"Rosie, love, where have you run off to?"
Hermione Granger's warm honeyed voice reached the ears of her daughter, who crouched further underneath her mother's prized petunia flowers, her change in movement causing some of the weaker petals to fall from the branches, entangling themselves in her messy red curls.
The child poorly stifled a giggle, clamping a dirt-covered hand over her mouth.
"Are you in my petunias again?" Hermione said in more disapproving voice, and Rose guiltily crawled out from the pinks and purples, and her mother tutted at the sight of her.
"Sorry, mummy." Rose said sincerely, her head hung down as she half-heartedly brushed the dirt off of her silk skirt. She always resented making her sweet mother upset, no matter what her natural instinct was at 5 years old.
"Rose, your dress! You know your father bought that special for you today." Hermione crouched down in front of her daughter with difficulty, glancing around before subtlety adjusting her garden gown. Though she would never admit it to her tea sipping ladies, she often found herself hiding out in her quarters of the Granger Manor just so she could be in varying states of indecency: lying in bed reading in only her loose cotton nightgown, her hair simply pulled back with chocolate ringlets framing her face. Even as a child she had hated being the object of her mother's relentless beautification experiments, something she had never understood the appeal of until her daughter started growing her beautiful curls; her mother's in texture but her father's in color. However, for Rose's sake, Hermione tried her best to let her be a playful child.
Within reason.
Rose, for example, along with her younger brother Hugo, were not let in view of the wealthy London streets without looking their best; like exemplary young children. She could not have dirt on her face, hands or in her hair when other families came to visit, and she must always wear the dresses her grandmother gives her when she comes to stay.
For the Grangers had a reputation to uphold. It was all about who you knew and who respected you in 19th century Britain, and the Grangers were very high up in society's standards.
"Come, Rose, let's clean you up. We have visitors today for you! Isn't that exciting?"
Rose grasped her mother's finger and let her pull Rose into the estate.
"Is that why today is special, mummy?" Rose asked, watching herself and her mother in the mirror on the wall as Hermione gently brushed out Rose's curls. Hermione slowed her strokes and rested her chin softly on her daughter's head, trying to think an answer to her question.
"Yes," she replied carefully, "you're getting a new playmate, love."
Rose grinned. She was a very sociable child and always looked forward to new friends.
"What's her name?" Rose asked curiously, admiring her reflection in the ornate mirror. Hermione bit back a nervous laugh.
"His name is Scorpius, love. Scorpius Malfoy."
A look of confusion flitted across the child's face.
"Am I allowed to play with boys, mummy?"
"Sometimes. Would you like to?"
"It depends. Will he put things in my hair?"
"Do other boys put things in your hair?"
"Yes." Rose made a face.
"Like who?" Hermione asked indignantly.
"James."
Hermione laughed.
"Does Albus put things in your hair?"
Rose considered this.
"No," she answered reluctantly.
"So perhaps Scorpius will restrain himself as well."
"He ought to," came another voice. Both Hermione and Rose turned to see Ronald Granger leaning happily against the doorway.
"Father!" Rose smiled.
"Scorpius should treat you very well after today, Rosie." he continued, crossing the room in his long strides, embracing his wife.
"Why?"
"Now, dearest, we shan't talk like that in front of her. Wait until she's older, we agreed." Hermione scolded lightly, smiling mysteriously.
Rose scowled. As if talking like that in front of her were any better!
"Do hurry, my love, the Malfoys are on their way." Mr. Granger murmured to Hermione and she let out a little gasp of surprise before glancing at Rose. Nodding, Ronald turned and exited as Hermione set down the ivory brush.
"Let's get you changed."
~
Rose was excited to see who exactly was coming to visit; she thought Scorpius must be some playmate to warrant such expensive dress and extensive preparation. Even Hugo was being prepped by a maid upstairs, and Mrs. Granger kept patting down her hair. It was starting to affect Rose as well, nervously glancing at the wide French doors for the arrival of the Malfoys.
She had heard of the Malfoys before: her father had started to off-handedly mention them to her mother a while ago, and as his comments starting showing up more and more frequently at breakfast, Rose starting documenting his accounts. Most of them were pretty favorable and they were almost admiring, something quite unusual for her father.
Fifteen minutes later, the Granger family was lounging in the main sitting room, Hugo perched uncomfortably on a loveseat in his handsome new attire, Hermione sipping tea in a beautiful new gown, Ronald sitting impressively in an armchair and Rose looking through a book with mild interest, stopping on the pages that had the sketches on them. Alice and the Mad Hatter's tea party was her favorite by far. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was certainly her favorite book; it was only fitting, then, that it should contain her favorite pictures.
"Mister Granger?"
The entire family turned to face Marie, a young maid of about fifteen.
"Yes, Marie?" Hermione answered, slightly breathless.
"The Malfoys have arrived."