Rose Weasley and the Callamitus Clause

Rose found that the castle was more difficult to navigate than she had thought. Getting to the Great Hall was easy enough when she followed the other students, but then she had to try and find her way back to the common room after receiving her schedule. She and Albus wandered around the staircases until they managed to find the seventh floor. Luckily, the password had not changed since the night before.

The classes themselves were something else to adjust to. First up was Herbology, taking advantage of Monday's good morning weather. Professor Longbottom met them all outside of greenhouse one with an excited grin and elbow-length gloves on. They spent the hour talking about the plans for the year, which included taking a trip into the Forbidden Forrest.

"Professor McGonagall granted us special permission to go in and harvest some rare fungi that are growing there," he explained, looking like a little boy who had been told Christmas was coming early. Rose wondered if he might take off and start bouncing like a bubble from his excitement, but none of the First Years could help sharing his enthusiasm.

Next up was History of Magic, which Rose thought to be more interesting than James had made it out to be. She took pages of notes while Albus stared at Professor Binns blankly. When Rose nudged him pointedly, he started taking notes, but after a few minutes, he was back to staring through the ghost teaching the class. His page soon filled with doodles of cauldrons and vials. It was obvious what class he was most nervous about.

When Potions came along, Albus walked through the door with his mouth set in a flat line. Rose rubbed her hands together as she sat next to Albus at a table. A cold gust of air swept around the room, and Rose shivered. She already disliked taking a class in the dungeon.

A large, squat man came through the door holding a fat textbook. His thick silver moustache nearly covered his plump lips, which were already puffed out in a slightly disappointed expression.

"Not up to par, not up to par at all!" he cried, his silver robes flying out behind him as he walked to the center of the classroom. "Your first time in my class, and already you are looking glum and grim. This is a classroom for learning the art of potions, not for sitting around looking like you would rather be somewhere else. Or sleeping," he added, glaring at a droopy-eyed boy sitting near the edge of the circular setup. The boy jerked his eyes open, eliciting a stifled giggle from the other students.

"An improvement on before, even if only by a little." the professor allowed, with a cutting look. "Now, I am Professor Slughorn, and I will be in charge of your potions education for the next seven years. In my class, you will learn secrets of magic that other teachers might hesitate to teach you. You will learn what makes our society ebb and flow. The secrets of our land. Our people. Our world."

Rose opened her potions book to the page written on the blackboard as Slughorn continued. "Today, as a preliminary test of your abilities, we will be brewing a simple Sleeping Draught to assess your talents. The page number is on the board, and any ingredients you need are in the student supply cabinets. It should take you no longer than forty-five minutes."

Rose had already assessed the list of ingredients and was the first to make it to the supply cabinets. It was a pretty simple potion--she been making similar drafts with her mother since she was young. When Rose turned to return to her seat, Scorpius Malfoy was standing directly behind her. His abnormally light eyes met hers, and both students froze.

"Move along, now!" Slughorn cried from behind the gathering of first years. "We have potions to brew."

Rose looked away from the small, grey eyes and went back to her table. Albus had already set up the cauldron they would share and was reading through the textbook's instructions. Rose began to chop the daisy roots while Albus organized the ginger and mallowsweet.

The brewing potions filled the room with a faint, sweet-smelling aroma that was vaguely reminiscent of a summer day. Rose found herself getting drowsy as she leaned over the cauldron to check the potion's color. It was in the process of turning light purple from a nondescript grey. Rose tossed in the final handful of diced ginger before sitting back down next to Albus.

The rest of the class was having various degrees of success. Tia Marsh had partnered up with Liam O'Grady, a boy rooming with Albus. They were doing relatively well, but a bit of the potion had gotten on the book they were sharing and they couldn't read the last line. Across the room, Slytherins Kieron Berger and Crispin Orthos were still fumbling around with their ginger when Slughorn called the class to attention.

"Your time is up," he announced. "I will be coming around to examine your potions momentarily."

