Tugging On a Wish Bone

000

You're not the most beautiful like Dominique. You're not the most outgoing like Lily. You're not the most graceful like Victoire and you don't have the incredible knack for sport that Molly does. You're not even the smartest Weasley; that's Hugo's label. You're not the most popular because that's Roxanne. Albus is the best at Quidditch and Quidditch Captain and James is the top trouble-maker. Lucy is the one with the angelic voice, like a songbird. Fred is the most ambitious one and Louis is the fun one and the heart-breaker. And you can't even be the creative one, because your best friend Anna Longbottom writes stories of God-like quality and paints master-pieces. So where do you fit in? Well that's just the point. You don't. You're the black sheep; the only Weasley to have nothing special about you, nothing to defy you from everyone else. Mum is the strongest person you know and Dad is the bravest. Uncle Harry is a hero and aunt Ginny is the passionate one, Gran is the best cook and Granddad is the kindest one you know. So what about you? You're the child of two war hero's for Merlin's sake! You're Harry Potter's niece and yet you can find nothing special about you, nothing you could be the best or the most at. How shameful. Failure. Dis-s-s-sapointment. Dis-s-s-sgrace. The words hiss and twist in your mind as you lay in you dormitory. Its fourth year and you still feel like you haven't found yourself. Who are you? Who are YOU? Rose Weasley...the...the...the what?

And so you go through your days, watching them get greyer and greyer and slowly feeling numb, until you're pretty sure you'd feel nothing, no matter how much pain was thrown at you. You become quiet. What's the point in words from a failure? From a nothing like yourself. Who wants look at or to listen to Rose Weasley, the girl who was so average, so normal and so boring? Boring. No one wanted to be the most boring one, and unfortunately that was you. If you dis-s-s-sappeared would they notice? Would anyone care? No, nobody cares because nobody sees you. You've become invisible; you're not even real anymore. You spend your days hidden in a corner of the library, but you don't read. You're not the smart one, remember? So why should you read? You let your hair grow out so it hides your face and your small frame; the one that gets smaller and smaller each day. Smile? No, you haven't smiled or laughed for months now because you've finally accepted that you are nothing, and nothings don't smile. Or laugh.

And then one day, after having bottled it up for almost two years now, you break. No explosion, no boom or bang, because that would require passion and fierceness, and someone like you doesn't have passion or fierceness. You break quietly, subtly. Your family has given up trying to save you now. In fact they've gotten used to you being the quiet one, so much that they don't remember. They don't remember the days when you were like them, when there were no labels and you could laugh and run and smile with them, because you were all too young to be any more special than each other.

"Why is Rose so quiet?"

"Oh she's always been like that"...but it's not true.

And it breaks your heart that James would say so to whatever stranger had asked this time. And so you turn away from the common room. Really, how you got into Gryffindor you don't understand. You walk away and away some more before you end up in the girl's bathroom on the second floor. If James had forgotten about you, then who else must have? Al? Lils? Molly? Lucy, Fred, Louis, Dom, Vic? Maybe even Hugo. Maybe even mum and dad...and before you know it, a tear falls. You know who you are now. You're Rose Weasley, the one who broke because she wasn't something special like the others, because she wasn't anything. And now more tears are falling and you're on your knees, gripping on to the cold edge of the sink with one hand because it's the closest thing you have to hold on to. If you let go you might never get up again...not that anyone would care. You look at your hands and their paleness seems to mock you, because that's you all over, inside and out isn't it? Pale and transparent and oh so ugly.

You're crying harder now, letting it out and thanking to Merlin that you're finally feeling some sort of emotion, even if it's despair and heart-break. Anything is better than the numb and deadened feeling that's been following you around since fourth year. You haven't felt in two years and now it's a waterfall of angst and it's so much that you think it might suffocate you. You wish you could be anyone, anything but yourself. Are you even alive anymore Rose Weasley? Have you ever even been real? You know you're thinking crazy, but you don't care. You need to know that you're real, that you're here, that the blood flowing through your veins is red and alive. And so you tentatively take your wand and transfigure the tip so that it's razor sharp and glinting in the light. You let go of the sink and your hand feels the cold from where you've been gripping on so tightly. Taking the tip of your wand, now a weapon, you press it ever so slightly against the skin of your left wrist, right above the longest vein you can find. Press a little harder and you could break the skin, you could see if your blood is red and you could feel physical pain, a feeling you've forgotten about. Only a little more pressure, only a little slash and...

