Rose Evans and The Scroll of Life [HIATUS]

I.VII

"ROSE!"

Rose heard someone calling her name through the dizzy fog of sleep. Was it Mrs. Flint? She never overslept. . . . It didn't even sound like Mrs. Flint. . . . Rose rolled over on her side, curling in tighter; she groaned.

"Rose, you're going to be late for class! It's Defense Against the Dark Arts, first thing! Come on!"

Someone was shaking her. Rose blinked her heavy eyes open. Someone's face swum into view . . . someone unknown.
Rose sat straight up, breathing heavily; she clutched the blankets to herself, cowering against the headboard. Her head was pounding; her heart was thumping.

"Hi, Rose." Zoee smiled kindly at Rose . . . and everything came rushing back. Her head pounded more. "I figured you wouldn't want to miss breakfast."

Rose nodded.

"I'll let you be now," Zoee said. She skipped out of the room cheerily. The heavy door swung behind her; it thumped loudly against the doorframe. Rose flinched. Then blinked herself back to awakeness.

There was nobody in the room; everyone had left for breakfast. Nobody had made their beds, Rose noticed, and everybody's four-poster curtains were hanging open. She shivered; she was not used to unclean rooms: at the orphanage, they were punished if they didn't make their bed. But here, she presumed, someone made their beds for them. Even so, when she slipped out, she turned and carefully made up her bed with the tight corner she'd been taught to use. She was still in her school robes, so she just pinned on the house badge lying on her drawer—blue and silver, with an eagle on it, like the carpets—on her chest, brushed off the robes' wrinkles, and, taking a deep breath, exited the dorms.

There was nobody in the common room, either. It was perfectly clean, however, and the day-time view was just as beautiful as the night-time. Rose, walking quickly, headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

George was waiting for her at the entrance. "Fred's scoping out the rest of the school," he said in answer to Rose's unasked question. She nodded.

"I presume you wanted to talk to me," she said, crossing her arms; she didn't know why, but she felt irritated at the Weasleys. It wasn't their fault they were in different houses, she reminded herself, but she was still mad.

"Er . . . yeah." George scratched his arms nervously. "Fred's the talker," he said, "but, um, we just wanted to say that we're sorry we're in different houses . . . but we'll probably have classes together and stuff. . . ." He trailed off at Rose's hard look. Irritation made her do funny things.

"I understand," she said nonchalantly. "Totally. Now—if you'll excuse me, some of my new friends—" she spat the word at him "—are waiting for me." She pushed past George and walked into the Great Hall, huffing, leaving him standing there with a clueless look on his face; he didn't understand why she was mad at them, and Rose didn't either, but it didn't matter now—the anger disappeared the moment she walked into the hall, and was replaced with the familiar fear.

"Hey, Rose!" Zoee was waving from across the table. She smiled. "We've saved you a seat!"

Rose saw Jay sitting next to Zoee, deeply immersed in a newspaper, and Catrina in front of Jay, not looking too happy at having to sit with them. She crossed to join them, almost out of necessity, and sat next to Catrina. "Er—anyone know our schedule?" she asked the moment she'd sat down, and reached for a piece of toast with jelly.

"Oh, darling, we've got so many perfectly fantastic and unusual classes," Catrina said excitedly. "Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic—I am so excited to begin, you can't imagine."