THE LOVE WITCH * GW

Chapter Two.

On the initial day of the academic term, Rosemary experienced a sense of ease as she immersed herself in the familiar routine of school. Excelling in her studies was a strength of hers, and it was perhaps the sole aspect of her abilities that she possessed unwavering confidence in.

It was uncommon to find the purest of Slytherin girls so involved in their education— spending spare periods in the library reading, inquiring on nuanced topics during professor's office hours. Such dedication was a rarity indeed, for the majority of their counterparts understood all too well that the pursuit of education held little relevance in shaping their future endeavors.

It is uncommon for a husband to permit his wife to engage in contemplations that do not revolve around a musical instrument or a cross-stitch. Oh, the scandal it would create to have a wife whose intellect surpasses one's own!

But Rosemary had never been one to concern herself with the opinions of others, especially when it came to her undeniable wit. She held onto the hope that her future husband would not only appreciate her quick thinking and sharp intellect but also choose her precisely because of it.

Rosemary took great pride in consistently achieving top grades on all her assignments, a feat that she could only admire herself for in her moments of solitude.

She took great delight in showcasing her academic prowess, believing it warranted recognition and admiration. Despite her father's reservations, perceiving her exuberance as excessive and unbecoming, Rosemary remained resolute and unapologetic.

This was the one aspect of her life where she felt assured of her capabilities

She was certain that it was the one thing that defined her identity.

Having achieved exceptional grades in 7 out of 9 of her O.W.L.S., and successfully passing all of them with no less than acceptables, Rosemary found herself burdened with a weighty curriculum for the upcoming academic year. She anticipated dedicating a significant portion of her time engrossed in voluminous tomes within the confines of the library, tirelessly penning essays until her quills were rendered useless.

However, an overwhelming sense of trepidation eluded her, replaced instead by an exhilarating surge of anticipation.

Maybe it is beneficial that she has a task to occupy her time with this year; it could potentially assist her in avoiding the numerous invitations she will undoubtedly receive for dates.

In the morning, Advanced Charms class commenced, which was deemed rather straightforward under the guidance of a rather amenable Professor. Expecting a discussion solely focused on the syllabus, Rosemary opted to remain in proximity to Graham Montague and Miles Bletchley, in case any haughty gentlemen intended to request a seat next to her.

Graham Montague was a chaser on the quidditch team, good enough that he has attracted enough notice for Marcus Flint to contemplate him as the potential next captain.. Despite Rosemary harbors a subtle suspicion that this consideration may solely stem from their familial connection, they are cousins, she never voiced it aloud.

During the previous year, he had seized a handful of Gryffindor Katie Bell's hair while they were engaged in a match, nearly causing her to lose balance and tumble from her broomstick.

He was as gray as his morals were loose, but to be his friend meant fierce protection. Such unwavering devotion was precisely what Rosemary sought as she prepared for the imminent season.

Miles Bletchley was too on the quidditch team, serving as the keeper.

He had a wild sense of humor and spent his time dabbling in dark arts, much like his father. He too took one of the top spots in class, but unlike Rosemary, didn't have good sportsmanship when it came to anything but first.

At races he threw fits at lost bets, and found himself sour faced at failed wizard chess games.

He believed he was entitled to win, even without much reason.

Located on the third floor, adjacent to the transfiguration courtyard, the charms classroom was under the supervision of Professor Filius Flitwick. He was a tiny little wizard who had to stand upon a stack of books just to see over his desk.

The classroom boasted three neatly arranged rows of desks, all oriented towards the teacher's table. Positioned behind the table was a grand upholstered chair with an imposing high back. On either side of the table, two blackboards stood, while a small shelf adorned with books and various objects rested behind them. This shelf was positioned beneath a pair of windows, allowing natural light to filter into the room.

Being that it was a higher level course, the amount of students had become sparser than the prior year. Upon looking at the registration table, the Professor began to call out—

Miles Bletchley sat to the right of Rosemary, as Graham Montague sat to the left. It was as if an unspoken agreement had been reached, as the rest of their classmates instinctively gravitated towards the opposite end of the room, maintaining a respectful distance.

Cedric Diggory chatted quietly with Ravenclaw Roger Davies, his arm thrown around his chair and cloak hardly resting correctly upon his shoulders.

Angelina Johnson tugged helplessly at her bag as Lee Jordan tugged back— attempting to obtain some odd object within it.

Alicia Spinnet rested her head in her hand, seeming as though she were to fall asleep any moment, but still mustered half-smiles to her friends antics.

Like a line drawn through the sand, the only ones who dared sit close enough to the god-forsaken Slytherins were the Weasley twins. Nevertheless, they found themselves unable to refrain from casting the occasional scowl towards the trio clad in green.

Rosemary was confident that this conduct originated from the occurrences at the Quidditch World Cup. Even though she did not attend— due to her mother's frequent declarations that a fascination with the sport was not ladylike— she was convinced of the gossip surrounding her father. About Miles' father. About Graham's father.

They were the death-eater reincarnate. And perhaps the belief was that to sit too close meant to be unforgivably cursed.

Rosemary deemed it all utterly preposterous, as she held no fascination for the occult or the machinations of the Dark Lord—such indulgences were not within her reach, as her sole focus was to entertain the idea of a noble suitor and the elegance of a wedding gown.

The same cannot be said for her friends, which eagerly itched to acquaint themselves with the inner circles of those supremacists, but as for Rosemary, she was perfectly content staying far out of it.

Naturally, such information was beyond anyone's grasp. Their knowledge was limited to what was relayed to them: through the Daily Prophet, the words of Dumbledore, and disregarding the statements of the Chosen One. Rosemary was confident that, given the chance, they would gladly label her as the accursed villain.

All Slytherins were, after all.

From the moment the sorting hat placed one in that house, the rest of the school seldom gave any ounce of compassion. Slytherin— where all the dark wizards come from.

It was a joke, to Rosemary at least. That one could look at her and think her to be dark or evil. She spent her afternoons in the library studying transfiguration, and her weekends shopping in diagon alley, and her concern for maintaining a flawless manicure far outweighed any desire to engage in a duel with another individual. Rosemary was resolute in her conviction that she possessed none of the qualities typically associated with dark wizards, except for her affiliation with Slytherin, naturally.

That did not impede the procession.

The imperceptible boundary that the Hufflepuffs, the Ravenclaws, and the Gryffindors had meticulously forged within the confines of the classroom, a boundary they dared not transgress. 

This boundary effectively segregates Graham, Miles, and herself from the rest of the cohort. 

It is the demarcation that separates virtue from malevolence.