Scorrose

six

The following day, Rose received a package during breakfast in the Great Hall. She instantly knew what it was by its lumpy packaging and set it at her feet; several other girls had excitedly run to their rooms when they had received theirs, but she had no real motivation to do so.

She glanced over at the Slytherin table. Albus was sitting alone; no Scorpius in sight. She couldn't help but look over at the place that Polly Chapman usually sat— her friends were all there, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe Scorpius had been snogging her that day he'd been late to class. Maybe he was doing it right now.

She didn't realize she'd been staring at the Slytherin table until Albus met her eyes and mouthed, "What?"

She shook her head, grabbed her package, and headed to her dormitory without finishing her food.

The dress her mother had sent was a floor length, silk garment of deep emerald green; even at first glance, it was so beautiful Rose's breath caught in her throat. She touched the fabric gingerly—it felt like cool water on her fingertips. She pulled it out carefully, slowly, as if afraid she might ruin it with her fingerprints, and placed it against the front of her body, looking down at herself.

She'd never owned anything quite so gorgeous and was more than surprised that her parents had bought such a dress. They were not a poor family, though it looked like it cost more than they could comfortably afford. She wondered what dress robes they'd bought for Hugo.

Rose set the dress on her four-poster bed and plucked out a letter her mother had included in the box.

My dear Rose,

I've noticed you haven't shown as much enthusiasm for the upcoming ball as some people (Hugo), but I assure you it is not as nerve-wracking as it may feel. When I was a fourth year, the ball gave me a chance to show everybody that I was more than a library rat— it was the first time in my life I felt truly beautiful. Of course, you are beautiful as you are, and no dress or fancy hairstyle will change that.

Remember, dear, it does not matter who you attend the ball with or who may hurt you by not having the courage to ask— what matters is how you feel in that moment when you walk down the staircase towards the Great Hall, knowing that for this one night, you can be as confident and free as you want to be.

There may be boys you've never spoken to who may want to dance with you, and in that moment, set aside your pride and dance with them. I know how you like to be stubborn when it comes to affection, but sometimes it's okay to let go of who you are and, for a few hours, become someone else. I love you sweetheart. Have loads of fun.

Love, mum

P.S. I hope you like the dress. It will go magnificently with your hair. Your father wasn't too keen on the colour; he wanted you to sport something red and gold for your house. Honestly, he has been rather surly at the thought of you dancing with a boy, but I think he will manage. He sends his love.

Rose smiled at the letter. She'd heard her father rave of it several times when her mum was out of earshot about the way she'd looked the night of their Yule ball— "like an actual woman," he'd said, and as sarcastic as the comment was, it held an uncomfortable amount of affection.

She sat down at the edge of her bed next to her dress and stared at it for a moment, wondering if years down the road, someone might recall the memory of her at the ball with just as much love. She wondered if her mother was right; if somebody she'd never spoken to would ask her to dance. It would've been her first time dancing with a boy.

Or perhaps someone she did know would ask her.

Perhaps even if he had a date.

She had an urge to write her mum back, to tell her about Scorpius and how he'd been asking her for months and she had mindlessly rejected him every time, but now that he'd found somebody new, she was feeling almost... regretful.

She mulled the thought over in her head. It felt odd to admit to herself what she was truly feeling.

If he asked one more time, if he came in to her dormitory that very moment and asked her again, would she still turn him down? Even though she had told him she would never go with him?

But, she thought miserably, if she did write back, her father may somehow get to the letter first— he'd go absolutely nuts if he knew she was thinking about a Malfoy. And anyway, she knew that by the time the letter reached home, the ball would probably be over.

She sighed.

There were only a few days left now.