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i.
Rose is fifteen years old when Alfred Clearwater presents her with a bouquet of soft pink roses. She stares at him, shocked, and he offers her a nervous smile. She doesn’t know what to say. He’s almost a complete stranger—they share Charms, the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws, but otherwise she doesn’t know him. She accepts the flowers with an awkward thank you and Alfred leaves, disappointed at the lack of reaction.
Rose retreats to her dorm and conjures a vase for the bouquet. She fingers the petals lightly, thinking. “Roses for Rose,” Alfred had said as he gave her the flower bunch, and Rose smiles at the memory. It’s sweet, the thought he put behind these roses, and Rose stops to contemplate what her life would be like if she started dating Alfred.
He’s rather cute, with his dirty blond hair and warm brown eyes, but then Rose thinks of how her cousins and friends would tease her mercilessly for having a boyfriend. Not to mention, there would be less time for studying if she started dating him, and with her OWLs this year she doesn’t want to take any chances. Rose thinks of the way Alfred and his friends mess around in Charms, and frowns.
She wanders down to the Great Hall for dinner distractedly, and Albus picks up on her perplexity even from the Slytherin table.
“Hey, Rosie, what’s up?” her cousin asks, walking over from his table and taking a seat on the bench next to her. Scorpius, trailing behind his best friend, takes a seat on her other side.
“Nothing,” Rose sighs, “I’m just thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Scorpius puts in with a grin, and Rose swats at him.
“At least I think, Malfoy. I can’t say the same for you.” She looks up and happens to catch Alfred’s eye, and she gasps and frowns back down at her plate. Albus immediately picks up on the movement and frowns, confused.
“What’s up with you and Clearwater?” the boy demands.
Rose huffs and explains the situation, carefully. She doesn’t feel Scorpius tense beside her, too distracted by her own story. Albus looks more baffled than ever, his glasses askew on his nose. “Why is that such a bad thing?”
“Because,” Rose explains carefully, as though talking to a child, “I don’t want to hurt him, but I also don’t want to date him. Don’t you see my dilemma?”
“I think,” Albus says carefully, a thoughtful expression on his face, “that it shouldn’t matter to you what he thinks. If you don’t like him, then you don’t like him.”
Scorpius hums in agreement, and Rose frowns with consideration. “Yes, I—I suppose that’s right. Thanks, Al.”
“Anytime, Rosie,” Albus responds, flashing a wide grin. He pauses to ruffle his cousin’s bushy hair and immediately disappears just as she starts yelling at him for it.
“See you later, Weasley,” Scorpius adds, then follows after Albus as Rose brushes her hair down angrily. She rolls her eyes and thinks, Boys, but it’s enough to distract her from the thought of the roses at her bedside table.
The roses die a few days later in their vase, and Rose’s dormmate Vanessa Twycross Vanishes them without a second thought.
ii.
The second time a boy gives her flowers, it’s her sixteenth birthday and she’s much more prepared. This time, she manages to thank Ricky Jordan for the soft, white magnolias without too much difficulty. She has never seen the boy look so terrified—usually, a cocky grin is plastered on his face, but now there’s a look of almost complete terror.
“I heard magnolias were your favourite flower,” Ricky explains nervously, “and I heard you mention to Nessa and Abigail that you wanted a plant to brighten up your room. I’m sorry, they aren’t the best—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ricky,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” She decides against asking him where he heard that magnolias were her favourite flower. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him they aren’t.
She conjures a vase for the magnolias and Ricky fills it with water. Rose looks down at the flowers with a sad smile. Vanessa and Abigail have mentioned time and time again all the times Ricky was caught staring at her, and even she has heard the adoration in his voice as he commentates her Quidditch matches. She’d suspected this, but she isn’t prepared to reject him. His father and her Uncle George are best friends, and he’s a constant visitor at the Burrow during summer holidays. She doesn’t think she can handle any awkwardness between the two of them.
