In the end, the winter solitude became her greatest medicine. With everyone's departure for the holidays, she was left in peace to wander the castle alone, soaking up the atmosphere of her first Hogwarts' Yuletide and enjoying the lack of demand upon her time. Under normal circumstances, and knowing the festivities she was missing with her family, she might have felt lonely, but for the moment at least it was exactly what she needed, even if she did sometimes feel more akin to the ghosts that were often her only company for days.
There were other students around, of course, but she avoided most of them, and nobody made a point of coming to find her. Instead she applied herself to her studies, and with time and patience felt her confidence and magic begin to filter back, like warmth returning to her hands after a long time in the cold. She chose not to linger in the Great Hall outside of meal times, despite it offering the best sense of comfort and warmth and serving as the meeting place of most of the remaining students. Something about the twelve frosted Christmas trees reminded her too much of Hagrid to stay there for very long.
There was still a week to go in the holidays when Professor McGonagall sought her out. She was sitting in the library reading an ancient book on popular medieval charms when the Headmistress appeared in front of her, wrapped in a thick winter cloak and with her hair hidden beneath a felted witch's hat. It was such a surprise to see her standing there that for a while all Rose could do was stare.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you," Professor McGonagall said at last. She surveyed Rose over the rim of her spectacles, her expression somehow managing to be both stern and sympathetic at the same time.
"N-no." Rose shut the book and stood up. There was nobody else in the library beside themselves and Madam Beauvoir, hovering nearby amongst the bookshelves. The silence stretched. "What can I do for you, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow, no doubt amused at the overly formal tone. Rose blushed. "I've been meaning to talk to you," the Headmistress went on as though nothing was amiss. "About some upcoming plans regarding the Quidditch."
Rose's shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension that had been building in them. From the way Professor McGonagall had been speaking, she had almost thought… it had almost seemed as if… Swiftly, she banished the treacherous thoughts that threatened to invade her mind, and focused on the conversation at hand. "The Quidditch? What about it?"
"I'm not sure if you're aware of the issues that surrounded our last attempt to hold the Tri-Wizard Tournament?" Professor McGonagall asked.
It took longer than it should have for Rose to think of what she was talking about. "Er – sort of," she managed eventually, wracking her brains for the long-forgotten details. "There was a… a murder, or something, wasn't there?"
"Indeed," said Professor McGonagall drily. "And as a result the three major Wizarding schools decided to shelve any suggestion of recommencing that particular inter-school rivalry."
Rose waited, unsure what any of this had to do with the Quidditch.
"However, the Headmasters of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and myself still believe in the importance of inter-school relations," Professor McGonagall went on. "As such, we have decided to hold our interaction in a new format." She waited, clearly expecting a response, but Rose could not think of anything to say.
"A new format, Professor?"
"Yes. A Quidditch tournament." There was a distinct hint of pride in Professor McGonagall's voice now. "Featuring the best players from each of the three schools. There will be a play-off, and the final team will be crowned this year's Inter-school Champion."
The library suddenly seemed a very inappropriate place to be having this conversation. Rose blinked, scrutinising her Professor's face closely for any signs of humour. Surely this had to be a joke? But Professor McGonagall appeared as earnest as ever, and Rose had never known her to be the sort to say things she didn't mean.
"The first tournament is to be held here at Hogwarts," the Headmistress continued briskly, either not noticing Rose's less than enthusiastic reaction or choosing to ignore it. "Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will each send a contingent of players, and they will be housed in the castle proper for the duration of the competition. Is this making sense to you, Miss Weasley?"
Rose blinked, focusing on Professor McGonagall's face with an effort. It was hard to think with her heart pounding so loudly in her ears. A Quidditch tournament, involving students from Durmstrang? At Hogwarts. But surely it wouldn't involve – surely he wouldn't – "When is this happening?" she asked, a little embarrassed at how hoarse her voice sounded.
