JPATNM ~ Chapter 8: In Which Someone Decides To Apologise

Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend,
Unnerves his strength, invites his end.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Woodnotes”

Chapter 8:

In Which Someone Decides To Apologise

~ Rose ~

It wasn’t everyday that one could watch the nifflers climb up to pine trees, snatching cones and rushing back to their burrows. And even more rare was it to observe the lichens hanging from the trees, stealing back the cones and wrapping their frail edges around them until it resembled a meatball rolled in steaming spaghetti.

Under any other circumstances, Rose would have immensely enjoyed their stroll through the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, following Neville, whose knowledge about the flora of Hogwarts was shared with them at a rate that even she was having a difficult time processing. Particularly on that certain morning, processing knowledge was quite next to impossible.

I can’t believe that little, little… bleached cootie! How dare he? How? Steal the idea right out of my head! He must have known what I was thinking somehow! But I hadn’t said it out loud, not even to Al, so how? He must be a master of occlumency, that’s what he is!  She shot a deadly glare at the head of her official new nemesis. He didn’t seem like a master of anything. And he probably isn’t either, she thought, remembering the boy at the train as he couldn’t even hold a wand the right way.

“Rose, are you sure you don’t want us to be closer to Neville? It’s hard to hear him from the back of the line,” Albus suggested.

She huffed, almost insulted at the idea of stepping an inch closer to Malfoy. Her rage for him would not fade any time soon, as it hadn’t faded at all in the passing of those two weeks. She wouldn’t let it pass, she was adamant about that. “And get closer to that… that…?”

“Bleached cootie?” Albus helped. He had heard his cousin use the term more than a billion times already after that fated Herbology lesson. “Well, imagine this. After the walk is over, the bleached cootie will know all kinds of things about herbs while you won’t, because you were too proud to stand close to the professor.”

Rose remained silent, thinking it over for a while. She managed to set the haze of her blind rage aside for just enough minutes to see the reasoning behind her cousin’s words. She realized then that this had been Malfoy’s secret plot! To disorient her enough to look better than her while he had a head start. But no, Rose wouldn’t let that happen!

“You’re right, let’s go to the front,” she said, gripping Albus’s hand so hard that her knuckles turned and dragged him out of the relatively lined-up students to reach a more tight crowd around Neville. It consisted of a few Hufflepuffs and four Slytherins, whom Rose could name with her eyes closed. The bleached cootie, Scorpius Malfoy, and his lackeys, Quincy Goyle, Felix Finch and Mitchell Opal. Scorpius stood considerably closer to Neville, asking questions with interest; pretended interest, of course, Rose decided. The rest of them held a distance, lingering close to Malfoy, but each looking less interested than the other.

Neville acknowledged Al and Rose silently, having figured out the reason they stayed behind long ago. “So the rowan tree is not quite magical, although it is a favoured kind of wand material. I bet there are at least two first years with wands made of rowan wood amongst us.”

“Mine is rowan!” Mitchell exclaimed, impressed.

“See what I mean?” The crowd of Hufflepuffs nodded at the professor eagerly. After that, Mitchell also paid a little attention, tuning for more potentially interesting things. “Ah, that’s a perfect example of how the diversity of nature hides plants with exceptional properties under our very nose. Can any of you guess what this patch of greenery is?” Neville pointed at a few plants closely growing together, with leaves a deep shade of green, their nerves coloured faintly purple, and little buds sprouted amidst the leaves.

“Grass?” Goyle shot unintelligently, which was obviously not it.

Neville shook his head.

One of the Hufflepuffs took a closer look. “Just some fern, from the looks of it.”

“Ferns have completely different leaves,” Scorpius argued, his pale eyebrows furrowing together.

“And what do you think it is then?” Rose jumped in, glaring at him. His light blue eyes looked steadily at her, unfazed by her reaction. She looked back though, she wasn’t going to look away like that time in the dining hall again.

Scorpius shrugged. “I have to admit I am not certain,” he said, as if there was a possibility he knew.

