Devilish Delights (Harry Potter/Celestial Grimoire)

“Potter, that absolute bastard! I bet this is his fault,” I muttered bitterly, bending over to pick up my family grimoire that had flown out of my hands at the sudden stop of the Hogwarts Express. Rain pelted the windows, a heavy downpour that failed to mask the sounds of worry that were emerging from the rest of the train. “Can’t he let us have a single normal school year?” I continued, checking the damage to my grimoire, mostly out of habit. The thickly bound leather journal was hardy despite being nearly two thousand years old -- allegedly. The black leather was marked with the emblem of my family, a single rose with a long thorny stem. 

The text on the pages was absolute madness and nonsense. Complete and utter drivel of the highest order. My family once knew what the book said. It was claimed to be the source of our success some eight hundred years ago, but around three centuries ago, a disenfranchised second son hexed the grimoire with an admittedly powerful obfuscation spell. A spell that my family had been trying to break ever since. 

And because of that absolute dolt and trouble magnet, my latest effort to do so had been forced to an abrupt stop. I almost had it that time! The gibberish was starting to become words that could be understood. Learned from. The numbers were becoming equations and the pictures fleshed themselves out, looking more than as if a particularly untalented child had taken a scribble to the pages. 

“I don’t think you should blame Harry for the trouble…” Susan Bones spoke up, her voice a soft whisper. She was the only one aside from me in the train compartment, despite the fact that the Hogwarts Express was usually quite crowded, we were alone. Despite friendliness being part of what Hufflepuffs were known for, Susan was rather lacking in that department. Not that I had any right to throw stones. Still, she must be particularly desperate if she was willing to hang around me. 

“I bet you a sickle that this is his fault. Two steps removed, at the least.” I tacked on, glancing at Susan. Her reddish-orange hair was held back with a ribbon, her nose and cheekbones dusted with freckles, and her eyes dark blue and innocent. Which promptly looked away from me when I made the bet. 

Still, she was compelled to make excuses for him. “People were trying to kill him,” Susan offered, her tone meek at best. 

“Then for the sake of my education, I hope they succeed this time,” I retorted with a huff. That whole Chamber of Secrets business thoroughly dashed my chances of claiming the spot at the top of the grades last year. I came in second place twice. The first year was a failure on my part -- I attempted to pursue… other interests and that backfired rather horribly, all things considered. Both times, I lost to Hermione Granger. Ideally, whatever was here to kill Potter this time would take her out of the running as well. Leaving me the top student of my year -- a simple bit of prestige, but one that I desperately needed.

Susan frowned at me- well, it was more of a pout. “Gram, you don’t mean that,” she scolded me. 

“If we’re late, then I’ll do it myself,” I said, glancing out the window to see that it was unusually dark. The clouds blotted out the moon and the stars, but even the shadows seemed heavier. However, it was when the lights suddenly flickered out that the sounds of panic really began, the shadows encroaching further accompanied by a chill. My gaze darted to a cup of water I had set out, seeing frost creep up the side. Susan drew into herself, her face paling. 

I glanced at the door, seeing it was fogging up. I pursed my lips for a moment, “How far away are we from Potter?” I questioned, tapping a finger on my grimoire. 

“T-three compartments down?” There was the faintest quiver in Susan’s voice. I wasn’t at all shocked that she knew. Despite my own personal misgivings, Harry Potter was a celebrity in and out of Hogwarts. Perhaps the shine had worn off a little after some exposure, but he was still the Boy-Who-Lived. The one who killed You-Know-Who as a literal infant. So, in general, if you asked any girl up to year five, they would have a pretty solid bead on where Potter was at any given moment. Especially if they were in Gryffindor. After him and his friends stole the house cup from Slytherin in the most blatant display of favoritism I had ever seen, exceeding even Professor Snape when Malfoy was in the room… they were practically his cult. 

“Good. We should be far enough away to be out of danger then,” I remarked, taking out my wand -- cherry, dragon heartstring, firm -- and uttered, “Lumos.” The tip of my wand pushed back the darkness, letting me see the faded ink on the pages. Whatever trouble Harry Potter drew his way, we should be free from it, leaving me with a little extra time to work on my grimoire. Perhaps the train stopping was a blessing in disguise. 

