Chapter Text
From birth, Rose Weasley pretty much had it made: great parents and a loving extended family, good friends including many of her cousins and enough sense to appreciate all she'd been given. There was also plenty of fame (more than she wanted, actually) but close proximity to the Potters helped her recognize that it could be worse—much worse. So, yeah. Things were pretty okay.
Okay, so she hadn't made Head Girl like she'd wanted. But, if she were fully honest with herself (and she really tried to be), she knew that she didn't have the time for it—she simply had too many N.E.W.T.s to study for. And any lingering disappointment was lifted by her visit to the Burrow; all of her cousins, her father and grandparents were a fantastic distraction. If she'd known, however, the floo call she'd receive there, she would've stayed in Italy with her mother's research team.
It was Rose was helping clear the lunch dishes in the week before the start of fall term when the face of her boyfriend of nearly two years appeared in the fireplace. She managed to push lingering family members out of the room in record time and with only mild protests. Smiling prettily, she crossed to the hearth. "Dirk! Hi. I wasn't expecting to see you until King's Cross."
Dirk Thomas (like Lily, Teddy, James, Fred, Albus and many others) had the unfortunate blessing of being named after someone who'd passed during the wars. (The story went that his father, Dean, had been rather insistent and his Muggle wife hadn't seen fit to put up a fight.) He was a tall, good-looking seventeen-year-old with dark skin, curly black hair and well-defined features.
Currently said features were looking rather bashful—which, actually, just made him all the cuter (in Rose's opinion, anyway). "Hullo, Rosie," he greeted pleasantly, running a hand through his hair. When his expression didn't change, Rose felt her adore turning to suspicion. (Constant vigilance and all that.) "Listen—I've not got long but, um…"
Laughing nervously, she crossed her arms. "What's up, Dirk? You sound like you're about to tell me you want to take a break or something." Dirk looked away but she caught the wince on his face. "You want to take a break from dating? What? Why?"
Dirk's face showed full on guilt now, and he was visibly struggling to meet her eyes. "It's not you, Rosie, I swear it. It's just… I met someone this summer. She goes to Beauxbatons Academy, and she—we're in love, Rose. Like, the real thing."
"Love?" she repeated with a sarcastic bark that was more scoff than laugh despite her best efforts. "What the hell do you know about love? We're barely adults for Merlin's sake!" So maybe her parent's incredibly amicable divorce had left her a bit cynical about the idea but still. They were about to begin their final year at Hogwarts and she'd spent all this bloody time getting everything just the way she wanted it and he was ruining it!
Something behind him caught his attention and Dirk's discomfort doubled. "I'll still go to the Leaving Ball with you if you like," he offered quickly. "You know, as friends." He shrugged a shoulder. "Ella probably can't make it, anyway."
"Don't do me any favors," Rose snapped, dousing the fire with the nearby water bucket. She hoped Dirk got a face full of ash for her trouble.
Well, bugger that. What was she supposed to do now?
Rose Weasley had a lot of friends. She had her cousins, her housemates, fellow prefects from all houses, even a number of her mother's neighbors in Muggle London. Unfortunately, she also had a prideful streak a mile wide thanks to both sides of her family. Which meant the pity all those friends kept trying to unload on her? Not welcome. Honestly, she just wanted her seventh year to be the way it was supposed to be. Why was that so much to ask?
When what felt like the hundredth group of well-wishers stopped by her compartment on the Hogwarts Express to "check on how she was doing" with the break-up, she'd had enough. This was not part of the plan. "I'm going to the Prefect meeting now," she told Albus, who had his nose buried in a book about the Chudley Cannons. "I should be back before we arrive… unless I finally find some kind soul to put me out of my misery."
Al smiled but didn't look up. "Have fun," he replied cheerily.
Used to him by then, she just blew a raspberry and pranced out the door.
The Prefect meeting was unfortunately (but not unexpectedly) a bit dull. Helga Macmillan, an uppity fifth year Hufflepuff, kept "offering suggestions" to the Heads. Head Boy Scorpius Malfoy took them mostly in stride but Head Girl Cindy Carmichael insisted on not only shooting her down but explaining exactly why her suggestions were ludicrous. It was trying, to say the least.