Rose straightened in her seat as Slughorn approached her table. The professor looked from her to Albus before emitting a small hmph and gazing into their cauldron. "Wonderful color you managed to get," he said approvingly. "It wouldn't have suffered for a few more minutes over the flame. Make sure you dice your ginger thoroughly before putting it into the brew. Overall, very nice job. Promising work." He offered them a grin before moving on.

Rose was less than pleased. She had been hoping for something better than a "promising work" on her first day with the Potions master. She had worked with her mother over the summer specifically on her potions--she wasn't expecting critique.

Albus nudged her. "Don't be like that," he urged her, knowing his cousin's thoughts as well as his own. "It's your first lesson."

Rose decided to concentrate harder on her other classes. Professor Flitwick, besides being the Deputy Headmaster, was also the Charms teacher. He stuttered over Albus's name but continued calling roll without much incidence. When Albus had to ask a question, however, he did it through Rose. He told her later that it was so that the professor wouldn't stumble over the answer.

Students said that ever since Professor McGonagall became Headmistress, Transfiguration class had gotten more boring by the year. Professor Randor was an elderly, frail-looking man who spent the first class talking about how he was the first wizard to ever transfigure a person into a phoenix.

"It was many years ago," he croaked, "and hopefully hasn't been done since. It was a terrible, terrible mistake." But he refused to elaborate on that point, instead moving on to a detailed summary of how the transfiguration happened.

"We've never gotten him to say much more about it," said James when Albus and Rose asked that night. "I've done a bit of my own research. It was over a hundred years ago--I know, right?" Albus's jaw had dropped. "He's ancient."

"Wizards have a longer life span than Muggles," reminded Lysander from behind a book. "Really, it's not that unusual."

James ignored his friend and continued his story. "So Randor wanted to know if it was possible to transfigure a person into a purely magical being, like a phoenix. So... he did!"

Rose rolled her eyes. Her cousin didn't understand the concept of researching something to gain more thorough information. "I just hope that means he knows what he's doing," she muttered. She had been looking forward to learning with Professor McGonagall, after all she had heard from her parents, but obviously as headmistress, the Professor had other things to do with her time.

The most interesting class came with Professor Evariste, whom they had met before their first meal at the castle. He was a friendly, personable man with neat golden hair and a colorful wardrobe that ranged from robes of deep grey to snowy white trimmed with turquoise. He drew the class in during his very first lesson.

"Now, Defence Against the Dark Arts is one of the most important classes you will take here at Hogwarts," he declared, leaning back against his desk, today resplendent in bright purple. "It may seem self-serving of me to say that, but it's true. Yes, you will learn more complicated incantations in other classes, and no, I will not be teaching you how to turn your classmates into squirrels." He grinned as the students murmured about their previous Transfiguration class. "Now, now, be kind to my colleagues.

"In this class, you will learn how to defend yourselves against attacks. Previous students of Hogwarts have often come back to explain to first years just how important it is that they take this class seriously and study as hard as you can. I, as your professor, am inclined to agree with them."

He went on to give them a basic outline of how his class would work. "I like to take a very hands-on approach to teaching. You cannot learn to defend yourself without practice. We have a sort of informal Dueling Club that meets once a week during our double lesson. Any students interested in practicing what we have learned are welcome to attend, but it is in no way mandatory."

This statement evoked a laugh from Lysander when it was related to him. "It's not mandatory, no, but there isn't a student in this school who misses it," he explained. "You learn theory during your regular lessons, but the doubles are spent practicing the spells on each other. It's very... interesting."

Rose eagerly looked forward to the first meeting of this club, but as it was the first week of lessons, they hadn't learned anything to practice yet. Instead, their double lesson on Friday morning was spent talking about what the students hoped to learn. They enjoyed talking to their professor, who seemed to actually listen to them, taking careful notes on their expectations.

Friday afternoon found Rose, Albus, and James down the hill behind the castle. They stood in front of a small wooden house near the edge of the Forbidden Forrest and jumped when the large door swung open. Rubeus Hagrid stood in the doorway, looming over the children with a hearty grin. His grizzled beard obstructed a large portion of his face, leaving his shining black eyes free to take the students in.

