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Chapter 11: Scorpius, On: Snoggability
A/N: A while back, someone, maybe a few someones, suggested that I write a chapter from Scorpius’s POV. So, here it is! I hope you all enjoy this little window into Scorpius’s life and mind. You’ll see that he might have a bit more in common with Rose than they both might know, and he certainly has plenty of neuroses of his own. Enjoy!
Scorpius, On: Snoggability
If you’d told me—well, if you’d told me how I’d feel at this very moment when I first started at Hogwarts…I probably would’ve turned around and gotten right back on that train. She’s Rose Weasley. I’m Scorpius Malfoy. That’s not supposed to happen. But I didn’t anticipate that she’d be the one giving me a hard time, giving me trouble, refusing my advances. It should’ve been the other way around. But when she’d drunkenly snogged me that night… Well, she showed her true colours. And by true colours I of course mean her true feelings. True feelings meaning that she wanted to snog the living daylights out of me at all times. And I don’t mind snogging the living daylights out of her at all times. But don’t tell anyone I said that.
After our little encounter in the corridor on Thursday night, things were finally somewhat solidified. This time I made the decisions, and she snogged back. It was a mutual agreement. We both wanted a snog. And then after we ended up falling down behind that trick tapestry contraption… well, I guess it was confirmed that my bizarro Rose Weasley feelings that came to me completely out of my control, and that I didn’t want to experience, were reciprocated. But now… It was Friday. The next morning. The morning after. Although all we’d done was snog a little. But I hadn’t a clue what it meant.
I found myself staring across the Great Hall at her.
She caught my eye, and in her signature, slightly mad Rose Weasley way, she started making weird eyes at me. She was sort of widening her eyes and having odd neck spasms. I furrowed my eyebrows at her, in an attempt to convey the fact that I didn’t understand. I got more neck jerking in response, with a little bit of chin protrusion. I widened my eyes. She widened hers. I shook my head. She jutted her face forward at me. Suddenly that weird girl she always sits with started turning around, I guess to see why Rose was having such face spasms. I practically threw myself on Al.
“Yes, I completely agree,” I said, desperately trying to join the conversation.
Al and Angus stared at me.
“You agree that Professor Pearson is fit for a forty-five-year-old?” Emily asked me. She and her dorm mate, Clara Finn, were now staring at me, as well.
“Er—” I had to think quickly on my feet. Something that us Malfoys are not known for doing. “No. I’m just—my point is that I don’t—we don’t need to listen to your incessant banter about… fit teachers.” I hastily shoved a sausage or four into my mouth, hoping to shut myself up.
Al tapped me on the temple. “Is everything alright in there? You’ve been acting a bit odd lately.”
“I’m fine. Just stressed. Is all. You know… sixth year…”
Good one, Scorp.
They all went back to their conversation about fit teachers. I glanced across the Great Hall again, back toward Rose. She was now very intently reading a letter she’d just received. Maybe I’d invite her to Hogsmeade tomorrow? Although I could somehow foresee her making up some excuse about doing some Potions essay that didn’t actually exist, and thus being unable to make a trip to Hogsmeade. Maybe that would be better. Maybe the world wasn’t quite ready yet for Rose and Scorpius. But I didn’t want to seem like some stupid wanker, not having the balls to ask my secret snog partner to a stupid Hogsmeade trip. Fine, I’ll ask her. I’ll let her be the judge of whether or not the world is ready for us…
“Scorp, you coming to Hogsmeade with us tomorrow?” Al asked, this time deciding to nudge me in the elbow.
Well there goes that plan.
“Er—” Maybe the world wasn’t ready. I tried to imagine explaining to Al that I was planning on going to Hogsmeade, yes, but not with him, with his least favourite cousin, instead. I didn’t like that vision very much. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Al shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you had one of your tutoring sessions with Rose.”
Angus, Emily, and a few others nearby sniggered into their breakfasts. I frowned. That would’ve been a pretty decent excuse.
“You know, you all can feel free to stop poking fun at me about that,” I remarked.
