Written for the HPFFC Quotes Challenge. Maybe it's true, maybe we don't know what we've got until we lose it. But its also true that we don't know what we've lost until we've found it.

Don't ask me how it links. It just does.

This idea has been bouncing around in my head for about four weeks now, and I figured it was time to get it out. It was very difficult to write, so go easy on me!

1st person POV: Rose Weasley.

For all the real Scorpius' out there, and the girls who love them.

The first thing I noticed as I dragged my trunk out of the station was the bus with no numbers. It waited outside, solitary in the myriad of movement that King's Cross Station opened out onto. Horns were blaring, people were shouting, rain was dripping in an audibly silent, but strangely tangible rhythm, a backbeat to the entire scene of chaos. And then there was the bus. The single, motionless bus, waiting. Waiting.

Until you see a bus without a number, you don't know the true meaning of pointless. Not stupid pointless, like some guy who tries to show off by jumping off the stairway as it's moving (that's just dumb), but real, confronting, unimaginably sad – pointless. I mean, literally, the whole purpose of the bus was lost, just because those few digits that were supposed to be on it weren't. There was no driver in it, no passengers queuing up, no nothing. Of course not. I don't think anyone really knew what it was doing there at all. They all knew it was pointless too.

It was as I considered all this that Scorpius Malfoy came out of the station. He paused just outside the doors, just like I'd done, looking around the crowded street. From my position by the edge of the footpath, I saw his eyes linger for an extra moment on the numberless bus, before continuing on to the line of vehicles behind it. I stayed silent and hidden as he wandered to the side of the doors, his steps by chance bringing him closer to me.

Eyes lowered, head down, shoulders hunched – it was what I'd always learnt to do around Scorpius Malfoy. I was so used to it that it was just automatic now, and I cringed internally as the tension started in my body, forcing my shoulders forward to covers my face. I could feel my cheeks flushing, so turned my head away, letting my hair swing over my shoulder, blocking my view of him behind the newly black waves.

My pseudo-friend Darcey had dyed my hair for me, casting the charm with a flourish of her Reed wand with a dragon-heartstring core, her most prized possession. I remember her little expression of shock when she saw just how dark my hair had become (the book had specifically said this spell would give a 'stronger, richer, more suitable hair colour'), but nonetheless she recovered quickly, hoisting a smile on to her flawless face and grinning.

"Perfect," she'd said. "It looks great."

My other friends, knowing better than to argue with Darcey when she was on a mission, nodded mutedly. Only Penny shot me a sympathetic look as Darcey linked her arm in mine and pulled me out of the abandoned classroom that we'd been using.

Penny, like me, is in Gryffindor. We're the only two in our 'group', with Darcey and the other Ravenclaws having taken us in halfway through third year, when they realised that we were beating them in exams. I'm not sure if they're familiar with the 'If you can't beat them, join them' idea, but they did a good job of pulling it off, not only taking our places at the top of the class, but also our study techniques and essay topics. I guess I've never really held it against them though, because to be honest I don't think it's worth it. Before Darcey came along, Penny and I used to spend all our time in library, reading, talking, occasionally glancing shyly at the boys in the year above us who'd never stop to chat. We're better now, both having had at least one boyfriend (two, in Penny's case) and established small, but certainly existent reputations.

So I was happy. Being taken in by Darcey was an improvement. I just know it was. It's just that, sometimes, lying in my bed in Gryffindor Tower, the sound of the other girls' light breathing quiet in the background, I'm not so sure. There has always been one thing that's bothered me about Darcey. Just a little.

And, unfortunately, that one thing was drifting ever closer to my hiding spot as he waited outside the station for something or someone to pick him up.

Scorpius Malfoy is hot. There's no escaping that reality. He's also smart – another thing no sane person is going to try to deny. And he's a Slytherin, a fact which Darcey constantly feels the need to remind me of. Remind me, as in, "Have you seen Scorpius today? He is looking fine. Very fine. So fine... it's a shame you'll never admit it, Rosie. I mean, if he wasn't in Slytherin you two would make a great couple. But, as it is, I guess you'd never even consider a guy like that. Which means he is totally free for me to take. Got it?"

