[Rose Pemberton]

The last few weeks had passed in a blur. Coming back to Hogwarts at the Christmas period had allowed her Rose to take a step back and evaluate her feelings honestly. She could see more clearly now that anger, past injury and frustration had clouded her actions. As always, awareness was a first step towards mitigation. Newfound friendships with one of the new professors had helped centre her. Perhaps, there had been a bit of a setback with Quillan Cadwick, though she didn't think of it as such. She'd spoken up and held her own, rather than being a passenger in her own life story. That wasn't irrational anger and acting rashly without good reason. 

The cold weather had seemed to ease a little and with the days getting longer she found she had more energy for hobbies and interests again. Sid Montgomery had talked her into signing up for the ongoing theatre group and she was truly glad that he had. Making costumes for the students had taken up most her evenings. She'd loved stitching Hamlet's half cape and she was especially proud of the piece as well as of the gowns she'd drawn up for Ophelia. Most of the actors had been cast and she was making good progress. Except, she still hadn't got a clue what was going on with Prince Fortinbras as well as Laertes.

She'd owled Professor Prendergast about it twice, but he had yet to get back to her. She found that writing to him was easier than seeing the man face to face. It stopped her from getting carried away. Things had been so awkward between them since their fall out in September, but surely five months were enough time for both of them to have moved on. Wasn't it? Yet, she didn't think she'd seen him in the library once, while Professor Montgomery had developed a taste for reading about arithmancy. Just how sad was that?

Rose decided that getting answers couldn't wait any longer if the costumes were to be ready in time for the premiere. She also wanted to discuss a number of design choices to make sure her vision for the production was aligned with his. Maybe a stop by Prendergast's office was what was needed. She couldn't say that she outright loved the idea, but maybe it had to be done. She knew she shouldn't have, but of course she agonised what to wear for the occasion. She decided to go with a white, buttoned blouse and simple white trousers. It was a look she could feel confident and in control in. Prendergast no longer held any power over her.

Grabbing her sewing basket as well as several bolts of fabric, she made her way to see him. With each step forward she could feel her stomach sinking. By the time she reached his door not very much of her confidence was left and she felt so small that she probably could have walked right in fitting through the gap underneath the door. Rose knocked regardless.

"Professor Prendergast," she asked softly. "Are you in? I have a few questions about the production if you don't mind. Should be quick? Maybe ten minutes? I can come back later if now isn't good."

[Harold Prendergast]

Harold was deep in the middle of Act III, specifically reviewing the play-within-a-play section. "The Lady doth protest too much," read Gertrude's line, as his concentration was disturbed by the knock at the door.

Harold looked up, all thought about the feasibility of staging the sequence cast from his mind. It wasn't an office hours evening, nor did he have a late class, so it was entirely unexpected that someone should come a rapping, tapping on his office door. He groaned inwardly, as the suffusion of poetic writing clouded his mind.

"Yes, do come in."

He didn't hear the door open, and a voice - not particularly distinctly - spoke through it. Perhaps the door was more solid than he remembered, as he didn't hear anything clearly through it.

Resettling his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, he got up and purposefully strode across the room, mumbling "to be, or not to be, whether tis nobler..." before letting it die off in his throat as that was earlier in Act III than the scene he'd been reading.

And so he opened the door and was utterly baffled to find Rose Pemberton stood at his doorstep.

"Well, I must say this is rather unexpected. What can I do for you?" He paused, in thought. "Are you here about the production? I was just going over the script, perhaps you'd like to come in and we can talk about things over a pot of tea?"

He hoped, desperately, that they weren't going to talk about... that other business.

[Rose Pemberton]

The door opened and Rose felt a little overwhelmed to be seeing him. All the while coming to his office had been a theoretical endeavour rather than a practical one she had felt confident. Now that she was looking at his green eyes her resolve wobbled. She thought he seemed tired and yet at the same time a little agitated. His words, were unfailingly polite, the same as ever. She couldn't help it, but almost immediately she was concerned for him and part of her wanted to ask how he was holding up. She reminded herself that that was not a good idea. This time, she would keep in control of her emotions and not display any kind of temperament around him.

