She stood on the platform, seemingly suspended in time. Her hair floated around her head almost eerily, as if it had a mind of its own. It hung a lot lower since he'd seen her last.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. The country air had definitely done her good. She'd grown older, and not to mention, taller still, since school had ended last. Her eyes looked wiser, as though she'd learnt a few things since she'd left.
She didn't once look his way as she moved from the barrier, but stood by, waiting for her family.
She licked her lips – lips he was noticing for the first time – almost seductively. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for something, for someone in particular. She seemed to come up empty, and she looked at her feet dejectedly.
He wondered who she was looking for, and why she looked so sad that he wasn't there. Well, he suspected it was a he, anyway. He took a tentative step toward her, feeling suddenly nervous.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up into his father's grey eyes. His father followed his gaze and turned away, a sickly pale colour. The rest of her family burst through the barrier all at once, breaking her charm on him.
He looked up at his father. 'I guess it's goodbye, Dad.' He gave his father an awkward hug and pulled away first.
'Try and be good this year. We'll miss you, like always.' His father muttered, making sure no-one could hear him.
He hugged his mother, squeezing her tighter than he'd dared to do with his father. He pulled away from her first, as well. He squeezed her wrist as he turned. 'I'll see you next summer,' he said, over his shoulder.
His father wouldn't even notice that he was gone this Christmas. Besides, he knew that she stayed at Hogwarts during the winter break.
He turned on his heel, desperate to find a compartment of his own.
He searched through the train, dragging his trunk behind him. He didn't have to scour the train for long – most people were still saying goodbye to their parents. But, he was sixteen. He didn't need their love like the eleven year olds did. He was bigger than them – not just in stature, but on the inside. Mature, that's what his father used to say he was. Mature.
It was a funny word, but he guessed that it applied to him, all the same. Mature. He'd be the mature one. That was okay with him. It meant being alone, and alone time was something he told himself he loved.
He sat in the first free compartment he found, leaving the door open. He then stood back up, lifted his trunk onto the seat, not bothering to levitate it onto the rack.
He then closed the compartment door.
It was finally semi-quiet. The door muffled most noises that tried to push on through. He took a deep breath. Silence was the key to sanity, he thought to himself.
The train whistle blew, and loudly. There was a thundering of feet, voices too loud, outside his door. Three or four people opened the door to his compartment and then saw it was occupied and backed out again.
The wheels underneath him creaked loudly, and the engine rumbled to life.
Once he was seated, thankfully alone, he pulled out a book from his trunk. He knew that his father would hate the idea of him reading, but he also knew that his mother would love it.
He opened the book to where he was up to, and lost himself in the novel.
He never read around his parents, because he knew it would be a conflicting problem – his mother would practically squeal with delight, and his father would probably throw up in disgust. Their relationship was often like that. One would be mercilessly happy, but the other would storm around for days in hissy-fit. And he was always stuck in the middle.
He often spent his holidays on his broom, seeing how far away he could fly in an amount of time. For some reason, and he could never fathom why, he always turned around. How easy it should be to leave the place he was forced to call his home, but he never did.
When the trolley lady opened his almost-empty compartment, he bought one pumpkin pasty and started to eat it with one hand. He'd grown expert at this: pretending he didn't have a friend in the world, losing himself in the friends that words brought him. He could eat with one hand, an entire meal, too. He could brush his teeth with one hand, and even dress himself with his nose in a book.
The compartment door crashed open.
He looked up, startled.
It was her. She stood at his door, hair still floating slightly, though there was no longer any breeze to blow it. She was slightly breathless, and still carried her trunk. In her free hand she held a thick book. She bit her lip and stared at him with wide eyes. 'You don't mind?' She asked, in her musical voice. She gestured to the opposing seat. 'I've looked, but everywhere else is full.' She gave a slight grimace. 'And nowhere near quiet enough to read.'
He nodded, hopefully not too eagerly.
She looked up then, and smiled, her face breaking its worried look and becoming happy. She pulled her trunk in after her with a slight struggle, and levitated it to the rack. She sat opposite him and opened her book. Her eyes flickered to him, and he realised he was still watching her. She shrugged. 'You're Scorpius, right?'
He blushed; he couldn't believe she knew his name. He nodded. 'Potter's cousin, yeah?' He knew her name was Rose Weasley, but he couldn't bring himself to utter it out loud.
