Chapter Twenty-Five

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          Rose received her first letter on the 23 December.  She was sitting at the kitchen table, spooning some cereal into her mouth, when Ped, the family owl, swooped in through the window and dropped a white envelope in front of her. 

          "Ped!" She exclaimed as the envelope landed in her bowl and splashed milk all over her face.  Groaning in disgust, she wiped her wet cheeks with her pyjama shirt sleeve and fished the mail out of the puddle of milk. 

          "Who's that from, dear?" her mother asked from across the table, peering at the envelope.  "Anything you were expecting?"

          Rose shook her head no.  She, herself, peered at the soggy front of the envelope.  There, sure enough, was her name Rose Weasley scribbled in the centre.  Her heart missed a beat.  She would recognise that cursive handwriting anywhere. 

          Hugo sniggered into his glass of water as Rose's cheeks heated.  "Look at her face!  It's probably from her boyfriend!"

          Rose's father, who had been previously engrossed in the latest issue of The Daily Prophet, raised his head suddenly at his son's proclamation.  "Rosie has a boyfriend?"  He looked at his daughter.  "You have a boyfriend?"

          "No!" Rose denied, shooting her brother a glare.  It was sort of the truth.  She didn't have a boyfriend, per se, but she was 'Scorpius' girl', as he had so confidently stated two days ago.  Not that Hugo thought she was going out with Scorp... "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

          Skillfully, Rose slid out of her place at the table and hurried from the kitchen.  In the distance, she could hear her father interrogating Hugo for answers to his little dig.  Her brother, thankfully, was smart enough to keep her 'boyfriend's identity hidden from their father.  The last thing she needed was a lecture on Slytherin boys. 

           Back in her room, she wasted no time in ripping into the letter.  She sank onto her bed, fingers fumbling to unfold the parchment, eyes scanning the words scribbled onto the page.

          Dear Rosie,
          I recognise that it has only been 48 or so hours since we last saw each other, but I have been sitting in front of this blank sheet of parchment for the last day and a half, debating whether or not to write you.  I couldn't go another minute without doing so.  I miss you, Rosie.  Already...  How am I going to last the rest of these two weeks?
          Not much has happened since we last saw each other.  My father has been busy with work and my mother has been fussing about the changes she has seen in me.  Apparently I have started taking more care in my appearance since the end of the summer...  I wonder what (or who) must have initiated such a change?
          Charlie and I have made plans to visit London on the 27 December.  We are both desperate to visit some of those Muggle museums you told us about.  Would you please come with us, Rosie?  We'll need a tour guide who actually knows what she's talking about!  And Charlie won't shut up about seeing you again.  I wouldn't mind spending the day with you, either, mind you
          Please say yes, Rosie.  I know it might be difficult to come up with an excuse for your parents so I understand if you can't, but I don't want to think about these two weeks going by without seeing you at least once
          Impatiently awaiting your response,
          S.M.

          Rose's heart had swollen to the size of a large cauldron by the time she had finished reading the letter.  The smile in her face grew with every word, until her cheeks felt like they might rip with the beam that was stretched across them.  She, herself, felt like she might explode.

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