“Is it more potent than the same plant cultured in the glasshouses?” Rose asked, courtesy overlooked - it was Neville she was talking to after all - awaiting for an answer. She had already brought up a mental list of plants she had briefly glanced at her Herbology handbook, and the information she had memorized from it.

“Well… more potent, but also more dangerous,” Neville said.

Rose erased the unsuitable herbs from her mind. It was at the tip of her tongue, she just knew what it was… “Mandrake!” she said, satisfied with herself, only to realize she had heard another voice joining hers. The bleached cootie. Her glare at him intensified, to an extent where sparkles were almost visible, and then his look indeed gave way. No expression appeared on his face. He directed his gaze, softer, to Neville instead, expecting confirmation.

“Indeed, those are wild mandrakes. Only a fool would try to uproot them though,” he said, as Goyle leaned over one, his fingers twitching suspiciously. “Their screams are strong enough to kill a young dragon, and they can echo even through the soil if disturbed.” Goyle retreated, eyeing the plant with his bead-like eyes as if willing it to remain silent.

“There is a spell to silence them though, isn’t there?” Rose said, on a full show-off mode.

“There is. One beyond the knowledge of first-years however. The extract of a wild mature mandrake equals to the extract of three cultured ones, but the cultured are far more tame and easy to handle as you can tell.”

“There are no animals around them,” Scorpius observed, as Neville moved on, leading them farther down the path to Hogsmeade. He had already explained they wouldn’t go all the way to the village, only one third of the distance, so the stroll wouldn’t exceed one hour and a half, to the relief of many.

“Forest animals have a sense of self preservation that wizards and muggles alike often lack nowadays,” Rose said, feeling rather scholarly, thinking of Quincy Goyle, who was no brighter than a candle near the end of its wick.

Something gleamed in Scorpius’s eyes, the slightest hint of annoyance showing through his mask of expressionlessness. “Well, that would be quite right,” he retorted. “There is absolutely no sense of self preservation to being in the wrong place, amongst people who are not of your kind.” Somehow Rose knew that she meant about her being sorted into Slytherin, almost accusing her for doing so.

“I am right here,” Neville reminded them without bothering to look back at them. “And I have the authority to give detention and take points away from your House just like any other professor, in case you thought that was not the case for any reason. And I will take five points of each, for going against your own House if this keeps up.”

Rose snorted quietly and said no more, as Scorpius did as well. She had decided. She hated his guts. And she would not let him outsmart her again. No matter how much he’d try, she would try twice as hard.

Oaks, alders and hazels grew on the part of the route they reached next. They twisted and bended, leaning to one side by the blowing of the wind year after year, forming a green arch over the shallow creek that flowed all the way to Hogwarts’s own Dark Lake.

“You may have noticed how some of these trees resemble human forms. It is the sign of a group of nymphs living in the area in the past,” said Professor Longbottom nonchalantly, briefly glancing at the trees as he walked past them.

“But nymphs could be extinct for all we know. No wizard has seen one since the 14th century and the being-beasts controversy,” Scorpius complained, looking surprised - the first real emotion showing on his face - as he stated that part of the Wizarding History already. Rose suspected that maybe he did, but did not want to believe it.

The Professor looked at him, taken aback by his surprise, but with a small smile on his lips he moved on. “Or that could simply be what they want you to think.” Perhaps he was smiling at the trees, which moved to the breeze, sharing whispers with the morning sky. “It is a fact though that it was not long after the founding of the school that those certain trees lost most of their magical identity. Still, they are a respectable presence, and I would request that you do not cut off twigs for entertainment or carve things - witty or not - on their barks.”

Voices of agreement followed after the professor’s request, even from the students farther in the back of the line, who had not heard what he had said, but mimicked the rest. Soon the long line of mostly bored Slytherins and Hufflepuffs turned around and scattered once the castle’s courtyard came in view, some muttering excuses about having to work on homework, while others were unable to hide their excitement about the rest of their free time for the weekend.

