Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and his universe.
It was very early morning on the first day of September, and the small village slept peacefully in the hours before sunrise. On a quiet lane near the village green, a rather nondescript house stood amongst others of its ilk. Among other things, it was white, had a blue door, and rambling autumn roses climbed the whitewashed façade. It also had four bedrooms, one unused at that time. In the other three, four people were sleeping soundly. The large bedroom at the back of the house faced a vegetable garden, a rather scuffed lawn, and a pond next to a willow tree. In it slept two people, one with brown curly hair spread across a pillow and one with straighter red hair cut short. They were covered with an obviously handmade quilt. In the smaller bedroom beside the master bedroom slept the couple's son, a young boy whose red curls stuck to his face. And in the third bedroom, facing the road, a young woman slept. Well, perhaps woman was an overstatement. Red curls tumbled across the pillow, framing a small face scattered liberally with freckles, with long dark eyelashes, a small nose, and full lips. The girl slept beneath a quilt made by her paternal grandmother, and blue gingham curtains framed the two street-facing windows. On the floor, a mostly-full trunk sat open, revealing neatly folded clothes and stacked books. A calendar turned to the month of September was hung on the white wall, and September first was circled in red multiple times. As the sun filtered through the windows, the girl stirred and blinked twice, revealing chocolate brown eyes. Then she sat up straight.
Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, woke on the morning of September first to the complaints of a rather small girl spoken rather loudly in her ear. "Mama wake up we're going to be late and I can't find my robes they aren't anywhere did you put them in my trunk? Also I washed my hair but can you braid it for me Mama I want to look my best for school after all it is my first day and Mama I'm scared what if no one likes me Mama wake up!" Her mother sat up, rubbed her eyes tiredly, and motioned to her eleven-year-old daughter that she'd be there in a minute, just go down to the kitchen. Rose, dripping water from her bright hair onto her parent's bedroom floor, complied and padded from the room and down the stairs as Hermione avoided killing herself in the puddles of water and pulled on a dressing gown. As she did so, a blinking clock attracted her eyes. Five-forty-five? No wonder she was tired. All the same, remembering the importance of the occasion, she headed down to placate her worried daughter.
Six buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, one glass of orange juice, and two French braids later, Rose Weasley rushed off to find the missing school robes, which were, as expected, clean and dry in a wicker basket after being dried on the line. The young girl was about to make herself sick with worry, and about to make her mother sick with her incessant questions – "Mama will people like me there? Will they? Mama what if I have no friends? Mama what if James and Albus don't talk to me? Mama what if I'm not in Gryffindor? What happens then?" – until Hermione longed for the peace and quiet that would come with Rose living at Hogwarts. At exactly ten-thirty, the Weasley family departed in an old muggle car borrowed from a neighbor for King's Cross Station, where Rose would leave on the Hogwarts Express. A nervous Rose in the back would chatter for five minutes straight, remain quiet for five, and then begin the dreaded cycle again. It could not be soon enough that the four arrived at Kings Cross, and with Rose's trunk safely loaded onto a cart, made their way to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Rose, scrubbed, tucked, and French braided to perfection, proudly wheeled her cart all by herself on the way to Platform Nine and Three Quarters while the rest of her family tagged behind. With the brainpower once famous in her mother, Rose went over lists in her head to keep nervousness at bay. Ballet flats? Check – black with tiny bows, they fit perfectly. She and her mother had bought them in Diagon Alley the week before. White knee socks? Check – bought with her mother, they covered her horribly scrawny legs, one of her many embarrassments. Black skirt? Check – Rose loved her swingy skirt that ended exactly three inches above the knee, and of course wore it on one of the most important days in her life. Navy pullover? Check – cotton and comfortable, Rose's pullover showcased her red hair beautifully as well as lending an inner light to her alabaster complexion. And last but not least, locket? Check – of course. Rose never went anywhere without the small, heart-shaped locket around her neck, tucked inside the collar of her pullover. Done with her appearance, Rose began going over lists of books she had read and the contents of her trunk until they came to a brick wall and stopped.