The obfuscation spell was an elaborate one. A million and one steps to figure it out and over the past three hundred years and six generations, my family had figured out a million of those steps. We were just missing the last piece of the puzzle… and then it would be mine. The ancient and powerful magics that enabled my ancestor -- Gwendle Rosewood -- to rise from a middling wizard of no renown or means into one that could have stood with the likes of the at the time mighty Gaunts. With well-practiced ease, I started going through the steps and bit by bit, the contents of the book became a little clearer. 

The picture that became clearer was unmistakable. The Sanguine Rose. A staff that had once been in my family, the loss of which had readily hastened our… current state of affairs. 

“Gram, you can’t be serious! Something is happening!” Susan sounded terrified. Something that wasn’t particularly unusual for her. She was a rather skittish thing. “I-I-I-I think I saw something move!”

“It’s probably a student,” I dismissed. The first steps were simple and after two years of it, I could do them thoughtlessly. But as the steps climbed higher, the more complicated they became. Doing a single one towards the end would require more time than all the other steps that came before. 

“I don’t think it was,” Susan said, inching away from the door. My jaw clenched, finding myself annoyed and I shot a glare at the door. The glass was covered in frost and I did see a shadowy figure on the other side of it. Around the same height of a student, though I couldn’t tell what house they were with. 

“Fine. If you’ll leave me in peace, then fine,” I grumbled, annoyed as I snapped my grimoire closed and left it on my Ravenclaw scarf. Holding my wand aloft, still casting lumos, I grabbed the door and with a squeal of the hinges, I ripped the door open. There was no one there. “See?” I glanced over my shoulder at Susan, gesturing to the empty space, and I saw the exact moment when something must have appeared behind me. An expression of absolute terror passed over Susan’s face, her jaw dropping as every drop of blood in her face drained away. 

I almost didn’t want to look, but pure curiosity drove me to look straight ahead. A cloaked figure hovered above the ground, a tattered and faded cloak clinging to its body while its hands were dried and blue, like a mummy. “Oh, a dementor,” I uttered, my heart leaping to my throat, recognizing the creature from my advance studies on Magical Creatures -- fascinating subject and I looked forward to finally being able to take the elective now that I was a third-

The dementor breathed in and I felt myself being pulled out of my body. A deep chill permeated my chest, as if my heart had been frozen solid. It seemed to pull something from deep within my mind. A memory-

…

I stood in front of the fireplace, a portrait hanging above it. My newly acquired wand felt like it weighed a million pounds. The portrait was the only thing that was in the room -- for that matter, outside of the kitchen and my room, portraits were the only decorations or furniture throughout the entire Rosewood Manor. 

The woman in the portrait seemed pained. Her skin held a deep natural tan while her hair was a fiery red and her eyes a brilliant shade of blue. I looked like her for the most part, but my father’s blonde hair left mine leaning more toward the color pink than it did red. The words I uttered rang out in the empty room and the silence that blossomed between us was only broken by the sound of my thundering heart. 

I called her mother for the first time. 

“I’m not your mother, Gram. I’m a shallow reflection of her. A contingency if the worst were to come to pass, and indeed it has. I raised you to the best of my ability, but I am not your mother. Your parents are dead.” The Portrait of Amelia Rosewood told me, her tone gentle but firm. And damning all the same. “I exist to prepare you for what you must do. Your oaf father, in his stupidity, not only got himself killed, but he robbed you of your mother and future. Nothing can bring her back, but you can reclaim your future.”

A lump formed in my throat, tears welling in my eyes, finding myself feeling… alone. More alone than I ever had before. 

“Now, Gram, cast the curse. The family name is depending on you. Your failure will rob you and all generations of Rosewoods that come after you of everything that should be yours by right -- the Ministry has already taken everything of value and in time, they will take everything else. All the way down to your name. You must be ruthless. You must be cruel. You must be cunning and charming in equal measures. Now, cast the curse.” Her words were unyielding as my gaze dropped to the one before me. 