A familiar brunette walked ahead of them, and Rose smiled as she sped up to reach her. “Emily! Wait up!”

Emily came to a halt, her brown doe eyes looking at them, somewhat sadly. “Hi,” she said with a small smile. It looked forced.

“How have you been? Everything alright?” Rose continued.

“I’m good… The kids in Hufflepuff are quite nice. This D.A.D.A. teacher though scares me witless. Can’t believe my Dad did the same work as her.”

“Your Dad is an auror?” Albus chimed in. “So is mine! They might know each other!” Albus smiled.

Emily shook her head. “Probably not. My Dad… he died on a mission.”

“I’m sorry,” Albus muttered. He chose to stay quiet after that.

“It’s ok,” Emily said. Rose looked at her apologetically. “I… I should get going.”

“Wait… I mean, you’re not avoiding us because we are Slytherin, right? You never brought your books to me. I meant it when I said I would repair them for you.”

Emily hesitated, staring down at the Hufflepuff badge sewn on her cloak. She pressed the moist soil, digging a small hole with her shoe. “I haven’t had much time… The schedule they gave us is quite full. But…”

“But Slytherin is where the evil ones go, right?” Albus asked.

Her face fell as she looked at him. “No, no… I mean, you told two were the ones who told me about the Houses… But you said you were going to be Gryffindors, and you’re Slytherins, and the two Houses hate each other. Sounds like you’re much different than I thought on the train.”

“You think we were pretending? That stupid hat put us there, without letting us have a say in it! And you’re a fool if you think that Albus could act for all the ride on the train. He can’t say a lie if it would save his life!”

“Thanks,” Albus said dryly.

“Anytime,” Rose retorted, briefly hoping he wasn’t offended.

“But then why did it place you there?”

“That’s what we’re all wondering.”

Emily pulled her shoe away, rubbing it across the glass to get rid of the dirt on it. “Most people call me Em here. You can too.” She looked up at Albus, then turned to Rose. “Come find me during the study session on Monday. You can see if my books are beyond saving then.” She flashed them a smile, less forced than before, and sprinted towards a group of more Hufflepuffs.

“Do you think she’ll ever see us like she did on the train?” Rose asked gloomily.

“She’s a nice person. I think she will. It’s not like we changed character because we were put there. She’ll see it’s still us.”

“You’re becoming very hopeful. Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, placing a hand on his forehead, as if checking if he had a fever. Al’s hand slapped hers away. She giggled and said, “Once we get the potions assignment done, I would love to do some flying practice!” Rose said as their shoes clicked loudly, the sound ricocheting down the spiral staircase to the dungeons.

“We don’t have our broomsticks along,” Albus remarked. “And the flight classes have not even started yet.”

“Of course I know that. I think though that a replacement flight teacher has been found. My Dad said that Madam Hooch won’t be able to return anytime soon after breaking her hip so badly. We can go ask someone who this replacement is.”

“That doesn’t sound half as bad. But I wonder what kind of a person this professor will be. Not another scary one like Cemola, I hope.”

“Probably not. Heard he’s rather young,” she informed her cousin, and quickly whispered the password to the entrance to their common room.

* * * * *

“I have this feeling that the stairs are changing more and more aggressively as the time passes by.” The two cousins waited for the marble staircases to the first floor, where there was the Muggle Studies classroom.

“I can’t tell, Al, they look normal to me-” The railing of the staircase clicked to place with a loud thud, and Rose trailed off. “Maybe they are slightly more aggressive. So curious how a Muggle Studies professor will teach flight… why combine those two?”

“We have to turn right after the horsemen’s portrait. And I don’t know.” A horse of the portrait, chestnut coloured, neighed with its head high as the children passed by it. The Muggle Studies classroom was there, with a golden sign stating:

MUGGLE STUDIES

Overseeing Professor: Mathew Bazel

“This is the one.” Rose looked at it satisfied. There was no sound coming from the room, but she knocked, although she entered before anyone answered.