“We know. But we won’t,” said Al, speaking for the group, as usual.
“It’s not my fault that I—er—I really suck at… Divination.”
“I thought she was tutoring you in Charms?” Al asked.
“No, it was Potions,” said Emily.
“Both,” Angus corrected.
I glared at the latter two. “Neither of you were even at the trial.”
Emily shrugged. “Word spreads fast in these halls.”
Thinking on my feet again. Not good. “Well…I’m actually…no longer being tutored in Charms. Now I’m being tutored in Divination… instead.” I glanced back over at Rose. She quickly looked away.
What had I done this time except for save her from imminent danger when we fell through that mysterious tapestry?!
Emily snorted and rolled her eyes at me.
I feared momentarily that the group might have insisted on continuing to pester me about tutoring, but luckily most of them suffered from extremely short attention spans, and Angus changed the subject. “Al, tell Emily and Clara what Rose said about James and Camille,” he insisted. I could see the mermaid tattoo swimming excitedly up and down his arm even through his white dress shirt.
“Oh right,” Al said, laughing through a mouthful of porridge.
I started dropping globs of brown sugar into my own bowl of porridge rather dejectedly. I didn’t quite care to listen to Al’s rendition of last night’s shenanigan’s for the thirtieth time in ten hours.
“So, James’s like making fun of Rose, or whatever, as usual, and so she’s like—” He put on this prissy fake Rose voice that sounded absolutely nothing like her actual real voice. “—‘Well I heard Camille talking about snogging you and she said you were nervous’ or something, whatever, that’s not exactly what she said, but still.” Al’s story was interrupted by his own laughter. “It was so funny. The look on James’s face—”
I tried to make eye contact with Rose again. She looked away.
“So I guess she’s not such a wet blanket then, is she?” I remarked, almost wishing I hadn’t even said anything, right after I’d said it.
“Occasionally she gets lucky, but let’s be real here, mate,” Al said, “The girl’s as wet as blankets get these days.” He shoved another spoonful of porridge into his gob. “I mee, yer look uh weh blankeh in ther dikshonree an’ yer geh a pikshuh a Rose.” He swallowed.
“Right,” I grumbled, hastening another quick glance at her. She was purposely looking to her right, with a hand pressed against the side of her face so she couldn’t see me even if she wanted to.
“Scorp, could you pass me the strawberry jam?” Clara asked me.
I picked up the strawberry jam, which was sitting in front of me, and started passing it down the table to Clara, who was sitting diagonally across from me. However, in the midst of the movement, I caught sight of Rose looking at me, and tried to do some talking with my eyes, which I apparently thought would work from all the way across a room as gigantic as the Great Hall. Instead, I succeeded in spilling pumpkin juice all over Emily Zabini’s shirt and lap.
“Scorpius! Are you kidding me!?” she shrieked, jumping up out of her chair and grabbing up everyone’s napkins, trying desperately to mop up some of the orange wetness that was now running down her front.
“Satan’s toothpaste!” cried Angus. He’d gotten a little bit of the residual splash on his sleeve.
“Fuck!” Emily threw the napkins down on the table in defeat, apparently momentarily forgetting that she was a witch with magical powers.
Al was now standing, probably trying to be all manly and boyfriend-ish.
“Er—what charm do we use again? To get rid of…” Al trailed off, realising his inadequacy.
“Tergeo,” I grumbled, pointing my wand at Emily. The liquid was siphoned off.
“Bloody…” Emily was grumbling. She felt the front of her shirt to make sure it was dry. Deciding it met her approval, she sat back down with a huff. “You’re such a git, Scorpius.”
“Sorry,” I grumbled, slopping some lumpy porridge into my mouth. Then I spat it all out back into the bowl in front of me. I’d added just ten too many spoonfuls of brown sugar.
There was silence for a few moments. I was too afraid of checking on Rose again. Someone could actually spot me doing it this time, and for some reason I felt it completely unacceptable that I had any sort of feelings toward the poor girl, despite the fact that she was pretty, smart, and had genius comic timing. I blame it on Al. And my parents.