The portrait of Amelia Rosewood -- my mother -- taught me everything that I knew. She was a mother to me in every way that mattered. However, it was the house elf before me -- Dinny -- that raised me. One of her ears was shorn off by an ancestor, and she was missing three fingers on one hand. Her old sack was tattered and stained, but the one spot that was cleaned with almost religious fervor was the Rosewood emblem. 

“Master Gram is too kind for his own good, Dinny thinks. Do it, Master Gram. Dinny wants you to,” she encouraged and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Master Gram needs to be able to prove himself should the Dark Lord ever return.”

With a croak, I damned myself. 

“Crucio-”

…

“Hnnngh…” I groaned, finding myself laying on my back, feeling like death warmed over. A powerful headache pounded between my temples and when I opened my eyes, it felt like light was stabbing daggers directly into my brain. 

“He’s awake!” I heard someone exclaim with relief as I swallowed bile, trying to shove the memory down. That had been a poor day. A very poor day. For more reasons than one. Bracing myself, I opened my eyes again as I realized I felt the rhythmic jostling of the train moving. I saw who spoke and to my immense displeasure, I knew who it was. 

“Granger,” I sighed, sitting up and it felt like my brain was about to leak through my ears. The girl had managed to tame her bushy and unwieldy hair by pulling it back in a ponytail. Why she didn’t just use magic, I would never know. Poking their heads in were the source of this mess -- Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Potter’s dark hair was an absolute mess, not so much as bed head but more as if he got into a fight with a mattress and lost terribly. His near iconic scar on his forehead was hidden underneath thick locks, a deliberate choice, I imagine. “Why was there a dementor on the train?”

“Because of Sirius Black,” Hermione blurted while I rubbed my eyes, trying to will the headache away. The name did sound vaguely familiar. 

“Who?” I questioned, and I heard Ron sputter. 

“Sirius Black. The first man to break out of Azkaban? He’s been bloody everywhere. Can’t go two feet without tripping over a wanted poster for him.” Magical bloodlines were a thing of debate in some circles as certain bloodlines carried unique talents that could only be found within that bloodline. Such as the descendants of Salazar Slytherin could have the talent for Parseltongue. The Weasley's, as it would seem, possessed a magical bloodline because they all seemed to be carbon copies of each other. 

Ron Weasley had shaggy red hair, and freckles, tall and lanky. Same as his brothers -- all five of them. 

I blinked at him, the statement not processing. “Someone broke out of Azkaban? Impressive,” I muttered. No one had ever managed that feat. Dementors were particularly cruel wardens -- the feasted on despair, driving those at their nonexistent mercy half mad because they could never feel happiness or joy. “That doesn’t answer my question, though. What’s one doing here?” I said, my gaze sliding to Potter, glaring accusingly. 

He looked away. Hm. Figured. 

I still felt uneasy, but I managed to stand up. Ron wasn’t letting the topic drop, though. “You seriously had your nose buried so deep in that book of yours that you didn’t even notice? You’re worse than Hermione! She at least bothers to look up once in a while,” he tacked on while I was quick to snatch up my grimoire. It was fine. Good. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to it. It really was the last chance the Rosewood family had. 

I was the last chance the Rosewood family had, and I was absolute rubbish. 

“Least I bother to read one,” I retorted with a sniff, glancing at Hermione. My rival. As infuriating and humiliating as it was. “I do suppose I should commend you, Granger. It can’t be easy keeping up with your own studies and maintaining their grades as well.” I didn’t see Susan anywhere. I suppose she ran while the Dementor was busy feasting on my soul. Clever of her. I approved of the tactic, even if it did come at my expense. 

“Well, he’s clearly back to his old self,” Ron said, pushing off of the door and walking back to his own compartment. Harry sent a glance my way, clearly chewing on something he wanted to say, but he settled on sending a single nod my way before joining his friend. I swallowed a sigh and took a seat, glancing out of the window to see Hogwarts’ silhouette was rapidly approaching. 

Hermione lingered a second more, looking at me with an odd expression. An almost pitying one. “Do you need something?” I asked her, my tone curt. I had my pride. I didn’t have much else, but I had my pride. 

