Blood. Fear. Pain. Fear. Lights. Fear. Screaming. Fear. Maria. Fear. Death. Fear. Fear. 

      Rosalie was alive. She knew she was alive. She felt it: the searing pain ripping through her bones. The dead don't feel pain. 

      Although she wished she was dead. Rosalie thought this calmly and matter-of-factly. You should be dead. Said a voice inside of her. Maria is dead because of you. Dead. Kind of rhymes with head. When Maria flew from the ground and landed on her head, she was dead. 

      At least, that's what Savy said. Through her blurred vision, Rosalie could read the name tag on the nurse's blindingly-white uniform. Savy had gripped Rosalie's hand, looked her the eye and told her that her best friend was dead. 

     It wasn't real pain. Figurative, of course. But Rosalie didn't see any difference, really: grief was as sharp as any knife. 

      The awkwardness was powerful, too. Rosalie sat, feeling small in an enormous, cushioned chair. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, covered in sweat. She was still in her uniform: It was covered in dirt and ash, and she felt out of place in the rather fancy office.

      Rosalie didn't know what was going on. She had the...accident. She was informed Maria was dead, and nothing else. Rosalie had woken up in this chair, who knows how long she'd been sleeping. She wanted to know what the heck was going on. 

      Sitting in front of her was a tall, middle-aged, woman with her brown hair swept up into a bun. She had thin eyebrows and a slim nose, but had an overall friendly demeanor. The woman was dressed in a professional looking pantsuit, and a small gold necklace on it. On closer inspection it was a time-turner. A quill scribbled away on the paper, no hand connected to it. 

      See, Rosalie already knew about the Wizarding world. Maria's family are what's called 'pure-bloods.' Wizards. Might as well come out and say it. Rosalie believed it too: Maria showed her spells, and gave her books, and taught her about this school called Hogwarts, and-

      Maria. Rosalie's stomach churns thinking about her. She didn't want to think about her. She wanted my questions answered. In the meantime, she focused on her surroundings. The woman seemed to be busy, so she glanced around. They were sitting at a large desk, and behind the woman was a large window. On her right hand side was a fireplace, merrily blazing away. Next to it were two more armchairs. Behind them was a series of shelves with a fascinating variety of magical odds and ends: Sneakoscopes and Rememberalls: Even a fake sorting hat. Behind Rosalie was a large, emerald-green door, engraved with the Deathly Hallows symbol. Next to that door was a large glass window, with a telescope peering out of it. And then to her left-hand side was an enormous bookshelf, stretching all the way between the two windows on the left wall. 

      Rosalie examined the pictures on the woman's cluttered desk: there were three in total. One with a smiling ginger man, one of her with two smiling ginger kids, and one of an old ginger cat that seemed to be smiling. A whole lot of ginger. 

      Wait. Wait just one minute. Time-turner? Fancy office? Ginger family? 

      Rosalie Rox was in the office of Ministress Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley