She's the daughter of Eve. Majestically beautiful but terribly flawed. Structured with poise and grace but tainted by vanity and spite. No one person can hold a candle to her; she isn't just a girl, but the woman of every sinner's dream.
Words could not even begin to explain Rose Weasley, and I've had the distinct displeasure of her company for the past six years. With her closest cousin being my best friend, I've had more contact with her than any other person not related to her. Don't get me wrong- we weren't friends, or anything of that sort. In fact, we were anything but.
I would be lying if I told you I wasn't highly interested in Rose Weasley. Actually, I'd be lying if I told you that everyone in Hogwarts wasn't highly interested in her, either. When describing her, I don't even know where to begin. Maybe it was first, when we met, that was the inception of my fascination with her. After saying goodbye to my mother, my father pulled me over and placed both hands on my shoulders.
"Scorpius," I distinctly remember him saying, his words still echoing in my thoughts to this day. His eyes were tired, yet as intense as they always were, as he continued, "Don't make the same mistakes I made at Hogwarts." I looked at him in disbelief, for as I was still 11, I thought my father was flawless, all knowing, and made no mistakes.
"I made prejudices my first day, ones that I have come to regret for the rest of my life. Do not listen to your grandfather, Scorpius." I began fidgeting, as the train was about to depart for the station. "Make your own decisions."
And boy, did I make my own decisions.
I scurried into that last compartment, and the chatter died down to a hush as soon as I opened the door. A unkempt, black haired boy, an enchanting girl with strawberry blonde hair, and- the girl that immediately drew my attention- a deep blue, ocean eyed red head all turned their attention towards me.
"Dominique Weasley," the blond stuck out her hand and gave me a smile, and though she was young, she had this power over me. All I could remember thinking in that moment was how pretty she was. I shook her hand rather hesitantly.
"Scorpius, Scorpius Malfoy," I said my last name slowly, hesitantly, because she was a Weasley. Grandfather had spoke ill of them, but I saw nothing wrong. There father, I thought. My own judgment.
"Albus Severus Potter, mate," he clapped my should welcomingly. He then motioned for me to sit down across from him. "I thought my name was bad. You can just call me Al, yeah?"
The redhead sat there next to Al, quiet the entire encounter as she gazed out the window. I couldn't help but look at her, the distressed and torn aura emitting from her making it difficult for me to look away. Though they pried her to say hello, Rose didn't speak a word our whole ride to Hogwarts. At first, I thought it was just me, just because I was a Malfoy or something. I then found that the only people she spoke to were her family.
When we, as first years, trotted our way down the Great Hall for our sorting, everyone was abuzz with excitement, anticipating what house they'd love to be in, which house they'd hate to be in. Of course, the pattern will imply that Rose, in fact did not inquire once where she thought she'd be, where others thought she would be.
Of the four of us in the compartment, I was the first to be sorted. Professor McGonagall called my name, and I swaggered up to the stool. Interesting, I heard, and nearly jumped at the unexpected voice that no one else could hear. Malfoy, yes, but you are very unlike the others. Not cowardly, but strong. Hufflepuff certainly won't do, and though you are wise Ravenclaw will not either. Gryffindor... you aren't quite ready for that yet, I see. Better be... "SLYTHERIN!"
I took my seat at the table, and soon enough Albus Potter joined me. "What did it tell you?" I asked almost immediately, curiosity from the meaning of my own sorting still bubbling inside me.
"It said that it really wanted to see what my dad would've done in Slytherin," he whispered as Tristan Reymond got sorted into Ravenclaw. "But he said he would give me the choice. I chose Slytherin, I don't want to be a carbon copy of Harry Potter, you know?" I nodded, and by the time our short conversation was over, Dominique had already been sorted into Gryffindor, the hat barely having scraped her scalp.
"Rose Weasley." I immediately turned my head, and saw the girl with the auburn hair sit down. I expected to see her meek, timid, and shy but in this moment, I realized that wasn't what she was. Reserved, careful with words, and... Untouchable. With her chin held high, she far surpassed any other of us First Years with the way she carried herself.
Merlin, that girl's sorting took ages. From what I had read, somewhere, maybe the newest edition of Hogwarts, A History, this was what was called a Hatstall. A true one was quite rare, the last being the very Professor McGonagall. Known near ones were Hermione Granger, Rose's mother, Harry Potter, Rose's godfather and uncle, and Neville Longbottom, Rose's close family friend. If I had to guess, the hat was nearing on six minutes when it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The next two years or so, I noticed very many things about Rose. First and foremost, the height of her existence in Hogwarts, was that she was always surrounded by family. Usually, it was Dominique who bathed in the spotlight Rose simply did not want. However, if Dom was hanging out with me and Al, being social, or wrapped up with a boy (as she more often than not, was) then Rose would be accompanied by James and Fred, Albus, Victoire when she was still at Hogwarts, or Hugo and Lucy when they arrived.
Really, an eleven year old Scorpius didn't see why she needed "protection." Everyone knew that she could fend for herself, she exemplified quickly that she was quick with her wand and her tongue. Rose had confidence, but it was ice cold. I've gotten a nice whack or two from Albus for calling her the ice queen.