Hermonie shook her head, “No. I hope you feel better, Gram… and see you in class?” She said, sliding out of the door. When she was gone, only then did I let out the sigh I was holding, settling heavily in my seat. The entire ordeal was troubling and the memories that the dementor drudged up were unwelcome. 

What was more unwelcome still was when I cracked open my grimoire, wanting something to take my mind off of it. Instead, I found a small note in familiar handwriting. 

Try Madam Buttons’ Guide to Magical Puzzles, Enchantments, and Mysteries volume III.

I stared at the note for a long moment, torn between scrunching it up and gratitude. With another sigh, I made my decision and tucked the note away, knowing that I was desperate enough to take the advice. Closing the book, I rested my head on the window, gazing out at Hogwarts, and instead of feeling any amount of relief, I felt the pressure weighing down on my shoulders grow with every inch we neared. It felt like my bones were being ground into dust. 

“Looks like this year won’t be any quieter than the last two.”

…

The older I got, the more I understood why a rooster woke up screaming. 

"Is it true, Rosewood? You fainted? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the son of Double Traitor Trevor wouldn't have a spine," I heard a familiar voice speak up and I went still at the familiar nickname. I glanced over my shoulder to see Draco Malfoy standing there, a cocky smirk on his face as he was flanked by two boys that had to be taking growth potions because no thirteen-year-old had any right being that big. Malfoy's pale blue eyes met mine and his smirk grew as a furious blush crept up my neck. 

I knew what Mother would want me to do. She had told me as much. Grin and bear it, she said when I told her about every horrid thing that Draco had said about my family. Grin and bear it. I didn't have it in me to grin, but I swallowed a sharp retort down and kept my gaze firmly ahead as we made our way to the great hall for the welcoming feast. 

"Nothing to say, have you? Can you even speak? I heard you were raised by a house elf of all things. You're better off as a servant, Rosewood. If you're lucky, I might even let you shine my shoes," Malfoy continued and I grit my teeth. Grin and bear it. That's what mother said to do. 

I couldn't make outright enemies of the Malfoys, she said. If I couldn't be friends with him, then at the very least, I couldn't be his enemy. The Malfoys were too influential and Draco was heir to the family. It would only take them a word over lunch to destroy us. They wouldn't have to lift a finger. How true that was, I didn't really know, but my hands clenched into tight fists and I was never more glad that I wasn't sorted into Slytherin when we entered the great hall. If I had been put in Slytherin… I shuddered to even think of it. 

Part of me whispered that it would be worth it to turn that ponce into a toad and give him a swift kick. Even if it cost me everything, it would be worth it to wipe that arrogant smirk off of his face. I hated Malfoy. He was an absolute git. 

Thankfully, Malfoy headed to the Slytherin table while I made my way to the Ravenclaw table. The Great Hall was never any less impressive -- there didn't seem to be a ceiling, and instead, the hall seemed to open up to the night sky. Candles floating midair, kept aloft by ancient charms to illuminate the large hall that was filled to the brim with people. On the walls, in front of the four long tables, were four banners -- Ravenclaw, Griffendore, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff.

Taking a seat, I glanced down at the note that Granger slipped into my notebook. Indignation swelled in my chest at the sight of it -- my family had been trying to decrypt the grimoire for three hundred years and she thought she found the answer after a quick look? Not to mention she looked at my grimoire without my permission! 

As I ground my teeth, I paid no attention to the students around me. They were catching up with each other, swapping stories about what they did over the summer. No one asked me what I did and I didn't bother asking what they did. As much as I would like to blame Malfoy for my… predicament, that wasn't wholly the truth. 

Double Traitor Trevor. 

My father. 

I clicked my tongue under my breath, folding the note up. Part of me wanted to destroy it. Irritated that Hermione thought she could help me at all. but practicality won out. It was something. Maybe it would help, and maybe it wouldn't. If it didn't, then I could justifiably mock Hermione for her arrogance. And if it did… then… well… I suppose a thank you wouldn't be entirely out of order. My attention was briefly stolen when the sorting ceremony began and I looked up at the first years that were wearing the dirty old hat. 

