Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, save for an OC here or there. Bow down to the goddess that is JK Rowling.
The rating of this fic may go up. It's rated T for instances of language, violence and sexuality. The 'main' couple in this is heterosexual, but there may be minor characters in same sex relationships, take it or leave it.
Reading and reviewing is so appreciated. Will do my best to return reviews. I know this chapter is lengthy. Thanks so much for taking a look at my fic, happy reading.
A good theme song for this story, or even just this chapter, is 'Running with the Wolves' by the lovely pop star Aurora, if you'd like some background music.
The Moon Rose
A Rose Weasley Story
"ROSE SELENE WEASLEY!"
Just the sound of her mother and father yelling, separately was auditory torture; but their collective voices, as one powerful force in annoyance, could have made banshees clap their hands over their ears. Speaking of ears, Rose couldn't remember the last time her dad's burned so red. Her mother's hair, bushy like her own, appeared to tangle itself in a Medusa-like rage.
Rose winced. "So, I take it you've seen my O.W.L.'s?"
"YES, WE'VE BLOODY WELL SEEN THEM!" Ron's voice thundered, rattling their quaint kitchen, and causing portraits of friends and family members to cough awkwardly and slip out of their frames. Some, like a portrait of Great Grandmother Cederella Black, leaned forward eagerly and turned her good ear toward the dining table, relishing the ability to relive a bit of proper Weasley discipline.
Her father continued bellowing, straight from the Molly Weasley School of Verbal Castigation and Tongue Lashings. "I WISH TO HELL I HADN'T! I'd rather a band of harpies rip my eyes out!" The Auror covered his freckled face in his hands and let out a sound that reminded Rose of the honking daffodils in Professor Longbottom's greenhouse. "BOWTRUCKLE BOLLOCKS, ROSIE! What were you thinking!?"
Hermione clutched the report in her hands, brown eyes wide in utter disbelief. "Straight Acceptables..." she murmured. "Except for O's in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. A.. a P-poor in History of Magic..." Her mother's voice reached a shrill, panicked pitch. "You've been able to recite facts about the goblin rebellion since you were four!" Hermione choked back a sob. "ROSE WEASLEY, WHAT HAVE WE TOLD YOU SINCE FIRST YEAR!? ACCEPTABLES SIMPLY AREN'T ACCEPTABLE!"
"All my plans for you to become Head Girl and stick it to Percy... gone, vanished, forever! We'll be lucky if you sweep the floors at the Ministry now!" Ron blew his nose in a polka dot handkerchief tucked in his pocket. "At least there's still hope for Hugo."
Rose didn't say anything. After a moment of startling quiet, Ron and Hermione turned on her at once, both shouting, "WELL, DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!?"
She cleared her throat, and regarded her parent's - both on the verge of needing a padded white room at St. Mungo's - steadily. "Yes. Last year, I had an intellectual awakening."
"AN INTELLECTUAL WHA-"
"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione snapped. She was more patient and accustomed to hearing the defenses' side after overseeing trials in the Wizengamot courtrooms. "Let her speak."
The portrait of Great Grandmother Cederella cackled and rubbed her hands together. "Oh, this is getting good."
"Mum, you've always told me that the best way to learn, is by teaching yourself. I already know what magic does. I'm more interested in what it can do. How can I invent a brand new potion or spell when I have to write a three page essay about Hodrod the Horny-Handed!? It's bloody pointless. And Dad, I'm not a Ravenclaw! I'm a Gryffindor! I'm daring and learn best from exploring the world around me, not in the dusty pages of some dreadfully boring hundred year old book. No one in the future is going to care if I was a Head Girl, but they will if I uncover new magic that changes the world." She straightened her posture, tall like her father. "I'm Rose Selene Weasley. I'm no ordinary witch. I don't need Ordinary Wizarding Levels to define my intelligence."
Ron immediately rolled his eyes. "That's the biggest load of hippogriff shite I've ever heard. Unless you've invented a spell that changes your dismal marks, I don't want to hear it!"
"And don't you dare insult books in my home, no matter how dusty!" Hermione's voice softened. "I understand where you're coming from, sweetheart, and I never want to discourage your ingenuity, or for you to stop questioning things. But your schoolwork is so important, especially your O.W.L.'s, they can determine your very future." She set the report aside with as much disgust as one disposes garbage. "You've always done so well in school."
