Every Rose Has Its Thorns

The Quidditch World Cup

"The sorting's a lot scarier than it sounds but it's easy," said Harry, grinning. "You'll love it in Gryffindor, trust me."

Trying  to process all this information, a whole new doubt emerged in her mind.  What if she was not sorted into Gryffindor? Would she be able to ask  Dumbledore to put her in Gryffindor instead of risking separation? She  could not handle a floating honey jar, let alone not having Harry around  to help her. Snapping out of her thoughts, she realized that they were  the only ones in the room.

"They went to get more blankets. It can  get a little chilly at night." Reaching into his pocket, he gave back  her necklace. "Percy wanted to study it. He said he's never seen a charm  that advanced but I told him it's sentimental. Don't be nervous, Rosie.  When Hedwig gets back, you can write to Mina, if you want."

"Where is she?" asked Rosalie, unzipping her suitcase.

"I  sent a letter to Sirius yesterday." He briefly touched the lightning  bolt scar on his forehead. "It was hurting when I woke up from this  weird dream. I don't want to worry Ron or Hermione so I'd rather keep it  between us."

"Can't be any weirder than mine," she countered. "Did you imagine Dudley turning into a monster pig with a laser snout?"

Harry  shut the door before telling her about his dream. To him, she seemed to  be listening patiently, like she usually did when he needed to vent  about her family or his adventures during the school year, but on the  inside, she was thinking that she had gone insane. His dream sounded  eerily like her own on the same morning, when she had woken up in the  Becker's kitchen. She wondered if their magic somehow connected, a side  effect of her breaking through her aunt's charm aside from the miniature  earthquake.

Rosalie had just drifted off to sleep when she was  being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley. The lack of sunlight suggested it  was extremely early in the morning. Lifting her head, she saw Mrs.  Weasley jostle Ginny and after the seventh try and groggy muttering, she  was successful, leaving the room as Ginny rolled out of the bed, curled  up in her blanket. Hermione was barely awake herself, blindly reaching  for her trunk just out of arm's reach. As Rosalie rifled through her  suitcase for an outfit, Mrs. Weasley returned, urging them to get  downstairs for a quick breakfast.
As they walked downstairs, Ginny  moved about as slow as a turtle, dragging her cheek against the wall.  Rosalie saved her from tumbling down the last step, receiving a muffled  thanks in return. Mr. Weasley and the boys, except for Bill, Charlie,  and Percy, were seated around the table in the kitchen while Mrs.  Weasley ladled porridge into bowls. She stifled a laugh at Mr.
Weasley's attire, his sweater similar to one her father wore on golf outings with business partners and his baggy jeans.

The  boys, like Ginny and Hermione, were half asleep and definitely not  morning people, a fact she already knew with Harry who responded to  attempts at being woken up with pillows to the face. Fred and George  suddenly sprang up from their chairs, lowering themselves into bows.

"Good morning, m'lady," said Fred, pulling out an empty chair.

Sitting  at the table, across from an unamused Harry, George slid over his bowl.  "We trust you slept well in our lovely abode? The weather certainly  agrees with your complexion." Hearing a quiet scoff, he turned towards  Ginny. "Perhaps you could give our dear sister a few pointers. She's  starting to look like our great aunt Muriel."

Ginny snarled like  an angry lion about to pounce on its prey. At a pointed look from her  mother, tapping the table with a wooden spoon, she settled for making a  rude hand gesture under her sleeve. Mrs. Weasley further prevented any  fighting by standing right beside her to pour porridge into her bowl.