Have you ever thought about how you are perceived by those around you? You may think that you blend in, or that you are charming and bubbly, or that you seem intelligent when speaking to your peers, but how can we ever truly know what we are like if we never leave our bodies and see for ourselves?
I first thought about this when I was twelve. I had been talking to my friend Anna about another girl in our class, one who had been rude to me throughout our first year at Hogwarts.
–Why is she always so cruel to me, Anna?†I asked my first true friend since primary school.
–You do kind of ask for it,†she replied, nervously chewing her lip. –You’re always correcting her when she speaks out in class, and it is quite upsetting.â€
This came as a bit of a shock to me. I had always thought that correcting people was just what you did; all my close family had done so to me since I’d been a young child. I just thought of it as a way of bettering the person - that by correcting them now they would never make the same mistake again.
But I soon learnt that this was not so. Other people saw it as a sign of arrogance, that I thought my opinions and thoughts were superior to those around me. I had never thought of it in that way, and was wounded by people’s actions towards me.
By my fifth year I had learnt to stay away from others to avoid being hurt, and created an almost alter-ego who stood in my place during classes; a girl who wasn’t afraid to voice her thoughts and was stronger than an army of marching ants ready to take on the enemy. I became the girl feared for her quick judgements, and people stayed out of my way or else knew about it.
* * *
It was a beautiful spring morning, with dew coating the newly-mown grass, which left a sweet scent lingering in the crisp air. It was almost too good a morning to be spent locked up in a musty, old classroom, but Charms was my favourite class so I didn’t really mind. I spent the first five minutes of class, whilst everybody else settled down into their seats, examining an intricate tapestry hanging on the nearby wall, which was sewn in a way that characters woven into it would come to life, performing the everyday duties, which they routinely did. Today, a washer-woman who I regularly spied on was cleaning a particularly frilly pair of underpants, with great distaste. As Mum had been Muggle born-and-bred I appreciated common wizard artefacts such as this, whilst my peers dismissed them for being too dull and lifeless.
Suddenly my Charms teacher appeared, striding up to me with a favour in mind.
–Rose, I don’t suppose you could help me out, could you?†requested Professor Lepora, the willowy teacher who had become my favourite throughout my five years at Hogwarts. She seemed tough and stern to the younger year groups, but gave realistic advice and had a dry sense of humour to match.
–Of course not, Professor,†I replied, letting my true self visit for a moment to reward her with a glowing smile.
–Well, I don’t suppose you could sit with Scorpius for the time-being? He’s been moved to our class after he complained about another student. Would you mind awfully?†The Professor smiled politely and then coughed under her breath, and for a moment I swore I could hear her mumble, –Just like his Father.â€
It struck me as a rather drastic move for Scorpius to alter his classes due to traded insults, as he would have to shift his entire timetable. There was only one teacher per subject and thanks to the system in place at Hogwarts you either had classes in single houses or two at a time, and Gryffindor historically never shared classes with Slytherins.
–Um,†I said for a moment, considering his offer. Despite his kind words, I could tell that it was more of a statement than a question. The seat beside me was the only one left bare in the whole room, a sure sign that people barely tolerated me. –I’m fine with the move, Professor.â€
* * *
At the end of a week at Scorpius’ side I had had enough. My every move was watched by the hawk-eyed Slytherin, who retorted with just as much sarcasm as I, much to my growing annoyance. We regularly clashed on every topic of conversation, and even though we both knew that I was right he continued to argue. By the end of the week I could barely stand his presence, so angered was I by the thought of him. It was bad enough that we sat together, but the following day he sought me out in my regular haunt, a courtyard always covered by shade and one that nobody ever stayed in for long. It was precisely this reason that encouraged me to seek refuge there, to avoid the haughty glares from girls I had laughed at or cautious ones of younger students who had heard tales of my escapades.
I was sitting in an alcove between two sturdy stone pillars when Scorpius found me; as I was deep into re-reading my favourite novel I didn’t hear him sauntering towards my hiding place. I had noticed the arrogant way that he walked, casually swishing his blonde curls to one side to the sighs of the smitten girls who watched his every move. When I had commented on this in a letter to Mum she had replied saying, –He must have gotten the curls from his mother - when I was at school his Father’s hair was dead straight and slicked back at all times.†I noticed how she avoided offering me advice on tackling my annoyance, and decided she must have become side-tracked with work, as she so often did.
