26 October 2024
Room 121
11 AM
Things I Know about Scorpius Malfoy (part 2)
One. His Marksmanship is laughably mediocre, which doesn't bode well for us both; but he has an uncanny ability to guess who the hitman is at blindfolds.
Note to self: find out if I need to learn Occlumency.
Two. He'll fight to the death, especially for glory; but he's attentive to teammates.
Note to self: Always be his teammate.
He's not that handsome anyway. More importantly, if it fits, he sticks (yikes!) but he's nicer than I expected a Malfoy would be. Also, you could scrub an entire week's worth of laundry on those abs.
Note to self: not worth it, he won't change, don't bother. Hot can be found elsewhere. Consider: Connor Wood's Scottish buns or Ricky Lyons' everything. But let's not get into that.
I slammed the cover on my diary in frustration. Writing things down used to help me think; now, it just confuses me even more. Scorpius is polite and rude. He's useless and competent. And although he runs after any willing, breathing, human female, sometimes he turns around and does something so unlike him you'd think he means more than he actually does.
Like that "date." Couldn't he have bought me a beer like partners do, and called it creative? I wouldn't have minded it any. I guess he took the thing with the robes seriously. Ugh.
My main concern that day was what we'd talk about. Barring the (almost daily) jibes on my intelligence and my parentage, we didn't speak one word to each other at school. Like any teenager, I did the opposite of what people wished me to—I did not beat him at every test, and I did not try to get more OWLs or NEWTs than he. I could have, I'd like to think, but knocking Quaffles in hoops was more exciting than a professor telling you that you topped a quiz. Also, he stayed away from sports.
So, yeah. I've heard Tales from the Other Side, from fellow Gryffindors who wandered too close to the sun god and got burned, but they were just that. Tales.
"Rose? What are you doing, mumbling to yourself?" Agnes ambled into our room, still in her pajamas. I thought she went to the showers, and asked her about this. She vaguely waved her hand in front of her face. "Hangover," she croaked. Her color reminded me of runny pea soup.
"Eat, or take a bath. What you're doing will make you feel worse," I said. She groaned in protest, burying her face in her hands. "Never again," she intoned over and over, like a mantra.
"You said that the last time," I chirped. She grimaced.
"Oh, pardon me, Miss Alcohol. I forgot who got sick all over Scorpius Malfoy couple months ago. Would you care to remind me who it is?"
"It was once. I don't look thoroughly done in right now."
She shook her head. "You're skipping over one thing," she said. "Why were you mumbling to yourself?"
"I have this date," I grumbled, "and I'm not ready."
"Ooh, a dinner date?"
"Lunch."
Agnes started off with something that sounded like 'eww' but ended up as 'ohh,' and I raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "Erm. Dinner's dinner, and lunch is—just lunch."
"Food is food, and food is good. Nonromantic free lunches are better."
"Oh well. Who are you going out with, anyway?"
I muttered his name to the floor.
"Pardon—what?"
I made a strangled sound in my throat.
"Know what, I have a headache the size of—"
"It's Scorpius," I interrupted. "I'm going out with Scorpius. It's not what you think," I started, as I watched a gamut of emotions play tag across her face, "it's a thank you lunch date."
"With you and him, that's not all it's going to be, sweetie," Agnes crowed.
"What do you mean by that?"
"The tension between you is so dense I can hack through it with garden shears. You'd end up either kissing over the sandwiches or chucking them at each other."
"I don't think you've had to use a single pair of garden shears in your life, Agnes. And I can't get with my partner, it feels wrong."Besides, I'm not queuing behind a dozen other people, I added to myself.
"You could start losing resocialization sessions on purpose or something. That'll force Flintlock to re-assign you partners. What," she said, when I gaped at her in disbelief, "it will work."
I pushed her out of the room. "You need to eat something. The hunger's affecting your judgment."
She made smoochy sounds through the closed door for some time before she gave up and left. Really mature. I glanced at my watch; I had barely enough time to get ready before I had to be with him.
With any luck, this'll be over in half an hour.
A blast of upbeat music, together with the smell of fried everything, welcomed me into the place. I waved to fellow first years and scanned the crowd for my lunch was in abooth to the far side of the room, head bent over a roll of parchment. The sunlight glinted against his blond hair.
