ANIMOSITY AND AMIABILITY
First and foremost, I recognise that while this work is of my own conjecture, several characters, locations and other ideas are from the copyrighted universe of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. I in no way, form or fashion claim ownership of any of the associated items with Miss Rowling's aforementioned work, nor do I use these characters for my own personal commercial use.
Author's Foreword
Hello guys! So this is the first fan fiction that I will have ever written—but not the first time I've written. I always find that the first chapter is the hardest to write, at least for me; so if you could please cut me some slack, I promise to improve in the future. In case you haven't gotten the memo, this is a Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley fan fiction. Enjoy!
CHAPTER I: To King's Cross
There was no doubt about it: autumn was certainly here. This year, the season's crisp weather had made its presence at the Burrow more forceful than it had in years prior. Cold, dry air easily managed to diffuse through the windows of the residence's topmost bedroom, ticking at the girl's bare feet. It was that uncomfortable tingly feeling of her toes growing numb that awoke her from her slumber. Dragging her feet into the covers, she arranged herself in a foetus position; pulling the Chudley Cannons bedspread tighter around her body in an attempt to hold on to all the warmth left around her.
Shifting around on the bed, she looked out the window and into the blue-grey sky; she could tell that there was time to go before it would be time to get up. The girl tried to fall back to sleep, but it was to no avail; the cold would not allow her.
She looked around the room, hoping to find something interesting that she had not seen before the past twenty million times she had been here. Tough luck for her. Again.
The room was just as it had been before; its orange paint seemed to be peeling off here and there, and the walls were plastered with faded Quidditch posters. On the nightstand at the opposite end of the room lay a few books—all over a decade old with binding that appeared to be half-eaten away by silverfish or something. There were two few framed photographs on the nightstand as well, but the film of dust that covered them and the room's darkness made it difficult for her to make out the moving pictures.
Her eyes made their way about the room until they fell upon the analogue clock on the wall. As she lay on her bed, she traced the second hand's circular movement about its face—to her, it felt that time could not have ticked any slower.
She had been awake for what felt like hours; although in reality it had only been fourteen minutes. But nonetheless she lay there on her side, wrapped in the orange Wizarding coverlet as she waited for the clock to strike seven o'clock.
50… 51… 52… 53…
The fifty-ninth minute of the day's sixth hour came to a close.
57… 58… 59… 60.
Finally; seven o'clock! And as if on cue, the celestial mass of clouds began to part slightly, allowing a slither of sunlight to find its way through the bedroom window and hit her cheeks. But the signal she was waiting for to get up wasn't the sun's rays shining on her face—although she had to admit it was a nice coincidence. What she was anticipating was the loud commotion about to erupt just a few storeys below her—a symphony of voices yelling hurriedly as the deadline to eleven o'clock ticked by.
What else could be expected from this Thursday? This 1st of September 2022?
Rose Weasley remained on the bed for a few more seconds, much too content in the comfort of her bed. But she was no dummy—it wasn't but two second before she realised that perhaps it would be beneficial to seize the opportunity of having an empty bathroom available before a horde of Potters and Weasleys with suddenly extensive hygiene needs stormed it, that is.
Quickly flinging the Chudley Cannons cover off, Rose reached under the bed, pulling a violet duffle bag and taking out a towel and change of clothes. Without the coverlet, it instantly fell over her to sink back into the warmth of the bed; but she quickly retook control of herself, jumped over the slouched body slumbering on the mattress on the floor and quick-lined for the bathroom.
Rose ran from what was her father's old bedroom and down the stairs to one of the two bathrooms in the Burrow. She quickened her pace when she heard the floorboards behind a closed door creak; obviously one of her cousins was planning on doing the same thing.
'Oi, Rose!' she heard a familiar voice yell behind her. 'I call first to have a shower!' the same voice called out as rushed footsteps approached Rose from behind.
'You can be first, Albus,' she said back, dashing into the lavatory. But not quite having finished her original statement, she clarified sarcastically, 'You can be first after I'm done!' And with that she shut the door on her cousin—well; it was more along the lines of slammed the door on her cousin.
