Okay, this is part two. I don't like it very much, I'll probably rewrite it. I have a not-quite-poem at the end, so even if you don't read the whole story, please read that.
"Nothing. I'm, I'm fine. It, it was just a dream." Mrs. Weasley looked unconvinced, but decided not to press the matter.
"All right. If you're sure dear. I'll see you in the morning." Mrs. Weasley walked out the room, her slippered feet making soft swishing noises on the floor. Rose closed her eyes, trying not to think of the dream. Her parents were dead! Her sister…
The house was very quiet. She had expected to hear the door shut. She opened her eyes, and saw that Mrs. Weasley hadn't shut it. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and went to shut the door. It was just one of those strange quirks people have; she had to sleep with the door shut.
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. She heard voices in the hall.
"Ouch, Ron that was my foot!" Discreetly, she looked out into the hallway, but nothing was there. 'Crap, I forgot to take my schizo meds,' she thought jokingly, then stopped. She shouldn't be happy when her family was dead because of her!
"Well, sorry it's just a little bit difficult when you can't see anything!" There it was again. Was this house haunted or was she just crazy? 'Probably just your mind in shock. Coping mechanisms, like you were learning about in Health last week,' the dry voice in the back of her head said, that sounded exactly like her old nurse-maid when she was young.
"Would you two quit bickering? We're almost there," a third voice said. The hallway was too dark for Rose to see anything, but she heard someone trip (three someone's actually), and a muttered curse. "Oh, this is pointless. Lumos!" A… flashlight?… shone in the dark. It looked like the thing that the man had been holding on the bridge. 'A wand, you know that,' her mind whispered, but as soon as she had thought that thought, it was gone like a wisp of smoke.
The light, from whatever source, showed the three teen-agers she had seen earlier sprawled on the floor.
"Ow, bloody hell Harry, that light's bright!" The red headed boy mumbled, covering his eyes. The boy with the taped glasses grinned at him.
"Uh, Ron, Harry, you can get off of me anytime now," the girl said, her voice somewhat muffled. The red-haired boy, Ron apparently, blushed crimson and helped her up. Harry shook his head, but neither of his friends noticed. "So are we going to find her or not?" The girl asked, dusting herself off and blushing slightly and not making eye contact with them. While they were talking, the short boy, obviously Harry, had looked up, seen Rose, and smiled.
"Hermione, I think she might have found us," he commented dryly. The other two glanced up, shocked. Ron brightened instantly though.
"Good, that saves us a lot of bloody work," He looked very happy that they didn't have to search dark hallways, tripping over each other in the dark. Hermione took matters into her own hands.
"Hi, I'm Hermione. Who are you?" She smiled.
"I'm Rose," she said quietly. After introductions were made, and they had all crowded into Roses tiny bedroom, there was an awkward silence. Rose looked curiously at Harry's wand, which he had forgotten to put away.
"Is that a wand?" she asked. She had seen them before, not just with the tall man with glowing eyes, (Rojo, as she had come to call him in her mind) but many times, though she couldn't quite place where.
"Yes." He looked surprised. If she were muggle born, then she wouldn't recognize it for what it was, and if she had been born into a wizarding family she wouldn't have to ask because she would know. "Why?" Rose shrugged.
"No reason. Where are we?" 'Who was the man with the glowing eyes?' she thought privately. The other three exchanged glances. Hermione and Ron looked uncomfortable. Silence reigned. Finally, Harry spoke.
"We're in my godfa… my house." Hermione shot him a sympathetic look. "So, do you go to Hogwarts?"
Hogwarts? Wait, I know that name. Mom mentioned it when I was little. But what is it? "No. What is it?" You know what it is. That same dry voice in her head said, but it didn't care to elaborate.
"You're a mug.." Ron stopped short, blushing the most astonishing shade of pink, all the way up to his ears. Rose looked at him expectantly. "Uh, uh," he stammered. "You're a, a.."
"How did you know what a wand was?" Harry asked her, throwing caution to the winds. This girl was really strange!
"I, I don't know!" Rose was becoming very upset. This was too much. Her family was dead, these people were asking her strange questions, she didn't know where she was, she had a language paper do tomorrow…
Everything came crashing down around her. The taps started running full blast. The bed sheets ripped off the beds and began whirling around the room. The feather beds started un-stuffing themselves, filling the air with feathers. The cabinet fell over with a loud CRASH! The bottles of potions began to shatter one by one.
Everyone was screaming. Rose was terrified. What was happening? It was just like in Carrie, with all the telekinesis stuff. Was this house haunted? What…
"STOP!"
Okay, so this is just a not-quite-a-poem-but-close-enough thing that I wrote last night. I wrote it right before I went to bed and I gave myself nightmares. You know, one creepy thought leads to another and another, so there you go. I seriously creep myself out sometimes. Oh well. I got the idea from a picture. A gallows tree with a body on one side, a little girl swinging on the other. Anyway, here it is.
Swinging on the hangman's tree
The child stares at the body
Wondering who it is
She sings a song and makes up a game
Dancing with the lifeless corpse
It's clammy rotted skin clasped in her hands
The song she sings becomes faster and faster
She no longer knows the words
Ghastly phrases beyond recognition
And the corpse is alive!
He takes her hands and swings her 'round
The child laughing, having the time of her life
As she looks up to its rotted eyes
She sees death, sorrow,
Crows pecking her eyes out
She's filled with terror,
She cannot stop
They are spinning faster, faster
And now it is not she who is laughing
But the corpse
Swinging on the hangman's tree
The child stares back at the bodyHer eyes plucked out,
Her hands rotted
He hums a song in rhythm
With her swaying corpse
Her body limp, neck broken,
Hanging from the noose