II. Yellow

II. Yellow

“A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.” – Elbert Hubbard

“Two hundred points! Weasley, what the bloody hell did you do to lose us two hundred points?!” The Head Girl and her fellow Ravenclaw was positively apoplectic in her rage. “We actually stood a chance, for once, to win the House Cup! What did you do?”

Rose was torn between her temper and shame at having lost the points. The anger won, and with her own cheeks growing more pink, she snapped, “I hexed Scotty McLaggen. He’s in the Infirmary.”

“You… you… hexed the Head Boy!” Sheila stumbled back to sit down, speechless. “What were you thinking, you stupid little girl! I can’t believe you would do that!”

“I was thinking that he was half a step away from raping Gwyneth Jones!”

Silence drew out for a long moment before the older girl said flatly, “I don’t believe you. Scotty is a good guy.”

Rose snorted. “Obviously you don’t know him, then,” she said.

“He’s my counterpart! I’m sure I know him better than you!” The girl was recovering from her shock and reverting back to anger.

The sixteen-year-old redhead lifted her chin up defiantly. “I know what I saw,” Rose said stiffly. “Scotty McLaggen has abused his position before, and I don’t care if Gwyn denies it now! I know it!”

But knowing it and proving it turned out to be impossible. Practically her whole House was furious with her, preferring to believe that Rose’s temper once again got the best of her. The entirety of Gryffindor House—where McLaggen, like his father before him, dwelled—was out to get her, including several of her cousins. Even her brother Hugo was pretending she didn’t exist, which hurt more than she let on.

She sat, alone, at the very end of the table in the Great Hall, and pretended to read while she ate. Only a day had gone by, and already having half (or more) of the school treating her like a pariah was wearing on her. It didn’t help that she’d received a Howler from her father than morning and a stern letter of reprimand from her mother that afternoon.

Rose was then surprised when Scorpius plopped down gracefully onto the bench across from her and immediately reached for the dish with pudding.

“Didn’t your mum teach you to eat dinner before pudding?” Rose snapped. She had been understandably grumpy, at least in her opinion, since the incident happened.

“Certainly. I just don’t listen to her all the time,” he replied back, unfazed. “My, this thing with McLaggen has you in a bitchy mood.”

Rose’s lips compressed into a flat line. She wanted to tell him to sod off… but he was the only one who had talked to her so far today. “Having fun poking at the outcast, Malfoy?” she snarled.

“Down, girl,” he said mildly. “I’m actually surprised that it’s taken this long for McLaggen to get hexed.”

The change of topic made her sit back and really look at him. He wasn’t looking at her with disdain or anger. There was an air of curiosity about him, but that was about it. “What do you want?” she asked more softly. “All talking to me is going to get you is ostracized for fraternizing with ‘the enemy.’”

“And I should care, why?” Scorpius asked sarcastically. “If I wanted something, I’d be over there with them. I’m over here because I’d rather be here than there.”

She was reminded of the pureblood airs her father always ranted about when the subject of the Malfoys or any other of the old families from back during the war came up. Perhaps Scorpius could afford this attitude… but perhaps not. She’d known him for years, ever since coming to Hogwarts, and though not very friendly most of the time, she knew him reasonably well. He didn’t have many friends, and this could feasibly lose him a couple of them.

“All—all right, then. Stay.” For all the awkwardness, it was softly spoken, and Scorpius gave her a winning grin before starting in on his pudding. Her heart warmed—she wasn’t completely alone after all.

***

Breakfast the next morning saw the owl deliveries. Rose was full of trepidation—she fully expected to hear more recriminations from the rest of her family, now that there had been enough time for the news to get around. Sometimes it really sucked to have such a large family that practically lived in one another’s pockets.

True to form, there was a letter from her grandparents Weasley and a couple of her uncles. She tucked these away but hesitated on the last—it was from Uncle Harry. He rarely wrote, being very busy in the Aurory and rather the most quiet of her uncles (except maybe for Uncle Percy), but when he did, he always had something important to say. She opened it, not having to worry about prying eyes—no one was talking to her still, except Scorpius, who rarely made it to breakfast, the layabout.

Dear Rosie,

I know you’ve probably had your fill of familial interference at this point, but I hope you’ll take a moment for your godfather. I’m proud of you.

Rosie nearly dropped the letter in her surprise.

I’ve been exactly where you are in the past, if for some slightly different reasons. I remember hearing about the McLaggen boy from Albus in the past, and I’m confident that you wouldn’t have done anything so drastic if you hadn’t been completely sure of yourself. Your mother might have forgotten, but his father wasn’t precisely a great catch either. So long as you can ask yourself, would I do it again, and the answer is yes, then you are justified. The world isn’t all black and white.

Take this time as a lesson in friendship, if you can—it’s those who stick by you in this time that are worth the most. Keep your head up, Rosie. It will get better.

Much love,

Harry

Rose had tears in her eyes at the end of the note, and this one she tucked in her inner pocket, over her heart. She would read it many times over the next few weeks, she sensed. She looked up and was surprised to find another owl patiently waiting on top of the plate of toast, a flower clutched in its beak.

It was a bright, cheery yellow, opened in that perfect suspension of full bloom. While she’d had to look up the various meanings of the pink one of last year in the book her mother had given her, this one came to her easily—yellow roses were the universal symbol of friendship.

The note from this one read: Cheer up, sunshine. She couldn’t help but think about what Uncle Harry had just said about friends.

A/N: Information on colors of flowers were found at various online sites. Thanks to my betas, triskellion and somigliana! Written for weasley_fest on LJ for jade_chan.