“Now, now, Weasley, I’d have expected better from a fellow Prefect,” an irritatingly familiar voice says, interrupting her from her thoughts, and both she and Ricky turn to stare at Scorpius Malfoy. There’s a strain to his grin, but Rose is far too embarrassed to realize.
“Malfoy, I can explain—”
“I don’t think there’s anything to explain, Weasley. You and Jordan are here, in a private corridor, clearly trying not to be caught.” Scorpius smirks.
“I’ll—I was just leaving,” Ricky offers, giving Rose an apologetic smile as he flees. She stares at his back as it retreats, and, suddenly, she feels like crying. Scorpius turns to look at her, clearly about to say another thing to tease her, but doubles back at the look on her face.
“Hey, are you alright?” Scorpius asks unexpectedly, staring at her, his tone of voice much softer. She turns to look at him, completely mortified now. How terrible must she look for Scorpius Malfoy to be worried about her?
“Yes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Scorpius frowns at the look on her face. “I’m sorry, I was only looking to tease you. I didn’t think he was just going to up and leave.”
“Neither did I.”
Scorpius looks down. “Where’d you get the flowers from?” he asks with a nudge of his head, gesturing to the vase still in her hand.
“Ricky. He—ah—gave me a birthday gift.” Her smile feels very strained now.
“Oh. Nice of him.” Rose opens her mouth to comment on the strange look on Scorpius’ face, but instead the boy says, “Well, I must get on with my patrol. See you around, Weasley.” He bows his head once at her and turns away, then pauses and adds, “Oh. And happy birthday.”
She stares after him, even after he’s turned the corner, confused. He doesn’t have patrol for another two days—she knows, because Alivia Wood had been complaining about having to spend two hours with Scorpius Malfoy when she could have been practicing for Quidditch.
Rose spends the rest of the long walk to Ravenclaw tower thinking of Scorpius Malfoy.
She feels numb when, during their Hogsmeade trip a week later, she catches Scorpius walking out of Dogweed and Deathcap with a large bouquet of tulips, daffodils, and lilies. When Scorpius shows up to their annual study session with Leslie Montague, there's a daffodil in her blonde hair. Rose smiles kindly at the two of them while her fingers carve moon shapes into her thighs. Albus doesn’t even notice.
iii.
Ricky gives her another bouquet of flowers a month after the first and asks her if she wants to be his date to the secret end-of-school party. The cocky smile is back and he seems significantly less nervous than the last time.
Rose agrees.
He takes her to the dungeons, where the party is being held, and she feels incredibly out of place. She keeps a smile plastered on her face even though she wants, achingly, to be under her blanket, wand lit and a book in her lap. When she catches Scorpius and Leslie snogging desperately in a dark corner, her smile falters only for a second before she finally accepts a bottle of Firewhisky from Ricky and takes a swig. It burns as it goes down and leaves her feeling sick, but there’s a sudden fire in her stomach and she likes it enough to take another gulp.
She doesn’t plan on getting drunk, but she does. She takes long gulps every minute or so, and before long she’s on her third bottle and there’s a strange spinning sensation in her head. Rose wanders around the dungeon, wanting to tell everyone to be quiet but too exhausted to do so. The pounding in her head is made worse by the too-loud voices and music around her.
The next time she sees Scorpius, there are three of him and Leslie is nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern shining in his silver eyes. Rose doesn’t answer, blinking rapidly as Scorpius’ three figures merge into one. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Scorpius continues. “I’d have thought you were too good for such a risky party.”
Rose groans, her head dropping onto Scorpius’ warm shoulder. She feels him tense and hugs him hard in response. “You’re—so soft,” she mumbles, her words slurring. She doesn’t see Scorpius turn pink.
“Ah, Rose, you’re drunk,” Scorpius says, and she’s just sober enough to recognize disappointment in his voice.
“No ’m not,” she answers, pulling away to shake a wobbly finger at him. “’m fine.” She’s sure her argument would be a lot more convincing if the room would just stop spinning.