"What's gotten into you!?" Ron demanded. He narrowed his blue eyes. "Is it the Malfoy boy?"
The mere mention of 'Malfoy' caused Rose's ears to burn three shades redder than her father's. "He doesn't have anything to do with it."
But Ron had found a button, and continued to push. "I know Albus and he are mates because they're Slytherin, but you were hanging around him an awful lot last year. Knew he'd be a bad influence. I bet he's a slimy git just like his father, you are his biggest academic competition, and he sabotaged you!"
"Dad, don't be ridiculous! Scorpius has always been at the top of our class. Keep. Him. Out. Of. It."
"I don't think you should be allowed to see him anymore," Ron said. "Mark my word, girls, dragons don't breed lizards."
"Speaking of dragons." Hermione tilted her chin upward, regarding her daughter steadily. Rose had been a head taller than her since her third year. "You are grounded for the rest of summer, young lady. No visiting Charlie at the reservation this year."
"WHAT!? Mum, Dad, no!" Rose's eyes brimmed with tears. She managed to keep her calm, thus far, but she had been waiting for years to be old enough to visit her uncle at his dragon reservation in Romania. She had been obsessed with the fantastical winged beasts since she was four and he gifted her with an enchanted dragon model. She longed for the opportunity to study dragons up close. He even said she may be there in time to witness a new batch of hatchlings being born, which even her half-French cousins - who boasted of their grandmother's stables of Abraxan in Paris - couldn't arrogantly dismiss.
Ron nodded. "I agree. If you're too thickheaded to exceed at O.W.L.'s, how can we trust you to survive fire breathing dragons!?"
Rose wiped her tears off on the sleeves of her purple tunic. "I expected this from Mum, but not from you! You didn't even care enough about school to go back and get your N.E.W.T.'s. Even just passing, I'm a better student than you ever were."
The redhaired man glowered. "I had a Dark Lord my best friend needed to defeat, to worry about. The end of the wizarding world as we knew it. What the hell do you have weighing down on you, keeping you from good marks?" He rolled his eyes, his voice taking on a mocking, feminine pitch. "Oh, no! The latest boy toy is leaving Wand Direction! How will I ever move on!?"
Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. "Enough, you two!"
"You've always encouraged me to be myself, even when others only see my famous Mum and Dad when they look at me. But now you're punishing me for not living up to being the BRAINY, BOOKISH, BRILLIANT, HERMIONE WEASLEY!" Rose snatched her O.W.L.'s results off the table, and viciously tore the parchment in half, shredding it to pieces. "Any other family would be fine with Acceptables! I hate you both sometimes! I just wish I had normal parents!"
"Beat the freckles off her bottom!" Cederella, the only remaining relative in her portrait, howled.
Ron's ears were not only violently red, but he was so furious Rose thought they were going to steam like an angry teakettle in the middle of an earthquake. Hermione appeared equally vehement, but Rose caught her bottom lip quivering, her daughter's words hurt more than infuriated her. Before anyone had opportunity to speak, scream or sob, they were interrupted by an unusual sight appearing out of thin air in the middle of their kitchen.
The silvery, transluscent outline of a stag. Her uncle, Harry's, Patronus. The Patronus spoke in his voice, hurried and urgent in a way Rose hadn't often heard.
"Ron, Hermione, a prisoner has escaped Azkaban. Fenrir Greyback. Need you both at The Ministry now. Arthur's on his way to mind the kids. Hurry!"
Ron and Hermione exchanged panicked glances, disappointing grades and teenaged hormones all but forgotten in the wake of Harry's news.
"You go first," Ron said. "I'll wait for Dad."
Hermione nodded, and turned sharp eyes on Rose. "We'll talk later, Rose Weasley. Don't think I'll forget." She promptly disapparated with a 'crack' after Harry's Patronus.
Even after the vitirol she just spewed, Rose was a little stung her mum didn't bade her goodbye with an embarrassing kiss on the cheek like she always did. She turned to her father, unusually quiet sitting at the table, his red brows knitted as if he were deep in thought. "Dad, who's Fenrir Greyback? The name sounds familiar. No one's escaped Azkaban in a really long time, have they? And you don't have to wait for Grandad. I'm old enough..."
