The ceiling of the Great Hall was a clear cobalt blue interrupted every so often by clouds. It was the kind of Friday morning that Professor Viola Cassio of Muggle Studies would have liked to describe as ‘tranquil,’ or ‘idyllic,’ as a gentle breeze and the smell of autumn wafted through the air.

Today, though, she was lost in her thoughts. Sandwiched between Professor Flitwick - who had been interesting to meet; he was one of the rare individuals that were shorter than she was - and Professor Longbottom, she was pondering something that had been troubling her ever since her arrival at Hogwarts the previous Sunday. Viola had dealt with a variety of students over the course of the week - of every size, shape, and disposition imaginable - but she found that they were invariably all the same regarding one particular factor.

Even for a Muggle-born, Viola had an uncommon knowledge of Muggle literature. Raised in a circle of scholars, she had had Shakespeare drummed into her at an early age; now thirty-one years old and an accomplished witch, she was still every bit as passionate about the playwright as she had been back then. Yet, in the world in which she lived, there was seemingly no one else who shared her enthusiasm.

She needed a plan - something to motivate her students, something that would teach them that Muggle culture was far from unnecessary or pointless…

Inspiration suddenly struck her with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

“Professor Flitwick?”

The tiny man started, dropping his chocolate croissant into his lap.

“Oh, goodness - and do call me Filius, dear -” He chuckled wearily as he Vanished the crumbs left on his robes. “I’m still half asleep, honestly! What was it you wanted?”

“I was just wondering,” Viola said, a smile slowly unfolding across her face, “how one would go about starting a student organization.”

---

Down at the Gryffindor table, Rose Weasley was shovelling forkfuls of scrambled eggs into her mouth when her friend Drew plonked himself beside her, beaming.

“It’s Friday,” he announced, pulling a stack of toast towards him and buttering it merrily.

Rose swallowed her eggs and turned a page of her book. “So it is.”

“I love Fridays.”

The two of them went through this routine every week, and it seemed that the tradition had not been broken over the summer holidays.

“And why is that?” Rose asked, without looking up.

“Because it means that tomorrow” - Drew threw an arm around her shoulders - “is Saturday.”

When Rose didn’t reply, he sighed, removing his arm and plucking the book that she was reading out of her grasp.

“What are you reading, anyway?” he asked, studying the faded dust jacket. “Wuthering Heights? Cheery stuff.”

“It happens to be a classic.” Rose shot him a disdainful look and continued to eat her breakfast.

“And you happen to be a witch, so why are you bothering with ancient Muggle books?”

She scoffed, setting down her pumpkin juice. “It’s hardly ancient. Besides, I think that it’s good to broaden your horizons, especially when your mother was raised by Muggles.”

Drew shrugged and bit into his toast. Rose took the opportunity to snatch the book back from him, rifling through the pages fervently.

“Oh, Drew, you made me lose my page! I was just getting to a good bit, too…”

She scowled at him and shoved the book into her bag, withdrawing her timetable as she did so. Sunshine suddenly flooded the Great Hall, picking out every golden thread in Drew’s hair; he looked ironically angelic in the haze of light.

“You know, your hair looks really red in this light, Rose,” Drew remarked thoughtfully, tugging on an auburn curl.

“Yours looks blonde,” she replied, still glaring at him. “Blonder, anyway.”

“I got highlights over the summer, actually.” Drew grinned, and Rose smiled back before she could stop herself. “Aren’t they dashing?”

He didn’t always act it, but Drew Fitzgerald was truly fabulously gay. Rose wasn’t bothered by this, of course, though, sometimes, she did find it amusing.

Now, she agreed that the highlights were indeed incredibly dashing, and glanced down at her timetable as students around them started to leave for their first lessons.

“Bad news, Drew,” she said, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. “Muggle Studies first.”

As in almost every other class, Rose was excellent at Muggle Studies, probably in part because she had been brought up by a Muggle-born mother. Drew, however - despite being Muggle-born himself - was awful at the subject. He claimed that he found it nearly impossible to concentrate in the lessons, and even he couldn’t be sure why he had taken it in the first place.

“I can safely say that my good mood has just evaporated,” he said miserably, trailing after Rose like a tall, blonde, bad-tempered duckling behind its mother. He kept up a steady string of complaints about the nature of Muggle Studies as the pair walked to their third floor classroom, but fell silent when they reached the door, as if afraid that the teacher might hear him.

