AN: Based off some pictures I found online when I Google-Imaged "Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy." Enjoy.
Sun Colors
Swirls of starlit snow sailed past the high windows of the hospital wing, their eerie light illuminating the troubled countenance of Ronald Bilius Weasley as he gazed at the bed beneath the window. His daughter Rose lay cocooned in the crisp sheets, sound asleep, her pale face turned toward the blond boy in the bed next to her, his battered face peaceful and his eyes closed against the midnight ponderings of his fiercest critic. Ron stared down at the pair of them, hands intertwined in the infinitesimal space between their beds, letting the shameful memories rise to the surface of his thoughts…
"Um, Rose? I think you dropped this." Ron spun around on the spot to face the tall blond boy, who was holding out a small leather-bound book Rose recognized as Rose's journal. An easy, disarming smile lit Scorpius's pointed face as his gray eyes met Rose's blue ones. Too disarming.
Scorpius blinked in surprise at the wand Ron now brandished at him. White t-shirt, black leather jacket, worn black jeans, disheveled white-blond hair, mischievous gay eyes, a far too confident smile; and Hugo had told him Scorpius was far more popular than Draco had ever been. Nope, the kid was no good; especially if Scorpius was making a play for his Rosie. Measures must be taken. "Snooping in my daughter's journal, Malfoy?" Scorpius blanched.
"Dad, stop!" Rose said severely. "Honestly, why do you have to be so overprotective? It's just Scorpius, he won't bite. Thanks, Scorp," she added, turning to her friend and reclaiming her journal with a smile. "I know you wouldn't violate my trust like that. I'll see you on the train with Al, yeah?"
Scorpius nodded and headed back down the platform. Rose rounded on her father. "Will you relax already?" she asked exasperatedly. "Uncle Harry's okay with James and Al and Lily being friends with him—why can't Hugo and I join the fun?"
"I know his type, Rosie," Ron replied, glaring at Scorpius's retreating figure. "If you knew what his father and grandfather are like—"
"I still wouldn't care," Rose said flatly. "You're acting just like all the other kids at school, Dad, always judging him by what he couldn't help! First off, he's in Ravenclaw like me, not Slytherin…"
Ron winced—he'd never quite come to terms with the fact that his Rosie wasn't in Gryffindor.
"Dad, are you even listening to me?" Rose demanded.'
"Sure, princess, sure," Ron said hurriedly, just as the train blew its whistle and students still on the platform said their last goodbyes. "Have a good term, Rosie!" Ron yelled after her as she sailed onto the train. "And stay away from that Malfoy kid!"
Ron sighed, running a hand through his red hair. That had been just last September, at the beginning of Rose's sixth year and Hugo's fourth. He should've known that forbidding Rose to see Scorpius only egged her on to do just that; and if he'd had the dignity to let her make her own decisions, and let her and Scorpius get together on their own, he could've spared a lot of people a lot of heartbreak after what he did next.
"Ron! Rose and her friend are here!" Hermione called from the kitchen. Ron finished wrapping the Christmas tree with tinsel with a flick of his wand and dusted off his hands, eager to find out whom Rose had chosen to bring home for Christmas dinner. Hugo met him as the brunet bounded downstairs, eager for Hermione's cooking as well as fresh company. Ron followed his hyperactive son into the kitchen with a smile…and stopped dead in his tracks.
Scorpius Malfoy stood on the Welcome mat just inside the back door, observing the festive decorations with interest. Hugo scampered up to the older boy with a cry of delight, promptly giving Scorpius's proffered hand a hearty shake. Rose grinned at her little brother's enthusiasm. Hermione seemed a little surprised Rose had brought Scorpius home, but she took it in stride.
"Hello, Scorpius, it's great to finally meet you," she said graciously, shaking his hand.
"Same here, Mrs. Weasley," Scorpius replied quietly. Probably offended by her lack of Wizarding blood! Ron thought furiously. "I've heard so much about you. And those homemade candies you sent Rose were phenomenal—our whole year was nagging Rose to write you for more."