"Come in, come in!" he said, beaming and ushering them inside. The cabin had only one room. An expansive bed was set in the corner under an aged quilt, and a few feet away, a fireplace was burning hot. Across the room was an old dog basket that served as a memorial to Fang, Hagrid's bloodhound who had died a few years earlier. "Come on, you three, settle yerselves in. Don' mind the mess, now."

Rose sat on one of the handmade wooden chairs, arranging herself so that the chair didn't topple over (one of the legs was shorter than the rest). Albus and James sat with her, not touching the cake-like substance on the table before them. They had learned from their parents' stories.

"So Rosie an' Albus have finally come to Hogwarts," sighed Hagrid, a sentimental look on his large face. "Go on, eat up. I made it specially fer the lot of yeh."

Reluctantly, Albus picked up the heavy knife and began to cut into the mysterious brown lump that had been drizzled in a watery, off-white icing. Hagrid busied himself with boiling water as he asked about their first week.

"Everyone's assigning so much homework for the first week back!" exclaimed James. "I mean, Professor Randor expects us to be able to turn a marble into a beach ball. We're working on expansion this year."

"We're still doing basics," complained Rose. "We've spent every lesson so far on theory and how Transfiguration works. I know this stuff already!"

"Yeh've got to be patient, Rosie," said Hagrid, grinning at her impatience. "Yeh've done all the book learnin', but yeh need to learn things the way yer teachers are goin' ter teach 'em."

"I'm looking forward to Professor Evariste's lessons," offered Albus. "The schedule with the double lessons sounds interesting."

Hagrid barked a friendly laugh. "Hazen? I'm not surprised he's got all've yeh with 'im already. He's a fair amazin' teacher, that man is."

James nodded enthusiastically. "Just wait 'til you get to the first practical lesson with him! They can get pretty nasty--well, I had doubles with Slytherin for that, so no surprise there--but he has everything under control."

"We're doubled with Slytherin too," Rose told him.

James scowled, then looked to his brother. "If you have problems with any of them, just talk to me about it. I'll teach you what we're working on. You'll set them straight!"

Albus mumbled noncommittally and stabbed his cake. The topic shifted again, this time to the Triwizard Tournament.

"I can't believe it's comin' back here again," grumbled Hagrid. "Ev'ry five years, this bloody tournament takes place. Sure, there haven' bin any deaths since--well, yeh know--but it's still fair dangerous."

The tournament had returned to Hogwarts once since the time Rose's parents were in school. It was held the year after the Second Wizarding War, as it was called, or the Triumph over Voldemort. People had adjusted to saying his name more after his death--some older witches and wizards were still hesitant, but the new generation had been raised with the new philosophy, which was heavily endorsed by Albus and James' father: fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. The tournament the year after was more of a celebration than a competition; the feasts were lavish and the champions were amiable.

"Victoire is furious," said James. "She thinks that it's going to botch up her seventh year. I think she should be relieved that Ted isn't here to enter himself."

"He would've, too," agreed Hagrid. Ted Lupin's seven years at Hogwarts had been nothing if not eventful. He had been determined to find himself, a path that led him to explore a vicious rebellious streak. Something like the Triwizard Tournament would have been just up his alley.

"Aren't you glad that Madame Maxime is coming to visit?" questioned Rose shrewdly, noticing the redness that had sprung up Hagrid's cheeks at mention of the tournament.

Hagrid had married the Beauxbatons headmistress a few years after the defeat of Voldemort in a quiet, private ceremony. They had agreed to stay with their respective schools, to which they were unbreakably loyal. Rose thought that Hagrid would be thrilled at the opportunity to see his distanced wife.

She was right. "Well, o'course there is--but I can' think about Olympe--I mean, Madame Maxime--an' that isn' none of yer business," he stuttered in his low, gruff voice. "Now hush and tell me 'bout who's enterin'."

