Rose Weasley woke up with the knowledge that it would not be a normal day. The first Hogsmeade weekend of her sixth year was supposed to be a happy time, yes? And yet Rose arose that morning with the feeling of dread congealing in the pit of her stomach like sour milk.
Her first clue came rather early with the untimely arrival of her best friend, Mila Chang. Usually asleep in her own dorm until 5 minutes before breakfast, the fact that Mila was peering at her from the foot of her bed when she woke up was rather alarming.
"Good morning, Rose," Mila chirped.
Rose raised her head off of her pillow, sitting up on her elbows and squinting at her uncharacteristically cheery friend.
"Whadda you want?" She croaked, a nasty morning frog lodging itself in her throat.
At a rather blank look from Mila, Rose tried to worm her way from under the covers, but was thwarted quite quickly. Mila had launched herself onto Rose's bed, preventing her from escaping by sitting on her legs. Rose narrowed her eyes at the girl. Short and slim, Mila would be easy to throw from the bed. Rose proceeded to do just that. She was not a morning person either.
With a rather loud "oomph," Mila was on the floor and Rose was taking her own lanky frame to the door.
"No!" Mila squeaked, racing across the small room and blocking the door before Rose had a chance to leave. "I… Um…" Mila stammered. "Wanna play wizards chess? I might just accept defeat this time…?" she asked, finally deciding on an excuse.
"Bloody hell! Why would I want to play chess this early in the morning?" Rose was not in the mood for another one of Mila's stunts. They always got her detention. She just wanted to go down to the common room and say good morning to her boyfriend. Why was that such a problem?
"You're right, Rose. Let's just go back to sleep then, yeah?" Mila tried guiding rose back to the bed, but Rose was having none of it.
"Mila! For god sakes, what is so important that I have to stay in the dormitory?" At this she wrenched her arm away from her friend, the quick temper she inherited from her father getting the best of her once again.
For once I'd just like to wake up in peace, she thought bitterly, as she stormed down the stairs to the common room, Mila right behind her.
Her entire world then proceeded to crash down around her shoulders in a big, pitiful pile.
"I'm so sorry, rose," she heard Mila whisper behind her.
There on the couch was her long time boyfriend (since fourth year) Lysander Scamander. Also on the couch, was Peach Brown. Peach Brown.
Peach Brown with her long blonde hair. Long straight hair. Currently, this sickly straight hair had fingers running through it. Vey familiar fingers. Her piggish moans could be heard clear across the room.
Lysander and Brown were snogging.
Passionately.
In the middle of the common room.
Rose suppressed a groan.
Somehow hearing her above all the grotesque slurping, Lysander met her eyes, not even disengaging his tongue.
Rose searched his chocolate brown (she would later refer to them as poop brown) irises for regret. Guilt. Anything that might give her the slightest reason to forgive him.
Upon finding nothing of the sort, she ran.
Not knowing quite where she should go, and regrettably still in her candy cane stripped pajamas, she hunkered down in a corner somewhere near the dungeons. Thankfully, the corridor was deserted. When she was settled, with her legs pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her knees, she let the tears fall.
Hot, angry tears.
Angry at Lysander for cheating on her.
Angry at him for not really loving her.
Angry at herself for thinking he had loved her.
Angry at Peach for having everything a boy could ever want.
Angry at herself for not having everything a boy could ever want.
She continued saying these horrible things to herself for quite some time.
Angry at Lily for being able to pull off red hair.
Angry at the sun for giving her so many freckles.
"Of course Peach wouldn't have any bloody freckles," she mumbled, sniffing her runny nose.
"What's this about freckles, Weasley?"
Rose stiffened at the bitingly cold voice above her. Of course Scorpius Malfoy, her all time, most hated rival ever, the only person she actively tried to despise, would find her blubbering and puffy eyed in a corner.
And she did not under any circumstances find him to be devilishly attractive. Not one bit.
"Bugger off, Malfoy," she spat, raising her tawny hazel eyes to meet his icy grey ones.
Upon realizing that Rose was in need of some help, Scorpius decided not to be a git. Just this once.
And he did not under any circumstances find her to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Never in a million years.
"Are you okay, Weasley?" he asked. The coolness in his voice was less apparent.
