STAY
Scorpius Malfoy did not ever think he would have come to this—of all things, this.
He had often considered the notion that the Malfoys had some sort of history of insanity that had been passed down from generation to generation—and rightly so, too, knowing that he was, after all, related to Bellatrix Lestrange. But he'd always prided himself for somehow growing up rather normal. Quiet and moody at times, but definitely normal, like he'd been the exceptional Malfoy who'd somehow escaped this 'insane gene' that had cursed his family for centuries.
But Scorpius had been wrong all along, it seemed, because he'd have to be truly insane to have accidentally caught feelings for Rose Weasley.
He didn't mean to, of course—and who ever means to catch feelings for someone?
Perhaps they'd always been there, buried in the deepest pits of his heart, while he forcefully busied himself with school, family and, well, more school. Perhaps he'd always known it but never quite come to terms with it—Scorpius, like his father, had a knack for avoiding anything and everything that had do with his emotions. He thought them silly and insipid and a complete waste of time—this was before Rose Weasley, of course.
But his feelings eventually caught up with his mind that he'd stuffed with essays and exams. And when they did, they hit him like a strong Stunning spell. Except they hurt a lot more.
The revelation that he was hopelessly in love with Rose came to him on a wintry November evening. The grounds of Hogwarts were frosted with snow that day, and the castle walls did not help much to insulate the freezing students. It was on bitingly cold days like these that Scorpius spent his free time in the Hogwarts library which seemed to be the only place in the castle, save for their common-rooms, that seemed to give off heat that was warming and made one's eyes feel droopy and tired.
Scorpius, as per usual, was buried under a stack of Potions' books. Professor Alistair, his potions teacher, seemed to revel at the very idea of giving students more homework than they could handle. Scorpius had already spent two hours finishing off an essay on the effects of the Silver-Winged-Moth epidemic on wizards and Muggles in the 19th century. He had just started the introduction to his newest essay when he heard the sweet and familiar sound of Rose Weasley greeting him and, startled, he looked up.
Scorpius could not understand the funny feeling that began to stir in his stomach when she smiled at him softly.
"Alistair's homework?" she inquired as she flopped down beside him, her haphazard red curls seeming to take up more space than she did. Scorpius nodded, wishing he didn't look so much like a codfish when he did that. Then he looked down and pretended to concentrate on the tiny swirl of his handwriting on the parchment. In the start of the 12th Century, wizards and Muggles alike mistook Sunflower seeds for . . .
No matter how much he tried, Scorpius simply could not get the words to stick to his head and instead they whooshed past like thin air, leaving enough space in his head for thoughts about Rose Weasley and how, today, she seemed to look the same as ever but . . . different, somehow, prettier. He glanced back up at her, half worrying she would catch him staring, but as expected, Rose had quickly grabbed one of his potions' books and was now completely immersed in it.
The weak rays of the evening sun touched nothing in the library but Rose's hair which let off a reddish-orange glow that Scorpius couldn't help but admire. She was always so woefully disheartened about her hair and her classmates' ginger jokes certainly did not help matters to much improve. He didn't understand what all the fuss was about. He rather liked it, her hair. Alright, so Rose needed a better brush and more conditioner, but otherwise it was perfectly fine. Back when they were twelve—and when Scorpius had a lot more boldness going about doing these things—he would wrap his finger around one of her long and loose curls and tug at it, just to annoy her. Scorpius couldn't remember now whether it'd ever worked.