“Come on, let’s get you back to your dorm.” Scorpius grabs her hand and leads her out of the dungeon, and Rose giggles breathlessly when she sees Leslie. The blonde girl is waiting by a group of Slytherin students, a furious look on her face. Scorpius pays no attention, brushing by her without a second glance.
When they’re up the stairs and out of the dungeons, Rose's legs collapse and Scorpius doubles back to reaffirm his grip on her. “You’re such a nice boy,” Rose slurs, giggling, as Scorpius puts her weight on him. “I wonder why boys I don’t like keep giving me flowers. They aren’t very nice boys.”
Scorpius gives her a strange look. “What are you talking about?”
“It's not that I don’t like them,” Rose says with a dramatic sigh, ignoring Scorpius’ expression, “I just don’t want them to give me flowers.” Rose pauses, and her body weight doubles. Scorpius staggers. “I want flowers from you,” Rose decides, and Scorpius' eyes bulge.
“That isn’t the best idea,” he says after a moment, purposefully avoiding her eyes.
“Why not?” Rose asks with a frown, and for a moment she seems almost sober—that is, until she trips over her own foot and goes crashing to the ground.
Scorpius pales and leans down to quickly heal the cut on her knee. “Why not?” Rose demands again, her blue eyes alight. Scorpius sighs.
“You’re drunk, Rose, we shouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
Rose sniffs but doesn’t argue. They continue walking silently for the next few flights of stairs, until Rose stops again. Scorpius turns, agitated. “What now?” he demands, and Rose frowns.
“You don’t like me,” she accuses.
“What?” Scorpius asks, suddenly looking as though he’s been Confunded.
“I said,” Rose says, her eyes narrowed and her dark hair frizzing around her head, “you don’t like me. You never have. I wish you did. It would make everything so much easier.”
“What are you on about?” Scorpius asks, brows furrowed and looking so much like Albus that Rose sobers.
“Nevermind,” she mutters, head still spinning wildly, although the fire in her stomach has been replaced by a queasiness that usually comes before a fit of illness. The thought turns Rose a bit green.
Scorpius notices, and immediately leads her to the third-floor girls' bathroom, where Rose proceeds to hurl out whatever was left of the Firewhisky in her stomach. She emerges from the bathroom four minutes later looking decidedly less green and much more embarrassed.
“’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be,” Scorpius says, subconsciously wiping the sheen of sweat from Rose's forehead. The girl turns pink and Scorpius freezes.
“You can’t do that,” Rose protests, brushing his hand away angrily, “you can’t do that and then tell me you don’t care about me—”
“I never said that.” Scorpius' voice is dark and brooding, a far cry from its usual teasing tone. His sharp features are pulled into a tight frown.
She winces, and her voice takes a more pleading tone. “Scorpius, can’t we just—”
Something flashes in his eyes then, something that Rose can’t understand for the life of her, and he runs a hand through his pale hair. “How much did you have to drink, Rose?”
“Dunno," Rose hiccups. "I stopped counting after six.”
“Six swallows—?”
“No, six bottles.”
Scorpius starts, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Merlin, Rose,” he mutters, something like shock on his face, “why the hell did you drink so much? And Firewhisky, too. That stuff’s strong.”
“Why were you snogging Leslie so much?” Rose retorts, her arms crossed in front of her. “You don’t even like her.”
Scorpius looks momentarily as though he has been hexed. He recovers quickly, managing to stammer, “What are you on about, ‘course I do—”
“You called her a pompous brat,” Rose fires back.
“That was in fourth year!”
“That was only last year, idiot!”
Scorpius huffs. “Whatever. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine. Let’s just go.” Rose stumbles away, insulted.
The journey to Ravenclaw tower is awkward. Rose manages to fall and scrape her knee a few corridors away from the tower, and Scorpius helps her once again. They get to the door of the common room with no more words said between them. Scorpius turns to leave when the bronze knocker speaks in a delicate voice.