Both first years looked to James, who had begun to think. "Obviously not Victoire," he began. "Molly's equally appalled. Opal Howell's pretty smart--she's in Ravenclaw, top of her year. Dunno much about her, though. Leif Edderson may try, but he's not too bright. Blew up one of the dungeons last year," he recalled with a vague grin. "That was fun. Besides them, it'll probably come down to one of the seventh years. Stupid age line."

When they asked Victoire that night about what seventh years might enter their names, she pursed her lips. "Hopefully none of the Gryffindors," she sniffed, looking down her thin nose at them. Her pale gold hair was spun atop her head in a neat bun held in place by gleaming clips that Ted had given her for a going-away present. "Really, who would give up their last year to fool around in some... competition." She said the word as if it was dirty. "I was just about to write to Uncle Percy; we've been corresponding on the matter..."

Rose didn't know how Victoire had begun a 'correspondence' during her first week of school, but she had managed. Letters came in every morning with her owl Aimette, and she could be found at all hours in the common room with a quill in hand, scribing long letters to her family members and friends who had finished school. The longest were addressed to Teddy in large, loopy letters.

"She thinks she's so mature," Dominique whispered one day as Victoire, sitting at the head of the table as usual, snatched a letter from Aimette and ripped it open, "but when it comes to love, she's as helpless as the rest of us." She blew a kiss to a boy sitting down the table, who made a show of catching it and putting it in his pocket.

The second week fared as well, if not better, than the first. The classes were getting more interesting--they had just begun simple locking and unlocking spells in Charms class. Rose enjoyed sitting up in her room with Tia Marsh and the other girls as they took turns locking and unlocking the door.

Albus had settled into Potions class, though Professor Slughorn sometimes made him jump. On the second Thursday at Hogwarts, however, he had nothing to worry about--Potions class had been cancelled for a flying lesson, something the first years talked about all week.

"I can't wait to get on a broom again," said Albus wistfully over breakfast Thursday morning. "I haven't flown since..."

"It's been two weeks," groaned Rose. She was not at all looking forward to flying lessons. "And I doubt that Madam Hooch will let you actually fly. From what I've heard, we just hover there for a few seconds."

She was secretly overjoyed that the Quidditch season had been cancelled. The entire Weasley clan had been raised on the back of a broom--they had an expansive field behind their house that stretched out in all directions. It connected them with the Potters, who had often simply flown over to meet them. Albus and James had acquired their parents' skill in the air: James took after his father as an aspiring Seeker, while Albus preferred to serve the team as a Chaser.

"We have enough players to form a professional Quidditch team," fantasized Ron often.

"We have enough to form two or three," retorted Ginny consistently.

Rose found herself spending many childhood afternoons with the Scamanders, who were not Quidditch aficionados. Luna was always thrilled to have her over, where they would spend the day experimenting in the kitchen or hunting for some new magical creature. If Rose was feeling especially down, Lysander would take her up to the twins' room and offer her a new book he had discovered.

"I know you don't fly," acknowledged Albus, "but this is going to be fun!"

Rose ignored Albus as he began listing exactly how it would be fun, choosing instead to contemplate ways she could ask to sit out. This took her up until they stepped foot outside. She might have been imagining it, but Rose could have sworn that an ominous chilled breeze blew past the group of first years emerging from the castle.

Madam Hooch stood in the center of the Quidditch pitch, surrounding by twenty broomsticks. She waited for all of the students to arrive before beginning. "Good morning, first years," she barked, her yellow eyes flashing around to touch all members of the group. "My name is Madam Hooch, and I am in charge of teaching you the basics of the broomstick. Though the season has been cancelled, it is no use to put off your education until next year. If you would all stand next to a broom, we shall begin."

The lesson was both tedious and terrifying. Rose held her breath every time she pushed off the ground, though she remained as close to the grass as possible. She watched as other Gryffindors flitted about. Madam Hooch had given them the limitation of no more than ten feet up and the warning that if there was any nonsense, none of them would so much as look at a broom for the rest of the year.