“Don’t we have a new professor this year?” Rose remembered a tiny witch in magenta robes that the Headmistress had introduced on their first evening back.

“Yeah… Professor Caprio or something.”

“Cassio.”

“What?”

Rose shrugged. “Her name is Professor Cassio. I just remembered.”

“Oh.” Drew made a face. “Let’s hope she’s better than Professor Khan, at least.”

No sooner had Rose recalled the dull, unhealthy-looking professor of their previous year than the door of the classroom flew open with a bang, revealing an entirely different-looking woman of around thirty with a sheaf of black hair pulled tightly back from her face. She looked Italian, Rose thought, with a Hispanic complexion and angular features, though her eyes were a piercing, icy blue. Her head reached up to about Rose’s chin.

“Good morning, fourth-years,” she said, her voice brisk and untainted by an accent. “My name is Viola Cassio; you will refer to me by ‘Professor’ or ‘Professor Cassio’ only, however. Welcome to Muggle Studies.”

With that, Professor Cassio turned on her heel and strode back into her classroom, leaving Rose feeling as though she had been plunged into freezing water. Drew gave her a gentle push, and she hastily shuffled after their new professor.

“Not very friendly, is she?” Drew muttered as they found a desk near the front of the room. Rose grimaced in agreement. Looking around the room, she found that it was filled with a myriad of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs with a sparse few Ravenclaws and Slytherins. She recognised Jack Thomas, a quiet Gryffindor boy in her year whose parents were friendly with hers, and smiled at him, indicating the seat in front of her. He grinned back shyly and made his way over.

“That woman scares me,” Jack said in a low voice when he reached them, setting up his quill and parchment meticulously on the desk. He was a slight, fine-boned boy with skin the colour of brown sugar and a thick cap of dark curls, and he might have been considered handsome if everyone who saw him didn’t get the impression they could knock him down with a feather.

“Jack,” Rose replied, amused, “she’s about half your size.”

Jack just looked at her darkly from beneath his eyelashes. His gaze fell on Drew, who was staring morosely into space, and his face broke into a smile.

“Hey,” Jack asked, with mild interest, “did you get highlights?”

Before Drew or Rose could comment on this bizarre turn of conversation, however, Professor Cassio materialised in front of the class. A number of lethal-looking leather-bound volumes were hovering in the air before her. Rose could just about make out the titles embossed on the covers: Romeo and Juliet. The name rang a distinct bell within her mind. She had a feeling that her mother had mentioned it before.

“We will be studying Muggle literature this term,” declared Professor Cassio, in a toneless voice that made Rose suspect she had said the same words many times before. “Specifically the works of Shakespeare.”

Drew’s head snapped up at this, and Rose remembered where she had seen the title on the volumes before. It resided on the spine of one of the many books her mother kept in their study at home. And Shakespeare - wasn’t he an Elizabethan writer? Rose knew that Hermione had definitely brought up the name in conversation.

“Now, can anyone tell me what they know about William Shakespeare?”

Drew raised a tentative hand. “He’s a Muggle playwright, isn’t he?”

Professor Cassio gave him an approving nod, and he sat back, looking distinctly pleased with himself. Rose hid a smile.

“In the Muggle world, Shakespeare is, even today, a household name,” Professor Cassio continued. She stared down at the blank faces of her pupils with a pained expression. “I realise that most of you have grown up knowing only of writers in the wizarding world. However, I have taken it upon myself to educate you in the teachings of Muggle literature, which I hope you will find as engaging as I do. ” There was a pause, as if daring the class to disagree. “I trust that none of you would be sitting here if you didn’t find the Muggle world at least marginally interesting...”

Then, with a flick of her wand, Professor Cassio sent the books in front of her flying across the room in a series of graceful arcs. The one that thudded onto the desk in front of Rose was particularly dog-eared, with furry corners and a fraying spine. The gold lettering on the cover was faded. Drew, whose copy was near-perfect, smirked maddeningly.

Professor Cassio clapped her hands once, bringing the attention of the class back from the shower of books to her. “Romeo and Juliet is set in Verona, Italy, in the year 1303. Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are two teenagers from conflicting families. They fall in love, even though the relationship is obviously doomed; at the end of the play, both take their own lives so as to be together in death. It is one of Shakespeare’s best known tragedies and one of my personal favourites.”