I noticed people around me starting to get up and checked Rose’s seat. She was just rising. Well it was almost time for class, and she’d probably rather be caught in a compromising situation with me involving apples and nail polish than be late.
That’s just a wild guess, though.
“Alright, well I’d best be going. See you all in Arithmancy,” I said quickly, standing up and half-looking at Rose to make sure she didn’t slip out of my sight.
“None of us take Arithmancy,” Emily remarked.
“Right, well, see you—” She was nearing the entrance. “—Whenever. Bye.” I darted off. Once we were outside, safely out of the view of my grumpy friends, I grabbed Rose’s arm. “Rose,” I said quietly.
She leapt away from me, as though I was some sort of dragon who’d just seared her flesh to the bone. “Christ—what are you doing!”
She always manages to make everything into a much bigger deal than it actually is.
She then grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the nearest empty classroom, folding her arms across her chest. “What do you want?”
I looked at her a little expectantly. “What do you mean ‘what do I want’?”
Her cheeks turned a little pink, but she didn’t budge.
I racked my brain for something to say. What did I want? “Well—well, you were the one who was grabbing on to me for dear life when we fell through that—that—tapestry—whatever—thing.”
She turned a little pinker, and unfolded her arms. “W—I was scared!” she almost shouted. “I didn’t know—I had no clue where we were falling. I thought—you know—it could’ve been some trap set by… Voldemort’s evil spawn… that no one knew existed—and he was now making his—er—entrance—or… you know…” she trailed off.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Her response was to stare at the ground, very intently, as though perhaps reading the shoe smears and bubble gum stains like they were tea leaves left at the bottom of her mug. Maybe they’d offer some semblance of an answer as to what on earth we were playing at with one another.
“Look… I think we both know why we’re in here,” I finally admitted.
She sighed quietly and then looked up at me. “So, what—I mean, what was that… last night?”
“You tell me.”
“Why should I tell you? You were the one snogging me.”
She had a point. “Fine. Well. Clearly I wanted to snog you. So there, I said it. I think you’re highly… snoggable.”
Her face was now the colour of a ripe tomato. “Yes, well, maybe you’re… snoggable, too. But I don’t think we should go shouting about it. That we both find the other… snoggable. Because, it could just be a little fad, or something.”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “Could just be a phase. Hormonal. All that.”
She nodded. “Exactly. So we’re agreed?”
She held out a hand. It took me a moment to realise I was supposed to shake it. So I did. Then we both dropped our hands to our sides and looked around the room a little aimlessly.
“Can I just…?” I started.
“What?” she asked.
I leaned forward, suddenly getting very self-conscious, and gave her a little peck on the cheek. Before I could fully withdraw my lips from her face, she almost met them with her own, taking a moment to lean in and plant a soft kiss on them. Which of course escalated into more of a snog. Before the hands could go anywhere exciting, I quickly pulled away.
“Sorry—erm—someone could see us, you know.”
“Right,” she said. “Right. Well. Bye!”
Then she ran out the door.
After that despicable sham of an encounter with the girl I was apparently finding highly and temporarily snoggable, and absolutely nothing else, I had lots of classes with said snoggable individual, during which we both pretended to ignore one another while actually staring at each other out of the corner of our eyes. And then quickly looking away. So much that I think I might have a permanent crick in my neck.
I practically fell asleep during Divination—it’s last period on a Friday, in a muggy, dark room, how do you not fall asleep??—and probably would’ve if it hadn’t been for Tony McLaggen’s witty commentary. Tony McLaggen’s such an absolute moron that he had to repeat sixth year Divination. Sixth year Divination. I mean honestly.
Fifteen minutes to go, I was snoozing off into a fantasy realm involving Rose, a plate of canary creams, and mermaids swimming through a lake of pumpkin juice when Tony’s brilliance interrupted my daydream (daynightmare, rather).