On the blackboard was a basic circuit drawn with a battery and a switch leading to three lamps connected in a row, similar to one Rose had to build for a school project at school. A television was placed at the edge of the professor’s desk. Close to it were a few flights of stairs leading to a door, which was Professor Bazel’s office.

Rose knocked and tried to enter, but this door was locked. “Blimey!” she muttered, sounding characteristically like her father for a moment.

“May I help you with something?” a man inquired, the two cousins turning around to face him. He was an obviously young man, perhaps about Teddy’s age, with tousled, light coloured hair, quite unlike the expected for a Hogwarts professor, and warm brown eyes. “You’re not in my class, are you? You aren’t old enough.”

“We’re first years,” Rose hurried to inform you. “I am Rose Weasley.”

“And I’m Albus Potter.”

“Yes, yes,” he agreed nodding. “I noticed you at the sorting.” The ones who should be Gryffindors. The words were left unsaid but lingered in the air between them. “How can I help you?”

“He wanted to ask if we can use two of the schools brooms to practice this evening. We heard you will teach instead of Madam Hooch.”

Professor Bazel half smiled. “I presume you know how to fly a broom then?”

It took Rose all she had to keep herself from boasting. Know how to fly a broom would be quite the understatement. She could balance herself only one one foot on it, for 30 seconds at least, to her mother’s dismay.

“Yes,” Al answered, noticing her inner struggle. “We flew all the time at our grandparents house, they have a large garden.”

“I would like to give you permission, but the thing is… I will not be teaching flight. The assigned professor will arrive on Monday, if I remember correctly. Fidelius Bishop is his name.”

“Oh.” Rose’s face fell. She had been so excited at the prospect of flying around the castle that afternoon. Were she in Gryffindor, she knew she would have gone straight to her House’s Quidditch team; no one would have refused to lend her a broom. But the Slytherin team… she only knew half the players - of last year’s team - and they looked quite dislikeable.

“I would like to speak to the two of you about a thought I had though. If you have the time. Take a seat,” he suggested, leaning casually against the desk with the television on top of it.

The children sat down to the nearest desk, somewhat heavily, wondering if he would ask them something about their sorting and if they tricked the Sorting Hat in some way. Some students were whispering things like that, Rose knew it, and it wouldn’t surprise her all that much if a professor believed them too. She decided to clear things out about this matter before the professor had said anything. “We did nothing to make the hat put us in Slytherin, you know. We are not satisfied with the Sorting, but we will do our best if that is our House.”

Mathew Bazel looked at them, perplexed for a moment. He gave them a sympathetic smile. “I was not going to accuse you of anything, Miss Weasley, Mr Potter. You might be surprised to know that I am not familiar with the stress of the Sorting, and do not pay much mind to the distinction of students by House.” Albus thought his speech was refined, quite different than Teddy’s. “I have not attended Hogwarts, because I was not magical enough.”

A squib, she thought, the word left to linger, never said. That was what not magical enough meant.

“And from personal experience I would say your House does not necessarily define you; you can do great things wherever you are. Don’t idealise one House in your mind while you demonize another. It is our choices that define us.”

Albus spoke first, quick to recover. “We simply are hearing a lot of whispers since we came here, people think we did something to the hat. Not very pleasant.”

“I understand. But this has nothing with what I would like to say.” They remained silent, a little relieved that it was unrelated. “As said, I was not magical enough to attend Hogwarts, but I can fly a broomstick, and I love Quidditch. Perhaps you thought I would teach you flight because I have been appointed referee of the matches now that Madam Hooch is gone. I have spoken to the Headmistress, and had an idea of an extracurricular activity, for any first years interested, related to Quidditch.”

“But first years cannot be in the teams… with only few extraordinary exceptions,” Rose interjected. She thought of Al’s dad.

“I know that, of course no official Quidditch. But especially the muggle-born students, and even the ones from wizarding families… in the cities it is not very common to play the sport or practice flying. I would like to make a group where they can be introduced to the sport and help them prepare if they’d like for the tryouts. For the next year.”

