Work Text:
(Two years old)
“Mudblood,” she muttered, stumbling over the syllables and staring at the scarred word on her mother’s arm. Her parents whipped around to face their daughter, their eyes wide and disbelieving. “Mummy, what does that mean?”
Her father caught on first, his eyes landing on the scars that his wife had long sought to ignore, the word carved into her arm so deeply by magic that it was impossible to get rid of. His hand subtly slid down the long sleeve of his wife’s sweater, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
“Come on, Rosie,” he said, taking the little girl’s hand. “I’ll tell you.” She nodded, curly auburn hair bouncing in its pigtails. Something in her blue eyes, the same gorgeous color as her father’s, showed that she understood there was something wrong.
(Four years old)
“Daddy, where did you get the pretty swirlies?” she asked, tracing the pale scars that covered her father’s arms. Ron frowned, pulling his daughter into his lap and placing a kiss into her hair.
“That’s a story for another time, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re too young, and it’s far too long.” Rosie glanced at her baby brother, who was settled on the floor in front of them. The kid’s mop of brown curls was a mess, and he was blinking at them with his big, chocolate-colored eyes, just the way that Rosie did when she was small. When he saw his sister looking, he grinned brightly, revealing his gap-toothed smile.
“Is it from when you and mummy and Uncle Harry saved the world?” she asked, tilting her head. Ron nodded.
She knew the stories, of course, knew the way that it has affected her parents and her aunts and uncles. She’d seen pictures of George’s twin brother. She’s a smart girl, got her mother’s brains under her father’s hair, and she put two and two together easily enough.
“Will you tell me the whole story when Hughey is older? I don’t want you to have to tell it twice,” she demanded, blue eyes looking at her father in a way that they both knew he couldn’t ignore.
“Maybe,” he sighed, kissing the top of her head lightly.
(Six years old)
“Werewolves scare me, Teddy,” Rose whispered to her… cousin? He might as well be, anyway. Teddy frowned down at her, shaking his head at the way the six-year-old cowered in fear, staring at the screen playing Twilight: New Moon in front of them.
“My dad was a werewolf,” he said softly, almost offended. Rose nodded.
“I know,” she said seriously, jumping as one of the characters yelled on screen. “But he was a good werewolf. He didn’t fall in love with some weirdo, and then find out he actually loved her for her unborn child.”
Teddy frowned, pulling Rosie into his lap. She reached up running her fingers through Teddy’s turquoise hair, giggling when he screwed up his face, turning it rainbow. Sh pulled it gently with small hands, and he willed it to grow long enough to braid in her messy, clumsy way, smiling when she giggled again in joy.
“How do you know how the series ends?” he asked, “You’re six.”
Rosie shrugged, staring intently at the task at hand. “I read,” she said, as though it explained everything. And really, it did. “Is Uncle Bill a werewolf? Are you?”
Teddy laughed, shaking his head as much as he dared to. Even the slightest movement earned him a glare from his babysitting charge. “No,” he said, “I’m not a werewolf and neither is Bill. Why would you think he’s one, anyway?”
“Scars on his face,” said Rosie seriously. “While not mutually exclusive, those kinda scars normally go hand in hand with lycanthropy.”
Teddy grinned as she stumbled over the long words, but he was no longer surprised by his cousin’s knowledge. The little girl definitely took after her mother.
(Nine years old)
“My Uncle Harry’s scar is wicked,” she announced to the boy in front of her, sipping on the butterbeer they had purchased at the Leaky Cauldron. Lysander Scamander laughed, rolling his blue eyes.
“You’re just saying that because you worship anything he does,” he teased, ruffling her curly hair. “That’s why you wanted glasses so badly.”
Rose pouted, shoving her glasses up her nose. “Hey, that turned out to be a good thing - I wasn’t making that up!” she protested, crossing her arms. She really had been seeing things blurry six months before, though she had been perhaps too excited when the diagnosis came in. Her father had chuckled as she pointed to a pair of round frames, similar to Harry’s, but she had eventually chosen something more square with plastic framing. It wouldn’t do to be Harry’s copy after all.
“Right, right,” Lysander smirked, pulling his blonde ponytail tighter. “It’s still a scar, and scars suck.” He himself had one just above his eyebrow, where he had fallen on the stairs at his Grandfather Xeno’s house when he was four. It was the one way to tell him apart from Lorcan at a glance.
“Nuh uh,” Rose pouted, crossing her arms indignantly - though she was careful not spill her drink. “Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry’s scars mean something - they’re special.”
Lysander shrugged, throwing away his bottle and crouching down to Rose’s height with a small smile. “Okay, okay, sure,” he said. “They are pretty special and important. I was wrong. Now what d’ya say I give you a piggy back ride back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, alright?”
Rose nodded eagerly, wrapping her long legs around his back and her arms around his neck. Her butterbeer nearly spilled down the front of his shirt but Lorcan (who’d had his nose buried in a book through the conversation) grabbed the bottle just in time, earning him a grateful smile from his twin brother.
(Fifteen years old)
Hugo frowned at his sister, running his thumb over the bleeding cut on her chin. Rose winced, jerking her head away from his slightly calloused finger. “Merlin, Rosie, that’s pretty deep,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s probably gonna scar.”
Rose wiped her hand across her sweaty forehead, leaving a trail of dirt behind. “Leave me alone, Hu,” she mumbled, already standing and pushing him away. “I have practice.” Hugo frowned after his sister as she walked back onto the quidditch pitch toting her broom.
Of course she’s completely disregarding the fact that she’s bleeding down her neck, Hugo thought watching Rose launched herself into the air. Dominque raised her arms, like “what the Hell is she doing?” at him, but he could only shrug in response. Rose Weasley was probably the most stubborn person he had met - and he had some seriously stubborn cousins. She did whatever she wanted, regardless of what made sense.