She couldn't help but laugh to herself. It wasn't that she disliked Albus or did this to hurt him—au contraire! Rose and Albus probably got along better than bread and butter. Rather it was that this is how they played with each other: she'd slam the door in his face and then he would do something to get back at her. The game would go round and round. It was a simple cousinly game of back-and-forth pranking.
Having the bathroom to herself, at least for the moment, she quickly turned on the tap to the bathtub and applied shampoo to her hair, washing it out quickly. Given how hard the cold had stuck home, Rose was in no way about to shower. Besides, she had showered last night; just in case Lily beat her again and decided to spend an eternity in the bathroom like last year.
Within a few minutes she was already passing a towel above her hair and casting the Aeris Aura incantation upon her head. The hot-air charm quickly finished the work that the towel had missed, and her now-dry luscious auburn-red hair fell down upon her back in undulated waves. She tossed on the clothes she had brought into the bathroom with her; beige chinos and a Muggle Doctor Who tee by Rupert & Buckley. Although she had heard about it when hanging out with her Muggle friends back in Winchester, she had never actually ever seen a single episode of Doctor Who; apparently it was a classic—until they cancelled the show after the 2019 season, that is.
As she looked at her reflection upon the looking glass, Rose couldn't help but allow a slight smile to grow upon her face. Sure, she had seen herself in the mirror many times before, but every time she was at the Burrow, she couldn't help but feel that pride of being a Weasley—especially as she basked in her distinctly Weasley qualities. Her skin was very fair, making her numerous freckles that much more noticeable, especially those that ran along her nose—an obvious inheritance from her father. Her eyes were like those of her mother; her irises had a light brown pigmentation. But above all these other traits, the staple Weasley marker was the hair. Rose's hair was more along the lines of an auburn colouration, but her father's contributions to her DNA could not be denied; the red was most certainly there. Her hair reached halfway down her back, allowing the texture more noticeability—its semi-wavy, semi-bushy quality glistening in the mirror.
She was still wallowing in her Weasley-ness when she heard her name being called from the other side of the bathroom door.
'Rose! Stop basking in your overinflated ego!' cried out her cousin Albus. Clearly he knew her well enough to know what she was doing.
'Seriously, Rose,' called out another voice, 'we don't have all day.'
'Yes, Hugo, I know,' she replied to her younger brother as she opened the door, immediately being hit with the colder air that abided in the Burrow's halls.
Stepping out of the way for Albus to enter the bathroom, Rose took her balled-up heap of clothing and started for her room.
'What? You're just gonna ignore your favourite brother?' inquired the redheaded figure behind her, smiling cheekily.
It was her brother, Hugo. Now again, she hadn't ignored him to be mean, it's just that he always rubbed in her face the fact that she was the sole non-Gryffindor in the family. Well, Albus wasn't in Gryffindor either, which was part of the reason she could connect with him so well; but he was in Slytherin and she was a Ravenclaw.
Her mother had been really proud of her when she wrote back to them her first year—her father, of course wasn't disappointed, but rather seemed a bit put off that his daughter hadn't been sorted into his former house. She remembered how in her first year at the platform, her father had said he would disinherit her if she didn't make it into Gryffindor. Obviously he had been joking, but it still weighed on Rose that fact that she had let her father down—at least it felt as if she had let him down.
But now Hugo would rub it in all the time how he had 'made dad proud' by being sorted into Gryffindor and, quite frankly, she was in no mood for that just three hours before she'd be on a train for school again.
Stopping in her tracks up the stairs, she closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, praying that Merlin give Hugo the wisdom to not rub in her House in her face this year or Merlin knows she'll probably transfigure him into a lima bean.
'Good morning Hugo,' she began, her back still to her brother, 'how are you?'
The expression on Hugo's face expressed some contemplation—as if he was internally debating whether bringing up her House would be a good idea.
He eventually settled on, 'I'm good, Rose.'
