Title: The Classic Rose
Rating: T it's a pretty safe story, but I'll make it worth it
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter and etc. I own the manipulation of such beautiful characters
Warning: normally I like to make fanfictions as compliant with the original as possible with some of my own twists and such, so hopefully the events blend in not fully compliant with books toward the end of the series like 6 & 7. still WIP
Pairings: Hermione and Draco, Rose and Scorpious all other pairings normal
Summary: Just because her mother's relationship with Draco didn't work out didn't mean hers with his son couldn't, could it? Rose finds old letters from her mother to Draco, only to find herself going through her own love tragedy. The love stories of mother and daughter parallel and told in flashbacks.
A/N: I think I should try to make the flashbacks separate chapters tell me what you think. I'm gonna really try to keep this in the first person. The prologue will have a bit of both in it. Read and Review and enjoy.
Prologue: The Opening of the Letter
"A Rainbow is the door to Heaven and when People die they go through that door to heaven."
She told this to me a few years ago, in my second year at Hogwarts, at the time we were all trying to cope with father's death. My father, Ron Weasley, was quite the honoured hero of the last Wizarding War, as along with my mum and their best friend Harry Potter. My dad pursued his dream job after the war with Harry without completing his education, which no one in the Wizarding community seemed to mind, considering what they did for them already. After much training, father and Harry quickly became the greatest asset to the ministry as Aurors, receiving plenty of acclaims, awards and mentions in the Daily Prophet. On the day father died, they said that it was more of a freak accident as he was infiltrating a high security dungeon of some rogue Death Eaters conducting ministry prohibited testing of lethal concoctions. After mother recovered from the shock and trauma of her beloved husband nearly obliterated, I wanted her to be happy again.
Mother used to spend a lot of time in the dusty old attic, going through some old memories, I suppose, and she would always carry an antique looking box around with her back and forth between the attic, to her comfortable armchair and back to her room. She would sit in her armchair for hours reading and crying over the contents of the box that seemed to be letters and journals. Of course, I never asked her what she cried about, but I believed she cried over father, over romantic things he did for her long ago for her first true love. I also believed that she could be happy again, the hopeless romantic I am..
Looking out of the attic window, I see a rainbow after one of the rare showers by our home in Devon, England, near The Burrow. I was up in the attic cleaning it out, the summer before sixth year started at Hogwarts, doing my part after Hugo removed the large items to give away. I was to go through the boxes to see what's needed and what's to be thrown away. Most of the boxes were filled with toys, books, and clothes, the toys and clothes of which I easily discarded the past days, leaving much of the books behind. I couldn't part with the books easily, I guess my mother's genes are shining through, I feel like books can open us up to another world like doors, and that all books deserve to be read at one point. The children's books were donated to Luna and her naturalist Rolfe and Neville and Hannah Longbottom, seeing as they're starting families of their own . I didn't think mother would mind if I kept the books around the attic and with that, I felt accomplished with clearing out the boxes, staring out the window to the newly cleansed air. After all, I lugged around books all day.
Sigh. I went to put the last stack of books away in a cupboard, when I noticed the cherry wood antique box containing the source of mother's comfort and woes. Mother had not looked through the box since my fourth year and she barely visited the attic. It's as if she almost forgot about the memories of the box, although seeing as she asked us to clean out the attic, the memory couldn't be too far gone.. I don't think she actually wanted to get rid of it so I thought she wouldn't mind if I took it away from her for a while. I began taking the small laden box to the desk in my room.
Cough, Cough. After a few years of no use, the antique chest accumulated quite a bit of dust. The box creaked open to a bounty of letters all neatly stacked in there along with a journal. I went for the most worn out letter on top. It read:
Dear Draco,
I still remember the tree from Easter Break. The Tree that we stayed under for hours until...
"Rose, time for dinner," Hermione declared from all the way down two stories in the kitchen.
"Coming Mum," I called back, quickly snapped the box closed with the letter in it and stashed the box away for later in my suitcase on my way down to dinner.