A/N: The definition of on-the-spot writing, really. Just some Rose/Scorpius fluff cause I felt like it.
The first time you saw him, he was crying.
The two of you were five years old, both of you dragged to the office with daddy, albeit one more willingly than the other – even at five, you loved the Ministry of Magic. Draco Malfoy dragged his son past you and your father, barely inclining his head at Ron Weasley even if he was perfectly polite and dropped the blonde man a "Morning, Malfoy." Scorpius was crying his eyes out, obviously wanting to be anywhere else but there, but he still had the time and presence of mind to yank your fiery curls as he walked past. Your father looked at him disapprovingly, but you hid a smile.
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The first time you said anything to her, she was crying.
It was right after you were both Sorted into Ravenclaw. You went up to her to ask if she was all right, and she turned to you and asked whether she really looked all right. You looked her up and down and said, "Well, Weasley, to tell the truth I'd say you're looking pretty good."
She gave a strangled laugh and hit you on the arm. "Shove it, Malfoy," she said. "I'll be fine in a minute, don't mind me. I just – I just thought I'd be a Gryffindor."
You'd looked over to where every single other member of her family was sitting amid the scarlet-and-gold decorations and laughed. "I daresay you're better off here, since it's where the hat put you and all." She told you not to mind her, but for some reason you did.
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The first time you called him by his first name, he was crying.
You had seen him get an owl at breakfast that morning, seen his face pale at the contents of the letter, but it wasn't until you ran into him in the library later that you got the chance to ask him what was wrong.
The two of you weren't exactly friends, but you got along well enough on a strictly last-name basis, so when you saw him sitting alone in a corner of the library with tears running down his cheeks you felt confident enough to approach him.
"What's wrong?" you'd asked.
"Nothing," he'd replied, swiping angrily at the tears staining his pale face.
"Come off it," you'd huffed. "Something's obviously wrong. It's okay, Scorpius, you can talk to me."
He looked up at the use of his given name. "It's just... My mother's in the hospital," he said. "She's been sick, but she got better, but... now she's gotten worse again, and the Healers don't know what to do with her."
"Oh, Scorpius," you'd sighed, and you sat with him in the library until his tears ran dry.
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The first time you hugged her, she was crying.
You both played on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team – she as Seeker and Captain of the team, you as Chaser – and it was the last the match of the season, the one that would determine who won the Quidditch Cup. You were playing against Gryffindor, and the game was tough; half an hour into the match and Gryffindor was up by fifty or so points, and no one had seen the Snitch. Then all of a sudden you saw her hurtle into a dive, and before you could process what was happening she was pulling out of it with the Snitch clutched tightly in her small hand. The entire team descended in a screaming huddle, and once it broke apart a bit you turned to her, tears of pure joy streaming down both your faces as you picked her up and spun her around, shouting "You did it! We did it!" And what struck you was that she didn't squirm away.
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When you asked him out, he was crying.
You were both sitting in the library again, agonising over a new letter from his father which revealed nothing more about his mother's condition than that it was 'critical but stable'. He was angry at the world almost without realising it, and at the same time terrified that his mother wouldn't live to see him graduate in just over a year's time. Almost without thinking, you said, "Come to Hogsmeade with me, that'll make it all better."
He had lifted his head from where it was lying on the table. "Rose, are you asking me out?" he'd asked, dubiously.
The thought hadn't honestly occurred to you, but when he mentioned it... "I suppose I am, Scorpius. What of it?"
"Nothing," he said, a ghost of a smile breaking through the tears. "I suppose I'm accepting, then." And so it was settled, and you felt none of the usual pre-date nerves but instead just a feeling of pure rightness, and it was so cliché you felt like laughing at yourself (and actually did, a little later, when you realised what it was.)
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The first time you kissed her, she was crying.
You were in Hogsmeade on your date, and so far it had all gone really well, until she tripped and hit her head on a rock. It barely left a mark, but it had hurt and it brought tears to her eyes. You sat her down on a bench and looked at the spot, prodding it gently to make sure nothing was broken before muttering a healing spell.
"Can I kiss it better?" you'd asked, and she'd nodded with a small smile. You kissed the spot on her forehead and asked, "better?" She nodded, and you kissed her nose. "How about now, better?" She nodded again and lifted her face ever-so-slightly. You kissed her lips carefully, almost like asking for permission, and felt her smile.
"Much better," she whispered, and kissed you back.
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The first time you told him you loved him, he was crying, and to this day you aren't sure whether it was during or because of; but it doesn't matter, because he told you he loved you too and then you were both crying, and in that moment you were just so happy.