Chapter 4
The new term began with all the fanfare and excitement of a good quidditch match. The Great Hall echoed with the shouts and laughter of Hogwarts students eager to discuss summer gossip and what the coming year had in store.
Rose, for her part, let out a heavy breath as she examined the schedule Professor Flitwick had handed to her on her way in. To her great relief the Charms master had not challenged her when she told him she thought it best to drop Potions, and had merely nodded before tapping his wand to the blank sheet of parchment. Now Rose stared at the empty block of time that stretched before her that morning and felt the tendons in her shoulders loosen as she realized she would never, ever, have to sit in front of a steaming cauldron in the dungeons again.
With a final deep breath, Rose tucked the schedule into her book bag and turned back to Maren, who was much less interested in their upcoming classes than the upcoming quidditch season.
“I mean, honestly,” Maren cried, shuffling a pile of parchment in front of her and shaking her head, “they say that there’s no bias or sabotage involved, but Ravenclaw has absolutely no early fall matches this season. It’s criminal! Everybody knows September and early October have the best flying conditions! They may as well just hand the cup over to Slytherin right now—”
“Maren, please,” Allie groaned from across the table, her blonde curls bobbing against her cheekbones as she shook her head. “Can we not talk about quidditch this morning? The season hasn’t even started yet.”
Maren looked scandalized. “This season started the second the championship match ended last year!” she barked. “And we Ravenclaws need to be prepared. Since we’re the last team to play we’ll have to make sure all our players are prepared to play in adverse weather—”
“Good morning!” Lucy chirped loudly, cutting Maren off with a bright smile and a wave. Rose turned to see Nathan and Albus sauntering towards the Ravenclaw table, their class schedules in hand.
“Morning,” Nathan grinned as he slid into the seat beside Lucy. “Did I hear that the Ravenclaw quidditch team is prioritizing adverse weather in their training strategy?”
“No comment,” Maren huffed.
“Maren thinks Ravenclaw is being sabotaged because of the match schedule,” Lucy said primly.
“Oh, Thomas, come on,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “You know it’s not—”
“All I know is that Slytherin plays in September and Ravenclaw doesn’t have its first match until November, when flying conditions are objectively worse—”
“Someone has to open last,” Albus cut in, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s not sabotage , that’s just how it is—”
“I just don’t see why it has to be Ravenclaw when we already—”
“You had a September match last year!”
“It just seems suspicious—”
“How did scheduling go for everyone?” Nathan asked, leaning back and turning towards Rose. “Aren’t these free periods wonderful?”
“Amazing,” Rose nodded. “I’ve got one first thing this morning.”
From Nathan’s other side, Scorpius looked up and caught her eye. “You told Flitwick you didn’t want to continue potions, then?”
Rose felt her cheeks warm. “Er—yeah. We just—I felt it wasn’t necessary, given—given what I want to do.”
“I’m jealous,” Allie sighed. “I’ve got double potions first thing this morning.”
“Ugh.” Rose cringed. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Allie shrugged. “I’ve heard this is the year we really get into beautification potions and I just—”
“Allie, please, I can’t bear listening to potions talk this early in the morning,” Maren groaned.
“You had no trouble making me listen to quidditch talk,” Allie sniffed.
Maren opened her mouth, and Albus interjected, much to Rose’s relief.
“Say, when does everyone think the first Hogsmeade weekend will be?”
The rest of breakfast passed quickly then, much more quickly than Rose expected. Soon the Great Hall was overtaken with the sound of scraping plates, and she found herself caught up in a wave of students making their way to morning classes. Rose followed Maren towards the Ravenclaw common room, looking over her shoulder at Albus and Allie’s retreating forms as they disappeared down the staircase amid the throng of students.
She felt like she was flying.
“I can’t believe we just don’t have to go,” she said to Maren as the swelling sea of bodies shuffled them toward the stairs. “Everyone else is going to potions and we’re just…not!”
“It’s amazing,” Maren nodded vigorously. “These free periods are going to be so helpful for strategizing before matches. Hardly anyone around to interrupt us, and nobody trying to snoop to steal our plays—”
“You can strategize all you want.” Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m sitting by the fire and not moving until it’s lunchtime.”
And so she did. While Rose guiltily looked around the common room and caught sight of the various sixth and seventh years already poring over their textbooks and parchment, she snuggled into one of the largest, squashiest armchairs by the fireplace and pulled out Anne of Green Gables. Gilbert Blythe had just given Anne a candy heart to apologize for calling her carrots. It was one of Rose’s very favorite parts.
Time bent and swayed. Rose curled deeper into the armchair, her mind softening as the images of Avonlea filled her, the words of Gilbert Blythe wrapping around her like ribbons. She wondered, fleetingly, what such a life would feel like. What it would be like to be so anonymous, so loved and so cared for as Anne Shirley.
