literature

Rose Weasley and the Tesseract Quartet (HP)

Deviation Actions

cometssoup's avatar
By
Published:
646 Views

Literature Text

It was an unassuming day at Hogwarts, which, considering all that there was to know about this school it wasn’t exactly self-effacing in the light of muggles. It was already beginning to settle into the fluttery snowiness brought with late-December days—normal enough for muggles, thought Rose—the premises already filmed in a fresh layer of white snow, reminding her all too well of the Dark Arts Defense (admittedly, Basics for Beginners) book she should’ve been reading and the family she deeply missed.

Professor Brocklehurst paced anxiously at the front of the room, waving around her beaker of some potion through her wild, exciting gestures as if the fact that she had a beaker in her hands wasn’t dangerous enough already. Students listed over in awe at the sight of the potion shifting into an assortment of colors—shimmering aqua blues, sunset pinks, and then, a stunned silence came when it settled into a tar black. Rose was too exasperated to pay much heed; the snowiness looming from outside the premises had casted an enchantment all its own on the inquisitive Rose Weasley. Eventually, her gaze always managed to pull away from the window, and right when her focus was wandering to the front of the room and Brocklehurst’s frenzied pacing, it always fell back to the window again.

But the professor’s pacing stopped mid-step. Professor Brocklehurst set the potion mix to the table and eyed Rose scrumptiously. “Ah, Miss Weasley! Weasley, Weasley, Weasley... Mind telling the class why you find the window to be more riveting than the defense against the dark arts? Hm? Should I minus a point from—”

As soon as a couple students sucked their teeth in displeasure, Rose was quick to protest. “I—please, Professor is this really necessary?”

“Well, what you fail to realize, Miss Weasley, there will come a time when it will be necessary to use my spells. And you know what? You shan’t know how to defend yourself in the presence of some dark, dangerous attack because you failed to know how to tell a polyjuice mix from margisi potions!”

Any fool knew the difference between polyjuice potion and margisi, thought Rose sternly.
“Now, now, where was I again? Lost my train of thought already and so early in the morning too... ah, yes! Margisi potions!” Brocklehurst paused as she casted her gaze at her tired-eyed pupils, their exhilaration from the sight of the color-changing potions now dwindled into boredom. Professor Brocklehurst gave a wide smile and clasped her hands together excitedly, before grabbing the potion mix again from the edge of her desk. She continued with her wild hand gestures as she paced at the front of the room, followed by the sharp click-clack of her heels against the lacquered wood flooring.

Click, clack, click. Pause. Click, click.

There was much talking, many of times it included Professor Brocklehurst starting her question with the classic “does anybody know...?” to the class, only to be followed by an awkward silence because clearly, no one ever did know (or if they had, they were too reluctant to answer.) All except for Rose, of course, but she was too caught in her spite to bother raising her hand.

Suddenly, during Professor Brocklehurst’s “does anybody know what...?” for the millionth time, she rounded to a boy who sat at the front of the room; she blatantly disregarded Rose’s awkwardly raised hand. It was this boy—his blonde hair now in a disheveled mess so different than the slicked-back look he had during his first year, and he had this—this air of arrogance when he leaned back in his chair nonchalantly that annoyed Rose instantly. A smirk tugged at his lips. Without a moment’s pause and a dismissive wave of the hand, he answered, “The answer’s quite simple really. Even a muggle could’ve guessed that the entire purpose of a margisi potion was used for intoxicating something in the likes of a Dark that projects itself in a human form. Correct?” His smirk grew wider, like he knew he was right but the boy just wanted to have the satisfaction of hearing others know it, too.

Professor Brocklehurst was stunned momentarily by the boy’s knowledge. “Actually, um, that is correct. Very correct, indeed,” she conceded with a hesitant nod. “That is a wonderful, wonderful job, Mister Malfoy! See, pupils, now if only you all put half the effort into snoring and drooling into my work, then you’d be able to comprehend such complicated magic! Ah, I think that deserves two points for Slytherin, don’t you think? Boys? Girls?” She accentuated the word two like Scorpius was a small child just learning his numbers, which, unsurprisingly, succeeded at bringing Scorpius’s expression to its usual scowl again.

        “Asshole,” Rose muttered. In that instant, an arm elbowed her in the ribs; Rose was surprised to see it was Al, the boy who sat in the seat beside her, giving her a warning glare. Naturally, this was Al’s polite way of telling her to shut up. “What? He is,” Rose snapped back to Al in an annoyed whisper.

        Al shook his head despairingly and averted his gaze to the front of the class as he rhythmically tapped his wand under his desk.

        “Now, now... does anyone know what country margisi originated from?” asked Professor Brocklehurst sweetly. “Anyone? Anyone at all? Come on, there has to be someone who—”

        Thoughtlessly, Rose’s hand shot in the air. “I believe its Italy,” said Rose instantly before she was even regarded by Brocklehurst. When the professor shot her a dubious look, Rose recoiled her hand down back into her lap, horribly aware of everyone else around her. The Malfoy boy, the only person who was yet to turn around to pay heed Rose’s outburst, snickered to himself. “It’s…Italy,” she repeated quietly, more to herself than to Brocklehurst.