“Whoa, Jasper, when did you get your ears pierced?” he said, during a moment of silence in Firenze’s lecture.
Everyone shot a questioning look at Tony.
“See? Everyone looked… except… everyone…”
Class was soon dismissed and I’d barely made it down the corridor when a perky ponytail appeared at my side.
“Oh, hey, Scorpius!”
I glanced over my right shoulder. It was that Lucy Weasley. “Hi,” I said rather glumly.
“Er, nothing,” was my response.
“Aren’t you glad it’s Friday? I’m so glad it’s Friday. I can’t wait to go to Hogsmeade. Merlin, I love Hogsmeade, do you love Hogsmeade?” She sounded a little nervous, judging from the rate at which these words were leaving her mouth. “I need some new quills, I guess I’ll go to Scrivenshafts. Speaking of quills, how’s your tutoring going? With Rose, I mean?”
“What in the name of Salazar Slytherin’s Star Wars figurine collection has that got to do with Rose and my tutoring sessions?”
“Oh, well I just was going to ask if you’ve noticed her… erm…” She cleared her throat before continuing. “Nasty habit.”
“What nasty habit?” The corridors were thinning now, and we were now headed the back way down to the dungeons. We were the only two within earshot.
“Oh, just—it’s really nothing, but she loves chewing on quills. All kinds. And then she gets these nasty little feather balls in her mouth and spits them out all over the place.” Lucy’s lips tugged back slightly, making a face as though she were basking a little in Rose’s embarrassment. “Hermione told me she used to leave them all around the house when she was younger.” Lucy shuddered. “Gross.”
“Yup, pretty gross. Don’t you have to go that way? For the Gryffindor common room?”
“Oh, no, I’m actually headed down to Slytherin to—er—ask Al something.”
“Right. Good thing I’m going to the library, then. Bye!” I darted off the other way.
Flora O’Connell had (somehow) long overcome her dragon pox, so my rounds were with her again, and not Rose… unfortunately. I was hoping that we’d somehow possibly run into one another—just because my lips were feeling a little lonely, for no other reason, of course—and even took a (major) detour on my way back to the dungeons, involving about dozen extra staircases, but it was all to no avail. The next morning, my mates and I ate a quick brunch in the Great Hall before heading off through the blustery, frigid snow to Hogsmeade. We made our way, shivering, to The Three Broomsticks, but found it unsurprisingly jam-packed on a day like today.
“Well that’s great,” said Al, kicking a chunk of ice that lay innocently next to his feet, causing it to go flying dangerously close to a nearby third year’s skull. “Where are we supposed to go now?”
“I’m not sure what you expected,” Emily remarked. “It’s, like, negative ten out here and about to blizzard.”
“Let’s just go to the Hog’s Head,” Angus suggested.
“That place is disgusting,” said Emily, shutting the idea down almost instantly.
“Well, have you got any other suggestions?” asked Angus.
At that moment, Flora O’Connell walked by with another friend. “Hi, Scorpius,” she offered politely.
“Hi,” I replied, not paying much attention.
Al let out a little scoff of disapproval. “Why does she get to go in there, but we don’t?” he asked, extending a hand so we could see through the window how she and her friend were now sitting down with a few other people from her year.
“She’s meeting people,” said Clara.
Al pressed his face against the glass. “Do we know anyone else in there?”
I hastened a glance at the window, and my eyes immediately fell upon Rose, sitting at the bar, wearing her usual scowl, with that weird, chocolate frog-obsessed friend of hers. I resisted the urge to point out her presence. I really resisted. I knew if I mentioned her name, it would just spark more questions about our mystery tutoring, or someone would wonder why I was paying so much attention to Rose, or why I even noticed her in there, when she all-but blended in with the scenery. This would all inevitably lead to a confession of my love for Rose. Er—and by love, I of course mean my discovery of her heightened snoggability. That’s all. I promise.
“Rose is in there.” This was Angus, not me—thank Merlin.
“Rose? Where? Oh, there’s no way I’m going in to sit with Rose,” said Al.