It was her turn to blush. 'Call me Rose.'
He swallowed. Was he to call her Rose because he'd be using her name? 'Rose.' He repeated, eyes flicking to the title of her book.
She sat down and opened her book. She lifted it slightly, and neither of them said anything.
He suddenly found it hard to concentrate on reading; it was all he could do to hold the book in front of his face to resist the urge to stare at her.
He couldn't help but lower the book at little and look at her.
She was reading Mysterious Master Mannigan. He'd read that before, hardly finding it worth his time. It was about this wizard who searched through three different realms to find his true love, before finding that his love had been murdered by Mr. Mannigan while he was searching through other realms. There'd been a hearing, in which Mr. Mannigan got off, scot-free but with a mental issue. He'd been put in St. Mungo's for safety. The writer was truly mad. 'I've read that.' He heard himself blurt out.
Rose looked up, then, hair floating a little more. She grimaced. 'So have I. Ages ago. It was all my cousin had, though. I stayed at Dominique's house this summer, and she's got a terrible collection of literature. Do you know Dominique Weasley?' Rose managed to get all of her words out in one breath.
'She's a year below us, right?' Scorpius had heard of the youngest one-eighth Veela/Weasley cousin, but wasn't remotely interested. Especially not if she was a fifth-year.
'Yeah. She's sixteen in December, though.' Rose blushed, obviously letting on more information than intended. Her cheeks were almost the same fiery colour as her hair. She bit her lip again. 'I don't really like this book – but the writing gets me, you know? The plot is terrible, but somehow I find this style of writing kind of soothing, intriguing. It draws me in and then spits me back out whenever he uses a big word that doesn't make sense. I think it was Macmillan's first novel, though.' She was a fast talker, that was for sure. Scorpius could barely keep up with her.
'Didn't Macmillan go to Hogwarts?' Scorpius asked her, remembering a rumour he'd heard.
Rose bit her lip, thinking for a moment. 'He was a Hufflepuff. I think that he was actually in the same year as my mum and dad. They were in Harry Potter's year,' She added the last bit matter-of-factly, as though it should impress him. '…but let us both hope it was his only novel, hey?' She said it like she was trying to joke around, in that same, breathless manner.
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile. 'My dad was, too. In Harry Potter's year, I mean.'
Rose cocked her head. 'You're a Malfoy, right?' The way she said things like that, it was like she was questioning what he knew about himself. Now, are you sure you're really what you think? Or have they been lying to you? Think harder, Scorpius. Are you a Malfoy? Or aren't you?
He nodded.
'My dad knew yours,' she said, giving her book a fleeting look. She put it down on the seat beside her. 'Of course, being Harry's niece means that my parents were best friends with him. Which also means that you're kind of my semi-enemy, as they hated each other.' Rose was breathing heavily, hardly able to keep up with her own pace.
Scorpius looked down at his book. 'I know.'
Rose bit her bottom lip, then, as though realising what she'd said probably wasn't what she supposed to.
There was a lull in the conversation. Scorpius cleared his throat and looked down. He had almost, nearly told her how pretty she looked. When he looked up, her blue eyes pierced him. So blue. It was the only coherent thought he could manage.
He didn't say anything, and neither did she. In time, they raised their books and looked down.
It was a matter of minutes later that he found himself staring at Rose again, wondering if she knew how beautiful she was. She wore a fringe, and it hung down in front of her face when she bent her neck to read.
Suddenly, she shifted. She moved around until she sat with her back against the window, her feet on the seat, her knees raised until she could rest the book on them and read without craning her neck. She slouched a little, making her look smaller than she was.
Scorpius shifted a bit, too. She looked up at him again.
This time, he didn't break eye contact. He'd all but forgotten about the book in his hand. He wouldn't be surprised if it suddenly dropped out of his numb fingers and crashed to the floor.
'I've read that book a lot,' Rose muttered, motioning to Warlock Association – Murder Magick.
Scorpius shrugged. 'I don't read at home, so it takes a while to read things.'
Rose's eyebrows pushed together, probably in confusion. He noticed that he eyebrows were slightly lighter than her hair, a kind of red-gold. Almost blonde.
He was blonde. His eyebrows were nearly non-existent. The same for his eyelashes.
