dismissed during the break, crumpling piles after piles of parchment and turning them into projectiles once they grew bored.
Today found them in the library, hoping that Madam Pince would shake them awake if they fell asleep on the books. Amelia muttered to herself, while Rose was in the trenches of writing yet another Arithmancy paper, due on Monday no less. Perhaps she suffered from some temporary insanity when she chose her curriculum. Graham was sitting next to them nonchalantly, with his legs crossed on the table.
Rose hoped Madam Pince would make her rounds and see him.
Amelia's absentminded humming proved to be similar to a sleeping potion, but Rose pushed through, her tired eyelids often closing without her consent. At least she finished her paper for Binns, and since the professor wasn't known for reading any of their work keenly, she didn't pay much attention to any grammatical or factual mistakes in her retelling of the Gargoyle Strike of 1911.
She would also have to present a demonstration for Moody's class, something that she convinced herself could be prepared just before the class, maybe even during. She didn't even want to mention his name in front of Amelia, knowing her reaction would be hostile to say the least. They couldn't even ask why she hated him so intensely, she'd only mumble something about him being a crook and would angrily change the subject.
Moody didn't seem like a crook. While his methods were unorthodox, he got the sixth year class invested in the subject far more than they were with past professors. Even the ever so charming werewolf professor didn't train them in defensive magic as well as Moody did.
"I'm just baffled that you two took all of these mad subjects. What about Care of Magical Creatures? Or Divination? I've been staring into a crystal ball and writing essays about Towler's bad luck since school started - easiest O in history," Graham said, his attention momentarily diverted from his cuticles, which he picked on with the focus of a chess grandmaster.
Amelia rolled her eyes. "I'd rather study something remotely useful, other than to predict vague misfortunes of some idiot."
Lowering his legs and leaning forward, Graham crossed his arms in a defensive stance.
"Vague misfortunes?!" He paused, picking his next words. "It wasn't vague when I correctly predicted he would take a tumble down the stairs last year, was it?"
Amelia and Rose stayed quiet for a moment, both probably bursting to say the same thing. Rose couldn't resist, her gaze fixed on her Arithmancy paper, while Amelia stifled a laugh amidst the rows of bookshelves before them.
"Didn't you give him a little nudge?"
"Unbelievable!" Graham frowned. "That was just a rumour."
Amelia and Rose looked at him in silence, their unspoken agreement hanging in the air.
"He tripped!"
Rose's head was still throbbing from all the numbers, but a hot bath seemed like the perfect remedy for an otherwise boring Saturday.
Natalie was gone, probably tormenting some first-years, while Meredith was still buried in her homework in the common room, leaving Amelia and Rose to bicker about the lone bath in their dorm's bathroom. But Amelia, not up for an argument, gave in quickly.
As Rose soaked in the hot water, Amelia showered behind her, muttering something about the Gouging spell like a madman. The lavender smell relaxed her as she tried to clear her mind. She stayed in the bath long after Amelia left, until the water was almost completely cold.
The cold reminded her of home.
Not London, Cornwall.
The land around their house would be covered in a thick layer of crisp white snow. Rose wondered if their house-elf Magda let the horses out frequently, or if they were spending their days sleeping in the barn, unconcerned with the cold outside. She missed her.
Magda was old and grumpy. They had two other house-elves, Puck and Alma, but they didn't work in the main house. Puck mostly took care of the gardens and the cottage on the edge of the estate, while Alma was unofficially gifted to aunt Marion after her mother's death, so she mostly helped out on her properties as well as around the London house. Still, Magda was the one in charge, and she never let the other two forget that. She often scolded Mr. Nott about his scotch and not eating well enough, but she had a soft spot for Theo and Rose. She would even sneak them biscuits with jam and mulled wine after dinner in the colder days.
Rose collapsed onto her bed, intending to retrieve the book Charlie had sent her from underneath it, but her fingers instead brushed against the carefully wrapped package meant for Theo. It contained a muggle book—a collection of fairytales, stories that their mother used to read to them. Convincing Magda into retrieving it from their London house had been no easy task.
Uncertain whether Theo remembered the stories, she hesitated before deciding it might offer an excuse to at least talk to him.
After all, it was a new year—a time to leave old grudges and hurts behind.
