Quarrel

There was no chance of trying Fiendfyre. Rose lacked the magical power and skill to cast the spell and bring it to an end safely. But she eagerly began trying out some harmless little spells.

Most of them couldn't be properly modified or successfully cast, but just as Professor Bosde had described, every success brought an addictive thrill. Rose was absorbed in it for days on end, so distracted that she barely paid attention even while eating.

Her favorite was another variation of the Fire-Making Spell—the Firework Spell. It sent a spray of tiny sparks from the tip of her wand, bright and beautiful, but otherwise completely useless.

On Sunday evening, most of the students had returned to their dormitories to get ready for bed. A pair of older students were curled up together in an armchair in the corner, whispering intimately, with the occasional sound of their lips meeting.

At the other end of the common room, Rose lay hunched over a table, scribbling furiously without looking up, oblivious to everything else. She had completely forgotten her homework. Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic—she had forgotten all of it, and it was due on Monday.

She had been sitting there since the afternoon, and now, as midnight drew near, she had finally finished a little over half of it.

Her eyes were dry and swollen. Rose blinked hard twice, put down her quill, and stretched her stiff, aching neck and shoulders. Her brain had stopped working long ago.

The common room door suddenly opened. Rose turned to look, and her stiff neck went crack.

It was James, Sirius, and Pettigrew. They swaggered in after curfew, their trousers and clothes covered in mud, and flopped onto the sofa opposite Rose.

"You're filthy," Rose said in disgust. They even smelled of foul mud. "If you told me you fought a Troll today, I'd believe you."

"Men aren't afraid of getting dirty!" James said proudly. To boys, anything could be sacrificed for an adventure.

Peter Pettigrew nodded in agreement. He agreed with everything James said.

Rose rolled her eyes at him. "Please, you're only twelve." Ignoring them, she bent her head to finish her Transfiguration essay.

Suddenly, Sirius tossed a bag of creamy honey toffees onto her parchment. He lounged back on the sofa, looking relaxed and in a very good mood.

"Did you go to Hogsmeade?" Rose unwrapped a toffee and popped it into her mouth. The sweet honey and brown sugar gradually melted on her tongue, and her muddled brain slowly began to clear.

"Yeah, we went to Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. God, they were so boring. Luckily there was the Shrieking Shack, and we-" James complained casually, but Sirius cut him off.

Sirius glanced at Rose and spoke cautiously. "You forgot. We didn't go into the Shrieking Shack."

"Oh, right, I forgot. We wanted to go in, but there was the Whomping Willow-" James said dryly.

Rose's attention was still on her Transfiguration homework, and she didn't notice how incoherent he sounded. She asked curiously, "The Whomping Willow? You're not the sort to let it keep you out-"

"Yeah, but it did keep us out," Sirius said firmly, and Peter chimed in beside him.

"Oh, I don't believe that!" Rose said offhandedly. She was racking her brains to remember how Professor McGonagall had explained the point in class, and didn't notice the change in the two boys' expressions at her words.

"We don't have to report every little detail of where we've been to you, do we?" Sirius said sharply. His words abruptly pulled Rose out of her thoughts. She didn't understand why he was so angry.

"Sirius Black, I have absolutely no interest in where any of you go or what you do!" Rose was getting a little angry herself. She slammed her quill onto the table and began gathering up her scattered parchment in a huff.

She could finish the rest over breakfast tomorrow, but she couldn't stand being in the same room with adolescent boys for another moment.

"You'll have to forgive us, Rose," James said, stepping in front of her with a sigh. "We have a reason for not telling you."

Although she understood that the boys only wanted to keep their good friend's secret, being left out felt awful. Rose's eyes grew red and her nose prickled. "Black's right," she said, her voice thick. "Nobody's forcing you to tell me. I don't want to know anyway!"

She ran into the girls' dormitory, leaving the three boys staring at one another.

Early the next morning, Rose ignored Sirius and James throughout breakfast, even though they kept looking at her. Remus was at the long table too, his face so pale it was almost transparent, quietly eating a small bowl of porridge.

Peter sat between them, looking from Rose to James. He lowered his head, an unreadable expression on his face.

In Transfiguration, Lily quietly asked her if she had quarreled with Potter and the others.

Rose suddenly felt a little guilty. James Potter didn't get along with Lily's good friend, yet Rose was always hanging around with them.

"It's nothing. I'm good friends with you, not Potter!" Lily said unconcernedly. "Besides, you haven't helped them bully Severus!"

"I just get a little jealous sometimes," Lily said quietly, a little embarrassed, her ears turning almost as red as her hair. "Marlene does too. She's told me several times that she's always worried we aren't your best friends anymore." Marlene laughed at Lily's red ears, and Lily huffed as she added this.

Rose felt like crying again. Her emotions had been rather unsteady lately, and her eyes reddened as she looked at them.

"Oh, don't cry!" Lily patted her back in a fluster, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Rose's tears fell in a steady patter.

Her heart felt absolutely full. She wanted to pray that the girls before her would always be happy and joyful, and give them the very best of everything.

Potter and Black were completely forgotten. She wasn't angry at all anymore!

Although they had caused such a commotion that Professor McGonagall assigned them an extra essay as punishment, Rose was in such a good mood that she felt she could write ten without a problem!

Sitting in the library, Rose decided that ten was still a little too many. She racked her brains, trying to pad out her brief statements with filler words or turn them into long sentences, making up for the thin content and ideas in her essay.

Fortunately, having received a traditional English education, she was very good at that.

Just as she was absorbed in writing, a first-year Gryffindor boy found her and handed her a note.

Come to "that room" tonight. The password is the one you know.

Rose glanced at it, tossed it aside, and carried on with her Transfiguration essay full of long, complicated sentences.