Dieu réunit ceux qui s'aiment
-Edith Piaf
Rose opened her eyes early on Monday morning, as the sun started creeping through her bedroom window. The view from her bed was something she didn't want to miss. No, it wasn't the person next to her. As it were, there wasn't anyone next to her. She had just settled down in Cornwall, deciding that she greatly preferred the seaside to the brown, rolling waters of the Thames. England was her oyster, she could work wherever she wanted and live somewhere completely different. Travel anywhere, by Floo, apparition, or broom without fear of her every movement being monitored, without the dread of knowing an Unforgivable curse could be around any corner. Her parents had given her that.
'The greatest generation,' the muggles had one, of course, those that persevered through the muggles' Great War, almost a century ago. Rose had learned about it in her muggle studies class. Her parents and their peers were their magical equivalents. Growing up, her mother would peruse her syllabi when she was home on break. She would always have a comment or observation, living vicariously through her daughter's experience at school. She said muggle studies was a lot different when she was at school, focusing on differences instead of similarities. Similarities like huge wars twenty years apart, followed by seemingly endless prosperity, for some.
But that was a long time ago; Rose had graduated Hogwarts five years ago, top of her class, of course. She now found herself a single, successful, young witch. She decided to go into the family business, and follow her mother's footsteps at SPEW. The civil rights movement was in full swing, and she was at the front lines.
She got out of bed, walked downstairs and started to make tea. While her domestic spell worked its magic, she walked back her garden, checking for flesh eating slugs on her pumpkin vines, blast ended skrewts on her courgettes. She was very proud of her horticultural skills, something 'Uncle' Neville always glowed about during his visits.
Walking back into the kitchen, she summoned her mug-milk and honey from the Burrow included- and went upstairs to get dressed. There was a busy day ahead of her. After swinging by the office, she had to go to the ministry to meet with a representative from the Department of Magical Creatures to discuss new restrictions on centaur territories. She put on a tight, khaki skirt, with a blue oxford tucked into its high waist. She put on her bronze, alligator-print heels, pulled her wavy auburn hair into a chignon at the base of her neck. On her way out of the bedroom, she grabbed a brown cardigan, in case the early September day held any chill, or in case the Ministry's air conditioning hadn't been adjusted for the change in season. She grabbed an apple off the bowl on the kitchen table, summoned her attaché case, and apparated to the office to start her day.
Upon arriving at the ministry, she walked straight over to the lifts. As it just so happened, she walked right into a lift that contained her father and uncle. Small World.
"Rosie!" her father exclaimed, "What is your pretty face doing here?"
"Hi Dad, Hi Uncle Harry. I'm just going up to DMC to get to the bottom of this 'centaur reservation' or whatever they've decided to call it."
"Well good luck with that, darling, don't go too hard on the poor sob you're meeting with."
"Thanks, Dad"
With that, Rose got off on her floor and walked directly into a sturdy, burgandy and gold striped chest.
"O, I am so sorry, I'm such a klutz! Oh, Scorpius…it's been awhile."