Hermione laughed. "Trust me, you haven't tasted good food until you've tried something of Ron's mum's—she taught me everything I know." Hermione looked to her husband, expecting a pert assertion of some sort, but quickly lured Scorpius back into a conversation about Hogwarts at the sight of Ron's outraged expression. The whole evening progressed in that manner, with Ron silently fuming and collecting imagined insults as the rest of his family succumbed to Scorpius's introverted brand of charm. In fact, Ron was quite proud of himself when Rose realized what time it was and offered to walk Scorpius to the hearth in the kitchen, where he would Floo back to Malfoy Manor for the remainder of the holiday—he hadn't uttered any of the vast collection of threats he'd been harboring all night. Regardless, he allowed himself five minutes to relax before Hermione pressed him into clean-up duty, and he followed his wife and son into the kitchen.
Rose and Scorpius were standing in front of the fireplace, arms wrapped around each other and kissing passionately. The crackling green flames behind them illuminated the scene with an eerie glow.
CRASH!
The ironically musical sound of breaking china echoed through the tiled kitchen as Ron dropped the load of plates he carried to reach for his wand; he was halfway across the room before Hugo managed to seize his father around the waist and prevent him from cursing Scorpius six ways from Wednesday. Hermione appeared at his side next, trying frantically to lower his wand arm. Scorpius and Rose stood frozen by the mantle, bewildered and hurt.
Ron was shouting, "Out of my house, Malfoy! OUT—OF—MY—HOUSE!"
Hermione was pleading, "Ron…please…please, Ron, please…just lower your wand…"
Hugo was yelling, "Dad, wait! He's okay, Scorpius's okay!"
Scorpius stood in stony silence, gray eyes resigned and poignant, as silent tears streamed down Rose's freckled face, her shock and misery plain. She clung to Scorpius's arm to shield him from her father's wrath. "Go," Ron heard her whisper in a choked voice. "Just go, I'll send an owl…" Scorpius obediently backed into the emerald flames, and just as Ron's anger faded into righteous indignation, Rose uttered one word that he swore stopped his heart in mid-beat.
"Wait!" With a defiant, disgusted look at her father, Rose jumped into the flames next to Scorpius—who seemed equal parts surprised and pleased—and called out confidently, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" And with a blue glare and the whoosh of green embers, they were gone.
Harry had sent an owl to tell Ron the two had arrived safely, if unexpectedly, at number twelve and were nicely settled in for the rest of the holiday—they didn't appear to want to leave each other's side. For months after that incident, Ron's letters to Rose returned unopened, and he barely got any news out of Hugo, who also exhibited signs of shame at his father's behavior. Even Hermione was more distant than usual, though she could best understand why he'd acted the way he did. Then, at exactly 11:57 p.m. on a snowy March evening, a Hogwarts owl had tapped on his sitting room window to give him the news that Rose's broom had been blown off course during Quidditch practice, all the way over to the Whomping Willow…with Rose still on it. Hermione was pulling an all-nighter at work, so Ron had been forced to face the music alone.
When he'd arrived at Hogwarts, McGonagall was waiting for him at the door, her mouth tighter than he'd ever seen it with worry, a bowl of silvery substance cradled in one hand. She'd told him, on the way up to the hospital wing, that it was Scorpius's testament to what had happened.
"He wouldn't calm down until we knew the whole story, so we let him extract his memory of the event for us to peruse on our own. Rose was already unconscious." McGonagall had left him alone in the hospital wing with the two oblivious teenagers and a bowl full of Scorpius Malfoy's memories. Ron had been standing where she left him for about an hour now. After a moment, he took a breath, and dived in.
Blurred shapes in blue looped around the Quidditch pitch, passing the Quaffle, beating the Bludgers, guarding the goal posts, and searching for the Snitch. The bone-chilling wind roared in Ron's ears as he watched them, their blue team robes billowing in the promise of the blizzard. He didn't hear the Captain end practice, but understood when all seven players zoomed to the ground, eager to get out of the abnormal weather.
