Hey there! I haven't been inspired to write in a long time, and that makes me sad :( Haha this is the best I could come up with, and to be honest, I'm not very proud of it. Oh well. Enjoy!
I
Rose Weasley knows that these types of love stories are never supposed to end well, and hers was never meant to be written in the first place (poor Ron really does deserve an A for effort, no one saw it coming). They were born into families with an age-old rift and "Grandpa Weasley would be so disappointed" and "What would your father say if he saw you with that Malfoy boy?" Just imagining the chaos that was sure to ensue was enough to make her shudder, and it was inevitable, with her being lost in the middle of an infinite family and him being the son of Draco Malfoy. In another time, another world, they would be perfect. Yin and Yang. Together forever. But in a world that was still healing from wounds opened years ago they just weren't supposed to end up with each other, it wasn't in the plot. At least that's how she imagined the story would go.
II
But, the thing is, she is living in the here-and-now and he's her cousin's best friend and she promised Albus to stay away because "Scorpius might be one of my best friends, but he'll only bring trouble, Rosie. Trust me." He's sarcastic and rude and teases her mercilessly, but he's hurting on the inside (don't ever tell anyone that) and Rose knows that underneath all the macho-stuff he's only just a boy with the misfortune of having a father who expects him to be a man when all he really needs is some time to be a child. It was all very tragic in her eyes, and Rose was never one to resist a tragedy. At least that's what she tells herself when she realizes that despite all the warnings she just can't seem to stay away. And how can she? He has this smile that shouldn't make her insides melt (she'll never admit that it does) and these eyes filled with stars and ice and a subtle softness when they rake her up and down, and if his eyes were the only eyes she could look into for the rest of her life she would be perfectly fine with it.
III
He's the fire to her water, the earth to her air. She is the restless sun, and he is the cool moon; the dark to her light. Or maybe she's the dark. It's hard to tell sometimes. All she knows is that the skin brushing skin brushing moonlight, and the library rendezvous filled with dust and the smell old books permeating their cloaks for the rest of the day, and the tea and scratchy wool blankets encasing them in a world of their own on lazy rainy days, with the dripping of the rain against the weathered stone walls as their only soundtrack, and the fighting and making up (and fighting again) in the span of an hour, was something she would never get tired of. Rose basked in the glow of the smile that promised whole worlds, and galaxies, and a lifetime of adventure. It was Rose and Scorpius and it wasn't perfect, but it was them, and it was everything.
IV
It really is such a cliché to compare them to the silly star-crossed lovers in the muggle novels she always read when she was younger. And so what if everyone
thought that it was so, so, wrong? How could something that felt so beautiful possibly be wrong? Time heals all wounds, she thinks, and it starts today, it starts with them. They will be the ones to erase the scars left by generations before them. This is everything her mother and father fought for. And it wasn't the story anyone was expecting, but really, they should have known better.