"I'm sorry to be disturbing you," Rose apologised. "I promise I won't take up much of your time. Of course I am here because of the production. What other reason would there be? And I will accept a cup of tea, but only if it's not too much of an imposition." There, that had been reasonably polite and vaguely indifferent, hadn't it? She could do this.

Rose waited to be shown inside and settled into the seat he indicated. It really struck her just how plain Professor Prendergast's office really was. Aside from a kettle and some tea cups, she couldn't detect a hint of personal flair. It was a strictly utilitarian affair. Joyless and bleak she thought. And he just hid in here all day now that he no longer came to the library? No wonder his complexion was sallow and his eyes seemed tired. The lighting wasn't great either.

"You still haven't indicated who will be playing Prince Fortinbras and Laertes," she cut right to the chase. "I have done most of the design work for the other costumes and have taken the necessary measurements, but I'm a little stuck without having those two sorted. We do want a cohesive set costume design and I don't really want to go back to conceptual work later. Could you confirm who'll be taking those parts so I can set up a measurement appointment? I don't want to be the cause of things not being ready on the big night."

[Harold Prendergast]

Well, he hadn't been in the library, no awkward tea cups to be left around, and he was relieved that she was here on business. That left it simple and straightforward.

"Tea, never an imposition." He wanted to smile but somehow it wouldn't come. He muttered to himself as he put tea bags into the teapot - one for thee, one for me and one for the pot. A wave of the wand, a muttered incantation or two, water in the kettle and boiling in no time.

"I am rather afraid on that score that I haven't been able to cast either of those two parts. Fortinbras is hard to cast; he only appears toward the end of the play, as a sort of foil to Hamlet, and Laertes, well, it seems that actually murdering the titular character is perceived as rather career limiting, even in the acting world."

Harold sighed, pouring the tea, and handed Rose her cup first. "I am quite concerned that I may have to take the role of an astute young man whose father was murdered by his uncle - Fortinbras, not Hamlet."

"To tell you the truth, uptake for the play has been... a little less enthusiastic than I had rather hoped. But I needed a distraction--" Why was he saying this? He had resolved he wasn't going to talk about... that. "Things were getting complicated."

He poured himself some tea. "I definitely can't play both of them, though. There's no way I can change costumes quickly enough, not even with magic, for Fortinbras's big ending. I don't know if you have any others for recruiting amateur and possibly reluctant thespians?"

[Rose Pemberton]

Rose watched as Harold brewed their tea. His manner was adorable as ever, but she was determined not to let his muttering and fussing charm her again. She'd fallen for his British country gentleman thing before and that hadn't ended well for either of them. Averting her gaze, she counted how many books there were on his shelf. It was actually quite an astonishing collection. Most of the titles she saw Hogwarts had a copy of in the library. However, these books here weren't library books. She could tell as there was no magical trace on any of them. It was really no wonder he never came to the library anymore. If he owned all this, what need was there for him to visit.

As Harold told her he failed to cast either Fortinbras or Laertes she let out a little sigh. "That's a shame," she commented immediately. "I would have thought at least Laertes would garner some interest. It's a big part after all. I think." Now that she thought about it, she wasn't too sure. It had been a long time since she had last seen Hamlet. It had to have been before she'd had Grace. Gosh, how quickly time passed. It didn't seem that long ago, but it was probably more than 12 years, quite possible more.

"I could ask Grace for you if you would like that," Rose said. Suggesting that felt awkward. Though her daughter loved playing and acting, she couldn't imagine that she would be happy about being forced into a room with Professor Prendergast. The events of the last few months had changed things and her little girl who had once introduced Hal as a friend and insisted on playing gobstones with him, now talked about being afraid of Prendergast's classes and not being good enough to be at Hogwarts. "I can't promise you that she'll agree though. She's being going through something lately. You know, children."

Truthfully, she thought it was a little more than that, but she didn't want to get into her personal problems with Harold. He didn't belong into her life. His own implication that there was something wrong with his life as well, she decided to ignore. They weren't friends. They had tried to be friends and it had been horrible. It was best not to go back to that.

"So, you're thinking of Fortinbras yourself?" Rose wrinkled a nose. Wasn't Harold a little old for the role especially in comparison to some of the older roles being filled by students? No matter, if there were no interested parties, she could see how he was left with no other choice. "I think I can make this work. Bit of makeup on your face and I'll make you a Norwegian prince. Do you have some measurements for me so I can start drawing up some designs?"

