After years of dull Muggle education, Rose was finding her Hogwarts subjects amazing. Her hand was the first to fly up whenever a professor asked a question, leading to several dry remarks from them about how much she was like her mother. Having been bombarded with (what sounded like suspiciously exaggerated) tales of what a swotter Hermione had been in school by Ron, Harry, Ginny, and basically everybody they knew, Rose would turn red and All would snicker. Rose soon found that she wasn't good at everything. Professor Wood (who was always trailed by a string of admirers, who'd heard of his glory on the pitch when he played for Puddlemere United) had had to spend half an hour calming her down after her broomstick got stuck in a turret during Quidditch lessons. With her on it. He'd flown up on his own broomstick and pulled her onto it (with some difficulty, because she was so scared of falling that she refused to let go of the stuck broomstick), and then landed her on a safe patch of grass near Harris's hut (Hagrid had very kindly provided her with chocolate and mugs of hot coffee to stop her shivering), and talked to her till she calmed down. He'd offered to send her to the Hospital Wing where his wife Katie Wood neé Bell (also an ex Quidditch player, and still very good at her game) worked, but Rose declined, mortified of being teased. Needless to say, teasing DID happen. Al, as soon as he made sure Rose wasn't physically harmed in any way, made it a point to tell her to "go climb a turret" or "go ride a broom" Everytime they disagreed on something or squabbled. And James, of course, had thanked her from the bottom of his heart for zooming, screaming, past the window where Professor Binns was taking an abysmally boring History of Magic class for him, and for then riding past their window again, clutching Professor Wood around the waist. Hermione had written, anxious and concerned, tut-tutting about the lack of safety of the old school broomsticks, but Ron had been horrified, and had written a very firm letter saying that he'd coach her personally when she got home for the holidays. All in all, it had been a mortifying experience.

However, her days of embarrassing experiences weren't over. Ex reporter Rita Skeeter had recently released an unauthorized biography of Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been very famous, till he'd been exposed as a fraud. He was currently ageing slowly at St. Mungo's, with only a very vague idea of who he was, and a penchant for autographing anything that stood still long enough. Hermione had always been irritated by Skeeter's various attempts at biographies (The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, 'Krum'pled Destiny, and Harry Potter : Chosen One or Frozen Pawn? to name a few), but they were always highly publicized, and The Daily Prophet had been advertising Gilderoy Lockhart : Tall, Blond, and Handsome, or Just Plain Loathsome? for a while now. This led to a heated discussion between Ruby and Rose about what their biographies (if any) would be named. "Yours would be Red, Red Rose," said Ruby, "Because you're always getting into embarrassing situations, and you blush easily. And also, you're a redhead." Rose blushed. "Yours would probably be 'Badger'ing the Lion," retorted Rose, "Because you're a Hufflepuff, but you spend so much time at the Gryffindor table before and after meals." "James's would probably be How Not to Impress Girls!" grinned Al, looking over at where James was obsessively rumpling up his hair and casting sidelong glances at some of Victoire's pretty friends. "What would Malfoy's be?" whispered Ruby, looking at Scorpius a few places down the table, getting up after ending his meal alone, as usual. "Malfoy is easy," bragged Rose, "He's Tall, Blond, and Handsome!" "Shhhh!" hissed Al, and Rose and Ruby looked up to see Scorpius staring at Rose, his ears red. He'd been walking past them on the way out of the Great Hall. Rose felt the usual blush touching the roots of her red hair, and Ruby coughed up the pumpkin juice she'd been sipping out of Rose's goblet right across Gryffindor table, into the plate of a very disgusted second year.