Chapter 1 : The daftness of Romance
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 5|
Background: Font color:
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
Saying, "If you see this girl can you tell her where I am?"
He gazed intently at the brick wall as he slowly made his way forward. The memory was still vivid in his mind, even after almost ten years. The first day he ever met Rose Weasley. She’d been making her way out of Flourish and Blott’s bookstore, her arms laden with books, just as he was about to enter. Inevitably, they’d crashed and her books had been sent soaring to the floor in a flutter of ink and parchment. She’d looked up at him, surprise clear in her eyes, and apologized profusely as he frowned at her musingly before bending down and stealthily collecting her books.
Blushing, she’d taken her books and ran off but he’d called after her, requesting her name.
“Rose,” she’d replied with all the affection an eleven-year-old could inject into an embarrassed smile before she turned round and all he could see was the dark curls of her hair as she disappeared into the crowds.
Resurfacing to reality, he heaved a sigh before he sat down, his sleeping bag by his side and a picture of her in his hand. All that was left to do now was wait. The seconds quickly turned into minutes and the minutes easily into hours. People ogled him with unashamed interest as they passed, some with amusement, most with scorn. After a few hours the owner of the bookstore came out to inquire as to why Scorpius had decided to reside in the front of his shop, waiting for a girl, to come and bestow her pardon upon him.
“Do you need money, son?” the owner had asked.
“No sir,” he’d replied hollowly. “I’m waiting for the girl I love.”
“Is that her?” he’d asked and nodded towards the picture in his hand.
Scorpius held out the picture for the man to better inspect and get a closer look at her profile. “Yes, that’s her. She’s beautiful isn’t she?”
“Yes,” the owner replied and after presenting him with a gaze mixed with confusion and pity, had retreated back into his store.
Some try to hand me money, they don't understand
I'm not broke I'm just a broken hearted man
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you
His eyes scanned the photo in his hands with brooding eyes. He yearned for the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her dark hair, the warmth of her body, the intellect behind her eyes and the playful lift of her lips.
He missed her.
* * *
The weather outside couldn’t have been more English, she thought as she stared out the window at the drizzly rain and bleak sky. And the kitchen certainly did nothing to improve the mood. It was merely a small white room that contained a few dodgy cupboards and an even dodgier table. Opposite her, her cousin and flatmate, Albus was sat reading his copy of The Daily Prophet whilst casually sipping on tea. She on the other hand was eating toast and failing to sieve her head of a few unwanted, ill-intentioned thoughts. It was rather easy to say that today her mood matched the weather perfectly. Grim with a chance of murder.
“Holy..!” Albus exclaimed quietly and sent a short-lived glance her way above his paper. Rose raised her cheerless gaze towards his, the question clear in her eyes.
“What is it?” she enquired and raised her toast for another bite.
“Oh nothing…” he said offhandedly and paused before adding, “Chudley Cannons lost again.”
“You don’t support the Chudley Cannons,” she said helpfully, her tone oozing sarcasm and her impression of suspicion vigilant. Albus was a terrible liar, despite his efforts.
“Your father got me into them at the last game,” he fabricated and sent her a well-meaning ‘please stop interrogating me’ smile.
Rose stared briefly at the paper in his hands before she turned to him with a leer. “Who did they play at game?”
“Um…the, the…” he fished and she knew he was lost. Ignoring him, she lunged for the paper and snatched it away from him. “No, don’t!”
She awarded him with a deadly glance that advised him to not give her a motive for a murderous rampage. Wisely, he obeyed. She spread the paper before her and began to flick through to the. Reaching the central papers where the not-so-important news resided, she combed her eyes over the pages. As far as she could see, there was nothing of interest there for either of them. She flickered on to the next page and her eyes immediately caught what had been the source of Albus’ surprise.
They hadn’t devoted a lot of space to it, for it was stuck right in the bottom right hand corner but the accompanying picture instantly lured her eyes towards it. Her heart twisted horribly as she inspected the picture more closely. The man who will not be moved the headline blared and her eyes quickly scanned the small piece.
What does it take to win another’s affection back? There maybe a lot of answers but it’s safe to say that Scorpius Malfoy’s solution is by far the most elaborate. Having wronged his girlfriend recently, he has decided that the only way to win her back is to sit in front of the place they first met –Flourish and Blott’s bookstore- and not move until he earns here forgiveness. Today marks day six of his endeavour. Despite his ex-girlfriend’s failure to come see him yet, Mister Malfoy (son of noted Judge, Draco Malfoy) remains optimistic.
