Chapter 21 : Beneath The Surface

Monday started off fairly normal. Students rushed around, hurrying to their classes, Quidditch practice, or the Great Hall for a quick breakfast. For the seventh year students, the first class of the day for them was the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Rosier stood there waiting for the students, hands clasped behind his back, his piercing gaze sweeping over the students as they filed in.

"Good morning, students," he began, his voice smooth but firm. "Pair up. We'll start with a little bit of a duel today."

Professor Rosier flicked his wand, sending desks skidding to the sides of the room, clearing a space.

Harry turned to Ron, but before he could speak, Professor Rosier's voice cut through the room. "Mr. Potter, you'll duel Mr. Malfoy."

Harry blinked in mild surprise. Across the room, Draco arched an eyebrow before stepping forward, his expression unreadable.

"I expect something... impressive," Professor Rosier added, his eyes lingering on Harry for a moment too long.

Harry and Draco took their places, shoulders squared, wands raised. Even if the usual tension between them had greatly softened, but a challenge was a challenge.

Harry took the opening move. "Expelliarmus!"

Draco blocked with a sharp "Protego", his wand movements precise. He didn't hesitate before countering with "Stupefy!"

Harry sidestepped just in time, the jet of red light barely missing his shoulder. He retaliated with "Incarcerous!"

Thin ropes shot towards Draco, but he slashed his wand through the air, severing them before they could tighten.

Their duel escalated, a rapid exchange of spellwork with hexes dodged, counters cast, footwork sharp. Draco was nothing if not methodical, precise in every movement, pushing Harry harder than expected. But then, Harry saw an opening.

Draco shifted into a defensive stance just a second too soon, expecting another direct attack. Instead, Harry faked a Rictusempra, only to switch at the last moment.

"Expelliarmus!"

Caught mid-dodge, Draco's wand wrenched from his grip, flipping through the air before landing several feet away. The room fell silent for a beat. Draco exhaled sharply, jaw tightening but instead of reacting with frustration, he simply straightened his robes, brushing off imaginary dust with a neutral expression. Professor Rosier, however, barely seemed to care about Draco at all. He stepped forward, his slow clap filling the space.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter," he declared, patting Harry firmly on the back. "Brilliant control."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Brilliant? Hardly. He had won on a lucky feint, nothing extraordinary. So why was Professor Rosier acting like he had just done something groundbreaking?

"Uh... thanks," Harry muttered.

Professor Rosier flicked his wand, summoning Draco's wand from the floor and handing it back to the owner. "Would you mind finding a new partner? I would like to speak to Mr. Potter alone."

Draco nodded and barely hesitated before turning on his heel, already moving toward the rest of the class without another glance in Harry's direction. Harry, on the other hand, stayed rooted to the spot, his fingers tightening around his wand. His instincts told him that whatever Professor Rosier wanted to discuss was definitely not related to their previous lesson.

"Sir?" he asked warily, watching the professor with narrowed eyes.

"A word, Mr. Potter." Professor Rosier repeated while beckoning him forward to follow him.

Harry hesitated, glancing at the rest of the class. Most of them were already paired off, too busy preparing their duels to pay much attention. With no real reason to refuse, Harry nodded, following Professor Rosier as the professor led him toward a side door near the front of the classroom—the entrance to his office.

Inside, the dim candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls. The room wasn't cluttered like Professor Dumbledore's or cold like Snape's—it was organized, deliberate. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick tomes whose spines looked old enough to crumble. A desk sat at the center, its surface immaculate except for a few neatly stacked scrolls and a single, dark quill.

Professor Rosier gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

Harry lowered himself onto the seat, feeling vaguely like he was about to be reprimanded for something—though he couldn't think of what.

Professor Rosier, meanwhile, steepled his fingers beneath his chin and studied him with a thoughtful expression.

"You're quite the duelist," he finally said.

Harry shifted slightly. "Err.. thanks."

"You don't seem particularly pleased with your performance," Professor Rosier observed.

