Letters

Rose walked into the Hall for breakfast one Saturday morning in March. She slid into a vacant chair next to James and huffily piled eggs, bacon, and toast on her plate. James didn't say anything about the small mountain of food on Rose's plate. He did give her a long look at the invective she was muttering under her breath as she poured herself a cup of tea. 'Bee in your bonnet this morning, Rosie?' he asked.

Rose glared at him, and crammed a whole slice of toast in her mouth. Swallowing, she spread jam on another slice and without looking at James, huffed, 'Boys are bloody idiots.'

'Wow. Thanks, Rosie,' James responded sarcastically, nudging Scorpius, who had just joined them.

'Not you, you daft git. Milton.'

James felt his eyebrows disappear under his fringe. 'Ravenclaw sixth-year?' Rose nodded shortly. 'What did he do?' James knew Brian Milton, who seemed to be a nice enough bloke, if a little too serious about the studies.

'Idiot waited until just now to ask if I'd go into Hogsmeade with him,' Rose sulked. 'Then he had the audacity to be upset when I told him I already had plans to go with you lot.'

'Wait, isn't he the one who used to tease you for practically falling out of your seat in class, when you knew the answer to something? Used to do sort of mean imitations of you in the corridors?' Scorpius gave Rose a blank look. 'And you're upset about not going to Hogsmeade with him?'

'And I thought you were intelligent,' Rose said pityingly. James and Scorpius exchanged looks and shrugged.

Later, as they group of cousins made their way down the lane to Hogsmeade, James could only laugh to himself. Milton was an idiot if he thought waiting until the last minute as a good way to get on Rose's good side. Although, when Rose was upset, she didn't have a good side.

Later that evening, Rose sat at a table in the common room, with a folded letter in front of her, wondering if she should send it home. Mum would be all right with it, she reasoned. But Dad will have a litter of Kneazles. Rose tucked the letter into her book and went upstairs to bed.

*****

Dear Mum and Dad,

My classes are going fine, although Professor Williams gave us a test in Potions the other day with no advance warning. I missed one of the questions, which is disappointing. Professor Trentham said my hair color Transfigurations are some of the best she's seen. Professor McGonagall even said it might be the best since you were here, Mum!

There is one thing they don't teach us here, though. Why are boys so... infuriatingly thick? Why do they think it's perfectly acceptable to wait until the last minute to ask you to do something, then when you decline, as you've made other plans, he had the absolute nerve to be insulted?!?!?!? What's worse, this particular idiot is a Ravenclaw, so you'd think he would be smarter than that. This is the kind of behavior I'd expect from Fred or Jacob. Maybe even James. This... insufferable stuffed shirt has been picking fights with me since second year. Mocks me mercilessly in the corridors. Scowls at me on the Quidditch pitch when I block one of his goals. And worse than that, Dad, he makes fun of my Chasers jersey! Idiot. If he knew anything about Quidditch, he'd know that the Cannons just need a good Keeper. He wouldn't know the right end of a broomstick if you pointed it out to him.

He's lucky I haven't hexed him yet.

Love,

Rosie

*****

'Oh my.' Hermione bit her lip, her daughter's bad temper evident in the number of underscored words. 'Sounds familiar, doesn't it?' She handed the letter to Ron, who read it with a faint sense of alarm. Rosie, in his opinion, was too young to think about boys. 'I should write her back,' Hermione said.

'No, I'll do it,' Ron said quickly.

'Really? But you hate writing letters.'

'Yeah, but I think this time, I'm better qualified than you,' he informed Hermione, a smug expression on his face. 'All those years of being a - what did she call it?' Ron scanned the letter. 'An infuriatingly thick boy.'

'Please don't say anything to upset her.'

'Hey now. I've managed to up my emotional range from that of a teaspoon to at least a teapot, Mione.' Ron grinned at his wife. 'Don't worry. I can write something that won't send her off to her dormitory in tears.'

*****

A few days later, Rose braved the raw March wind to read the letter she'd received from Ron. Settling on the grass, near the Black Lake in a patch of sunshine, Rose took a deep breath, and opened the seal.

Dear Rosie,

I know, you were expecting your mum to write this, and if you're not satisfied with my answer, just owl us back.

So you want to know why boys are so thick? Well... because most boys (and I include myself in this when I was that age) are unable to see past the tip of their nose. If it doesn't involve the words, "Quidditch" or "motorbike" or some other chest-pounding activity, it doesn't exist. And for some reason, boys don't see girls as girls until it's too late. But once they do see the girl as a girl, and in your case, separate from all your cousins, they'll try anything to impress you.

It won't happen overnight, though. Sometimes, it takes a few more years for a boy to pull his head out of his arse long enough to realize the girl who's been sitting across the table from you since the age of eleven is the one he wants to marry. And of course, he gets mad at your Chaser skills because he's an idiot. If he really liked you, he'd admire your ability to block, even if he is on the opposing team. And really, you should teach him a lesson about insulting certain Quidditch teams. Insulting the Cannons is just too easy.

As for mocking you, Rosie, he just wants to get your attention. And he picks fights with you, because, well, he doesn't really know how to talk to girls, so he's going to find something to bicker with you about. Because, hey, he gets to talk to you, even if it is arguing about how much dragon dung fertilizer to put in the Venomous Tentacula plant in Herbology.

If he really likes you, Rose-bud, he'll come around, and I guarantee you that he will not wait until Saturday morning to ask you to go to the Three Broomsticks or somewhere like that with him. He'll ask as soon as the notice for the Hogsmeade weekend is posted. And he'll find some way to have a real conversation with you, and not just the arguing.

It only took me the better part of seven years to do that with your mother.

Don't worry, Rose. Most of us grow out of it.

Love,

Dad