3.The world turned a deep shade of crimson patterned with fleeting blue and yellow echoes of her surroundings as she closed her eyes and drew a steady, calming breath. This endless stretch of oppressive summer had pushed her to the very edge of frustration and — sitting in her stifling bedroom, the destination of her wandering thoughts doing little to cool her down — she wondered how she’d been able to repress the constant urge to pack her things and run off.
It was pointless of course, there was nothing to be done except sit and wait for the days on the calendar to dwindle slowly towards September 1st. With an irritated huff, she collapsed backwards on to her bed and waved her wand, conjuring a light breeze to cool her. She stared at the ceiling and wondered if there was form of magic that allowed one to speed up time simply by willpower.
As frustrated as she was, she was trying her best to act as if everything was all right (though her mother, as usual, was clever enough to see through this). She knew her parents would be hurt if they had any idea how badly she wanted the holidays to be over with so she could escape back to school. It wasn’t their fault the summer had been excruciating for her, nor did it have anything to do with her brother or any of the rest of her family – it was simply about the one person she couldn’t see.
One week, she told herself.
Just one week left. Seven days. That’s all. And then you’ll see him again. And things will be exactly like they were at the end of term… She tried to repress the other thoughts in her mind, fighting for attention, but — as usual — they weren’t to be tamed. Within minutes, her battle to keep her fears at bay proved fruitless. What if things
didn’t pick up where they’d left off? What if he’d changed his mind? What if he didn’t want her anymore? They hadn’t seen one another for weeks, and there hadn’t been a single owl exchanged between them. He was probably in France or Greece with his family, surrounded by exotic, beautiful, promiscuous, tempting girls…
She snapped up from where she was sitting and began stomping about her room, trying to find anything to distract her from the clenching feeling of jealousy in her stomach. She took books off the shelves, opened them to random pages and glanced at the words briefly before slamming the covers shut. She picked up objects from her desk, without even taking in what they were and hastily replaced them, where they made satisfying clunks and thuds.
She hated not having any idea where he was and if he still felt the way he had at the end of term. They’d only been together for a week – one beautiful, amazing week – but a week nonetheless. That wasn’t enough time. Seven days could be thrown away easily. They’d now been apart for nine weeks. What was one week to nine? She exhaled loudly in exasperation and slammed an enchanted bookend back onto her desk where it sent off a blue spark and caused all her books to fall away from the wall onto their spines.
With a sigh of regret, she took out her wand and began flicking at each book in turn, setting them back upright. When she’d gotten through half of them, someone knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she said wearily. It was her mother, and she was looking anxious.
“Rose, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she replied half-heartedly, continuing to flick her wand towards her book case where the books continue to set themselves up properly. Her mother’s eyes flickered to the desk but didn’t ask what had happened.
“You were banging things around, are you sure nothing’s the matter?”
“No, I just got frustrated. I’m sorry – I know you and Dad are trying to set things up for dinner, I’ll come down and help now.”
“Yes, I was just about to come and ask you to do that. You know your father doesn’t
really make things much easier – and now we’ve got nine extra people coming to dinner…”
“Nine? I thought it was just Ginny, Harry, Albus, James and Lily?”
“Yes, well,” her mother replied, and her eyes lit up happily, “I got a letter from Luna a little while ago and – you won’t believe it – Lysander has been made Head Boy! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Rose felt her skin go warm and her stomach clench nervously; she didn’t respond, though she didn’t need to, because her mother was content to continue uninterrupted.
“So,
of course once I got that news, I told her about your being made Head Girl —” she stopped at this and made small excited noise, “—and now the Scamanders will be joining us tonight to celebrate.”
It seemed that here Rose was expected to catch fire of her mother’s contagious excitement and bounce downstairs to help at once, but instead she merely stood numbly trying to take in what she’d just heard – Lysander Scamander was Head Boy, and he, his parents and twin brother Lorcan would be arriving in the next couple of hours for dinner.
“Rose? Please, dear, will you tell me what’s wrong? I know its
someth—”
“It’s nothing,” Rose said, unconvincingly. She didn’t expect her mother to believe her, but she at least hoped that she wouldn’t ask again. To Rose’s relief, her mother bit her lip in worry, but said nothing more on the topic. “I suppose we should get downstairs – we don’t want your father accidentally Banishing the dishes towards a closed window or something equally disastrous.”