So did her mental inventory. This was it. As soon as she walked through this wall – inwardly she paused at how odd that sounded – she would be on her way to Hogwarts, the school where she would spend the greater part of the next seven years. Squaring her shoulders, Rose walked through the bricks and stumbled upon an awe-inspiring scene. Children ranging from age eleven to seventeen hugged their parents' goodbye and were boarding a large, scarlet train with the words "Hogwarts Express" lettered in gold on the side. Rose had never even been on a train before. Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, her panicked brain shot out. One pewter cauldron, standard size 2 – stop it, she told her brain firmly, and pasted a cheerful, excited smile on her face, her brown eyes twinkling. No one needed to know she was scared. Sighting familiar faces – Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, and her cousins, she walked over with her cart and trunk, her parents and brother following.
Albus was obviously nervous, and Rose felt a twinge of pride that she could conceal her fears behind a smile. James, two years her senior and excited to be going back was successfully tormenting his younger brother, who, truth be told, didn't need much more tormenting to become an absolute basket case. The scene made her smile, but as always, her older cousin scared her a bit and her brain went back into "calm down" mode, spitting off random information in carefully compiled lists. Rose, usually quite thankful for this quality, was rather annoyed that didn't allow her to take everything in. After all, this was a life-changing experience! Still, she supposed blocking out the entire scene was better than decompensating into a weeping mess on the floor. Smiling distractedly at her cousins, she scanned the crowd for faces she felt she should know.
Her father placed his hand on her navy-clad shoulder as they stared towards a young blond man and his equally blond father. "So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath. "Make sure you beat him in every test Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."
"Ron for heaven's sake," said Hermione, half stern, half amused. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"
"You're right, sorry," said Ron. But unable to help himself, he added "Don't get too friendly with him, though Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood." Rose neglected to assure him that she wouldn't. Just looking at the boy gave her shivers and she edged closer to her father. James noticed her discomfort and stepped between her and the boy, and she felt an immediate rush of affection towards him. Restraining her desire to wrap her arms around her cousin, she instead bid her parents and little brother goodbye and, with the help of a friendly prefect, loaded her trunk onto the train.
Rose crossed her legs at the ankles and looked out the window at the quickly passing scenery. In her lap sat two wrappers for her favorite snacks, Pumpkin Pasties, beside her was a bookmarked and well-read novel. Rose was inherently neat – those sharing the compartment with her, however, were not. The floor was littered with the wrappers of every conceivable type of candy, chocolate frogs being the most prevalent. The two who had consumed this sickening amount of sugar were sprawled across the rest of the compartment, arguing animatedly about the merits of different Quidditch teams. James had rather gallantly refused his friends' invitation to join them in their compartment, choosing instead to stay with his "brother and Rosie." James was quickly graduating from Rose's most feared cousin to her favorite. All of her nervousness gone, Rose was able to appreciate the largest gathering of wizards she had seen in all of her young life. She was also quite aware that the nervousness would return as soon as they reached Hogwarts, which, judging by how dark it was rapidly becoming was quite soon. She leaned her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, knowing that it would be the last time in a long time that she and her two cousins would be alone together. She was startled out of her reverie by a rather uncomfortable halt.
"We're here," grinned James, helping Rose to her feet. "Don't worry about your trunks. I'll see you at the Gryffindor table," he called to Rose and Albus as he boarded a horseless carriage and they walked towards a prim but comforting voice. Holding hands out of terror, the two stepped forwards to meet their fate.
