100 Rose and Scorpius Drabbles
Disclaimer: I disclaim!
Chapter VI: Colours
Rose Weasley was once told that life is full of colours. For Rose, a lot of things about life in the wizarding world were colourless, just different shades of black and white. Some things were blurred and undefined with dark or light because she had not grown old enough to experience them, so to her, the world seemed colour blind. Love, however, was a different story. Love was colourful. It was vivid. Some of the colours Rose wished to erase from her sight and memory, but they existed nonetheless, and she understood most of them. Love was something she understood, whether she was willing to admit or not.
Love was red. It was the colour of the human heart. When someone was in love, the person they loved had a special place in their hearts, and when that special person created emotions in them, they were supposed to be able to feel their hearts race, ache for their missing lovers, or break right in two. Technically the feeling called "love" was a psychological attachment and familiarization with someone, Rose knew this. But in all honesty, the fifteen year old girl was a hopeless romantic, and the way her special someone made her heart leap into her throat with just the sound of his voice, the way her heart ached when he decided to be stubborn and ignore her for days on end, the way she could feel blood, warm, red blood enriched with love, rushing to her cheeks whenever he caught her looking at him, had Rose convinced that love was red.
Orange was his least favourite colour; she had discovered this in third year. "It's such a stupid colour," he had said. "Pumpkins are orange, and I hate pumpkins. Especially pumpkin juice." She began to understand his sulkiness during Halloween because the holiday was practically all orange. She had made the mistake of buying him an orange Pygmy Puff at her uncle George's joke shop for Christmas the same year. He had stared at it without response for just a second too long, and Rose had known she had made a mistake. He tried to shrug it off and give her a genuine smile, but her feelings had already been hurt. She cried about it later in the common room, and when she asked his best friend Flint about it, Flint said a cat had eaten it in the common room. Orange was not a strong colour for the two of them.
Then there was yellow, the colour he once told her he hated seeing too much of because he liked a little clouds and rain sometimes. At one point it rained for almost two weeks and he conducted a song entitled "Give Us Back Big Yellow" and sang it loudly in the library while she was trying to study. At first she had slapped him with a book for getting her into trouble with the librarian but eventually fell out of her chair from giggling so hard at the way he sang the word "yellow" as "yeller". And when she had tried to explain to him the plot of the Muggle novel Old Yeller. "Clearly this is why I don't read Muggle literature, Weasley. Everyone murders their dogs."
Chocolate was brown, and oh how Rose loved chocolate. Somehow he picked up on her obsession with chocolate in third year and bribed her to go to Hogsmeade with him with any amount of anything she liked at Honeydukes. She used all of the money his mum had sent him on ten boxes of chocolates, and they spent the night together in the hospital wing with stomachaches. He made it a tradition to buy Rose a box of chocolates during every Hogsmeade trip, and she kept each box under her bed from which she would pull them out in the middle of the night so that no one could catch her thinking about him with each and every bite.
Gray were his eyes, the most mesmerizing shade of gray that gray could ever be. Rose always felt lightheaded if she stared into them for too long, as if he was doing it on purpose. It was as though he could put embarrassing things, though things she secretly desired just the same, into her mind using those light gray eyes, but she could never do the same to him. From time to time they would show small flickers of emotions, but Rose could never decipher them. His emotions were always in the tone of his more often than not bored, boyish voice or the words he spoke. Hardly ever in the eyes. Rose loved to kiss his eyelids and while doing so sometimes wondered if those gray eyes she knew so well ever cried and dampened his long and dark eyelashes. If they did, she had never seen it. It broke her heart to admit that every time he made her cry, she wanted him to cry as well. She wondered if gray would be half as powerful then.
His favourite colour was blue. Pity her eyes weren't blue. She didn't even look very good in blue either. She looked decent in blue things, but it was not her most flattering colour. Blue was the reason he always looked up when he was outside on a clear day. It wasn't the clouds he was watching, Rose finally discovered. It was the bright blue sky. Whenever she tried to look up at it, she felt dizzy and had to close her eyes.
Rose looked her best in anything green, but particularly emerald green. Ironic that his house colour was green. She cursed herself aloud the day she realized how bloody good she looked wearing his green Slytherin Quidditch robes with the letters M-A-L-F-O-Y stitched across the upper back, the number nine directly below it. He had told her it made her freckles stand out, and she thought he had been making fun of her until he stood behind her in the changing room mirror and whispered, "It makes me want to kiss every single one."
Despite how utterly wonderful she looked in anything green, Rose Weasley's favourite colour was purple. As a child she had owned a whole baker's dozen of purple Pygmy Puffs, had purple bed sheets, purple bedroom walls, refused to sleep without her purple stuffed elephant, and even had her aunt Ginny charm her hair purple on her seventh birthday. For Valentine's Day in her fifth year, she received an anonymous box wrapped in purple gift wrap. Inside had been a tiny kitten the colour of brown sugar, and attached to its purple collar was a heart cut out of purple parchment that read, "Her name's Violet. No need to get me anything, I've got the perfect Rose to last me a million Valentine's Days to come." It only took her one class to figure out who it was from, and he even kissed her in front of her cousin James.
Lastly, there was pink, the colour of both their lips. His lips were softer than she had imagined when she first kissed him, and they fit perfectly on hers. She loved kissing him, even though she liked to tease him by saying it was utterly disgusting. Kissing him was not the same as meaningless snogging as she had done with previous boyfriends. She'd kissed him hundreds of times and yet no matter where he kissed her, when he kissed her, whether it was with eyes open or closed, or with or without tongue, whenever he was done kissing her, she always found herself smiling an odd, giddy sort of grin, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, or constantly touching her pink lips with her fingers.
He had been kissing her the first time she let those three little words slip, those three words he had whispered to her three months before, right after April 7th, her sixteenth birthday, when she had never been so happy to hear the expression that she almost cried but just couldn't for some twisted reason say it back. He was kissing her, and she was making a soft "mmm" noise against his pink lips. He had grinned against her lips and held her head in his hands. "Scorpius, I love you," she had murmured without even realizing she had said it.
"Say it again," was his reaction after what had seemed like forever.
"I love you."
He shook his head and pressed his forehead to hers, "No, my name."
Rose tilted her head to the side. "Scorpius." He closed his eyes. His face looked completely peaceful. She grinned. "Scorpius."
Scorpius opened his eyes and stared into Rose's. Suddenly she could see all the colours of their love in his eyes. She smiled.