Rose nodded and followed her, thinking to herself that no additional disaster could possibly make the evening any worse for her than it was already sure to be.
4. It was one of the most awkward evenings of her life. She very much would have liked to have finished her food quickly and quietly and excused herself due to a mysterious stomach-ache, but she knew her mother wouldn’t have it. The whole point of the dinner was to celebrate Rose being made Head Girl, and there was no escaping.
She tried to at least keep the spotlight off of her as much as possible, asking James how Quidditch training was going (he’d just left school and been taken on my the Pride of Portree at the beginning of August) and – much to the amusement of her father and slight irritation of her mother - encouraging Luna Scamander to elaborate on every absurdity she managed to mention during the course of the meal.
“Dessert?” Hermione asked loudly, desperately trying to avoid the eye of her husband who was shaking with quiet laughter as Luna finished up telling them why they should watch out for Snevichizzle Tolstoys, spirits which lurked in library shelves, waiting to knock unwary book browsers unconscious.
The offer for dessert was met enthusiastically and, to the delight of everyone, it appeared quickly and in the form of Schwarzwald Gateau. Harry Vanished the dinner dishes while Rolf helped Hermione pass out dessert. Lily and Hugo dove into theirs first, chatting excitedly about their upcoming fifth year, while James interrupted them with OWL horror stories. Lorcan and Albus were discussing their similar NEWT courses as they began on their own slices of cake. Meanwhile, as Luna swatted away at some invisible annoyance that she suspected of flying around her head, Ginny and Ron started talking about Rose’s uncle Charlie.
“Mum’s getting antsy about the fact he hasn’t gotten married yet,” said Ginny in a low voice.
“You’d think she’d be happy enough with the batch of grandkids she has, wouldn’t you,” Ron said. “Besides, if he doesn’t want to settle down, then that’s his business…”
“I think there’s more to it than that,” Ginny said with a smirk.
Rose tuned out the various conversations and family gossip and stared at her own dessert determinedly. All evening Lysander, as was his typical manner, had been gazing at her in a rather unabashed attempt to catch her eye. Thus Rose had, with equal bluntness, avoided throwing even the slightest glance in his direction.
“So, Lysander,” Hermione asked with a smile, “How do you feel about being picked for Head Boy?”
“Oh,” Lysander said, and Rose saw him tear his eyes away from her, “Well, I was really surprised, actually. I thought that Scorpius Malfoy was going to get it.”
“Scorpius Malfoy?” Ron said in a clearly disapproving tone. “Why’d anyone want a Malfoy for Head Boy?”
“He’s a good student,” Lorcan contributed indifferently.
“Yeah, and he does a right sight better of following the rules than others I know,” Albus added, glancing sideways at his brother, James, who grinned.
“Probably just like his father, though, an arrogant pri—”
“Ronald, language!” Hermione snapped.
“Yeah, well, everyone here knows what I mean,” Ron grumbled. “And, let’s just say, I’m glad Rose isn’t stuck having to work with Scorpius Malfoy. Thank Merlin that it’s you instead, Lysander.”
A murmur fluttered around the table. It wasn’t news that nobody present had particularly warm feelings towards the Malfoys, and while they generally kept expression of outright dislike to a minimum, Rose was fully aware that every other person at the table was of her father’s mind. Aware that Lysander was looking at her again, she stared at her dessert, which she had barely touched. She felt thoroughly ill. Given that now she had an honest excuse to leave the table, she thought she’d try her mother’s mercy.
“Mum?” she said, and Hermione turned from a discussion she’d just taken up with Harry. “I’m sorry, I feel rather sick. Would you be all right if I went up to my room to lie down?”
“Oh,” Hermione answered, looking slightly crestfallen, “All right, dear, if you’re really not feeling well, go on.”
Rose sighed in relief and stood up to leave the table, bidding an apologetic goodnight, stopping for a few hugs from Harry, Ginny and James, and rushing up towards her room. Her limbs were trembling by the time she’d shut the door behind her and, not bothering to turn on a light, she lay down on her bed and curled up on top of her covers.
A murmur of voices continued below, with the occasional shriek of laughter, and Rose felt herself being lulled towards sleep as the nausea that had risen in her stomach during dessert subsided. She felt herself happily slipping out of the real world, and she focused on the feeling of his strong arms around her, hoping that she’d be able to take them into her dreams…
A soft knocking on the door jolted her out of her half-conscience trance, and she murmured something loudly in her disorientation. Light filled the room suddenly as the door opened, and Rose realised whoever it was must have taken her confused murmur to mean “come in”.