“How is a hypogriff like a flame?”
Rose stares at the door blankly. At another time, she might be able to answer the question flawlessly, but her mind is nothing but a pounding headache.
“They’re both dangerous, I suppose,” Scorpius says from behind her, sounding not at all worried about being wrong. Rose huffs at his nonchalance, although his answer seems correct enough. Not as deep as she’s heard from other students, perhaps, but it is an answer.
“Well reasoned,” the knocker chimes back, and the door swings open, but Rose hesitates. Somewhere in the muddled mess of her mind she thinks it would be appropriate to thank Scorpius for his help. She’s not sure she might’ve made it all the way up her on her own, with her intoxication. Yes, she decides, she will thank him.
“Thank you for the help,” she slurs, turning with a drunken grin.
The stairwell is empty.
(Rose wakes up the next day with no memory of what happened.)
(Ricky, angry at her for ditching him the night before, dumps her unceremoniously and takes Hilda Smith, a rather annoying Hufflepuff a year below them, to Hogsmeade.)
(Rose finds herself more relieved than anything else. His bouquet of flowers is thrown out without a second thought.)
iv.
That summer, Hermione Granger-Weasley takes her family to America for two weeks. Rose is ecstatic; she’s never been outside of Europe before. The first few days are spent in a Muggle hotel room with Hugo and her father, playing chess and watching cheesy Muggle films on the television while her mother attends meetings and the like. Afterwards, though, her mother is free from business obligations and the entire family goes sightseeing.
They dedicate an entire week to Muggle attractions, and Hugo is the most excited Rose has seen him. He adopts a huge grin, one that hasn’t made an appearance since he was sorted into Ravenclaw, too. His excitement is infectious, and Rose finds herself the most relaxed she has been in a very long time. Even her mother seems more carefree, laughing wholeheartedly at her father’s jokes and holding his hand as they walk. In return, Ron Weasley has enthusiasm to rival his son’s, and it is overall a wonderful experience.
Once the week is over, they move to a Wizarding vacation cottage by the countryside and travel by Floo to Wizarding sightseeing points. It’s here that she meets Lucero.
He is a child from an ancient Wizarding family from Spain, going into his sixth year at Beauxbatons. Rose is smitten with him the moment she meets him. He’s very attractive, with his tanned skin and curly black hair and warm, brown eyes. It doesn’t hurt that he’s charming and kind, and he’s classically intelligent, too.
(She tries not to think about the boy who is the polar opposite of this one, the boy who broke her heart without even knowing it.)
“Have you thought about what you’ll do when you leave school?” Rose asks him one evening, both of them sitting on Lucero’s porch. Rose had wandered outside after a long day of touring, and almost literally bumped into the Spanish boy. They had introduced themselves and became almost instant friends.
“I am not sure,” Lucero answers, his voice thick with the accent that makes Rose shiver. “I think I might like to do something in the Ministry.”
“You would be very good at that,” Rose tells him, and Lucero grins back at her with pearly, white teeth.
“So would you,” Lucero says, and he nudges her shoulder with his own. Rose feels her skin tingle at the touch.
“I might. I’ve never really thought about it.” This is a lie. Rose has spent hours mulling over what she should do after Hogwarts, and it never results in anything but a numbing fear for the future. She doesn’t know how to convey this to Lucero, though, so instead she smiles at him.
They spend the rest of the night just talking about little things, and eventually Hugo calls Rose back inside and she waves goodbye to her newfound friend. She spends that night thinking about Lucero and she can say with almost near-confidence that she has found the man of her dreams.
(She tries not to think about a certain gray-eyed Slytherin.)
They meet again the next night, and the next, and before Rose realizes it’s her last night in America. They sit under the stars, quiet for the first time all week, and Rose finds herself thinking that this will be the last time she’ll ever see him and that she has to kiss him before she left. She wonders if he wants to kiss her, too. Her question is answered sooner than she’d expected.