“Ugh, I’m bloody freezing,” Emily said. “Can we please just make a decision?”
“Well, first off, she’s sitting at the bar,” said Al, apparently ignoring his girlfriend’s plight. “Who sits at the bar in The Three Broomsticks besides child predators and lonely third years who think that’s the cool thing to do?”
“Child predators?” I repeated, pretty sure that I was the only one to hear that comment.
“Bloody crap, I’m freezing my arse off,” said Clara, bouncing up and down in an effort to warm herself up.
“Let’s just go to The Hog’s Head, then!” said Angus once more.
“No!” Emily objected.
My eyes fell once more on Rose, huddled over her butterbeer, looking almost on the verge of a panic attack. She was probably worried because she got less than an O on some recent assignment that didn’t really count toward anything. Stupid Flora O’Connell. Why did she have to go and recover from her dragon pox and start doing rounds with me again? So I only did rounds once with Rose. And we didn’t even snog. Or really talk that much, except for her answering any and all questions with either one word or some sort of insult about my lineage and/or ferret-like features. But I had a feeling that night would be—could be—different if we could just get some time alone together again. We could talk. And snog. Mostly snog. With a little talking on the side.
“Al, remove the stick from your arse and just let us go in and talk to your cousin,” Clara was saying, when I returned to the real world.
“Urgh!” was all Al managed. “Fine! We’ll go to the bloody bar and bloody talk to stupid bloody Rose!”
A brilliant plan suddenly popped into my head.
“Er—I just realised—I have to go get something. I’ll meet you guys in there!” I said quickly, slipping a little on the ice in my haste. I made my way down High Street to Zonko’s, and over to the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes section. I grabbed a few Skiving Snackboxes and quickly bought them before unwrapping one of each of the contained items, being careful to break off the end that cancelled out the puking, nosebleeding, fevering, etc., and shoved the candies in my pocket. Then I hurried back down the practically empty, snow-covered street to The Three Broomsticks.
I waved quickly to Al—the four of them were all squished around Rose’s chair; I couldn’t even see her face, which was probably painted with a look of utter anger and pure irritation toward her cousin—but headed over to Flora’s table.
“Oh, hey there, Flora!” I said, probably a little too cheerfully.
“Hi, Scorpius,” she said in response, shooting a slight glance at her friend.
“Listen, I was just wondering, do you know if—” But then I leaned forward, taking care to knock her mug of hot chocolate all across the table. “Oh! Bloody—would you look at that. I am so sorry, Flora. Let me get you a new one—”
“Oh, that’s fine, Scorpius, it didn’t get anywhere—”
But I quickly snatched up the mug before she could siphon up the liquid and pour it all back in there, or something, and marched off to the bar. “One hot chocolate, please,” I said. My eyes darted around the room as I suddenly became very conscious that someone nearby could see what I was about to do, and think that I was about to roofie someone’s drink. The hot chocolate came, and I sneakily dropped in all of the symptom-inducing contents of the Skiving Snackbox, which I’d so deftly separated out. I then brought Flora back her drink.
“Oh, thanks, Scorpius, that was really nice of you,” said Flora, taking the piping hot mug from my hands.
“No problem. Oh, look, there are my friends, well I’d best be going, see you tonight for rounds!” I hurried off and found my friends at the bar, still huddled around Rose like bees. Get it? Because she’s a rose?
“Rose—could you just, like, scootch over just a bit—” Al was saying.
“No!” Rose snapped back at him. “You lot can’t just come over here and hover around me just because I’m the only person you know in here!” She paused. “How is it possible that I’m the only person you know in here?”
Al ignored that last bit. “I just need to be able to get my drink.” He leaned forward, awkwardly squeezing between Rose and the person sitting to her right at the bar. “Er—yes, that butterbeer’s for me! Down here!” he called to the bartender.
Rose rolled her eyes and started turning slightly. She caught sight of me and faced front again. She took a final swig of her butterbeer before announcing, “This is ridiculous. I’ve got to go, anyway.” With a sigh, she hopped off her barstool. The four all immediately leapt for the empty seat, like panthers on their pray, pushing one another out of the way and off the stool.
