A/N - Okeley dokeley! Just another songfic because I quite enjoy writing them. The song's "Yule Shoot Your Eye Out" by Fall Out Boy. It randomly popped up when my music was on shuffle and immediately I thought of our beloved Rose telling Scorpius to bury himself alive for Christmas - and that's how this story was born! :D
Anyway, though I'm sure it's obvious, I'll mention that the bold italics are the lyrics, the italics are letters and the rest is...well, the rest.
Disclaimer: No characters recognisable are mine - ah, to be J.K. Rowling. Also, the awesome song that is so totally Rose/Scorp oriented is the property of Fall Out Boy. Just thought I should add that. :D
CHRISTMAS – SIXTH YEAR
These are your good years
Don't take my advice
You never wanted the nice boys anyway
And I'm of good cheer
'Cause I've been checking my list
The gifts you'll be receiving from me will be
One awkward silence
Two hopes you cry yourself to sleep
Staying up, waiting by the phone
Weasley,
I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas before the holidays. I thought, seeing how we're in sixth year and the last few years could very well be the best of your life, it is time we dispel our futile little feud. We are, after all, school Prefects. We should be mature and put aside our differences. So, I guess you could call this letter my olive branch of sorts, a peace offering. Though, don't get it into your head that this is me surrendering or giving up. I'm simply being the bigger man (figuratively, of course, considering you are female, aren't you?) here.
Oh, while I'm able to voice my opinion (again, figuratively) without your rude and idiotic interruptions, I must ask a few things that have been on my mind. Why is it, Rose Weasley, that you are dating Lysander Scamander? Okay, so even if we put aside the fact that his name is so ridiculous it rhymes (it sounds like some barmy name a Muggle would come up with for a grotesque, sneaking, deceitful rodent), he's still not all that nice a bloke. He only dates girls without substance. Trust me, I am male, I know how his mind works. He doesn't like you for your personality; you should be with someone who does. I mean, do you really like him that much that you're willing to put up with his absolutely obnoxious behaviour, his constant boasting about his Quidditch prowess and the fact that he believes in Nargles? Come on, you're too smart for that. You're better than that.
Actually, never mind, don't take my advice. They are the precise reasons you're attracted to him, aren't they? Because he's the polar opposite of you. Well, I wish you good luck with that.
Regardless, since I'm of such good cheer, owing to the knowledge I won't have to see Scamander's ugly face for two whole weeks (except for at Christmas dinner), I will wish you a Merry Christmas again. I'm sure I will see you over the holidays anyway, considering I'm friends with Al. He's invited me to Christmas dinner at the Burrow. Yes, I know, what a great Christmas gift for you this year?
Merry Christmas, Weasley.
Yours, ever so loathingly,
Scorpius Malfoy.
P.S. - How about I add some things to my list of wishes for you this Christmas? Alright, here's hoping that Scamander doesn't show up at Christmas, that way I don't have to see him. If he does, how about I insult him, make things a bit awkward? Yeah, I'd like to see ole Sandy Scamandy's face if I did that! Better yet, here's hoping that he finally let's slip his true intentions with you, and you cry that night, hoping he'll apologise and take it all back. I hope he doesn't; maybe then you'll realise there are better blokes for you than him.
Anyway, just thought I should add that.
And all I want this year
Is for you to dedicate your last breath to me
Before you bury yourself alive
Don't come home for Christmas
You're the last thing I wanna see
Underneath the tree
Merry Christmas
I could care less
Rose couldn't believe her eyes. Scorpius Malfoy, the only non-relative boy she'd been able to maintain a stable and constant relationship with for the past six years, had sent her an olive branch that seemed to have many, many thorns on it. It wasn't that she didn't think him capable of the insults, that was, after all, the basis of their relationship – constant bickering and insults. But, she couldn't get past his audacity to actually insinuate that he was a better bloke for her than Lysander Scamander. Sure, he hadn't actually written those words, but it had most definitely been implied. And sure, she knew that Lysander wasn't exactly her perfect match, but it wasn't like she planned on being with him for eternity! That was it. She grabbed some parchment and a quill from her mother's desk before storming upstairs to her room to formulate her reply.
