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THE HOLIDAYS HAD COME TO AN END.

With the return of classes, a noticeable shift had occurred between Rosie and Tom. Their dynamic had transformed into an unspoken rivalry, simmering just beneath the surface. The competition wasn't outright hostile, but it was ever-present — a silent battle where each tried to outshine the other. Neither would admit it aloud, but ever since Christmas, something unexplainable had settled between them, fuelling this restless need to prove themselves.

Rosie trudged through the snowy grounds, her boots crunching against the frost-coated grass as she followed Stacey toward their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. The air was sharp, biting at her exposed skin, though she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were already racing ahead, torn between anticipation for the lesson and the ever-looming presence of Tom.

She cast a glance over her shoulder as they reached the outdoor classroom. Sure enough, there he was, striding through the snow with that effortless air of confidence that made him impossible to ignore. His dark hair fell just slightly into his eyes, which swept over the crowd before landing briefly on her. For the smallest fraction of a second, their gazes locked. Then, as if nothing had happened, he looked away and moved to take his usual seat near the front of the gathering students.

Stacey, ever observant, smirked knowingly. "Are you going to spend this entire class competing with Tom again?" Her voice held a teasing edge, but there was curiosity there, too.

Rosie bristled, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. "I'm not competing with him," she said, but the slight edge to her tone betrayed her.

Stacey raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, "Oh, really? Because it sure looks like you two have been at each other's throats ever sine the holidays. What exactly happened between you two?"

"Nothing," Rosie answered quickly, her gaze dropping as she fussed with the hem of her sleeve. She wasn't ready to talk about it; not to Stacey, and certainly not to herself. She wasn't even sure what had changed. it. Not to Stacey, and certainly not to herself. She wasn't even sure what had changed.

Tom slid into his seat, his posture as composed and self-assured as ever. Even without looking, Rosie could feel the pull of his presence. It was maddening, the way he seemed to occupy every corner of her mind without even trying. She hated that she noticed the way his confidence drew others in, the way people naturally gravitated toward him, and she hated even more than, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to ignore him.

"You can pretend all you want," Stacey said, snapping Rosie out of her thoughts. "But it's obvious something is going on. You don't have to tell me, but don't expect me to stop noticing."

Rosie sighed, brushing snow off the edge of the table they had gathered around, "Just drop it, Stacey, please."

For once, Stacey didn't push further. Instead, she turned her attention to the approaching professor, who was already beginning to set up for the lesson. Rosie tried to follow suit, yet, no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept drifting back to Tom.

She stole another glance at him, only to find him already looking her way. This time, he didn't look away immediately, instead, he smirked, just enough to make her stomach flip. Rosie quickly turned back to her notes, her cheeks burning despite the cold.

Today, she told herself firmly, she wouldn't let him get under her skin. Today, she would prove she could stay focused, that she could outshine him without losing control of her thoughts.

Their Professor, a stern man with a love for all things magical and dangerous, began the lesson. He paced in front of the students, his long coat swishing in the cold breeze as he spoke, "Today, we're going to discuss one of the most dangerous and elusive creatures in the Wizarding World — the Basilisk."

At the mention of the Basilisk, Rosie's hand instinctively shot into the air, just as Tom's did. The two exchanged a glance, their silent competition already brewing. The Professor, noticing both hands, smiled slightly and pointed to Rosie.

"The Basilisk is a giant serpent, also known as the King of Serpents," Rosie began. "It's one of the deadliest magical creatures, often bred by Dark Wizards. The first recorded Basilisk was created by Herpo the Foul, a Dark wizard who successfully hatched a chicken egg beneath a toad, producing this lethal creature."

Stacey leaned in closer, whispering, "How do you know all this stuff?"

Rosie, without missing a beat, continued, "Basilisk breeding has been banned since medieval times, but they are still feared for their deadly gaze. Looking directly into a Basilisk's eyes results in immediate death, while an indirect glance causes petrification. Fortunately, no sightings of a Basilisk have been confirmed in centuries due to strict regulations around their breeding."