"The consensus is late February, early March," said Professor McGonagall. Rose couldn't tell whether the Headmistress was pleased or not; her mouth remained in its usual austere line, and her expression gave away nothing. "That way the competition would occur well before exams, and the teachers needn't worry about having their studies compromised. It should also give us and the other schools enough time to organise a team, as well as all the other details that will need taking care of."
That sounded suspiciously like a request, to Rose. "What exactly will you need me to do?" she asked, throwing subtlety out the window in favour of straight answers. McGonagall gave her an approving nod.
"Oh, nothing too demanding, I shouldn't think," she said. "Welcome the guests, ensure they are settled in, help to chaperone and organise the crowds. Most of the administrative work will be done by Madam Howler and myself, as well as the Heads of Houses. And of course you'll have Mister Scamander to assist you."
Ah yes, Lorcan. The one person she had actually missed over these last few weeks of quiet. "Who else knows about this?" she asked, her brain skittering ahead.
Professor McGonagall's expression turned stern. "Outside of the staff, nobody but yourself. The Head Boy has been notified by owl, and when he returns, the nominated Quidditch captain will be briefed about organising a team. The rest of the school will be told at the appropriate time."
The nominated Quidditch captain. It could very well be Albus, Rose realised with a jolt. He would probably love the chance to prove himself against the other schools' teams. But against Scorpius? She couldn't really imagine it.
"I would ask you not to say anything until I've decided to make the announcement," Professor McGonagall said.
She couldn't help but be a little wounded at the insinuation. "Of course not," she huffed. A dozen other questions floated on the tip of her tongue, but none of them seemed all that appropriate. Would Scorpius be picked for the Durmstrang team? What would happen if he was to come back to Hogwarts? What would she say to him and what would he say to her? None of these seemed like the sorts of things she could ask Professor McGonagall.
"I am hoping it will be a great success," said the Headmistress, jerking Rose's attention back to her. For an old woman, she suddenly looked quite formidable. "Quidditch has long been a passion of mine, and I hope with this tournament we can reopen the channels of communication that once existed between the three major wizarding schools. They say sport crosses boundaries, after all."
Rose nodded, not sure what else she was supposed to say. Truthfully she couldn't think of anything more likely to stir up rivalries and old grudges than a Quidditch tournament, but something told her now was not the time to raise that particular objection.
"I hope you will do your best to accommodate the guests, and see to it that the rest of Hogwarts does the same," McGonagall continued. This was getting more to the point of it, and Rose could see in her Headmistress' eyes what wasn't being plainly said aloud: No dramas. No fights. No meltdowns.
"Yes ma'm," she replied. "I'll do my best."
"Very good." Professor McGonagall took a step back and surveyed Rose's desk, piled with books and bits of loose parchment, with a critical air. "And how are you finding your studies, Miss Weasley?"
"Fine," she lied, a little too quickly. Professor McGonagall stared at her appraisingly.
"I had heard," she began in a tactful manner, "that you might be having some difficulties in transmutability?"
Rose had never heard of transmutability, but she didn't have to guess to know what Professor McGonagall was getting at. "It's fine," she said firmly. "It was just a hiccup. I'm better now."
"Be that as it may," said Professor McGonagall a little sternly. "It is hardly an uncommon or unexplainable phenomena. You should know that my door is always open to you, Rose, if you wish to discuss this further, or seek further improvement in private."
A flood of gratitude warmed Rose's face, and she smiled her first genuine smile in weeks. "Thank you, Professor. I'll be sure to remember that."
Professor McGonagall nodded in apparent satisfaction, then turned to go. Rose watched as she swept herself out of the library, even in her advanced years managing to look as regal and composed as ever. There was something comforting about that, she thought. Even if it couldn't last forever.
Despite all the other distractions in her day to day life, Rose found her thoughts drifting to the idea of the Quidditch tournament almost continuously over the next week. By the time term arrived, and the flood of students returned from their holiday fun, she was almost desperate to talk to someone about it. But she remained true to her word, and refrained from mentioning it to Dom or Lily or any of the cousins that she greeted. Not even Albus, whose reaction she was dying to know, or Hugo, who was about as Quidditch mad as it was possible to be. That only left Lorcan, who brought it up himself on his very first night back.
