A/N: I don't own Harry Potter
Roses.
To me, they had always been the most spectacular, precious flower. There was certain elegance, a dark beauty, a mysterious air about them that held attraction for me.
And then there was always her.
She was pretty, sweet, smart and talented- the image of perfection. In her first year at Hogwarts, I had watched her from afar, purely out of mere curiosity. I remember seeing her on the platform, noticing a certain elegance, which she, a scared eleven year-old, held. She carried herself with the upmost confidence; talked to people she didn't know with ease, which made everyone that knew her naturally like her. I guess she was so different, so mysterious that I couldn't help be enthralled by this girl. She reminded me that there was a happier life and maybe; just maybe there was hope for me, too.
But of course nobody could like a Malfoy.
I remember being hurt by all the mean comments, but like all things in my meaningless life, I learned to live with it. It was part of being a Malfoy; there was nothing to do but keep your head held high. The only thing that I had come to care for in my first year at Hogwarts was her, pretty, smart, talented Rose Weasley.
Our second year rolled around, and I found myself excited to see her again, excited to see her deep blue eyes that twinkled every time she laughed, the way she would plait her fiery hair, leaving a few frizzy strands hang in her face. Those were things that I shouldn't know, but oh well, I did, and I wasn't apologizing.
So I returned to Hogwarts, still friendless, but not at all intimated by the fact. To my young, twelve year-old self, I had a friend in the girl that I had never talked to, yet knew every little thing about. At that ripe age, I didn't realize that I actually had feelings that were more than friendly to her, to the one girl that I couldn't have…
Rose Weasley.
The first time she talked to me was by accident actually. It was funny how I remembered every little detail about it, from the way her nose crinkled when she smiled to the way she said my name.
"I can't believe the amount of homework we got this week, I mean it's almost-" she said, talking rapidly to her friend.
I had been following her, listening to her every word. Of course I had been far enough away where it wouldn't be suspicious, yet close enough to hear her.
"Take that Scorpion," a vicious Gryffindor said, shoving me forward. I fell into Rose, knocking her over. Her books flew out of her hands as she toppled forward.
"I am so sorry," I said hurriedly, collecting her stuff for her. "I really didn't mean to, I guess I just-"
"Shh," said Rose, giving me a kind smile and placing her hand on mine. "It's okay Scorpius, I promise you."
Her small act of kindness, and the mere fact that she remembered my name was enough to strike me breathless. The little thrill I felt when she touched my hand was addicting, and I knew I had to have more.
Third year came quickly, and with it came all the awkward adolescent feelings. Rose had grown into a more feminine shape over the summer, which definitely appealed to my thirteen year-old senses. She started to attract attention among the male population, and I remember the burning sense of jealousy that came with every admiring glance a boy would give her, and the inexplicable urge to throttle whoever was looking at Rose, my Rose.
Fourth year came, and that was when the raging hormones really started to take effect. For me, it was hard to look at Rose in her rather short school skirt and tighter-than-necessary top without feeling an emotion that I had never felt before, an emotion that took a long time to indentify…
Longing.
I wanted Rose Weasley; I wanted her tight shirts and short skirts, and I wanted her flaming hair and blue, twinkling eyes. But I wasn't the only one: It seemed like every boy in our year wanted a little taste of Rose's red, luscious lips.
And so, the hardest year for me began. It seemed like every time I would walk down a deserted corridor, or an empty classroom I would see her and some other nameless guy snogging feverishly. Yes, I felt hatred to towards whomever it was, but I also knew if I was in his spot, I would be doing the exact same thing.
Fifth year rolled around with a flurry of studying and stress. It was O.W.L. year, and all fretting and frantic cramming came with it
I was surprised at how much attention I received from the girls that year. It would be a simple flirty glace here, a shy wave there, but before I knew it, those things evolved and I was catapulted into the romantic life I never knew. I had been determined not to kiss any girl but Rose, however hormones won out and I found myself snogging girls I didn't even know the names of. The passion and pleasure was there, yes, but it wasn't right, they weren't right.
They weren't Rose.
Sixth year passed, and I began to grow up. Things changed between Rose and me; we became close friends. We spent a lot of time together and I began to feel more comfortable around Rose. Yes, my feelings didn't change towards her, but I was good at hiding those types of things.
When she had began to date the boy she always had a crush on, Matthew Wainfield, I was there to congratulate her. When he broke her heart, I was there to comfort her.
"Scorpius," she sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. It was the day that Matthew had broken up with her. "What's the biggest mistake you've ever made?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well," she began slowly. "It seems that you never regret anything you do."
I looked at her tear stained face and red, blotchy eyes. An urge to laugh arose. What a funny question…
"The thing I most regret..." I said, thinking. "The thing I most regret was never telling the girl I loved how much she meant to me."
"Who was it?" asked Rose, perking up.
"Well, she has red, fiery hair, the most beautiful blue eyes, and a smile that dazzle you from five feet away."
"There are lots of girls like that," Rose huffed. "You're not really giving me a fair chance to guess."
"No," I said, squeezing her shoulder. "There's just one girl that fits that description."