Dressed in warm clothes, with her hair still a bit damp, Rose made her way towards the boys' dorms.
Peeking through the slightly ajar door, Theo's dorm room appeared empty at first, but as she stepped inside, her heart sank.
Theo was sitting on his bed, his gaze fixed on a tapestry depicting a tragic scene—a mermaid amidst the wreckage of a shipwreck, tears streaming down his face.
He looked up at her, and a heavy wave of sobs overtook him.
Rose dropped the book instantly and rushed over to crush him in a tight embrace on the bed.
"Shh, it's all right," she whispered as she gently stroked his hair.
"It's not—" he mumbled through his tears.
She wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of her jumper. "We'll fix it."
They sat in silence for a while, Theo struggling to articulate his thoughts. Taking his hands in hers, small droplets of light began to surround them. He looked up, mesmerised by the shimmering reflections, but the sadness soon returned to his expression.
"Rosie..." he started, his voice cracking. "He ditched me."
She paused, searching his eyes, but he looked away. She hugged him even tighter.
"We'll find you a more handsome bloke then."
He stiffened at her words but she smiled, he didn't answer and just slowly put his head down in her lap. Continuing to stroke his hair, she summoned the gift she had dropped. "Got you something."
Without lifting his head, he unwrapped it.
"Oh, Rose..." he choked. "I...I—"
"You don't have to say anything. We're both idiots."
Theo clutched the book in his hands, tears still streaming down his face.
His sobs echoed in the room, and she felt a profound ache in her chest.
"It's alright," she whispered again. He shook his head, still clinging onto her, and she began to gently sway. As his tears continued to fall, he managed to whisper, "Can you... can you read to me, Rosie?"
A sad smile tugged at her lips. "Of course."
The flickering lights danced, shadows playing around them. Their soft glow illuminated the room as she opened the book to a familiar page.
As she reached the part where Peter and Wendy embarked on their adventure, she stole a glance at Theo. A small, genuine smile graced his lips. Feeling the weight of exhaustion, her voice grew tired, and before she knew it, they both dozed off, clinging onto each other.
Graham had gone completely mad.
As Rose continued her sacred rites, the rigorous training under Graham's lead, his methods for enhancing her stamina were getting out of control.
"It's January, Graham! What on earth would I need swimwear for?!" Rose asked, her voice laced with panic.
Graham remained concentrated on his copy of the Daily Prophet, absentmindedly nibbling on a strip of bacon. "Well, obviously the second task involves the Black Lake, right? You won't be of much use if you find yourself drowning within the first few minutes," he replied, matter-of-factly.
She was dumbfounded. He was dead serious.
"Graham, let me repeat. It's fucking January."
"Nott, one must be prepared for any scenario," chimed in Bole, his tone too casual for her liking.
Lucian Bole had replaced Pucey as Graham's faithful disciple in madness. Graham was livid when Pucey told him he was far too behind on his homework, but Rose suspected that her hitting him over the head repeatedly with a book might've driven him away from the team.
"Bole, I would really love to see you cheerfully take a dip in the lake in this weather," she snorted back. She had lost her appetite, memories of the Yule Ball's icy waters flooding her mind. "Surely there's a spell to keep warm, isn't there?"
Graham finally looked up from his paper, exuding wisdom of ages past. "Indeed, but what if the sudden change in temperature renders you incapable of casting such a spell? Perhaps the giant squid drags you deep under before you have the chance?"
She crossed her arms, there was no winning this argument. "While I do appreciate your concern for the swimming part, the real question is how am I expected to breathe underwater for an hour?"
Bole shot her a glance before turning to Graham. "I can't believe you convinced me to bet on her. She's worse than Warrington," With a resigned sigh, he handed her a steaming cup of breakfast tea. "The Bubble-Head Charm, Nott, obviously. Drink up, you'll need all the warmth you can get."
Rose stormed out of the freezing water, her teeth chattering and her frustration boiling over. She hurled a few choice words at the two boys, who watched her retreat with a mixture of amusement and concern. Graham took it upon himself to demonstrate his resilience. With a determined gleam in his eye, he stripped off his clothes and plunged into the icy depths of the lake, intent on proving that he could withstand the freezing water longer than Rose.
