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The Art of Being Bad by liltinglight
Chapter 4 : The Art of Gormandizing Rejection Ice Cream On Your Knees At Night
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 10


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 *Author's Note: *timidly* ... Hey, friendship. :) Actually, no one's going to read this. Which is understandable. But I will proceed anyhow.

Please don't loathe me. Please? Please? I'm so sorry about the wait again. Believe it or not most of this chapter was completed in September. But then life got terribly busy.


So, in essence, I'm sorry about the wait. I'm also sorry I skimped on Scorp's 'appearance' here. BUT HE'S IN HERE I PROMISE EVEN IF ITS FOR ONE LINE OF DIALOGUE AND SOME THOROUGH ONCE-OVERING! I'm hoping to release chappie 5 ASAP. All Scorpius. Please don't hate me or punch me. And lastly this probably sucks a lot. So please don't judge me or tape a kick me sign on my back and lampoon me. I'M VERY DELICATE! But this chapter isn't as funny as the last, just to warn you. Its more fillery, so my apologies. 

OH AND THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR READING THIS, LOVE! YOU BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL CREATURE! :D

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING YOU RECOGNIZE. ESPECIALLY NOT HOUSE ELVES OR COOKIE DOUGH ICE CREAM OR POCKETFUL OF SUNSHINE OR NATASHA B. OR RYAN GOSLING. (MOST UNFORTUNATELY)


 

 

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(Scorpius Malfoy. THANK YOU TO REBEL_HEART AT TDA! :))

 

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November 6th - Saturday - 9:16 pm - The Astronomy Tower "The Incident"

* * *

Okay, Rose. Cool. For once in your pathetic gosh darn existence just be cool.


I pressed myself against the frigid stone barrier of the astronomy tower and exhaled, repeating that word in my head.

Cool.

Right.

Cool. As in I totally wasn't just singing and dancing atrociously to Pocketful of Sunshine by myself. As in acting indifferent to Lysander Scamander's drool-inducing, tongue-tying presence. As in not blushing when he shoots his Witch-Weekly's-Most-Charming-Smile-Award-worthy beam...

And as in, most obviously, not fangirling.

Which, you know, I'm so totally not.

Pssht.

LYSANDER SCAMANDER! OH MY GOODNESS HE'S SO FIT! HOLY MOTHER OF CANADIAN BACON, IS HE FIT! AND THAT SMILE... OH GOOOOOOOD! JUST MARRY ME, LOVE! JUST MARRY ME!

...

That. That wasn't me...

Just a little bit.

But, I mean, this is Lysander we're talking about. Lysander flipping Scamander with all his charm and face of sunshine and apple-scented hair.

... Not that I would precisely... per se... know his hair's signature aroma. I mean, he just appears as though he might possibly maybe perhaps be a fruity-smelling hair sort of bloke.

Yup.

... So I smelled him once.

Or, you know, three times.

Look, its not my fault that I sit behind him in arithmancy! I mean, maybe you could claim my action of leaning over to sniff him was partially voluntary but...

I'm a sad, sad, creeping person okay! Don't judge me.

But, regardless of everything, I'm going to be cool For once, I'm going to exhibit the social behavior of a normal person and have an actual, non-awkward conversation with someone. And I'm not going to let my diminutive, insignificant, completely minor feelings of infatuation affect that.

"Hey, Rose, what's up?" Lysander suddenly said amiably, silencing my inner ranting.

Oh... Oh gosh.

My stomach plummeted to my feet.

What's up?

What's up?!


Yeah, how in the name of muffins am I supposed to respond to that without mortifying myself?

A numbing panic swept through my body. My lips opened and closed repeatedly as I racked my stupefied brains for a non-humiliating, non-moronic answer.

"Erm..." I mumbled intelligently.

Oh, God, Rose! Think!

What is that word you use to greet people?

I squinted my eyes, now desperately searching my fuzzy, temporarily paralyzed mind for any acceptable English. For some reason only the word 'lemons' kept popping up.

Actually, not so much popping up as being chanted in my head with a haunting, never-ending repetitiveness like a citrus-obsessed cult.

Lemons. Lemons. Lemons. Lemons. Lemons...

You know, I think my encounter with Harold did more mental damage than I originally suspected.

Or maybe Merlin thought it would be comical to strip me of my thought and speech capabilities whilst in the presence of the boy I fancied and watch me suffer. Or, in other words, essentially fail at life.

Because clearly I don't do that enough on my own.

Lysander coughed from the other side of the Astronomy Tower, looking slightly uncomfortable. And-

Oh crap.

And I just realized that I've been gawking at Sander during the entirety of my pathetic ten second brainstorming session.

Now not only have I given my crush of six years the impression that I am a speechless, daft idiot, but an awkward, creepy, ogling freak as well.

Lovely job, Rose.