Rose was unconvinced that her brother wouldn't raise the touchy subject, so she remained with her back to him, acknowledging his words with a nod.
'I'm just a bit nervous,' continued Hugo, 'being a prefect for the first year is a big responsibility, right?'
Finally turning around, Rose gave her brother a reassuring smile.
'I'm sure Headmistress McGonagall sees you more than capable of handling prefect duties,' she told her brother in a caring, sisterly manner. 'I dunno how, but she does apparently,' she finished teasingly. And with a playful, gentle punch to the shoulder she hurried back upstairs.
Rose had taken no more than ten minutes to gather all her clothes and other belongings and stuff them into her handbag—a couple of books, gifts from her grandparents, the handful of unlaundered clothes from her morning 'bath' and some other things here and there. Although the majority of her stuff had already been packed into her Hogwarts suitcase, which was already downstairs, her mother had taught her the undetectable extension charm last year and she had been making the best use of it.
When Rose entered the Burrow's kitchen, the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon filled her nostrils. Her stomach growled in desperation, eager for just a bite of Grandma Weasley's five-star breakfast cuisine.
Seeing her grandmother at the stove, a huge grin plastered itself on Rose's face as she made her way to Molly Weasley—the senior one, not Percy's daughter, who Rose had still to see.
'Hello Rosie, dear!' her grandmother called out, as she set the plate of freshly-made bacon on the table. Molly pulled her in closely for a hug, 'How did you sleep, dear? Don't tell me Ron's bed was too uncomfortable?'
Before she even had a chance to reply, another person cut in reply, 'Hey, I think that bed was comfortable enough. I did only sleep on it for like eighteen years, mum.'
Ronald Weasley was already in the kitchen and picking into the hash browns on the stove. 'Ronald Weasley,' she began in a flustered voice, 'Wait until I serve that on the table!'
Molly had gotten over yelling at her children for some time now that they were adults. The way she saw it was that they didn't listen when she yelled back then, why would they now?
'Relax mum,' Ron began, his mouth semi-full, 'I just had to check for any poisoning.'
The two other sets of eyes in the kitchen looked at him, unconvinced of his story.
'Don't worry you two, it's clear,' he said after several seconds.
'What's clear?' asked another man entering the kitchen.
'Good morning, Harry,' responded Mrs. Weasley, 'Ron was just clearing the hash browns as being free of poisoning,' she said in a sarcastic matter-of-factly way.
'Ah, I see,' responded Harry, 'so it's safe to eat, now is it, Ron?'
Ron looked up, mouth full of English muffin and egg, and simply nodded at his best friend.
The whole morning after that had been a rushed commotion. At least it was for everyone but her. By nine-thirty, Rose was already in the living room and waiting for everyone to finish. Multitudes of teenage Weasleys and Potters dashed about her as she lay on the couch, book in hand. Although the occasional joke from her uncle George or the intermittent giggle from her cousin Louis or the periodic scolding from her aunt Ginny sometimes drew her attention, she had accustomed herself, after so many years, to simply shut out the loud Weasley clan commotion.
She was reading The Art and Science of Transfiguration to try and get ahead, especially as this was her first year of N.E.W.T.-level classes. Ever since she had been introduced to those things called books, Rose had always been a very studious witch. Just like her mother, she could always be found reading ahead of the class schedule, experimenting on her own, reviewing in her free time. It was really quite a wonder that her mother was placed in Gryffindor when they had so many similarities between them. Albus had told her that his dad—also her uncle, Harry—had said that the sorting hat does take your wishes into account too. 'Perhaps I should've wished harder,' she remembers having thought to herself her first year of school.
But it didn't matter anymore. She had made good friends in Ravenclaw, anyways. There was Adelaide Cohen, Marianne Davis, Albert Goldstein, Joan Barlow, Matthew McGilligan and, of course, the Scamander twins, Lorcan and Lysander. To be honest, she was quite comfortable in Ravenclaw House. After five years, she couldn't see herself not be a part of it.