[Harold Prendergast]

"Well, quite, Laertes is indeed a significant part in the play - as Hamlet's dispatcher, so to speak, but alas all of the students I have spoken to would much prefer I change the ending so that if they have to be the one to murder Hamlet, they would rather prefer not being murdered  in kind. I rather have to admit I see their point." He sniffed, unexpectedly.

"As for Grace, I suspect if she had wanted to be involved, she would have signed up of her own volition, and I couldn't possibly impose upon either of you for her to join if she does not wish to otherwise. Though after the one incident at the start of term in my class, she has proven quite the capable student, though I daresay that is because the young man who sits next to her has been a positive influence and helped her out on occasion. If you haven't met young Mr Cashmore, you might do well to do so the next time he visits the library, he's a polite lad and happy to help anyone."

He sighed. "You're perfectly correct, of course; I am perhaps a few decades too old for Prince Fortinbras but unless a student volunteers, I cannot see how the play could commence... other parts up to and including Laertes could be recast onto other roles, with some tweaking and careful editing, though I shan't want to try if it is at all avoidable... many things am I, but a poet, alas, not one of them. I am at best an amateur student of the Bard. Though I rather think I might have to draw the line at makeup."

He stared into his tea. "Perhaps I was a shade ambitious with Hamlet, perhaps I should have chosen one of the comedies or something rather less daunting and a touch more accessible. There is, of course, still time to reconsider The Scottish Play, and of course calling it off entirely; the school governors were not the most enthusiastic if I took Dumbledore's meaning correctly when I spoke to him on the subject."

Setting his tea down, he turned to face Rose. "You see, a short while ago I received a letter that looked to be from a former colleague of mine at the Ministry, and claimed that I should put her behind me, give her up like some 'bad job' and move on with my life. I won't deny that having some kind of answer gave me something of a spring in my step and encouraged me to try something quite new rather than hide in the shadow of what was. I see that, perhaps, I was a little too enthusiastic."

[Rose Pemberton]

Rose was quietly appreciative of the character summary. She hadn't been sure. Her lasting memory of Hamlet was that everybody died at the end and that it had been a little bit boring - at least in the production of it she had seen. The students wanting to change the ending rather amused her. That definitely sounded like the opinionated youths that frequented her library. She gave a soft chuckle. "Then, perhaps, Professor Prendergast it is time to consider going along with their suggestions. I don't believe there is any rule stating we have to put on a production that is faithful to the original."

She wondered if Harold would take her words as sacrilege or blasphemy. Leave it to her to even mess up a rather innocuous conversation. He quickly moved on to the subject of Grace and what Harold has to say there made her look deeply uncomfortable. There had been an incident? Grace hadn't said anything about that. She inclined her head to her side. And Grace was doing well? That also didn't line up with what she had heard from her daughter. And she was working well with Mr Cashmore? Professor Prendergast seemed to give him all the credit for Grace's progress. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to determine exactly what the truth of the matter was.

"Thank you telling me about Grace's progress," she eventually forced out awkwardly. "I am sure she will be very happy to hear that she isn't doing as poorly as she thinks she is. We'd spent some time practising arithmantic charts over the winter holidays, so hopefully that helps. And perhaps you are right - she seems to have a lot on at the moment." A little sigh escaped her. "I just wished she wasn't just focusing on school and her homework all the time. I never see her with her friends anymore and she doesn't seem to be taking part in any of the fun activities around the castle."

Oh Sweet Circe! Here she was spilling her worries to Harold after all. "Anyway, you don't want to hear about that, and I am sure we'll figure it out. Anyway, I appreciate the little update on class. Perhaps, a little bit less to worry about."

Harold seemed to awkwardly forge ahead, now rambling on about play selection. Really, he rather wanted to put on MacBeth? "Why don't you consider something more light-hearted?" Rose tried to interject. He didn't seem to want to hear it. She thought that maybe A Midsummer Night's Dream could be a nice option for the students. Something where fewer people died. Before she could stop him, Harold was continuing into quite personal stuff telling her in a roundabout way that there had been some progress on the case of his wife. Well, she supposed she could avoid the subject no more.

