He came into the fold of the Weasley children by befriending Albus; he was kept there for a while when he dated Rose for a while; remained there for even longer because his friendship with Albus remained in tact.
Sitting at one of the Weasley family gatherings, tapping one of his feet in the grass, watching the eldest Weasley cousin gaze longingly at the man that was once her boyfriend but no longer was, the man playing quite roughly with the boys, his blue hair shinning in the light.
"You're in love with him," Scorpius notes easily.
"Aren't you perceptive?" She turns to look at him, pale eyebrow arched, cocks her head slightly to the side. "Who knew you were so intuitive?"
"There are many things you don't know about me, Victoire."
"Of this I am quite sure."
-
Three months later he attends the birthday celebration for Albus, lounging out in one of the chairs, watching Victoire watching Teddy dance with the girl that he brought with him, the date that he has, the woman he is calling his girlfriend.
"You know, it's becoming rather pathetic to watch you obsess over your ex-boyfriend."
"Perhaps that is because you don't know what it feels like to be in love."
"If it means to turn into a slave to someone who doesn't want you anymore then I'd rather not know what it feels like."
"And what do you suggest?" She turns her head to look at him, pushes some of her pale blonde hair over one of her shoulders in a smooth and elegant gesture.
"Fine someone else."
"Who? Someone like you perhaps? You're little more than a child, you know."
"That may be true," he concedes, nodding his head a little as he stands, stretching out his long limbs. "But I'm mature enough to know not to overlook a good thing."
-
Months of word games; months of arguing; months of denial and waiting, waiting, waiting. She moons after one who doesn't want her anymore, he keeps telling her to move on. they dance around each other like chess pieces on a board, trade quips and snide remarks; give each other looks that are searching and scorching and at times highly inappropriate, a silent challenge.
It happens late one night, happens in the rain that she shows up at his door, dripping wet, pale hair clinging to her face like little tiny bits of a halo.
"Do you really think that I deserve more than that? More than waiting for him to finally want me again? To love me?"
"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."
She looks up at him, water dripping off of her nose, running along the planes of her face, eyes like two oceans shinning, drawing him in, threatening to drown him. "I want more," she finally tells him. "I deserve it."
He smiles at her, almost smirking. "About time."
She doesn't think a kiss was ever felt so satisfying. Or felt more real.