The "got it" was said with a laugh, but that laugh only ever came after a slight pause, a moment that Darcey used to make sure that no one would challenge her. It's not that she thought we would betray her or was stuck up or vain or anything like that. She's just possessive. Once she's claimed something, you don't take it from her. Not because she'd hurt you or spread rumours or spill secrets – she's not like that. She'd just sit there, hurting, making sure you knew it. I don't even know if she does it consciously. But Darcey has a hurt face that could make mountains crumble. Her eyes drop, her hair suddenly looks harsh and cage-like, holding her pretty, pale face in a prison of pain. No one wants to make Darcey make that face.

I glanced at Scorpius Malfoy through my curtain of hair, somehow knowing that he still hadn't noticed me. He was close now, close enough that if he turned and looked, not even my new hair colour could disguise me.

It was easy to imagine, that half-look in my direction and then a double-take as he recognised me. A slight smile at seeing the familiar face, which I would automatically return. Then he'd say... something. Of course, my fantasies never went beyond there. I'd never spoken to him before, which made it difficult to predict what he'd say, how he'd say it, how I'd respond. Although the last one was easier than the others to guess. My response would probably be composed of a stutter, a bad joke and an uncontrollable need to avoid meeting his eyes. That's how I'd always felt around Scorpius.

Scorpius. Oops. I forgot to add the Malfoy. The Malfoy part of his name had never really mattered to me – never seemed particularly important in the big scheme of things. That was the part that father had so cared about, back when I'd first started at Hogwarts, but after two years of nothing but good news about the newest Malfoy, Dad sort of ran out of ammunition. He ran out of reasons to tell me to avoid 'that Malfoy boy'. So, like a good girl, I stopped avoiding him.

We were never close. Never. But I'd gotten to the point where if we accidentally caught each other's eyes we'd smile and look away. Not exactly on the point of making out, but you know, certainly not hating each other. When I'd talked about him, it was always just his first name, just Scorpius. To me, he wasn't Scorpius Malfoy, the son of my father's schoolyard enemy. He was just Scorpius – intelligent, insightful, quiet and thoughtful. Not exactly a bad guy. Not exactly a guy who it seemed so insane to entertain the thought of me, one day, maybe going out with once or twice

Then Darcey came along. With her came the baggage, the rules, the compromise. Part one was that the name Scorpius was ambiguous, non-specific, meaningless if used by anyone but her. To the rest of us, he was Scorpius Malfoy. Always Malfoy. I used to lie awake in bed rehearsing saying his name over and over again, until each sound made my ears ring.

"Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy."

Penny woke up once, yawning, "Rose? Did you say something?"

For a second I considered telling her. For a second I considered opening my mouth again, and letting the name roll off my tongue, hoping it would sound as natural as I wanted it to. For a second, I considered sharing my new chant, my new mantra, with my older friend. Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy. But I didn't.

"Never mind," I'd said, and watched her lay back down, roll over and sleep on.

A gust of wind blew along the street, making umbrellas and hats fly up in a cloud of greys and blacks. My hair whipped around my face, tangling mercilessly. Unconsciously, I combed my fingers through the knotted strands, slowly pulling apart the bits that had clumped together, completely forgetting about Scorpius almost right beside me.

A sudden awareness dawned on me as I saw him turn his head, catching sight of me in his peripheral vision. Just as I'd imagined, he did a little double take, and seeing that I'd seen him, let that slow, cautious, not-quite smile curl his lips. Exhaling in desperate hope to gain much-needed composure, I waited a count of three before smiling back, wishing my smile could as casual and normal-looking as his.

I half-turned away, wondering if I could walk off, as if I'd just seen my parents arriving, but a start from him saved me the trouble.

"Oh, sorry, that's my ride," he said, as if we'd been having a conversation up til then. "I have to go. See you, Rosie!"

I was still processing the first words when his hand awkwardly touched my arm, most probably by accident, and he began walking away, heading towards a large, silver car that had just pulled up smoothly behind the numberless bus.