“Rose, where are you going?” the Chocolate Frog Girl asked, spinning around in her seat.
Emily eyed her like she was an innocent gazelle, waiting for the opportunity to snatch up her seat.
“I just need a minute, Ariadne,” Rose told her, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Chocolate Frog Girl just shrugged, turning back to face the bar.
My friends were much too distracted to notice me slip off, following Rose back outside and around the side of the pub.
“Rose!” I called after her.
She didn’t even bother turning around, and kept walking forward. “Just go away,” she insisted.
“No, what’s wrong? What did I do?” I asked.
She kept walking. “Go away!” she repeated.
“No—seriously, Rose, what’ve I done? Would you just stop avoiding me?!”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything.” She waved her hand, as though flicking me away.
“Then why are you ignoring me?” I asked, even more confused than I was before.
She turned so abruptly that I almost walked right smack into her.
“I just need some peace and quiet and time to myself, that’s all,” she said sternly, clearly serious about me leaving her alone. “Now, please be off on your merry way. I’m sorry, but maybe snogging’s just not in the cards for you today.” She dangled her hands in front of me, bent at the wrist and nudging forwards. “Shoo.”
She actually just shooed me. I just got shooed. Like I was a bloody fly or something.
“Well, fine.” I stumbled backward a bit, a little thrown off my rocker with startled embarrassment. I didn’t exactly wake up that morning, hoping to be shooed. And not only was I being shooed, I was being shooed by none other than Rose Weasley. “I’ll just be seeing you for rounds tonight.” With that, I turned on my heel, and started marching off, back to the pub’s entrance.
“We haven’t got rounds together,” she called after me, in a tone suggesting that I may as well have just claimed to be the Emperor of Mars moonlighting as a blast-ended skrewt salesman.
I ignored her. Much to my bliss, there was a bit of commotion in The Three Broomsticks when I reentered. Flora seemed to be having a bit of a nosebleed. She also looked a bit feverish. And nauseous. Then she toppled out of her chair, fainting.
That’s how Rose and I ended up on rounds together again that night. It really was quite lucky, as the Head Boy and Girl could’ve really chosen anyone to replace Flora. It was destiny.
…Er, anyway, she was already there when I got to our meeting spot on the second floor.
“You’re late,” she growled, barely even looking me in the eye. She swiftly stood up from against the marble wall and started walking down the corridor, expecting me to hurry up and follow.
“Honestly, Rose, what’s gotten your knickers in such a twist?” I asked. I was getting really agitated with her attitude. There really was no reason whatsoever for her to keep acting this way towards me.
“And I bet saying things like that to me will definitely get me to open up to you,” she remarked.
I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Rose.” I tilted her head up by the jaw, placing my hands on her slender neck. I could feel her veins throbbing with frustration and whatever pent-up anger she currently had welling inside her. “I’m sorry. But I’d really appreciate knowing what I did to deserve this treatment.”
She sort of squinted at me, as though to call me an arsehole without using any words. “Would you let go of my face please?” was all she said.
I did as I was told.
It became clear to her that I wasn’t moving, so she sighed, and finally acquiesced. Or at least, she made as though she were going to acquiesce. She opened her mouth before shutting it again, then opened it, then shut it, quite like a goldfish. Then the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the unbelievable happened. Her chin started quivering.
“My—my cousin is…” She sighed again, chin still quivering like a whore in church. “Victoire’s pregnant, and I’m the only one who knows besides Teddy, and I just got a letter from her saying she moved out of Teddy’s house and she wants to call off the wedding and it’s all my fault because I didn’t tellanyonewhenshetoldmeandnowIstilldon’tknowifIshouldtellanyonebutIjusttoldyouandIdon’tknowwhattodoooooooo!!” With a horribly depressing moan, she buried her face in her hands, and I could tell from the amount shaking her body was currently experiencing, she was crying, but trying incredibly hard to make herself stop.