She was just finishing the chapter she was on in her book when the loud shout of her name snapped her back into reality.
'Rose!' cried Lily, the only Potter that had managed to inherit her mother's ginger locks, 'your dad is calling you outside.'
She quickly looked at to the only clock on the living room wall, trying to see exactly how much time had passed her by. Unfortunately, this one just had faces on spoons.
Clapping the book shut and stuffing it into her handbag, Rose jumped from the sofa and made for the car outside. She stopped suddenly in her tracks, halfway to the car as if she had made a terrible mistake. Dashing quickly back to the kitchen, she embraced her grandmother, 'Bye grandma,' she began, 'I'll see you at Christmas.'
Looking over her grandmother's shoulders, she saw her grandfather, Arthur Weasley seated alone on the table. 'Bye grandpa,' she called over sombrely from her position at the doorway. Her grandfather put down the Muggle newspaper and looked up from his oatmeal to smile at her, 'Bye sweat pea, don't forget to write,' he added the last as if an afterthought.
Giving a slight wave and smiling back at him, Rose returned to the car where her father, mother and brother awaited her.
'Honestly, Rose,' began her mother as her daughter closed the car door, 'how is it possible that all of us managed to get in the car before you when you were ready an hour ago?'
'I got distracted,' she mumbled in reply as she strapped on her belt and the car pulled away from the Burrow. All the other families—Bill's, Percy's, George's and Harry's; they had all left.
But in reality, Hermione wasn't disappointed. Sure, she was an anti-punctuality advocate—she was adamant about being at least ten minutes early to everything—but her daughter's reply only put a grin on her face. Rose's love of books was something that made her beyond proud.
As the car made its way from the unpaved, dirt road that led from the Burrow and entered the concrete street, there was a loud pop. Ron had hit the tiny silver button on the Honda Fit's dashboard and had sent ripples of invisibility throughout the vehicle.
'Buckle up and hold on to your hats,' he said just as the car began to levitate.
Hermione's mouth was agape, her face boiling as she looked in complete awe at her husband. It seemed as if she was about to yell at her husband, but a quick glance at her watch and she settled on forgiving him this one time.
On Muggle roads, the drive from Ottery St Catchpole to London would've taken at least three hours. The ride to King's Cross—or flight, rather—was little under an hour. Pulling up to the carpark by the station, there were only nine minutes left to eleven. In other words, in nine minutes the train on platform 9 ¾ will have left.
Dragging their cumbersome luggage behind them, the four crossed the nigh empty street—surprising for a Thursday, I know—and they dashed through the station's doors, quickly making their way through the corridors and hallways until reaching that one familiar location between platforms 9 and 10. Sprinting quickly into the brick wall, Rose found herself on the platform—with two minutes to spare at that.
Dropping off their suitcases and giving their parents a last, reassuring word that they'd write to them, they hopped onto the train and waved farewell.
Rose felt in the back of her mind that this year would be a good year. She didn't know why, but as she made her way to the prefect's cabin, this overwhelming gut feeling of butterflies filled her stomach. Apparently, according to the Divination professor, there's this specific type of gut feeling you get that apparently symbolises premonition—Divination was all baloney to Rose, but what did it matter?
Coming down the aisle she grabbed hold of the , just as she entered the prefect's quarters in the cabin, her gut feeling of joy went away as her stomach flipped and did turns.
'Yep, Divination is totally baloney,' she thought to herself. 'Good year my arse.'
An utter feeling of disgust overcame her. For there at the end of the cabin stood the single most revolting, despicable person she had ever known: Scorpius Malfoy.
Author's Afterword
I apologise if you did not find that this particular chapter to be to your tastes, but I do believe in constructive criticism. I admit that I find that this particular chapter had writing that was a tad too dry and lacking in things such as dialogue and interactions. I hope to add more of that and introduce more characters in the next chapter. If you have suggestions or general comments, please do leave so I can use your feedback for future chapters. If you're hoping for more, don't forget to favourite or follow!