However, as soon as the icy water enveloped him, Graham's bravado quickly evaporated. With a yelp, he scrambled back to the shore, his skin tingling and red from the shock of the cold. Rose couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, Bole, after merely dipping his hand into the lake, decided that their whole escapade was a fool's errand. With a resigned shrug, he feigned an injury and made his way back to the warmth of the dorms.
After the experiment failed, they dried off and decided on running around the grounds, careful not to slip on the thin layer of snow and ice on the ground.
Graham and Rose raced ahead, their breath forming frosty clouds in the cold air as they dashed across the snow-covered landscape. The winter sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds and bathing everything in a soft, golden light.
They circled around the lake, the icy water shimmering in the sunlight, before veering off towards the edges of the Forbidden Forest.
With a grin, Graham gestured towards the forest, his eyes alight with excitement. Rose hesitated for a moment, the ominous trees looming in the distance, but then she grinned back at him, her heart pounding. Together, they raced towards the forest, their laughter echoing through the winter air as they disappeared into its depths. They ventured into the dense woods and slowed down, the crunch of snow beneath their feet muffled by the towering trees. Shadows danced eerily amidst the trees, and the air was thick with anticipation as they delved deeper into the forest's mysteries. They tiptoed cautiously through the tangled undergrowth, marveling at the eerie beauty of the snow-draped trees and the hushed silence of the ancient woods,
After the brief exploration, they emerged back onto the castle grounds, Rose's fingertips were still tingling with the lingering magic of the forest.
The Quidditch pitch stood the distance like a beacon, and Rose and Graham set off in a run towards it, their footprints leaving shallow indentations in the pristine white blanket. As they drew nearer, the pitch came into full view, its stands standing tall and proud despite the absence of spectators all term.
The winter sun cast a soft golden glow over them, illuminating the snow-covered stands and the gleaming goal hoops at either end of the pitch. Graham's eyes sparkled with a rush as he caught sight of a discarded broomstick lying by the stands, its sleek handle coated in a thin layer of frost. Unable to resist, his laughter echoed across the pitch as he made a beeline for the broomstick. He seized and mounted it with practiced ease, his imagination probably carrying him away to the thrilling heights of some Quidditch match.
As Rose approached the pitch, she couldn't help but chuckle, Graham's enthusiasm infectious even in the face of the cold. With a fond shake of her head, she joined him on foot on the pitch, her own laughter mingling with his as they indulged in a moment of carefree joy amidst the serene beauty of the winter landscape.
Rose threw herself on the ground, and Graham soon got off the broom and joined her. They lay in silence, gazing up at the vast expanse of the white sky above them, streaked with wisps of clouds.
"Rose, can I... Can I ask you something?" Graham's voice was hesitant, almost sheepish.
"I'm not doing any of your homework," Rose replied with a smirk and turned her head only to see an uneasy expression on his face. Her voice softened, "Oh Graham, what is it?"
"It's about Katie," Graham confessed stiffly. Rose raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know what to do," he continued, his voice laden with worry.
"Well, do you like her?" Rose asked.
"Of course I do!" Graham exclaimed. "I didn't really mean about her."
"Amelia?" Rose asked, remembering their fight from the night of the Yule Ball.
"You've seen her," Graham said, his voice tinged with frustration.
"She seems fine, Graham. She's a big girl, you know," Rose reassured him.
"She gave me a right earful that night," Graham sighed. "It was about Katie of course. She thinks she lacks pedigree."
"Graham, that's absurd. Amelia doesn't care about that!" Rose exclaimed.
"She does, she just pretends not to," Graham countered.
They shared a silent mo
"So do we," Rose added.
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air.
"Oh Merlin, what do I do?" Graham finally broke the silence, his voice filled with desperation.
"It's simple. If you like her, ask her out again! Screw the lot of them," Rose advised, her tone firm. "And maybe remind Amelia about her long list of excellent pedigrees."
"She said that Katie is beneath us," Graham said, his frustration evident.
"Look, to be honest, I think Katie's a massive cunt," Rose replied. "But who cares what I think? It won't be me sleeping with her. To hell with Amelia and what she thinks."
"You know, after she made all that fuss about me being a traitor, she just never mentioned it again," Graham shared, a hint of confusion in his voice. "She was fine the next morning and then in London, as if it never happened."
