Dandelions

A WARM WELCOME

The rest of Christmas holiday was spent lounging around in the tiny little grey room that Rory shared with Dean, sprawled across the floor, or his bed, sometimes even sitting at his desk like a functioning member of society. All he had to do to pass the time was read through the plethora of quidditch books George had loaned him, or tell Dean all of the same stories over and over again.

Not that he minded, he was glad Dean seemed to enjoy his stories no matter how many times he told him. It paid off to see his eyes glitter, it reminded Rory of how he felt the first time he walked into Hogwarts himself.

The only problem with passing the time via only those two activities came to the quidditch books. Really, it was George's fault, if he had never mentioned that he specifically gave Rory the Irish books because of Troy, he could have just looked them over and appreciated the player in...well in a gay way. Now, all he could do every time he saw Troy's face was think of George.

Which sucked, because there was a gigantic wall poster at the head of Rory's bed with Troy's face right on it. Not to mention all the smaller ones that dotted the rest of the wall.

Still, Rory could not help but feel torn as he packed up the last of his things to go back to Hogwarts, pulling a sweater shirt over top of the already toasty Weasley jumper he had put on just that morning.

It had snowed on Saturday, leaving a dusting of white covering all of London like a thick blanket. Roads had turned into muddy, mushy messes that left every single driver in the city cursing at their steering wheel. That, of course, included Rory's step-father.

"Dylan, please," his mother whispered harshly after a particular string of curses.

"Davina," he sighed, "I couldn't have imagined we'd be out in this mess," his step-father commented under his breath.

"He's not old enough to go alone yet," his mother fussed, both probably assuming Rory was safely out of ear shot.

He wasn't.

"He's almost, what, fifteen? He's plenty old enough, I was going down to the corner to buy my dad cigarettes before that."

"And he's supposed to drag his suitcase through this? I'd rather die than have people know I send my son to do things like that."

"Like people'd know he's your son."

Rory decided it was better to look out the window and let his eyes trail over the snowbanks collected at the curb. Going back to Hogwarts after this holiday felt a little bittersweet, and having to say goodbye to Dean at the front doorstep still hadn't quite lost its sting. The only thing comforting him was the quiet hope that Dean was also a wizard, and that he'd be coming with Rory to Hogwarts next school year.

"Roland, get out the car," his step-father called, "Get your luggage."

"Alright," he reluctantly responded, knowing that silence would earn him a lecture on respect.

Rory followed his parents out slowly, his mouth curling into a scowl as he muttered under his breath. Neither of them wanted to do this, the only reason either of them were even bothering to walk him in is so his mother could get her kicks off knowing people were seeing what a doting and protective mother she was.

His mother was fretting about her brooch, complaining it had a smudge or something. All Rory could do was roll his eyes, subtly, of course, and he pulled his trunk toward the luggage carts on his own. He almost would've preferred his parents let him slug through the snow if it meant he could leave them behind.

Luckily, it didn't take long to get near the brick wall that held the wizarding world just on the other side. And just when Rory thought, maybe, this would be a nice, uneventful sendoff--he squinted at a familiar head of black dreadlocks.