Disclaimer: I don't own.
A new Scorpius Malfoy/ Rose Weasely one shot, it's slightly depressing but a very happy ending. Very different from Rose's tale, shows Scorpius in a completely different light and also includes foul and British slang language. Also includes another next gen Malfoy that I made up completely.
Summary: Four years I had fought for her. Four years of rejection, fights, insults and tears, all from her of course. Four years of pleading, begging, declarations of love and love letters, from me of course, finally resulting in one incredible word: Yes. It just shows how fragile things are. It can all be gone in an instant.
It's still my Rose
In my third year at Hogwarts I decided I was going to ask out Rose Weasely. I was already a bit of a player, even at the tender age of thirteen; I was picking up, using and dumping girls like snotty tissues. I know, what a dickhead, right? But it was my upbringing, my older brother Orion, always taught me to use girls like there was no tomorrow.
He used to say "They're only there for a quick feel up, so when they want a shoulder to cry on, that's your queue to make like a banana and split!"
I hate my brother.
So when my friend Cassius Zabini pointed out how hot Rose had become over the summer, I (and I am ashamed to admit this) called dibs on her, officially proclaiming that I, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, would have her.
I walked up to her on the fifth of September, all brawn and no brains, called her a fitty and said she would be lucky to have me. I walked back to a laughing Cassius with a bruised ego and a slapped cheek.
I then came up with tonnes of ideas to make her mine, from singing love letters that wouldn't shut up, to roses that spewed out glitter that spelled her name when she held them. I even enchanted all the suits of armour to waltz around her and push her to me. I got a broken nose for that one.
Then Rose got a boyfriend. Nicolas Berry, an exchange student from America, he swooped in on his stupid 'American broomstick,' enchanted my Rose and managed to achieve in ten minutes what I had been trying to do for the past year.
They were together up until the end of fifth year. Rose was waiting for him at the entrance hall; they were going to Hogsmead together for one of their three week anniversaries. Me, being the naturally talented stalker who had never given up on Rose, was hiding from her. Rose looked worried and kept checking her watch; she soon left so, naturally, I followed.
Then we both stumbled upon dear, perfect American Nicolas shagging the brains out of Amy Brown in an empty charms classroom. Rose saw me behind her and went crazy.
Here's where the story gets worse. After she found out about Nicolas, obviously being the lunatic red-head that she is, said I knew about it and started throwing hexes at me whilst sobbing and screaming. I didn't know what the fuck to do, did I? Then she collapsed on me and said no one would ever want her.
I tried to comfort her and I said I would always want her, so she started snogging me but, me being the noble gentleman that I am, resisted and told her she needed to rest.
The next day she said she had no recollection of the previous day's events. Seeing her look so cold made me shrivel up inside. I felt sick.
So I stopped trying to win her heart, I would wait and let her give it to me.
Sixth year passed with me secretly yearning for Rose. I cursed whenever she caught me looking at her and scolded myself whenever my heart started thumping when she entered the same room I was in.
In seventh year, I was (by some miracle) awarded head boy. Rose was awarded head girl (no surprise there) this inevitably resulted in us sharing bedrooms close to each other and a living room.
And also sharing a bathroom…
As you can imagine, I accidentally walked in on Rose in the bathroom, insults flew, sexual tension erupted, one thing led to another, and… I finally got my Rose.
But I also got so much more than that.
It wasn't just a one night stand, we built a relationship. We built it out of the laughter we shared together at my failed attempts of winning Rose's heart.
We built our relationship out of trust; I swore I would never cheat. Rose's old wounds caused by 'the American twat' slowly closed.
We built our relationship from adoration, every simple nose scrunch and smile made me love her so much more. I couldn't believe she was finally mine.
No one believed we would remain together, but we proved them wrong. No one imagined a Malfoy Slytherin would end up falling for a Weasely Gryffindor. So when we passed our N.E.W.T exams with flying colours and bought a flat together, everyone was pleasantly surprised.
Rose began training as a professional Quidditch player (Position: Keeper, like her Father) and I began my internship as an Auror. Life was simple and it was good.
Then the relationship that we had slowly built together was shattered. The laughter stopped. The trust was gone. But the love remained.
Rose swore she would never train in the rain, she promised, she swore that she would never train in a storm.
The doctors said it was a miracle, that something extraordinary like a lightning strike didn't kill her.
Everyone expected us to break up.
No one expected Rose to get struck by lightning.
It was a one in a million chance of a Weasely and Malfoy ending up together, a one in a million chance of someone getting struck by lightning.
So now I'm sitting and waiting for my one and only love to wake up. I'm waiting for her to open her exquisite blue eyes. I'm waiting for her to smile her mischievous grin. I'm waiting for her to crack an awful joke and make a cheeky remark about my hair.
The healers say there's a huge chance that she won't remember us. They said it was a miracle she even made it, but it was unlikely she would even remember the event.
But I'm also waiting for her to wake up. I'm waiting for her to wake up and see confusion in her blue eyes. I'm waiting to hear a cry of uncertainty escape from her lips. I'm waiting for her to not remember me.
This thought hurts me so much I shy away from it. It strikes fear in my chest and makes me feel physically sick.
So I grip her small tanned hand and wait. Her eyelids flicker occasionally as I recall all the unintelligent pranks I pulled on her for attention. I laugh as I remember the first time I asked her out. I mention how the flat we share together needs a re-paint, the colours getting a bit old. I joke about how she's going to miss her training sessions. I comment on all the flowers she's received. I let her know her family is near.
Then I cry, because I've run out of things to say. This is what wakes her up.
I gaze into her eyes, typical Rose, she's not moving only looking right back. I look for some signs of recognition on her tanned face. I look for the smile on her lips, the twinkle in her eye.
But I only get silence. My Rose is gone; there is no smile, no twinkle and no recognition.
Then she speaks.
"You're crying." She muses.
She touches a tear that has slid down my cheek and stares at it on her finger. This isn't my Rose. My Rose would make some comment about how I look gay when I cry.
"You look like a poof when you cry." She casually remarks with her trademark smile.
It's still my Rose.
Hope you enjoyed it. I couldn't get it out of my head all day.
My writing playlist…
Snow Patrol: Just say yes, Chasing cars, Hands open, Run, Set fire to the third bar, you could be happy.
Ed Sheeran: Little Lady, A-team.
The Webb sisters: In your father's eyes, Words that mobilise, Baby can I hold you, Please please me, Savages, Baroque thoughts, One thousand stars.