Scorpius/Rose
He walks out of the dressers, and into the arena. The sun scratches his eyes, the sand welcomes his feet.
It all begins.
The shouts of the crowd bang against his ears. Some yell to encourage Slytherin, others yell for Gryffindor. He blocks what they shout, he doesn't care to translate them, they are not what he plays for, but the noise of the roars does feed his anticipation.
He finally gets on his broom. His feet, his legs, his full body rises from the ground. Suddenly the anticipation becomes stress. He reaches the hoops and stares into the crowd, the sun shining behind them.
The known sensation comes back to him, pride swells in his chest, he has to play his best.
His chest trembles; his head, neck, hands and legs begin to sweat. His heart, usually calm and unnoticed, rises and beats desperately, he can hear it so well, he could almost talk back to it, to remind him that he should learn to calm down before each game.
But he doesn't really object to that unleashed round of sensations. It is part of his natural process, it is the reason he rides that broom, the reason he practices for hours until he can't move one muscle, the reason he feels utterly alive.
It's the reason he's so damn good at it.
The Gryffindor team enters, he pays little attention to them, he will not be distracted.
His heart trembles again to the sound of the whistle that determines that the game begun.
Finally.
His eyes focus, concentrate on one thing: the Quaffle. He contemplates how it moves from one player to the other. His hands sweat again, he waits calmly for it. A subtle smile covers his mouth when Fred Weasley flies towards his direction with the Quaffle under his arm.
The adrenaline, the stress, the fear and pride crash against Scorpius, all at once. It's the alarm that tells him what to do. The Weasley kid moves quickly, but not enough. Scorpius reaches for the flying quaffle faster than he can think of it and stops it from entering the hoop.
The Slytherin crowd shout his name. It's not why he plays, but he does love the revitalizing fire that takes over him after each success, and the crowd is only a reminder of it. A strange calmness takes over him, the stress is still there, but for a moment he enters in a secure equilibrium, another sensation he fancies.
The game begins once again. Gryffindor has the Quaffle. He tries to avoid looking at the players, for he knows what could happen. His grey eyes concentrate on the ball only.
An error occurs in his perfect game.
The Weasley girl, Rose is her name, has the Quaffle and flies in his direction. He freezes instantly. The stress goes for a second, the anticipation dies, for a brief moment she kills all that, and Scorpius can only hope for her to raise her blue eyes and look at him directly...like she almost never does.
But she's flying secure, safe, a strategy probably planned in her head. She's closer by the second, and his heart comes to life again, beating unbearably. The sensations come back, but in the wrong order. He sweats as he breathes, he trembles as he moves, his pride falls apart, the stress eats his movements.
But he works hard to concentrate back again, and he knows what he's capable of, he knows all that he can do.
He's ready for her attack. He knows her moves well, she'll try to score on his right.
But when she reaches him, her eyes look up, at him. He blocks again, but for a few seconds only, and he moves quickly to stop the Quaffle that flies in his way. He does not calculate at all well, and the last thing he sees is the ball crashing against his head.
Scorpius opens his eyes slowly, his head swelling in pain. He feels dizzy for a moment, and quickly tries to review the past events, but fails at it.
"Look Thomas, he's alive..." a female voice says. At first he sees a blur, but then it turns into Jasmine's and Thomas' figures. His friends are standing next to him, and he can tell by now that he is laying in a bed at the Hospital Wing.
"Finally Mate..." Thomas says. "Good game, huh?" His friend continues, somehow mockingly.
"Leave him Thomas," Jasmine complains. Scorpius looks at her estranged, for it isn't in her personality to be compationate. "It's not his fault that he got beaten up by a girl..." She laughs. Scorpius rolls his eyes, but smiles, that sounds more like Jasmine.
"Who won?" He roughly asks, his throat soaring.
"Lily Potter caught the snitch the moment you hit the arena," she says. "What was that, anyway?" she then asks, and when Scorpius looks at his burnet friend he frowns.
"Just...a little distraction."
Jasmine raises her eyebrow. "A little red head distraction, maybe?" she asks. Scorpius feels a rush invading his body, from head to toes, but his tongue is fast.
"No," he says dryly. "Just a miscalculation."
"You know, she's been looking for you. The Weasley girl," Jasmine says then, and the last name bangs against his chest. Rose is her first name. "I think she feels bad about it, she's been coming every other hour." He holds back the smile.
Scorpius walks out of the Hospital Wing, glad to free himself from the nurse, but mainly from his two teasing friends, who won't stop reminding him that they lost the match thanks to his littlemiscalculation.
He breathes in, his neck soars from the fall and doesn't anticipate that the Weasley girl is walking towards him, her blue eyes opened widely, looking straight at him.
"I've been looking for you!" she says, stopping in front of him. He hates it when she stops walking. He'd rather see her wild red curls dancing over her shoulders.
"Hey Weasley," he whispers plainly. It's all he says, and he barely has time to wait for the torment of sensations that attack him then.
It all comes back; anxiety, fear, pride...the stress, the acceleration...the trembling of his chest; it's all so messy, so incomprehensible...so much better than what he feels at the Pitch.
"I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened. I wasn't aiming for you head..." she says, her face fills with worry. "Are you alright?" she asks.
"Brilliant," he says roughly. A little smile escapes her unexplainably pink lips. She twists them in such a tempting way that he feels like asking her to stop smiling, for her own safety...
But he is better than that, he can control the impulse of stealing a kiss, he can hold back the urge of touching her skin, feeling it...
"Good then," she shrugs, walking back, taking with her the pleasure he gets when he contemplates her figure. "I'll see you, Malfoy."
"See you, Weasley," he says, like he doesn't know her first name by heart. But after years of studying together, there's still a long distance between them.
She walks away, fast, secure. Scorpius feels his heart running at a healthy, regular pace again. The stress is gone, the anxiety fades, and he is left with a strange and somehow soothing calmness.
He's not at all sure that he enjoys going through that hormonal process each time he sees her, and to be honest it's not good for Quidditch. He does not need a distraction, especially not thattype of distraction.
He then smirks, involuntarily. Call him a masochist, but he would take another hit with a Quaffle from her again, anytime.
A/N: This takes place somewhere at the end of fourth year. Hope you liked it =D Please, remember to review