Her eyes roamed over the students assembled in front of her before finally settling on Rose. The latter could almost see her professor making the connections in her mind - red hair plus freckles equals…

“Miss Weasley,” Professor Cassio said finally, a thin smile tugging at her lips. “Would you care to read the prologue for us?”

With a barely audible sigh, Rose opened the book in front of her and began to read.

“‘Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s death, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.’”

Rose leaned back in her seat, a pleasant sense of anticipation building inside her. This was her kind of story. She looked up to find Professor Cassio watching her with an intent expression.

“Thank you, Miss Weasley,” she said, without removing her gaze from Rose’s face. Picking up her own copy of the play �“ which, Rose noticed, was in a considerably better condition than those of her class - the professor produced a pair of square-rimmed reading glasses. She perched them on the bridge of her nose and dragged her eyes away from Rose in order to scan the rest of her pupils.

“Did you all understand what Miss Weasley just read out?” Professor Cassio’s expression didn’t even flicker when she was answered only by a few half-hearted mutterings. “In short, it meant that in taking their lives, Romeo and Juliet managed to reconcile their families - but, to use the common phrase, it was too little, too late. The end of the passage is a piece of advice, of sorts; saying that we should learn from the mistakes of the Capulets and the Montagues. Are we clear?” This time, the class gave a much more enthusiastic assent. Professor Cassio smiled tightly. “Excellent. Please pay close attention as I read.”

Without even glancing down at the page in front of her, Professor Cassio began to speak in a clear, melodious voice. “‘Act 1, Scene 1. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers…’”

---

Later, Rose found herself enjoying the play to an almost obsessive degree, and couldn’t resist curling up in the common room that evening to pore over her tattered copy. It was there that Drew found her, coiled like a cat in an armchair by the fire.

“Hey,” he said, settling into the chair beside hers. Rose didn’t look up, and he sighed, loudly and pointedly. “What happened to Wuthering Heights?”

“In my bag,” she replied tonelessly, expertly flipping a worn page. In the next moment, her book had been yanked from her hands for the second time that day.

“Cathy and Heathcliff will be feeling neglected,” he told her firmly, then seemingly thought better of it. “Not that you should go and get them, either,” he amended.

Rose rolled her eyes and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her slippered feet. A chilly autumn was fast approaching, and draughts had already started sneaking through the corridors.

“So, what’s happening to our dear friends Romeo and Juliet?” Drew asked absently, twisting at the threads poking out of his armchair. Rose opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as her cousin Lily came bounding over. Lily had hair the colour of firewhisky and a temper to match, but this was all but buried by her bubbly personality.

“Rosie!” she squealed by way of greeting, hurling herself onto the arm of Rose’s chair. “And Drew! You’ll never guess what’s happened!”

With a sense of foreboding deep in the pit of her stomach, Rose turned towards her cousin. Anything that made Lily this excited would inevitably be something worrying.

“What?” asked Drew, happily oblivious to Rose’s discomfort.

“You know that new Muggle Studies lady? Well...” - Lily was practically squirming with excitement - “she’s starting a drama club! How cool is that?”

Rose, who hated anything that entailed getting up and performing in front of people, inwardly thought that this was a terrible idea, but she pasted a smile on her face anyway. Drew, on the other hand, looked genuinely intrigued.

“Really, now?” he mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“Yep!” Lily bounced up and down slightly. “She’s offering extra credit in Muggle Studies for it, too.”

“Is she?” Drew cocked an eyebrow and alarm bells started going off in Rose’s head.

“Yeah, but I don’t even do Muggle Studies, so…” Shrugging her bony shoulders, Lily slid off of her perch on Rose’s chair and grinned at both of them. “It’s on tomorrow at four o’ clock! See you there, hip cats!”

Drew shook his head as she melted into the throng of Gryffindors.

“That girl is mad,” he said, though there was an admiring tone to his voice. “Anyway...a drama club? How about it, Rose?”

Her answer was to stare, horrified, at him.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be a laugh! And, anyway,” - he stuck out his bottom lip - “I could really use the extra credit.”

“Sounds like bribery to me,” Rose muttered, but she could feel her resolve breaking.

“Pretty please?”

Rose mentally chided herself for being such a pushover. “Fine. One meeting, and if I don’t like it, I never have to go again.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at Drew. “Deal?”

Drew grinned victoriously. “Deal.”

By ten o’clock the next day, Rose was beginning to regret agreeing to Drew’s terms; after several more hours of nervous anticipation, she finally found herself waiting sulkily outside Professor Cassio’s classroom along with him and Lily. The latter was jabbering excitedly, occasionally hopping up and down.