"I'm not sure that saying I'm happy for you is the right turn of phrase here. But I think you know what I mean. I'm glad somebody did talk to you in the end, even if I couldn't help you getting the answers you deserve." She took another sip from her cup. "And I think it's nice you're doing this with the students. I think it's appreciated by those on the project. They're all very enthusiastic about their costume fittings. Speaking of which, shall we measure you up for Fortinbras then? I promise to go light on the makeup, but well need to do something about your hair. No Norwegian prince has a grey strand like that." 

[Harold Prendergast]

Harold pondered over his tea for a moment. "Well, the desire to improve upon the Bard's work is one that gnaws at many students over the generations, and, I rather fear I am not enough of a poet to not lose something in the translation, though I shall give it some thought."

To be truthful, he didn't consider any of the works sacrosanct, but he was certainly concerned about losing some of the quality of the material if he should try to reinvigorate it or reinterpret it in a different light. Perhaps better to not go there.

"As for Grace, I know you say there's nothing to worry about but, well, there are a number of clubs - more than I remember from my own school days, and I rather fancy more than in your school days - about the place, and I do not think her studying would come to any harm should she take some time out for herself. Her main problem is simply one of confidence, and this is the remarkable trait I believe Mr Cashmore has done something about; he is from a muggle family, first wizard that any of them knows about, and I believe he spent his first and perhaps his second year feeling rather as Grace seems to now: not knowing anything, feeling like he needed to study all hours just to keep up with his class mates, but in reality the problem was not knowledge but merely confidence. I am certain Grace will come around - she just needs to find something she can be confident about."

Inwardly he groaned, it occurred to him that he might have given Rose some reason to doubt her daughter in ways that her daughter was already doubting herself on.

"Something other than Hamlet has crossed my mind, rather often actually. Certainly the students - of my own youth as well as the current generation - have a mildly macabre fascination with the subject of death in plays, as long as they don't all die at the end. The Scottish play courts those of a certain disposition - the power-hungry, the bullies, the bullied. Its themes are more vivid than Hamlet's and I suppose a shade more relatable, have we all not felt as MacBeth did about pride before a fall? Or the guilt of a misdeed that we could not wash from our hands, as Lady MacBeth does? Or, at the end of it all, to realise that after all the struggles, perhaps none of it ever mattered in hindsight?"

Harold had found himself adopting a particular air in his statements. Pentameter it was not, nor was it in any fashion iambic, but it was certainly less mild school professor and more pedestrian thespian. "That is, after all, the joy of the Bard's work: each of the plays tells you something about what it means to be human, strengths and weaknesses alike."

There was a mild nod to accompany Rose's comments about Sylvia, but Harold said nothing. What more was there to say?

He sighed, finished his tea. "I suppose that as the course has been set, we should stay it, and forge ahead with our own take on Hamlet - and yes, I daresay I can probably find a way to make it a little less... terminable... by its closing. What colour hair did you have in mind? I had a rather auburn streak in my youth."

[Rose Pemberton]

The awkwardness in the room was quite palpable. Between the subjects of Grace and Sylvia it was actually strange how they both remained as calm as they did. The whole thing about Grace making friends with Robert Cashmore didn't entirely ring true, but Rose decided that rather than dwelling on it, she could just ask the young Ravenclaw directly the next time he came to the library. It seemed a more promising approach than waiting for Harold Prendergast to give her a straight answer.

Best to focus on the play. Harold seemed to agree with the notion, though the things he said made little sense. Have we all not felt as MacBeth did about pride before a fall? She giggled at his antics, quite surprised there was something that could stir her taciturn colleague into proclaiming such passion. What she was less sure on was if she had ever felt like MacBeth. Strangely, staging regicide and being a Scottish military leader hadn't come up in her life so far. Well, maybe her life occasionally felt like a tale told by an idiot. She could give him that.

There was a bit of reluctant on Harold's part to plan his part as Fortinbras, but Rose was determined to forge ahead. The sooner she got him measured up, the sooner she could leave. No, if she was honest with herself, it was more that she didn't trust herself to stay. It seemed they were only a hair away from lapsing back into friendly conversation, except that they weren't friends.

