Imperfection
Having been taught to appreciate non-magical life from an early age, Rose Weasley was no stranger to Muggle customs. She was fascinated by their quirky inventions and ingenious alternatives to magic; it almost seemed like they were, in a way, more advanced than her kind. Muggles had the technology to communicate instantly and fly across the world in a matter of hours; owls and broomsticks just couldn't compare.
She had tried to explain this to her best friend one evening in autumn, as they were sitting in their favorite little sixth-floor alcove. "Isn't it amazing, Scor," she had said, "that Muggles are able to function so well without magic?"
Scorpius Malfoy was born and raised with pureblood traditions, though most supremacy notions had already died out. Rose had never really understood them; she found their frames of reason too narrow and inescapable to be considered favorable. How could they call themselves pure if they were so ignorant of other lifestyles?
Needless to say, he hadn't understood.
It wasn't to say that Rose would trade in her lifestyle for one devoid of magic. She knew its importance, and couldn't imagine her life without it. But she couldn't help feeling that sometimes it was too ideal, too convenient – as if life was something capable of flawlessness.
This perfection was something magical musicians had managed to capture centuries before her time. Strings came equipped with self-tuning finger placement charms; brass instruments no longer needed valve oil. Sheet music didn't contain tempo markings, because the conductor's baton could control the entire orchestra in ways only dreamed of before. It was a wonder musicians were still needed to operate their instruments.
And this, this was why Rose was so enamored of Muggle music: its imperfection. She loved the dissonance that suspended emotions for just a moment before resolving to a final, satisfying chord; she loved that subtle differences in vibrato could change a melody from pleasant to urgent within seconds. And most of all, she loved how difficult a task achieving musicianship was. The times she sat in a small classroom, practicing her (non-magical) flute were the times she became aware of the pure satisfaction of hearing herself master a piece after hours of hard work; no magically enhanced facsimile would ever compare to that kind of music.
She didn't play for Scorpius anymore. He had smiled the first time, of course, and showered her with compliments; to not do so would have been highly uncharacteristic of him. But Rose could tell that he did not appreciate imperfection the way that she did. He, like too many others, found perfection the ultimate goal. He couldn't see that it didn't exist.
She had no trouble finding redeeming qualities in him, ones that together surpassed this foible of his. She found refuge in his quiet voice and strong arms; it was difficult not to fall for him.
But Rose Weasley was a realistic person, and this separated her from her boyfriend's other admirers. She knew that Scorpius Malfoy was not perfect, and never would be.
She only hoped the rest of the world would eventually come to the same realization.
A/N: Also for Avelin's Instrument Competition, viola level.
I apologize in advance for any SPaG issues. It's 1:30 AM and I'm surprised I'm still halfway coherent.