Rose had no time to express any displeasure as he took a seat next to her. She was very aware of his sudden closeness.
So was he. He subconsciously (he told himself it was subconscious) sat this close on purpose.
Rose buried her face in her hands. "I'm really not in the mood, Malfoy. Don't you have some first years to harass at Hogsmeade?" Her last word didn't quite make it out properly, for she had dissolved into uncontrollable sobs once again.
At this, Scorpius very carefully, so as not to upset her further, brought his arm up and around to rest on her shoulders, pulling her closer. Instead of pushing him away like he imagined, Rose only snuggled closer, laying her head on his chest and clutching at his shirt.
He was suddenly unable to form any coherent thought what so ever.
She smelled like strawberries.
"You know Rose, I don't think your freckles are all that bad… certainly not bad enough to cry over." As he said this her hair tickled the bottom of his chin. He quickly banished all fluttering nonsense from his stomach.
Rose internally rolled her eyes.
He would think she was crying over freckles.
"It's not that…" She sniffled, bringing her free arm up and around his neck. "Lysanders with Peach Brown." She then buried her face in his shoulder, soaking his shirt.
"Peach Brown?" He questioned, feeling her nod against him. "Why on earth would he leave you for Peach Brown?" He realized too late that he had wondered this aloud.
"Because I'm ugly!" She mumbled into his shirt. "just look at me, Malfoy!"
He absentmindedly reached up and began stroking her hair.
"You're not ugly Rose. Far from it, as far as I'm concerned." Rose couldn't see it, but a tiny, barely perceptible blush had appeared on the ever dignified Malfoy's fair cheeks. His father would have his hide if he knew.
Rose didn't say anything to this. She was pondering whether or not Malfoy had just inadvertently called her pretty.
After a while her tears began to dry.
And then she realized that she was practically hugging Scorpius Malfoy.
And then she realized that he was stroking her hair.
But it did not feel nice. At all.
She took a moment to savor this new and quite frightening situation.
Her curves did not feel good at all against his hard side. They did not fit perfectly there at all.
His fingers in her hair did not send butterflies all through her stomach.
She smelled him. He smelled… clean. Like lemon soap. It was not probably the best thing she had ever smelled in her life.
Nothing like Lysander, who frequently smelled of corn chips.
Rose pondered why she had never smelled Scorpius before.
Probably too busy scheming his untimely demise, she thought ruefully.
This thought reminded her of something dreadfully important.
This was Scorpius Malfoy.
This boy hated her!
Then why was he comforting her?
She sat up.
"Scorpius…" she began. She looked up at him with frightened eyes. He didn't want to hurt her.
"No, listen Rose," he said, cutting her off. "Scamander is a lousy prat and he doesn't deserve someone like you. So don't cry over him. He's not worth it." He said all of this with a very determined look on his face. He wasn't going to hide his feelings from himself anymore. He had to admit it. He liked her. He, Scorpius Malfoy, liked Rose Weasley. Rose Weasley with her long, curly red hair, her gloriously golden hazel eyes… He silently willed her to understand.
As Rose looked up into his eyes, she noticed that they were not quite the same cool, icy grey they normally were. They were like sparkling crystal, blue and silver swirled. His platinum blonde hair falling gracefully onto his high forehead. As she gazed up at him she just couldn't deny it any longer. She liked him. She, Rose Weasley, liked Scorpius Malfoy. And she had a feeling that he liked her back.
She then did something very much like her mother would have done if faced with the same situation.
She kissed him.
One moment, Rose was sitting there, looking gorgeous as always, a thousand thought racing across her eyes, and then the next moment, she was kissing him.
He responded with quite a bit of enthusiasm, wrapping his long arms about her small waist, pulling her flush against him.
This confirmed Rose's earlier suspicions, and she snaked her arms around his neck and up into his hair.
She wasn't aware that male hair could be so soft.
She pulled away just enough to whisper against his swollen lips.
"I think I might like you Malfoy." Her sweet breath fanned across his hot cheeks.
"It's about time you admitted it, Weasley," he said as he pulled her in, smiling against her lips.
Lysander Scamander was forgotten.
Rose knew it wasn't going to be a normal day.