Auburn? No, she didn't think so. "Let me take a proper look at you," Rose said gently. Reaching across the table she lifted his glasses off the bridge of his nose and looked into his green eyes. "I don't know about auburn, Harold. I think a Norwegian prince would be flaxen blond, or maybe an ash blond? I think it should be easy enough to lighten you a little with a charm or two and I suppose it'll go with the green eyes. No glasses though, I don't think that would be accurate to the period. You look more..." she cut herself off realising the next word in her sentence would have been 'handsome'. "More distinguished without those glasses, I am sure."

Ugh, that had been a little bit awkward. "Can I trouble you to stand up, so I can take some measurements of you?" A wry smile. "You wouldn't want me to guess." Looking through her sewing basket she produced a tape measure and jumped to her feet. "I think I need a neck and a chest measurement, your height, obviously, waist, inseam, seat and of course sleeve length. Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes and I can let you get on with your evening again. Well, maybe a little longer. I think I'd like to see some swatches against your complexion."

[Harold Prendergast]

Harold blinked, frowning slightly as he tried to focus - Rose having taken his glasses off was a little more of a liberty than he'd expected her to take, though he had to admit it was appropriate to get the hair colour right with his eyes.

"Well, I quite disagree that I should be more distinguished, when I can barely see more than a few feet before me... rather less 'is this a dagger I see before me' and rather more 'is this a doorway I see before me'." It was unexpected that he should crack a joke, as well as be almost emphatic in the same sentence. Quite unexpected. All of this reading the plays was clearly having some kind of effect on him - and he wasn't convinced it was for the best.

"As for colouring, I believe you might be right; the Danes do often have a lighter colour about them than an English gent might, but I think a full blond look would simply not work for me, I shan't be pale enough of skin for that. But I suppose an ash blond might work."

She'd asked him to stand up. The thought of doing so was not entirely a comfortable one without his glasses, and then she reeled off the places she'd need to measure. Of course she would need to measure them but with or without glasses, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she might need to get rather closer than either of them would prefer.

"Well, if you really must..." He stood up, a little warily, hoping he would get his glasses back. Harold surprised himself at not being unsteady about it - normally he relied a little more on his sight than he would care to admit for balance and positioning.

"Just how many swatches do you have in mind?"

[Rose Pemberton]

Rose giggled at Harold's joke. She couldn't think that she had ever seen him be lighthearted and silly like this. She supposed that the business with his wife being somewhat clarified was probably helping. He didn't have quite so much to worry about anymore. At least there was confirmation now that Sylvia was still alive. Rose couldn't imagine what any of this had to feel like. She'd never loved anybody enough to want to get married. Well truthfully, since Marlowe she'd given up on any thought of a serious relationship altogether. It had to be unspeakably hard for Harold to have a wife who could prioritise her work over him in such a ruthless manner. Rose wondered what Mrs Prendergast was doing that was so secret that even her husband knowing was considered too great a security risk.

It was crazy, within a split second her mood had swapped from entertained to quite deeply thoughtful. Rose looked at Harold with a soft gaze, as if taking in his likeness for the first time. He really was quite something. As much as she wanted it not to be true, she found it quite difficult to ignore in this moment. He was smart, talented, deeply loyal and apparently capable of a bit of humour. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had met somebody like him fresh out of Hogwarts. Would she be happy? Married with children? It was so easy to imagine.

If he was saying anything or expecting her to react, he was out of luck. Rose was lost in an imaginary life that was happier and less frustrating than the one she felt trapped in. A soft sigh escaped her lips. How nice would it be to laugh together quite frequently? To discuss the children and make plans for activities and lessons? Maybe read a good book together? It was that last bit she could picture most vividly. It seemed like such a comfortable way to pass the time, curled up against each other...

"Hem."

Harold was clearing his throat rather loudly, then tried to launch into some awkward filler. Yikes, had he just caught her daydreaming? Rose blushed quite profusely. "Harold, I'm sorry. Was just... starting to drift off. It's been a long day and I'm tired." It wasn't a very good excuse, but what else could she say? 'Sorry, but I got lost wondering what being married to a man like you would be like?' He'd die of mortification if she were honest. Well, they both would.