When practice was over, Rose landed on the ground, and wiped at her chin. Hugo ran out to meet her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her into the locker room. Once he had her seated on one of the benches, he pulled out the muggle first aid kit that he had put together when she first became a chaser. “Magic or muggle?” he asked, wielding his wand. He already knew what her answer would be.
“I don’t care,” she said, her grin one that would scare the pants off of any teacher. Hugo was pretty sure that Uncle George had coached her and James on it when they were young. He was only a little upset that he had missed out on that lesson. “As long as-”
“It scars, yes I know,” he mumbled, cutting her off. His curly brown hair hung in his eyes as he dug through the kit for an alcohol wipe, eyes narrowed in concentration. “You and your weird obsession with scars.”
“It’s not weird!” Rose cried defensively, resisting the urge to move her hands as her younger brother grabbed hold of her chin to clean it. “Scars are like a story, your story, written on your skin!” Hugo rolled his brown eyes.
“You spend too much time on Tumblr,” he muttered, placing a few butterfly bandages over the mark. “There, you’re done.” He handed her a compact mirror, which she used to eye her chin.
“Wicked,” she grinned, standing up and turning towards her teammates, who had long since filed into the locker room. Her thick braid nearly hit Hugo in the face, but he ducked just in time and shared an eyeroll with Trevor Wood. Rose was definitely a weird girl.
(Seventeen years old)
Rose’s hands wrapped gently around Hugo’s arms, fingers trailing over the ugly pink scars that reached from his wrists to his elbows and crossed over several smaller, silvery marks. He refused to look at her, staring at a spot above her head. The boring white walls of his room at St. Mungo’s less painful than the tears on her pale cheeks. “They said it’ll never go away,” she said softly, her voice breaking just a tad on the last word.
“I know,” he said. His father shifted by the doorway, trying to look as if he wasn’t listening, but the two teenagers knew he was. “Too much emotion when I made them or something like that.” Hugo gave a small shrug, as if the knowledge didn’t break him a little.
“Merlin, Hu,” she whispered, lifting her hand to wipe angrily at a tear that dared to fall from her blue eyes.
He smiled a little at his sister. “I thought you’d like it,” he said softly, voice teasing. “You know - since you like scars so much.”
Rose frowned, glaring at him with a force that made him turn his head to look at her. “Godric,” she grumbled, “Now isn’t the time for making fun of me for my eccentricities!” Hugo couldn’t help but laugh at that, the way her voice raised and her eyes flashed so that she really looked like a terrifying mix of Aunt Ginny and their mother. It should have scared the pants off of him, and yet he couldn’t help but be amused.
“Oh, Rosie,” he smirked, “It’s always the time for making fun of you.”
Rose continued to glare at him, but soon her face softened and she began to giggle as well, leaning over to kiss her brother on the nose. “You idiot,” she mumbled, smile giving away that she was happy he seemed happy.
(Twenty years old)
“Al and I are alright,” she said seriously, wrapping an arm around her best friend and cousin’s neck. “Just a coupl’a scars - nothing to worry about.”
Scorpius groaned, inspecting the growing bruises around a pair of long, shallow cuts on her ribs. Albus wasn’t any better off, as he was laughing through a broken rib and his entire stomach had a scratch across it. Luckily, the wounds had already been tended to by St. Mungo’s staff - including a very grumpy Hugo Weasley - and were in the process of slowly healing what hadn't been entirely finished when they were signed out of St. Mungo's.
“Sometimes, I hate that you’re training to be aurors,” he stated, running a hand through his blond hair. Rose rolled her eyes, smirking at him and shaking her head.
“No, mate,” Albus replied, green eyes alight with mischief. “You hate it all the time. But the danger makes it so much more fun!” Rose nodded in agreement with her cousin, sticking her tongue out at Scorpius.
“Children. I am living with actual children,” Scorpius grumbled, falling onto the couch with a groan.
Rose laughed at him and tugged on a curl, bending down to inspect the new, magically healed scars on her torso. “Don’t say that,” she advised. “You don’t know Hell until you live with James Potter. Or even just Rosalie Thorn - now that girl was a nightmare. Though it was more the company she kept than anything, honestly.”
Albus nodded in agreement. He hopped off the breakfast bar that separated the living room and kitchen, and headed for the fridge. “Really, my brother is an idiot,” he agreed. “Makes me look like a Ravenclaw, isn’t that right, Rosie?”
Rose rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she teased, sticking her tongue out as he glared at her.
Scorpius leaned down again to peer at her new scars. “They’re pretty bad, Rose,” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to her stomach.
She shrugged. “I like them,” she smiled gently, pulling him up to press a kiss to his lips.
(Thirty-Two Years Old)
“Mummy?”
“Hm?” Rose asked, pausing as she tucked Holden into bed.
He peered up at her with his wide gray eyes, so much like his father's. “Why’ve you got so many scars?” he asked, tilting his head. “No one else has near as many as you, and Uncle Hu says that’s ‘cause they were magicked away.”
Rose frowned, wondering idly why her son was asking her this. She glanced over at his twin sister, who looked just as curious as he. “It’s because I like them,” she said finally. “I like the stories behind them. That’s why I never let anyone get rid of them, if I can help it.”
Eleanor nodded slowly, biting on her tiny lip. A frown line appeared between her eyebrows, and Rose reached over to smooth it away. “Which one’s your favorite, Mummy?” she asked softly, tugging gently on one of her strawberry blonde curls.
Rose smiled brightly, lifting her shirt to reveal the jagged scar across her abdomen, bold compared to the smaller, white ones left from auror training. “This one,” she said, pointing at it. “This is the one that gave me you, and I wouldn’t change it for a thing.”