Maybe I'll get famous as the man who can't be moved
Maybe you wont mean to but you'll see me on the news
And you'll come running to the corner
'cause you'll know it's just for you
I'm the man who can't be moved
“How dare he,” she fumed, training her eyes off his picture and shoving the paper towards Albus. “I can’t believe the nerve of him.”
“I wouldn’t call it nerve, Rose,” Albus said quietly. “He lov…”
Rose turned to snarl at him. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare defend him and utter that lie of a sentence to me.”
Roughly getting out her chair, she darted through the kitchen towards the living room and grabbed her coat, uncaring that she was still in her nightdress. Pulling it on violently, she slipped into a pair of shoes and went into the kitchen where Albus was calmly finishing his tea.
“You’re going to go see him?” he guessed and stood up.
“Of course I’m going to see him,” she snapped.
“To forgive him?”
It didn’t go past her notice that within Albus’ voice there lay a hopeful note. Wishful thinking on his behalf really.
“No, to spear his head and present it as a front-page headline to The Daily Prophet,” Rose corrected and with a small ‘pop’ she’d disapparated.
When her legs found stable ground again she opened her eyes and found herself at the mouth of Diagon Alley, a bazaar of all that was weird, wonderful and infuriating before her. The rain descended in impenetrable sheets and hit her sharply as she quickly began to make her way through the averagely crowded alley. To her misfortune, Flourish and Blott’s was at the farthest end of the alley and by the time she’d neared her destination, she was soaking wet. Her clothes were saturated with water and clung to her tightly and her hair had stuck onto her face and neck, tinted darker by the water. Her short dress and coat did nothing to prevent the cold water hitting her legs and she was shivering by the time she stopped a few yards away from the store.
Her heart twisted painfully as she saw him sat on the street, his clothes absolutely drenched, his golden hair sodden and stuck to his forehead and his flimsy excuse of a jacket hardly doing anything to prevent the cold from striking him. He had yet to notice her and had his eyes trained on the ground, his legs crossed before him.
She stood, torn between forgiving him and ending this situation and allowing him to wallow in misery for what he’d done to her. Her earlier frustration came back to her and fuelled by the memory of his actions, she stepped towards him audaciously. The faint sound of her footfalls caught his attention and his features glazed over as he set eyes on her, his eyes pained and apologetic. His desire to be near her and to explain immediately had him on his feet.
“Rose,” he greeted, completely unaware to the pounding of the rain around them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she fumed.
“I don’t want your apology, Scorpius. I don’t want you anymore and I certainly don’t need this.”
She watched with surprisingly bitter satisfaction and his jaw hardened and his eyes, though hardening, had acquired a notable amount of distress. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered with conviction.
“I mean it,” she affirmed, ignoring the part of her mind that was fiercely reprimanding her for the blatant lie she’d just let slip. “Forget about me, Scorpius. Move on; go home and save yourself all this trouble.”
He stepped forward and caught her hands, pulling her closer to him, the rain relentless in its descent around them. In futility, she tried to free her hands, tenaciously trying to ignore the warmness that coursed through them despite the glacial rain. “I’m not going to move, Rose Weasley,” he promised. She kept her gaze on his face and the raindrops as they hit him. Trivially, she became fascinated with the way the raindrops clung to his long eyelashes. “I don’t care what you say, but I know that veiled somewhere within that stubborn mind of yours is a part that still wants me. I’ll be here if you ever change your mind.”
'cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be
Thinkin maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet
And you'll see me waiting for you on our corner of the street
So I'm not moving, I'm not moving
Letting her hands go, he greedily drank her stubborn features in before he returned to his spot and sat back down on his soaked sleeping bag. Disregarding the pity quickly arising in her heart, she turned round and began to make her way back up the alley, pulling the lapels of her wet coat tighter around herself. Before she could completely lose sight of him, she directed a covert glance back at him and saw him staring straight for her. Blushing that he had caught her, she turned round and didn’t divert her gaze back once.
* * *
The days quickly turned into weeks and the weeks swiftly into months and yet, Scorpius showed no sign of relenting. The Daily Prophet had now even devoted a daily feature to their state of affairs and Rose soon found herself an instant celebrity, hoarded by people wherever she went, begging her to go forgive the man who can’t be moved. Without much effort, ire would come to her and she’d snap at them to piss off. That was all she needed; strangers telling her to take back her cheating ex.