"You know she's too proud to apologise." Rose said. "But did you talk to Katie?" she continued, curious about the other side of the story.
"She said 'screw 'em'," Graham chuckled.
"And that's exactly what you should do," Rose agreed, a smile playing on her lips. "Screw 'em."
"Is that why you hide the letters from Romania?" Graham asked suddenly, catching Rose off guard.
She was dumbfounded. "It's not like that, Graham," she protested weakly.
"Sure it is. The problem is you can't see the way he looks at you. Like you're his Sun and Moon," Graham observed, his voice softening.
"I don't even know him that well," Rose admitted, feeling a flush creeping up her cheeks. "What if it's all some illusion brought to life by my own immagination because I'm bored?"
"Well, keep up with the letters, with this pace Britain will run out of parchment by spring," Graham teased, trying to lighten the mood.
As they laughed, Rose felt a warmth spread through her chest, grateful for Graham's talent to lighten even the heaviest of moments.
"It's an interesting feeling, right?" Graham mused, and she was touched by his words again. Graham rarely let his facade down.
She took his hand into hers and smiled, looking up at the clouds again.
"Does he really look at me like that?"
"I wish you heard the way Felix threatened him after the First Task, I've never seen him so wound up," Graham smirked. "And you should be very grateful he didn't see the way you look at Weasley."
Rose laughed, but she felt a pang of sadness in her gut. "Oh Graham... Who knows when I'll see him next?"
"Oh, you'll figure it out. Romania's not that far away," he told her.
She clutched his hand tighter, feeling a rush of energy building up inside of her.
"Come on, Montague, we're slacking off."
With a mischievous grin, Rose stood up and took off running towards the castle, the snow crunching beneath her feet, her laughter echoing in the crisp winter air. Graham followed close behind, matching her pace with a grin of his own, their worries momentarily forgotten in the rush of the moment.
Rose, Amelia and Graham sat in the library, their eyes scanning the room discreetly.
A few tables to their left, Krum sat with Granger, reading in silence. A couple of tables in the opposite direction, Potter and his Weasley companion sat with sour faces. Rose had noticed Fleur disappearing into the restricted section half an hour prior. Meanwhile, the three Slytherins sat in silence, absorbed in books about watery creatures and the mysteries of the Black Lake.
They were all there for the same reason.
Sensing an opportunity, Rose slowly rose from her seat and pretended to browse through a stack of books nearby, all while eavesdropping on Potter's conversation.
"Why doesn't she just ask him if he figured it out?" Weasley whispered, his voice tinged with jealousy.
Intrigued, Rose made her way to the other side of the bookcase, trying to get a closer look at the books the boys were rummaging through.
All wrong subjects, she thought to herself noticing the mismatched titles with interest.
Weasley continued. "So what?! It's not like he can't talk. Maybe—"
Rose emerged from behind them, catching the two boys off guard. Potter shushed his friend, but she didn't hesitate.
"Don't be rude, Weasley," she said firmly as she took a seat across from the boys, noticing a blush creeping up Weasley's cheeks. They both stiffened in their seats.
Pointing towards the books on the table, she remarked, "They're all rubbish."
Potter glanced over the scribbled-out parchment pieces in front of him, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Listen..." Rose lowered her voice as Ron quickly disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. "We're both rooting for the same team. About the egg, yours screams when you open it?"
"Yeah," said Harry coldly.
"Well... Take a dip with it."
"What?" Harry looked bewildered.
"Take a bath... With the egg," Rose stated matter-of-factly. "Go to the lake or you know, best would be a tub. Just mull things over in the hot water. It'll clear some things up."
Harry stared at her, processing her advice.
"Just trust me, you little git," Rose said with a reassuring smile. "Tell you what, use the prefects' bathroom tonight, everyone does it anyway. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's pine fresh."
With that, she grinned brightly at Harry and hurried back to her own table, leaving him to ponder her unexpected words of wisdom.
As she returned to her seat, Amelia shot her a curious look. "What was that all about?"
"We're all playing for the same team," Rose repeated with a shrug, gesturing towards Potter and Weasley. "No need for silly house rivalries."
If Theo was in Potter's place, Rose would certainly hope someone offered him support regardless of his house.
Graham smiled. "Class act."
Rose only smiled in agreement.
Screw 'em.