–Well, hello, Rosie,†he drawled, deliberately using a nickname he knew I hated.
–What do you want?†I retorted, glaring at him with a thunderous hatred.
–Only to see you, darlin’,†he replied, quick as a flash, putting on a fake American twang.
My only response was one of narrowed eyes and the back of my head as I returned to my book, already bored of the conversation as I knew where it would lead.
–Okay, okay, I’m sorry, all right?†he said, sounding genuinely regretful. A pleading tone crept into his voice as he croaked, –Can we bury the hatchet and move on?â€
I hesitated, not understanding whether this was a trap or if he was genuinely apologising. Although the latter was unlikely (I knew as much from past experience), Scorpius was the only person to challenge me and even have a lengthy conversation with me excluding teachers since I had ostracised myself from the social grid of Hogwarts. And despite his faults Scorpius was, I could even go as far as to say, the closest thing I had to a friend.
I sighed. –Oh fine. But don’t go getting any hopes up.â€
He leaned forwards in an overtly gentlemanly mock bow, and when he rose said, –Of course, milady.â€
* * *
–Did you see his face, Rosie?†Scorpius gushed. –He actually thought-–
He doubled over in laughter. –He actually believed that we were going out!â€
I joined in with his laughter, although inside I was wondering whether that was really such a bad thing. During the six months I had known Scorpius I had grown to trust and respect him, as well as a whole load of whatever this was that I was currently feeling. I had even grown to love the girlish nickname –Rosieâ€, which I had used to detest being called, even by my Mother. Whatever everybody else thought, Scorpius was just like me - he hid what he truly felt under a thick skin, and to the outside world he seemed just like an arrogant teenager ready to take on the world.
Only I knew that Scorpius was fighting with his Father after the incident in the Library, in which Scorpius and I discovered a book blaming the whole of The Great War on the Malfoys, especially Scorpius’ Father and Grandfather. Understandably, he was outraged to discover that his family was not as golden as he had been told it was, and he had stormed out of the library before I could comfort him. After a few days Scorpius came to me and unloaded all the hatred and bitterness that he had been feeling, and we snuck off to Hogsmead using the map Uncle Harry had given to me for being (in his words, not mine) the –most trustworthy†of the Weasley clan.
At the present moment we were leaning against the side of The Three Broomsticks as Scorpius tried to control his bouts of laughter, which had transformed into terrifying giggles. My cousin Albus (or –Alby†as he was widely known by his family) had gestured to the two of us and said plainly:
–So are the two of you going out, or what?â€
Of course Scorpius had automatically started grinning so I elbowed him in the stomach and said, –As if!†before storming out of the crowded pub with a flick of my auburn hair.
After a few minutes Scorpius managed regain control, and straightened up to look me straight in the eyes.
–What’s up, long face?†he spluttered, as a fit of giggles suddenly shook his body. I gave him my most serious stare, finally forcing him to detist from laughing.
–Really, what’s wrong?†he asked me, innocently.
–It’s just…†I started, before backing down, and waved down his protests with a hand.
–No, tell me! It can’t be ‘nothing’ if you’re getting all moody about a little joke.â€
My eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips, and then back again. I opened my mouth to speak, but took a long breath before replying tentatively, –It’s just… Why is the idea of dating me so hilarious?†I stepped back a little, not knowing whether my words will cause us to become closer, or force us further apart.
His smile fell, and his voice lowered as he said quietly, –It’s not, I just thought that I wasn’t your type.â€
An uneasy silence fell between us, and after I had examined everything there was to be seen on the ground beneath my feet I looked up through my lashes to see Scorpius eyeing me warily. I step a little closer and, trying to make the silence more bearable, I said, –I thought I wasn’t your type. I thought you liked blondes who wiggle as they walk, and giggle and flirt and-–
I was cut off by Scorpius, who gently placed a finger over my lips and pulled me closer, before tucking a long strand of hair behind my ear and whispering, –There has only ever been you.†Our lips gingerly touched and before I knew it I was flying higher than a cloud and his soft, blond hair was between my fingers. We managed to pull apart and smiling elatedly I said, –Me, too.â€