Albus flew with the others, a wide grin spread across his face. Loren Nicosa was by his side, her blonde hair flying out wildly in the wind. Slytherin girls that Rose didn't know stayed mainly to themselves as the Gryffindors fanned out, covering most of the pitch. One standout was Scorpius Malfoy. He, too, stayed near the ground, his toes brushing against the grass as his yearmates flew overhead. One boy, who Rose vaguely recognized from Potions class as Crispin Orthos, called for Scorpius to join him. Scorpius shook his head and waved his friend on without him.

At the end of the hour, Albus was pink-cheeked and panting. "That was--the best--those brooms--" he gasped, trotting to keep up with Rose's quick steps. She was in a hurry to get away from the pitch. "So glad they replaced them. You should have flown around more!"

Under the guidance of Quidditch-lover Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts had begun to purchase new school-owned brooms every few years. They leveled out the playing field for Quidditch players who couldn't afford to buy their own broom to bring to school.

For the next few weeks, Rose made the trek out to the Quidditch pitch every night to watch Albus fly. He stuck near the ground as the various teams practiced--James was moved up from reserve on the Gryffindor team to Seeker when Gary Ericcson got a bad case of Dragonskin Fever and had to return home for a month.

"They couldn't afford to lose a month of practice," gloated James for the twelfth time over breakfast. "Pearl Brennan is the temporary captain until Gary gets back. She doesn't know what'll happen next year, but for now, I'm in!"

"I don't understand," said Rose. "The season is cancelled, James. What's the use of practicing now?"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "They don't want to not practice for a year," he explained. "And since they can't very well practice without a Seeker, they moved me up! Gary's a sixth year, so if they don't keep me on for next year, I'm definitely in the year after that."

Rose still thought it was silly to practice for games that wouldn't happen, but she still went out to watch her cousins fly. Occasionally, Tia Marsh would accompany her outside and they would study together. Rose had learned to bottle bright red flames, which they used to illuminate their textbooks and scrolls. On other nights, she would simply sit and watch the teams fly in the moonlight.

Time raced by, and before Rose knew it, autumn had arrived in earnest. The leaves were beginning to change color, and most of her classes had begun to get interesting--and more difficult.

The most enjoyable was always Defence Against the Dark Arts. She brought up the tournament during class one day--Evariste grinned as she tentatively put forth the subject.

"Well, I suppose we can touch on the subject," he mused. "Alright. The tournament originated hundreds of years ago, but there was a long period of time where it did not take place. It was reinstated in 1994 and took place here at Hogwarts.

"Now, many of you have heard the story of what happened that year. We were in the period of Voldemort's return--that tournament was the one that actually served as a device to bring him back. In the years following the Second Wizarding War, or Fall of Darkness, it was unclear as to whether or not the Triwizard Tournament would ever continue."

"But it obviously did," pointed out Odessa Blackwell, a Slytherin girl with an abnormally sharp chin.

Evariste nodded. "Indeed, it did. New safety measures were added, and the next tournament was an overwhelming success. The worst injury sustained was by Vikenti Ivanov, head of Durmstrang Institute, who fell into a Spike Bush while inspecting one of the courses."

The class laughed. "There have been no fatalities since," continued Evariste, "and we are all looking forward to another chance at the Cup."

"What about the judges?" asked Tia Marsh. "I heard that they just pick random people now, to keep it unbiased."

Rose frowned; how could an assortment of random witches and wizards fairly judge the Tournament? But Evariste shook his head. "Not exactly. Each school's head gets to serve as a judge. Since it is being held at Hogwarts, our Minister of Magic will attend, though his scores don't count. It's more of a polite gesture to invite the host country's Minister--I believe it was insisted upon by Beauxbatons a few seasons ago."

"Kingsley must be thrilled," murmured Albus. They knew him well; a friend of Albus' father, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been given the position temporarily, only to find that he was well-suited to the job and loved it. He would much rather be at his office doing paperwork or preparing for the upcoming Alliance of Goblins Convention than sitting at a tournament where his scores would not be counted.