“Rose?”
“Lysander.”
“Sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“I was just dozing off, actually,” she admitted, rather hoping this would make him feel guilty and leave her alone.
“Oh, well. I just – I was just hoping to talk to you.”
“Lysander, I really don’t feel well.”
“You can’t avoid me forever, you know,” he said, sounding entirely miserable. “What’s going to happen at start of term when we’re supposed to be working together and you’re not speaking to me?”
“I’m not
not speaking to you, Lysander,” she mumbled. “Trust me, it will be fine when we have business to take care of.”
“So, you can deal with me when you have to, but no more than that.”
Rose remained silent. She had no idea what to say. Of course the truth was that she’d been evasive. She’d avoided him during the last month of term, and not responded to any of the owls he’d sent her during the summer. She hadn’t really done it on purpose; she just didn’t have the heart to face him.
After a thoroughly awkward minute, Lysander spoke again, his voice trembling.
“You haven’t even told me why.”
“Oh, Lysander, I’m sorry. It’s only—I just don’t…”
“Rose, I love you.”
It was as though all the blood quickly drained from her body, going nowhere in particular. She felt cold, faint, and sick to her stomach. She couldn’t do this any more; she couldn’t keep letting him think that this was something he could fix with the right words. She tried to look at him, but it was so difficult with his wide blue eyes fixed steadily upon her, his awkward straightforwardness showing her no mercy.
“Lysander. I care about you, I really,
really do, but—”
“But you don’t love me,” he finished for her, numbly.
“I do, Lysander, just — just not the way you love me.”
This time, it was Lysander who was silent. Rose felt tears burning in her eyes and she leaned over to him. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he told her, his voice deadened. “I understand. I’m going to leave you be now. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Rose nodded tearfully in the dim light and watched his silhouette move to the door, which he shut behind him, returning her to the cool darkness of her solitude. She felt miserable for having broken Lysander’s heart, but she also couldn’t help but feel somewhat resentful for his existence. Clever and affectionate Lysander, with a family her parents were extremely fond of. But she didn’t love him, she loved someone else. She sighed, trying to imagine the reaction of her parents, her brother, her cousins — her entire family — if they ever learned that, instead of Lysander Scamander, she had fallen for Scorpius Malfoy.
1. The sun was shining gloriously from the brilliant blue sky, illuminating the grass to a vibrant green as the students — their hair made brilliant by the sun, fluttering carefree in the breeze — strolled across the grounds and around the shimmering black lake. Exams were over and everyone was in good spirits, relaxed and looking forward to the summer holidays.
Everyone but Rose, who watched this scene from her dormitory window, feeling sullen. She didn’t particularly feel like being outside, or having company – she certainly didn’t want to risk running into Lysander. But she knew if she stayed where she was, she’d have no chance of being near Scorpius.
What had come over her, exactly, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him for weeks, ever since she’d realised that the powerful emotion he inspired in her was not in fact hereditary dislike but a rather forceful combination of admiration and lust. She’d attempted for years to remain indifferent to him, not wanting to stoke the fire that was their family’s natural enmity, and so whenever any emotion arose within her in regards to him, she repressed it, not even bothering to identify it properly.
It had happened in the library, only days after she’d broken up with Lysander. She was sitting alone, revising for end-of-year exams. He’d walked in and sat down at the end of the table she was at, and something surged through her. Irritation, she’d thought; couldn’t he sit at
another table? And then, she’d flicked her eyes over to him, just as he was turning his gaze in her direction. Their eyes met and, as it sometimes happens, locked for several seconds. Heart pounding, Rose had wrenched her face away and looked instead at the notes in front of her. She stared down, eyes out of focus, not reading, not taking anything in. Her mind was racing even faster than her pulse. And though she couldn’t define it just yet, she knew.
This could not possibly be mistaken for any kind of loathing or aggravation.
The revelation had turned her entire perception upside down. In the days that followed, she began to look at him in a completely different light. When he was awarded points in class, she felt admiration. When he stood near her or walked past her, she revelled in his presence. When he wiped dirt and sweat from his face in Herbology, she grew slightly dizzy with desire. When she saw him talking to or walking with other girls, she burned with jealousy. And in all this, she also realised that her feelings had not changed at all, only now she was experiencing them for what they really were, and not confusing them with something else and pushing them away in favour of apathy.