What I discovered over a few years, was that Rose Weasley was not bulletproof as I originally hypothesized. Instead, she was made of porcelain, glass, very fine china. From afar, she was beautiful, but handle it in the wrong way, and it will shatter. My obsession with shattering her glass led me to do some things I wish I rather had not. Around third or fourth year- which also happened to be around the time her hair darkened, freckles faded, and became the most fit girl in our year, after Dominique- I began to tease her, just to see if I could get a rise. I never did.
Ginger, Weasel, Bookworm, Shadow, Princess, Know-It-All, and countless more; they just didn't work. I received smooth replies, insults just as quick as I had thrown them, and she didn't even break a sweat.
Third or fourth year was also when I began spending the end of summer and Christmas at the Burrow, while Al and sometimes Dominique came after New Year's or right after the end of term. This was when I saw Rose in her most natural state, which wasn't very different, save one aspect.
One time, Al and I had to get something from Hugo's room, a broom of some sorts, back at Ron and Hermione's house. With their permission, of course, we went back, and when Al told me to wait in the living room for him, I didn't listen. I tried my best to follow him, but unfortunately, I didn't know when to turn. I just followed the music my eardrums could barely make out.
The door was only slightly ajar, but I knew it had to be her room. No one else was home, she claimed not feeling well, or so I heard. I guess I expected it to be neat, insanely-organized, and perfect just like her. What I saw doesn't even begin to be covered by a shock. Clothes were sprawled across the room, books on the foot of her bed, and ink blotches stained the desktops and even the hardwood floor. She had a bookshelf, but the titles were scattered, some horizontal and some vertical while records, old ones, probably muggle as well, that I couldn't identify were thrown into the mix. It was chaotic, all over the place, and a nut house.
I could only assume that this was her natural habitat. The side of her hand was stained black from ink, her hair held together by an old scrunch that left loose tendrils to shape the side of her face. Merlin, was she beautiful.
When Rose's sharp eyes darted towards the door, I practically froze in my place. In an instant, she was off her bed and at the door, pushing me forward and closing it behind her. I knew that I had finally hit that nerve. She was unkempt, not expecting to see anyone, and as herself as I had ever seen her be. What she said confirmed that I had found something left to be hidden.
"This means nothing," she said quickly, curt, short. "No judgments are to be made from this. It's not me."
That particular event occurred during the Christmas break of fifth year. The next year and a half went by like our first few did: Rose became, if possible, even more withdrawn.
Now, here we were. It was at the Potter's, fooling around in the kitchen with Al as Rose skimmed through a Transfiguarations textbook, to jump-start her learning for this year, no doubt. Next to her, Dominique scribbled furiously at her parchment to send an owl to her "long-term" boyfriend.
3 months for Dom was pretty bloody long. Connor McLaggen was the "love of her life."
Everyone in the room craned their neck at the sound of tapping at the window. I flicked the pane open with my wand, and two owls came barreling in, dropping 6 different letters. Four had a little bulk to them. I expected that I, for the third year, had become a Prefect for Slytherin house. However, when I opened it my smile plastered permanently across my face.
"I got Head Boy," I announced, and was followed by Albus who similarly shouted, "I'm the Quidditch Captain!" He grabbed my hand and pulled me against him, then in synchronization clamping each other on the back.
"Boys," Dominique sighed and ran a hand through her perfectly straight hair. "What about you Rosie?"
I pursed my lips together and looked at the auburn-haired-goddess intently, waiting for her to speak. Instead, her eyes attempted to bore a hole through the parchment crumpling between her fingers.
"Rose?" Albus asked hesitantly. "You got Head Girl, right? No one is more qualified or-"
He was abruptly cut off by the screech of her chair against the wood, assaulting our ears like a sharp blow. Nose held high, eyes intent and lips quivering, she slammed the paper on the desk and stumbled out of the room.
I was the one who took the initiative of getting up, to see what the letter said. I expected it to only say Prefect on it, the only reason I could think of for her to be so upset. I picked it up, and once I darted across the words "Head Girl" my eyebrows furrowed. "She... she got it."
Dominique and Albus shared a look, the one where both seemed worried and distressed. I called it the Look of the Rose. I never understood it, of course, as there was a family aspect that I just didn't understand. I missed out on eleven years, and I would never be able to pretend like I was there. So I didn't.
"Do you want to go talk to her?" Dom asked, and Al nodded his head.
"You go talk to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione." Dominique nodded and left the room, Albus motioning for me to stay in my place. I sat there at the kitchen counter both our letters in my hand, wondering for the second time in my life if Rose Weasley had something against me being a Malfoy. I hoped I was wrong, like the first time, as I usually was.
A/N: So, there's the first chapter of Untouchable, my first fic! Yes, I know that things probably seem a little off. Things will (hopefully) begin to unravel in the next few chapters. What's wrong with Rose, why Scorpius seems to be such a stalker, and more will be answered, soon. In the meantime, review review review, please!