000

The door burst open just as she was about to hurt her beautiful skin. She all but screams at the sudden noise and turns to find...Scorpius Malfoy? Of all the possible people to walk through the door he was extremely unexpected. For one he was, well male, and she had been expecting...well no one to be honest. No one ever came to this bathroom.

She wiped the tears and quickly turns her wand back to normal, but she knows it's too late, he saw what she'd been about to do.

"This is the girl's bathroom Malfoy. You shouldn't be in here."

"You shouldn't be self harming like that Rose" his voice was surprisingly soft in contrast to his steel grey eyes.

"I-...I wasn't...just-...trying to see...if..." she felt the tears form again. Why would he care? He shouldn't have cared, she was Rose Weasley. No one cared. How did he even know she was alive, let alone her first name? She turned her ugly, blotchy face away and hid behind her hair. There was no need for him to see her cry. No one was allowed to see her cry, because that meant they would remember her, and they would know who she was. Now he would know she was weak, useless, ugly. And each time she walked past him in the corridor he would remember; it was yet another person who could look down on her. Judge her. Be disappointed in her.

To her immense surprise, she felt a pair of wonderfully warm arms circle her, and she was being held. She didn't care about anything in that moment; she just let the warmth surround her. It had been so long (so, so long) since the last time she'd been hugged, the last time she'd felt another human's warmth.

Scorpius Malfoy had been watching Rose ever since he could remember. In his first year, she'd been loud and lively and typically Weasley, but there was something different about her, something that made her more special than the rest. He'd known it the first time he'd been seated next to her in transfiguration; he'd taken his seat, and the minute she approached their table, he could feel the same happiness that was so evident on her face surround him. A face so open and easy to read. As a Malfoy he'd been told from a young age that it was best to mask your feelings. That wearing your heart on your sleeve was weak and naive...but...the way this Weasley girl did it...it just made her seem so beautiful. The moment she'd sat down, he'd known for sure that she was special. He could actually feel the energy crackling around her, the magic and the liveliness circling her like a bubble. It was mesmerising and it kept up all through first year.

And all through second year.

Third year it seemed to get even more powerful, her laugh seemed to boom around the entire castle each time he heard it.

Fourth year he'd began accepting the fact that he might have possibly taken a slight fancy to the Weasley girl, and he'd barely even talked to her! His Slytherin friends teased him endlessly, but they didn't know. They didn't understand what it felt like to be in the presence of someone so vibrant, so full of colour and life, so typically Rose. She was beautiful and open and kind and he wanted to ask her out so, so badly but he couldn't. He was afraid because she'd say no. Of course she'd say no.

And then somehow, it started to stop. She was slowly stopping. They'd all come back from Christmas break and he noticed that she was smiling less each day. He sat next to her in transfiguration and it wasn't brilliant and mesmerising; it was as if he could feel nothing from her.

Slowly it got worse. In fifth year she started going to the library rather than outside with her family and friends. Her hair grew past her shoulders and covered her face like curtains. He never saw her face open again. It was closed, expressionless...dead. She got smaller, and harder to find amongst a crowd.

He no longer sat with her in transfiguration, because she'd moved herself to a corner in the back of the classroom, so only the teacher could see her. He never heard her laugh.

And now they were in the middle of their sixth year, and he rarely saw her apart from a few classes. Her hair, once a bouncy burst of red curls was clean but limp and longer than ever before, covering her now frail and pathetic excuse for a body. Her face was gaunt and her eyes tired and pale rather than the rich electric blue they'd once been. Her skin pale and missing the fresh colour of pale pink that they'd naturally had all those years ago. It hurt him deeply to see her so broken. So sad.

He'd been walking back from lunch and had gone past the second floor girl's bathroom when he'd heard an aching cry from inside. He put his ear to the door and heard mutterings...

"Dead...dead never alive again. Why can't you be alive..." he could barely make out what was being said, but he did hear two words perfectly clearly. Two very dangerous words implying very dangerous things.

"Red. Knife. Whoever was in there is about to...about to...oh Merlin," he thought.

And so he burst the door open and his heart broke when he saw, that the person crying her eyes out and clinging to a make-shift wand/knife against her wrist...was Rose Weasley. He was so glad that he'd burst through the door just as she was about to hurt her beautiful skin.

