This is my first Rose/Scorpius story, but I LOVE THIS PAIRING! JKR was so hinting at their marriage: "Don't get too friendly with him, Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood." :)
Enjoy! Review! JOIN THE REVIEW REVOLUTION!
Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Harry Potter or Harry Potter. That's JK Rowling's and hers alone. :D
"OI! PAY ATTENTION!" Her cousin's loud roar was deafening. Rose cast Al an annoyed look and turned back to him instead of letting her gaze drift off to Al's platinum-haired best friend sitting in the bleachers. Al squints at her through his glasses, and for a moment he resembles Uncle Harry so much Rose laughs.
"What're you laughing at, Squirt?"
"You can't call me that, you're the same age as me!" she says defensively, glad that she had distracted Al from teaching her how to actually not fall off a broom long enough for her to sneak another look at Scorpius, who was looking rather bored as he waited for Al so they could go finish some Potions extra credit project or another.
Stupid cunning good-at-Potions Slytherins.
"ARE YOU MAD?" Al's voice is deafening again. With a frightened gasp, she realizes that she had been sitting absentmindedly on her floating broom moments before, her feet grazing the gorund, and that in her Scorpius Gazing and/or Adoring Time (which she know referred to SGAT because she thought about it so much), the broom had actually had the nerve to float upwards into the air, so that she was now hanging precariously onto a STICK OF WOOD THIRTY FEET UP IN THE AIR!
A small yelp of horror--which she suspected was more like an ear-splitting Banshee shriek--escapes her lips. "ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER IF YOU DON'T BLOODY HELP ME I WILL PAINFULLLY AND SLOWLY CASTRATE YOU AND FORCE YOU TO EAT THE REMAINDERS!" Rose closes her eyes and hangs on to the awfully small handle of wood, hoping that she won't fall to the HARD, HARD ground of the Quidditch pitch, die a slow and painful death (the kind of that Al's man bits will die if he doesn't bloody get up here and bloody help her down), and have to have her funeral held at HOGWARTS because her body had been smashed into fifty billion tiny pieces!
Damn them, Uncle Harry and Dad and Aunt Ginny and Uncle George and all the other crazy male (and Aunt Ginny) relatives Rose has that insist on the annual Potter/Weasley Quidditch Game. At which, last year, she nearly murdered her mother's ancient cat Crookshanks…because she fell off her broom. The stupid cat was only kept alive by all her mother's charms anyways! The stupid thing should have died! Then Dad wouldn't have made her learn how to stay on a broom from bloody Al and his best friend (who were co-captains of the Slytherin team and thus irritatingly brilliant at Quidditch) so that NEXT YEAR she wouldn't murder the stupid cat so that Hermione Weasley wouldn't spend all her time fixing her stupid cat instead of snogging Ronald Weasley. Which…ew…parents snogging passionately, ewwww.
Her mum was the only sane one, really. Not playing Quidditch, in Rose's opinion, made you sane.
"Oi, Weasley." A voice was talking to her! Someone was talking to her! Al had gotten his sorry arse up on his stupid overpriced broom--really, a STICK OF WOOD for TWO THOUSAND GALLEONS? Uncle Harry was loaded and all, but STILL--and come to save her! But wait, why was Al's voice sounding so sexy all of a sudden? And since when did he call her Weasley instead of Rosie Posie, the most annoying nickname of all time?
Rose opens one eye slowly, cringing at the sight of the long, long way down to the ground. She is expecting Al's messy black hair and his toad green eyes (which somehow look SO much better on Great-Aunt Lily in the pictures she's seen), but instead she is greeted with a pair of silvery-blue eyes, the colour of quicksilver, eyes she had so often fantasized about whilst inhaling Amortentia fumes (WAIT! SHE WAS INHALING THAT PARTICULAR AMORTENTIA FUME WITH THE SMELL OF CHOCOLATE/CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE BATTER AND SCORPIUS MALFOY'S COLOGNE RIGHT NOW!)Rose's eyes shot open immediately, and her body jerked. The broom, the little wanker, thought that this was an indication that she would have liked to fly faster and flew off right away…
To crash into said Scorpius Malfoy, who was perched gracefully on his own TWO THOUSAND GALLEONS' WORTH OF STICK OF WOOD and dodged her, gracefully, to the side. He puts a hand on her shoulder as she zoomed past by him, immediately the broom stops.
NIMBUS ONE THOUSAND, YOU BLOODY LITTLE TRAITOR!
His hand feels rather nice on her shoulder, really. It'd feel even better around her waist, so that she could inhale some more of CCCB/SMC (Chocolate/Chocolate chip Cookie Batter/ Scorpius Malfoy's Cologne, AKA Rose Weasley's Amortentia Fume). Oh, wait, he's saying something, something about the proper way to hold the bloody wanker of a stick of wood...
Oh, the blonde Seeker God is screaming at her, but she's not listening because she watching his beautiful face. But his voice is deafening now, like stupid ALBUS POTTER'S had been moments before, BUT HIS SORRY ARSE IS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. But Rose figured Scorpius Malfoy's rather pleasant and not sorry at all arse is much better. She could castrate Albus Severus Potter later.
