Rose Weasley was five years old, and she wanted an ice cream.
No, really, you don't understand. She wanted that ice cream.
And when Rose Weasley got it in her head that she wanted something, she either got it, or things tended to explode. But that had been Jamsie's fault anyway, no matter what he said against it.
She had spied the sign to Fortescue's on their way in, but her parents had brushed it off and told her later-which in parent-speak meant never. Rose had held onto it though, building up in her head how good the creamy, cold chocolate would taste, how she would crunch the end of the cone in that satisfied way when it was down to the nibbly bit, and she had held on to that through four bookshops, the owlry, and an Apothecary. Now she was sick of waiting. But Mummy and Hugo were somewhere in the last bookshop, and Daddy was busy talking to the owner of the Quidditch store.
It couldn't be that hard, Rose decided, to find her way back to the ice cream shop. And she even had her own money, a Sickle and five Knuts, that she'd been saving for this trip. In her mind, she was practically rich. No, buying the ice cream wouldn't be a problem. It was getting there that turned out to be the tricky bit.
She was sure that it had only been a few minutes down the street, but Rose had been walking for what felt like forever, and the only things near her were a shop with a dingy old book in the window, and a old lady who smelled like teeth.
The woman leered at her. "Lost, are you?"
Rose stumbled back, shaking her head. Red curls swung into her vision.
"Come with me..." the woman crooned, looming closer. "Ill give you a hand.."
She tripped in her haste and bumped into something.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. "Problem here?"
Rose looked up at her rescuer. It was a tall blonde girl, dressed in Muggle jeans and a jumper.
The old lady glared at her. "Just collecting my daughter."
The girl snorted. "Yeah, and I'm a tin dog. You're lucky my friend isn't here, or you'd be in worse trouble. As it is, i'm not anyone to be messed with. Now go along, 'fore I have to deal with you."
The woman swept away, and the blonde girl crouched down. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
Rose studied her. "I only wanted an ice cream. Was going to get it myself."
The girl laughed. "You look like you could, too. What's your name, then?"
"Rose."
"Really? That's mine too! Now," She stood up, brushing off her jeans. "Let's get you an ice cream, and then find your parents, yeah?"
Rose grinned. "Yeah!"
"Now, what do your parents look like?"
Older-Rose questioned, as Rose finished off her chocolate cone.
"Mummy's got brown hair. And Daddy's ginger, and he's got freckles. He says he doesn't, but he does."
Older-Rose smiled. "I've got a friend who'd like to be ginger. Where'd you last see them?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but then she caught sight of Mum storming down Diagon Alley, poor Hugo bobbing along in her wake, looking bewildered. "There's Mummy. Thanks' for th' ice cream."
"No problem. Just don't go wandering off by yourself anymore. Not that I can talk, it seems that's a habit of mine." Older-Rose patted her head and disappeared. As a relived Hermione fussed over her daughter, she thought she saw a bit of blue out the corner of her eye and heard a farmiliar grinding sound.