She cocked her head again, not breaking eye contact. 'You… don't have many friends, do you?' She asked him, her voice smaller and softer than before.
He shrugged, not willing to admit his solace to the girl he'd been dreaming about since he'd left last year.
She finally broke eye contact, glancing at her feet. 'I don't, either.' She bit her lip again. Apparently it was something she did a lot.
Scorpius looked away from her lips, back to her eyes. They were so blue. He'd heard of blue eyes before, but… hers were like the sky. He'd seen her little brother around, and he had those dull brown eyes that people have that aren't romantic at all.
Scorpius had read all about romance. He knew what you were supposed to feel, the type of things you thought to yourself when you were in love. That's why he was so sure that he was in love with Rose Weasley.
She wore a grey skirt, one that fit so flawlessly against her long legs that it looked tailored. He wondered if it was. He wasn't sure if Rose's family had money or not. He knew that, stereotypically, the Weasley family didn't, but times had changed since his father knew the Weasley's, or his grandfather. She wore a pink top, a simple t-shirt with a pink flower over her left boob. That bust… was it possible that it had grown? Her hair flowed freely, curly, floating with… what almost seemed like electricity. It was, of course, bright, flaming red. Those blue eyes, Scorpius felt them looking at him right to his very core. Those lips, the same ones she kept biting on with her straight pearly teeth, they were pinker than her shirt, and occasionally, her cheeks were even pinker. She had a thin layer of freckles, covering her nose and her jaw line, proving that she spent time in the sun. Her skin was pale, but not as pale as his. She tugged occasionally at a necklace around her neck, and she'd tuck it back under her shirt, as though hoping no-one had seen it.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts of her. He looked down at his book, and then set it aside. Screw it, he'd take the leap.
She wasn't stuck up; she chose not to have friends. He'd make her his friend.
Rose stared at his book, resting on the seat, his hand still on the cover. She looked back up at him, and gestured that, if he was going to take the leap, he'd better start the conversation.
'When's your birthday?' Scorpius asked, sounding ridiculous. It was the first thing that had come into his head. Did it have to be the lamest?
Rose smiled, apparently happy with the turn in conversation. 'March. March fifteenth.' She didn't blush, amazingly. 'When's yours?'
Scorpius hesitated before answering, 'May twenty-seventh.' He'd never really told anyone that. There'd been no-one to tell, really. 'Is Harry Potter really your uncle, then? Or just your dad's best friend type of uncle?' Scorpius closed his eyes against his question. It was even lamer than the last.
Rose's smile faltered. She may not be a Potter, but she was followed like the rest of them. 'No, Uncle Harry married my dad's sister. So he's really my uncle. Lily and Albus are really my cousins.' She looked down at her feet, then. 'But, do you know what? I don't really get the whole hype surrounding them. I mean, Harry didn't defeat Tom Riddle without the help of a hell of a lot of other people, so what's the deal? If that's why everyone thinks they're so famous – because their father defeated some Dark wizard, then they shouldn't be famous at all! I mean, I just don't get it!' She then blushed again. 'I can't believe I said that out loud.'
These words weren't raised like her last; she whispered them to him. She wiped at her face, and Scorpius realised that the shining in her eyes wasn't passion, but tears. 'I've never admitted that before.'
Scorpius sat forward a little, the train rumbling underneath him. 'You know, Potter's never once acknowledged me. It's as though he thinks that because his dad is Harry Potter, he doesn't need to acknowledge others.'
Rose's cheeks went red again, though she didn't look embarrassed. 'He's my cousin, though, so I have to put up with him.' She practically snapped it at him, and Scorpius realised she though he was saying Potter was ignorant. 'Get to know Lily. She's nicer.' Then she did go red with embarrassment. 'But you probably don't care.'
Scorpius shrugged. 'I'll listen to whatever you have to say; I'm not really one for having friends… so when I do, I'm going to make the most of it.'
Rose blushed again. 'You think we're friends?'
Scorpius blushed right back. 'Yes?' His answer was quiet, small.
Rose grinned, then. Her face shone with radiance. 'Right. Friends. I like you, Malfoy.'
It took all Scorpius had not to whisper back, "I love you, too, Rosie." Instead, he spoke in a normal voice. 'You're alright yourself, Weasley.'