It was half past five the next morning and Rose was lying on her back, staring into the darkness above her. Her bed sheets were wrapped carelessly around her, and she was delightfully comfortable and warm, if a little thirsty. Overall, though, she was contented, being pleasantly full from the feast the night before. The spacious, round tower chamber was filled with the hush of people asleep, but Rose didn't want to drift of again; in fact, she was wide awake.
Finally, the nothingness began to bore her. She quickly slipped out of bed and through the hangings of the four poster – not pulling them apart, as she was afraid of waking up the girls around her. She really didn't want to fall out with them on the first day, as it would certainly put a damper on the rest of the term. She couldn't wait for lessons to start – she was always eager to learn, and in that respect she took after her mother.
She didn't really take after either of her parents very much at all. Certain physical aspects had obviously been inherited, such as Hermione's soft brown hair and Ron's thin, gangly stature and freckles, but her character was almost entirely unique to her, as far as family was concerned. Rose was a Gryffindor, but only (she suspected) because the recently repaired Sorting Hat had recognised her as another Weasley. In reality, she wasn't very courageous at all. She tiptoed across the common room, where a newly lit fire was beginning to crackle in a sort of lukewarm way, and a weird grey light was beginning to creep across from the window panes. The Fat Lady, still fast asleep, grunted and let her through. The chamber beyond was deserted – the staircases stood still and the portraits of hundreds – maybe even thousands, Rose thought – of departed (or maybe fictional) witches, wizards and magical creatures snoozed in their frames. Rose stood at the landing on the sixth floor, and peered over the balcony. The prefects' bathroom was a floor beneath her.
She moved onto the stairway in front of her, and it began to move with a great sound which echoed loudly, and the people stirred in their frames. This area of the school was usually so noisy and full of people, that Rose found it hard to believe that she was the only person there. She felt very small in contrast to the vast room around her.
Relying on sense of direction alone, she successfully navigated herself past the statue of Boris the Bewildered and found herself outside a door without a handle.
'Soapwort!' she whispered, and the door creaked open, and the warmth of the chamber within flooded past her. Her eyes widened in amazement as she beheld the marble interior and the beautiful sunken pool with the hundred or so taps around the edge. The painting of the mermaid smiled at her as she twisted the handle of the largest tap in the middle, which began to fill the huge bath with clear, warm water. She inspected the different coloured jewels on the taps and selected a range with various shades of pink. The bath filled up rather quickly, and the water smelled of roses. Rose smiled, and undressed, leaving her clothes on a seat in the corner. The water was a wonderful temperature, and she laughed a little, tilting her head backwards and letting it flow through her hair and over her face. Surprisingly, the scented water didn't sting her eyes at all, and she relished the knowledge that she didn't have to be down for breakfast for at least another hour…
She swam a few lengths, and even attempted a few dives off the diving board (although it felt rather strange to be doing it with no clothes on) and dried herself off with a warm towel. She quickly changed into her school robes, and looked at herself in the full length mirror by the door.
Rose, like her father, was very tall for a girl, and stood at about five foot ten. Her hair was beginning to dry in soft brown curls that framed her face, and a pair of brown eyes stared back at her, with a band of freckles underneath, over the bridge of her nose. She stared at her reflection blankly; anyone else would have said she was pretty, but she was far too self-conscious to take advantage of this, or fully admit it to herself, even. She brushed back her hair, sighed, and walked down to breakfast.
Feeling clean and refreshed, she seated herself next to her cousins at the Gryffindor table, who were naturally talking about Quidditch. Most of them were on the team – James was Keeper, Albus was a Chaser and Hugo was one of the two Beaters, and Lily was the Seeker. Rose understood as little about Quidditch as her mother did, so she occupied herself by reaching for a slice of toast and buttering it. She wasn't really hungry after the Feast the night before, but at least it was something to do…
Unbidden, her eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table and found Scorpius Malfoy, sitting a little to her left on the other side of the room. He was no doubt recounting an amusing tale to his friends, most likely about Muggle-borns or his father's position in the Ministry, Rose thought with dislike. He had their complete attention; he was a natural-born ringleader, and she couldn't deny, though she tried, that he was attractive. His blonde hair lay in gentle waves about his ears and across his forehead, and his pale green eyes were piercing. Whereas he had had a quaint, sullen sort of face when he first joined the school, he had since grown into his sharp features. She continued analysing him until suddenly, without warning, his eyes flicked upwards and straight into hers. Rose panicked, feeling her cheeks redden, and quickly looked away. She didn't dare look back – Malfoy would certainly ridicule the incident in front of everyone if he thought she had been watching him. Fortunately, her awkwardness was broken by the elderly Professor McGonagall, who was handing out timetables with surprising speed. Rose breathed a sigh of relief: she did not have to endure History of Magic or Astronomy until the next week.
As she walked out of the Great Hall to fetch her school bag, she couldn't help wondering why Malfoy had caught her eye at all; he had never seemed to notice her before.