Rose was one of the last to fly in, coming in from the goal posts on the other end of the field; Ron watched her intently. His heart contracted within his chest when a particularly strong gust overwhelmed her control over the broom and blew her over the stands and out of sight, spinning wildly. She didn't even have time to scream.
"ROSE!"
"Malfoy, wait! MALFOY!"
A streak of blue and gold hurtled across the pitch, paying no heed to his Captain's frantic shouts; Scorpius was determined to rescue Rose. As the teenager passed Ron, the older man felt the scene melt away into silvery mist, to solidify almost instantly into another, much more horrific sight.
Rose clung desperately to her broom as the uninhibited wind tossed her around like a rubber ball in the air above the monstrous Whomping Willow. Scorpius hovered near her, trying to pull her onto his broom, but he was struggling as well—every burst of air seemed hell-bent on tearing them apart.
Finally, the inevitable occurred: Rose was thrown completely off her broom and fell straight toward the pummeling branches below. Scorpius grabbed her arm, but Rose's momentum carried them both down instead, seconds away from broken limbs or a bashed-in skull. But Scorpius had other things in mind. With the quick thinking only a Ravenclaw was capable of, Scorpius hoisted Rose into the circle of his arms and turned in the air so that his back was to the tree. All three braced themselves for the impact…and a huge fist-shaped branch swung around to hit the couple with a sickening whack. Scorpius and Rose soared to earth, rolled over several times, and finally lay still on the grass just as the snow began to fall—Scorpius had somehow managed to keep one arm around Rose. Ron was rushing toward his daughter's broken form when the world turned to mist once again.
"Mr. Malfoy, please, you need rest!" For a moment Ron thought he'd returned to the present; he stood in front of Rose's bed in the hospital wing, the late snowfall taunting him outside the window. Then he saw Madam Pomfrey bending over Scorpius's bed, attempting to administer a healing potion.
"Madam Pomfrey, it's Rose! She—we—the Whomping Willow..."
"Yes, yes, I know, dear, she's been tended to."
"She fell," Scorpius said, gray eyes haunting and rather demented. "Fell…into the Whomping Willow…could've killed her…couldn't let it—hurt her…"
"Malfoy, you need to take this potion, you're putting too much stress on your body!" Madam Pomfrey said, alarmed, but Scorpius just struggled harder.
"Quidditch…we were just practicing Quidditch…couldn't let it…hurt her…" Ron noticed a matting of blood over Scorpius's right temple and realized the Willow had hit him in the head.
"Mr. Malfoy, please…"
"Take the memory," Scorpius said suddenly, snatching up his wand and drawing the silvery substance out of his left temple. "Take it…so he'll understand…I need him to understand…"
"Of course, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, conjuring a bowl out of nowhere and catching the memory in it. "What does he need to understand?" She seemed to be speaking more to soothe the blond boy than sincerely interested.
"That I'd—never—never, ever—leave her…" Scorpius murmured fuzzily, fading back into unconsciousness; Madam Pomfrey slipped the healing potion down his throat before he blacked out.
Abruptly, Ron found himself back in his own skin, in the present, standing before the two beds in the otherwise abandoned hospital wing. He pulled up a chair to await the morning.
Sometime around four a.m., Ron woke and stretched, remembering why it was such a bad idea to spend a night in a hospital chair. He was rubbing a crick out of his neck when he noticed how the moon shone through the torrent of snow and penetrated the high window above him to illuminate the pale gold of Scorpius's hair and the fiery copper of Rose's.
Sun colors, Ron thought with wry humor. Luna would say it's good luck. Glancing up at the impartial moon, Ron rose stiffly from his seat and gently kissed Rose on the forehead. "I'll take your word for it, princess," he whispered. He straightened and glared at Scorpius good-humoredly. "Don't let it go to your head." Shrugging his cloak back around his shoulders, Ron strode out of the hospital wing to find Hermione.
Rose opened her eyelid a millimeter and squeezed Scorpius's hand. He smiled contentedly, though his silver eyes remained shut. At last, they could be together in peace—or, as much peace as they were going to get with Rose's brother and cousins hanging around all the time.
AN: Aaahhh…warm fuzzies all around. Review!