daydream the day away [open] Dec 27, 2013 8:06:18 GMT
Post by Deleted on Dec 27, 2013 8:06:18 GMT
Forgetting - what a difficult concept to grasp and hold tight to your chest when you actually had any need for it. At the very least moving on. It was something that she had tried so very hard to accomplish these past few weeks. She owed it to those around her; those who she very well knew couldn't bare to see her as even half of her normal cheer and fiery spirit. Yet even as she strode to her favorite place on the castle grounds it felt as if an invisible weight dragged at her limbs, slowing each step to a dull and dreary plod. Awakening this past morning had been a ray of sunlight and hope for young Rose Weasley. It had been the shaking off of worries that had expressed themselves in her dreams that night and had left her for the bright dawn. And yet, one glance at her bed side table had left her spirits rearing as she had taken in the sight of last year's family picture. Her father standing slouched and grinning, one arm slung around her mother's waist; the other around her shoulders.
It wasn't as if Rose didn't feel the need to move on - she most certainly did feel and understand the dragging need to look to brighter things. Yet still; how could she forget the man who had been so crucial through her entire life? Even weeks following it felt as if she would be betraying his memory to move on and let his face fade from her present thoughts. Her conscience bore no mind to her knowledge that her father would want her to move on. He would want her to remember him as he had been; all jokes and laughter, getting on her mother's last nerve every other day. Still, though, Rose found herself hard pressed to move past the memories that dwelled in her subconscious; or the terrifying imaginings that formulated in her dreams. She spent more hours awake and sobbing than sleeping, in any form, these past weeks. Yet she knew she still couldn't even imagine.
If that hadn't been enough motivation for her to shed the familiarity and safety of her castle - well, it hadn't been. She had been a touch anxious to leave the castle, alone; more like. She now dreaded things that she had never had knowledge enough of to dread. Her parents had always told her vague stories of the war and their experiences in it. Not enough to frighten them as children, and never expanding in much detail as they grew older. They had never been thought to have need for such knowledge since Lord Voldemort had been cleared away prior to their birth. Therefore, Rose Weasley; the ever confident, didn't quite know what to expect even walking out of the school. A bit more on her toes and self aware than she had been prior to the death of her father.
Rose clutched her broomstick in one hand and her wand, tucked safely in a holster on her arm, was within easy reach if she had any need for it. Her trip down to the Quidditch pitch had involved a fair amount of cautious scanning of her surroundings and a rather slow gait which had gained in speed as her destination came into sight. Quidditch was something that always put her mind at ease - no matter the circumstances. It was something that she had shared with her entire family and something that brought fond memories and a warm smile to her face. It was a bit of a miracle worker in holding off her sadness and giving her a bit of freedom from the weight that felt as if it had piled onto her shoulders as of lately. It was a bit of relief from the everyday rhythm of things to something that could be just a touch unexpected - always.
She hadn't truly planned on flying she realized once she had arrived at the bit, glancing around to see if she could detect any others that might have felt a similar need. Instead Rose had felt a bit of an urge to find comfort in something that was so familiar - even a bit more so that the castle itself was to her. However, this time instead of taking to the air Rose Weasley found herself climbing the stairs to the lines of benches that seated Ravenclaw house during the Quidditch games. She peered across the pitch, trying to imagine what it had been like before she had even been a thought in the minds of her parents. Had it always been the same, perhaps? Never changing? So many people had been here, she was certain. So much history had passed and so much had changed and yet here she sat; a still young girl sitting about struggling to overcome her own burdens when there had been worse weights to carry.
Rose missed her father dearly but felt the weight drifting away as she grinned, flipping red hair over her shoulder and readjusting her Ravenclaw knit hat in an attempt to keep it down. She could remember her first game on this very pitch so clearly. Cheered on by her house mates with the fierce hope that maybe, just maybe she would be as good a Keeper as her father had been. And so she sat, absorbed in her own memories; awaiting the one that would awaken her from her transfixed daydreams.