She found herself contemplating everything about his cold, reserved nature, and wondering what feelings lay hidden behind his mysterious grey eyes. There was something magnetic about him that suggested to her that there was a passion seething beneath the surface, an intensity he kept hidden from everyone but those who knew him best.
At first, her new appreciation for him was bewildering. But, very soon, it began to feel wonderful. She had something to look forward to every morning, and there were fantasies abound to keep her company when she drifted off to sleep each night. She constantly found herself grinning for no reason, and occasionally she seemed to almost skip through the halls towards classes that she shared with him.
Then cold, hard reality clunked into place: Scorpius was a Malfoy.
The problems this presented were innumerable, but at the forefront of it all was the crushing realisation that Scorpius, due to his family and upbringing, was unlikely to ever return her feelings. He probably saw her as a Weasley, and nothing more, and the most she could ever realistically hope for was his indifference.
Upon becoming aware of this, Rose’s outlook on things changed drastically. Her pulse still sped up whenever Scorpius walked into a room, but she was much more downhearted general. She lost the inner glow and the bounce in her step, and instead became sombre and glum. She adopted a resigned pessimism and applied it to everything in her life. Her friends thought it was an aftershock from her break-up with Lysander; none of them had any clue that it was Scorpius who was the root of the problem.
Now, here she was alone, gazing out upon the beautiful weather and gaiety of her classmates as they ambled leisurely about the grounds. She sighed. What were the chances she could go down, find a spot near Scorpius and his friends and sit there, unbothered, gazing wistfully in his direction over the top of a book?
With that thought, she stood up, grabbed the nearest book and set off downstairs. Once she made her way to the grounds, it wasn’t hard to spot him; his stunning blond hair was always easy to pick out. He was sitting under the shade of a birch tree off the side of the lake, his arms folded over his knees, surrounded by a small handful of Slytherins. He was chatting lazily with a fellow sixth year Slytherin, Evander Nott, who was leaning against the tree. Next to Scorpius, Rose saw with a sudden ferocious annoyance, was a dark-haired, particularly dim-witted looking Slytherin fifth-year girl. It was very obvious she trying to get Scorpius to pay attention to her but, to Rose’s satisfaction, she seemed to be failing miserably.
There was another tree not too far away from the group of Slytherins, and Rose settled herself down underneath it, her back against the trunk. As she did so, a few of the Slytherins glanced over in her direction, but not for more than a split-second — except for the fifth year girl, Cassandra Flint, who rolled her eyes and leant towards Scorpius (as close as she could without actually crawling into his lap, Rose noticed with clenched teeth) and muttered something. Scorpius’s cool grey eyes flickered over to Rose under her tree, where she was determinedly trying took as if she was reading. He gazed in her direction for a few moments, then slowly, casually turned his head around and resumed his conversation with Evander.
Rose’s cheeks burned. She tried not to think about what the wretched girl might have said to Scorpius and, instead, consoled herself with the knowledge that he was far too intelligent to fall for a troll such as Cassandra Flint; the little wench was accomplishing nothing by throwing dirty looks in Rose’s direction.
The afternoon ticked away and Rose found herself actually reading, though she did continue to look over in the direction of Scorpius every once in a while, as if to reassure herself he was still there, adding beauty to the world. Now and then, she disappeared into her own thoughts, contemplating her favourite dreamt up scenarios in which Scorpius proclaimed his undying love for her.
The light faded slightly, but even as the words in front of became more difficult to read, she didn’t take much notice. Then, an early evening wind swept over her, causing her to shiver slightly. She glanced up and realised the sun was much lower in the sky, which was overcast with clouds, causing the castle and its surroundings to appear grey and muted. It was definitely cooler, too cool, really, to be sitting outside in such light clothing. Looking around more, she realised that the grounds were almost deserted; of course, everyone had gone back inside. She looked instinctively to the birch tree, expecting to see that Scorpius, too, had disappeared. But she saw with surprised that he was still there, alone — and looking right at her.
Their eyes locked, just as they had in the library a few weeks before. And, before Rose could look away, Scorpius stood up and, eyes still fixed on hers, strode directly toward her. Her heart rate seemed to explode as she sat there, immobile, wondering why Scorpius was approaching her so purposefully. In their six years at school together, neither one of them had initiated any kind of contact, and now, he was ten feet away, five feet away — he stopped.
