Silence. Not a sound can be heard as Rose Weasley sits still as stone, in front of the glimmering Black Lake. Smoke billowing out of her cherry red lips as she flicks the lit cigarette in her right hand, to discard building ash. Another inhale, and another breath taken as she sucks on the white paper, her thoughts empty as she stares into the vast water. The sun starts to rise, rays streaking across the water, and creating a sparkle. Rose continues her trance. Two days have passed since she last slept, and yet no desire to sleep has erupted. Sleeping, would only hurt her more. After all, that's when they come out. Her hidden desires, her fears, her nightmares.
With a last inhale of the flaming cigarette, Rose stubs it out into the grass and pushes herself up. After a mental debate, she decides to head for a shower and get ready for the days events. Even if it all means the same to her. Life gave her little to live for and there isn't a day that doesn't pass by in a blur. Things have become different and she struggles to figure out where she is, let alone recognize herself. Family means little to her and friends have no place in her life. Alone. That's all Rose knows and feels. Being alone, and feeling alone are two things shes grown used to over the past six months.
Walking slowly up the grassy hills, Rose ponders when the cold will arrive and thinks if it will be strong enough to numb not only the outside of her body but the inside as well. These meager thoughts flutter through her mind as she treks her way up the endless staircases to the Gryffindor common room. As she walks, she counts her footsteps, a habit that's been instilled in her for as long as she can remember. Counting makes it easier for her to forget the world. It keeps her solitude and distracts Rose from people and their reality. Eventually, she makes it to the portrait that leads to the common room. Exactly five hundred and thirty-three steps.
"Password," the Fat Lady asks, as she looks down at Rose. The portrait became accustomed to Roses' late arrival to the common room and has even stopped asking the girl what she's doing. Rose always stands in silence.
"Gillyweed," Rose says softly, her voice husky from the recent smoke that still laces her throat. Eying the portrait as it swings open, Rose doesn't hesitate to step in. She has no worries of running into anyone; for, it's barely dawn and she doubts anyone will be awake this early, let alone bother her. People learned quickly enough to avoid Rose at all costs. Though her last name is Weasley, she is nothing like the famous family. If anything, her peers fear her and often pretend that she doesn't exist.
Moving up the stairs, Rose passes each door that holds a different dormitory until she reaches the final door that marks the Seventh Year Gryffindor girls. Opening it without a sound, Rose steps into another silent room and heads straight to the bathroom. Like her prediction, nobody is awake and her door mates are still sound asleep in their maroon colored beds.
The lights flicker on as she steps into the tiled room; revealing a medium sized room with two shower stalls, and a toilet in the far left corner that is blocked by a wall to give the occupier privacy. A long mirror is placed adjacent of the shower stalls, with three matching sinks underneath and marble counter-tops littered with cosmetics, potions, and bathroom utensils. Rose gives a glance at her reflection, and ignores the long fiery curls that tangle together down her back; as well as, her pale skin that glimmers sickly. Dark bags circle around her eyes with sucked in cheeks and lips chapped from her licks after each smoke. Turning away, Rose goes for the farthest stall and peels off her clothes before stepping in. The shower knob is quickly turned on and searing hot water comes pouring down. Yet, not a flinch is made, nor any recognition to the burning pain that hits her with every droplet. Rose relishes in the agony the water causes her. Another one of her sickening pleasures.
Twenty five minutes later, Rose pulls herself out of the shower and wraps a fluffy black towel around her body, hair dripping down her back as it clings to her shiny red skin. Rose doesn't bother to look in the mirror this time, she knows she'll be disappointed with the outcome. Entering the dorm, the others begin to stir and will no doubt be awake soon. Rose has zero intentions of sticking around to greet any of them. None of them are friends, not even acquaintances. They simply act as if she isn't there and she does the same. It's been this way since the very beginning of Hogwarts and Rose has never minded. Not once did she believe she would need them and she is right.
Without thinking, Rose pulls on a pair of tight fitted black pants, her assigned uniform shirt and standard Gryffindor tie, and then slips on a pair of black flats. Always, double checking to make sure she has her pack of cigarettes in her back pocket; Rose never can go far without them, she tucks them away safely. After looking around, Rose spots her gray jumper folded at the end of her bed and pulls it over her head. The day may turn out warm but Rose always feels cold, no matter where she goes. Grabbing the black satchel that holds her school things, Rose leaves the room. Eventually, her hair will dry and form her famous loose curls. Her face will stay pale and grim with lips that are always stained cherry red. Why should she bother with appearances when she has nobody to desire and nobody to talk to.
