{a/n: the theme song for this fic is "James Dean and Audrey Hepburn (Acoustic Version)" by Sleeping With Sirens. WARNING: CONTAINS EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF GLITTERY EYESHADOW. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except Joel, Ruby and Sebastian. Slight incest because of gay experimentation, it's not endgame though, and you can take it as Rose just being overly suspicious and imagining things.}

She lives in shades of winter. The snow numbs her as they scatter, like the shards of her heart, at her feet. She stands alone in the field caked with white, her only friends the barren, mourning trees.

Alone.

Always alone.

"You should try to make more friends, Rosie," Hugo tells her, as he carefully applies black eyeliner on his face. "You'll be surprised. People will like you, I'm sure."

She pretends not to hear him, her nose just brushing the dust off the dictionary she's memorising, and Hugo shrugs and rolls his eyes.

She prefers to think of herself as a member of a backstage crew, casually setting the stage, and the aesthetics of the stage that is the social life of those around her, and she would rather keep relishing the moment when they find their serendipity, their little slice of happiness, and it's all her doing.

But she'll rather stay anonymous, even if the students who receive her notes don't wish her to.

They're simple slips of paper, really. Just a couple of well-observed comments on the actors' stiff acting, and sometimes, the moving of props by a millimetre. But she's lost count of how many students she'd made happy. Especially those who find the one they've been looking for. Yet Rose works alone.

Always alone.

She isn't too surprised when Al Potter tries to weasel himself into her life. Hugo had probably pointed her out to him- there's no way he could have spotted her, of all people, not in the crowd of equally unruly freckles and reckless ginger hair. Christmas parties at the Burrow always got on her nerves, but when Al sidles up to her, she nearly throws up.

All she knows about Al is that he wears his unsustainable brown hair proudly, and that he's a fan of glittery eyeshadow and form-fitting pants, and that sometimes when their parents aren't home, Al goes up to Hugo's room and they make out.

Apart from that, she doesn't know him, and she doesn't see why he would want to know her.

"Hi," he says.

To her surprise and chagrin, she smiles back.

They talk for a while, and Al admits his obsession with King Henry V, and Rose gives away her infatuation with Oscar Wilde. They attempt speaking in Olde English for a while, but eventually dissolve into charades, giggling as they do.

It's the most fun she's had in ages.

She doesn't try to hide the grin on her face even when Hugo appears, gloating that he's finally made her a friend, and giving Al a chaste kiss when he's sure no one else is watching.

She doesn't even really mind when Al and Hugo, both half-drunk, declare that they'll introduce her to more of their friends, and she promises them that she'll try to be more sociable. After all, school is starting soon, and she wouldn't want to miss out, would she?

Their first victim is Scorpius Malfoy. He's Al's best friend, and his Slytherin uniform is perfectly neat and pressed, even as he strides swiftly towards them to extend his cold, pale hand towards hers. She shakes with grim determination, and immediately notices the faint whiffs of his intoxicating cologne, just enough to not become overly cloying. Their attempts to strike up a conversation fail miserably, despite her stifling all her obsessions behind her teeth.

They tell her it's not entirely botched, the two queer-looking boys, one the knight of glitter, and the other a prince of curls.

She makes a mental note to slip him a note on his cologne later, and they go for their next victim.

Their next victim is Moaning Myrtle. Al locks them in the girls' bathroom, takes out his makeup kit, and declares that he's giving them all makeovers. Rose gets mascara, sparkly eyeshadow and a French bun. She looks in the mirror, and for a second she thinks she's someone else- not the same Rose who hid behind the curtain of her hair.

Moaning Myrtle laughs that she's not getting any, so Hugo takes a brush, dips it heavily in blush, then pokes it at her, spreading dusty pink whorls into the air. Al screams that he's wasting his makeup, but they're all laughing so hard to even bother.

Their third victims are Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

They find the twins in the field with butterfly nets and gold-plated glasses, faces a study in seriousness as they swipe their butterfly nets at air, occasionally catching tree branches.

Rose, armed with sparkly eyeshadow, walks up to them and asks them what they're doing.

"Catching Nargles," they reply, in sync. She nods intelligently. "You can't see them, because you're not wearing Spectrespecs. They mess with you, you know. You want to be safe with them."

Rose nods intelligently again, and asks if they would like to be her friend. They, along with Al and Hugo, spend the rest of the afternoon wearing their quaint Spectrespecs and hunting Nargles.

The Friendship Brocade gathers in the Ravenclaw Common Room, methodically selecting their next victims. Al announces that it's the oddest way to make friends that he's ever come across. Hugo argues that it's effective. The twins talk about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and critters that live in tea. It's late enough that no one cares that Al and Hugo are in Slytherin.

Rose is in shades of autumn.

On Sunday, the Brocade make their way down to Hogsmeade and they add more members to their ranks- Roxanne,Lucy and Molly, her cousins; Al's friend Sebastian, who is just as enthusiastic about glittery eyeshadow as Al is but as shy as Rose is; and Hugo's best friend Joel, who is much louder than he is.

Rose is happy enough that she now has a total of nine friends, but Al insists that she keep trying with Scorpius Malfoy for inexplicable reasons.

So she does.

This time, she wears the Spectrespecs. He struggles to take her seriously, but they both end up giggling surreptitiously beneath a mask of seriousness. She asks him what his favourite quote is.

"To live is a rare thing, because most of us are merely in a state of existing," he says.