“Can you meet me outside Greenhouse Four tonight, at midnight?” he murmured, looking at her as he said it, but then quickly glancing away in the direction of the castle.
“Why?” Rose asked, feeling a terrified, elated confusion.
“Just – can you?” He turned back to her. His voice didn’t sound pleading, exactly, but sincere. “Please?”
“Okay.”
He nodded, and then walked past her, moving briskly towards the castle. She waited a minute, attempting to catch her breath, before wandering, dazed, back towards the castle and into the Great Hall for dinner. Her friends pounced on her, asking where in the world she’d gotten off to, but she didn’t hear them – her thoughts were lost in what had just happened, and she was trying very hard to keep a handle on her hopes, which were tempted to soar.
2. Rose often wondered if maybe the castle felt the students had the right to sneak out of their dormitories after hours. How easy it would be for the paintings and statues to alert professors to students out of bed, yet they did nothing. The Fat Lady was asleep when Rose climbed through the portrait hole at half-eleven to head down towards the greenhouses, and she slumbered peacefully on as Rose shut the painting behind her.
She slipped quietly through the dark corridors, heart pounding. She was half sure that Scorpius had done it for the laugh – he probably wouldn’t show up at all. Or he’d be there, along with a whole pack of Slytherins, and she’d look like a complete idiot. She forced herself not to care, though. If there was even the slightest chance that anything good was going to come of this, she was going to seize the opportunity. She wasn’t afraid to sacrifice her pride for something she wanted this badly.
She took a long way down through the castle, choosing corridors that she knew had more statues and curtains, in case it became necessary to hide, and making sure to walk in the opposite direction of even the slightest creak or murmur.
She arrived at the greenhouses at five minutes to midnight and — her heart skipped several beats — she saw that Scorpius was already standing outside the fourth one down, waiting for her. Her feet seemed to want to speed up, but she tried to keep her pace and not look
particularly overjoyed that he’d actually shown up.
“Rose,” Scorpius said, and she was surprised that there was a hint of a tremor in his voice. “Good evening.”
“Scorpius,” she said, breathlessly, “Why—?”
But before she could decide the best way to phrase her question, he opened the door of the greenhouse and gestured for her to enter; she tried not to smile at how very well he fulfilled the role of a perfect gentleman, even when showing a girl into a greenhouse in the middle of the night. Instead, she gave him a fleeting look of curiosity before entering; he followed her and pulled the glass door closed behind them.
The air in the greenhouse was much warmer than outside, and the air was thick with a mingle of sweet and exotic scents. “I’ve never been in this greenhouse before,” Rose murmured.
“I didn’t think you would have,” Scorpius said. “It doesn’t hold any, ah, particularly
useful specimens. It’s where Professor Longbottom keeps the plants that are grown for purely aesthetic purposes.”
“How do you know about it, then?” Rose asked, gazing around at the multicoloured flowers and glittering vines that surrounded them.
“I come in here sometimes, when I want to be alone,” Scorpius said thoughtfully. “My mother keeps a floral garden at the Manor. She loves gardening because, she says, flower petals bring more colour to the world. My father laughs at her, but, lately, I’ve come to understand what she means…”
He trailed off quietly, and she turned to look at him and was surprised to see that he was watching her. “Scorpius,” she said, intending again to ask him why he had wanted to meet her here, but stopping as she saw him raise her wand and direct it at the far end of the greenhouse; he gave a small flick, and a rose floated toward him. It was a deep, wine-coloured red, and it seemed to give off a slight glow. He caught it gently and held it out to her.
“Beautiful, don’t you think?” he asked. Rose looked at it, hardly daring to question the significance of his flower he held out to her.
“Yes, yes it is,” she breathed. He gave a small smile and set the rose down.
“Cassandra Flint,” he said, his voice even and unreadable again, “has pointed out to me that you’ve developed a peculiar habit of rarely letting me out of your sight.”
Rose’s stomach twisted uncomfortably and she felt blood rush to her face. “She said that, did she?” she answered bitingly.
“Of course,” Scorpius murmured, sounding slightly irritated, “The only reason she’s even able to notice this is because of her own constant attempts to attach herself to my hip.”
Rose smirked in spite of herself, but she didn’t respond.
“So, is there anything to Cassandra’s theory?” Scorpius asked, looking determinedly at the glowing red rose as he spoke.
“What do you think?” Rose asked, evasively, not quite yet ready to pin her heart to her sleeve.