"WEASLEY! ARE YOU LISTENING TO A WORD I'M SAYING?"
"Er…no, sorry, I didn't hear that, Blonde Seeker God," she says. Oh, bloody hell, did she say that aloud? She claps an alarmed hand over her mouth, so of course now she is only hanging onto that thin stick of wood with one hand. Immediately she loses her balance and begins to topple over, screaming, forcing Blonde Seeker God to come to her rescue as he dives under and lifts her, rather gently, she might add--feels kind of like he's carrying her, oh, she could get used to this--into an upright position on the broom.
"What did you call me?" Scorpius asks her, a smirk playing over his fine, fine lips. She stares at them for a moment, wondering if she would mind falling to her death if she got to feel those lips against hers before her imminent Death By Falling Off Broomstick.
"Er…bloody wanker?" she mutters. She notices his arm is still around her waist. She catches a great big whiff of Rose Weasley's Amortentia Fume and thinks she might as well have Died by Falling Off Broomstick and gone to heaven.
"Are you…are you sniffing me?" he asks incredulously. He doesn't let go of her waist, though, Rose notes happily. They are now floating awkwardly over the bleachers, two people on two brooms conjoined by his arm around her waist.
"No, I'm not sniffing you," Rose says sharply, wrinkling her nose. "You just smell extraordinarily unpleasant, like Niffler poop--" Niffler poop? Where had that come from? This high altitude thing was getting to her brain. "And I wanted to make sure it wasn't me."
"Right," Scorpius says, looking half-amused, half-confused. "I smell like Niffler poop. Now that we've gotten that cleared up, what exactly did you call me before? Something, I do believe that contained the word God?"
"Erm…" Rose shifted uncomfortably--she wasn't afraid to because SCORPIUS MALFOY'S ARM WAS AROUND HER, "Uhm…You're the God of Bloody Wankers?"
"I do believe it went something like 'Blonde Seeker God', Rose," Scorpius says, amusement heavy in his voice. A voice that had been kind of high and girly in first and second and third year, scratchy and awkward in fourth and fifth, strangely deep in sixth, and downright manly this year. It made her all shivery.
"Rose," Rose says, caught off-guard. He casts her a strange look.
"Yes, that's your name. Would you like some help with your ABC's, too?" he asks.
"No, that's okay…" Rose says, somewhat dreamily. "Rose…that's the first time you've ever called me Rose."
"Is it?" Scorpius says, his manly man voice rather bored, but she notes with delight that there is some colour creeping into his pale, albeit beautiful, face. She's not so scared anymore of Death By Falling Off Broomstick; Scorpius Malfoy had referred to her by her first name!
"I didn't know that you knew my name at all," Rose tells him in a trance. She is immediately embarrassed, though, and says quickly, "I mean, I'm just the rather awkward, frizzy red-haired bookworm cousin of your best friend."
It was true. Loathe as she was to admit it, she'd inherited her mother's brains alright; she'd also inherited her mother's bushy hair, rather plain features, total inability to play sports of any kind, and bookworm-esque tendencies. AND her father's blazing fire engine red hair. It wasn't fair that her cousin Lily had gotten Aunt Ginny's rather pretty auburn red hair, her gorgeous features, Aunt Ginny's and Uncle Harry's brilliant magic skills AND Uncle Harry's Seeker abilities…Rose, it seemed, had been royally screwed over by her genes.
Scorpius opens his mouth, then pauses for a moment, as if he is about to say something. The moment is excruciatingly long. "Albus is rather awkward and bookworm-esque, too," he says kindly, obviously trying to be nice about her total lack of cool genes.
Rose rolled her eyes. "And that's why Al goes out with a different girl every week."
"Nah, that's 'cause he's Harry Potter's son. Plus, Al thinks he can avoid the whole Potter Men and Redheads Theory by dating every blonde and/or brunette in existence." Scorpius's arm, to her great delight, is still wound tightly around her waist. He begins to lead their brooms--slowly, thank Merlin--towards the bleachers, which are far closer to them than the ground. "Anyways, I'm sure I've called you Rose before."
"Nope," Rose says surely. "It's always been Weasley, or, Oi! Geek! Pass me a quill!, or You're a disaster, Rosie Posie, I pity whoever Al's gonna have to pay to date you."
Scorpius's expression is difficult to read after she tells him that. Finally, she sees the bleachers are less than a foot below them, and she sighs in relief and relaxes for a moment. "I'm sorry, Rose, that I said all that. I just--I think I--I didn't mean it." And then he pauses for a moment. "Ifundyyew," he mutters under his breath, and for a moment I thought, in my crazed and addled-by-high-altitudes state, that he had said, "I fancy you," and promptly proceed to topple off my broom, missing the bleachers, and instead hurtling towards the ground--which is suddenly so much closer than I thought. Using possibly my last living breath, I scream, "MERLIN'S GREAT WHITE BEARD, I HATE YOU, SCORPIUS MALFOY! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?"