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't anything special. Malfoy hesitated for a second. That was all I needed."

Professor Rosier hummed, as if considering something. "Knowing when to strike... that is an invaluable skill."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he simply nodded.

A silence stretched between them before Professor Rosier suddenly leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp but unreadable.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," he said, his voice calm. "What do you think of legacy?"

Harry blinked. "Legacy?"

"Yes." Professor Rosier tilted his head slightly. "Some names carry weight. Some people leave behind more than just memories. They leave unfinished work, work that others may seek to complete."

Harry frowned. "Err... I guess?"

Professor Rosier's lips twitched, as if amused. "You don't sound particularly interested in the idea."

"I've never really thought about it," Harry admitted honestly. "I mean, I get that some people leave a mark on the world, but..." He shrugged. "Doesn't mean everything they left behind needs to be finished."

Professor Rosier chuckled under his breath. "Fascinating."

Harry had no idea what was so fascinating about it. There was another pause before Professor Rosier shifted the topic entirely.

"And the marriage law?" he asked, tone still casual. "How are you finding it?"

Harry blinked again, completely thrown by the sudden change in conversation. "Err—what?"

"The law." Professor Rosier waved a hand. "A rather drastic measure, don't you think?"

Harry stiffened slightly but tried to keep his tone neutral. "I don't think it's a great law."

"And yet you comply."

Harry furrowed his brows. "Well... yeah. Not much of a choice, is there?"

Professor Rosier made a quiet hum of acknowledgement, drumming his fingers lightly against the desk. "Indeed."

Something about his tone made Harry vaguely uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on why. Then, the older wizard tilted his head slightly, watching him with something akin to curiosity.

"Do you believe in second chances, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked. That was—what?

"I... guess it depends?" he said, thoroughly confused. "I mean, some people deserve them. Others don't."

The other seemed to find that especially amusing. "A fair answer."

Harry stared, completely baffled by this entire conversation. What was the point of all these weirdly philosophical questions? Was this some kind of test? Did he expect Harry to have some deep, insightful response?

"Well," Professor Rosier finally said, leaning back in his chair. "This has been... enlightening."

He gestured toward the door.

"You may go, Mr. Potter."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He stood quickly, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder as he moved toward the door. The whole situation was weird as hell and he had no plan on being surrounded by it any longer than necessary. His hand was just about to grasp the handle when—

"One more thing, Mr. Potter."

Harry halted, exhaling slowly before turning back around. Professor Rosier was still seated, watching him intently.

"Your wand," Professor Rosier said, his voice light but curious. "What is it made of?"

Harry hesitated. It was an odd question, but he answered anyway. "Holly. Phoenix feather core."

Something unreadable flickered in Professor Rosier's expression. "Interesting."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Professor Rosier's lips curled slightly, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "No particular reason. Wands are curious things, wouldn't you agree? They have a way of... shaping fate."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he just gave a small shrug.

Professor Rosier studied him for a second longer before finally nodding. "That will be all, Mr. Potter."

Harry gave a short nod in return before he turned and stepped out, the unease in his chest lingering as he shut the door behind him.

What the hell was that all about?, he thought to himself.

~~X~~

"Merlin's beard, Blaise Antonio Zabini, do you always walk this slow, or is this a special 'recovering patient' performance?"

Ginny huffed, arms crossed as she followed Blaise down the corridor. She could have carried him to the Hospital Wing at this rate—and was seriously considering it just to be done with this nonsense.

Blaise, of course, didn't speed up. Instead, he shot her a lazy smirk. "Patience, love. I just survived a grueling illness. One must ease back into the art of walking."

"You had a fever for two days, not the Dragon Pox," she shot back. "Pretty sure toddlers recover from colds with more dignity than you."

Blaise gasped theatrically. "You wound me."

"Not yet, but if you don't hurry up, I might."

Despite the threat, he didn't seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he seemed to enjoy dragging this out. Ginny wasn't sure why she had been the one stuck accompanying him—oh wait, yes, she did. Because Professor McGonagall had overheard her grumbling about how Zabini's dramatic suffering had lasted longer than necessary, and had immediately volunteered her as his "escort."