The Auror pointed upstairs. "Go to your room, and study. No wizarding wireless widescreen, either. NOW."
The Gryffindor girl huffed, but knew better than to outright protest. She clambered up the stairs, and Hugo poked his head out of his bedroom, cautiously intrigued. Rose had only just seen him, and the fourteen year old somehow looked taller. He was growing like a mandrake plant over the summer. "Is it safe to come out yet?"
"Shut up, Hugo." Rose stopped herself. She supposed it would be in her best interests to have one person on her side in the family. "Uncle Harry just sent a message. A prisoner has escaped Azkaban. Mum already left for the Ministry, and Dad's waiting for Grandpa to come watch us."
"Blimey. I've never heard of anyone breaking out of Azkaban before. Must be a real baddie." Hugo shook his mop of auburn hair. "Nothing the Ministry can't handle, though. When are Mum and Dad going to realize we don't need a babysitter? Ah, well. Will be good to see Grandad. I can show him some projects I've been tinkering with." Like Arthur, Hugo held a fascination for muggle electronics and knick-knacks, and showed quite the inventive streak, even enchanting an old phonograph he found in a secondhand shop so it played every muggle album recorded. Rose heard the device blaring classic rock from the 1970's through the crack in Hugo's door.
It was no wonder he was a Ravenclaw, while she was a Gryffindor. She was just as bright as Hugo, if not more, but she reveled in the attention and confidence that came with being smart, rather than pure love of learning like her dorky little brother.
"I'll be in my room. Don't disturb me." She turned around just in time to hear Hugo mumble, 'as you wish, Your Highness,' before she opened and slammed her door, slipping away into her own private sanctuary.
Her room was plastered in posters; everything from the dreamy-eyed, pouty-lipped young wizards of Wand Direction, to posters displaying tables of alchemy symbols and arithmancy numbers, a cork board stuck with letters and post cards from her owl pals she wrote to throughout the world, and countless pictures of her friends from school and family. Of course, she wouldn't be Hermione Weasley's daughter without shelves of books lining her room, though a good portion were pulp and romance novels with shirtless muscular men on the front, and nauseating titles like A Sucker in Love: A Wizard Vampire Romance.
A corner of her room was dedicated to her cauldron that had a rack of empty vials and bottles of labeled potion's ingredients mounted above. Now that she started going shopping with Fleur and Dominique, her collection of clothes were more sizable and colorful, then when she had depended on her mother's dismal fashion advice, or her grandmother's hand-knit jumpers. A full length mirror leaned against the wall beside her closet; it was enchanted, but rarely told her she was the 'fairest one of all,' in fact quite the opposite, especially after her potions experiments exploded and splattered the mirror with mucky green goop.
"Not bad today, love," the mirror said in a posh female voice. "But you really do need to do something with your hair, it's beginning to resemble a doxy's nest caught on fire."
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She was the tallest girl in her year, but at sixteen, growing out of the awkward lankiness of youth, her willowy frame suiting the long purple tunic, flowing sleeves and black tights tucked into green velvet boots on her person. She wasn't quite as speckled as her father, but had a smattering of freckles dusting her cheeks, her skin pale and creamy. She wouldn't madden men with desire like her veela aunt and cousins, but she had a subdued loveliness; her blue eyes were bright with imagination and intelligence, her nose was little and turned up like her mother's, and if she pouted her rosy lips just the right way, she could get anything she wanted. Her crimson red, waist length hair was as wild as a sphinx's mane, but she started taming it with straightening spells, or pulled the wayward tresses into a messy bun whenever she couldn't be bothered. After years of being teased for her appearance, it was finally time she started blooming like the flower for which she'd been named. Though her father wasn't happy about it, from his reaction to the stares and leers she received at this years Quidditch World Cup.
Her twin bed, spread with sheets baring the Gryffindor colors and lion emblem, was accessible by a small step ladder, nearly touching the enchanted ceiling that Rose currently had bewitched to replicate an aquarium, with all kinds of vibrant, magical fish, coral and even mermaids gliding across her ceiling's surface. Underneath the wooden frame and stilts holding up her bed, sat her desk and chair, with heaps and heaps of parchment laying in messy piles atop her desk, along with an array of ink bottles and speckled blue jobberknoll feather quills. Her little model dragon named Mr. Scaly, which Charlie had bought her as a child, lay curled up and slumbering beside the lit, pumpkin scented candle on her desk.
