"I don't suppose," he says, facing her mane of curls, "that we're going to last?
She says something but the words are muffled by the silver pillow. "What was that?"
"Family," she breathes, "ruins everything. Especially mine."
"We can—you know that you don't have to listen to them, right? You're not just another Weasley, Rose."
"That's where you're wrong, Malfoy."
He pretends not to feel the sting of his last name, one coated in centuries of lies and blood. He always tells her to call her Scorpius when they are alone. She has done so every day but today and he can try to deny it but it burns.
"No—don't say that, Rose, don't. You—I'm not him, and you are not her. We are our—own people!" he stutters through his words and she slightly laughs at him.
But then the mood turns somber, "Goodbye, Scorpius," and then she is gone and then he does not know what to think.