He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, creating a small flutter in her chest. “I freely admit, it wouldn’t be the first time she’s put two and two together and gotten the wrong answer,” he said lightly.
Rose laughed quietly at this, but still didn’t answer, and they stood in an increasingly awkward silence. There were a hundred things she wanted to say, and a hundred times she almost managed to say them, but she simply couldn’t push the words past her lips. Finally, she took a deep,
deep breath and spoke in a voice much smaller and shakier than she had imagined it.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for weeks, now.”
Scorpius looked at her, startled for a moment. Then he smiled slightly. “Only weeks?”
“What do you mean?” Rose mumbled. She was sure that her face was quite as red as the flower he’d held out to her earlier. Possibly glowing, too.
“You’ve been on my mind much longer than a few mere weeks,” he told her softly, stepping closer and, hesitantly reaching up his hand and brushing a strand of her reddish-brown hair away from her burning face.
“How long?” she asked.
“Ever since Christmas of fifth year,” he told her. “It was the last Hogsmeade trip before holidays. It was snowing pretty heavily and I was standing outside in the main street, leaning against the wall of the Three Broomsticks — brooding, honestly — when the door of the pub opened. You walked out into the snow, and in just a few moments, your hair was covered in it. You shook your head, sending the snow flying, and laughed. You were so happy and so, so beautiful.”
He stopped and fixed his eyes on her. The intensity of his gaze seemed tell her he was looking at her the same way at that moment as he had on the snowy day eighteen months previously.
“I smiled, because I couldn’t help myself,” he continued quietly. “For the rest of the day, I couldn’t get that moment out of my mind. I just kept replaying it over and over. The next morning, I saw you at breakfast, and — that’s when I realised.”
He exhaled loudly as he finished the story, like someone who had finally been relieved of a long, heavy burden. Rose stared at him. “Scorpius, why didn’t you ever
say anything?”
“Because I was convinced you, like the rest of your family, didn’t think very much of me,” he answered.
“I suppose that was an understandable fear,” she said, feeling forlorn.
“But I was mistaken?”
He’d moved so much closer; they seemed to be inhaling each other’s breaths. Rose was lost for words and her entire body was trembling, so she merely nodded.
The kiss caught her by surprise, even though she’d felt the heat of his face as they drew closer together. It just seemed impossible that it had really come to this. That these were the lips of Scorpius against hers, that that was her warm tongue she tasted in her mouth, that it was his hand pressed against the nape of her neck, his fingers moving upwards through her hair.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed for, just that she didn’t have any desire to leave the moment, and he seemed to feel the same way. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing rather unevenly.
“Will you meet me here again tomorrow night?” Scorpius asked her after a moment.
Rose nodded, grinning nervously. “Yes.”
They shared another exhilarated kiss before breaking apart finally. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scorpius whispered, laying a soft kiss on her lips. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Rose murmured back. Reluctantly, she pulled away and stepped out into the fresh air that felt cooler and crisper compared to inside the greenhouse. She inhaled the night deeply and it was like breathing for the first time in a completely different world.
5. During that last week, Rose and Scorpius met each night in the same greenhouse surrounded by continuously blossoming flowers of every kind and colour as they kissed and talked and dreamed. With each meeting that passed, they stayed out later and later until, on the last night, after exploring each other’s deepest mysteries and desires, they fell asleep at sunrise, lying together on the dirt floor.
Rose knew going into the summer it was going to be unbearable, as the Malfoys had made plans to spend the entire summer touring magical villages along the Mediterranean coastline. It would have been tricky enough for her and Scorpius to meet during the summer without their families’ knowledge, but this had made it altogether impossible. The two of them had decided, however, not to do anything rash. One day, they’d be out on their own and able to do what they liked with or without their families’ approval.
Now, September had arrived and she’d met it with a pounding heart and a torrent of emotions, torn between her excitement about seeing him again and her anxiety about whether he still wanted to be with her. There was also a vague pulsing anger over the fact he hadn’t managed to send her a single owl.
She caught a glimpse of him on the platform, but didn’t dare try to even catch his eye while his parents were present. It frustrated her beyond belief that she couldn’t simply run up to him and throw her arms around him, that she had to wait for a moment they could be alone.
On the train, she was slightly diverted from the torture of waiting, partly because she was so busy with her new Head Girl duties, but also due to the rather distracting constant twinge of guilt from being around Lysander, who was being painfully cordial with her.