"I presume you've heard the news," he said, standing in front of the fire with his hands stretched out toward the flames. There was a swirling snowstorm outside and the castle was draughty and cold. "About the Quidditch."
Of all things, the fact that Lorcan was willing to talk about a sport he had no interest in reinforced to Rose what she had been trying to deny ever since McGonagall informed her of the tournament – that it was a big deal, and there would be no escaping it once the news broke to the rest of the school. It was this more than anything that made her shrug her shoulders in apparent disinterest, even as her stomach churned uneasily.
"Yeah, I have."
"And?" Lorcan pressed when she made no further comment. He was looking at her with a curious mix of surprise and pity, and she didn't like it.
"And what? When have I ever given two knuts about the Quidditch?"
Lorcan gazed at her for a long time, and she couldn't help but feel he was seeing straight through her charade of indifference, as usual. "Rose," he began, but she cut him off, already anticipating what he was going to say.
"Look, I don't even care. It's just some stupid inter-cultural experiment that McGonagall wants to run. All I have to do is make sure everything goes smoothly and that's it." Her voice was blustery, but paper-thin. Lorcan turned back to the fire.
"Okay," he said after a while. "So you don't care who wins?"
"No," she lied bullishly.
"Neither do I," he said. "But the others will."
She was tempted to ask who 'the others' were, but refrained at the last second. Instead all she said was, "Well I don't care what they think, either."
He tilted his head but didn't glance in her direction. "You're still not caring, then?"
Her stomach gave a little flip. It was the first time either of them had mentioned that night before the holidays, when she had collapsed in an hysterical heap and he had carried to her room. She had almost begun to hope that entire episode had been a figment of her imagination, but it didn't appear that Lorcan had forgotten as she had hoped he would. "That wasn't what I meant," she answered.
"I know." His expression brightened all at once and he moved to the couch, rummaging in his knapsack for a moment before straightening. "My mother bought you a present," he said, extending his hand towards her.
He was holding what appeared to be a small, empty bowl, made of glass and with a sealed top that opened with a clever little latching mechanism. More than willing to take up the change in topic, Rose hurried forward to examine it. It looked fragile, and when she accepted it from him she realised it was almost as weightless as a feather.
"Er… what is it?"
"It's a Savadhora," said Lorcan. His expression was so earnest she didn't dare laugh. "A care bowl."
"And… what does it do, exactly?"
"You use it to store all your cares and worries," Lorcan explained patiently. "So that they don't weigh you down during the day."
Rose stared at him, wondering if this would be getting shelved next to Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Rotfang Conspiracies or whether it would actually do what he said it did. "How does it work?" she ventured to ask.
"It's really simple," said Lorcan. He moved closer to her as he explained, clearly enthusiastic about the magic. "You just hold it in both hands like this, and then you concentrate on removing your negative energy from yourself into the bowl. If it works, you should see a dark smoke enter the glass through your hands. It won't escape unless you want it to – then you can use the lid to open the bowl and dispose of the bad thoughts."
"Dispose of them?"
He shrugged. "Mum usually just goes out into the field near our house and tosses them into the wind. She says they all return to wherever they came from in the first place. I suppose as long as it's not to you then it doesn't really matter."
If Rose had not been raised around magic, the idea of extracting her cares and worries and emptying them into a paddock might have shocked her. But as it was all she could muster was a vague intellectual curiosity about the magical efficacy of such a procedure. She studied the glass bowl carefully; it appeared flawless, and relatively harmless. "I've never heard of it before."
"Mum says they're quite common in the East," said Lorcan.
She shot him a quick glance. "But not here?"
"Mum says our society simply has an inherent reluctance to open our minds to the greater possibilities of magic."
"Uh-huh." Rose cradled the glass bowl carefully, then gave him what she hoped was a genuine smile. "Well thank you. And thank your mother for me, too. I'm sorry I didn't get to see her this Christmas."