“What if she makes me get up in front of the class and… and act, or something?” Rose asked them rather anxiously, wringing her hands. Drew rolled his eyes.

“Because God forbid that you should have to act at a drama club, right?”

“Shut up. She’s already singled me out once before, you know…”

“Rose,” Drew said, grasping her shoulders and shaking her none too lightly. “Relax. It’s a club. You know, one of the things people join for recreational purposes?”

Rose just scowled back at him and started to wind a strand of hair around her finger, watching sullenly as her fingertip began to turn purple. Drew sighed and turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see that a fairly large crowd had gathered in the corridor, and thought spitefully that a large percentage of them must be failing Muggle Studies. After all, why else would they waste their Saturday afternoon here?

“Hey, Rose!”

She looked up to see Lily’s brother, Albus, winding his way through the throng of people in her direction. Though his face was slightly fuller and his nose a little more snub than his father’s, Albus still looked remarkably like him - something he had always resented. Rose thought she knew exactly how he felt sometimes. She shared her mother’s almond-shaped eyes and bow mouth, but her scarlet hair would always mark her out as a Weasley.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Albus commented, drawing up beside her and pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

“I was blackmailed,” Rose told him dourly.

“Ah.” Albus flashed a grin at her, one eyebrow raised. Rose scowled harder.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Raise one eyebrow. I’ve never worked out how to do it.”

Albus laughed, and Rose was about to hit him, when Professor Cassio suddenly appeared in the doorway of her classroom. She was wearing lime-green robes and an almost-pleasant expression.

“Good afternoon,” she said, her eyes raking the crowd. “Please come in.”

They trooped into the classroom, Professor Cassio in the lead, and stood for a moment, blinking at the change in the room. The usual cluster of desks was now stacked against the walls; without them, the room seemed much larger. Dust motes swam around the empty space, creating swirling patterns in the air; a ring of straight-backed chairs stood before them.

“Take a seat, everyone,” called Professor Cassio, making shoo-ing gestures with her hands. Rose found a chair between Drew and Albus; she flicked her fringe over her face self-consciously.

“Now, before we begin, I would like you all to put your wands away, please,” the professor announced, ignoring the mutterings that immediately swept the room at the statement. “I feel that there is no need for them here.”

Rose stowed her wand obediently in her bag, reluctant but unsurprised. What had the others expected, anyway? That they would be doing wandwork onstage? Still, Rose felt strangely incomplete without the familiar birch-and-phoenix-feather implement sitting comfortably in her hand �“ it was almost as if she had suddenly found herself without any clothes on.

When she was certain that all wands had been put away, Professor Cassio instructed the drama class to divide into pairs. She explained that she would give every pair a slip of parchment with an emotion written on it; partners were supposed to take turns moulding each other into a position that portrayed this feeling. Rose, who frankly thought that this was a bit of a pointless exercise, turned to Drew with a long-suffering sigh.

“It says awkward,” Drew said, narrowing his eyes at their piece of parchment whilst navigating Rose into an empty space. “Is that even an emotion?”

“Just… have a go.”

“Why do you get to be shaped first?”

“Fine, I’ll do you instead.”

Satisfied, Drew let his joints relax, visibly drooping as the parchment fell from his fingers and fluttered to the floor. Rose stood back and thought for a moment, letting inspiration flow into her.

A few minutes later, she took a step backwards to admire her handiwork and allowed herself a proud smile. Drew’s hands were fisted in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched self-consciously; his knees were slightly bent and, though there was an expression of barely-controlled amusement on his face, he looked as though he was curling in on himself. Awkward.

“Good, Miss Weasley, Mr Fitzgerald.”

Rose spun around: Professor Cassio was standing behind her. There was a shrewd expression on her pointed face, and a sense of foreboding began to manifest itself in the pit of Rose’s stomach.

“Thanks,” Drew replied, straightening up and stretching. Professor Cassio nodded in his direction before sweeping away, robes swirling around her and giving her the appearance of an elegant green bird.

“I told you,” Rose hissed, slackening her limbs obediently for Drew to sculpt her. “I told you that she’d single me out, didn’t I?!”

“Right,” Drew replied absently, starting to mould Rose as though she were simply a piece of clay. Rose rolled her eyes at him and settled for watching Lily bound around a very alarmed-looking Jack Thomas. She was stretching his arms above his head at what looked like an extremely uncomfortable angle.

