Word count: 367

Rose sat in the box with Roxanne who was announcing for the game. If she couldn't be playing, she at least wanted prime seating. Her stupid brother had smashed into her in the scrimmage Gryffindor had played against Hufflepuff two days earlier, sending her flying off her Firebolt 200. She'd gotten a nasty concussion and broken her collarbone and Madam Roberta had forbidden her from playing in the match today. She was livid.

Rose scanned the field where the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams, their maroon and emerald robes whipping in the wind, were mounting their brooms.

They took off and Roxanne began to announce, swearing so much that Professor McGonagall came over repeatedly to reprimand her.

Rose wasn't paying much attention to the announcing though; her eyes were glued to the pitch and more specifically to a certain blond haired, fifteen year old boy who happened to be her very best friend.

While the other players looked blood thirsty, swinging their bats and purposefully knocking each other off their brooms, looks of determination carved into their features, twisted into angry expressions, Scorpius grinned and zoomed back and forth in front of the goal.

He looked happy and at ease. The wind blew through his inevitably messy blonde hair and his cheeks flushed a pale pink. A goofy smile, his left dimple popping out adorably, spread across his face as he expertly caught the Quaffle which James had just thrown. Scorp was an excellent keeper, Rose thought. As much as she hated to admit it, Slytherin was probably going to win. Scorpius did a victory dance on his broom that made Rose giggle.

That was the thing about Scorpius: he never took things too seriously.

Young Mr. Malfoy abandoned his position to zoom by the announcers' box, pausing quickly to grin at her. He pressed his nose to the glass and pulled a funny face. In his absence James managed to score. His Slytherin teammates began to holler and boo at him, but he merely shrugged and returned to his post, that silly grin still turning up the corners of his mouth.

He had his priorities straight, Rose thought.

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