THE LOVE WITCH * GW

Chapter Five.

The library was supposed to be the single place where Rosemary had found solitude, and evidently, this is no longer the case.

On the hunt for research of Inferi, for her dreaded DADA project, Terrence Higgs had caught her between two bookcases—- "let me help you with that, Miss Malfoy, it looks quite heavy."

A year older than herself, Rosemary only knows Higgs as the boy her father payed off to surrender his position as seeker so Draco may have it. Her knowledge of him seldom extends passed that, besides the fact of him believing her incapable of carrying books on her own.

"I am quite alright, thank you," she replies curtly.

"Please, I insist. You should not have to lift a finger. Allow me to bring them to your table for you."

"Indeed unnecessary, Mr. Higgs. I am managing on my own just fine—-" Higgs had taken the books from her hands anyway, frustrating her so.

There is one thing Rosemary hated more than a man who assumed her incapable. It is a man that insists on doing as he pleases, despite what he is told.

"There, isn't that much better? I do try to be chivalrous, Miss Malfoy. It is a trait I believe every husband should have."

"I see."

"I believe I have much to offer my future wife. I do pride myself in romantic gestures, and should wish to only spoil her so. And one day, to spoil our children too."

"How nice."

Rosemary was growing ill. All men ever had to say to her nowadays was of what they could offer in marriage. And the talk of children made her faint. She was only soon to be seventeen! She did not wish to think of such things as children.

But, alas, that was never her choice to make. This is all that matters. This is all she will amount to. Some trophy for men to sought after until she settles with one. And then she will carry children. And then she shall wilt away.

Rosemary almost missed the argument between her and the Weasley twin. At least it was an opportunity to talk about something else.

"And what of you, Miss Malfoy?" He inquires.

"What?"

"Hobbies, special interests, favorite class? What is it that makes you Rosemary Malfoy."

And though the question is simply a question, it hits her hard. Deeply. Her stomach churns, and she finds she knows less of herself then she thought.

What is it that made her her?

She only knew school and etiquette, nothing else. So who was she? When utterly alone, in the night, when no one could see her. She wasn't sure she had even figured that out yet.

"Well, I enjoy composing. I play the pianoforte, you see. And I am quite talented in cross-stitch and household charms. I do like charms, though I do not know if that should be my favorite class."

"Interesting indeed," Higgs hums, and steps all too close.

Suddenly, Rosemary is revolted by the whole thing. All of it. The conversation, the way Higgs is considering if he shall court her, him stealing the books from her hands, and the way he is standing just mere inches away.

"I think it unwise to stay here between these bookcases," Rosemary quickly says. "It could be compromising, away from the public view with no chaperone. I should like to go back to my desk now."

"Ah, you are correct," he finally steps back from her, and she feels as though she could breathe once more. "I would never want to put you in a situation where one could question your honor, Miss Malfoy. That is not the type of man I am. I only got so caught up in your beauty, I hadn't time to think about how it may look. My apologies."

"Oh, um, yes," and manners be damned, Rosemary had hightailed it back to her desk, not caring that Higgs still held all of those books on Inferi. The only thought in her mind was to run far and fast.

Practically gasping for air as she approached her seat, she was relieved to be alone at last. Until—- "I thought seekers only possessed the ability to move that quick."

"Weasley."

"Malfoy."

"Can I help you?" she almost snaps but holds her composure. After all, George is not the target of her distraught. This time at least.

"I do believe I am supposed to be reviewing your research. So tell me... where might it be?"

"It is— well um—- I had—-" in an attempt to explain herself and the previous situation, she became quickly aware that it was a bust, and threw herself in her seat with an exaggerated sigh. "Long story."

"Procrastination, it seems."

And she would have liked to be irritated, but she was so happy to not be having a conversation involving the social season that she could not muster the feeling. "If procrastination comes in the form of Terrence Higgs and his persistent advances, then I would say you are correct.

George winces at this in a joking manner. "Unlucky," he muses. "Couldn't imagine what that bloke had to say."

"You use such language in front of a lady?"

"What lady?"

"Me, of course!"

"I didn't know you were a lady," George says with such surprise, that Rosemary herself is baffled.

"What—"

"I thought you were a goblin of some sort. A genuine mistake on my part. You bear much resemblance."

"I'm sorry?"

"It is in the ears I believe. Your's are awfully pointy. Had anyone ever told you that? Maybe someone in your family was a goblin!" He exclaims.

"I'm quite offended," Rosemary scoffs, crossing her arms.

She had forgotten about her past run in entirely. As she forgot about the books on Inferi. As she forgot about all of her stresses of the outcomes in May. And she sat utterly humored by the muses of George Weasley. She never thought it possible, but she found his jokes quite funny.

"Well, please do not take offense. Sure, goblins are horribly rude creatures, and they do have many wrinkles, but perhaps there is good deep down inside."

"Perhaps there is," Rosemary defends.

"And I don't spend much time chatting with goblins but I imagine they are quite capable of obtaining, and also keeping, the books they are supposed to be researching."

"Touché," she says, a slight smile daring to invade her usual stone cold facade. But no matter how hard she tried—- the laughter could not cease itself from escaping the confines of her throat.

She had laughed, a genuine laugh, one that she found hard to manage. And in return George grinned. And for a moment, it was almost as though they were friends.

And then everything came crashing down. She was in the library, in the midst of her social season, with a Weasley, and laughing uncontrollably.

She imagined her father was standing in the corner of the room—- what he might say. And her usual facade returned. Almost mechanical. Like the past minutes had never happened.

And George would have liked to say he was not at slight unease about her sudden mood change, but it would not be entirely truthful.

Just like that, George and Rosemary had returned to Malfoy and Weasley.