ohrosie @ 2011-01-05T23:36:00

2011-01-06T04:45:30Z

London had not changed in five years. Rose Weasley had.

From a distance, one could tell that the girl walked straighter. Confidence held her up like a marionette, taller and prouder than she had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. Closer, one could see that her typically pale, though freckled, skin was tanned and darker than usual. There was a thick scar on her chin from an accident with a mob of doxies. From her months living on location, eating what plants were available and walking from place to place, she had become both thinner and stronger. Most people who knew her before would not recognize her in passing had it not been for the one thing that hadn't changed: her red hair.

It was a sudden decision to come back to England after five years traveling. It had nothing to do with the fact that she had no money: money wasn't needed with what she did, after all. But after four Christmases away from the family, four birthdays without her grandmother's cake, and four years without seeing from her family, Rose finally had to admit that she needed them and it was not weak to want to go home. She had no idea how long she'd stay, but as she walked through the Ministry, tall and straight, tanned and scarred, Rose had a feeling she was going to stay longer than she would have guessed. It surprised her how much she missed being around people.

Rose stepped into an empty lift and decided to see her father first. That surprised her as well: she had entered the Ministry with every intention of meeting up with her mother, as she had never been particularly close to her father, but she knew deep down he was who she really wanted to see.

what a year for a new year

2009-12-23T04:01:24Z

Even the magnificent hall that glittered with floating balls of light and dancing ribbons of black and silver could not distract Rose Weasley from how uncomfortably itchy her robes were around her neck. The rippled cloth was buttoned up to her neck in what her mother insisted was a very fashionable way of staying modest, and what her father described as perfectly appropriate for a girl of her age attending a ball of such importance, but Rose only saw it as a nuisance.

She had to admit, however, that the maroon looked fairly nice on her. Much better than that green from Christmas that made her hair pop out too much. How embarrassing that had been.

After entering the ball with her father (dressed in the nicest dress robes available: never again would he be caught wearing ancient robes of lace) and her mother (in quite a dazzling blue number that even her own daughter had to admit looked stunning), Rose's eyes immediately searched for her savior of the night: Basil Bristow. Surely the Minister of Magic's son was already in attendance? She bobbed up and down on her heels of moderate height to the annoyance of her father, but it didn't matter. He had already been approached by Uncle Harry, and the two were complaining about their robes. Excellent, Aunt Ginny! Now her mum was distracted.

Off Rose bolted, looking for a familiar tall figure who would most certainly make this night much more enjoyable than possible with anyone else.