The Red Rose That Has Green Thorns

When I awoke next, it was at Scorpius’ stirring. We managed to somehow wake up at the same time, mumbling our, “G’morning,” as we got up to head to our respective dorms. My rushing was to conceal a warmth that was creeping up my cheeks.

“What are you thinking, Rose Weasley?” I asked myself aloud. “You’re acting so strange that I don’t recognize you anymore! Which is crazy, because you are me.”

I got to my room, my analysis of myself turning silent as I fell into thought. I grabbed myself a change of robes to throw on after my shower and then dawdled for a few moments. True to my expectations, I soon heard the sound of running water start up in the time it would have taken me to get even halfway back downstairs, meaning Scorpius had already commandeered our shower. So, I went back downstairs, finding Eragon and picking it up where it had been abandoned after I had fallen asleep.

I got twenty-three pages farther before Scorpius came out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet.

“’Scuse me,” I chirped as I brushed by him with my clothes in hand.

“I’ll wait for you,” he called after me as I pulled the door closed, “and then we can walk to breakfast together.”

“All right!” I called, as I started stripping off the shirt and pajama pants I’d slipped on before Scorpius had lulled me to sleep. I stepped into the shower, and for the first time since I’d initially had them, I let my mind roam back over my visions.

First I let it rove over the part including the acromantula. It seemed as though it was bearing down on someone, as though it was going to eat them. I recalled a story of Uncle Harry’s, about acromantulas that were in the third task of the last Triwizard Tournament. Then there was the story of Uncle Harry’s and my father’s, when they found Aragog in their second year, after Mum had been petrified.

After the acromantula vision, the blood popped into my head. There had been so much blood. The vision was a pool of it on the ground, more dripping into it, as a human shadow fell across it.

The centaurs and worried faces came next…but there wasn’t much to mull over and figure things out. I hadn’t seen enough to give me hints.

Grawp. Grawp had been following Hagrid. Hagrid had the limp person in his arm. Horribly, horribly limp, and it looked like there could have been blood running down his or her arm.

And then…

Last…was my name. the faint cry, in a vaguely familiar but as of yet unrecognizable voice. It implied that something would bring me harm, or almost hurt me, but it didn’t imply what. The peculiar thing to me was how all of the visions seemed connected but then again, disconnected. It was as though they were linked by something small yet strong as a spider’s web…lashed together by something so undetectable that the person who had Seen the visions couldn’t even find the connection.

I got out of the shower, drying off slowly to give myself more time to ponder the visions. Even more peculiar than the odd connectivity of the visions was the fact that any visions I’ve had before now were of things that would happen soon - as in, a few minutes from the time of the vision was when the event really did occur. I just couldn’t fathom the difference - I could tell it happened somewhere between February and April, vaguely, but that was all I could work out.

I hurriedly dressed, figuring Scorpius would start getting impatient soon if he hadn’t already. On the contrary, when I stepped out, he was dozing in an armchair. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly to myself before walking over to him. On the way, I dried my hair with a simple charm I used quite often.

“Scorpius,” I said. He stirred, but barely. I tweaked his nose gently and he jumped up as though burned. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” I teased, “I’m hungry. And sorry I took so long.”

“You didn’t take very long,” Scorpius said, glancing at his watch and stifling a yawn. “In fact, you only took fifteen minutes. I just happened to be tired enough to doze off…”

I laughed and we started downstairs. It was irresistible - I teased him the whole way.

Nothing eventful happened at breakfast, unless you count Sandra “mysteriously” breaking out. Horrible, huge, ugly, purple zits. It was a spell my mother had once hexed a paper with. Except hers had spelled a word…it was much more graceful.

Hey! In my defense, Sandra had send me one of the oh-so-famous ‘hate’ letters. Meaning, her message read, “Stay away from Scorpius Malfoy. He will be mine.” in very fancy script and in blood red ink.

I knew it was from her, because she’d smirked as an eagle owl dropped it right in front of me. After she rushed form the hall, covering as much of her face as she could, I casually stood and remarked, “I think I’ll had to Defense Against the Dark Arts a bit early today.”

Scorpius gave me a knowing look and I just grinned.

“May I come with you?” Andy asked, also standing. One of the new ideas this year had been that some of the foreign students could accompany Hogwarts students to classes. I smiled at Andy, glad she’d embraced that particular idea.

“Sure, c’mon. I’ll show you the way.”

Andy grinned and followed.

“So, what eez your Defense Against the Dark Arts like at ‘Ogwarts?”

“Erm…” I said intelligently. “Well, I don’t know how to describe it, since I don’t know what you’re comparing it to when you think of the equivalent at Beauxbatons. I’d have to say that it’s one of the most advanced classes here for seventh year level. The goal is to prepare young witches and wizards for future jobs or even, although I dread the thought, the rise of another dark wizard. Or witch, I suppose.”

“Ah, I see.” Andy nodded, her platinum blonde hair bouncing around her face. “ ’Ave I met anyone you ’ave this class with?”

“Yeah. You know Scorpius - he’s going to be coming here, too. I don’t know that you’ve really, really met my cousin Albus Potter, but I know you’ve seen him - he was the one whose jaw totally dropped when we finished your pirate costume, you know - looks just like his father, he does. I don’t know of anyone else you’ve met, but this class is all seventh years.”

“I see,” Andy said again, loping gracefully alongside me. We had nearly reached the classroom.

“Rose!” I heard. “Rosie, wait up!”

I paused, Andy following suit. I turned to look at the dark haired boy. Al ran up, grinning, and gasped, “I finally caught up to you! I saw you leave the Great Hall and ran to catch up.”

“Hey, Al.” I said, then leaned over to remark solely to Andy, “Speak of the devil. Andy, that’s my cousin, Albus Potter.”

“Nice to meet you,” Andy held out her hand for Al to shake (graceful, like everything she did), “My name is Andrea DuPré.”

“Albus Potter, like Rosie already told ya. But everyone just calls me Al.”

“My brother and Rose call me Andy,” Andy added in, grinning her stunning grin. Al was grinning stupidly, and I could tell he’d been instantly smitten.

“C’mon, let’s get to Defense,” I interrupted their moment. It was a moment that consisted of staring at each other…but whatever. Al jumped, but Andy seemed totally unfazed as she turned gracefully to me with an amused expression. I could see a faint hint of pink on her cheeks, and I just grinned at her. I couldn’t help thinking, as I led the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, that I wouldn’t mind if Andy became a member of the family, as far-fetched as the notion might be.