By the time the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade, she felt physically and emotionally drained. Without really thinking, she got off the train and stood aside, watching over all the students as they clambered off with their trunks in tow, happily chattering with one another as they made their way towards the carriages that would take them to the castle.
The flow of students slowed, and quite suddenly Scorpius stepped off the train and Rose felt herself jolt back to life. Seeing him, her heart lifted and she had to battle the instinct to throw her arms around him. He glanced at her very briefly before being pushed forward by Lysander, who had lingered behind to make sure everyone got off the train safely.
“Right, that’s all,” Lysander announced to her, his voice still hollow. “Shall we go to our carriage?”
Rose nodded absent-mindedly and allowed him to take the lead. Stumbling distractedly in his wake, she unfurled the parchment that Scorpius had slipped into her hands as he had passed her.
R,
I’ve missed you. See you among the flowers, beneath the stars?
Yours,
S
6. The frustration of summer and exhaustion of the day seemed to vanish in one beautiful instant when she rushed into his arms at midnight outside greenhouse four. He pulled her inside and, holding her tightly, kissed her more passionately than ever before.
“I don’t know how I got through the summer,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I didn’t realise my parents weren’t planning on bringing an owl. And, it was almost impossible to slip away from my mother in the villages to try and find a post office.”
“It’s all right,” Rose sighed.
“No, it’s not. You went ten weeks without hearing from me,” Scorpius insisted. “But, I bought this when we were in Corsica…” He pulled out a small, black journal patterned in shimmering green and red and handed it to her. “It’s full of the letters I would have sent if I had been able to.”
She sat down on the ground, Scorpius taking a spot next to her, she opened the journal, and inside she found page after page of Scorpius’ narrow, elegant handwriting.
Dear Rose, I miss you. My mother keeps complaining that the sun is too much — no idea why she wanted to come to the Mediterranean… Dear Rose, It’s been miserable without you. I’m afraid you’ll give up on me and go back to Lysander… Dear Rose, We visited a herbological garden in Florence today, and they had the most beautiful roses — most beautiful but for one, that is… Rose closed the journal and looked at Scorpius, an overwhelming surge of emotion rushing through her. It was hard to define how much of the sensation was her love for him, and how much was the soaring feeling of knowing he loved her. Perhaps, she thought, there was no differentiating the two; perhaps it was one emotion, not loving or being loved, but the feeling that they were both fully in love with one another, together.
She tangled her fingers in his, put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”
“Perhaps we
don’t have to hide,” he murmured. Rose looked at him in surprise.
“Our families would go mad,” she said. “Imagine trying to get around the school with every single one of my cousins shooting dirty looks at you, some of them probably even stopping you in the corridors and warning you to stay away from me.”
“I know it doesn’t sound ideal,” he said. “And you know that I’d rather other people stay out of my personal business in general. But, this summer was utterly dismal, and I’ve rather lost my patience with only seeing you when the rest of the world isn’t looking. We’re going through the trouble of keeping this is a secret so they don’t interfere with us, but we’re still letting them control when and where we can be together.”
“I know it’s frustrating. And, I can deal with my cousins, but what about your parents?”
Scorpius was quiet a moment, and she could see he was trying to restrain his frustration.
“What can they do?” he muttered. “Take me out of school?”
“Yes.”
“They won’t,” he said flatly, looking at her. “They won’t take me out of school. They’ll probably lecture me, and refuse to send me money; my father might even go as far as to storm up to the school and demand I explain to him what it is I think I’m doing. But, they won’t take me out of school. And I’m of age, anyway, so I doubt they even could if they wanted to.”
“Do you really want to do this then?”
“We have to at some point, don’t we? Why not now?”
Rose took a deep breath and had a fleeting vision of walking to class in the morning, hand in hand with Scorpius; she couldn’t resist smiling at the thought.
“Okay then, no more hiding,” she said, curling up close to him. “Tomorrow we face the disapproval of the world.”
“I don’t need the world’s approval,” Scorpius said quietly, “as long as I have you.”
He kissed her, and the world melted away. Rose was no longer aware of the sticky warmth of the greenhouse, the rainbow of coloured petals that surrounded them, or the blinking, ever-watchful stars that shone through the clear glass roof. It was just her and Scorpius, his lips on hers, the pounding of both their hearts, and that familiar overwhelming feeling of being in love, together.