When she turned away, she looked almost invisible, as if she was slipping away. So he did the only thing he could think of to keep her there, keep her up; he hugged her. And when he felt her fall back even more into his embrace, he held her tighter.

"No one cares Scorpius. No one sees me. Everyone's so special except me..."she turned so she was facing his chest, and held on to his crisp white shirt. He tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes and gently wiped her tears from her cheek.

"They care Rose. Everyone cares. Your family misses you; I know because I see it every day. It breaks their heart that they can't reach out to you." It breaks mine too. He didn't say the last part out loud. She wanted to believe those words so badly, to let them lift her and give her the illusion that she was important, but she couldn't. It was only words, she'd come crashing down because they weren't true. No one cared. No one cared and she had to face it all on her own.

"No...they don't-" She began to whisper but Scorpius placed a hand over her mouth, and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Rose," he whispered against her temple "Rose Weasley you are real. You're alive and here. I can feel you in my arms, I can feel your warmth and .real." she felt her breath hitch as the beautiful words replayed in her mind over and over. She knew what he was doing...he was saving her. Or trying to. And she so needed to be saved. So she kissed him.

And kissed him long and hard and passionately and fiercely, feeling shivers when her tongue moved with his. She needed this, needed to feel good again. When she pulled away she felt a ghost of a smile pull at her lips due to his stunned yet pleased expression.

"Thank you" she said.

She tried to pull away but he caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, never breaking contact. He heart fluttered, it actually fluttered! In the space of one hour she was feeling more than she had in two years. He smiled at her, a breath-taking smile and how had she never noticed how beautiful he was? Perhaps because she'd been too busy hiding behind her hair. He was the boy she used to talk to in transfiguration all those years ago. The boy who once complimented her on her eyes because they were so full of colour. Full; not empty. The boy who let her hold on, who picked her up. The boy who was so warm.

"You're welcome" he said. And with that, he winked at her before walking away.

Oh he'd be sure to kiss her more, and soon (everyday starting tomorrow), but right now she was finding herself again. She probably needed to be alone. But she'd smiled, after so long she'd smiled because of him; at him. It also probably wasn't the best idea to tell her that he was in love with her and had been since the age of eleven just yet, so he'd wait a little while. Wait for her to regain her liveliness again.

She looked at herself in the mirror and splashed some water on her face. It had been a while since she'd looked at her reflection; really looked. Her face was thin and pale, her eyes were red rimmed and could do with a nap, and her hair was so long. So she picked up her wand from the ground, took a few strands of hair, swished, and watched them fall to the floor. Before she knew it, the rest of her hair became shoulder length. It hadn't been in a long time and her heart beat faster at the thought of people being able to see her face so easily, but she had to admit she already looked better. And she would improve. Just because she couldn't be the best at something didn't mean she couldn't be anything. With that thought, she smiled and went to find her family. She had a lot of explaining, apologising and catching up to do. She would be fine. She was alive.

000

So look at you now Rose Weasley, alive and happy once again. Your hair is back to that mess of curls it was once, but honestly you kind of make it look good. You smile. You laugh. Doesn't it feel wonderful? The angel has her wings back. The energy that used to run in your veins so strongly is back again. Your family is so happy to see that their Rosie is back to herself, shining and open again. It's been three months since that day in the bathroom and dear old Scorpius won't leave you alone. Not that you came blame him after you kissed like that? And let's be honest, you do maybe sort of adore him don't you? Because he reminds you who you are everyday. He tells you you're beautiful and he tells you're special, and you believe him.

You are Rose Weasley. You're not the most beautiful or graceful and you can't aim to save your life. You like flying on brooms but when it comes to Quidditch you prefer watching. You don't seem to have a hungry ambition but you're competitive enough and you like watching pranks unravel than come up with them. You're not the smartest but you're smart enough. You don't like big noises and doing extreme things and you prefer a game of exploding snap or running around in the garden than flirting with all the boys you can find. But that's ok. Because you are Rose Weasley, and you are so much more full of life than the rest. They can feel the magic surround you, the energy crackling in that mass of curls that is your hair. The colour in your cheeks and the vibrancy of your smile makes you special because you are Rose Weasley, and you are the happiest one, the one who blazes bright. You are so, so alive.

And the fact that you have the fittest boyfriend with the softest blond hair is also a plus.

000