“You know,” Lucero starts, sitting up, “you are extremely beautiful for a British girl.”
She squints back up at him, smiling. She has never felt so bold. “And you are incredibly handsome for a Spanish boy.”
He leans down and closes the gap between their lips, and Rose gasps. It’s her first kiss and she’s not prepared when it suddenly gets deeper, but she lets him in nonetheless. It’s Rose who finally breaks the kiss, pushing him off lightly and says that she should probably head inside, it’s getting late and her father will be angry.
Lucero agrees and, pausing for a moment to consider, he leans over and plucks a purple flower from the cottage’s flowerbed and hands it to her. They hug goodbye and he promises to keep in touch.
When Rose gets home, she finds the five unread letters delivered by Daisy, her owl. There are two from Scorpius, one from Albus, two from Vanessa and Abigail, and none from Lucero. She doesn’t let herself get disappointed. She’s only just gotten home, after all.
Rose presses the flower into her Charms textbook—her favourite subject—so that it can be preserved forever.
Two more weeks go by without a word from Lucero. She feels her heart tighten with each passing day, and she distracts herself by writing letters to all her friends, apologizing for not writing back. She doesn’t mention her summer romance, but Albus writes of Nora Travers, who confessed having feelings for Scorpius that the other boy seemingly reciprocated.
Rose’s desperation for a letter from Lucero becomes almost unbearable.
“Do you think I should write Lucero a letter?” Rose asks Vanessa via Floo call a few days later. The brunette purses her lips in consideration.
“It might do. There’s no use in playing hard to get when he’s so far away.”
Rose composes a letter, thanking Lucero for such a good time and how she misses him.
After a month of silence, she opens her textbook, takes out the dried flower, and crushes it into a fine powder in her fist.
v.
She spends an hour browsing a flower shop catalogue when Scorpius gets knocked out by a bludger during the first Quidditch practice of the year, trying to find just the right ones. In the end, she decides on carnations, because she enjoys the way they look and smell: the catalogue has a tap-and-sniff option. Rose tries not to think about how long it took to make a choice.
When she arrives at the Hospital Wing, she’s surprised to find Scorpius alone, staring at the wall with a blank expression. She’d expected at least one other person to be with him.
“Hey,” she says carefully, and he looks up at her. A smirk edges its way onto his face.
“Hey, Weasley,” Scorpius answers, leaning back. The smug expression on his face is much more comforting and familiar than whatever was on his face earlier. Rose instantly relaxes.
“I can’t believe you landed in the Hospital Wing because of a bludger,” Rose says with a roll of her bright eyes, sitting at the edge of his bed with the gentle care of a person afraid of hurting another. “You’re a Beater, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad to see you so worried about me,” Scorpius drawls, sarcasm dripping in his voice.
Rose pauses and looks him over. “Well, are you alright?”
“No, my head and heart ache. I think I might die,” Scorpius says dramatically, dropping his head down with more flamboyance than necessary. Rose doesn’t miss the way he flinches at the contact. She frowns.
“Really, though, are you alright?” she asks, standing up. She puts the bouquet of flowers down on the table filled with other offerings and gently places her hands on his head, searching for bumps or cuts. His silky strands part in her fingers effortlessly. Rose almost misses the way he tenses.
When she realizes what she’s done, she leans back, hands flying away as if burned, her freckled face aflame.
“Are—er—those for me?” Scorpius asks awkwardly, gesturing to the bouquet she had set down. Rose nods.
“It’s stupid, really. I should’ve gotten you some chocolate frogs.”
Scorpius hums, and a finger stretches out to pet the carnations carefully. Rose has never seen him so gentle. “Well, they’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
Scorpius pauses, his hand resting on a unique carnation. While the others are either white or pink, this one is both, a beautiful white carnation with pink tips. Scorpius' tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Rose's breath catches.
“Here,” Scorpius says, calmly, pulling the carnation from its bouquet, “you can have this.”