A rumble in the distance caught her attention, then became increasingly louder until the rumble loudened to a roar and thundered in her ears. Rose ran over to the large bay window in her room, overlooking the meadow in her parent's backyard, and drew back the red gauze curtains. Just as she suspected, her grandfather arrived by way of flying motorcycle. A grin touched her face at the sight of the elderly man dismounting the enormous bike, a heavy helmet and goggles obscuring his face. Her grandmother must have been throwing a fit. Just last week, she bemoaned how the older Arthur got, the more rebellious and like a teenage boy he became. Well, he needed something to do with himself after retiring from the Ministry, and into his shed he disappeared, with all the muggle 'toys' he collected over the years.
An eerie feeling tingled Rose's spine when she remembered the flying motorcycle once belonged to Sirius Black, who was the first wizard to ever escape Azkaban.
From her window, she saw Arthur take off his helmet and shake his head, his hair mostly gray but with flecks of red gleaming like copper in the sunlight. He hanged that, along with the goggles, atop the motorcycle's handles, gave the motorcycle an affectionate pat as if he told it he was coming right back, and strolled through the back door of the Granger-Weasley's quaint, Georgian brick house.
She heard her father and grandfather speaking in hushed tones downstairs, then the distinctive 'crack' of her father disapparating. Hugo's footsteps immediately creaked the floors to traipse downstairs and greet him. She decided to let the muggle aficionados enjoy some bonding time alone.
Rose considered disobeying her father and turning on the wizarding wireless widescreen, but he'd do as she asked. She'd study. She pulled out all the books she had relating to wizarding crime and dark magic; some her mother even gave her from her days studying magical law. It took her all of ten minutes before she found a snippet of 'Fenrir Greyback's' biography in a grisly book bound in troll skin, entitled A Concordance of Dark Witches and Wizards.
Fenrir Greyback is the most vicious werewolf in history, biting an innumerable number of men, women and children - muggles and wizards alike - and infecting countless others with lyncanthropy. Although he served Voldemort during the Second Wizarding War, he was not a Death Eater. Voldemort promised him prey in exchange for his services. It was his twisted mission in life to contaminate as many people as possible, so werewolves could eventually overthrow wizards. He specialized in children and young adult victims, hoping to initiate them at early ages, so they grew up to hate wizards. He was defeated in the Battle of Hogwarts by Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, then brought live to the Wizengamot, where he was tried and sentenced to Azkaban for life without possibility of release, with Hermione Granger (now Weasley) presiding as prosecutor. Locked away under the highest level of security, he is said to eat nothing but raw meat, and still swears vengeance on those who have wronged him and other werewolves. Greyback has attacked several guards, and nearly escaped multiple times. Since his imprisonment, records of werewolf attacks have dwindled, but packs of Greyback initiates have been reported roaming the Scottish Highlands during full moons. It has yet to be seen whether they are living peacefully in the wild, or are hellbent on prolonging Greyback's legacy of contamination.
The picture of a grimy, snarling man growled at her from the yellowing page, his canine fangs bared, and dirty, claw like hands bound by magical silver cuffs. The mere sight of him made Rose shiver; he appeared more wolf than man. "Not much of a looker, is he," she muttered to herself, shutting the book and putting it atop her other pile.
She reflected on the book's mention of her parents. It never ceased to impress her how deeply rooted they - all of her family, really - were in wizarding history. The part where the book claimed Greyback swore vengeance on his past enemies alarmed her. Surely, with her father's defeat of Greyback at Hogwarts, and her mother's prosecution of him in the courtroom, the Granger-Weasley's had to be number one on the werewolf's 'to eat' list. Thankfully, her parents told her their home was protected by strong charms, untraceable on a map.
Rose tried not to worry, much. Mum, Dad and Uncle Harry would take care of things. Like they always had. Greyback would have a flea collar round his neck again in no time. The worst part would be when they remembered her lackluster grades and punished her again.