I felt a rush of gratitude for the hat. I begged it to place me in Slytherin because that was the house Mother wanted me in. To make connections with powerful families so I could latch myself to an ambitious lord and they would help me with my family troubles. Instead, the old hat put me in Ravenclaw. I hated it at first -- for my entire first year. Now I was just glad for it. 

The sorting ceremony progressed quickly -- I didn't really pay much attention to who went where, but I did keep an ear out for Ravenclaw. Of the hundred odd first years, around thirty went to our house. Hufflepuff got the lion's share with fifty while the rest were divided up into Slytherin or Gryffindor.

Naturally, once everyone was sorted, Headmaster Dumbledore stepped up to a golden podium. The powerful wizard gazed upon us with twinkling eyes and a soft smile. But, when he spoke, I frowned deeply. 

"Now you give a sodding warning," I muttered bitterly under my breath as Headmaster Dumbledore told us that the Dementors would be stationed at the entrances to the school. An extra reason to not make any attempts to sneak out. He looked pointedly at Gryffindor when he mentioned the last bit. And no sooner than the speech was done, a veritable feast appeared before us. I got up and headed out of the great hall -- No one said anything, but I did catch a few quick glances. No one tried to stop me either, even if it was rude to leave early.

There wasn't a point. I didn't have anyone to talk to. 

Instead, I would use the time to be productive and, even better, I would spend it in my favorite part of Hogwarts. The library. 

The halls were empty of everyone, except for the ghosts that wandered the halls. All of them gathering to the great hall to meet the first years, but they bothered me none. Even Peeves ignored me in favor of causing a bigger ruckus where he could annoy more people. It let me arrive at my home away from home, greeted by the familiar smells of old parchment and ink. I breathed in deeply, and for the first time since I arrived, I felt happy. 

"Mr. Rosewood, shouldn't you be at the feast?" Madam Pince questioned, seated at her desk at the heart of the library, looking none too pleased to see me. I heard other boys say that she would be a pretty woman if she didn't scowl so much. 

"The important parts are done, and I wanted to get first crack at the books before others checked them out." Something she did allow, though she made you fight for every book that left her halls. It's why most did their studying inside the library, even if it meant being under the watchful eye of Madam Pince, making sure that no damage fell upon her beloved books. 

Her lips thinned but she offered a curt nod. "Are you looking for something in particular?" She asked me, and I think that was the kindest she had ever been to anyone. More than once, she misled me on where a book was to prevent me from getting my hands on it. 

I hesitated. Then I sighed. "Madam Buttons’ Guide to Magical Puzzles, Enchantments, and Mysteries Volume III," I answered, swallowing my pride as I did so. 

Madam Pince waved her wand and one of the books flew off of the shelf and into her hands. "Understand that any damage done to this book, I will see to it is done to you in turn," Madam Pince stated in no uncertain terms, earning a nod. The warning sounded scary -- and it was -- but so long as you didn't ruin a book, there really wasn't anything to worry about. And if you did… well, no one could say that no one told you what was coming. 

All the same, I had to pry the book from her grasp finger by finger, but I got my hands on it all the same. I found my favorite spot in the library -- one that was out of sight, it had my back against a wall, but also offered a view of the front door so I could see who was coming in. Cracking open the book, I immediately began reading. My concentration was only broken momentarily when other students started to drift into the library -- mostly Ravenclaw students. 

My brow creased the deeper I read into the book, my lips silently moving as my gaze followed along with the looping text. Madam Button was an expert on wards or, rather specifically, how to break them. She even had a quote -- a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. The trick to breaking an enchantment or slipping past a ward was knowing where it was weak and applying pressure. 

An example she gave was a maze. You could start at the entrance and work your way through all of the passages… or you could start at the exit and work your way to the entrance. Start by thinking how the wardmaker would create the ward, think of how they would want to protect whatever they were warding, and whatever you didn't think of was the solution to get past the ward. Simple, really, but extremely difficult to put into practice.

And that snippet of information told me what Hermione was trying to say. Why she wanted me to read this book. 

I closed my eyes for a moment before opening my grimoire. I cleared my head for a long moment before I opened my eyes and gazed upon the pages. 

They were completely blank. 

I wanted to toss the bloody book. 