I found Rose snoggable. Which meant I wanted to snog her, and nothing more. That was it. No strings attached, no emotions. Who wants those pesky emotions, anyway? But why was I now finding her so… oddly… huggable?
But “Er…Rose,” was all I managed.
She wiped her eyes hastily before looking at me through glossed-over eyes surrounded by raccoon-like red blotches. Not snoggable. Nor huggable. Or so I could try and convince myself.
“I’m really sorry but… Maybe I’m not the best person to be telling this to.”
I really didn’t want to deal with a girl crying all her problems into my shoulder. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to deal with crying people, much less crying girls, much less crying Rose Weasley, who seems to have more baggage than the homeless lady on the corner who has five dogs. Call me selfish, but in all sincerity, I didn’t know much about the girl beyond her lips.
“You’re right, sorry, I’ll just, you know, owl my mum tomorrow…” She rolled her eyes and looked away, mumbling something under her breath.
“If you want to head back to Gryffindor Tower, that’s fine, I can finish rounds on my own.”
She chewed momentarily on her lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
She looked at me for a moment, almost as though she were deciding what to do next, before scampering off down the corridor and presumably to Gryffindor Tower. I, meanwhile, had zero desire whatsoever to continue these rounds. I started having a wee bit of a panic attack, Rose Weasley-style. I darted down the nearest staircase, made my way to the Entrance Hall, and hastened a glance around the cavernous space before yanking open the massive door to Hogwarts Castle and slipping outside, into the frosty January night. I shivered, clutching my shoulders with my hands, feeling the icy wind rub uncomfortably against my cheeks. I ignored it and descended the steps. I found a nice tree to lean moodily against, and whipped out my carton of fags from my pants pocket. I lit it with that charm Rose had used on New Year’s, when she’d found me having problems with my lighter at her grandmum’s house. I know I looked like a right prat, leaning up against a tree, shivering as the wind whirled by me, dramatically smoking a fag. But sometimes a bloke just needs one to relax himself. Clear his mind.
Clear his mind because maybe he was having a bit of an internal crisis. Like I said, if you had told me how I was feeling at this exact moment five years ago, I would have never set foot on the Hogwarts Express. I’ll stand by that statement until hell freezes over. There’s just a point in your life, I’ve come to realise, when everything just gets a bit more complicated. This was that moment.
A/N: Phew, that was a long one. I think my chapters are just getting longer. There’s so much I feel like I have to squeeze in >< I hope you all are okay with these lengths, and no one feels like they’re dragging themselves through the chapters! I’ll admit that this chapter doesn’t quite feel up to part with the others, in my opinion, but it’s been so long since I’ve updated, I felt like I should just squeeze this out. If you have the time, please leave a review and tell me whether you agree or disagree! All comments are welcome, even if you just feel obliged to let me know this is the worst piece of rubbish you’ve ever laid eyes on, and I should save the human race from having to read anymore of this torturous material and stop immediately. Thank you to all of those who have been consistently reviewing! Reviews are, after all, why we all post our work for the public to see, aren’t they?
Okay, I must do a bit of shameless self-advertising, I apologise in advance, but here goes: I wrote a one-shot for a challenge, and not only is it my first one-shot, but it’s also my first challenge entry ever, so feel free to check it out if you get a chance, and let me know how I did in writing a one chapter story. I really like one-shots, but I just never can think of what to include in them, so any feedback at all would be really helpful! Also, I recently posted an AU story that I actually wrote a really long time ago, about Hogwarts being a normal American high school for Muggles… Yeah, a little weird, but I just figured…I’ve written it, I may as well post it, so check that out, too, if you so desire and you have the time.
Alright, that’s over with. Coming up in very near future (I’m talking like…in the next two) chapters of Rose Weasley’s Guide To Life…some baking will be done, more tears will be shed (quite possibly male ones), and Rose will—gasp!—get her first detention. Dun, dun, DUN. (That's officially the end of the longest Author's Note in the history of the universe)