This is my story for totaldramaactress' thing. I wrote it in one day - practicing for NaNoWriMo - and hope it's good. Love ya!
Oh and I have NO IDEA what's happening with Attack of the Raging Teenage Hormones right. Let's say its on hiatus.
I didn't believe in love. In my world, 'love' was just another word for 'weakness' and weakness meant failure, which wasn't acceptable. A Malfoy had to be perfectly smug every waking hour, always composed just so without showing any signs of care for anyone but ourselves. And so I built a wall surrounding me that seemed impenetrable. My emotions didn't seep through the cracks. They were always within me, secure and untouched.
Rose Weasley was practically my opposite. Wherever she went, there was always a gaggle of Weasley's or Potter's surrounding her. They were smiling like imbeciles and laughing madly. It couldn't be more obvious that she wore her heart on her sleeve with pride, yet she was unbelievably good at hiding certain feelings at times. She was a weird one.
During our Hogwarts years, we were as we were expected to be. We attacked each other's personalities deliberately, snapping at certain aspects of our characters. And it would never end in exactly the same way. Teachers would sometimes find us. Her damned cousins might get into the mix and I would have to keep my cool. But even with the warnings, we'd continue.
Now, understand this: when Weasley got angry – because she had a fiery temper – she'd let herself go. Her voice would echo through empty corridors far away and often she'd tug at her hair or kick the ground. All the while, I'd be standing before her, retorting to her quips and staying quite still and untouched by her actions. I was like a stone. Nothing could make me feel.
Until one night.
It was the summer before our seventh year. My father had been on a 'business trip', although Mother and I both knew that that was only code for 'fucking his secretary', and had returned proud as ever with an invitation in hand. It had been from Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, who wished for us to attend a ball in honor of the Daily Prophet's seventy-fifth year in business. Of course, being the classy family we were, we did.
I'd worn my least favorite yet most elegant tux to the occasion; the one that was entirely black save for the cuffs, which were green. According to Mother, it made me look 'exceptionally mature'. We'd entered to a grand ballroom draped in blue curtains and it had looked most beautiful. But it wasn't the scenery that caught my father's eye. It was someone.
"Oh dear Merlin," he'd muttered quietly under his breath. Mother didn't flinch at the words and merely smiled plastically at a passing woman. My father grabbed my by my collar before I left to get a drink.
"Be sure to keep away from them, Scorpius," he'd breathed. I had nodded to keep him quiet and because I had no intention of speaking to that bunch.
Whether it had been from the Firewhiskey I'd so willingly consumed or the heat of the ballroom, I somehow found myself on the balcony. With a young woman, who was leaning over the edge, breathing gently. I recognized her at once as Weasley.
"What brought you out here?" I asked. She shrugged her slim slightly freckled shoulders.
"Couldn't breathe in there." She let out a gasp of a laugh. "You wouldn't believe my trouble getting out of that mob of a family I have." We were silent for another moment before she had to ask, "How about you?"
I shrugged as well and leaned over next to her. "I've no idea, honestly." The Firewhiskey in my glass threatened to spill as I moved my hand along the banister for something to do.
And then it happened. We began to talk. Not as angry as usual, but as if this were natural. It was so easy to just let the words come out and settle in the summer air while she nodded and replied. I felt a pushing inside my chest and the mortar of my wall gently began to melt.
We smiled for a long while and the night soon began to grow so dark that the only light came from the ball inside and the crescent moon in the sky. I threw my arm out into the air and let my now empty glass fall down the several stories to the grass where it smashed. It was a beautiful sight. I didn't want these moments to end. These precious moments with her.
"Rosie!" And of course her over-protective brother had to ruin it for us.
After he had pulled her away, I'd rubbed a hand over my face and thought long and hard. It wasn't until half an hour later that I decided to give in and go in.
There weren't as many people as before, but still a great many were in the center, dancing a waltz to an unfamiliar tune. I'd pulled up beside the only people I saw who looked familiar: my parents.
"What were you doing, talking to her?" my father asked roughly once I'd greeted them. I shrugged and made to reach for a small cracker with escargot on it, but he took hold of my wrist and stopped me. "Listen to me, boy: they are bad news, those blood-traitors!" he hissed. "They'll twist you to their side!"