Ginny pushed open the doors to the Hospital Wing and waved him inside with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Alright, hero, time to get your check-up. Try not to faint from the sheer exhaustion of it all."

Blaise chuckled as he stepped inside. "Love, if you wanted an excuse to spend time with me, you could've just asked."

Ginny groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "Madam Pomfrey, please fix whatever this is before I actually lose my mind."

Madam Pomfrey bustled over with her usual no-nonsense expression, barely sparing them a glance as she set a tray of potions on the bedside table. "If you're both quite finished with the dramatics, Mr. Zabini, sit down."

Blaise smirked but complied, perching himself on the hospital bed as though he was settling into a luxury lounge. "You hurt my feelings, Madam Pomfrey. Here I thought I was your favorite patient."

She gave him a sharp look as she uncorked a bottle. "You're my most frequent patient, and that is not a compliment. Drink this."

Ginny crossed her arms. "Go on, then. Show us all how resilient you are."

Blaise raised a brow at her before taking the potion in one elegant motion, downing it without so much as a grimace. He set the empty vial aside with an exaggerated sigh. "There. Brave, handsome, and obedient. Truly, I am the ideal man."

Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're the biggest headache I've had today, and I just sat through a two-hour lecture on cauldron thickness regulations."

Madam Pomfrey muttered something about "handfuls" and "incorrigible students" before waving her wand over Blaise in a quick diagnostic spell. Satisfied, she gave a curt nod. "You're fine. You need rest, but no reason to keep you here overnight."

Blaise placed a hand over his heart. "You're dismissing me so soon? I'm hurt."

Ginny grabbed his arm and hauled him off the bed before he could start another round of dramatics. "Come on, drama queen. Let's get out of here before she changes her mind and hexes you."

Blaise let her pull him along but turned his head toward her with an easy grin. "You know, love, if I had a Galleon for every time you dragged me somewhere, I'd be rich." He paused, then smirked. "Well, richer."

Ginny scoffed. "You're already insufferable. I don't want to imagine you with more money."

Blaise hummed. "You say that, but I know you like the finer things in life."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Right, because that's why I agreed to this absolute nightmare of a relationship—your vaults."

"Ah, so you do admit we're a nightmare," Blaise teased.

"Oh, I am not the nightmare here," Ginny shot back. "I didn't go running to my mother and spill everything the second things got complicated."

Blaise winced. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

"Not in this lifetime," Ginny said flatly.

Blaise sighed. "It's been weeks, love. Can't we—"

"No."

"Alright, alright," he relented, holding his hands up in surrender. "Then I probably shouldn't mention that she sent another letter."

Ginny stopped mid-step. "Excuse me?"

Blaise cleared his throat, suddenly finding the Hospital Wing floor very interesting. "She, uh... wrote again."

Ginny slowly turned to face him. "And when exactly were you planning to tell me this?"

"Now?" Blaise tried, flashing her his most charming smile.

Ginny looked two seconds away from hexing him. "What. did. she. say?"

Blaise hesitated, then sighed. "She's invited you to dinner. This weekend."

Ginny closed her eyes for a second, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a death threat.

"Look, I tried to delay it," Blaise said quickly. "But it's my mother and she's very hard to resist."

Ginny let out a sharp laugh, crossing her arms. "Oh, she's hard to resist? And here I thought I was supposed to be your greatest weakness."

Blaise dragged a hand down his face. "You are, but this is my mother we're talking about. You don't understand, she gets what she wants. Always."

Ginny let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through her hair. "You do realize we weren't supposed to tell our families yet, right?"

Blaise smiled guiltily. "Yes. Very aware. You made that abundantly clear the first time."

"And yet—"

"And yet I cracked under pressure and made a horrible mistake, yes, thank you for the reminder."

Ginny groaned. "Brilliant. So now what?"