Egotistical Brain-dead Prat,
You've got a bit of nerve to make fun of Lysander's name! What about yours – Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy? It sounds like someone ate a textbook and spurted out random scientific names for hideous mythical creatures! Besides that, how dare you insinuate that you know me! How dare you! I will date whoever the bloody hell I want! You are not my father and you are not my brother or any part of my family, which means that your pathetic opinion most certainly does not count! I could care less what you think!
Furthermore, consider your stupid 'olive branch' snapped and shredded to pieces!
Additionally, do not even bother coming home to the Burrow for Christmas dinner. If you do, I shall ignore you as if you don't exist. You do realise my family doesn't actually like you, don't you? They only tolerate you because you are friends with dearest Albus. You are the very last person I would like to have in my company this Christmas, much less as a 'gift' for me underneath the Christmas tree!
As for your idiotic 'Christmas wishes', do not even attempt any of those things! If you do, do not expect me to contol my anger, I know I can't legally use magic outside of school, but I won't hesitate to destroy your chances of having children (not that anyone would ever consider birthing your spawn)!
Here's my wish list this Christmas:
Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, will you please jump off an incredibly high cliff, at the bottom of which there are lethally jagged rocks? No? How about you take a trip to the pet store in Diagon Alley then? I'm sure they'll be glad to see they've got their favourite ferret back! Oh, you don't like that idea either? How about this then, I would be eternally grateful if you followed through with this – find a nice spot in your back yard (or anywhere really, I don't care), dig a hole, crawl into it, then die slowly! I just know that before you die your last breath will be dedicated to cursing me. Indeed, a wonderful gift that would be.
Merry Christmas,
I could care less.
Yours nothing-ly (I will never, I repeat never, be yours in any instance!),
'That bushy-haired, ginger bint Weasley'
P.S. – Did I quote you correctly? I'm not one hundred percent certain, even though it seems up to your pathetic standard. Oh yeah, I still hate you, just in case you thought this reply meant otherwise – you seem pathetic enough to interpret it as such.
Scorpius couldn't help but laugh at Rose's reply. Some day she would come to realise just why it was she couldn't resist replying to his letter. Just as she couldn't resist retorting his insults – she couldn't ignore him, so she covered it up with hate. At least, that's what he told himself. He'd fancied her for a while now. Though, he didn't love her. He had no idea what love meant. All he knew was that he had to get a reaction from her, he was attracted to her, and he couldn't stop thinking about her. She just didn't realise she felt the same yet. So he continued to taunt her. Her insults didn't hurt him; he didn't care as long as he got a reaction from her. It was all a game to him – the prize being the day he finally won her over, when she finally realised the meaning behind their bickering.
Happy New Years baby
You owe me the best gift I will ever ask for
Don't call me up when the snow comes down
It's the only thing I want this year
Dearest Rose,
Happy New Years, my love. I would just like to tell you – I told you so. I told you that Scamander wouldn't be able to keep his trap shut forever. I told you he only wanted you for your beauty and body. Don't worry, I haven't told any of your family the real reason you cried yourself to sleep, the real reason Scamander hurried out of the Burrow at Christmas. Oh yes, Rose dearest, I do know the real reason. I know he took advantage of you. I know he cornered you on your way to the bathroom and had you pressed up against a wall. I know you pushed him off, disgusted. I know this because I followed. Yeah, I'm a creep.
But don't say I didn't warn you. Don't say I didn't predict such things. And don't you dare try to tell me it was my fault. I may have said a few things and made it awkward, but he was the one who hurt you – not me. So, you gave me my gift. I got my wishes.
I guess this means I owe you your wishes. Sorry – I've never been too skilled at diving without a broom – looks like the option of jumping head first into a heap of stone daggers is out of the question. And besides, it just isn't my idea of a self-sacrificing romantic death, on top of that, there are no exceptionally high cliffs near Malfoy Manor – couldn't give you that one. Well, I went to the pet shop; apparently it was my father they were missing, not me. Sorry I couldn't follow through on that one either.
Lastly, I'm at a loss as to where my shovel has gone. As it is dedication you were looking for in your last wish, I thought the Muggle way of digging a hole would be most fitting. Therefore, as my shovel has either (a) gone on a sabbatical or (b) vanished into another dimension, I cannot dig myself a hole and subsequently cannot bury myself alive. Consequently, I cannot waste my last breath cursing you and your tempting ways (though I doubt this is what my last breath would have been used for anyway).
Simply yours (I will always be yours in some way or another),
Scorpius.
P.S. – Perhaps you could send me a shovel?
