Dear Readers,
For those of you that liked and reviewed this story, thank you so much for the support even 8 years on and I apologise endlessly for abandoning it. After stumbling across the fic under a 'best Sco-Rose' thread and reading my reviews I felt both humbled and nostalgic and have taken the tentative decision to step back into finishing the fic.
I began writing this 8 years ago when I was a very VERY young teenager. I have grown up so much since then, both personally (I'm now in university) and in writing style. Thus, there was so much that needed changing from both revisiting the fic myself and from your reviews. My grammar was awful, Rose was a psycho, Scorpius was a bit off an arse hole and there were WAY too many swearwords and unobvious sarcastic comments for comfort (that coming from a highly sarcastic, British person). Character and plot development were also shocking. I have decided to kick-start the fic by re-writing the initial chapters a fair bit, and merging chapters so the plotline seems more natural and less jumpy/snail-paced. I do however want to stay true to the original story and scorose chemistry that everyone loved and will try my damn hardest to do so.
I have also made the big decision to separate this project into two stories, one from Rose's POV and one from Scorpius' POV. This makes for less repetitive and fluid reading and you still get to see things from both sides of the story. I also got rid of the random POV from Harry Prince because it was pointless af. I hope that you guys don't hate me and the story for this, and PLEASE get back to me with any feedback you have.
Thank you again for the love and support that this story got, and I hope to make you all happy and see this through to the end.
Chapter 1: Rose Weasley, an Introduction.
A perfect family, a perfect life, perfect parents. That's what everyone thinks of me. It's an unfortunate fact that people think they know and understand me from the countless (and sadly untrue, I wish my parents influence meant that I got a new broomstick for free every year) articles in the Daily Prophet and other newspapers. No-one really understands apart from Al, my closest cousin. He knows nearly everything. Like he knows how much I hate the way I look: my stupid hair and my face that possesses not a single freckle, and how I hate the fact that because I'm the child of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley means I should be absolutely perfect 24/7. When my parents and Uncle Harry were 17, a year above me in Hogwarts, they were set the inconceivable task of finding the Horcruxes which contained the soul of the twat who was Voldermort. Thank Merlin they found them and killed him. I appreciate what Uncle Harry and the last generation did for us, I truly do. But I just can't comprehend why people treat them and us like we're the best thing since broomsticks were invented. The way they nod at everyone public smiles like we're best friends, but then scrutinise every minute action that we carry out. There was actually a Witch Weekly article entitled "Rose Weasley: Abandoning the family heritage" about me using a charm in second year to straighten my hair. Apparently, this was my great teen rebellion against my mother. Can you feel me raising my eyebrows?
But the thing I hate the most is the scrutiny that leads to the excruciating conversations such as the one I am having with my parents right now.
"Rose, seriously, listen to us." My mum pleads. She's sitting on the red sofa next to my dad, right opposite me. Her frizzy brown hair's shrouding her face, eyes ablaze. I'm sitting in the red armchair adjacent to them, pretending I give two boggarts about what they're currently trying to skewer into my mind. I raise my eyebrows.
"Mum, I'm listening!" I cry with my arms outstretched, exasperated.
"Don't talk to your mother like that!" my dad's endearing voice clouds the room like smoke. It's my turn to glare at him. His furious red hair nearly matches the fire, his blue eyes are flickering from the flames and anger. Dad's left arm is lying heavily over mum's shoulder, trying to provide some sort of protection.
"Sorry, so sorry, that I'm your biggest disappointment ever." I mutter, granting the fireplace my stubborn glare. I was not going to let this get to me.
"Look, you know we love you, it's just seriously, an A in Divination. Plus your behavioural roll isn't exactly pristine. All we're trying to say is be careful Rose. You only get one chance, so please, take it seriously love." Mum cooed. She knew she'd upset me, she was trying to get back my affection. It wasn't working.
"So now who's the hypocrite!?" I cry. Seriously, crucio me to death now! This was the conversation I had been avoiding all holiday, ever since I got my O.W.L results. Straight O's, excludes divination. For boggarts sake! Why it was James or Hugo or Al could cloud up their mind with women and quidditch, and I got an experience worse than a thousand howlers for an A.