"Morning," I said, sliding into the seat in front of him. He looked up and pulled the ends of his mouth in an awkward smile. Well, that was off to a good start. I cleared my throat, and he fidgeted with the paper he was reading, shuffling it off the table.
"Hello," he said. "Is this your first time in The Greasy Pot?"
"Nah. You?"
"No."
"Great."
"Yes."
"Well, I…"
"Yes?"
"I want to ask, how's the bruising?"
"Better. I mean, I feel better. The bruising's not better."
I found the salt shaker and twirled it around in my hand. He was spinning a fork on the table, and was looking out the window, his eyebrows creased.
"Nice you're here."A noncommittal shrug, a spot of belly-gazing.
"Yeah, well. You too." A mild nod, a bigger spot of belly-gazing.
Maybe I was thinking for myself, that belly-gazing is a fascinating but inappropriate activity for when you have company. Maybe he liked looking at his stomach in the presence of others. In any case, I envisioned the next few months. With the dynamic Scorpius and I had, I was looking at the possibility of stroppy emotional tangos for weeks on end, or him memorizing the lines that his torso makes. Neither would do. I took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing, I thought.
"I'd like to start over," I said. His head snapped towards me.
He just stared, and I soldiered on. I mean, what choice did I have, apart from running out of The Greasy Pot, screaming at him, or pretending like I said nothing?
"We didn't get introduced properly in school—" I grimaced at the memory of our first meeting, "—and I'd like to get to know who you really are. If it's okay with you." I could swear the air decided to thin out in front of my face at that moment.
"Hi. I'm Rose Weasley." I extended my hand to him, above the table, and waited.
I felt a bit foolish with my arm like that, and Scorpius staring at it like it's a bap of stale bread, but I had to persist with what I started. After what seemed like an eternity, he took my hand and shook it.
"Scorpius Malfoy," he said. His grip was just right, his palm with a smoothness of the kind not used to exertion, and I became conscious of how rough mine might've seemed to him. I broke off and settled into my chair—this might not be bad after all. Now I just have to forget how attracted I am to him.
The half hour turned into one, and then two, and then quite possibly three. He followed me out, and I didn't mind. He waited outside my dorm room as I collected some books I had to return, he walked with me to the library, and walked right out when I did. I didn't mind, either—he was telling me about a house elf they once had. She was a hundred and eight, nearly deaf, and would always mishear things; for example, she'd think someone asked for keys when they wanted her to bring the cheese. We were laughing about a disastrous mix up involving a requested tureen when he just stopped.
"I'm sorry, but may I ask you something?" he said.
"Go ahead."
"Why do you not pass by the Portus headquarters anymore?"
"I just—I realized it's not my kind of club. I joined on impulse, I guess. I'm sorry I dragged you into it."
He shook his head. "No, I actually enjoy it there," he said earnestly. "But—" he looked around surreptitiously, and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper. "There's something bothering me."
That got my attention. "What do you mean?" I said.
"Well, some Portus members should not be at the headquarters. They should be at their respective camps, but they're here."
Our Auror careers lead us down three distinct paths. There's the traditional route, which ends up in the Ministry. There's the overseas route, which Agnes is taking. And then there's the Armed Forces. Most Portus members are part of this track.
I tried to play it cool. "Maybe you're reading into it too much. They are allowed to attend institutional and club welcoming rites, aren't they? Those are excusable absences."
"It's been a couple of months, who excuses that long an absence? I know for sure your Ricky Lyons should be in Manchester, and there are two other members who should be farther north."
I felt my ears heat up. "He's not my anything," I said, and Scorpius raised his eyebrows.
"Anyway, we have more pressing matters to worry about," I said. "For instance, what do you think they mean when they say 'survival training?' Will they literally leave us to die out in some forest?"
He started chuckling, and I felt my ears heat up.
"Are you scared of a few trees and woodland critters, Rose Weasley?"
"I did not say I was! I just wanted to be sure about definitions!"
"Don't worry, Rosie, I'll be with you."
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"No, really." He was smiling, so I didn't know if he was serious or not. But he was smiling, and the sun was behind him, and it was in my eye, so the only thing I could see clearly was his upturned mouth.
"Don't worry. I'll be right there."
Alright, I'm so sorry my updates have become so few and far in between. I haven't given up on Rose!