The Slytherin dungeon was already deserted by the time Rose emerged, most students having hurried off to their first class of the day. Passing a mirror framed by a gilded serpent, she took the opportunity to straighten the diamond brooch on her tie and adjust the pearl pin in her thick black hair. The Shafiq family was renowned throughout the wizarding world for its immense fortune, and Rose displayed her heritage proudly as a badge of status.
Professor Slughorn's Potions classroom, located in the castle's dungeons, lay conveniently close to the serpents' lair. With a languid, feline stride, Rose strolled toward her lesson, ignoring the students dashing past as though their very lives hung in the balance. Punctuality mattered little to her; Slughorn would never dream of docking points from a Shafiq.
Upon entering the dimly lit chamber, the lingering scent of sulfur reached Rose's nostrils. She swept her gaze around the room, well aware that her fellow students were watching her brazenly.
An empty seat stood next to Parkinson, who did not even bother to glance up at Rose.
"Look at what she's wearing in her hair. Do you think it's real?" came the hushed voice of Sarah Burke, a notoriously indiscreet Ravenclaw whose behavior did little credit to her house.
Rose paid no heed. Instead, she nearly wrinkled her dainty nose at a sight that displeased her: Regulus—who usually sat alone at the back of the class—was not by himself. That very morning, Rose had entertained the idea of taking that empty seat beside Black, to exploit his considerable skill in Potions; she loathed the subject's practical work.
To her chagrin, someone was already in the spot she had coveted, eyeing her with a little too much satisfaction. Claire Travers. The annoying Ravenclaw had been edging closer to the Slytherins over the past year, and Rose had no doubt as to her motives. Claire's angelic features—a bright, pretty blonde—belied her obvious gold-digging ambitions. Though pure-blooded, the Travers family lacked the standing and wealth of the truly elite.
Regulus Black lounged against the wall, legs stretched out beside Travers's seat. His gaze locked with Rose's, and for an instant, she—Veela blood sizzling in her veins—could have sworn the so-called Prince of Slytherin gave her a self-satisfied smirk.
"Miss Shafiq, do be seated, please. Class is about to begin," came Slughorn's genial prompt. Rose couldn't help but smile; the old professor's predictability was almost comforting. Heritage alone granted her near-total immunity in his classroom.
She slipped into a chair next to Daisy, who studied her for a moment.
"You look put out, Shafiq," Daisy murmured, sounding faintly amused.
"Enlighten me: what is Travers doing next to Black?" Daisy paused before replying; she knew perfectly well how Rose despised the Ravenclaw.
"Her father financed Orion Black's political campaign. Claire spent several Quidditch matches in Regulus's personal box this summer." Rose, who had also been invited to those matches but had chosen to ignore the invitation, declined to share that fact.
"So that's why she thinks she suddenly belongs with us," Shafiq spat, flipping her Potions text open to the chapter on Golpalott's Third Law.
"Well, if Travers is elected Minister for Magic, she will belong, Rose," Daisy teased, a wry smile touching her aristocratic features.
"Daisy, even if her doting father miraculously snatched the Minister's post, she'd never be one of us. She's a pretty little thing aiming far too high—poor and ordinary," Rose sneered. Parkinson looked briefly offended but held her tongue.
"Miss Shafiq," called Slughorn, "would you do me the honor of preparing the potion at my desk for the class demonstration?" The catlike eyes of the statuesque Shafiq fell on him; in a calm, assured voice, she replied, "With pleasure, Professor. Though may I request the assistance of our top student?" Slughorn, evidently delighted by this suggestion, beamed. The pairing of Rose Shafiq and Regulus Black was enough to make his entire day.
"Certainly. Regulus, would you be so kind as to help Miss Shafiq?" Rose stood in a single graceful movement and turned to face Black, who rose in turn. The sixth-year Slytherin looked positively triumphant, and Rose basked in her success.
Black strode to Slughorn's desk without so much as a glance at his partner. Cold and methodical, he hated losing this sort of duel. Before joining him, Rose shot Claire a glare, ensuring the Ravenclaw understood that challenging a Shafiq had consequences.
Slughorn set out several ingredients, then handed a small vial to Regulus, who shook it thoughtfully before speaking.
"Is this the Draught of Living Death?"
The entire class—and Horace Slughorn himself—reeled with surprise. Such a potion was no trifling matter: powerful, bordering on the dark arts. Rose felt a twist of unease in her stomach, realizing just how versed Regulus Black had become in forbidden magic.
"You're quite right, Mr. Black. Care to name the ingredients?" Regulus, adopting his usual indifferent tone, listed them calmly. Meanwhile, Rose scanned the other students. Many looked astonished or afraid; Travers, Nott, and Parkinson, however, seemed utterly captivated. Rose didn't miss how unsurprised some of them appeared, a telling sign of their deeper involvement in the Dark Lord's rising threat beyond the castle walls.
Hogwarts, set high in the Scottish Highlands, had always been sheltered from the country's turmoil. But now, it seemed politics would intrude on this sanctuary, dividing students just as surely as House rivalries and social hierarchies did.