Evariste continued. "Then there are three judges selected by a certain theme. The previous Tournament invited three renowned Herbologists to the panel--not the most lively bunch, I must admit. When I was in school--" He paused, waiting for the murmurs to dissipate. "Yes, I was in school not too long ago. The Tournament was held at Durmstrang during my seventh year, and our three 'guest judges,' if you will, were all falsely convicted men who had been sent to--and later released from--Azkaban. Yes, it was quite the controversial year."

Rose could only imagine what people must have said. Azkaban had been the Wizarding world's most notorious prison. It had been disbanded following the war--there hadn't been much to disband, seeing how most of the building had been destroyed and the prisoners had escaped--but the name still struck a chord of fear within witches and wizards.

"I wonder who the judges'll be this year," said Rose to Albus as they packed their books up at the end of the class.

"Imagine it's that bloke from the Chudley Cannons!" said Albus with excitement. Rose rolled her eyes. After it was evident that his daughter had no interest in Quidditch, Ron Weasley had started recommending his favorite team to Albus and James. To his surprise--and the disdain of both his wife and sister--Albus had begun to follow the Cannons with a fervor to rival Ron's own.

Albus began to list other possible judges from the Quidditch world--"Or maybe that old commentator, you know, the one who disappeared for three years!"--and Rose did her best to concentrate, but there was still a certain level of concentration needed to get from one class to the next. Thankfully, it was time for tea. Getting to the Great Hall was always easiest, as it was the main gathering point of all the students.

The only class remaining that day was Transfiguration, which Rose was surprised to realise she disliked. Before coming to Hogwarts, she had looked forward to the class almost as much as Defense Against the Dark Arts. But after meeting Professor Randor and sitting through a dozen of his lessons, the class was now a source of dread.

"D'ya think we'll pick up from last time?" asked Albus hopefully. At the end of the last lesson, the students had managed to start the professor on a tale of his studies, which included his experiences on the Council of Shapeshifters in Milan.

"I was in charge of presiding over the cases of shapeshifters who could not return to their original forms," he drawled in his dry voice. "We had some... some quite interesting... ehrm, cases."

When he spoke, Randor gave off the impression that he kept forgetting what he was talking about. Today, the students entered the classroom eagerly, but their excitement was for nothing. Within three minutes, half of the class was nodding off as Randor went off on a tangent about how one would go about teaching a spell to a foreign witch or wizard.

"It's not that difficult!" ranted Rose at the end of the lesson. Albus stayed by her side, letting her express her frustration as they stepped onto a moving staircase. "I mean, you just point at something and say the incantation." She took her wand out of her pocket to demonstrate. "If you point your wand at something and say Alohomora, it will--"

A door across from them flew open with a bang. Rose looked at her wand, amazed--the spell wasn't supposed to open the door, only unlock it--but then it became evident that she was not the source of the action. Lorcan Scamander popped out of the open door and immediately hopped on another moving set of stairs.

"I think the stairs are anxious," said Lorcan as he half jumped, half fell from his stair to Rose and Albus' as they passed. "They normally don't move around nearly this much. Have you two seen Lysander?"

"No," said Rose, "and did you say that you think the stairs are...anxious?"

"Suppose so," shrugged Lorcan.

"But--they're stairs. They can't--they don't feel anything!" protested Rose.

Lorcan's face was a picture of befuddlement. "Why not?" Not waiting for a response, he continued. "I was working on a drawing before. Wanna see?"

Albus unfolded the parchment square Lorcan gave him. "It's the same door," he said. It was, indeed, the same door that Lorcan had sketched on the Hogwarts Express.

But Lorcan said, "Nope." When Albus looked ready to argue, he elaborated. "See? This door has a lock." He pointed out the small change to the drawing. "You know what that means, right?"

Rose bit her lip, unsure of if she should be encouraging where this was leading. "It's time to go hunting for a key?" she guessed, only half-hoping she'd be wrong.

But Lorcan grinned. "It's time to go hunting for a key."