Rose takes it carefully, confused. Her heart beats quickly in her chest. “I don’t—”
“It’s sort of ugly,” Scorpius interrupts, by way of explanation. Rose freezes. “It doesn’t really fit with the others.”
“Oh.” Rose turns away, cheeks red once again. How stupid is she to think he'd had other intentions?
“Yeah.”
They stay in an awkward silence for a while, and Rose clears her throat to leave when Albus appears. “Scor, you'd never believe what the Chudley Cannons—oh, hey, Rose.” Albus pauses, eyeing the awkward situation in front of him and frowning. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Rose says, standing up. “I was just leaving. See you later, Al. Get better soon, Malfoy.” She waves goodbye at the two boys. She can’t get out of there, fast enough.
(She doesn’t realize until later that she’d left the carnation on the hospital bed. She almost doesn’t miss the loss.)
(Almost.)
(+)
The three of them spend the second Saturday afternoon of their sixth-year sitting under a large tree on Hogwarts grounds, relaxing in the sunlight and warm weather before snow takes over.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Albus asks from his spot against a tree, playing with a Quaffle in his nimble fingers. “Not having to worry about OWLs.”
“Yes, but we do have NEWTs next year, not to mention our new NEWT classes this year,” Rose reminds her cousin. Albus shakes his head at her.
“Yes, but I’m glad you let us take the afternoon off from studying, Rosie. It was very kind of you.” Albus aims a roll of his eyes at Scorpius. The boy, leaning against a tree opposite Al, smirks back.
“Yes, well, I think the only one of us who really needs it is Weasley. Taking seven NEWT classes is suicide, you know.” Malfoy says, wincing at the thought. “But I don’t really expect any less from you. You are rather out of your mind, I think.”
“Oh, shut it, Malfoy, you’re taking six.”
“Six is better than seven!”
“Oi,” Albus interrupts, dropping the Quaffle in his lap and raising his hands. “Can we not talk about school? I already know how mental the two of you are. No need to remind me.”
“Alright,” Scorpius concedes, then pauses and adds, “You know, Rose, I’m pretty sure the last time someone was crazy enough to take on seven NEWT classes was your mother.”
Rose sticks her tongue out at him. Albus chuckles. “The sexual tension between you two is ridiculous.”
“Oi,” Scorpius cries, sitting up abruptly with a bright red face. Rose jumps up with a similar enthusiasm, drawing her wand and shouting obscenities at her cousin.
“Relax, you two. Merlin, why do you have to be so defensive?” Albus teases, and the two flush. “It is nice, having a break. It’s only the second week and we already have so many assignments.”
“Rose is right, it is the year of new NEWT lessons. We have to deal with nonverbal spells, too. It’s mental.” Scorpius sighs.
“Merlin’s soggy left buttock!” Albus exclaims, jumping up abruptly enough to make Scorpius and Rose jump. “I forgot, I had to write that stupid essay on nonverbal spells for Defence. Do you reckon that the library is still open?”
“Yes, it’s only around a quarter to three,” Rose answers, alarmed. “Do you want some help? You seem a bit stressed.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Albus responds, waving a hand in dismissal. “You two stay and get to know each other better. I’ll be back later.” He disappears with a smirk on his face, running before Scorpius or Rose can question it.
“Bit suspicious, isn’t he?” Scorpius comments, pulling out his wand and making blue sparks to amuse himself.
“Just a bit?” Rose says with a laugh. She gives Scorpius a side-eyed glance. “How was your summer? I heard you and Nora got together.”
Scorpius pauses. “Nah, it was just a summer thing. She was cute, we kissed a couple times. Not my type, though. I broke it off before the year started.”
“Oh.” Rose tries to ignore the delicious tingle that runs down her spine at the thought. “I’m sorry,” she offers meekly.
“Yeah, well. Nothing anyone can do about it.” Scorpius lets out a breath and starts messing with his wand. Rose watches in careful amazement as the blue sparks transform, carefully into the silhouette of a blue rose. The rose holds its shape for a few moments before disappearing in a shower of sparks. Rose turns to look at Scorpius, who is staring at her with a pained expression.
