The rays of sunshine reflected off the serpentine lid with a crystalline sheen, and as she sat, legs crossed on the mahogany park bench which was clearly designed with aesthetics rather than comfort in mind, Rose found herself wishing that she had had the foresight to bring along a pair of sunglasses - unlike the rest of the United Kingdom, Hyde Park seemed to be one of the few places that was constantly under a blanket of sunlight, as if the heavens themselves were opening up to shine down their approval of the wonders of the British Royal family and their tremendous impact on modern muggle society.

Rose herself would never understand the appeal herself, but her mother had always been enraptured by the handsome Prince Harry and his dashing older brother William, and she had quickly learned better than to question the motives of a middle-aged muggle(born) woman when she was in mid-swoon over a man whom she was rather certain had done nothing to deserve such attention whatsoever.

Ah, muggles, and the constant puzzles they provieded.

In any case, the park was one of her places in all of London, perhaps for the simple reason that she despised London as a whole. If there was any place in London where you could successfully imagine yourself as far away from London as possible, it was Hyde Park. Despite the fact that the only body of water was basically just a large pool disguised as a lake, and the fact that screaming children flourished like weeds, it was green, and green was a rarity in a city that looked as if it had been built in a world void of colour.

And so it had become a place of escape - when she was far too worked up to apparate safely without splinching herself (she was rather terrible at it to begin with, if Rose was being honest with herself), and when floo powder would serve to be more of an inconvenience than usual because she was too angry to even attempt to use it without spilling it across her house, Rose could simply get in one of those silly yellow vehicles and head to Hyde Park, sit on her bench, and from there pretend that life wasn't happening at all.

Usually, it worked. No, not usually, but rather always, except for that day. Because on that particular day, someone had chosen to sit next to her.

Except no, not someone, but rather Scorpius Malfoy, and he was smiling.

"Can I help you?" she asked blandly, and Rose found herself eternally grateful that now, after seven years of school getting on each other's nerves and one year post-Hogwarts of pointedly ignoring each other, she was able to look him in the eyes without flinching. A skill acquired a little late, but appreciated none-the-less.

"As a matter of fact, you can." His words were teasing but serious, and Rose raised an auburn eyebrow in confusion. Her question had been asked in the hopes that he would merely ignore her, or make some sort of stupid comment and be on his way. She hadn't been counting on an actual conversation, and in that instant she found herself praying - not for the first time - that the world would simply open up and swallow Malfoy whole so that she could get on wit her life, and her frustrations, in peace.

However, she had never been a big believer in luck, and it seemed that luck felt quite the same way about her.

"You see, I've been having this problem in which I'm miserably and eternally bored, and I came out to Hyde Park for a walk to clear my mind. Which, by the way, I am severely regretting, as it appears the entire place is infested with muggle children pretending to be mandrakes." Giving their fellow park-goes a disgusted grimace, as if he was sincerely revolted by the sounds of their laughter, he allowed himself a small shiver before continuing. "And I saw you, Rose Weasley, and I believe that it was nothing other than fate."

With that he leaned back against the park bench, stretching out his lean form as he gazed up into the clear sky, and Rose couldn't help but wonder if, since leaving Hogwarts, Scorpius had suffered severe head trauma that rendered him an even larger idiot than before.

"Is that all, then?" she huffed, turning back to face the waters with an expression that could only be described as exasperation. "Because if you're quite finished, I was in the middle of some self-deprecating thoughts and internal rants that were far more entertaining, and vastly more pleasant, that listening to whatever rubbish it is that you're spewing out."

And she sincerely hoped that he was finished, that he would just go home and forget whatever stupid reason he had conjured up in his pea-sized brain to try and engage in conversation with her.

But no, because yet again Lady Luck had decided to deal Rose with a fatal blow, and the redhead could honestly say that she was, in no way, surprised to hear the silky baritone of his voice merge it's way into her thoughts once more.

