He broke away from her and ran his fingers through her long red hair, breathing deeply. It had been so long since he had seen her- his family had decided to tour Europe over the summer, so they hadn't been able to spend time together. And now it was the first day of seventh year and they simply couldn't get enough of each other, so they had spent the last hour entangled underneath their favorite willow tree, kissing furiously.
Rose leaned back, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to kiss me or just sniff my hair all day?"
He chuckled. "I dunno, they both sound rather nice to me. And besides, I missed the smell of your hair."
She gave him that crazy look of hers, the one that was both amused and exasperated at the same time. "You like smelling? My hair?"
"You know, how there's some things you just get a craving for... Like Quidditch, and the yummy soup that the house-elves always make, and Christmas, and the smell of your hair..." He trailed off, realizing how utterly ridiculous his explanation sounded.
She tried not to dissolve into giggles. "You. Crave. The smell of my hair."
"It smells good! Like oranges. I love oranges. Sweet, but not artificial, and delicious, and citrusy, and exciting."
"Brilliant, we've moved on from hair-sniffing to talking about oranges."
He rolled his eyes. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?" He leaned forward. Their lips were inches apart.
There was a loud crack, and Al appeared in between them. Rose shrieked and toppled backwards. Scorpius recoiled and blinked rapidly. Al looked sheepish.
"I need to work on my accuracy. I was kind of aiming for a little farther away..."
Rose glared at him. He turned red. "Sorry. Um, why don't we go up to the castle and have some soup, how does that sound?"
"How does being pushed into the Black Lake sound?" Rose muttered, but she and Scorpius got up and followed him into the Great Hall, hand in hand.
To Scorpius's delight, there were- along with the delicious soup he had mentioned earlier- several juicy oranges sitting on the platter in front of him. But none of them, he realized, would ever come close to the brilliant scent of Rose's hair. Because, just like her, it was just one of those things that was all its own.