My cheeks warm and I avert my eyes from Sander, who is beginning to (understandably) look very much concerned.

He has an adorable concerned face; His nose gets all scrunched up and he squints those baby blues just a bit... Its soo-

You know, I should probably say something now instead of continuing to appreciate his face.

Or I should have probably said something fifteen seconds ago. Like the normal person that I am clearly not.

Well, on the bright side, I couldn't possibly say anything at this point to make me look more stupid than I already do.

I breathe and mentally repeat my mantra: 'Cool.'

Phew. Okay. I got this. I so got this.

"Yo, yo, yo, dude! Sup broseph? What's popping, dawg?"

...

You know, there's a reason why English witches don't speak in the locution of American gangsters.

And this is it.

I pressed my palm to my burning countenance, simultaneously wishing Merlin would just kill me already, and waiting to hear Lysander dart down the stairs to escape my weirdness...

...Every rapid footstep a reminder of how I had completely ruined the one in a trillion chance I had of ever having an actual conversation with him.

Did I mention how much I severely loathe myself?

Because I do. I seriously do.

"Oh just getting some fresh air," Sander laughed, apparently unfazed. "You?"

I peered up at him incredulously. He hadn't left?

Seriously?

Did he not just hear my previous, social-suicidal words?

Actually, I probably heard him wrong just now.

Maybe he was advising me to seek counseling. Or inquiring whether or not I had mental issues.

Ha ha, yeah. That must be it.

"Oh, yeah, no, I haven't sought out therapy yet. Don't worry though, I'm completely stable. Thanks," I replied cheerfully.

"Uh... what?" Lysander looked thoroughly confused.

... Or maybe he really was asking me...

Oh.

Well this is awkward.

I giggled, trying to diffuse the the tangible awkwardness in the air, "Oh, you know, I've just been..."

I paused.

Clearly the truth - Singing to Pocketful of Sunshine badly, dancing to Pocketful of Sunshine badly, and currently attempting to not drool at your hotness - were not socially acceptable answers.

"Oh, yeah, I've just been... looking at the stars."

Our gazes simultaneously shifted towards the...

Completely starless sky.

...

I. Hate. Myself.

"Well, er, I meant waiting for the clouds to move. Yeeeahh..." I improvised badly.

I turned around to face the bleak-looking, starless sky, waiting, again, to hear Lysander open the portal and leave.

But, don't get me wrong, I'm completely at ease with that. You know, the fact that Lysander would, in a matter of seconds, make a hasty departure from the Astronomy Tower and pray to Merlin he never encountered the hopelessly awkward, socially moronic Rose Weasley ever again.

And, I mean, most girls would probably be upset if they had essentially mortified the french toast out of themselves and ruined the zero chance they had with the bloke they fancied. But, in terms of the Rose Weasley social interaction scale, mortifying the french toast of myself and ruining the zero chance I had with the bloke I fancied was a gargantuan triumph.

No, seriously.

I'm honestly really proud of myself right now.

"Oh, cool. Mind if I join?" Lysander asked, strolling up beside me.

... What?

The bloke was still here?

What the...

I raised my eyebrows dubiously. "Are you serious?"

I pinched my forearm because, clearly, if - of all people - the God of Hogwarts hadn't abandoned me by this point, the only excuse is that I'm dreaming.

Unless, hypothetically, I was addicted to psychodelic potions. Then the reason would be that I was hallucinating.

But, you know, I'm not a potions addict, so that was actually really irrelevant.

"Yeah, I'm serious!" Lysander suddenly laughed, startling me. "Why? Is my presence bothersome to you, Rose Weasley?"

Lysander Scamander... knows my full name?

Blatantly dreaming.

I smiled, "Lysander Scamander bothersome to me? Never. I'm just surprised that you would want to join in on my lame... erm... cloudwatching."

"Well I'm just surprised that unblemished-record-holder Rose Weasley is out past curfew. You know, as Head Boy I have no choice other than to report you to Filch."

"Oh my gosh," I slapped my palm to my forehead. "You're right! I am so sorry! I just needed some air and completely disregarded-"

"I'm kidding!" he laughed, punching my arm jovially. "I would never report you, Rose."

He winked and my cheeks colored back to their usual shade of gules.

Oh that boy and all his bloody attractiveness.

"Erm... thank you for not reporting me then," I said shyly, looking everywhere but his eyes.

"Oh, no problem," Lysander waved my comment away with his hand, his eyes meeting mine and...

Oh my God are his eyes blue. Like huge, glittering sapphires with the power to make my heart beat a million times faster than its normal pace.

I averted my gaze as my heart rate aggrandized and sighed softly to myself.

"You're James Potter's cousin, right?"

"Hmm?" I mumbled, before breaking out of my momentary trance. "Er, yeah. Why? What has he done now?"