"Three hundred years," I muttered, not even sure what I was supposed to feel. The feeling of triumph wasn't there. What was in its place was the sensation of despair, extreme annoyance and utter frustration. "Three hundred years… for a bloody joke," I whispered, flipping through the pages to see absolutely nothing. All the pages were empty. 

The book was a mirror. It reflected what the holder expected to see on its pages. And for the past three hundred years, my family had expected to see an extremely powerful obfuscation charm that we were always so close to lifting. We saw ourselves making progress, on the cusp of success, because that's what we wanted to see. It's what we expected to see. My ancestors fell into a trap and unwittingly, they were damning the next generation to fall head first into it as well. 

A bloody good joke, I might add. 

I paused my flipping when I saw the text write itself upon the pages. My heart leapt from the pit of my stomach to my throat as I read it, realizing that the book could be more than the oldest joke in wizarding history. "I don't find it funny," I told the book.

Because you're a brainy type. The kind to think the fun right out of everything. 

The urge to throw the book was returning. "Are you really my family's grimoire? I thought you were supposed to be chock full of spells and such," I whispered quietly, eyeing the empty pages. 

Suppose you could call me that. Your family served me for a good bit in this world, but they started getting so very dull. So… monotonous. Started treating me like an obligation rather than a friend, so I played a little trick. Hardly my fault your family took a few centuries to puzzle it out. 

I needed to go to Madam Pomfrey for a tooth potion because I was grinding my molars into dust. "And now that I've figured out the trick?" I asked, my grip tighter on the book than necessary. This was supposed to be a moment of triumph. The book was supposed to have pages and pages of spells that made my family powerful centuries ago. Instead, I had a book that had nothing but snark. 

Want a reward, do you? Limitless power? Infinite knowledge? I played that song and dance with your ancestors, and I'm not interested in a repeat. I'd appreciate it if you shelved me for someone wholly more interesting to- 

"No!" I exclaimed, wincing as I brought attention to myself. I lowered my head, my cheeks burning in shame. “What… what do I have to do to convince you?” I asked, knowing that rumors were going to spread. Oh, Malfoy was going to have a field day with this. I could practically hear him now, ‘You were raised by a painting and now you’re talking to books? What’s next? Talking to your clothing?’

People were going to think I’m nuttier than Lovegood. And I’ve spoken to Lovegood -- that was no small feat. 

You should not have done that. Oh, you should not have done that! Because I smell desperation! Well, I would if I had a nose. What’s got your knickers in such a twist, hm? Going to get one up on your school bully?

I worked my jaw for a moment. “My family lost everything because of your trick,” I half snarled the word under my breath. “The Ministry punished us because they didn’t have the balls to go after the families that still had power. They took everything that they could from us after the Death Eaters murdered my parents. They did it because I was just a baby and now… now, I have three years left to salvage my family name.” 

A deadline that felt like a hangman’s noose wrapping around my throat and with each passing year, it grew a little tighter. I didn’t even have enough time to graduate from Hogwarts. 

“We’ll lose our status as nobility, our seat in the Wizengamot, and the family estate. In three years, I need to either amass a fortune or become so powerful that those… cowards in the Ministry won’t dare try to take what is mine,” I finished, my nostrils flaring as I ground my teeth to nubs. The Death Eaters were the ones who murdered my family, but it was the Ministry that killed my family name. Immediately after their deaths, when I was just a babe… 

Well, there was a saying about stealing from a baby. It was incredibly easy. They claimed estates and properties that had been in my family for generations, leaving me with debts that were slowly draining my family’s coffers. Old debts and new debts that my father took. The goblins in Gringotts had made it clear in no uncertain terms. By the end of my fifth year at Hogwarts, all the debts would default and I would lose everything. My family home and my nobility. 

All because of my father. 

Double Traitor Trevor. 

“Gram?” I heard someone say, making me flinch in my seat as I looked at who it was. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to-” Susan Bones started, only to be interrupted by a harsh and loud ‘SHHHHHH’ from Madam Pince. “- startle you,” Susan finished softly, looking apologetic. 