"Thank you, Miss Hart," the professor said, clearly impressed with her answer.

Rosie sat back in her seat, satisfied, though she couldn't help but notice the slight frown on Tom's face as he listened. Was it frustration? Annoyance that she had gotten to answer the question first? She couldn't tell, but it only made her more determined to keep the pace. If he wanted a competition, she would give him one.

From behind her, a voice muttered, "Know-it-all," loud enough for Rosie to hear. She bristled, but before she could respond, Tom's voice cut through the low murmurs.

"She's not a know-it-all," he said, his tone sharp. The comment silenced the whispers, and Rosie turned slightly in her seat, catching his eye. For a moment, she was taken aback by his defence of her. She gave him a brief nod of appreciation before focusing back on the lesson.

Stacey, of course, wasn't about to let the moment go unnoticed. As soon as the professor turned his back, she leaned in close again, "Seriously, what is going on with you and Tom? He never defends anyone."

"Nothing is going on," Rosie insisted, though her cheeks flushed slightly as she said it.

"Sure doesn't seem like nothing," Stacey replied with a sly grin.

Before Rosie could retort, the professor asked another question, and once again, Rosie's hand shot up. "Yes, Miss Hart?"

"While it's not confirmed, it's rumoured that the Chamber of Secrets, hidden beneath Hogwarts, houses a basilisk. According to legend, only the true heir of Salazar Slytherin can control it, using it to purge the school of Muggle-borns and those deemed unworthy to study magic."

Stacey's eyes widened at this new piece of information, "Who's the heir of Slytherin?"

"Nobody knows for sure," Rosie replied, lowering her voice as the class hung on her every word. "The heir is said to be a direct descendant and can speak Parseltongue, the language of snakes, but to this day, the true identity of the heir remains a mystery."

The class seemed enraptured by the tale, though Rosie couldn't help but notice that Tom had grown unusually quiet. Every time the Chamber of Secrets or the heir was mentioned, his expression became unreadable, almost guarded. She glanced back at him again, but this time, he avoided her gaze. It was subtle, but it was there — he was deliberately avoiding the topic. It sent a strange feeling through her, one she couldn't quite place. Why was he so quiet?

The professor continued speaking, detailing historical accounts of Basilisk attacks and the devastating effects they had on wizarding communities. Rosie tried to focus, scribbling notes quickly to keep up, but her thoughts kept drifting to Tom. She replayed the look on his face, the sudden shift in his demeanour. It was rare for Tom to be rattled by anything, but something about this topic unsettled him.

As the lesson drew on, Rosie couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Tom than she realised. Was it just the pressure of competition, or was there something deeper beneath the surface? She resolved to find out, even if it meant pushing past his guarded exterior. The rivalry between them was far from over, but now, curiosity mingled with the competition, making her even more determined to uncover the truth.

As class ended, students began gathering their things, but Rosie wasn't quite ready to let go of the thoughts swirling in her mind. She packed her bags slowly, hoping to catch Tom before he left, but the professor's voice stopped her.

"Miss Hart, could you stay behind for a moment?"

Rosie shot a glance at Stacey, who gave her questioning look but didn't linger. Tom, too, hesitated by the door, his eyes flicking towards Rosie as if he was trying to gauge what she'd done to warrant being kept behind. She gave him a small shrug, and with that, he left the room, leaving her alone with the professor.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Rosie asked, approaching the front of the classroom.

The professor looked up from his notes and smiled warmly, "I wanted to speak to you about your performance in this class, Miss Hart. You've been doing exceptionally well."

Rosie felt her chest relax. For a moment, she had been worried she'd done something wrong, "Thank you, Professor."