Again, maybe the Firewhiskey was talking, but anger filled me at his words and I pulled out of his grasp. "Maybe I want to be on their side!" I said loudly, but the waltz music was so loud that no one heard me. And I stormed off.
I made for the door, but saw Weasley standing off by a wall. The waltz happening was coming to a close and something overtook me as I stepped through the crowd deliberately towards her. She looked up and smiled softly.
"Care to dance?"
And off we went.
After that, I wrote to her every day. She had demolished my wall during that waltz. I could feel freely again, could breathe with an open mind and soul. It felt wondrous.
Of course, my parents weren't pleased at all by my choice of dance partner and screamed relentlessly – or rather, Father screamed while Mother stood in the background, looking distraught – until I'd been sentenced to my room. That is where I liked it best.
I also knew that Rose's parents felt I was as bad as my father. She'd said so in many of her letters, of how it was nearing two in the morning and that she wrote it by candlelight in the backyard because her parents were monitoring her room by peeking in every ten minutes. It touched my heart – the one that had just started beating again – that she'd go to such lengths for me.
I made her cry as well. I hated to see her like that. Her face became red and her eyes puffy and she sniffed in the most indelicate way. But I loved it all. I held her close at these times, even though I knew that I'd have to leave, as did she. She'd beg me to stay as she sat on her staircase and the faint sound of echoing footsteps always made me rethink doing as she wished. I'd be in for hell if they saw me, as would she. So I left her.
But I always came back.
One night, it became too much for her, and I'd come to get her at about eight or so. She'd pulled me close and placed her chin upon my shoulder and gently whispered, "Please take me somewhere we can be alone. We can just be ourselves. Together. Like in the storybooks." And I did.
We'd go to different places each time. A Muggle park once, a museum another time. But no two places were ever the same. I loved to surprise her and wouldn't tell her where we were going until we Apparated there and I took my hands off her eyes. She'd gasp and hug me and I'd smile into her curls.
She chose, one night, and I'd been most surprised to turn up on an empty freeway. She'd taken hold of my hand and led me down the side of it. And we just walked. And talked. And it was bliss. We escaped our crazed worlds for seven hours and it was only when she fell asleep walking that I decided it was time to go back.
Her parents and cousins and family all told her to stay away from me. They all told her how to feel. That I was nothing but trouble with devilish good looks – I know, I smirked at that, too. But I felt so much when I was with Rose. We had our spats like every good couple should. And sometimes they raged into all out wars, but in the end, she'd end up in my arms, sobbing, while I held back tears of my own. We'd forgive each other in time. And it was lovely.
We graduated top of our classes with equal marks in everything. On the graduation day, I'd pulled her into my arms and murmured words forbidden to me before: "I love you." She'd kissed me as if I were dying. And I loved it.
I'd gone off immediately to be a Healer, which she wasn't too pleased about. Her job was as a photographer in the Muggle world and in every letter she sent me while I was away was a photo of something. Whether it be a half-eaten apple or a window or her, I loved it to death. She always made me smile
Over time, though, we grew a bit apart. I was away for six years without any returns in the late two and soon enough, there were no letters coming in for me. She'd forgotten about me. It had to be that.
That steely wall felt strong again as I was taken back to London at the end of my training. My heart that had been so freely beating for nearly two years was slowly becoming icy and cold again. I missed her to death. I didn't want to lose her.
The train stopped, however, on the outskirts of town and I'd given up on them and gotten out with my luggage. I trudged along the side of the tracks for a long while, only thinking of what I was to do without her. She had become my every thought during our relationship and now she was gone.
A loud sniff woke me from my thoughts and I looked down the side of the tracks to see a curled up figure in the grass. Her long red curls were pulled back messily and she was shaking a bit. I immediately rushed over to see if I was right.
It was Rose.
Crying.
When she saw my face, her eyes lit up and the sappiest most watery grin came out as she hugged me. I'd been wrong. She hadn't forgotten me. If anything, she'd only forgotten to write. I smiled as I hugged and kissed what would always be mine.
"I thought you'd left me," I mumbled through marking up her neck. She took both of her hands and lifted my face up so I could see her.
"Never," she replied. And after a chaste kiss, she whispered, our foreheads pressed against each other, "This is our love story."
Any good? I hope ;) REVIEW!