The frown at her lips lifted as soon as she heard an insistent tapping at her window. She whipped her head around, recognizing Scorpius' handsome Eagle Owl Theron perched on her windowsill, baring a letter and small package in his sleek black beak. Her own winged companion, a spastic but adorable Elf Owl named Twiggy, had been gone for a few days; probably getting fattened with Bertie Botts Beans (her favorite treat) at Daisy Longbottom's, or annoying the piss out of Priya Thomas' lazy persian cat. Rose stood from the desk, didn't dare take long stretching because the Malfoy's haughty owl already fluttered his tawny wings in impatience, and approached the wide bay window to open it and let him in.
He immediately flew over to her desk, and dropped the letter and package from Scorpius on top of the already disorganized lump of junk. She closed her window again and felt him settle atop her shoulder. Theron's hornlike tufts twitched and he nipped her affectionately on her cheek, which elicited a giggle and fond pet from her. She could see his gleaming, amber eyes bat open and closed. The poor thing was tired - it had been a long flight from the Malfoy's summer castle in Hungary (yes, unlike normal folk, Malfoy's had summer castles, not homes) to Glastonbury, undoubtedly - but like his Slytherin owner, the owl was too stubborn to rest until he completed his mission.
Her parents moved to the small, quirky English city of Glastonbury soon after they married. Hermione adored it for its mythical connotations (it was home to stone henge and several other ancient drudic ruins) and the strong magical energy it drew. Ron found entertainment enough in Glastonbury because, in his opinion, the bohemian muggles living there were 'kookier than wizards.' Sometimes, when the mist hanged particularly heavy in the seaside air, Rose swore she saw the green fairy hills of Avalon beckoning her in the distance. But Avalon, and Faerie, were merely legends; even to wizards.
"Here, my feathered friend. Get some rest. And have all the pellets you want. Twiggy won't mind." She walked over to the large steel owl cage by her bay window where Twiggy normally slept, and extended her arm, gently guiding Theron inside. He was a great deal larger than her owl, but settled comfortably on the perch, too exhausted to even nibble the bowl of pellets or drink from the enchanted self-filling water dish. He gave Rose one last appreciative nip on her finger before shutting his eyes, and Rose threw a blanket around the cage so the light outside wouldn't interrupt his slumber.
She was excited to read the letter (and open her present!) because she hadn't heard from Scorpius much this summer. She flopped behind her desk, her graceless movements earning a disapproving cluck from her mirror, and waking Mr. Scaly, who stood, yawned (sparking a bit of flame no larger than that of a disposable lighter), unfolded his wings, and flew toward the cage where Theron dreamed peaceful owl dreams. Mr. Scaly circled around the cage inquisitively, but Rose shushed her toy dragon. "Let him sleep, or he'll think you're a mouse again and try to eat you."
Rose turned the letter over and removed the prestigious black and emerald 'M' signifying the Malfoy seal. One only knew they received a letter from a Weasley if they found a stray red hair sticking to the page. She unfolded the crisp parchment and read Scorpius' elegant, curling script.
Rose,
Have you received your O.W.L.'s yet? Surely, I would have heard your mother and father lamenting all the way in Hungary, but it's difficult to tell because several of the ghosts here do nothing but scream. I received straight O's on my O.W.L.'s, naturally, except for Care of Magical Creatures; but furry smelly beasts are really more of your forte, don't you agree? Bloodstone Castle is as glamorous and inviting as its name suggests. It once belonged to a distant ancestor of mine, Erzebet Bathory, a sorceress so obsessed with maintaining her youth and beauty she bathed in the blood of her muggle chambermaids, who still haunt this castle in eternal damnation and misery. Sounds like a prime vacation spot, doesn't it? I think one of the undead chambermaids fancies me. She keeps flying out of the drain covered in blood whenever I draw a bath. Still not as terrifying as being at the receiving end of a Slytherin female's flirtations.
I do hope your mother and father allow you to visit your uncle. Romania borders Hungary and is just some Floo powder away. I think you'd find this area fascinating. Darker magic is less taboo, and there is more intermingling between the species, particularly humans and vampires, though I did go to a pub where the owner had troll heads mounted on the walls, and a werewolf throw rug by the fireplace, so perhaps interspecies relations here aren't quite as liberated. I haven't seen any dragons yet, but everyone here has dragon teeth jewlery, dragonhide leather, as well as daggers and other weapons fashioned out of dragon bone. Even you would be fashionable here.