Not quite sure what to do, I opened my mouth to shout something back, but my throat closed up, that automatic reaction kicking in. That chanting must have worked. Scorpius Malfoy. Just Scorpius Malfoy. Not a guy who I know, or plan on knowing, or who I like, or plan on liking. Just a guy. Just another Guy.

Keeping my joints tensed – in case that impulsive, reckless side of me decided to try anything – I watched him walk over to his huge car, pushing his trolley with his owl and trunk in front of him. Scorpius Malfoy. Nothing special. No different from every other guy who had ever talked to me. No better than them. No more deserving of my time or my thoughts.

I watched him open the back of the car, forcing my eyes to close in an extended blink as he lifted his trunk, not letting me see any bulging muscles or struggling weakness. It was none of my business whether or not Scorpius Malfoy looked good while lifting a heavy trunk. It was none of my business if his shirt lifted up a bit in the breeze, showing a patch of surprisingly tanned, taut skin on his back. I did an exaggerated blink again, the responsible, loyal, friends-with-Darcey part of my mind wishing he would have disappeared when I opened them again.

Strangely enough, when I did look back to the street, for a second I thought my wish had come true. And in that little moment, I regretted it. I regretted that wish. I know they say never to regret anything, but I did, just for a moment, just for long enough to rein myself in, check my thoughts, regain control of myself, keep that tension in my body, that pressure not to do anything wrong. In that moment of regret, a different wish dawned on me.

I wished he'd stayed. I wished he'd turned around, glancing back at me, and smiled, a real smile, like the ones he sometimes gave Darcey when she'd sit and talk to him in the library. I wished he'd noticed me earlier, come over and talked to me, started the conversation that all of my friends told me I wasn't supposed to have.

That was when I saw him. He was coming back.

My expression must have looked torn, worried, confused, because he paused when he reached me, scanning my face.

"Sorry," he apologised, although I wasn't sure what for. "I dropped my..." He stopped, bending down to pick up a few folded pieces of paper.

"Stuff," I finished for him.

One side of his mouth lifted in a brief, lopsided grin, "Yeah, my stuff."

We stood there for a moment longer, staring, waiting, I'm not quite sure what for. Whatever it was, it never came, and eventually he turned to look over his shoulder, back at the car waiting for him.

"I'd better go," he said, sounding again like he was apologising.

"Okay," I answered, though I knew it wasn't required.

"See you, Rosie," he nodded, turning and starting to walk away.

This time I'd forgotten to tense my muscles. This time, my throat hadn't closed up. This time, I called after him.

"It's Rose, you know."

He stopped, looking back at me.

"What?"

"My name, it's Rose, not Rosie." I smiled, "See you, Malfoy."

He shook his head, and my heart skipped a beat as his eyes sparkled that way they did when he laughed at Darcey's jokes.

"It's Scorpius," he called back. "If I'm calling you Rose, you should call me Scorpius."

I nodded. "Okay. Bye, Scorpius."

"Bye, Rose. See you soon."

He was grinning a real, proper grin as he turned away, jogging the rest of the way to his car.

I didn't feel guilty, watching him open the door and pull himself up into the leather interior. I didn't feel stupid, tiling my head to the side to catch one last glimpse of him before he pulled the door closed. And I didn't even feel a bit like a bad friend as I let his last words echo in my head. Bye, Rose. See you soon.

Soon, he'd said. Soon.

I sighed, giving up the hope that I was strong and confident and mature enough not to. Scorpius Malfoy had talked to me. Scorpius Malfoy had said goodbye to me. Scorpius Malfoy had told me to call him Scorpius. I'd bet he's never said something like that to Darcey.

And okay, she's prettier than me – taller than me, thinner than me, with long, dark, perfectly wavy hair and golden eyes; she's smarter than me – top of the year last year, and totally acing every test so far; she's more popular than me. But she isn't me. And maybe, just maybe, in a world where my fantasies can run wild and free, that will make a difference.

I looked back over at the bus, still sitting there: empty, lonely, pointless. It had no purpose, no difference it could make, or job that it could do. But it was there – it existed. Maybe, one day, that could mean something. Sometimes, just being an option is enough.