"Whatever do you mean?" Mum gushed. She knows exactly what I mean.
"I mean, the fact that you bunked divination! You're not exactly in the position to be telling me to take it seriously, are you?" I cry again. That is the complete utter truth. I know they're trying to coax me away from another situation that will end in ridiculous newspaper stories that will do nothing but upset me, but I am not entirely to blame for their production. I just looked at Dad. His hair is now not only the same colour as the fire, but as his face too.
"For Merlin's sake Rose, of course your mother bunked divination. You're perfectly aware what it was like to be your age being Hermione Granger, and the stark difference between our ability to commit to education and yours!" Dad pummelled with his voice. If sounds could kill, the whole world would be dead.
"Well, I'm sorry Dad, but you have no idea what it's like to be my age and be your daughter!" There was enough anger it that sentence to Alarte Ascendare a troll into space. This takes me by surprise, particularly because I've never been an angry person apart from when it comes to Malfoy. Wearing an impassive mask is my skill of choice. I can feel the stupid Weasley blush infecting my face and can almost feel the same blush pulsating of my Dad. Of all the things I could have inherited, I had to inherit this. Desperate to escape the wrath of my parents, I do the bravest and most Gryffindor thing I could possibly do and run upstairs, collapsing on my quilted bed. Gretta, my miniature owl, flies from her perch and nibbles at my ear. I love Gretta, she's the only being in the whole world that I ever reveal my true emotions to apart from Al. If only she could talk. Heck, if only anyone could talk. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of friends, but that is sadly a word that I must use with caution. You see, for the likes of me, Al, James, Hugo, Lilly or the rest of the Potter-Weasley clan, finding friends in Hogwarts was never a hard task. In fact, they more or less came running to us, some even waving autograph books in our faces. Worse still were all the camera and photographs. Boys are even easier; sure I've had the occasional short-term boyfriend here and there, missing the beginning of class because I have been otherwise engaged with someone's face in a broom cupboard. But, boyfriends or friends it never feels truly sincere. Sadly, there is only one truly sincere relationship I have developed over the years at Hogwarts, albeit founded on hate. Rather unfortunately, this one sincere relationship is shared with none other than everyone's favourite son of a deatheater, Scorpius Malfoy. Since day one, all it's been is swear words and insults: period. Since then, he's all I think about.
Why why why? Why's he so gorgeous, why's he so annoying and imprudent. Why does he make be blush every time he talks to me, but that blush turns into me wanting to scratch his goddamn eyes out? Merlin, why everything? Like why am I lying on my bed, thinking about him?
If only I was like him.
No siblings, no one trying to get into his head every 5 seconds, knowing it's fake. Plus, he's got so many z cup girlfriends running around school he has no idea what it's like to be lonely. And he's bloody gorgeous. Not that I pay attention, but he's regrettably hard to miss. He looks like a model that would be completely at home on some gigantic billboard, his bloody smirk plastered all over his face. He's got a perfect body, you can see his muscles through his quidditch uniform; again not that I look. His perfect hair is always so silky and arsetard shiny, I wonder if he charms it. He's forever running his hands through it or letting some busty blonde run her hands through it. I mentally kick myself when I imagine myself running my hands through his hair. His lips are full and masculine, complementing his aristocratic cheekbones, and I always have to fight the urge to go and kiss him and hex him whenever he smirks. Whenever I look into his grey eyes, flecked with blue, they're dripping with this seething anger crossed with something that I can't work out - so much for seeing into the soul (although I highly doubt he has one). every time I look into those unnerving and entrancing eyes, I want to carve them out with a spoon. He scares the shit out of me and he pisses me off more than Hugo on a bad day. Two things he most certainly inherited from his family are his arrogant temper and bad language.
I groan. Mum's words ring through my head: "All we're trying to say is be careful Rose. You only get one chance, so please, take it seriously love." One chance - to do what exactly? I pull my duvet over me. How will I manage with him walking around? He's a Malfoy. He's Scorpius Malfoy. Fuck, this year's going to be an interesting one.
God, these lies we live.