Ever since an Erlking tried luring me into a forest in Germany when I was nine, my parents rarely let me wander foreign places alone. They finally let me visit a magical marketplace today on my own, and well... let's just say the market was so grim, it made a stroll down Knockturn Alley seem pleasant and sunny. I managed to find something you may like, however. I do hope you're reading this before you open your gift, but one can't expect a Weasley to be a shining example of propriety.
The silver pendant enclosed was fashioned by a goblin jeweler who was even more difficult and unscrupulous than the ones at Gringotts. The blue gem is a moonstone; otherwise known as selenite, which I thought would suit you, considering your middle name. You know I find Divination to be drivel, but the goblin claimed that a witch can see her future during the next full moon reflected in the gem if she holds it under moonlight. Perhaps the pendant will show us flying with dragons in Romania. Or, more likely, getting burnt worse than cheese toasties.
Venomously Yours,
S. H. Malfoy
Rose lowered the parchment and picked up the small package with an eagerness reserved for Christmas or her birthday. She scarcely believed Scorpius bought her jewellry, of all things. His letter had been riddled with his typical sarcasm and teasing. She unwrapped the plain brown paper, revealing a small black velvet box. After removing the lid, surely enough, his words hadn't been a cruel prank only to reveal a coiled flobberworm tail or niffler droppings; they had ended that malicious chapter of rivalry (for Albus' affections, as well as academics) by fourth year. Though, Scorpius hadn't even came close to describing how beautiful the pendant was.
She carefully withdrew it from the box; the moonstone was perfectly oval and cerulean in color, only hinting at its iridescent glimmer under the moonlight, and surrounded by ornately designed garnate. The enchanted gem dangled from a silver chain so strong Rose didn't think a giant's hands could snap the necklace. She fastened it about her neck and stood, immediately darting over to her full length mirror. The moonstone dangled to her chest, quite fetchingly drawing attention to her normally less than ample breasts. Somehow the necklace gave the illusion of elongating her neck, making it appar more elegant on her willowy frame.
"If you stretch your neck out any further, dear, you're going to resemble an intoxicated giraffe. And be careful with the cleavage you expose wearing that rock on a chain, lest you want others thinking you're a tart."
The Gryffindor ignored her mirror's catty remarks. After all, the boy dancers on her Wand Direction poster wouldn't stop hooting and winking at her. Other than needing a thorough hair combing, she never looked lovelier. Even her blue eyes shone brighter now that she wore the moonstone.
"ROSIE!" Arthur's voice hailed her from the downstairs stairwell. "Come down, I fixed some supper!"
Rose hadn't smelled the sausage, mashed potatoes and gravy wafting from the kitchen until now. Her stomach growled and she held it in despair, as if gaining the slightest bit of weight would somehow mar the new found beauty she found within herself. But, the price of beauty was worth risking for her grandfather's home cooked bangers and mash. She undid the chain of her pendant and tucked it back inside the black velvet box. As much as she wanted to show off Scorpius' gift, she couldn't abide Hugo's teasing, or Arthur's polite smile belying his disapproving stare. She loved her grandparents dearly, but they were from the old school, worse than even her father. In their book, Weasley's and Malfoy's were no more meant to be together than weasels and snakes.
Not that she and Scorpius were 'together.' He had given Albus many gifts from his travels over the years. A platonic show of friendship, nothing more, and the most irritating part was Rose couldn't buy him anything nearly so lovely. Her parents were comfortable, but lacked the Malfoy's old pureblooded wealth by far. The Slytherin had managed to one up her, again.
She was quite full by the end of supper, the bangers and mash warming her insides like a mug of butterbeer. After she and Hugo cleared the table and cleaned the dishes by hand (Rose couldn't wait to simply 'Scourgify' messes with a flick of her wand), the three Weasley's settled around the kitchen table Rose's parents screamed at her across just hours earlier. They played a favorite childhood game, gobstones, the marble balls rolling to and fro at rapid pace, and each player getting squirted with the gobstone's putrid green liquid once they lost a point. The three played for a good hour before Hugo finally won, like he always did, in part because Rose didn't have the heart to beat her puny little brother after letting him win all these years. Though, he wasn't so puny anymore.