"In fact, you're far ahead of your peers in terms of understanding and grasping the material. It's clear you have a natural talent for this subject," the professor continued, his tone admiring. "Since we don't offer an advanced course, I'd like to give you the opportunity to take on some extra-curricular research projects. If that interests you, of course."

Rosie's heart lifted at the prospect. She'd always been passionate about magical creatures, and the idea of diving deeper into her studies thrilled her, "I'd love that. What would the first project be?"

The professor leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment before replying, "I'd like you to complete a full research project on the Basilisk. Due by the end of next week."

Rosie's mind buzzed with excitement. "I can definitely do that," she nodded, already forming a mental plan for her research.

"Excellent. I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with," the professor said before dismissing her.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Rosie left the classroom and made her way to the Great Hall. As she entered, she noticed Esmie sitting at the Gryffindor table, away from the Slytherins. It had become a common occurrence ever since Christmas, and the sight made Rosie's stomach twist. It was clear the young Gryffindor girl no longer felt welcome among her Slytherin friends.

"She's not sitting with us again?" Theodore asked as he took his usual spot beside Mattheo and Lorenzo.

"She doesn't feel welcome here," Lorenzo muttered darkly, his gaze settling on Draco, who sat further down the table with his usual group of sycophants.

"That little mudblood isn't welcome at this table," Draco said coldly, his voice loud enough for the entire table to hear.

Lorenzo's jaw clenched as he stood abruptly, leaving the table without a word. Rosie watched him go, her heart sinking. It was becoming harder and harder to stomach the pureblood rhetoric that dominated their house, especially when it affected people she cared about.

Across the table, Stacey was engaged in a hushed conversation with Michelle, a particularly judgemental Slytherin girl known for spreading rumours. Rosie tried to tune them out, but it was impossible not to hear snippets of their conversation.

"She's too smart for her own good," Michelle muttered.

"Marco said she knows way too much about the Chamber of Secrets," Stacey added in a low voice, though Rosie heard her clearly.

"They think she's the heir?" Michelle gasped, a note of excitement in her voice.

Rosie's heart sank as she realised they were talking about her. It was the same rumour she had heard whispered in the hallways ever since she'd spoken so knowledgeably about the Basilisk. It seemed her love for research had backfired spectacularly, turning her into the prime suspect for something far more sinister.

"That's ridiculous!" Rosie exclaimed, her voice rising slightly as she interrupted their conversation.

Both Stacey and Michelle looked at her, startled. "We weren't —" Stacey started to explain, but Rosie had already stood, her hands trembling with frustration.

"So what, are you're going to stop being my friend because of some stupid rumour?" Rosie demanded, her voice thick with hurt. She had expected this kind of talk from people like Michelle, but Stacey?

Stacey bit her lip, avoiding Rosie's gaze, "It's not just a rumour, Rosie. People are saying it — Marco said —"

"I don't care what Marco said!" Rosie snapped, her voice louder than intended. The few students still lingering in the hall turned to stare, "I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend," Stacey said weakly, but the words lacked conviction.

Rosie shook her head, feeling the sting of betrayal sharper than she'd expected. "No, you're not," she said softly before turning on her heel and walking out of the hall, ignoring the murmurs and whispers that followed her.

The cold air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside, but it did little to cool down the anger boiling inside her. She found a quiet spot beneath a tree in the courtyard and sat down, pulling out her notebook, though her hands were shaking too much to write. She stared at the blank page, the weight of the rumours pressing down on her.

Why was this happening? All she had done was excel in her studies, and now people thought she was the heir of Slytherin? It was absurd. She had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. She wasn't even a Parselmouth, but logic did little to soothe her.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice Tom until he sat down beside her, his presence startling her.

"Rosie," Tom's voice was soft as he approached her, concern etched into his features. He studied her face, his brow furrowed, "You okay?"

Rosie shook her head, "You shouldn't be seen with me. Everyone's talking. They think I'm the heir."

Tom's expression darkened, "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Rosie asked, her voice trembling, "Everyone seems to believe it, even Stacey."

