This is a mostly true story; I'm not old enough for the timeline to be right, but its close enough. The book she mentioned? I have one, obviously it's not magic-ed but we did use them all the time. So, yeah, I'm playing around with different writing style, how do you like this one? Don't forget to review, virtual cookies for everyone who does.
The truce the two of them had was nice, beautiful even. If she closed her eyes for long enough amidst the chatter during one of their lapses in conversation, she could imagine the rumors swirling around them as physical objects. And, you know, it wasn't that bad. Neither of them resented their friendship. Neither of them cared what other people said. Both of them really wanted to lean in and kiss the other. Needless to say, neither of them did.
In the years that followed, she could always be seen accompanied by a torn and battered pink book. It was spiral bound, no more than a few inches across. She could never be found without it, though, strangely enough, she was never seen writing in it. Sure, a few people had caught her, back pressed against a stone wall reading it, tears coating her eyes with a shiny glaze, but it was so infrequent that she actually wrote in the little book anymore, and no one was ever around when she did take a quill to it's white pages, anyway.
When they were first years, they were happy, giggling kids. They told each other everything, laughed over the stupidity of the other's sex, discussed the uselessness of the American penny. The two of them were just like that, best friends and the other's closest confidant. They loved to debate and to make the other laugh, both of which they practiced frequently.
Second year came around; suddenly she was looking a little different. Over the summer, some small curve began to grow on her chest, she lost a little of the roundness in her face, and, very suddenly, there were other boys who spoke to her. He, on the other hand, grew taller and his eyes lost their sparkle, instead becoming much more serious. Neither was sure if they liked the changes. Things continued as normal, but now there were some silences with awkward pauses that never happened before.
For the rest of her life, she always remembered third year being her best time at Hogwarts. It was a period of discovery for the pair, instead of just noticing the slope of her breast or the perfect way his hair flopped in front of his face, they began to act on it. They were impulsive, children still even if they'd argue they weren't. They'd still laugh and play, but now with the silent plan to hold the other's hand. When their palms first touched, not for some game or roughhousing, but in a subtly more romantic way, she felt his turn clammy with her touch. Her hand was sweaty, sticky and so very perfect. Neither was sure what they were doing, but they did try to hold on.
Fourth year she came to school with all of her textbooks, already read with summaries for each chapter, just like every year. He came with a glowing remebrall and promises from his father that the textbooks would be coming via owl, just like every year. But, fourth year she also brought two little books. The two of them laughed as he watched, amazed, her charm them to allow the pair to communicate during especially boring lessons. He thought she was a genius, she just blushed. All that year he wrote in his little blue book and she responded in her little pink one. Their classmates knew exactly what the two were doing, but nobody felt the need to tell any of the professors, instead, everyone spent class watching the pair.
By year five she was so obviously smitten, it was pathetic. He'd tease her in their little books, bugging her about whom the object of her desires was. She'd blush and say it didn't matter because the boy didn't like her anyway. He threatened to beat them into submission. She laughed at the irony. It was so obvious to everyone in the lessons that they shared that she was in love, obvious to every single person but the one that really mattered, to her at least. The two of them were so different from the little kids they use to be, back when they were young and free and innocent. They were so different, they didn't even notice as they slowly grew apart. The old Rose and Scorpius never would've let that slide, before their friendship meant everything to them, but now priorities were changing. For better or worse, she thought it to be for the worse, though she'd never tell him.
She spent sixth year with a broken heart. He spent it with Michelle. In her eyes, the pair was so obviously wrong, but his were clouded with lust and she didn't want to hurt his feelings by admitting her own. She didn't hate Michelle, but she couldn't help but resent the girl who took her precious Scorpius and corrupted him. She and Michelle had been friends, but the latter girl broke off their friendship abruptly when she discovered Rose's true feelings. Rose didn't care; she just missed the discussions and debates with Scorpius, neither ever seemed to have the time anymore.
Seventh year was a blur for her. Time passed in that agonizingly slow way except when it mattered, and then it sped up until she was dizzy from trying to keep up with it all. The two who had previously been so close didn't speak anymore, by no fault of either party, it was just that neither had anything to say. That's what killed him, that he had nothing to say to her anymore. There was no acknowledgement more than a simple nod or a rushed smile shared in a bustling hallway. She wanted him back, any part of him, so bad it actually hurt sometimes.
He had been her best friend, and for a couple breathless seconds, her boyfriend. She couldn't figure out what happened. She turned to the book for answers. The book with scribbled doodles and secret notes, the book filled to burst with inside jokes and heartfelt conversations. She hoped it would make her understand better, so she stole hours away pouring over it, back against a cold stone wall. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine the pressure of his lips on hers, when she opened them, there was only a small pink book, the words blurred by her own tears.