Lorcan's expression turned a little wistful. "Yeah, we all missed you at the Burrow. It wasn't quite the same without you."
With an effort she resisted the disbelieving look she wanted to give him. There were so many Weasleys and various other family members that attended her grandparents' annual Christmas dinner that she couldn't imagine her presence being particularly missed. No doubt it was Lorcan with a differing perspective as usual.
Lorcan must have read her thoughts, though, because a moment later his own forehead creased in irritation. "Don't," he said rather forcefully, and Rose blinked in surprise.
"Don't what?"
"Act like you don't believe me." Lorcan's eyes had narrowed, almost as though he was upset with her. It was such an unexpected reaction that for a while she didn't know what to say. "Like you think I'm just making it up."
"I – what are you – " she spluttered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the accusative stare he was giving her. "I never said you were making it up!"
"We do care about you, you know," Lorcan said. His voice softened, and his eyes flicked away from her to stare into the fire. "Even if you don't realise it."
And before she could reply he turned and stalked away into his room. Rose stared after him, at a loss as to what she had done to ruin the light-hearted mood. Angry tears pricked at the back of her skull, but she blinked them away. Clutching the care-bowl tight in one hand, she traipsed up the stairs and into her own bedroom, thinking that at least now she would have plenty of things to fill her new gift with.
Thankfully, she didn't have to wait any longer than the next day to discuss the Quidditch tournament with her classmates. Professor McGonagall announced the event over breakfast in the Great Hall, to the hushed anticipation of the student body. As soon as she finished speaking, a flurry of excitement swept around the hall, and several dozen conversations started all at once. Dom, who had been up until that point moping sulkily over her muesli for reasons Rose didn't know, now perked her head up.
"An inter-school Quidditch tournament," she repeated thoughtfully, staring at Rose with her gaze unfocused, as though she were looking straight through her.
"That's right," Rose replied drily.
"But – does that mean – " Dom's blue eyes widened and she leaned closer. "You don't think – "
"I don't think anything," said Rose, with a firmness that she didn't really feel. Now that the suspense of waiting was over, she wondered why she had been so keen for the rest of the school to know anyway. It certainly wasn't going to help her keep her thoughts off of him.
"But if he comes – " Dom continued, clearly deciding to abandon pretence and get straight to the issue at hand. "What will you do?"
"He won't."
"But if he does?"
"He won't, Dom!" Her voice had risen too much, and attracted the attention of those sitting nearby. Daisy Hopkins perked up, leaning across the table towards them.
"He won't what?" she asked, in a clearly-trying-to-be-subtle-but-failing-miserably tone of voice. "Who are you guys talking about?"
It was only through great strength of will and an awareness of her responsibility as Head Girl that Rose resisted the urge to tell the other girl where to stick her curiosity. Instead she forced an ingratiating smile and allowed Dom to speak the lie on her behalf.
"We're wondering if Albus will be made Captain of the team," her cousin said smoothly.
"Oh," Daisy's expression fell slightly at the underwhelming gossip. "Well, I suppose he is Slytherin captain. But there are others." Her eyes slid to Cam Finnigan, Gryffindor's captain and her ex-boyfriend, before she shook her head. "Albus is probably the school's best player, though."
"Hardly," drawled Lily, from her position several seats along. The redheaded girl tossed her hair dramatically, apparently quite unabashed at being caught eaves-dropping. "Albus thinks he's the best player, but he hasn't got anything on me."
Daisy gave her a disdainful stare. "So you think you'll definitely be selected then?"
Lily nodded, one corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. "Of course. Hugo too."
Rose's gaze shifted to her brother. She had barely had anything to do with Hugo recently, and had to admit she wouldn't know the first thing about whether he deserved a spot on the Hogwarts' Quidditch team or not. He certainly looked like a good Beater, having inherited his uncle Fred's stocky build and broad shoulders. But his uniform was dishevelled, and he was wearing the scowl she had come to expect from him these days. There was no sign of his Prefect badge either. She chewed her tongue as she watched him poke at his breakfast, contemplating the best way of finding out what his problem was.