Rose was fascinated by the idea. Official or not, Quidditch was Quidditch. Memories of playing with cousins at the Burrow flashed in her mind, in the makeshift pitch they had made in the garden. She caught herself nodding along with Albus.

“So it interests you? Participating in something like that?”

“Yes!”

“Then I have a request of you. I will arrange the first meeting to be in a week from now, so that the first flight lessons have also taken place. I have printed a few posters. Could you tell the first-years in your House about it and pin this in your common room? I will find people from other Houses to take care of the rest.”

Agreed and excited at the prospect, they left the Muggle Studies room with a few leaflets in their hands, to give to people and went to pin the poster at the bulletin board between the large windows with view to the Dark Lake.

Scorpius watched them warily from a distance, leaning against a pillar illuminated by the blue flame of a lamp above him, and looked at them half surprised when Albus came his way and put a leaflet in his hands. “We were asked to spread the word among first-years,” he explained and walked away, not wanting to anger Rose, who had grimaced once she noticed Scorpius’s presence in the common room.

Tiberius, the Malfoy family owl came in sweeping through the common room, from an unidentifiable direction. He sat on the back of an armchair, letting Scorpius take his letter, and flew off, heading through a small opening in the stones  behind the most secluded set of couches. Scorpius took his leave, turning around and disappearing into the first-years’ bedroom.

“You didn’t have to give him one. He could read the poster if he liked.”

“Bazel said to spread the word. Like it or not, he’s also a first-year. Come on, there’s no one in here. Let’s take a walk on the school grounds and see if we can find more students to give the rest of the leaflets.”

Rose did her best to keep up with him, but strangely, he walked too fast, somewhat like her parents did when in a hurry, her legs too short to follow his pace. “I think you’re getting taller,” she told him.

“I just hope that no one sprinkled any growing solution in my milk this morning,” he thought, remembering the practical joke James had performed last Christmas when he was back from school. Now, there were even more people who would enjoy ridiculing the Slytherin Potter.

“I doubt you’re getting that much taller,” she assured him.

They walked past the grand staircase leading up to the Great Hall, towards the large, wooden doors. They started opening on their own once they were close enough. They had just stepped out in the recessing sunlight, Rose’s face painted orange and pink, illuminating her already vibrant hair, when the clacking of shoes behind them stopped.

The most unexpected grinning face greeted them. He stopped for a minute to catch his breath and approached them. “Look who it is! Rosie! And Al the Hippogryph!”

“Hippogryph?” Al raised an eyebrow, a million mortifying thoughts passing through his mind about what could have led to his new title.

“Because James looked like he was kicked by a Hippogryph after you punched him on the train! You have potential you know!”

“You kind of look like you were stomped by a Hippogryph. All over. What did you get involved in, Fred?” Rose stepped in. The truth was that after almost two weeks, most of the bruising had faded, and the swelling was long gone, but the edge of his right eyebrow still had a faintly green shade.

Fred’s easy smile changed to a more solemn expression. “You know how these things are. Say the wrong thing here, flash a smile at the wrong person there…”

“Since when is James the wrong person to flash a smile at?” She pushed on. She already knew Al’s brother was whom he had fought with; his knuckles had a colour that matched vividly the shade of Fred’s face.

After that, Fred dropped the easygoing act he had been putting on until that moment. “So you know. I’m surprised you still speak to me. And a little that he told you as well, to be honest.”

“He didn’t have to say anything. His knuckles were bruised up. So was your face. It adds up.”

Fred bit his lip. “Now it makes a little more sense why you talk to me.”

“And why wouldn’t we? Because none of you has shown up to talk to us?” Rose began to sound slightly angry, but mostly sad. “We’ll get used to being outcasts.”

“Look… that’s not it. That’s not how it is at all.”

“What is it then, Fred? Because the only person who showed up, albeit also late, was James. Nor you, neither Roxanne showed up! Victoire, Dominique, Luis… Molly and Lucy! None of you!”

