Scorrose

six - edit

The following morning in the Great Hall, Rose received some mail from home while reading the Daily Prophet. She instantly knew what it was by its soft, lumpy packaging and set it at her feet to finish reading and eat her oats.

She had spent the morning trying to smile at people as she passed by in the hallways, something she almost never did. She also found herself striking up a short conversation with a few of her Quidditch teammates loitering near one of the tables, all of whom seem surprised by her behavior.

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 Polly 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 and looked back at the newspaper, trying not to think about Scorpius and Polly's absence. After a few minutes, she heard somebody approach and turned to see Albus.

"You're alone today?" Rose said.

"Yeah."

"Where's your second in command?" She asked, hoping her voice sounded nonchalant.

"Not here," he said dismissively. "Rose, I wanted to apologize about what I said the other day. I think I went a bit too far."

Rose looked down at her oatmeal. "It's fine. You were right."

"Well, I shouldn't have said all that," Albus continued. "Look, I don't think you're a bad person. And I'm glad we're friends. It makes the family gatherings more bearable."

She didn't respond for a moment. "I'm sorry, too," she said, her voice quiet. "For my past behavior. I don't think I'm above you, or Scorpius, if that's what you two thought."

"We don't," Albus said. "Er– Scorpius also says sorry."

"He's made a habit of making you his apology owl lately, hasn't he?"

"Polly convinced him to have breakfast with him by the lake. Made him wake up at the break of dawn, too." Albus sighed, rubbing his eye. "The idiot knocked down his books in the morning and woke up the whole dormitory."

"Oh." Rose set her newspaper down now, folding it up. She hadn't been able to focus on the article anyway. "They're spending time together now? I thought it was just going to be the dance."

"I dunno," Albus said. "But who could say no to Polly Chapman?"

"Just seems odd, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Albus tilted his head at her, pausing. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I don't," Rose said. "You never told me who your date was, by the way.

"Er..." Albus' ears turned pink. "The first girl I asked said no, actually. She was already going with somebody else. But she set me up with her friend, who's a little younger than us. Her name is Shannon."

"You've met her?"

"Yeah." His ears seemed to redden even more. "She's pretty. And nice." He didn't volunteer up any more information. "I'm gonna start heading over to my first class. I'll see you later."

She waved goodbye. After finishing up the rest of her breakfast, she grabbed her package and made her way back to the dormitory to set it aside for the day.

It wasn't until much later that evening, after dinner, that Rose had a chance to open her mail.

The dress robes 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 lavish dress. They were not a poor family, though it looked like it cost more than they could comfortably afford. She wondered what kind of dress robes they'd bought for her brother, Hugo.

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

My dearest 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 not just my classmates, but myself, that I was more than a library rat. It was the first time in my life I felt truly beautiful. It taught me that wit, intelligence, and beauty are not mutually exclusive traits – they can all belong to the same girl.

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. For this one night, let yourself wear a pretty dress, let yourself alter your hair as you see fit, let yourself do whatever you want to do to feel beautiful.

But don't forget that you are stunning as you are, darling, and no dress or hairstyle will change that.

And if somebody you've never spoken to asks you to dance, set aside your pride and dance with them. You're a stubborn one, Rosie. I want you to enjoy yourself however you can.

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 color; 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 over the way her mum had looked the night of their Yule ball— "like an actual woman," he'd said, and as teasing as the comment was, it was laced with 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.

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 asked her to the ball not once, but twice, and she had rejected him. About how, now that he had found somebody new, she was starting to feel 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 if she did write back and her father somehow got to the letter first, she was afraid he'd go nuts if he realized she was thinking about a Malfoy in that way. And anyway, she knew that by the time the letter reached home, the ball would probably be over.

She sighed, then carefully returned the dress into the box, knowing it wouldn't be long now before she would have to take it back out.