People talk about the guy that's waiting on a girl
There are no holes in his shoes but a big hole in his world
Albus wasn’t much help either. He’d go see Scorpius daily and spend the evenings beseeching her to go forgive him. So she’d taken to going to her parents after work and though slightly better than her apartment, her mother had jumped on the bandwagon and tried to persuade to at least stop her hostility and convince Scorpius to give up his place on the corner. She merely sent her mother an exasperated look and would go to seek refuge with her father.
Ronald Weasley, it was safe to say, was the only person in the world who was glad that she wouldn’t go back to Scorpius. But had he not been well, a tad prejudiced, then she was sure he too would’ve been sending her to Diagon Alley.
It was on drizzly spring Sunday that she found herself host to a rather strange guest. She’d been sat reading in her apartment (Albus miraculously was out) that she heard the unmistakable sound of knocking. Upon opening the door, she inevitably allowed her jaw to slacken as she set eyes on the unwelcome sight.
“Yes?” she asked rather rudely as Astoria Malfoy looked around her disdainfully before elegantly pulling her leather gloves off.
“I need to talk to you,” she said and stepped in without invitation, her entire demeanour uncanny amidst the shabby character of Rose’s flat. “About my son.”
“What about Scorpius?” she asked cautiously as she guided her to the small living room. Astoria presented the room with disparaging scrutiny before sitting on the absolute edge of an armchair, her legs crossed neatly before her, her dark hair and well-designed suit a vibrant splash of colour amidst the clinical white of the living room. Hardly liking her presence, Rose took her seat on the couch.
“I need you to go speak with my son.”
“No.” Rose’s answer was immediate. “Why? Did you fail in your attempt to convince him I wasn’t worth the effort and trouble?”
Astoria’s eyes hardened and she sent Rose a disparaging glare. “I don’t know what my son sees in you,” she hissed. “You’re just a stubborn, vulgar girl and he deserves so much better than you.”
“Then instead of wasting my time, go find him the perfect, more fitting kind of girlfriend you’d approve of,” Rose offered with derisive sweetness.
“Trust me, I tried. Do you know it’s because of me that you saw him with Isla Rosier?” It’s because of me that he’s sitting on that street, braving wind and rain for your petty sake.” She hardly seemed sorry as she confessed.
Rose’s back stiffened and her heart began to palpitate roughly, threatening to break through the confines of her chest. “You? He cheated on me because of you?”
“Clearly he wasn’t going to break up with you, so I got you to leave him. A simple aphrodisiac potion in Isla and Scorpius’ drink and Scorpius would cease to be of importance to you.”
“How could you?” Rose asked in disgust. “Your cheap social game means more to you than your son’s happiness?”
“That hardly matters now. His father is the most respected judge in Wizarding Britain; I cannot have him sleeping on the streets anymore. Imagine the shame this situation has brought on me,” Astoria said melodramatically.
“You deserve it; you brought this on yourself.”
Astoria fired her down with a lethal dose of glaring but did not comment about Rose’ remark. “You will go see Scorpius and you will forgive him, convincing him to leave his place near Flourish and Blott’s.”
“If I go see Scorpius, I will hardly do it for your sake.”
“I can see that we’re not going to co-operate. This was as beneficial as talking to a tapeworm.” And with that said, she regally got up and made for the front door without further comment. Rose happily escorted her out; she’d never liked Scorpius’ mother.
Once she’d gone and Rose had returned to her couch and book and sat deep in thought. Was it true what Astoria had really said? Had she actually been the one to cause her boyfriend’s supposed infidelity? Or was it something she had cooked up to get her to sway Scorpius to stop waiting on her on a street?
With frustration, she smacked the book against her forehead.
* * *
Uncertainly, Rose slowly looked around Diagon Alley, nervously fiddling with the strap of her bag in her hands. It had taken her the best part of five days to ultimately decide to go see Scorpius. She’d written a testy note to Astoria explaining her decision before apparating to Diagon Alley and beginning an unhurried walk towards him. With each step, her heart swelled infinitely and by the time she’d reached her destination, she was amazed her chest could hold the beating jackhammer of a muscle.