Why was she here? “What do you want?” I asked her, not sure why she was here at all. Well, for books obviously, but that didn’t explain why she was talking to me. 

Susan shifted where she stood, pensive. “I wanted to see if you were okay? You collapsed on the train after that… that monster attacked you,” she sniffed, and I might be more touched by the display of concern if she hadn’t abandoned me to the dementor to save herself. I didn’t particularly blame her for that -- I would have done the same. Was she feeling guilty for leaving me behind?

“I’m fine,” I answered tersely.

There was a brief pause with Susan looking at me, her brow furrowing like she thought I was lying. “Are you sure?” She asked after a long moment, earning a frown from me. 

“I am,” I stated with certainty. Dementors were every bit as unpleasant as I had heard, but there didn’t seem to be any lasting effects. I was in perfect health. There wasn’t even a need to visit the nurse. 

There was another brief pause. “Oh,” Susan muttered, looking away from me. “I- that’s good. I’ll… see you later, Gram?” Susan tried, and that was rather obvious. We were in the same year and we were bound to see each other in class eventually. I offered a curt nod, my eyes narrowing as I watched her walk away. With a small shake of my head, I turned my attention back to my snark book. It couldn’t even be called a grimoire in this state. 

I’m dying. Please, dunk me in some water. Set me on fire. Kill me before the second-hand embarrassment does me in. 

My lips thinned, frustration welling up from deep inside my chest. I looked away from the pages, feeling my eyes burning. Even my book was making fun of me. “Shut it,” I hissed at the book, swallowing the lump of emotion in my throat. I wouldn’t cry. Crying didn’t solve anything. I learned that lesson already. 

How about this, then -- we make a deal. You want magic and potions and enchantments? I don’t mind giving those over. S’not like I’m gonna do anything with them. But, don’t think it’ll be so easy. Shoulda’ negotiated from a position of strength, so you’re at the mercy of my whims and sense of fairness. 

I licked my lips, “And what do I have to do to get it?” I asked, feeling a sense of fear entering me. The book was snarky, but it had a point. If it asked me to kill someone? Mother… mother would want me to do it -- no matter what it was, or what it cost, but… could…

Something extremely difficult for you. But before we get to that, I haven't even learned your name yet.

I took in a bracing breath, preparing myself for the absolute worst. If he was going to ask me to kill someone… please be Malfoy. Please be Malfoy…! “Gram Rosewood,” I gave my name to the book. 

Nice to meetcha, Gram. Very well then -- your first test!

Take the first kiss of a maiden. 

My jaw dropped, “What?” I blurted, this time uncaring of the looks I got. I reread the passage, drinking in the words, but they refused to click in my brain. I had to kiss someone?! 

I did say it would be difficult for you, but good luck! I suspect you’ll need it! Tata~!

“How in the bloody hell am I supposed to kiss someone?!”

...

I've been going through some of my old snippet ideas and ended up stumbling across this one. For every one I post here, I have two or three that don't make the cut -- either because I don't think the first chapter is strong enough or because I don't have much of a story beyond the premise. Coming back to some of my older work has been an interesting experience, and this one felt like it was worth posting now. 

In function, it's a very -- VERY -- slimmed down Celestial Grimoire. Only as a tangible artifact that has been passed down through the Rosewood family for generations, but one of dubious loyalty with a questionable sense of humor. Rather than using a word point system, it's pure feats that the Grimoire decides. Usually, what would push Gram out of his comfort zone. Something Gram, a down-on-his-luck young man from a family with a mighty legacy, can't refuse without losing everything his family has left. On the flipside, the more he puts himself out there, the better equipped he becomes to deal with the Grimmoire's challenges. 

Additionally, the setting of Harry Potter is somewhat a Post-Celestial Grimoire. The Rosewoods had the Grimoire for centuries, and they used it. How will be revealed as the story goes one, and while there wouldn't be anything dropped in the setting that would outright break it, there are a number of artifacts in various vaults that aren't native to Harry Potter. 

Overall, I think it could be a fun story. Not entirely sure how long it would be -- some of the school years, Gram would be more involved in the plot and others, like the Triwizard Tournament, he would be doing his own thing with the year being something sped through. Let me know what you think!