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Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 1,890
Status: COMPLETED
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Contains Slash (Same-Sex Pairing), Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme
Genres: Drama, Humor, Romance
Characters: Scorpius, Albus, Rose
Pairings: Rose/Scorpius
First Published: 03/19/2010
Last Chapter: 03/26/2010
Last Updated: 03/26/2010
Summary:lovely banner by Elysium at the Dark Arts! parody!fic written for kaityb's Cliche Challenge
For never was there a tale of such woe, as that of Juliet and her Romeo!
Alternatively titled ''Red & Green: the Colours of Christmas"
Chapter 1: Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
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AN: I love a good Scorose as much as anyone (more than some). This is not intended to be offensive, nor is it based on any particular fic, or intended to be particularly serious. This is all silly nonsense, but good fun. Enjoy!
Act 1: The witty banter
Rose throws a furious look at Malfoy. He is buried in a book, because they are in a library and that is generally what you do in libraries, unless you live in a bad teen chick flick. Rose and Malfoy live in Hogwarts, which is sometimes surprisingly similar. Scorpius ignores Rose’s livid look, because he is desperately curious about the history of magical plankton, and how it differs from normal plankton.
As she studies, Rose bites her lip, and because she is such an innocent sweet little thing she is completely unconscious that a simple lip bite is all it takes to turn a boy into a quivering wreck of desire. Scorpius’s eyes darken dangerously, because Malfoys are blessed with conveniently colour shifting eyes, thereby allowing their lovers to know when they are feeling frisky, or just plotting to exterminate mudbloods from the world.
Rose looks away determinedly. The daughter and goddaughter of heroes, she is emotionally invincible and disgusted by the dashing good lucks that have melted the hearts of Hogwarts despite having to battle the epic disadvantages of ferret like features and already thinning hair to do so.
“I hate you,” breathes Rose. It is necessary for her to repeat that, as six years of schooling have apparently not drummed that in. This story opens in the seventh year of our hero and heroine, thereby skipping all the awkward adolescent stages of ugliness and insecurities, and neatly avoiding legal issues of the promiscuous activities of underage students.
“I hate you too,” retorts Malfoy. “After all, my family despises yours and even though I’m somehow nothing like them at all, I’m a really ridiculously good looking pureblood playboy and your prudish ways as a carbon copy of Hermione Granger irritate me.”
“Irritate you?” pouts Rose, again biting her lip in an accidently sexy fashion.
This, of course is the last straw. With total disregard for picky technicalities like there being a table between them, that they are in a public place and barely know each other (staring longingly when the other isn’t looking doesn’t count, that is called stalking, children), the predestined attraction is just too much for either uber intelligent teen to handle.
Lips lock on lips, hair must be described in loving detail as well as the exact position of hands, the feeling in Rose’s belly as well some details disturbingly graphic considering the average fan fiction author age. The kiss continues for some time, dependant on the experience of the narrator and their exposure to romance novels, but eventually, possibly brain damaged from oxygen deprivation, either Rose or Scorpius tears their lips away. Before this, there will be ragged breathing, possibly a cold stone wall which becomes an incredibly sexy cold stone wall, and of course it must be stated that clothes are unbuttoned in total oblivion to the seventeen students who are also occupying the library. That is not the point, my friends. Their forbidden love, sealed by this molten kiss, which is far fierier than the volcanic core of Jupiter, being powered by teen hormones rather than nuclear fission, remains their blissful secret, above all such trivialities as reality.
Act II: the Revelation of the location
Shortly after this explosive opening, which ensures the enthusiastic attention of all connoisseurs of literature, it is revealed that Rose and Scorpius are Head Girl and Boy, and naturally, they have their own dorm. Previously, although space and the attention span of the writer did not permit thorough detailing, these living conditions had been acutely painful. Since they (of course) shared a bathroom, Malfoy has walked in on Rose having bubble baths sprinkled with rose petals while classical music played in the background, and Rose has been surprised by Malfoy’s impressive six pack for a chap without access to a gym, although his collection of hair products is even more amazing.
Now, of course, the situation is even more agonizing. Rose possesses a surprising amount of lacy lingerie slash silly sleep wear slash just don’t ask how she got it, she just did, alright? Anyway, it is driving Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy mad. When she creeps into his room late one night because of a thunderstorm/bad dream/poor taste & innate neediness, it takes all he has not make sweet, sweet love to her right there.
Act III: The talk
“Rose,” whispers Scorpius, putting down his fag (Smoking is cool kids. If it was good enough to kill our grandparents, it’s good enough to kill us).
“What?” whispers back the always witty Rose.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he says sorrowfully, pushing back his long flaxen locks (there are no hairdressers at Hogwarts, ok?).
Rose feels sad. In a short amount of time, her value as a person, plans for the future and self esteem have become tied to Scorpius Malfoy, Sex God.
“Do what?” she breathes, tears welling in her eyes. Some women look unattractive when crying, they get red and swollen and blotchy. Rose looks hot. Scorpius Malfoy doesn’t do fugly.