When they were finally finished, Rose lagged a bit. She wasn't especially keen to get back to the pity party everyone seemed so intent on throwing her. Seriously, it was ridiculous! Even during the meeting she caught no less than five of her fellow Prefects sending her sympathetic looks. It was getting to be too much and they hadn't even reached school yet! This year was going to be ridiculously awful if she didn't do something about this situation quickly.
Steeling herself, she opened the compartment door only to be confronted by the sound of what was clearly meant to be a private conversation.
"Abby, please—" The insistent voice belonged to none other than the recently departed Scorpius. Rose plastered herself just behind the compartment door and pulled out an extendable ear. (One didn't grow up with a large extended family that contained more than one prankster without picking up a few things.)
"No, Scorpius," and there was his ever-present girlfriend, sixth year Abigail Higgs, "I told you—I can't do this with you anymore."
"You're not being fair." Malfoy sounded angry—and maybe a bit hurt, too.
Abigail, meanwhile, maintained a calm, detached tone. "Since when has life ever been fair?"
Rose winced. That stung from where she was standing.
There was a grunt and then: "Point. Still, I don't—"
"I told you," Abigail interrupted, "I need someone who's going to be there for me. And we both know you're not that someone."
"Yeah?" Malfoy scoffed. "But let me guess—the tosser helping care for your Nana is?"
"Don't." For the first time, she actually sounded angry. "You're only embarrassing yourself."
Rose ducked back into the compartment fully as Abigail stormed down the corridor. She blinked a few times, replaying what she'd heard in her mind. So Scorpius had been summarily dumped over the summer, too. Slowly an idea began forming in her mind. She might actually be able to work this to her advantage. Of course, she'd have to get him on the same page as her and, well… that might be a challenge.
But she'd worry about that later. Right then, she had to get back to her compartment and change into her school robes. They were almost at Hogwarts.
Rose found her chance to speak with Scorpius a few days later. She was climbing to the Owlery to send her mum a thank you note for the new quill she'd sent as a welcome back gift and ran, quite literally, into him. "Oh, Malfoy!" she gasped, stumbling back. He instinctively stepped forward and steadied her. "Sorry."
He pulled his jacket a bit tighter and nodded, brushing past her.
Swallowing, Rose brushed some hair behind her ears. This was her shot and she wasn't going to let it walk away from her. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you," she blurted out quickly.
That was enough to stop him again. Scorpius turned and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" His tone betrayed nothing, which irked her a bit. Wasn't he the least bit curious why she'd want to speak with him?
"Erm, yes," she said, forcing a smile that felt as phony as it appeared. "I, uh, overheard you arguing with Abigail." His expression remained blank. "On the train."
His mouth formed a thin line and his eyes narrowed. "So what? I don't imagine you're dying to offer your sympathies…" His lips curled into a sneer. "Or did you want to commiserate since your little boy toy also spent the summer meeting someone else?"
Rose scowled. "No," she grated out, mentally trying to contain her temper (another trait she inherited from both parents). "I wanted to share an idea I had—a way for both of us to make lemonade out of the lemons we've been given, if you will."
"Not interested," he told her simply, his mask of boredom once again in place.
Huffing, Rose crossed her arms. (He hadn't even thought about hearing her out before turning her down! Way to be, Scorpius Malfoy.) "Fine. Be a prat." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "See if I care."
Now he was smirking just a little. "If I recall, you were the one who—"
"Let's not," she cut in, turning and hurrying the rest of the way to the Owlery. She was irritated enough as it was, no reason to add guilt to the mix.
A week and a half later, after Abigail received a letter at breakfast and promptly started squealing to her pack of giggling girlfriends, Scorpius sought her out. "I'm in, Weasley," he told her, bypassing all pleasantries.
Rose blinked. "But you don't even—"
"I don't care," he interrupted. "We can chat after dinner tonight." A few of their classmates were shooting them strange looks and Scorpius scowled. "Meet me outside the Head dormitory—we'll talk there." Then he stalked off.
Despite his chilly demeanor and bossy attitude, Rose smiled. There might be hope for this year yet.