"Really?" Daisy was looking disbelievingly at Lily, who continued to smile so smugly Rose decided she must be doing it deliberately just to annoy her housemate. "That would mean there were three of the Potter-Weasley clan on the team."
"It's just a pity James and Fred aren't still here," said Lily brightly. "Then it'd be five out of seven. Not a bad effort, wouldn't you say?" And before Daisy could reply she stood up, swiped an apple from a nearby fruitbowl, and left.
"What was that all about?" asked Dom in a whisper, as Daisy turned back to confer mutinously with Peoria.
"Dunno," shrugged Rose, her eyes still fixed on Hugo. As though sensing her gaze, he glanced in her direction and the scowl on his face darkened. When she raised his eyebrows at him he turned pointedly away, and a moment later he too had left the table, following Lily out of the Great Hall.
Quidditch was all anyone could talk about for the rest of the week. Rose found herself dwelling longingly on the time before McGonagall had made her announcement, when she could wander through the corridors and be completely inconspicuous to her passers-by. Now, she couldn't help but be involved in Quidditch. As Head Girl, she was the one everybody came to with their questions, regardless of whether she knew the answers or not. Would first years be allowed to try out? Would Albus be captain? Would they have a back-up in each position or just one? What was the prize for first place going to be? How many players would Durmstrang and Beauxbatons be bringing, and would Scorpius Malfoy be one of them?
"I don't know," she found herself repeating until her voice was hoarse and she was only just resisting tearing her hair out. "You'll have to wait and see. I can't tell you."
The only person getting more attention than her about it all was Albus. Almost overnight, he had become everybody's new best friend. Hopeful Quidditch stars would accost him in the corridor or wait for him outside of class in an attempt to score brownie points for their selection. Suddenly, everyone had a father or uncle that had gone to school with his parents, or a grandmother that was actually a long lost relative of the Weasley clan.
"Now I know how my dad must feel," he confided to Rose one Potions lesson. With the advent of their sudden fame, it had swiftly become a favourite lesson. Professor Cauldrish tolerated no mindless gossip about the Quidditch, and most of the students taking NEWT Potions were the studious and unsportsman types anyway. Not only that, but its location in the dungeons allowed them some time away from the crowds of younger students that now seemed to follow them everywhere in the castle proper. "I can't even go to the loo without being jumped."
"Just pick the team," said Rose, at that moment somewhat distracted with chopping up her mandrake root. "And then everyone will stop hounding you."
Albus huffed, tossing a handful of dried beetle eyes into his potion, which immediately turned a dark purple. "I haven't even been made captain yet," he said.
Rose glanced at him, somewhat surprised at his doubt. "But I thought it was all decided. Didn't McGonagall say they'd be announcing the captain tomorrow?"
Her cousin evaded her gaze. "Well, yeah," he said at last, when the sound of Dylan Turrett loudly reciting his instructions nearby gave them enough cover to resume their conversation. "I guess I should say I haven't decided yet."
If she wasn't careful her potion was going to be ruined. Trying to follow Albus' train of thought and not lose track of her Everlasting Elixir at the same time, Rose asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Albus, still resolutely avoiding her eyes. "That maybe I don't want to be Hogwarts' captain."
There was a long silence, in which the only noise were Turrett's mumblings and the satisfied bubblings of half a dozen cauldrons. Rose stared at her cousin, trying to get a read of his expression in the dim light of the classroom. The idea that he wouldn't want to be captain had honestly never occurred to her. It was the most coveted position in school. Refusing it didn't seem to fit with what she knew of Albus' character at all. "I don't understand," she said eventually. "Why on earth wouldn't you want to be captain?"
Albus clenched his jaw, and when he finally looked at her his gaze was surprisingly fierce. "If he shows up… I don't want to have to shake his hand, Rose."
This time she definitely left her potion too long. It began to hiss in complaint, and before she could correct it Professor Cauldrish swooped down upon her like an overgrown bat.