A moment later, Rose heard a yelp of pain and then Professor Cassio’s voice calling, “Miss Potter, please be more careful with Mr Thomas!”

---

“Well, that was… interesting,” Rose remarked, tumbling out of the classroom at five o’clock. Her mind was on her dinner; she hoped that there would be dessert.

“You hated it, didn’t you?” Drew looked half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Well, hate’s a bit of a strong word…”

“Miss Weasley?”

They both turned to see Professor Cassio poke her head out of the classroom door. “Could I have a word, please?”

Rose glanced at Drew in alarm; he just shrugged and gave her a push in their professor’s direction. Inwardly groaning, she stepped back into the classroom.

Professor Cassio had already restored the room to its usual state. She was seated behind her desk, drumming a tattoo onto the tabletop with her fingers; a copy of Romeo and Juliet was lying open before her.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” she said, looking up. Nothing about her expression hinted at what this meeting could possibly be about. “Sit, please.”

Rose sat.

“I noticed that you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself today,” continued Professor Cassio, shutting the book with a severe snap. Rose flinched. Was she in trouble? She racked her mind for something that she might have done to provoke her teacher’s wrath, but came up with nothing. Could she have committed some crime that she herself hadn’t even been aware of? It was only when this disturbing thought occurred to her that she realised Professor Cassio was waiting silently, clearly expecting an explanation.

“I’m just a bit… self-conscious,” Rose admitted, resuming her study of the backs of her hands.

Professor Cassio sighed quietly. “A shame, because you show some promise, Rose.” At this, Rose looked up, surprised. “I believe that, with practice, you could make a fine actress.”

“Professor, I…”

“It’s just something to think about.” Professor Cassio gave her the barest hint of a smile and re-opened Romeo and Juliet. “You may go.”

Feeling immensely confused and about two inches tall, Rose stood up slowly and walked to the door with an awkward “bye.” Outside, Drew was nowhere to be seen. She rolled her eyes, grumbling to herself, and started making her way to the Great Hall.

What had Professor Cassio meant when she had said it was “something to think about”? Rose had never given much thought to what her strengths were; she had merely grown used to the fact that she would do well in everything, rather like her mother. That was what everyone seemed to expect of her, anyway. Did this mean that she should be considering her talents outside of academics as well? Rose couldn’t think clearly: obviously she needed to talk to Drew about all of this…

“Oof!”

There was a muffled crash as she collided with something large, solid and alive, sending her bag - and everything in it - skidding across the floor. Ink was starting to seep through the fabric of the bag, bleeding black, red and blue across brown.

“Oh, I’m so sorry - I should have been looking to see where I was going…” By this time, Rose had already gathered up her books and was siphoning away the ink from her bag. She glanced up to see who it was she had crashed into, and smothered a gasp as her brown eyes met with steely grey.

“Malfoy?” She stepped smartly backwards, as if scalded. Scorpius Malfoy was smirking down at her in his usual manner, holding out Romeo and Juliet.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said lazily, dropping the book into Rose’s outstretched hands before adding a contemptuous “Weasley.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. She had never had much to do with Scorpius, preferring to stay out of trouble’s way. Of course, they had exchanged the odd insults in the corridors, but the name ‘Malfoy’ no longer commanded the respect that it once had. Rose didn’t feel threatened by him in the slightest.

“That would be correct,” she retorted, stuffing the book into her bag and turning on her heel, nose thrust into the air.

“You’re welcome!” came the reply from behind her, along with some unpleasant laughter. Rose could feel her ears turning an unattractive shade of red. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to thank him now.

When she finally reached the Great Hall, Rose was feeling rather unfavourable towards the world after five minutes or so of dark brooding. She sat down next to Drew with an angry sigh and instantly fixed him with a glare that would have done her mother proud.

“You could have waited.”

“Actually,” Drew said, sipping his pumpkin juice nonchalantly, “I couldn’t have. Chortle came along and threatened me with scrubbing the dungeons if I didn’t move along.”

Cerberus Chortle was the Hogwarts caretaker and, contrary to his surname, was a rather unpleasant man who walked with a limp and had several warts adorning his aquiline nose.

“Anyway, I thought that you would be able to make it here on your own,” Drew continued, raising one eyebrow (something which only served to irritate Rose further). “Apparently not.”

“Well, I would have been fine, if I hadn’t crashed into” �“ here, Rose paused dramatically - “him.” She gestured vaguely towards the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was sitting with his long-nosed friend, Lucian Nott.

