Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- - -
Everything is cold. My eyes blink open to a veil of red velvet curtains woven over a canopy of mahogany wood. Sitting up in my bed, I rub the haze of sleep from my eyes. Out the window to my left the crescent moon still shines in the dark sky over the Black Lake. I swing my legs over the side of my bunk and my feet make contact with a grey wool blanket.
Must've kicked it to the floor in the night, I think. Hazard of the nightmares.
Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn and adjust my muscles. Standing, I toss the blanket onto my bunk and walk over to the large black trunk at the foot of my bed. I fish through the sea of my belongings, settling on a black dress and pair of stockings. I shrug off my pajamas and put on my clothes for the day. I walk over to the tall mirror by the door and examine my reflection.
The simple short sleeved dress falls halfway down my thighs. The stockings cover much of my pale skin, though my face is still ghostly. My wide grey eyes are lined with a thick veil of lashes. Dark circles from many sleepless nights complete a dark halo around my eyes. The edges of my thin rose colored lips are turned down slightly as I stare at my reflection. I unwind a long black silk ribbon from my wrist. Gathering long strands of straight jet black hair, I use the ribbon to tie it into a ponytail.
I pull on a pair of worn black leather boots, not bothering to tie the laces. I fasten my gold watch around my wrist where the ribbon was wrapped and grab my wand from the top of a pile of books serving as my bedside table.
Elm wood with dragon heartstring. Thirteen and a quarter inches. Rather unyielding. Fantastic for transfiguration and any manner of combative magic. I recall Garrick Ollivander's description of my wand vividly.
Similar to yours, Severus. Eleven-year-old Rosemary was thrilled, glancing back over her shoulder and flashing a grin at her sullen twin brother.
Sometimes I swore Garrick Ollivander was the Oracle. My transfiguration work was some of the best Professor McGonagall had seen, much to her dismay. And my defense skills were admirable in DADA.
I sigh and tuck my wand into my right boot. With a last glance in the mirror, I open the door to the hall. Tiptoeing by dormitory doors, I duck into the common room and through the portrait entrance.
As I make my way to the entrance hall, the smell of fresh coffee wafts from the Great Hall. Following the scent, I walk into the grand room. The ceiling is lined with flickering wax candles. Expansive oak tables run the length of the hall. Only a few seats are occupied at this hour.
I take a seat at the back of the room. Thinking of vanilla coffee, the silver mug before me fills with the drink. I sip the warm liquid and survey the room. Besides myself, a pair of Ravenclaws sit at their table, their noses deep in thick textbooks. A couple of groups of Slytherins are spread throughout the east side of the room. A few iridescent figures glide around the otherwise vacant room.