"Now?" Blaise scratched the back of his head. "Now we figure out how you're going to survive an evening with a woman who single-handedly terrifies half of high society."

Ginny blinked. "Fantastic."

Blaise gave her a weak grin. "On the brighter side, you'll be the most beautiful witch to ever suffer through one of my mother's dinners?"

Ginny shot him a flat look. "You'd better pay me in something better than compliments."

Blaise sighed dramatically. "Fine. Dinner's on me after you survive."

Ginny let out a dry laugh. "Oh, fantastic. Endure a terrifying meeting with your mother, and I get... dinner. Should I be thanking you now, or after I emotionally recover?"

Blaise placed a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "You make it sound like I'm feeding you scraps. I do have excellent taste, you know."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Right, because a well-cooked steak will definitely make up for whatever trauma your mother is about to inflict."

"Exactly," Blaise said smoothly. "See? You're already thinking like a Zabini. Food solves everything."

Ginny arched a brow, utterly unamused. "If I survive this, dinner alone isn't going to cut it. I want something in return."

"Like what?"

"I'll think about it." Ginny replied with a smirk.

Blaise threw his hands in the air, shaking his head. "Merlin help me, my mother and my fiancée might actually get along just fine."

"Well, I have to get something out of this. Emotional trauma isn't cheap, you know." Ginny grinned.

He tossed his head back, scoffing dramatically. "Fine. I'll get you something nice. Just try not to scare my mother off before dessert."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Please. If anything, she'll be the one scaring me. From what Hermione warned me according to what Malfoy told her, she won't be an easy woman to deal with. I might end up being on her bad side or something because of my temper."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You say that like you don't live on everyone's bad side already."

Ginny shot him a glare. "Oh, ha-ha. You think this is funny?"

"A little," he admitted, lips twitching.

She crossed her arms, scowling. "Glad you're enjoying this. Meanwhile, I'll be walking into a potential battlefield where one wrong word could get me blasted into oblivion."

Blaise sighed, tilting his head as he studied her. "Love, my mother might be a tad bit intimidating, sure, but she's not out for blood."

Ginny gave a wry laugh. "Easy for you to say. You're her precious little bundle of joy. Meanwhile, I'm just some reckless Gryffindor who probably doesn't meet her impossibly high standards and she'll think that I'm just not good enough for you."

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "Oh, sweetheart, if she underestimates you, that's her mistake. But trust me, she won't. She'll respect you for exactly who you are. And if she doesn't..." He smirked, leaning in closer. "Well, you can always hex her with your infamous Bat-Bogey hex."

Ginny snorted despite herself. "Yeah, because that'll go over well."

Blaise grinned. "I'd pay good money to see it."

"This. is. not. funny. Blaise. Antonio. Zabini!" Ginny punctuated each word with a firm whack to his arm, her frustration growing as Blaise simply grinned at her.

"Merlin, woman, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to kill me—"

"What if she thinks I'm not worthy of you?"

Blaise's breath hitched. Ginny hadn't said it in her usual snarky way, no dramatic flourish, no sarcasm. Just quiet, raw, and almost bitter, like she already believed it. Blaise looked at her then, something softer in his expression.

"Ginevra.." His voice had lost all traces of amusement.

Ginny exhaled sharply, looking away. "She's not just anyone. She's your mother. And I—" Her jaw clenched for a second before she forced the words out. "I don't think I'm someone that she pictured for you."

Blaise stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, gently, he pulled her closer, his free hand cupping the side of her face.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. "She'll like you."

Ginny swallowed hard, searching his face, as if waiting for him to falter, to give her a reason to doubt. "You sound awfully sure about that."

Blaise just smirked, giving her cheek a warm, reassuring squeeze before letting go. "I like you," he said simply. "That's what matters. And I mean, come on. Have you met yourself? She'd have to be blind not to see how incredible you are."

Ginny huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. "... You're impossible."

His smirk widened. "I know."

~~X~~

The Great Hall hummed with the usual midday noise, students chatting between bites, the clinking of goblets, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing across the long tables. Theo was halfway through his meal when a familiar voice rose above the noise.