Said fate happened to be a woman in her mid-fifties holding a lantern and gesturing for the first-years to board a fleet of small sailboats with no sails. "Four to a boat," called the woman, and Albus and Rose joined a girl with a black ponytail and a chap with glasses in one. The boat, much to Rose's chagrin, left the shore as soon as the four had set foot in it, without regard to how they were positioned. Luckily, Al was either feeling very forgiving or very nervous and did not mention her fall into his lap to James. Joining the nine other boats following the woman, they crossed the dark, cold-looking lake and passed through a curtain of ivy on the other side. Here the boat courteously waited for all four passengers to remove themselves from the boat before leaving them at the foot of a stone staircase. Here an older woman met them, looking rather stern, but appropriately kind. She smiled at Al and Rose, who smiled back. Leading them to the top of the stairs, she entered, leaving the forty eleven-year-olds huddling in a nervous clump outside the door.
A blond head pushed its way to Rose and Albus and stood before them, revealing its owner to be none other than Scorpius Malfoy. "Potter," said he, resting his uncomfortable gaze on Albus before turning to a frightened Rose. "Weasley." He said it as if it were a curse, an insult, something that he would find under his shoe. He said her last name the way Rose would pronounce the word "spider," and this realization filled her with indignant family pride. Her freckled cheeks flushing, Rose returned Malfoy's cool glare but said nothing, aware that if she did, her fear would give her away. Luckily Professor McGonagall returned at that point and ushered them into the bright Great Hall.
Walking with her head held high, Rose made it a point not to gawk at the ceiling and enjoyed the feel of her brand-new robes swishing about her ankles. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted James' encouraging smile and her proud expression became an un-self-conscious grin and she proceeded towards the staff table and the stool, upon which sat the famous sorting hat. Knowing she would have to wait until last, Rose took the opportunity to look around the Great Hall. Four long tables stretched across the room, each capable of holding seventy students. She quickly broke from her contemplation when she heard a familiar name called – "Potter, Albus Severus!" The Hall quieted as Al made his way forward and the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. However, it was not long before it shouted "Gryffindor!" and Al bounded down to join his brother, who enthusiastically clapped him on the back. Rose began going through lists again.
"Weasley, Rose!" called the professor after what seemed like a lifetime, in which she had covered the contents of her trunk and her entire extended family. Carefully, she walked forward, the last of the first years to be sorted. The hat settled comfortably onto her head, but in almost no time, it shouted "Gryffindor!" and she stepped down to an enthusiastically applauding table and joined her cousins.
Roughly an hour and a half later, after she had consumed her body weight in pumpkin juice, steak-and-kidney pie, and treacle tart, she and the nine other first-years followed the nice prefect that had helped her with her trunk up to Gryffindor tower, where the Fat Lady confronted them. Turning to the crowd of eleven-year-olds, the prefect informed them of the password (caput draconis) and ushered them into the Common Room. In the Common Room, approximately sixty other students socialized and caught up with each other before the roaring fire. At this point, the friendly prefect left the five girls in the care of another friendly prefect, this time female, to accompany them to their dormitory, at the very top of Gryffindor Tower.
Looking around the room, where her trunk had already been placed at the foot of a four-poster bed, Rose wanted to cry. Yes, her bed had red velvet curtains that she could close as she slept, but it did not have the coverlet that Grandma Molly had made for her tenth birthday. Yes, it was between two high, narrow windows that looked out across the Hogwarts grounds, but the windows were not edged with blue gingham curtains or survey her mother's rose garden. Sighing, Rose placed a framed photograph of her family and her well-worn copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard on her bedside table, and turned to meet her roommates.
Rose's list that night was of her roommates. Mary Bradley slept in the bed to the left of hers, and had silver braces on her teeth. Both of her parents went to Hogwarts before her, and much to Rose's irritation, laughed loudly and often. Violet Finnigan possessed wide blue eyes and a shy smile, and whose first words to Rose were "my mum and dad went to school with your mum and dad!" Rose had smiled politely and nodded. Melanie Harkiss, like Rose, possessed a great deal of freckles scattered across her face and, unlike Rose, long blonde hair. Annie Thomas, a petite black girl, was Rose's last roommate. She didn't particularly like any of them, but then again, she had only met them hours ago and they were all tired and nervous. Excited for the next morning, Rose fell asleep almost immediately and did not dream.