“Who - Malfoy?”

“Yes, but keep it down! He’ll see us!”

Drew frowned. “Aren’t you overreacting a little? It’s only Malfoy.”

Rose rolled her eyes, decided to let the matter drop, and set about telling Drew about what Professor Cassio had said.

“See? I told you that she was singling me out,” she finished triumphantly. Drew sighed.

“Maybe you would make a good actress, you drama queen.” He set down his fork with a clatter. “It sounds like Cassio was paying you a compliment, Rose. Usually, when people are called talented by their terrifying teachers, they’re pleased.”

Rose considered this for a moment. Maybe she was being slightly melodramatic.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m having a bad day, I guess.”

Drew smiled around his mouthful. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

Over the next few days, Rose concentrated on being calm and collected. She didn’t lose her rag when Jack Thomas spilled ink on her neatly copied out Transfiguration homework. She didn’t storm off when Drew hinted that she should persevere with the drama club (after all, Professor Cassio had left well enough alone, so why couldn’t he?). She didn’t even flinch when Lily ecstatically bounded up to her to show off her newfound eyebrow-raising skills. However, the one thing that tried Rose’s patience to the very limit was being partnered in Potions with Scorpius Malfoy.

Professor Zosimus had announced their new project on Monday: for a week, everyone would be paired with someone that they didn’t necessarily know so that they could get used to working with different people. The idea had come to him in a moment of epiphany, or so he said.

"I have noticed," he announced gravely, "that you have become - there is no other word for it - slack workers." His hooded eyes swept the classroom, settling on Rose just long enough to make her uncomfortable. "Because you are taking your O.W.L.s next year, I feel that a little motivation is in order."

Rose, settled in her new cool state, simply pushed her heavy ponytail over her shoulder and waited for the verdict.

"Your new partners will be decided by me. No arguments," Professor Zosimus added warningly, cutting short the groans that had filled the classroom. "Perhaps, after a week, you will rethink your work ethic."

Drew turned to Rose with a despairing moan.

"I can't believe this," he whispered. Rose organised her face into an understanding expression, trying not to be smug about how, for once, Drew was being the melodramatic one. "There are Slytherins in our class. What does Zosimus want, a massacre?"
"We'll be fine," Rose told him soothingly. "You never know - there are Gryffindors in here, too."

"No one is that lucky," he replied miserably, sinking lower in his seat.

By now, Professor Zosimus had started to divide up the class, mercilessly shearing apart the existing pairs.

"I'm actually nervous," Drew said, under his breath. "How ridiculous is that?"

Rose didn't reply. The professor had reached their table now and was regarding them thoughtfully.

"Mr Fitzgerald, you are partnered with" - he glanced around the classroom - "Mr Thomas. Off you go."

Drew's expression cleared. "Jack?" he asked, apparently unable to believe his good fortune. "Cool. I mean...yes, sir."

Professor Zosimus waved him away and consulted his register. Rose waited patiently for him to finish, wondering at Drew's luck.

"Ah, there we go. Miss Weasley, you will be partnered with..."

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. Rose followed her teacher's gaze, preparing to be refreshed - maybe she would make a new friend in the bargain - and felt her breath catch as she took in blonde hair, grey eyes, alabaster skin-

"... Mr Malfoy."

Rose's despair must have showed on her face (what were the chances?) because Professor Zosimus raised his thick eyebrows at her. "Remember, Miss Weasley - no objections, unless you want a detention."

With that, he swept away, leaving Rose to sadly remember how she technically couldn't even wallow in self-pity because that breached the terms of her 'no-melodrama' pact. Instead, she pulled her ponytail tighter, gathered up her equipment, and strode over to Malfoy's desk.

"We're working together," she muttered, seating herself next to him and edging as far along the bench as possible.

"Are we?" Rose didn't even have to look at Scorpius to see his smirk.

"Apparently," she said, slamming her books down with a little more force than necessary.

"Well." She heard the bench creak as Scorpius leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. "This should be interesting."

---

It was now Tuesday, and, already, Rose was nearing the end of her tether. To everything Rose said, Scorpius responded with a snide remark or a sneer; it was becoming clear that everything bad she had ever heard about Draco Malfoy had been handed down to his son.

"You're supposed to be stirring anti-clockwise," Scorpius was pointing out, lazily chopping up salamander skin. They were supposed to be brewing a Deflating Draught, but, so far, the only thing the two of them had done was argue.