Rose starts to count her steps as she leaves the common room and heads to the Great Hall. Eating breakfast in public is rare for her, and she usually eats her meals in the Kitchens with the House Elves as company. But she figures she can try the Great Hall today, and even believes nobody will be there this early. A glance at the large clock, Rose notes it's five past seven now and that if her calculations are right, breakfast will be appearing on the house tables. However, she does not expect to see someone already in the Great Hall, Albus Potter to be exact. He sits hunched over at the Slytherin table, his respected house, and Rose wonders if he heard her come in or if she still has time to run out.
"Rose," he calls out, voice deep and strong. Rose sighs with annoyance, of course he wants to talk. Albus always wants to talk. Slowly, she moves towards him and nods in greeting as she sits down in front of him. She silently scolds herself for going to the Great Hall.
"Al," she says plainly as she grabs an apple and begins to cut it up with a nearby knife. Albus watches her actions closely and looks at her strangely. The last time Albus spoke to his cousin would be about two weeks ago, and it hadn't been pleasant. A once casual conversation had turned into a heated argument, and Albus can still remember the pain etched into his favorite cousins' face as she stormed away from him.
"How are you?" He finally asks as he grabs a ladle and begins to spoon porridge into his bowl. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"Fine," Rose replies as she finishes slicing her apple and sticks a piece into her mouth. She isn't in the mood for small talk, and knows Albus wants to be a nosy git again. That boy is always trying to pry his way into her life when she just wants to be left alone.
"Look Rose," Al begins quietly as he puts down the spoon, his emerald eyes revealing the distraught he feels inside.
"Save it Al. I don't care, I won't ever care, and it's better if it's forgotten," she interrupts, her eyes never leaving the green apple she had cut up. Rose refuses to look at him, she knows what she will see and she hates it. It'll only rile her up again.
"You really think so?" He questions as he leans back and straightens his shoulders. Albus hates how nonchalant Rose acts about everything. He hates how empty her words are and how dark her features have become. He hates how she pushes everyone away. But most of all, Albus hates how easy it is for Rose to brush aside her pain when he knows it's there.
"Yes," is her reply as she pushes another piece into her mouth and sucks on the bitter juice that tingles her taste buds. She holds back from making a sour face and feels delighted from the sudden pain in her glands.
"Why?"
Rose says nothing, instead looks up and watches him with an empty expression. Her dark blue eyes hold a glassy look and her fingers twitch from the lack of nicotine in her system. "Because it's easier that way. Now let it go." Albus nods slowly as he closes his eyes and lean his elbows onto the table, he knows it will only be a matter of minutes before she leaves and disappears once more. Things have become harder for them, and Al struggles to understand the cousin he once called his best mate.
"Rose please tell me you're sleeping again?" The words finally leave his mouth and when he open his eyes, a wave of disappoint hits him as he stares at the empty spot in front of him. The perfectly cut apples still laid on the golden platter, Albus feels his throat tighten with anger. Her movements are so quiet that he doesn't even hear her leave. Al knew it would happen. Rose always leaves. Sometimes he worries that one day, she'll never come back.
Meanwhile, Rose is rushing to the nearest exit that will take her away from the stuffy corridors and appearing students. An escape is needed just to get away from the lingering looks and cautious glances that always land on her. With a push to tall oak doors, Rose all but runs outside and sucks in the fresh air that assaults her tainted lungs. Out of habit, she reaches for the tightly tucked away pack, with her cherished gold lighter and pulls out another cigarette that marks her fifth one in the past three hours. Pretty soon she'll have to make another run into Hogsmead or perhaps find one of the pushers that roam the dungeon corridors.
Lighting up, Rose sucks deeply on the nicotine wrapped stick and thanks every deity known to man for making such a wonderful object. Smoking has been the only thing to calm Roses nerves and occasionally she has to try something a little harder then just a fag. That only happens on special occasions or bad days. Today may be turning into a bad day for her. Rose feels the wind push back her hair as the sun warms her face. For a moment, tranquility fills her and she wonders if life can always be this way instead of another fleeting moment. All too soon it's gone, and Rose finds her eyes shut with disappointment as she's brought back to reality. The cigarette begins to burn out so she drops it to the ground, not bothering to make sure it's out. She has a secret hope that it will somehow catch the grounds on fire and she can watch the dancing flames burn everything it touches.
"Good morning Richy," she says quietly as she turns her back to the fully rose sun and ignores the tightening pain in her chest as she makes way back to the castle and to her first class of the day. Six months may have passed, but the gut-wrenching pain that fills her has yet to lessen. In fact, she believes it only grows as time goes on. Every day she feels the same heartbreak as she did on the first day that she found out about Richard Greene, the only man she's ever trusted, death.