Her heart does a little flip because Oscar Wilde said that and her Spectrespecs slip off the bridge of her nose in her excitement and nearly shatter but Scorpius Malfoy holds them up for her.

She mutters a small "thank you" and then, "Oscar Wilde" for good measure. Then scuttles off because he's squinting at her in a funny manner.

She notices he's wearing his cologne more comfortably now, but she makes a mental note to tell him about the way Ruby Jordan is staring at him.

Their next victim is Ruby Jordan, whom Al and Sebastian corner on her way to the Quidditch field to see Scorpius Malfoy. Al casually mentions Scorpius, and she goes a brilliant shade of red. Rose knows something bad will happen if she continues to allow him his way, so she steps in and steers Ruby in the direction of a perplexed Joel and sits her down. Within seconds, they start talking and Rose silently celebrates the acclaim of her directorial debut.

She watches Scorpius Malfoy catch the Snitch, then decides that she wants him in her Friendship Brocade. After all, ten is the perfect number to the Chinese.

Rose catches up with him after his game. She forgets to bring something to hide her face behind- she doesn't even have on glittery eyeshadow, she should have asked Al for it, he always has on copious amounts-

"Hi," Scorpius Malfoy says.

She flushes brightly, and she can feel her freckles growing red yet all she can think is glitter glitter glitter what if Scorpius Malfoy was in glitter

She nearly giggles, then holds herself in. "Uh, congratulations on the game."

"Thanks," he says, grinning boyishly, and Rose sees why he and Al are best friends.

She blurts out, "Will you join my Brocade?"

"Your what?"

"Rose thinks all her friends are some sort of brocade, united in glitter, led by the honourable knight of glitter, aka me." Al's behind them, arms folded.

"When did you-" Scorpius snorts incredulously.

Al shrugs. "Hugo finally mastered the art of eyeliner, so I let him apply it himself."

"What's with you and makeup?" Scorpius laughs. Al chortles too and throws an arm around Scorpius' shoulder. His other arm inches toward Rose's shoulder. She shyly lets him, and they walk to the Great Hall for dinner.

She assumes Scorpius is joining the Brocade.

Rose is in shades of summer.

Rose isn't as introverted now. She can say a soft "good morning" to any of the main cast with only her knuckles trembling, which is a huge improvement from a few months ago.

Only a few things remain that she desires.

She wouldn't be a witch if she couldn't help her dearest Brocade members find their serendipity, now would she?

She hunts down Lorcan Scamander first and finds him talking animatedly to Roxanne. She ducks behind them (this time she doesn't forget the Spectrespecs) and slips a little note about the usual courage and plot-building in their pockets. Just a push would do, she thinks.

Two down, seven to go.

Rose enjoys being a director, but she loves the thrill of being a crew member much, much more. She slinks silently beneath the curtains and does all her plot-building and prop-moving and note-slipping, and that's enough, because she's too afraid to actually step up and drag the main cast into a situation.

Especially when Hugo corners her, and that doesn't let her stalk off anywhere, so she has to act ignorant and commence memorising a dictionary. But then Lysander appears, upset that his twin had been spending the whole day with Roxanne and not in his company, and Rose can see just how their personalities clicked (no matter what Al and Hugo did in his bedroom that was just a phase really Hugo and Lysander fit better oh boys)

Six to go.

The pairing up of main cast is really all she's ever good at, and at least she's really good at it. On Wednesday, she slips Al and Sebastian notes on each other, because just a simple nudge really was all they required.

As for Lucy- she admires James Potter so much it's just unlawful for him not to adore her too, so she slips him a note on that. And his green insect-like hair. And his cloying cologne. And- she decided to leave the rest for him to find out. They would be best friends in no time.

Molly- well, she's a little young for all that romance, but Rose decides she and Melanie Corner should definitely be friends. After all, their personalities were just perfect.

Rose just about stops herself from crowing in glee.

Hogwarts is abuzz about the mysterious note-slipper. The couples he (or she) had created were just everywhere, and he had suck a knack to source out couples that even Madam Trelawney is suspicious. Most students say they want relationship advice from him. Some say that person is really a sham and a voyeuristic pervert. Other odd ones say they want to place him on a pedestal and worship him.

Rose cowers in her room, away from all the gossip about her, and thinks. No matter how hard she thinks, she can't think of someone absolutely suitable for Scorpius Malfoy:

He needed someone girly, and nerdy, but enthusiastic enough to play Quidditch with him. (And hopefully win some games.)

Someone that was probably rather shy.

Someone pretty, because with that sort of face, that was the only way to go.

Someone most likely a Ravenclaw.

Someone who would laugh over the same bad jokes as he would, and have the same impeccable grades.

Someone who was a goody-two-shoes, but with a slight mischievous streak.

Someone with an open mind.

Rose lolls around on her bed, then later, her desks, until she finally knows who that person is.

Rose finds Scorpius on his way to another class. She struggles to keep up with his purposeful stride, heart fluttering in her excitement at finally solving the Romantic Conundrum of Scorpius Malfoy. She makes a half-dash, her hand nearly reaching his cloak pocket, but he quickens his pace again, then suddenly, he turns into an empty classroom, with her in tow.

Scorpius slams the door shut, cutting her out mid-cry and leans in to her.

She feels his lips against hers, kissing her gently. When they break away and she looks up at him, and half-whispers, half-mouths, "How did you know it was me?" , he doesn't answer, but she feels his hands around her hips. Her body feels like putty so she lets go of the note in her hand, unread.

It reads, You may kiss Rose Weasley now.

Rose is in shades of spring.