She shook her head quickly. It was a silly thought. She, Rose Weasley, had nothing to complain about. She was cared for. She was loved.
She pulled her elbows closer into her side, and turned the page. Her gaze wound its way around the common room, pausing every so often at the other students bent over scrolls of parchment and heavy books. Maren sat in the corner, nearly hidden by a stack of Quidditch Quarterly back issues.
Rose looked back to the book in her lap and bit her lip. If nothing else, she wished for a Gilbert Blythe. Someone who cared for her so much they would bring a candy heart to apologize even when she was being a horror.
She tucked a rogue curl behind her ear and frowned at her hands. She was more than a little afraid that deep down she was a terror, someone so deeply troublesome that only her parents could ever really love her.
Rose straightened, shook her head to fling the thought away. She was being silly. Anne found someone, didn’t she? And so did Elizabeth Bennet. She, Rose Weasley, would be just fine.
She glanced again at Maren, and leaned back in the armchair. Her friends loved her. And if people like Maren and Lucy and Allie and Albus loved her she couldn’t be that bad, could she?
She flicked her thumb across the page, and bent back over her book.
Minutes slipped by at the fickle pace they prefer when one is enjoying oneself, and the lunch hour arrived far sooner than Rose liked. She consulted her timetable again before hurriedly running to her dormitory, shoving the needed textbooks and ink pots into her bag, and collecting Maren from her fortress in the corner of the common room.
They joined their friends in the Great Hall amid a round of whinging about the complexity of the Draught of Living Death.
“I hate cutting those little sopophorous beans,” Albus frowned. “They’re so small and hard to hold. I was sure I was going to cut one of my fingers off.”
“Well I am just positive I got a callus from chopping all those Valerian sprigs,” Allie sniffed, inspecting the palm of her right hand.
“I have a potion that will help with that,” Rose said as she slid into the seat beside her friend. “My mum got it for me for after quidditch matches. It works wonders.”
“Oh, really? That’d be lovely.” With a final glance at her hand Allie sighed and turned towards the lunch spread.
“How was double potions, other than the calluses?” Rose asked, finding herself now entirely forgetting the enjoyable manner in which she had passed the time and slightly envying her friends for all having a common experience from which she was excluded. “Anything exciting happen?”
“Not really,” Nathan shrugged. “Lecher showed us some potions, talked quite a bit, and then had us all brew the Draught of LIving Death to ‘see where we’re at.’ I swear it’s the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen. And he had us work alone.”
Rose shuddered, her jealousy evaporating at the thought of having to brew a difficult potion all by herself first thing in the morning. “That sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t all that bad,” Lucy said. “Some of the things we’ll be brewing sound so interesting. He had an actual cauldron of Amortentia in the room!”
“What’s that?” Maren asked.
“World’s strongest love potion,” Scorpius replied. “I don’t even know how he’s allowed to show it in the classroom. It’s supposed to be illegal nearly everywhere.”
“So you’ll all be brewing love potions together this year?” Maren asked, grinning across the table at Lucy, whose face turned scarlet. “No wonder you’re excited, Luce.”
“I’m not excited because of that !” Lucy cried. “It’s just—it’s technically fascinating, is all.”
“Sure, sure,” Maren said with an airy wave.
“Rose,” Allie broke in, her eyes once again on her hand. “When can I get that callus potion from you?”
Rose swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin juice and considered. “If you really need it, I can run back to the dormitory now and grab it so you can use it during Runes.”
“Oh,” Allie’s eyes flickered to Rose’s face and her smile faltered. “Well, that would be great, but I—I dropped Runes this year.”
“You what ?” Rose cried.
“You know I was rubbish at it,” Allie said, shaking her head. “And it always took me so long to get through the translations. I simply would not have enough time to get all my other work done if I tried to do a NEWT.”
This all made sense, but Rose still shook her head. “But, Allie—”
“Nathan said he dropped it too,” Allie said defensively.
Rose’s gaze swung up to glare at her other traitorous classmate, who merely shrugged and turned back to his sandwich.
“What am I supposed to do in that class now?” Rose demanded, slumping in her seat.
“Don’t pout,” Allie said with a wave. “You can still sit with Scorpius.”
Rose glanced across the table at said boy, who had turned back to his conversation with Albus. Things with Scorpius had been far more amicable this year. She couldn’t deny that. They were almost, dare she say, friends. But that did not make the prospect of spending an entire year sitting next to him in Ancient Runes more appealing.
“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me like this,” Rose groaned, running a hand through her hair.
“You’ll be just fine,” Allie said. “He’ll be a much better class partner for you than I was, anyways.”