One awkward silence
Two hopes you cry yourself to sleep
Staying up, waiting by the phone
And all I want this year
Is for you to dedicate your last breath to me
Before you bury yourself alive
Sitting in the silence of her room, feeling rather awkward, Rose read and re-read Malfoy's letter several times. She couldn't make sense of it. There were hardly any proper insults in the letter. What the bloody hell had happened? Why didn't he tell her to dig the hole herself? Jump off the astronomy tower; take a visit to the pet shop herself? And why, why, had he said she was tempting? Why did he say he was always hers? Why had he called her Rose? What was going on? Confused, and consequently frustrated, she hastened a reply.
Malfoy,
Firstly, do not call me dearest anything, let alone Rose – or 'love', especially if you have no concept of the word. Secondly, I don't care for the method of digging, as long as the hole gets dug and you crawl into it to die a slow death – that is acceptable. Thirdly, if you're not cursing me in your last breath, I would prefer it if you simply dedicate it to me – perhaps a simple 'Weasel-face' would suffice.
Lastly, it seems as though you did indeed pathetically interpreted my reply to be something it wasn't. As such, I would be very appreciative if you would make no attempts to communicate with me at all for the remainder of the year – our lives even. And if it is an absolute necessity, I would be grateful if you kept it to the most laconic form possible.
I will not even dignify this response by signing it.
Rose wondered whether or not Malfoy had sincerely meant to convey serious feelings toward her in his letter. She hoped that if it were the case, he was waiting for her reply and that when he got it, he would be the one crying himself to sleep over her rejection. Rose physically shook the thought from her mind – Malfoy crying? What was she thinking? Malfoys never cried. Ever.
CHRISTMAS – SEVENTH YEAR
Don't come home for Christmas
You're the last thing I wanna see
Underneath the tree
Merry Christmas
I could care less
Rose had just discovered that Lysander Scamander, her boyfriend of, well, a long peroid of time, had also been seeing a girl by the name of Felecia Carmichael. She was furious. He didn't yet know she'd found out. Rose didn't want to think about it – she knew that people would be talking about it. She knew that people would think she'd be heart-broken. But she wasn't, she had never loved him. Admittedly, she should never have forgiven him after that incident last Christmas. She should have seen this coming. Her cousins had warned her about him – Merlin, even Malfoy had seen it coming!
Her thoughts immediately turned from her anger toward Scamander to Scorpius Malfoy – she'd hardly argued or conversed (though it was rare) with him for almost a year. He hadn't made many attempts to communicate with her this year. It was odd. Normally he would take every available opportunity to insult her or strike up an argument. But this year, it seemed he had actually respected her wishes and avoided contact with her. He'd slipped up on a number of occasions; when such an occurrence took place, his insults were weak and their arguments could hardly be titled such. In one instance, he'd actually genuinely complimented her and smiled at her – that had led to a rather awkward silence before she'd darted from the room.
Dispelling the conundrum that was Malfoy from her muddled brain, Rose smirked as she sat down in her favourite spot of the library. She would send one last letter before the Christmas holidays.
Pathetic Excuse for a Wizard,
I would like you to know that we are over. Obviously, you do not love me like you told me countless times – that is, not enough to be faithful or honest anyway. And don't, for one millisecond, think that you have broken my heart and ruined me for all men. Trust me, I may have cared somewhat deeply for you, but you are not (and never were) my world, and I never intended on our relationship lasting past Hogwarts. Obviously, the feeling was mutual.
Regardless, I simply wish to inform you that you most definitely are not welcome at home this Christmas. There will be no repeat of last year – why I didn't toss you then is beyond me. Well, you're the last person I could be prevailed upon to see this Christmas, so you'd better not show up, or I might be forced into hexing you into oblivion.
Oh, just one last thing, you absolutely pathetic, unworthy, disloyal, Nargle-loving, idiotic scum of the Earth – have you ever realised how ridiculous your name is? It rhymes for Merlin's sake! It sounds like some barmy name a Muggle would come up with for a grotesque, sneaking, deceitful rodent! Well – they would've been right in naming you that if that were the case.
Anyway, I shouldn't have wasted this much ink and parchment on you already.
Never speak or communicate with me again Lysander Scamander, or I will curse you.
Merry Christmas (I don't care, I'm merely being the bigger man here – I think it's blatantly obvious that you are in no way whatsoever a man, and even I have bigger balls than you).