“You know, Muggles believe flowers have different meanings. I found a book a few summers ago about it, and it was my favourite for a really long time. I don’t know why it was so interesting to me.” Scorpius doesn’t look away; rather, he stares at her with a deeply fond look that almost scares Rose.
Rose nods. Scorpius has always had a fascination with plants. He’s the top of their class in Herbology, something that used to bring her much frustration but only amused her now that she’s older. She’ll always beat him in Charms, after all.
“The cool thing about carnations,” Scorpius says, finally removing his gaze from hers, staring up into the branches of the tree he’s leaning against, “is that nearly all of them are one solid colour. A few, though, the striped ones, they’re special. These ones, with two colours, they mean negative stuff. Usually, flowers have pretty meanings, like love or friendship or innocence. But these mean rejection, or refusal. They say, ‘I can’t be with you.’”
His eyes meet hers, and Rose understands.
“When you gave me that carnation, it wasn’t an accident. You wanted to reject me.” It hurts her to say these words out loud. She hadn’t thought she was being very obvious—even she didn’t understand exactly how she felt about him, so how could he?
“Yes… and no.” Scorpius lets out a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you—without telling you—that I can’t be with you. Even if I really want to.”
“How did you find out?” Rose can’t bring herself to say more.
“That you care about me like that?” Scorpius asks, and Rose nods mutely. “When you got drunk. You told me as much. I thought for a while that I imagined it, but Albus mentioned something and it just clicked.” Scorpius frowns. “But it can’t happen. We can’t be together.”
Rose frowns, her eyebrows creased. “Why not?”
“Because,” Scorpius exclaims, jumping up with his eyes ablaze, “I’m a Malfoy! Do you know how much people would talk if we got together? How much I would bring you down? It doesn’t matter that my dad’s reformed, or that my mum’s the nicest witch you’ll ever meet—there are people who still associate the name Malfoy with Death Eater! I can’t do that to you, Rose.”
“Scorpius,” Rose breathes as understanding hits her. Scorpius flinches. “Scorpius, how long have you felt like this?”
“See,” Scorpius mumbles, avoiding her gaze and question at the same time, “you used to call me Malfoy. It was easier that way. It reminded me of the dreadful things I would put you through if we ever got together.”
Rose lets out a breath and stands up abruptly. Scorpius looks at her with disappointment in his eyes. She turns, and he nods resolutely, fully expecting for her to leave. Instead, he stares in shock as she kneels down and grasps a dandelion in her long fingers. With a flick of her wand, the dandelion slowly Transfigures. Scorpius watches as the bright green leaves morph into a darker shade, with sharper edges and a stronger stem. The yellow petals grow and darken, turning into dark blue spirals. In moments, the dandelion has become a perfect blue rose.
“I read the same book, you know.” Scorpius’ eyes flick to hers in shock, and Rose smiles. “I found it in my Nana’s attic when I went to visit. My Muggle one,” she adds, rather unnecessarily. “Do you know what blue roses mean, Scorpius?”
“Mystery, and—”
“Attaining the impossible,” Rose says. “Oh, Scorpius, you think that I’m not used to people talking? I’m the child of two-thirds the Golden Trio, for goodness’ sake. I was in the papers before I was even born. I know how people can be, and guess what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what people say. This is for us, not them. Maybe we won’t be good together, maybe we will. We won’t know unless we try. And I’m willing to try.”
Scorpius stares at her. She bites her lip, then gently offers the rose to him. “What do you say?” she breathes. “Do you want to try with me?”
She watches as he shuts his eyes, fingers curled into fists on his lap.
She watches as he lets out a breath and relaxes, opening his eyes and greeting her with the silver she loves so much.
She watches as he gently takes the rose from her grasp and cups her cheek with his free hand.
“Okay,” he whispers, before leaning in and closing the gap between their lips.