The sun had set and the primary wave of darkness began to set in. The stores had turned on their lights and Diagon Alley was a sight stolen from a fairytale. The orange and yellow flickers shone out onto the cobbled path and the gentle spring air was refreshing as it stole through the alley.
The gentle click of her heels on the cobblestones was quiet as she reached Flourish and Blott’s and set eyes on him. There, bathed in the effervescent light coming from the store sat Scorpius, his head buried deep in a book. On closer inspection, she saw the title and her heart warmed. Tristan and Isolde. He knew that was her favourite book.
She took her time in inspecting him before advancing. It had been a long time since she’d seen him and she wanted to drink him in, in his entirety. He looked clean and well presented, his clothes pristine but his hair slightly longer than it had been and stubble had acknowledged his jaw. His face was still the exquisite fusion of soft and masculine; his nose finely sculpted, his lips perfect to the touch and his eyes enticing to no-end.
“Scorpius?” she asked loud enough to introduce her presence.
His eyes flickered up to meet her gaze and welcome surprise resided on his features. He set the book down and got up, unsure of his steps as he took them. In her eagerness, she also took the few steps between them and met him in a coy entangle on fingers halfway there. Scorpius allowed his eyes to linger on their fingers before his gaze returned to hers.
“So… eighty-seven days living on the street for me?” she asked, the note of shame at what she had put him through seeping lightly onto her voice.
“Only for you,” he responded quietly.
“That’s exceedingly….” She fished for the right word but couldn’t seem to find it at that moment.
“Daft?” he supplied helpfully.
“Daft,” she concurred, “but romantic.”
The only answer he gaze her was the disappearance of his fingers laced in hers and then the comforting familiarity of his arms pulling her closer. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he promised before he tried to claim her lips but she turned away, his lips greeting the soft texture of her skin instead of the warm mouth he’d been expecting. Her hand came to rest at his neck and with gentle pressure, kept his mouth at her jaw line.
“I want to apologize before you kiss me,” she said into his ear. “I’m sorry I accused you of intentional infidelity. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry for hexing you. I’m sorry for making you go through this ordeal. And I’m sorry I said I didn’t want you; it was the blackest kind of blasphemy.”
He pulled back to stare into her face though her eyes would not meet his. Stealthily, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before sneakily raising her face towards his. She blinked up at him, her eyes contrite. She positively looked like a five-year apologizing for stealing from the cookie jar. It only endeared her more to him.
Without preamble, he brought his lips down on hers and watched as she willingly accepted and her eyes dreamily drifted shut. His lips moved against hers gently, becoming acquainted once more with the feel and taste of her lips on his; his hands travelled to her waist, drawing her closer before his fingers deftly ascended to meet her hair. He kissed her with fervour that far surpassed desire and want, his lips velvety but bruising her mouth passionately.
Rose could all but acquiesce to the pressure of his lips. She responded with a fervour that rivalled his own, her hands coiled around his neck and drew him insatiably towards her. Somewhere in the farthest part of her mind, which wasn’t reflecting on how pleasurable this was, she knew she’d missed these kisses. His cologne lovingly ensnared her senses and the warmth of his body was comforting in the cool spring evening. She was only just conscious of the fact that a reasonable crowd had gathered around them and the sound of applause lightly addressing her ears.
When his lips became more demanding and his hold on her infinitely tightened, she decided that they inevitably should stop. They were in the middle of Diagon Alley; she hardly needed little old witches glaring at them and mutterings of ‘Outrageous! In the middle of the street as well!’ Before he could progress the kiss she’d pulled back, slightly breathless, and suddenly very much aware of the many eyes on them, she blushed.
He bestowed a small, content smile on her. Before they could utter any words, a loud ‘pop’ had sounded and a gleaming flash materialized and temporarily blinded them. Quickly adjusting her eyes, Rose spied a photographer and an avidly scribbling journalist.
“I think I’ve had enough publicity to last me a lifetime,” Scorpius muttered into her ear. “Lets go home.”
She turned to the photographer once again and briefly smiled, only imagining tomorrow morning’s front-page headline. The man has been moved
A/N: It’s actually been a while since I got inspired by a song, but I heard this and had to write all that is above these three sentences. Reviwes would be very much appreciated and if you don’t know the band, then go check them out because you just might like ‘em ;-)
Disclaimer: Characters are copyright to their rightful owner (the wonderful JK Rowling) and the song belongs solely to The Script.
Other Similar Stories
Lack of Focus