“You’re nice, Rose, and I’m not,” he reasons, but at the sight of her pitiful puppy dog eyes he relents and pulls her onto his lap. Furniture is scarce about Hogwarts.
“I’ve done things, Red,” he whispers huskily. “In my seventeen years as a sheltered only child of a family closely monitored by Aurors, I’ve seen things you can’t imagine, and done things I’m not proud of.”
“Oh Scor,” sighs Rose mistily, wrapping her arms around him. “That’s why I’m so attracted to you! Your bad boy ways and emotional baggage are all a sensible girl could ever want in a man!”
She proceeds to convince him quite enthusiastically that he is in fact a godly specimen of masculinity, despite his terrible lack of a beard, when a thought (besides a blessing on Wendy’s 24 hours Minty Bliss toothpaste) worms its way into her head.
“Some of those things were other girls, weren’t they?” she accuses him, tears welling in her luminous eyes (again).
He looks uncomfortable. Go figure.
“None of them were as hot as you. Well there was that Veela, but she’s not human, -OUCH!”
“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!” shrieks Rose at the top of her large lungs.
“Well, you’ve seen all those STI potions I have to take every morning – what did you think, that I was bonking Al?”
“Ew!” Rose screams, fleeing to her room at this mental image and never coming out ever again.
Act IV: The Broom Closet and the Declarations
Rose and Scorpius are out and about doing their patrols because occasionally Head Boy and Girl have to work together. They have not talked since the Incident previously mentioned, and sexual tension is more than either can bear.
For no apparent reason, the appearance of a broom closet gives Scorpius a wonderful idea. He pulls Rose in it and closes the door.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Oi, this is already occupied!” snarls the male of the couple already occupying the broom closet.
“There is a roster, you know” snipes the female.
Rose shakes back her hair and lights her wand to discover said couple are about twelve. She delivers a blistering lecture while Scorpius lists other dark corners around Hogwarts the young lovers could use. Rose hits him and he grins as they throw out the couple from the closet.
Rose looks at Scorpius.
Scorpius looks at Rose.
Snogging in a broom closet ensues, complete with swearing, declarations of undying love and moans of the other’s incomparable sexiness. Snogging is how good couples solve problems meaningfully. This is truth.
Act V: Interlude of 1-3 months
{insert another breakup, a passionate makeup that culminates in a poorly constructed sex scene, several breakups and a corresponding amount of makeups as well as a Howler from a purple faced Ron Weasley when a Generic-Name Skeeter publishes revealing photos of our couple on the front page of the Prophet ending in an ugly confrontation of many red headed people thirsting for blood}
Act VI: The end
Because no one likes an unhappy ending or a literal reenactment of Shakespeare, our star crossed lovers overcame all the impossible obstacles in their path to true love and have a short period of bliss and protracted snogging. It is all going wonderfully, yet we all know that happy frolicking in the sunshiny meadows with butterflies is never a good sign. One day, lightning strikes out of nowhere, breaking our little hearts to pieces.
“It’s over, Rosa,” Scorpius says finally, turning to the door with a melodramatic swirl of his cloak. He pauses midswirl. “That totally rhymed! I'm a poet, and I didn't know it!”
“I don’t understand,” Rose says tragically, weeping bucket loads. Behind her, two house elves armed with mops inch closer and closer to the pools of water collecting at her feet.
“I’ve met someone else. Her name is Juliette, and she’s about to become a priestess to Morgana if I don’t convince her to elope with me instead!”
“But –but – my parent’s don’t mind.. your parents think it will win them public support again.. I thought we were going to be together forever,” cries Rose, slipping on the wet stones to fall to her knees.
“I’m sorry, Rosa, but I just don’t love you anymore. Not the way I love Juliette.”
“But I slept with you!” Rose cries, flinging her arms about wildly. Her silky robe falls to the floor, but Scorpius’s mind is elsewhere.
“Ah, sweet Juliette,” sighs Scorpius. He is brought down to earth by the resounding slap Rose, apparently forgetting she is a witch, plants on him.
He draws back stiffly, imagining the time it will take conceal the welt her hand will leave with dismay. That is, after all valuable time he could be using to plagiarize Shake Spear or devise a five phase plan for sneaking into Juliette’s manor (the guard drakes are trained to pounce on Malfoys and rip them to shreds. Scorpius believes this would a deprivation to the human race on par with the death of Dumbledore at least) .
Rose continues her valiant efforts to drown the good people of Hogwarts and Scorpius’s lip curls in disgust. He turns to go, but stops suddenly as a cold pinprick – the sharp tip of eleven inches of sturdy oak – nestles against his neck. It is to be the last thing he ever feels.
It is nearly twelve hours before anyone bothers to come find the missing Heads. Albus, who has not previously featured in the story much because he isn’t as hot, is to endure years of psychotherapy at the traumatic sight of his cousin’s semi naked corpse draped across his equally (not mostly) dead b.f.f. Scorpius Malfoy. He curls up in a ball and rocks back forth, clutching his head in pain.
“Oh you poor, poor souls,” he sobs. “You could have been beautiful.. so beautiful… if only anyone had given you a chance…”
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