Gift For: jade_chan
Featured Character or Pairing(s): Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Summary: Every rose in the bouquet symbolizes an important memory in their relationship. Rose’s bouquet is colorful and precious.
Author's/Artist's notes: Information on colors of flowers were found at various online sites. Thanks to my betas! Written for weasley_fest for jade_chan. I'll post a chapter a day until it's complete.
“Gratitude is born in hearts that take time to count up past mercies.” – Charles E. Jefferson
“You are such a… a jerk, Scorpius Malfoy!” Rose Weasley’s voice cut sharply through the quiet din of the Ravenclaw common room, which was mercifully under-populated during the lunch hour
The wiser ones of the small crowd melted into the background and out of the room. Three years of experience taught them that when Rose and Scorpius had words, the best thing to do was simply get out of the way. Both had scathing tongues and quick wits—dangerous at any time.
“It’s the right way to do it, and you know it,” Scorpius shot back. Smugly. The little cretin, she thought angrily.
“It is not. Once you calculate the absolutes and balance the Pythagorean sets, the entire thing falls apart,” she replied hotly.
“We’re not even on Pythagorean sets yet, Rosie. The assignment doesn’t call for that. Let’s just get the bloody thing done already! I have a Potions project to do.”
The casual use of a hated nickname made Rose see red. It was a worse trigger than the plucking of her hair—those tugs on her braids, on ponytails, on any stray curl that happened to be available whenever he felt like picking on her. “I don’t care, Score,” she said. He didn’t wince at the nickname though she knew he wasn’t fond of it. “We’ll do this right or by Merlin, we’ll both fail this project! And I do NOT fail anything!” Her small hands slammed down onto the table emphatically.
Scorpius leaned forward, mimicking her position. “You will not cause me to fail this assignment,” he said, steady, calm, and all too quiet.
For the first time, Rose realized she’d really made him angry. The implied threat, however, made her even angrier. “You don’t scare me, Malfoy, so don’t even try.” She tossed her head, sending her auburn curls bouncing.
“Don’t push me, Rosie,” he said fiercely.
“Go leap off the Astronomy Tower,” she yelled, fed up with the entire argument. She jerkily grabbed her bag and stomped out of the common room. “At least then I can do the project my way,” she muttered, wishing she had a door to slam behind her.
“Hey, Xander, have you seen Scorpius?” Rose asked her yearmate Slytherin as she passed him on the way out of the Great Hall headed toward her first—and, she knew, Scorpius’ second—class of the day.
“Hm?” The odd boy looked up, pulled out of his own little world—Aunt Luna’s son was weird, no question, but then, so was his father, Blaise Zabini. “Oh, up near the Charms classroom. I think your cousin James was wanting a word with him.”
Rose cursed and stormed past him. The rather unflappable boy merely blinked and went on his way. “Damn Gryffindors,” she muttered darkly, having an inkling of what James might want to say to her Housemate.
By the time she arrived at the corridor, it was deserted but for Scorpius, who was looking rather the worse for wear. His usually impeccable (almost abnormally so) robes were rumpled, his tie askew. A closer look showed a smear of blood under his nose where he’d obviously tried to wipe away a nosebleed. His bag of things was strewn at his feet: parchment, quills, books and ink.
“Ah, bloody hell,” she swore. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him and resurrect him and kill him again, the great big berk.”
Scorpius regarded her warily, pale hand touching his nose gingerly. His eyes seemed to accuse her silently, and she realized with a start that he thought she’d sent James after him. She marched right up to him and moved his hand, dabbing at the blood still slowly seeping with a clean hanky Conjured with a flick of her wand.
“Well, are you happy now?” he asked softly, voice sounding a little thicker than normal. Rose didn’t think it was broken, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Believe me, I’m the last person to send James after anyone. The wanker.” Rose considered her cousin, James Sirius, a cross her family had to bear. A very annoying and mischievous cross.
“And your other cousins?” There was less accusation now, and Scorpius wasn’t trying to subtly lean away from her any longer.
A storm cloud of slowly seething rage crossed behind her eyes. “The coward. I can’t believe he’s in Gryffindor. I’m really sorry, Scorpius. I can’t believe he did this.” Her sincerity bled through her anger.
The blond boy sighed and took the hanky from her, dabbing carefully at his tender nose. “Let’s just get to Transfiguration. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.” He wouldn’t apologize for accusing her, but his tone made it clear he believed her.
“All right.” Unconsciously, her hands roamed, straightening his clothing with brisk economical movements that she’d learned from her mother. This time he did make a sound of protest—his dignity demanding it, she suspected with a smile. “Let’s get this picked up, and we’ll be there in a trifle.”
They shuffled his stuff into some semblance of order, and for the first time Scorpius expressed anger when he realized that the essay he’d labored long and hard over—Rose knew better than almost anyone that Transfiguration wasn’t his best or favourite subject—was missing. “He took it! That, that…”
“Are you sure you had it?” Rose asked.
“Yes I’m sure! Merlin, Rose, you saw how hard I worked on it. Like I would forget it the day it’s due!”
Rose took a deep breath, conscious of the fact that people would start coming through the Charms corridor any moment. “Go, go,” she told Scorpius, pushing him gently down the hall. “I’ll get it, just go.”
He made as if to protest, but just then there was the first pre-class rush, and his mouth clicked shut in the presence of so many others. “Go,” she hissed once more, and this time he went.
She slid into Transfiguration class five minutes late, just as Professor McGonagall was calling for them to hand in their essays. She endured the lecture on tardiness passively and apologized with a simple, “I’m sorry, Professor, I forgot my essay in my room. It won’t happen again.” She sat down in the seat next to Scorpius with suppressed breathlessness, and he could just barely make out the edge of his essay tucked neatly under her own.
His joy in getting his essay in time to turn it in was only eclipsed later that day by the faint hand print still visible on James Potter’s cheek.
The next morning Rose was woken early by the tapping of an owl on the dormitory window. Her roommates grumbled, and she stumbled to open it. A regal looking owl swooped in on silent wings, dropped something on her bed, and swooped back out before she could even think of closing the window.
She growled quietly under her breath and went back to bed, practically diving under the covers to warm up again. It was then she turned her attention to what had been delivered—a single pink rose, partly opened and obviously in stasis.
There was a small note and a larger scroll of parchment attached to the beautiful flower. The note read simply, Thank you, in Scorpius’ distinctively elegant scrawl. The scroll turned out to contain their Arithmancy project, complete with the revisions she’d argued with him for just yesterday.
She sniffed the flower and smiled. Her frienemy certainly knew how to say thank you.