There knelt the girl with the pale red hair, in the place she loved most, surrounded by the words that soothed her so. The tales of much braver men than she lay stacked upon the white shelves that lined the tiny, neat bedroom nestled at the very top of 2 Warrington Park, London. The tangled nest of hair that balanced on the top of her head bobbed as she rushed to collect the precious volumes scattered at her feet. Soft morning light streamed in through the open window behind her, drenching the Spartan room in the faintest shade of gold. Dawn has barely kissed the heavens above, but she found that she could sleep no longer. The girl with the thicket of pale red hair had felt compelled to awaken before the sky on this, the first day of the rest of her fantastical life. Wishing to not miss a single moment of it, but longing still to be but a girl, she quickly maneuvered the toppled books into a motley stack, cradled in her cupped arms. Striding deftly over to the nearest bookshelf, she proceeded to finesse each book back onto the bookshelf amongst its strategically placed fellows. In her bookshelves, she sought order where little could be found; she knew how moot it was to implement a definitive standard by which to organize her most prized possessions, so she had settled on cataloging them by color. A rainbow of knowledge sat before her, tempting her with every blink of her eye. The shy grin that spread across her face was the very same that always lit her face when whenever she thought about her personal rainbow.
"Rosie?" The gentle knock that followed immediately after the familiar, tender voice of her mother had Rose shoving the final book, The Canterbury Tales, in between its neighbors before she turned toward the door behind which Hermione Granger-Weasley stood.
"Come in," called Rose, her eyes scanning the room for any blatant signs of disarray. She found none. Sighing in relief, Rose flopped onto the large bed that took up a majority of the room, challenged only by the aforementioned shelves that lined every wall.
Smiling tentatively, Hermione crept into her eldest child's bedroom, a cheery yellow if clutched in her right hand. "Brought you some tea," she said, placing the mug on the white table beside the bed.
"Oh," Rose smiled back at her mother. "Thanks, mum."
"I wasn't sure if you wanted to eat anything for breakfast or-" she trailed off, her eyes stopping on the knot of hair standing brazenly on top of her daughter's head. "Is that how you're planning to wear your hair?"
"I think so," Rose replied, her hands moving to smooth out nonexistent creases along the edge of the blue and white duvet that stretched taut across her bed.
The feather-light touch of her mother's hand against her arm pulled Rose away from her obsessive straightening of the unwrinkled bedcovers. "Rose, dear, it's all right. Relax," Hermione advised soothingly as she collected a soft-bristled brush from the white vanity table. "Let me help you with your hair?"
Nodding in find resignation, Rose allowed her mother to push her onto the uncomfortable wooden stool by her vanity table. "Thanks, mum," she repeated, closing her eyes as her mother's warm breath tickled her cheek a the silver brush tugged through Rose's unruly hair.
"Just like mine when I was your age," Hermione noted as she dragged the brush through a particularly large snarl at the base of Rose's neck. "But don't you worry, Rose. We'll have you sorted out soon enough." With that promise, Hermione called for a bottle of her favorite hair potion. The small, round bottle came whizzing around the corner, halting at Hermione's elbow.
An interesting choice of words, Rose thought wryly as her mother doused her daughter's voluminous locks with copious amounts of the pungent potion contained in the bottle she had summoned. Sorted out- how apt that phrase was on this day, the first of September, 2017. She would indeed be sorted by the day's end.
"There we are," Hermione announced after no more than five minutes. "All done, Rose. Want to see?"
"No, thank you, mum," she shook her head. Already Rose could feel the sleek, silken brush of hair on the back of her neck. She lifted a hand. Sure enough, her mother had wrangled Rose's bushy red hair into an orderly ribbon of hair that trailed obediently past her shoulders.
"Are you nervous?" Hermione seemed to have surprised herself as she asked. Her eyes widened briefly, circling around the room before settling calmly back onto her daughter.
"No," Rose lied, "I'm all right."
"You're allowed to be nervous, Rose, darling. It's not unusual to be more than a bit apprehensive." Hermione rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder.
Gazing up at he mother, Rose thought she saw what it was about her mother that made other wizards stop and stare when their family passed. "I know, mum," Rose assured her. "I know where I should be sorted. I've already talked to dad about it."
Hermione's concerned smile dimmed, making way for- well, that couldn't be a scowl, could it? Rose squinted up T her mother. "Are you all right, mum?"
"Oh, your father!" She huffed, her fists curling at her sides. "Your father is an bloody-" she stopped, obviously remembering herself. "Rose, your father," Hermione began on an exasperated breath, "is often too close-minded when it comes to these sorts of things, you know."
"He said you would say that," Rose informed her softly. She rarely witnessed her mother work herself up into such a state. Whenever Hermione Granger-Weasley acted thusly, Ron Weasley was not far behind-either in person or in essence. No doubt, the mention of Rose's father was to blame for her mother's outburst. "He also said that the Weasley family is a family of Gryffindors."
"But there have been exceptions," Hermione's splotchy face tightened in rising irritation. "Don't worry, Rosie, dear, I'll straighten your father out. " With that, Hermione turned on her feet and hurried out of her daughter's room. "Best get dressed. We'll be leaving in less than an hour," Hermione barely paused to call over her shoulder as she stomped toward her and her husband's bedroom on the second floor.
"Sorry, dad," Rose muttered. Following her mother's last piece of advice, Rose dressed in the outfit she had selected the night before and tiptoed out of her bedroom for what felt like the final time. The Hogwarts express awaited her, whether she was ready to board it or not.