Rose wasn’t at all sure about this, but didn’t want to argue further. She felt she was rather pushing her luck that nobody else—mainly the boy in question—had overheard the current conversation, and didn’t want to tempt fate. She spent the rest of the lunch hour silently chewing and nodding vaguely as Maren chattered about Ravenclaw’s quidditch strategy for the year.
All too soon, the Great Hall filled with the sound of the long benches scraping against the floor and parchment fluttering into bookbags as the students of Hogwarts made to leave for their afternoon classes. With a stifled sigh, Rose stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. She waited beside the table as Maren and Allie gathered their things before turning towards the Entrance Hall.
“Do you have another free period?” Rose asked Maren, trying to keep the envy out of her voice.
“Don’t be jealous because of my wonderful schedule full of wonderful free periods,” Maren grinned.
Rose huffed and adjusted her bag, glancing over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw table where Scorpius was gathering his things.
“We’ll see you in Charms, Rose,” Allie called as she sailed past, curls bouncing.
“See you.” Rose waved as her friends disappeared out of the hall.
“Ready?” Scorpius appeared at Rose’s side, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I think we’re the only ones going to Runes now.”
Rose nodded, swallowing a grimace. “Yeah, Allie told me she and Nathan both dropped it.”
Scorpius nodded in response and gestured towards the corridor, stepping back to allow Rose to precede him into the throng of students.
Rose couldn’t help it: her steps bounced as she made her way to the Ancient Runes classroom. She tried to school her expression, moved her hand when it traveled too close to her textbook. But it was no use. She arrived at the classroom in record time, found a seat in the second row near the center of the room, and didn’t even comment as Scorpius took the seat next to her.
The class was noticeably smaller than the year before, though Professor Scriber didn’t seem at all fazed as she swept into the room. Rose swiveled her head and spied Johanna Amal and Quentin Collingwood taking the seats behind her and Scorpius. Across the aisle sat Adele Ahlgren and another Slytherin girl. She bit back a sigh, and looked down at her book.
“Welcome to N.E.W.T. Ancient Runes,” Professor Scribner rumbled, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear as she surveyed them. “I hope you are all in the right place.”
Rose held her breath, sitting up straighter as the professor stepped between the desks. Her eyes flicked towards Scorpius, who looked resolutely ahead.
“Please hear me when I say this course is not for the lazy or the noncommittal,” Professor Scribner continued. “Over the next year you will be challenged, perhaps right to your limits, as we travel together through this ancient language. If you are thinking of ways to cut corners, or how to get by with as little work as possible, then now is the best time to see yourself out.”
Silence weighed heavy over the class, and not a student stirred. Rose crossed and uncrossed her legs, her eyes drifting towards Scorpius, who stared down at the desk.
“We seem to have a dedicated group this year,” Professor Scribner drawled. “Very well. If you all feel up to it, there are two things I like to share at the beginning of N.E.W.T.s. The first you will likely enjoy.”
Rose’s eyebrows quirked. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smoothed her shirt.
“As N.E.W.T. students you will be thinking about your careers following school,” Professor Scribner said, her lips pursed. “As such, I like to host some salons throughout the year. Should you choose to attend, you will have the opportunity to hear speakers representing many different facets of the industry and mingle with working Runes professionals.”
The professor cast a glance across the room, clearly dubious of how much the class deserved such an honor.
Rose bit her lip, looking about the room and hoping desperately she wasn’t the only person excited by the prospect of meeting Runes industry professionals.
Just the notion that such a thing existed sent a lightning strike through her veins. She took a breath, forced her core to still, and ran a hand over her hair.
“The second thing,” Professor Scribner said, “regards your exams, so if you have not listened so far I recommend you start.”
Everyone in the room sat up a touch straighter. Rose snatched her quill.
“This year is not like the previous ones,” Previous Scriber sniffed. “There will not be a weekly translation to be completed, and your exams will not merely be a cumulation of weekly lessons.”
A number of people let out audible groans. Rose furrowed her brow, cocking her head to the side as she watched the professor glide across the classroom.
“Ancient Runes is not just about rote translation,” Professor said. “And at the N.E.W.T. level a small weekly translation does not give the full breadth of one’s skillsets. The format of this class is somewhat different. Rather than a weekly translation, you all will complete a year-long project. A book-length text that you will translate along with a partner, completing a collaborative essay describing the history and significance of the chosen text, as well as a description of translation choices made and the reason behind them.”
Professor Scribner paused and sent an appraising look over the class. “Partners and desired texts must be chosen by the end of class period. The rest of the time is yours to decide.”
Without another word she sailed to the front of the room and deposited herself behind the heavy wooden desk. Rose sat back, half awed and half afraid.
Behind her, the classroom fell to a hush before breaking out in chatter. Chairs scraped against stone floors as everyone seemed to move, rushing to find someone to work with.
Rose sat still, unsure what to do.
Beside her, Scorpius turned. He caught her eye, and cocked an eyebrow.