Rose's eyes met Narcissa's, and in that brief contact, she perceived the same blend of worry and realization. Despite their rivalry, they were in complete agreement on one point: neither of them wished to see the world of elite social gatherings replaced by a pointless war defending privileges pure-bloods still firmly possessed.
"Fascinating, young Black! Six points to Slytherin!" Slughorn exclaimed, nearly making Rose jump. A chorus of exasperated sighs arose from the Ravenclaw students, but no one truly expected fair play from Horace Slughorn when it came to Slytherin.
"All right, everyone—get to work! Parkinson, join Travers. You'll be partners for this exercise." Slughorn distributed the remaining ingredients around the classroom.
"Who would've guessed the illustrious Rose Shafiq could be jealous?" Every time Regulus addressed her, his chilly arrogance set her teeth on edge.
Rose picked up the parchment listing Golpalott's antidote components, then dropped it back onto the desk with a dismissive shrug.
"Jealous of your unhealthy fascination with worthless potions?" she retorted. Regulus peered up at her, sporting a look of smug satisfaction.
"No—jealous of that gorgeous blonde who took the seat you had your eye on." At that moment, Rose couldn't tell if he was bluffing or if he had indeed guessed her intentions.
"By Merlin, the fumes from your cauldron must be going to your head," she scoffed. Regulus merely resumed preparing the antidote, deftly casting a silent spell. One could fault the younger Black brother for many things, but lack of magical skill was not among them. Rose let her gaze fall to his forearm: Death Eaters supposedly bore the Mark there, and she wondered if he had taken it that summer.
"You're hardly subtle, Shafiq," he hissed without looking up.
"Coming from someone openly displaying his knowledge of dark magic in front of the entire school, that stings," she shot back, prompting Regulus to laugh, almost sincerely.
"My knowledge and skills extend beyond one branch of magic." With one aristocratic eyebrow arched, Rose leaned in to whisper, "Just earn us an Outstanding on this assignment and crush Gryffindor on Saturday, then you can boast all you like." His dark gaze snapped toward her, and he leaned closer.
"And what do I get in return? A Black's attention never comes free."
Rose straightened, winking at him. "Far more than that little political lapdog of yours could ever promise."
Like Evan Rosier, Regulus Black stood out as an excellent prospect for Rose, whose father's demands for her future—specifically marriage—were intensifying. Opulent wealth and prestige, after all, came with a price. Eyes lingering on Black's profile—his ebony hair brushing a sharp nose, the elegance in every movement—she noticed him glance up, meeting her stare. Not a word passed between them; not a hint of emotion showed. Overcome by a rare surge of protectiveness, Rose laid a hand on Regulus's forearm, staying his motion.
"I think your antidote is perfect," she murmured, then stepped back to await Slughorn's verdict. Regulus's cold gaze followed her hand from his arm to her face, and for a fleeting second, the haughty heiress thought she detected a flicker of unease in his eyes.
The rest of the class was uneventful. Everyone returned to their original seats, though Claire Travers's brazen flirting with the Black heir rankled Rose all the more.
"For Merlin's sake, what does she think she's doing?" Rose hissed, tugging Daisy's arm to slow her pace and watch Travers and Regulus disappear into the dungeon corridor.
Parkinson hesitated, fully aware that her next words might determine Rose's mood for the rest of the day.
"I suppose she's trying to curry favor with him," Daisy replied at last. Rose turned to study her friend, green eyes gleaming like emeralds.
"My, my, little reporter for the Daily Prophet. Any other surprises you'd care to spoil?" She sighed, exasperated, then continued in a soft yet ominous tone, "Why does that silly pest think she has the right to prance around with Regulus?"
"Because her father is set to become Minister for Magic. All the Great Families are backing him, hoping to push the cause forward." Something in Daisy's matter-of-fact delivery made Rose's stomach churn.
"All the Great Families?" Rose repeated sharply. "Most certainly not mine. The Shafiqs have never supported the Travers clan, and we never will. If you think installing Orion Black's puppet in office will be enough to legalize the eradication of anyone who inconveniences you—even though they make up the majority of the country—then you're a fool." Rose's heated words made Daisy recoil.
"The Shafiqs can't remain neutral forever. If you're not with us, you're against us," Daisy said, voice trembling with the courage it took to speak those words.
Still wearing a confident smile, Rose pressed a finely manicured hand, heavy with jewels, against Daisy's damp cheek.
"A word of advice: mind your opinions. It's always pathetic when a kitten tries to roar like a lion." She paused. "I won't dignify you with a proper answer, but I'll remind you that I bend to no one's demands. It is my right and privilege as a Shafiq. People like the Travers degrade themselves for the scraps we deign to leave behind; that's precisely how I see that pitiful social climber. Though I must say, I am beginning to wonder if you, too, are willing to stoop that low."
Daisy said nothing, but in that moment, she realized she and Rose were moving in two very different directions.
Despite her outward poise, Daisy's warning sank in. Rose sensed that her once-stable world was indeed shifting. Even so, she would never pledge allegiance to that madman, Voldemort.