"Ah, Miss Lovegood! Just the person I was looking for."

Professor Sprout stood near the Ravenclaw table, her expression warm as always. Beside her stood an unfamiliar boy—tall, blond, wearing robes Theo didn't recognize. They weren't Hogwarts robes, that much was clear. The cut was different, the fabric slightly heavier, and there was no house emblem. It stood out like a sore thumb among the sea of Hogwarts uniforms

Luna, sitting a few seats away, blinked up at them. "Oh, hello, Professor."

"This is Mr. Rolf Scamander," Professor Sprout announced cheerfully. "He's visiting from Ilvermorny for the whole week, and given your knowledge of magical creatures—not to mention your father's research—I thought you'd be the perfect person to help him settle in."

Theo didn't react. Why would he? It was just Luna. And a random Ilvermorny boy. And something about magical creatures. None of which had anything to do with him.

Luna smiled, always delighted to be helpful. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Do you like magical creatures, Rolf?"

Rolf grinned, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "Love them. My grandfather, Newt Scamander, wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

"Oh, of course!" Luna's eyes lit up. "Did he ever find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"

Rolf chuckled. "He spent years looking, but I think he'd love to hear your theories."

Theo's grip on his fork tightened slightly. Not that he cared. It was just that Rolf had a rather irritating voice. Or maybe he was gesturing too much. Too enthusiastic.

Professor Sprout beamed. "Excellent! Why don't you two sit together for lunch and get to know each other?"

Without hesitation, Rolf slipped into the empty seat beside Luna, and the two of them started chatting like they'd known each other for years.

Theo still didn't care.

His hand wasn't gripping his fork a little tighter. He wasn't vaguely irritated by how the Scamander boy laughed so easily at something Luna said. And he definitely wasn't noticing the way Luna leaned in slightly, interested in whatever the Ilvermorny boy had to say.

Blaise, ever observant, arched an eyebrow from across the table. "You alright, mate?"

Theo didn't look up. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," Blaise's gaze flicked to Theo's roasted potatoes. "Just wondering if the potatoes have done something to offend you."

Theo eased his grip on the fork. "I'm just eating."

"Right," Blaise said, deliberately prolonging his word. "And you definitely haven't been glancing at the Ravenclaw table every ten seconds."

Theo rolled his eyes and picked up his goblet. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Blaise smirked, stealing a grape from Theo's plate. "Want me to fetch you a pair of extendable ears? Might help, since you're so not listening."

Theo ignored him. He stabbed a piece of roasted potato with more force than necessary instead, eyes fixed resolutely on his plate. He wasn't glancing at Luna and Rolf. That would be ridiculous.

Blaise, who was still watching him with a knowing smirk, propped his elbow on the table. "You know, if you keep scowling like that, people might think you're actually interested in whatever they're talking about."

"I'm not scowling," Theo muttered, finally allowing himself a single glance at the Ravenclaw table. Luna was laughing at something Rolf had said, her face bright with curiosity. Rolf, in turn, was looking at her like she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"It's just strange," he continued, stabbing at his food again. "Professor Sprout could have picked anyone. Why Luna?"

Blaise hummed, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe because she's brilliant with magical creatures? Or because she's actually nice?"

Theo shot him a look. "I'm nice."

Blaise snorted. "No, you're tolerable. To a select few."

Theo huffed and pushed his food around his plate. It still didn't explain why Luna, of all people, was the one sitting next to some Ilvermorny boy, chatting like they were long-lost friends. Not that it mattered. Not that he cared. But when Rolf leaned in a little closer with his windswept blond hair, grinning as he said something that made Luna tilt her head in thought, Theo found himself scowling again.

Blaise let out a quiet chuckle. "Mate."

Theo exhaled sharply, shoving his plate away. "I'm going for a walk."

He didn't wait for Blaise's response. He pushed himself up from the bench and strode out of the Great Hall, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight. All he could think about was how Ilvermorny students apparently had no concept of personal space.