Every Rose Has Its Thorns

Dreams and Letters

Rosalie shivered as the waves crashed over her legs. She could feel  the mixture of sand, tiny shells, and cold water beneath her feet and  lifting her head, she watched a group of teenage girls splashing each other, herself among them. Her dreams were, to put it mildly, strange.  While some people dreamt of flying amongst the clouds or talking  animals, hers never made much sense, especially when she could see  herself like an out of body experience. Other times, she seemed to be  someone else though her mother simply deemed it an overactive  imagination.

The wet sand hardened beneath her feet, replaced with  a polished wooden floor. She was no longer on the beach where she spent  most of the summer with her friends but an unfamiliar hallway. Her  right leg numb, she carefully climbed the stone steps, her eyes  adjusting to the dim light, provided by the mullioned windows on either  side of the front door, and taking in her new surroundings, a once  grandiose home hidden beneath decades of built up dust and grime.

Stopping  at the end of the hallway, she peered through an open door where a  timid, balding man was tending to someone sitting in an armchair. The  hidden man, speaking in a high-pitched, chilling voice, appeared to be  the one in charge. She listened to them talk about a Quidditch World  Cup, wizards, and muggles.

Her chest tightened when the hidden man  mentioned needing Harry Potter, something his partner anxiously opposed  due to him being heavily guarded, leading to him being chastised as  cowardly and weak. Their conversation continued with a casual  conversation of a woman's death at their hands, after she divulged  useful information, and the timid man, referred to as Wormtail, shifted  uncomfortably upon learning that he was an essential part of their  dangerous plans. Her surroundings changed once more and she found  herself glancing up at the balding man.

"M—my lord?" he stuttered.

A  gigantic snake slithered towards them, resting on the rug. Rosalie's  lips moved, speaking a different language, and as the snake hissed, she  understood every word.

"According to Nagini, there is an old  muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we  say." Wormtail glimpsed at the door. "Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where  are your manners?"

He beckoned someone into the room, a soft  tapping sound indicating their use of a cane. Their voices became  muffled and an intense hatred and disgust brewed deep inside her. Her  view switched between a blinding light and the elderly man attempting to  be brave. As Wormtail turned the armchair, she raised her thin, scaly  hand, the room enveloped in a flash of green.

Her eyes popped open  but instead of a bed, tangled in a blanket with her best friend Mina,  she was flat on her back, in the middle of the kitchen. The lamp above  her flickered and when she was not seeing dots in front of her eyes, she  thought her pillow was sticking out of the ceiling. She jumped up at  the porcelain tile floor shaking beneath her and the cabinets opening  with a loud bang.

"Rosalie?" A woman in a silk robe entered the kitchen, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I uh wanted a glass of water," said Rosalie, her eyes darting to the bare ceiling.

"Well,  why don't you gather your things and I'll get you home?" she  suggested. "By now, half the neighborhood is talking about that little  quake and knowing your parents, they'll think you're buried under rubble if they don't hear from you straight away."

Rosalie sighed in  relief, thinking that she had gone crazy. Mina, dressed in a pink tank  top and matching plaid pajama pants, hurried down the staircase, her  blonde curls smacking Rosalie in the face as her arms wrapped around her  petite frame.