"Stacey's an idiot if she believes that," Tom said sharply, his tone firm. "You're not the heir, Rosie. I know you. You'd never hurt anyone."

"I wouldn't," she said, her throat tight. "But that doesn't seem to matter. People are talking. They're saying things about me —"

"Let them talk," Tom interrupted. "They don't know anything."

Rosie glanced up at him, a mixture of gratitude and confusion swirling in her chest. He was the only one who believed her, the only one who seemed to want to stay by her side when everyone else had seemingly turned away. She swallowed hard, her voice barely audible, "Why do you care so much?"

For a moment, Tom didn't reply. His eyes searched hers, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more deliberate, "Because you matter to me."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unsaid feelings simmering beneath the surface. Rosie blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Tom added, almost as an afterthought, "Hey, Dove."

The nickname stopped her cold. She stared at him, her heart skipping a beat. "Dove?" She echoed, her voice faint.

Tom's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Yeah," he said softly. "You're always so strong, even when you don't feel like it. It fits."

Rosie felt her breath catch. She wanted to smile, wanted to feel comforted by his words, but the knot of emotions in her chest wouldn't let her. "You shouldn't call me that," she murmured, looking away.

"Why not?" Tom asked, his tone gentle but insistent.

"Because ..." Rosie hesitated, blinking back tears. "Because it'll just make it harder when everyone else leaves."

Tom's expression softened, and he reached out, his hand hovering near hers, "I'm not leaving, Rosie. I'm not like them."

Her heart clenched at his words, but the lingering doubt in her mind wouldn't let her believe it completely. She quickly gathered her things, her movements hurried and shaky. "I should go," she said, avoiding his gaze.

"Rosie —" Tom began, his voice quiet, and she froze mid-step. "You're my friend, Dove, and friends look out for each other."

The word hit her like a blow. Friend. Rosie's chest tightened painfully, her throat constricting as she swallowed back the ache. She wanted to turn around, to argue, but she couldn't trust herself to speak without her emotions spilling out.

She forced a nod instead, her voice barely audible, "Right. Friend."

Before Tom could say anything more, Rosie hurried away, her heart pounding in her chest. The word echoed in her mind, each repetition cutting deeper than the last. She wanted to believe he cared, but that word felt like a wall, one she didn't know how to climb.

She didn't stop until she was back inside the castle, the warmth of the corridors doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. She wandered aimlessly for a while before finally heading to the Great Hall. Most of the students had left by now, but a few lingered, studying or chatting quietly.

Rosie found an empty spot at the Slytherin table and sat down, pulling out her notebook again. She stared at the page, trying to focus on her notes, but the words blurred in front of her eyes.

"It's not true, is it?" A voice asked from behind her.

Rosie turned to see Genevieve standing there, looking uncertain and nervous.

"Is what true?" Rosie asked, though she already knew the answer.

"They're saying you're the heir of Slytherin," Genevieve whispered, her eyes wide with worry.

Rosie's heart sank. If even her sister was asking ... "No, of course not," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

"I don't know," Genevieve admitted, her voice small. "It's what everyone's saying."

Rosie's frustration flared, "Well, it's not true. I would never hurt anyone."

Genevieve nodded slowly, though she still looked unsure, "Okay."

Rosie watched her sister walk away, before she closed her notebook and stood up, not wanting to be in the hall any longer. She needed space, time to think.

Without another word, she left the Great Hall and made her way to the dormitory, collapsing onto her bed. The whispers, the accusations, the looks of suspicion — they all weighed on her like a heavy blanket, and no matter how much she tried to shake it off, it clung to her, suffocating her.

As she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, she could only hope that somehow, things would get better, but deep down, she knew the rumours wouldn't disappear overnight. She just had to endure, and maybe, just maybe, the truth would come out in the end ...

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Poor Rosie 😭💔

Enjoy! Xo

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