Steeling herself against the urge to tip the contents of her cauldron onto Scorpius' head, Rose started to stir in the opposite direction.

"So," he drawled, ceasing to chop and beginning to flick some fish eyes around the tabletop, "are you really a clone of your mother, or is that just for show?"

Rose continued to stir, breathing deeply through her nose and trying to think of happier things.

"You don't even know my mother," she replied, in as calm a voice as she could muster.

"Right." Scorpius paused in his flicking and looked up at her. "Yet you still judge me by what you've heard about my father."

Stunned, Rose let her ladle fall from her hands with a clatter. Did Scorpius Malfoy actually have a human side after all?

"It might help," she said slowly, turning to face him, "if you didn't act like a complete idiot all the time."

He raised his pale eyebrows, and Rose blushed.

"Well, you do. It's as if everything I say or do merits a smart comeback. It's exhausting."

Scorpius laid down his knife and rested his chin on his palms, elegant fingers splayed.

"Isn't it funny how often people see what they expect to see rather than what's right in front of their eyes?" He pursed his lips and looked up at Rose in mock thoughtfulness. She met his eyes, lifting her chin a little. She wasn't about to get sucked into Scorpius' mind games.

"Funny," she agreed, turning away and sprinkling some pepper-red scales into the potion.

"Mmm." Scorpius shrugged, dropped his hands, and stood up, stretching. He was at least a head taller than Rose, and she found herself wondering how he fitted his long legs under the comparatively small desks. She shook this thought away - she had no business contemplating Scorpius Malfoy’s exterior - and moved around the table, collecting up the scattered fish eyes.

Professor Zosimus chose this moment to walk past, peering into their cauldron over his monocle.

"Hurry up, you two, you're lagging behind." He gave Rose a stern look and moved on, tapping his ornate pocket watch as he did so. She sighed and ducked her head, waiting for his footsteps to fade away before glaring at Scorpius.

"You could help, you know," she said crossly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Fine," Scorpius replied, reaching for a pot of powdered bat claws. Rose was uncomfortably aware of his shoulder against hers as he poured them into their potion. Up close, the resemblance to his father faded a little - his features were softer, the colour of his eyes a little warmer - and she noticed that there was a tiny scar buried in one of his eyebrows.

"Why are you staring at me?" Rose jumped, but Scorpius was bent over a book, not looking at her. Obviously, he had sensed her gaze rather than seen it.

"I'm not," she lied smoothly, hoping that her cheeks weren't turning pink.

For the rest of the lesson, Rose made a point of focusing on the potion, not allowing herself even a fleeting glance in Scorpius' direction. By the time an hour was up, they had concocted a passable Deflating Draught.

"Very nice," Professor Zosimus remarked, watching his hand - bloated from a sample of Drew and Jack's Swelling Solution - return to its normal state. "Although you might have wanted to thin it a little; the potion is supposed to be about the consistency of pumpkin juice, not soup."

Rose and Scorpius nodded in unison as the bell rang and a wave of chatter ensued from their classmates. Hurriedly, Rose stuffed her books into her bag and heaved it over her shoulder.

"See you tomorrow," she muttered, beginning to weave through the cluster of students to where Drew was standing with Jack and Albus. Only when she reached the door did she look back at Scorpius, who, to her shock, offered her a half-smile before turning away.

"How was it?" Drew asked her sympathetically as they navigated the corridors to their next lesson. Much to her surprise, Rose didn’t have an answer for him.

---

The rest of the week’s Potions lessons were full of the same banter as before - only, now, it was a little less heated and marginally friendlier. Of course, this didn’t mean that they were friends; Scorpius had simply been promoted to ‘tolerable’ in Rose’s mind. It was only when she made the mistake of mentioning the drama club that their situation �“ ‘relationship’ didn't seem like the right word, somehow - transcended the 'acquaintance-only' boundary.

"I think you should go for it," Scorpius told her, having forced the entire story out of her. Rose glared at him.

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" she asked, moodily adding a pinch of thyme to Friday's brew.

"I'm not telling you to do anything." He looked up from his textbook, his upper lip twitching. "Just... suggesting. And, you know, it would take real strength of character to go back and prove yourself wrong."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "You're shameless."

Scorpius just shrugged. "I do what I can."

Shaking her head incredulously, Rose returned to their cauldron. She tried to dislodge the feeling that Scorpius was right, not succeeding very well.