Albus looked blankly at his cousins. “Rose, let him speak. I think it’s not right to take it all out on Fred. It’s another person you’re mad at, and not for an important enough reason to yell at family either.”

“I don’t think so, Al. My accusations aren’t baseless and he knows it. Besides, he said something, that’s why he wasn’t expecting us to talk to him.”

Al frowned. He looked a little sadly Rose. He might have gotten angry, at another point. On a bad day. But that day was alright. And he had to admit, he wanted family around him. He wanted to talk to Freddy, even if he had said something mean.

“She… she is right. You should be angry as well, maybe even more than Rose. There is reason enough. I said something nasty and unforgivable.”

“What was it?” Rose demanded. Her anger couldn’t let up. Albus was right, it was mixed with her annoyance about Scorpius, not that she would admit that.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you said, Fred, I forgive you.”

“You wouldn’t if you knew what it was… I really-”

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“I said, did you mean it? What you said about me.”

He shook his head. “It will sound like an excuse, but it felt like it wasn’t me saying it. I don’t know what had gotten into me. I only snapped out of it after James beat me good.”

“Then I forgive you. That’s what is important to me, not the exact words, but the intent. You and James can be very rough, but you don’t realise it when you do it. I choose to believe it was one of those moments.”

Relief washed over Fred’s face. He tried not to glance at Rose, who was standing silent, not yet settled on how she wanted to treat her cousin. She knew Albus was right deep down; particularly deeper than usual at that moment.

“Have you spoken to James at all?” Albus continued.

“Spoken to him? Merlin’s beard, no. He changes direction when he sees me coming. I once sent an apology note to the second-years’ bedroom, and it came back flying, and ripped itself up in front of me. I don’t think he is as forgiving as you.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Fred nodded. “Thanks. Again, Albus, I’m so sorry. I owe you one.”

“Maybe even two or three,” corrected Rose dryly.

Fred looked at her apologetically. “You don’t plan to let it go?”

“I will eventually,” she agreed, relaxing her shoulders. Her arms remained crossed over her chest.

“Would the prototype of a blue Pigmy Puff make things easier?”

“Don’t you try to bribe me, Fredrick Weasley!” Fred’s eyes grew with shock at how eerily Rose’s tone mirrored Nana Molly’s. “But yes, it would.”

“I’ll get to it then,” he agreed.

“We’re going to pass some leaflets around. Do you want to join us?” Albus said, remembering the papers held in a roll inside his cloak.

“I would love to, but I think it is about the right time for me to look for cover instead of walking around in the open.”

“What did you do this time, Fred?” Rose’s eyes smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her lips.

“Nothing worse than usual, I might say. Your average Saturday evening fireworks and bat flocks will make an appearance in the school grounds in… let’s see…” he shook off his sleeve checking at his watch. “Well, in about three minutes. See you!” With that he was off, sliding into a secret passage so quickly he might as well have apparated.

“Should we look for cover?” Albus asked, considering every possible location they could reach in the next two and a half minutes.

“Hopefully we’re safe out here. Since we went inside, he must be heading to the scene of the crime to watch the destruction.”

“Agreed. But he and James need to make up. It’s too early along the year, to be firing fireworks. Can’t believe I would ever say that, but maybe James is the person he needs to hold back.”

“Can’t believe I would ever say that, but I agree with you.” Albus spun around. The voice wasn’t Rose’s. James stood behind them, slightly taller than them. “He really sounded like he regretted it, didn’t he?”

Albus pushed his lips together. “He did.”

“Then I assume I have a prank to attend to. See you at dinner!”

“Was he standing there for a long time?” Albus asked.

“Just long enough to hear the right thing at the right moment,” Rose assured him. “But the strange thing is, he jumped to the grass from a window at the first floor. What could he be doing up there?”

“Maybe we should look for cover after all,” Albus said, and they ran towards the Dark Lake, laughing as Peeves let out a scream and started throwing things outside the window.