Rose smirked once more, re-reading the letter before an idea occurred to her. Taking a leaf out of Malfoy's book, she signed the letter with a flourish,
Loathingly,
Rose Weasley.
She immediately felt elated and no longer cared that Scorpius Malfoy would be spending yet another Christmas at the Burrow. Though she was sure that would change when Christmas arrived.
Don't come home for Christmas
You're the last thing I wanna see
Underneath the tree
Merry Christmas
I could care less
Rose was startled as she woke to a loud tapping on her bedroom window. Who was sending her a letter at this time of night on Christmas Eve? She immediately recognised the owl fluttering outside. It was Malfoy's. Not only was it odd that he would be sending a letter at this time of night, but it was strange that he was sending a letter when he was in the room across the hall from hers at the Burrow.
Feeling a little like she'd gone back in time a year, Rose opened the letter.
Rosie,
I know how much you despise people other than your father calling you that, but I really don't think you could despise me more than you currently do.
Once again, I would like to say – I told you so.
Yes, everyone knows about you and Scamander. I'm glad you finally came to your senses. Oh, by the way, Scamander felt the need to show your letter to anyone who questioned him about the break up. I must say, I felt a rather strange sense of déjà vu as I read it. It seems to me as though you plagiarised some of my best literary genius for your personal use. Though, admittedly, it was a rather comical read.
I commend you, Rose.
I know it must seem strange that I am sending a letter when you are, in fact, just across the hall. My reasoning is this: Firstly, I knew if I knocked on your door to tell you this, you would most probably hex me into the middle of next week – and I certainly don't want to miss Christmas. Secondly, I thought it would annoy you to be awoken by a rather loud tapping, and you know how much I revel in annoying you.
So, Rose, I wish to tell you this:
I wish you hadn't come home to the Burrow for Christmas; you're the last thing I would like to see underneath the Christmas tree in the morning. And I mean this quite literally. I honestly would like you to be the last thing I see underneath the tree – you know how the saying goes, 'save the best 'til last'. Well, you as my last gift would complete my Christmas.
I know this is bound to confuse you, and you may not take me seriously. Because who knows, I could simply be trying to annoy and baffle you. Am I succeeding? I wonder.
Merry Christmas, Rosie,
I could care less.
P.S. – I could care less, which means that I do, in fact, care, leaving room for the possibility of me caring less. You see, I don't think you entirely understood this saying when you wrote it to me last Christmas. Or perhaps you did, and you were merely attempting to subtly imply that you fancy me. I guess we'll know in the morning, maybe you'll be all wrapped up underneath the tree for me – my own Rose for Christmas.
Rose stared at the letter. Was he serious, or was he trying to rile her? Perhaps it was a combination of both. Rose contemplated wrapping herself in a large bow and sitting underneath the tree in a rather sensual pose, simply to humour the git. When she thought about it, he wasn't really that bad; obviously not if her family accepted him. Perhaps tomorrow, in the spirit of Christmas, she should be friendlier toward him? He had, after all, been rather nice to her of late.
An idea struck her – he wanted a gift? She'd give him one. She transfigured two spare quills. One she morphed into a rose, the other became a toy replica of a Muggle weapon. She tore off a scrap of parchment before composing a note to be attached to her 'gift'.
Scorpius,
You said you wanted your own rose for Christmas. Well, I have so kindly given you one – once again, I have fulfilled your Christmas wish without mine being granted in return. Therefore, considering last Christmas you were ungrateful of my wishes and did not bury yourself alive, perhaps you'll use this Muggle contraption – it's called a gun – and you'll shoot your eye out? That would be an ideal gift.
Also, I meant what I said – I could care less.
It doesn't mean I fancy you, it simply means I am rather nonchalant about your existence.
Merry Christmas!
Rose read over her note. She was, perhaps, a little unnecessarily cruel to the ferret. Though, her resolution to be friendlier was still not being compromised.
After all, it wasn't technically Christmas yet.
A/N -Oh, and I have nothing against Lysander Scamander - I simply abuse him because his name rhymes, and it makes for quite amusing comments...well, I hope they're amusing! :)
Also...Please, tell me - yay or nay? Review! I will be eternally grateful! :D :D :D
Yeah, pretty sure that's it now. Thanks a bunch for reading! .xx