Every Rose Has Its Thorns

The Quidditch World Cup

It was all a dream. Rosalie repeated that over and over inside her  head, despite feeling Harry's hands on her shoulders. His emerald green  eyes filled with concern, he bombarded her with all sorts of questions,  managing to speak a mile a minute without taking a breath. Standing like  a deer in headlights, fully aware of the many eyes looking her over  with curiosity, she found herself unable to answer a single one, even  one as simple as how she traveled to the Weasleys' home. Incapacitated  by fear, nerves, or both, she silenced his incoherent rambling by  handing him the Hogwarts letter, her name clearly printed on the front.  Looking from the letter to her, he resembled a bush baby she had seen in  a nature documentary at school.

"Why don't we take a seat?" A  kind-faced woman stepped forward and guided her to the brushed wooden  table. "You're in a bit of shock, dear. How about a nice cup of tea?"

The  woman, presumably Mrs. Weasley (or the frumpy woman who bred like  rabbits, according to her father), grabbed a tea cup from a cabinet.  Instead of using a kettle, tea poured out of her wand tip. A jar of  honey levitated from another cabinet and tilted on its side to add a few  drops to the cup. Taking a sip, Rosalie was unsure where to begin,  hardly believing herself that she left home.

Retrieving her  necklace, stolen from the cookie jar in the kitchen (her mother's  'secret' hiding place), she explained her parents' years long deception,  inhibiting her magic with a spell. The more she spoke, those feelings  of hurt resurfaced, creating a giant lump in her throat. Mrs. Weasley's  comforting pats on her back made her wish that it was her own mother,  who was more willing to believe she was poisoned by a vindictive sister  than to accept her daughter's abilities.

She introduced her to her  children she had not already met: Bill, who worked as a curse breaker  in Egypt, Charlie, a who studied dragons in Romania, Percy, who recently  began working at the Ministry, and Ginny, the youngest and the only  girl.

"You're more than welcome to stay with us, Rosalie," offered  Mr. Weasley, conjuring a piece of parchment. "I'll write a quick  message to Dumbledore to tell him of your situation though I'm sure he's  already aware of where you are...doesn't miss a trick, that man. I'll  write to Ludo as well to ask for another ticket for the World Cup. You  won't want to miss it."

"And you can stay in my room with me and  Hermione," said Ginny, nodding to the bushy-haired girl beside her.  "There's plenty of room."

Rosalie followed both girls up the  rickety staircase, taking in her surroundings. The Burrow was unlike any  house she had ever been in, with its many crooked stories and clutter.  Her mother would faint at such disarray but to Rosalie, it felt cozy,  not like a model house in some fancy magazine.

Ginny's room was  about the size of her closet back home. Her doubts about being able to  fit faded away as her eyes roamed the small room, amazed by the moving  posters of bands and quidditch players on the walls. Harry and Ron  entered the room, carrying her suitcase and a bowl of strawberry ice  cream.

"My mom makes it herself," said Ron, holding out the bowl. "It always cheers me up."

"Thanks," she replied, as Ginny placed another cot, with a blanket and pillow, next to one at the end of her bed.

"I'm  sure this all must be daunting but you'll adjust quickly," assured  Hermione. "I can share all of my notes over the years to catch you up. I  held onto my old books so you can read them, if you like."

Ron  shook his head in disbelief. "Only you would want to read during the  summer." He sat on Ginny's bed, with his own bowl of ice cream.  "Hermione's top of the class, if you couldn't guess. Bet McGonagall has  her tutor you once you're in Gryffindor because no one else can handle  it...or wants to relive all that again. I could barely get through it the  first time."