"Miss Weasley, why have you not stirred your potion twenty-two times clockwise according to instruction?"
"Er…" she began to stir rapidly, almost sloshing some of the mixture over the side in her haste. Professor Cauldrish made a scathing noise.
"Concentrate, girl! This is the most vital stage of your potion and your grade depends upon its success!"
"Yes Professor. Sorry Professor," she recited obediently, going through the motions rather numbly until Professor Cauldrish was apparently satisfied and left them in peace once more.
"Sorry," Albus muttered as soon as they were alone again. "That was my fault."
She shook her head. The truth was it was her own fault. She kept floundering around in these kinds of conversations, opening up hornets' nests she didn't even know existed and sticking her foot into things that were best left undisturbed. "You don't want to play against him," she repeated against her better judgment, needing to hear him say it again before she committed his words to memory.
"I want to punch him, not play him," Albus said. His voice was hard and unforgiving, and Rose felt her stomach twist. She remembered how miserable she had been when Scorpius and Albus were fighting the first time, and how relieved she was when they seemed to overcome their differences. Now it seemed that had all been for nothing.
"You should be captain," she said firmly.
Albus glanced at her in surprise. "I'd have to play fair," he said. "I'd have to set a good example."
"I know," she said, dropping three newts' eyes into her potion, so that it gurgled happily. "And he doesn't deserve it. But you deserve to be captain, Al. And that's all that matters. He probably won't even get selected. He probably won't even come."
Her cousin didn't look convinced. "But if he did – "
"Who cares about him?" she said fiercely, and for the first time in months there was a little part of her that actually believed her own words. Albus' eyebrows shot upwards. "Seriously, who cares? You're the best damn Quidditch player in this school, Al, and you'd be a great captain. That's all that matters."
He cocked his head and regarded her quizzically. She had to admit she had even surprised herself a little. "Wow," he said, sounding quite impressed. "What's got into you?"
A thimble-full of dragon's blood was the final ingredient for her Elixir. She added it at precisely the right time, and the potion turned a beautiful, even magenta, exactly as it was supposed to. "Maybe I'm just sick of moping," she said.
Albus gave her one of his trademark grins. "Good," he said, mirroring her potion method just as he always had. "That's good."
"You'll be captain, then?"
"Will it get you off my back?"
"Maybe."
He shrugged. "Guess it's worth a shot, then, isn't it?"
Professor McGonagall announced Albus as captain over the following breakfast, to much cheer and celebration from the students. Considering he was still a Slytherin, Rose was quite impressed with the level of support he had generated from the other Houses, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in particular. It was further proof that he had been the right choice, if she had even needed any more.
Try-outs for the team were held in January, and by the end of the month the line-up was announced. Both Lily and Hugo had made the cut. Including them and Cam Finnigan there were three Gryffindors, as well as two Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin. Apart from a few grumblings, there was overall a minimal of fuss or accusations of bias, which was quite something considering the choices Albus had had to make.
A week after the Hogwarts team had been finalised, and a fortnight before the competition itself was to begin, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons student lists arrived. As Head Girl and Boy, Rose and Lorcan were shown them before anyone else.
"In order for you to familiarise yourselves with the names," Professor McGonagall explained when she approached them. "And to develop a feel for the nature of the teams."
Normally, Rose would have found this to be of cursory interest, a bunch of foreign-sounding names that meant little to her until she could put faces to them. But this time, there was something very specific she was looking for.
Professor McGonagall handed her the Beauxbatons sheet first, which consisted of an even five boys and five girls. She barely even read the names, so anxious was she for the Durmstrang list. But when the Headmistress gave it to her, she found she could barely read that one either. She almost had to physically drag her eyes down the row of (all-male) names, and force them to decipher the neat, print letters. For a long while they refused to obey.
And then she saw it. The name she had been looking for, and yet somehow trying desperately to avoid. In simple script, as unobtrusive as was possible for a name with so much inherent arrogance. Right down the bottom of the parchment.
Seeker: Scorpius Malfoy.
So he was coming back after all.