Prat. Of course, it wasn't enough for him to be both absurdly attractive and the singular more horrendous human being to have been born. He also had to have the kind of voice that could seduce lesser women with a single word, and that in itself made Scorpius Malfoy very, very difficult to ignore the moment he decided to speak.

"Oh! Now this should be entertaining, Weasley. Please, go on with those lovely thoughts, but feel free to narrate - you have a captive audience now, and we're expecting a show. Could it be a broken heart? A scandalous betrayal of one that you held above all others? You should know better than to place someone on a pedestal, Rosie, especially a lover - what a ridiculous and horrendous thing indeed, to think of a person as greater than the sum of their parts." And he thought he was so damn clever, the sod, and in return for his smirk she shot a scowl that could burn through Lord Voldemort himself.

"First of all, Malfoy, you can stop speaking like a pretentious Victorian-era poet - there's no one here to impress, save for me, and I'm afraid I'm more than immune to your self-proclaimed charms. And second," pausing to take a breath before she ran out of air entirely, the witch allowed a moment to calm her nerves. Something about his words set her blood aflame - perhaps because he was quite near right, per usual - and she found that as she spoke she simply became angrier, until her entire being was consumed by a venemous rage that had sprouted from only a few sentences. Pathetic, the effect she had allowed him to have on her, but accoring to her mother and father both, the Malfoy boys had a wonderful way of getting under one's skin. "It's really none of your business."

"You're right, it's not. Now, let's go see a film!"

"What?"

Thinking to her previous musings, Rose concluded that no, it hadn't been a head injury, but rather a complete personality change that he was suffering from. Because the old Scorpuis would not only never have admitted that she was right, but would have never suggested them doing something slightly aimicable together, something that friends did.

They had been the friends of friends, two people who sat at the same table at went to the same events only because they had to, not because they wanted to be in each other's presence. Far too similar for their own good, they set each other firmly on edge - both headstrong, both intelligent, both incapable of exposing weakness, they played one another like violins, to the point where Albus would have to separate them like they were toddlers squabbling over a toy.

And never, not ever, had he willingly offered to spend time with her.

"That's a horrible joke, Malfoy, even for you." Clearly unimpressed, Rose stared off into the distance, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. "Besides, I don't even like films, and I don't expect that I would like one any more were I to see it with you."

For a fleeting moment she thought that Scorpius actually looked genuinely miffed, but whatever his expression had been it was gone in a flash, leaving behind the cocky smirk that only someone who was far, far too good looking that he had any right to be was able to master. It had never failed to annoy her, the way he had such expressions down to perfection, the simple quirk of an eyebrow able to give so much more indication to his thoughts that Rose thought she could in a hundred word essay. Another thing she despised about him - the fact that he could set her on edge with simply a look, even when it wasn't directed at her.

"Well fine, then," he concluded, and surely that was that. Except no, because he was speaking once more, and Rose was about near the tipping point. "Dinner it is. Tomorrow. And don't say you don't like dinner, because that's bullocks and you know it. Seven o' clock, try and look presentable."

And with that he was pushing himself off of the bench, walking away at such a pace that he was nearly halfway across the lid before Rose was finally able to conclude that no, he hadn't been joking, and that he was actually planning on taking her out. Out with Scorpius Malfoy, not on a date surely, but out, just the two of them, without Albus or Lorcan to stop them from tearing each other's throats out?

There was something behind this, Rose no. A motive, something he wanted from her but knew better than to ask straight out. It wasn't coincidence that they had met at Hyde Park, she was certain - no, he had followed her there, waited for the right moment to come sit upon her bench, but the only question remaining was why? There was no delusions of grandeur here, no thoughts that maybe he just secretly is in love with you and wants to take you out, because that wasn't his style, and their dislike for each other was clear.

No, there was something else, something blatantly obvious that Rose knew she was missing.

For it wasn't like Scorpius Malfoy to engage in a short conversation, not when he was always so bursting at the seams with witty words and the desire to impress, as seven years schooling had taught her well.

Now she just had to figure out what.