Rose fetched her measuring tap and enchanted it to start taking measurements from him. Normally, she did this by hand, but the idea of touching him seemed rather dangerous given her most recent relapse into liking Harold when really she shouldn't. Was there a potion she could take for this? She'd set out with such clear intentions today and all it took was one little joke to unravel her. She needed to get out of here before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

The tape measure wrapped itself around his neck and she noted down the number. "Lift your arms a little," she instructed, "it'll take a chest measurement next." She was still flushed bright red. Out of all the awkward things they could be doing, surely this had to be one of the worst.

"How would you feel about a regal outfit in a dark green?" she asked faintly. "Perhaps with a bit of gold trim? I think green would suit you."

[Harold Prendergast]

He stood, waiting, barely able to see rather more than a smudge of the world, a vividly coloured smudge, like a watercolour in the rain.

She was awfully gentle with that tape measure, but perhaps that was sensible, wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea if there was any closer contact than strictly necessary. He was, after all, still technically a married man even if he now had reason to move past it somewhat.

As he stood there, he found himself needing to clear his throat... he wanted to do so without getting in Rose's way, so it was quite the simple 'hem' cough and some unfocused dithering and mithering on his part about whether he was standing still enough.

Then the tape wrapped itself around his neck - it wasn't the most comfortable feeling, but at least it wasn't threatening to throttle him like that one piece of rope he'd encountered in the Department of Mysteries. There were all sorts of uncomfortable items there.

But he was quite off guard when Rose asked him to raise his arms - of course she'd need a chest measurement, and she would need his arms out of the way but still, it felt vaguely awkward. He got the sense somehow from Rose that it was awkward for her too.

She broke the ice by asking about a dark green with gold trim.

"Yes, I quite fancy something in a dark green; unfortunately none of the tailors I go to produce suits in the sort of forest green I rather like, as something about dyeing the tweed doesn't take properly, and I have yet to find a dye that works properly; the chemistry of potions is less my field of expertise, I'm afraid."

He wished he would get his glasses back soon. It would be marginally less awkward for him at least. He had no sense of where she was in the room and every instinct he had was to want to turn and address his remarks to her, rather than directing at the empty space ahead of him.

[Rose Pemberton]

Rose focused on getting the measurements done. As nice as it was to be talking with Harold again, she was still apprehensive she would slip once again into inappropriate behaviour. Of course it wasn't him she was distrustful of, but rather herself. Harold had always been quite the gentleman. Finally done with the awkward task at hand she stowed away her measuring tape and retrieved his glasses for him. She stepped closed to Harold to carefully place them on his nose.

"There you go, all done. And if green tweed is what your heart desires I can have a look after I've finished your costume if I can find some material for a suit. I'm not the best seamstress, but I think I might be able to manage a nice jacket. She could picture it on him quite easily and how it would bring out the beautiful green colour of his eyes. Rose took a step backward and retreated from his space again, not wanting to overstay her welcome.

"Anyway, I promised to be quick I believe and that is all for tonight. I'd take my leave of you Professor and let you get on with your studies." She gave him a slight bow. "But if you'd allow me one more indulgence: you don't have to avoid the library on my account. I know my conduct towards yourself was highly inappropriate and distressing. Please rest assured that it was nothing but a momentary lapse of judgement. The library is a public resource and of course you are welcome to use it for your research."

She paused for a moment and gave him a serious look. "I believe I never apologised to you for my conduct. I don't expect forgiveness, but please know that I had no intention of upsetting you or tarnishing your reputation. Anyway, I better get going."

Rose turned around without waiting for his reaction and pressed down the door handle. Time to get out of dodge and make her escape now that she had said her piece.

[Harold Prendergast]

Harold didn't quite know what to say and just sort of stared after Rose as she left - without even a moment's respite to actually talk about the situation, though at least that rather answered something in his mind. There had been something, well, untoward between them - not that he had fully understood what exactly - but whatever it was seemed to have been resolved in Rose's mind.

Rather odd, he had to admit. But it was as good a time as any to sit down and have a cup of tea. A good strong blend.

And he might just take her up on that - there was a tome or two he had wanted to look into in the library that were a shade rich for his blood otherwise, and one ancient tome that essentially described arithmantic constructs about a hundred years earlier than the field came to be recognised - a recent acquisition he had been meaning to see but, of course, the awkwardness had prevented him.

But not today... tea first. Bubo came over and stared at him. It was as though Bubo had something to say but the little owl said nothing.