        “Thank you, Miss Weasley… but as much as I do enjoy your manner of diligence, I’d rather you raise your hand and actually hold your knickers for a moment to be called on, like a normal student,” said professor in her clipped, honeyed manner. “But yes… yes, the margisi potion originated from Italy. Now what on earth was I going to say… ah—yes, one point deducted from Ravenclaw! Please do raise your hand next time, Weasley.” Professor Brocklehurst tried smoothing down her straggled mess of hair and went about in her pacing. Students yawned and stretched, sighed, obnoxiously smacked on their gum, and sucked their teeth— it seemed everyone was trying to express their boredom in every way possible to Professor Brocklehurst, but she paid little attention to their annoyance other than with a disappointed frown.

        After what felt like an eternity (only if it had been only hours), the class finally concluded with a garish farewell from Professor Brocklehurst. She waved her fat arms goodbye—gestures exaggerated towards her more favorite students—as she tried to dispose of the margisi at the same time in the disposal units. Rose watched Brocklehurst in disgust in her clumsy stride, and for once, she actually felt like she missed Professor Snape. Of course, Snape died long ago—way before Rose was a student there—but after hearing such wonderful things about him (after all, her cousin was partly named after him), she couldn’t help but feel a prick of longing. Even for Professor Hawthorne, who Rose equally hated, if not moreso than Professor Brocklehurst, but at least he was supposed to be there. Professor Brocklehurst was only a substitute, and a horrid one at that. Hawthorne, nevertheless, had an air of darkness and intimidation that felt like it belonged to a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Brocklehurst, on the other hand… it was hard to take her seriously when she tried to squeeze her fat body into such teeny pink suits that sounded ready to tear whenever she bent over, and heels she could barely jam her fat foot into, and spoke so eagerly about things that failed to excite anyone.

        However, Albus didn’t seem to have much of a much of a problem with Professor Brocklehurst. Then again, Albus hardly had a problem with anyone unless given much reason to… maybe Rose was just over-reacting. Maybe. But it was always so easy for everyone else in her family at Hogwarts: her brother, Hugo, was popular (infamous, rather) for his little stunts with James and Fred, her cousin Vicky had an accomplished romance with Teddy (after relentlessly asking her out), and then Rose… what did Rose do? Study to her heart’s content in the library? Surnames aside, really, just made Rose all the more hopeless in contrast to far more exciting brother, cousins, and parents. Everyone.

        With an annoyed grunt, she grabbed her stack of books, her wand, and meandered out the room with Al, who, as usual, tried to keep up with Rose’s hurried stride. Professor Brocklehurst offered the two rather apathetic wave goodbyes at her desk; Rose ignored her indignantly, whereas Albus gave a weak wave back.

        “You’ve got to stop doing that, Rose, seriously,” Al groaned as soon as the classroom door clicked shut. He leaned against the door and ran his hands through his hair exasperatingly.

        “Um. Stop what exactly, Al?”

It didn’t seem like Rose would stop her haste soon, because Al, also as usual, had to give Rose a slight tug on her shirt collar. “I think Professor Brocklehurst heard you—” Albus craned around to look at other students gathered by the door. Thank god, not a single McGongagall-head in sight. He listed his neck over to whisper, “I think she heard you call Scorpius an asshole.”

“And?” Rose furthered. “What you fail to understand, Al, how positively medieval, Scorpius can be. He’s an idiot. Well, I mean, not an idiot—obviously, because he’s taking advanced-placement Dark Arts with us—but he’s just so... argh. It’s just the way he says ‘muggles’ like... like it’s some kind of a disease, and then—then its his voice. It’s so bloody condescending!”

Al suppressed a scoff. “Isn’t he the one you thought was cute during your second year?”

Rose drew herself to her full height and lifted her chin. “No,” she said with a quivering finality, “I don’t, and even if I did—which I obviously don’t—I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

Disregarding what Rose said, Albus persisted with his worry, “I don’t think he’s an asshole. Okay, yeah, sure, maybe how much he knows about dark potions is a tad on the creepy side, but Scorpius is just being Scorpius, right?” Rose didn’t answer. If anything, she thought Albus was proving her point and continued with her hurried step again.
Albus struggled to keep stride with her and eventually, trailed behind. “I mean, I guess he’s justified to act like that, huh? Remember what happened at three-quarters with him and his dad?”

“Not particularly...” Rose did, of course, there wasn’t a soul that hadn’t. She remembered Scorpius had to be sent to speak with Headmistress McGongagall that night, and then all that screaming... she shook away the thought as she jostled through the sea of students.

Still, Albus made a good attempt to catch up with Rose. “Wait, I know what it is! You’re mad ’cause Scorpius here is a prefect,” Albus concluded with a slight chuckle. “For cryin’ out loud, Rose, he’s in Slytherin! You still have an opportunity to become one for Ravenclaw, eh?”
I WROTE A FANFICTION. Sort of. It's not completed (and a very rough draft), but I was thinking about what Scorpius and Rose and Albus... how all three of them going on adventures together would be amazing actually. Even if my knowledge on the Potterverse is so-so and I tend to forget little details from the books, I tried writing regardless.
Scorpius has a lot of daddy problems with Draco and needs to earn back his family's trust, and a very stubborn Rose tries too hard to live up to her parent's name; whereas Albus can't understand why he hadn't inherited Harry's knack for adventuring when he can hardly perform the simplest of charms. It mostly follows them but of course Teddy, Victoire, Fred, James are included as well--though it mostly focuses on the trio of Al (a Hufflepuff), Scorp (a Slytherin) and Rose (Ravenclaw). 

© 2014 - 2024 cometssoup
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In