❝I'm in a box. But I'm the one who locked me in, suffocating. And I'm running out of oxygen.❞
( deathly hallows )
( plot credit: -patronus )
( r. allen book one )
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CHAPTER ELEVEN. GELLERT GRINDELWALD
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For days, Rosalie saw Hermione nurse Harry back to health after what happened in Godric's Hollow. She would've helped, but the Allen girl had no experience with medicine or nursing someone back to health. Though, she thought that Hermione didn't either, but with the amount of reading the other girl did, surely she had come across something that helped guide her through it all.
They took turns on watch. Rosalie usually took the nights, seeing as Harry was much louder and in more pain during those hours and Hermione was the one with the soothing herbs and healing spells. During the day, though, she either slept or read Dumbledore's journal, anything to keep her from thinking.
Voldemort knew that Harry would go to Godric's Hollow, of course he did, and he had Nagini there to alert him when it happened. She was so stupid, the snake probably saw her and told him about her being there and not leading the Potter boy to him. That would be bad, but she could lie. She didn't want Harry to be caught, she didn't want him to die at the hands of his enemy, she wanted him to live. He was the only hope in the war, her only hope, and she would hate to see him dead.
But, that day, Harry finally awoke, stepping outside the tent to see the morning light that shined down on Rosalie and Hermione. He stopped for a moment, seeing the way the light perfectly hit the back of Rosalie, how she shined, how beautiful and peaceful she looked before shaking those thoughts away. He couldn't think like that, he barely even knew her.
"You've outdone yourself this time," the two girls heard behind them. Turning around, Rosalie saw Harry standing there and admiring the view.
"The Forest of Dean," Hermione answered, "I came here once with my mum and dad, years ago. It's just how I remember it. The trees. The river. It's like nothing's changed. Not true, of course. Everything's changed. If I brought my parents here, they wouldn't recognize any of it. Not the trees. Not the river. Not...me."
Rosalie looked at the girl with sympathy. It would kill her to think that her mother, if the woman was still alive, didn't remember her. Her father, though, she wished he had forgotten about her a long time ago.
"Where are they?" Harry asked her.
"Wendell and Monica Wilkens now reside happily in Sydney, Australia. They have two dogs, run a small sweet shop, but floss daily. No children," her sad smile then faded, "Maybe we should just stay here, guys. Grow old."
Rosalie shook her head, "I don't think so. I'm not the biggest fan of camping, would rather live in a house than a tent. But you know, that's just my opinion."
"Right," Hermione nodded before changing the conversation topic, "You wanted to know who the boy in the photograph was, right Harry? Well, I know."
