Hello, Facebook page people and Fanfiction-ers alike!
This is a ScorpiusxRose story for you. It was originally intended for a contest, but... I liked it so much while I was writing it I'm going to continue it for a while. (:
But don't worry friend-readers! I'll still finish my other AstoriaxDraco story. And if you like that one, you'll like this. Thanks for reading. (:
-Portkey to King's Cross-
Enjoy!
xx, Chelsea
I suppose it's fair to say that the first time I saw Rose Weasley I was fixed on her.
My mother and father were sending me off to my first year at Hogwarts that day. Mother was being over emotional about it, as usual, hugging me tightly though she refused to cry. My face was pressed against the neat folding of her black blazer for obscene amounts of time. Normally I'd have a problem with this—especially in public—but her perfume smelt good and her touch was familiar and, okay, I'll admit it, I was starting to get nervous.
Father was being under emotional as usual, not daring to squeeze my shoulder until it was absolutely time to go. And then he surprised me, keeping his hand there a bit too long before finally pulling me in for a quick, slightly awkward side-hug.
"Have a nice time," He said briskly, smiling at me in what could be described as fondly.
This warmth coming from my father nearly scared me as much as it pleased me; Hogwarts suddenly seemed like a bigger deal than I'd thought it was. I cleared my throat, only then noticing that the back of it was embarrassingly thick. Ah, damn.
"I will have fun. Of course I will." I said, smiling back uneasily.
My mother sensed this growing anxiety in me the way she always did. She also seemed to sense that I didn't want another rib-breaking hug—believe me; she would've supplied it if I'd wanted it.
"It's going to be the best time of your life," She assured, and I snuck a quick glance at my father, but his eyes were far away. I wondered if his time at Hogwarts had been the best time of his life….He looked like that wasn't the case. My palms were sweaty as my mother handed me my owl cage. Her eyes were bright with all the adventures I would have.
My father, on the other hand, was busy looking around by then with those distant eyes of his; Busy studying the other kids, or perhaps their parents, as if this were all a big adult reunion.
It's when he made eye contact with the infamous Harry Potter and his wife, accompanied by an older gentleman with deep red hair and a lady with brown waves of hair—who I'd known to be Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from the collectable chocolate frogs they were featured in—that things changed.
The moment was quick. I glanced over, just before her father's arm swept her to the side, and I only managed to get a second of that sly, knowing smile.
"Make sure you beat him at every test, Rosie," I heard the man say vaguely, and my mind hung on her eyes, the word Rosie.
That's all it took.
I was suddenly joined to that girl by some secret link of admiration, unknown to me before then; but as soon as I saw her, I identified the feeling as clearly as someone who'd been under the same affectionate spell for years. There was something that anciently beautiful about her face. Whoa.
Just then, a boy materialized next to her, at first just a skinny mass of thick, dark hair, and then his eyes danced up over to me. He whispered something to the girl, Rosie, and suddenly she was looking at me as well. I swallowed hard, pretending to turn my attention to my owl, but when I looked back at them I only saw that they were all still staring at me strangely. There were strange looks everywhere.
Suddenly the thought occurred to me…The red-haired man's deep, rusty voice: "Make sure you beat him at every test, Rosie…"
Was he talking about me—He wants her to beat me at every test? It seemed like he was talking about me. And their looks….did they know me? Did I know them? Maybe I'd forgotten….
My father's voice broke me from my gaze.
"You okay, son?" He asked.
I looked up at him. Everything was so bloody weird today; I might as well take another chance I wouldn't normally take.
"Father," I began desperately, hating the way my voice sounded small, "what if nobody here likes me?"
This sudden worry changed my father quickly, I could tell. His face seemed to get pale, eyes locking onto mine nervously, and then he took my shoulder and squeezed it again. Pity, I recognized. He pities me…Why?
"They have no reason not to like you," He said, but even as he said it we both knew it was a lie. For some reason, it seemed they had plenty of reasons to hate me, and it made my stomach sick.
For some reason, my thoughts drifted up to the scary tattoo he kept covered. My whole life, watching my father look at the fading thing and scowl, I'd wondered what kind of ghosts he had chasing him. I'd always had this sneaking suspicion that it meant more than what my mother commented about it.
"Scorpius," She'd say every time my eyes glanced up and down the picture of my young mother and father on the mantle, the one where his tattoo was displayed, "We would never force you into something like that, so you have nothing to be scared of."
But never more than things like that. It was always Mother doing the vague explaining; He never talked about it with me himself. This small insight, the useless comment, was all he'd ever said about it, really.
I wasn't interested in politics, or government, or blood status, but I had heard enough to know where I was supposed to be standing on those topics. I knew I was pureblood and proudly so, what I did and didn't like, and yet I didn't know why. I'd just gotten used to living in the fishbowl of society, taking assumptions as truths, and I'd never really cared until now. Now it affected me. These new kids my age didn't look up to me like the ones mother brought for me to play with—Stupid, mindless drones… "Yes Scorpius!" "Great idea, Scorpius!"—Was I really expecting the real world to be like that?
I kept all this newfound loneliness to myself, though, as I waved my last goodbyes to my parents. My mother sniffled into her lace handkerchief, blowing me kisses. My father's back was straight and regal, his arm around my mother's shoulders as he watched me go with a tense, tight smile. He radiated pride. My chest felt a bit lighter as I understood: it was me he was proud of.
"I love you," I mouthed from the train, after a little hesitation, when I was sure no one in particular would catch me doing it. I realized this was dangerously emotional territory for my family—seeing as we really only told each other this on holidays and special occasions—but a wave of relief flooded through me when my father mouthed it back, smiling amusedly as he did so.
I took a deep breath. Alright, Scorpius, I thought, the hardest part is over. Now you just have to find someone to sit with.
My mind brought forth a set of knowing eyes, a freckled, sly-smiling face, and the way she looked at me so curiously.
Find the girl, I decided, Find Rosie.
To Be Continued…