"What do you think you're doing, Arthur!?" The portrait of Cederella hissed. "It's growing late, and there's been too much laughter and nonsense. The girl is grounded! She lacks discipline."
"Oh, relax, Mother." Arthur chuckled. "Best part about being a grandparent is that discipline is no longer my job."
Soon after, they stopped playing and retired to their bedrooms, with Grandad Weasley kicking his shoes off and sprawling on the living room couch to get some shut eye. Rose's parents had yet to return, which concerned her, but this wasn't the first time their duties at the Ministry kept them overnight, sometimes even for days at a time. Never without Flooing in or sending word that they were okay, however.
Rose tought to write to Albus and see if he knew any more than she did about Fenrir Greyback. Tomorrow, once word of his escape spread, the werewolf would be on the cover of every newspaper in the wizarding world; hopefully the Ministry had a good headstart regarding his whereabouts. Rose may have been more book savvy than her cousin, but the green-eyed Slytherin had stronger intuition. She would have never trusted Scorpius if Al hadn't befriended him first.
She wanted to play with her new pretty before she did anything. She retrieved the pendant from its box, clasped the chain together by the nape of her neck, and noted that the later night fell, the more the blue gem glimmered. Her mirror fussed at her for not 'wiping that revolting goo' off her face, but Rose pretended not to hear. She opened her bay window, leaning halfway out of it, almost as if she were ready to take off into the nocturnal sky like her numerous owl visitors.
The brisk night air gusted her skin, and sent pleasant goosebumps up her spine, not unlike the way she felt under Scorpius' cool gray stare. Darkness blanketed her view of Glastonbury, except for the occasional wink of a star that could have died ages ago, and the crescent moon shone mysteriously, its shadows concealing the full moon that was to come.
"Moonstone, show me where I'll be on the next full moon." She raised the pendant off her chest, and within seconds the blue gem caught moonlight. The moonstone cast the entire meadow of her parent's backyard in a lustrous glow, shimmering more than a rainbow, than all the jewels in Gringotts' vaults. Its beauty was almost too painful to look upon, like a pure veela in their true form, and she had to choke back tears and gasps. Just as the goblin jeweler promised Scorpius, the moonstone cast a vision in its iridescent reflection. But she didn't see herself, or Scorpius, not a dragon, nor even a burned toastie. She saw the full moon, as haunting and powerful as it ever was. She saw the image of a wolf with unusual red fur raised on its haunches, piercing the forest it roamed with a mournful cry that was somehow deeply human.
Not an ordinary wolf. A werewolf.
"What the hell..." Rose whispered. Just as she dropped the moonstone back so it lay on her chest, she yelped upon feeling something strong clench her arm.
The redhead had been so enthralled by the enchanted gem's luster, she hadn't realized someone had been climbing up the brick wall outside her bedroom window. A tall, hulking man in a black trench coat with a leather mask concealing his face. Hanging onto the windowsill, he dug claw like nails into her soft flesh and she screamed. Pain seared as if she were being stabbed by the dragon bone daggers Scorpius mentioned.
"I hope you enjoyed your little vision, prettybird," her attacker growled behind his mask. He smelled like dirt, blood, and wet dog. "Because that's the last full moon you're going to remember."
"NO! STOP IT! LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A..."
"Not a bitch, my sweet. A she-wolf." He silenced her by wrapping his hands, so hairy, coarse and sharp they were practically paws, around her throat. She choked helplessly, gasping for whatever breath she could, tears rolling down the smattering of freckles on her cheeks. The moonstone, shining brightly but no longer directly catching moonlight, dangled unbroken from her strangled neck. A stream of blood trickled down Rose's arm, and stained her purple tunic crimson.
He forced her out of her window by her throat, using raw strength alone instead of magic. The werewolf carried her as easily as if she were a pewter cauldron to the meadow below, and heaved her, kicking and screaming, on his broad back. Then Fenrir Greyback disappeared into the cool Glastonbury air with his newest initiate to lycanthropy.