"In what way would it show strength of character?" she asked finally, unable to help herself. Scorpius smirked his habitual smirk.

"Oh, overcoming your fears, and such..."

"I do not have a fear of acting!"

"Then why not go back?"

"Because… Because I don't like acting. There's a difference."

"Liar."

Rose glowered at him, stirring their potion viciously. "I'm not going back. And I do have strength of character."

Scorpius leaned forwards, a conniving quirk on his lips.

"Prove it," he said. His grin glinted like a knife in the dim dungeon light.

“No!” Once again, Rose was reaching the end of her tether. She pictured it in her mind as a burning rope, fraying and curling as flames licked more and more of it away. “Why should I listen to you? Why do you even care?”

Scorpius shrugged, nonchalant to a T. “Typical Gryffindor; never able to stick things out…”

“Typical Slytherin; never able to mind his own business!” Rose cried, finally at her breaking point. Without thinking, she seized a pot of newt tongues and poured its entire contents into the cauldron, quite apart from the three specimens that were called for in the recipe. Immediately, their desk was engulfed in pungent orange smoke �“ and, when it dissipated, both she and Scorpius were covered in great globs of a treacle-like substance that, until moments ago, had been their assignment.

Their eyes met and, before she knew it, Rose was laughing. Laughing until her ribs ached - with none other than Scorpius Malfoy. His white-blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, and one of his eyes was gummed together with the stuff, but he was roaring with mirth; Rose caught sight of her distorted reflection in their cauldron and laughed even more because she looked so ridiculous…

“What is the meaning of this?”

Their laughter ceased as abruptly as if Professor Zosimus, ploughing over to their desk, had switched them off. His monocle trembling with fury, he drew himself up to his not-inconsiderable height and surveyed the mess around him. All around the room, their classmates were staring, some with pity, some with fear, and some with outright glee at the thought of someone else getting into trouble (the most eminent of which was the eel-like Ursula Goyle). And who better to be punished than the infamous teacher’s pet, Rose Weasley, and the always-unfriendly Scorpius Malfoy?

“Well?” Zosimus glared down at them. “Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

“It was my fault,” Rose blurted, not pausing to wonder why she was standing up for Scorpius (who, in her mind, was as much to blame as she was). “I made a mistake with the potion.”

Behind her, Scorpius muttered something that sounded very much like “such a Gryffindor.”

“Well, then, Miss Weasley,” Professor Zosimus said with a frown, “detention tomorrow. Four o’ clock sharp. Perhaps some filing will teach you to pay attention to the recipe.”

Rose was left torn between shock - she had seldom had a detention before - and a secret relief, as she now had a bona fide excuse for not going to drama club (which, incidentally, had been the cause of all this drama) the next day. Just as Professor Zosimus was turning away, however, Scorpius’ all-too-familiar drawl resounded from behind her.

“Actually, Professor, it was my fault.” He sauntered forwards, elbowing Rose in the ribs as he went. “Weasley here was just being…” He wrinkled his nose, looking for the right word, “chivalrous. Besides, she has a prior appointment tomorrow at four.”

Rose glared furiously at Scorpius’ blonde head whilst Professor Zosimus squinted at him, unconvinced. “And what, pray tell, is this prior appointment?”

Oblivious to Rose’s silent admonitions - or maybe just pretending to be - Scorpius barrelled on. “Professor Cassio’s drama club,” he sneered, raising an eyebrow at his rat-faced friend Lucian Nott. Rose could barely restrain herself from hitting him over the head with her ladle.

“Ah. I suppose that Miss Weasley can testify that this was entirely your fault?” Professor Zosimus asked, peering over at Rose. She opened her mouth to disagree, but found that she couldn’t. After all, Scorpius was prepared to take her detention so that she could go to the club - what sort of gratitude would she be showing if she refused?

Scorpius gave her a meaningful look and, almost at once, Rose nodded her agreement.

“Fine. Malfoy, I want you here at four o’ clock tomorrow afternoon!” With that, Professor Zosimus swept away across the classroom, robes a-billow. “All of you, back to work! I want that mess cleaned up, by the way.”

Rose shook her head, speechless and torn between anger and thankfulness. “I-”

“Don’t mention it,” Scorpius said, smirking once more. “It’s only detention. If you ask me, you’re being a little melodramatic.”

And Rose, once again, found herself wanting to kill Scorpius Malfoy.