Rose brushed her hair over her shoulder.
“Rose?” Scorpius looked down at his hands, seeming suddenly unsure of himself. “Would you—would you want to work together?”
Rose caught her lower lip between her teeth. She hesitated.
Slowly, she jerked her head into a nod.
Scorpius glanced at her through his eyelashes, mouth twisting. “Just to be sure, that’s a yes, right?”
Rose released her lip and nodded again. Speak, she should speak. She mustn’t be rude. She doesn’t want him to think she’s rude.
“Sure,” she choked, her voice feeling feeble. “Yeah—yeah, sure, if you’d—if you’d like.”
Scorpius watched her for another moment, blond eyebrows knitting together and then smoothing. “Right,” he said. “So—do you—I’m assuming you already have suggestions for a book we should translate?”
Ribbons of heat wrapped themselves around Rose’s neck, trailing their way up to her cheeks. “Just a few,” she mumbled.
A small, tense smile flashed across Scorpius’s face, rounding his cheeks. “I thought you might. What are they?”
Rose paused and chewed the inside of her cheek. “Did you have any thoughts?”
Scorpius made a face. “I thought this would go best if I just asked what you wanted to do.”
Rose frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of listening to other suggestions, Malfoy.”
Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Whatever you suggest will probably be the best choice. So just say what you’re thinking.”
“Fine.” Rose pursed her lips and ran a hand slowly over her hair, looking down at the floor. “I—if it’s not too silly—was thinking that Tales of Beedle the Bard could be a good idea.”
Scorpius quirked an eyebrow. “Aren’t there dozens of translations of that one?”
Rose gave a short shrug. “That’s why it’s such a good one, isn’t it?” she asked. “If we can translate it in a captivating way—a new way—it will be something that’s interesting and something that will likely get us high marks.”
Scorpius stared at her. Rose leaned back, her fingers finding the ends of her hair.
“We don’t have to if you—”
“No—no—it’s a brilliant idea.”
Scorpius stopped, looking over his shoulder before leaning forward and dropping his voice. “You think we could translate The Tales of Beedle the Bard in a way that Scribner would find interesting?”
Rose captured her bottom lip once again, her fingers tugging on her hair. She nodded.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah, I do. I have a copy of the original Runes. I’ve always thought there’s a lot of room for creative license.”
Scorpius’ eyes traveled down her face. Rose felt herself shifting, her bones shivering under his gaze. She looked away, hoping he would move back.
“Alright,” Scorpius said. “Let’s do that, then.”
Rose nodded. “So it—it’s a plan, then?”
“Yeah, Rose. It’s a plan.”
“Do we need to tell Professor Scribner?” Rose glanced up at the professor, still sitting stoically behind her desk.
Scorpius shrugged. “Probably. Did you want to do that?”
“I don’t have to—”
“Why don’t you do it.” Scorpius flicked his eyes towards her, sinking slightly in his seat. “She likes you better.”
Rose’s brows contracted. “What makes you say that?”
Scorpius’s eyebrows rose. “Because it’s obvious? She barely talks to me.”
Rose opened her mouth, searching for a response. Nothing came, so she simply shrugged, turning away and getting to her feet. “Well, then.”
She made her way to the professor, brushing her hair from her shoulders. Professor Scribner raised her chin as Rose approached.
“You’ve made up your mind, Miss Weasley?”
“Yes,” Rose nodded. “Er—I’ll be working with Scorpius Malfoy. We’ll be translating The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”
Professor Scribner’s eyebrows rose higher. “There’s already several translations of Beedle the Bard, isn’t there?”
Rose shrugged. “I think we can create one that adds something new.”
The professor wavered, a kink appearing in her chin as a smile flashed into view and then disappeared. “Do you now?”
“Mhm.” Rose forced herself to stand straight, a curl dislodging from her braid. “I do.”
“Very well.” Professor Scribner pulled a roll of parchment forward and took a quill between her fingers, glancing up at Rose. “Weasley and Malfoy, promising a fascinating translation of Beedle the Bard.”
Rose didn’t linger. She hurried to her seat, thankful to see Johanna Amal and Quentin Collingwood moving towards the professor’s desk.
“All set?” Scorpius asked, looking up as Rose dropped into her seat.
Rose let out a huff. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “We’re all set.”
“Good.” Scorpius glanced down at his watch. “So we have all term to figure out an innovative translation of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?”
Rose hesitated, her hand returning again to her hair. “Er—yeah—basically,” she said. “How hard can that be?”
Scorpius’s eyes moved up and locked on hers, the grey irises shining against the classroom lights. “We’ll probably make it harder than it has to be,” he said. “But it will be alright.”
Rose caught her hair between her knuckles, unsure of what to say.
This year was not starting off the way she had planned.