I rubbed my temples and frowned, expecting the worst. Which, in James' case, was particularly bad. I mean, my entire family is shocked that the kid has made it to seventh year without expulsion, getting himself killed, killing someone else, or getting chucked in Azkaban. Out of my plethora of cousins, he definitely is the most mischievous. Which is really really saying something. The Potter-Weasley cousins aren't precisely notorious for abiding by the rules.

Lysander grinned, "Oh, no, he hasn't done anything recently. Well, at least anything that I know of. No, like, I just thought I remember seeing you when I went over to the Potters' last holiday."

"Oh, right. I think we were both at the Burrow for Christmas Eve. Yeah... I have a vague recollection."

Or a vivid memory of observing your every move and almost dying when our hands touched as I passed you the squash.

Yeah. A vague recollection sounds a little less creepy.

"Wow," Lysander closed his eyes and shook his head. "I am such a dumbarse. Of course you're James Potters' cousin! Everyone knows that the Weasleys and Potters are like... Wow. I'm sorry."

I waved his comment away, smiling, "Please, don't be. I'm actually accustomed to being the forgotten one."

Lysander chuckled and we both just sort of gazed at the... well, not stars... ominous looking clouds for awhile.

I furtively shifted my pupils to Sander, who was admiring the black sky with a trace of a smile on his face.

He was so flipping cute that I had to bite my lip to restrain myself from grinning.

Or to restrain myself from releasing a fangirl-esque squeal that probably would have scared the french toast out of him and ultimately ruined the moment.

I propped my elbows up on the surface of the barrier, thinking about how absolutely unbelievable this was. How absolutely implausible it was that I was literally an inch away from Lysander Scamander, watching the motion of the night clouds and acting somewhat normal. I mean, twenty minutes ago, had things continued the way they seemed to be going, I would have probably been attempting to politely tell Harold McLaggen I wasn't interested while he suffocated me with his tuna-scented body and told me more details about the kneazle-cat breeding that I really didn't want to hear.

I shivered a little in repulsion as that scenario crossed my mind.

"Are you cold?" Lysander asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Aww. How sweet was he?

"Oh, no. I was just... thinking about-"

Harold McLaggen.

"-something weird," I decided.

"Really? You must be freezing though!" Lysander exclaimed. "I'm sorry, if I had a jacket I'd give it to you. Or if I was, like, better at Accio, I'd-"

"No, its okay," I assured him. "The cold is sort of invigorating actually. But thank you, though."

Lysander looked a little confused, and then laughed unsurely, "If you're okay then."

I returned a smile and glanced up at his mesmerizing blues.

"Why are you up here?" I suddenly said, the question slipping out as it entered my mind. "Instead of at the victory party thing?"

"Oh, yeah. That." Lysander frowned, shaking the dirty blonde locks from his eyes. "It was pretty lame. I mean, it was all right, but I wasn't really in the mood. Like, I didn't really feel like watching the same old prats getting smashed or dealing with the usual drama, you know what I mean?"

Never being involved in the party scene, I didn't really know what he meant. So, naturally, I nodded sympathetically. You know, to elucidate how aware I was of the woes of popularity.

"I just wanted to like, get away from it for awhile. I mean, I went for like ten minutes to see if anyone cool was there but... Oh! And James wasn't even there! And, obviously, a party isn't a party without James Potter," Lysander paused, smiling at the sky as though he was remembering James fondly. "Yeah, but I think James was planning on hooking up with Cassidy, and..."

Lysander stopped and bit his lip, "But you probably don't want to hear about that, do you?"

I crinkled my nose, "Eh, not particularly. I hear about his escapades much too often as it is."

And by too often, I mean at least daily I hear some girl describing her... experiences... with my rather promiscuous cousin in what is usually graphic, highly disturbing detail.

You've never really gagged until you've overheard a relative's bum being compared to 'the sexy, muscular ars(STAR) of a mother(STAR STAR STAR STAR)ing angel.'

"Yeah, I can't imagine your pain in having that manwhore for a cousin," Sander joked.

We both cracked up and I marveled at how surprisingly effortless it was to be with Sander. I mean, all these years I sort of viewed him as unreachable, untouchable. And, sure, he is obviously still far, far, far out of my league. But I sort of always thought that it would be impossible to converse with him. Like that he was so ungodly high above me that I wouldn't be able to be around him without blushing or spazzing or making a fool of myself. Well, except at first encounter... And I knew he was sweet, but I would have never expected that he would be so... normal. Like he was completely oblivious to our evident status difference. Which in my mind was absolutely crazy... the most popular guy in Hogwarts acting indifferent to the fact that I was merely a wallflower.

"So you weren't at the party were you? I never see you at any. You're probably too good for that shit anyway," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Actually, my lovely cousin Dom forces me to tag along with her to almost every one," I shook my head and smiled. "I'm not really in the middle of the party scene. You would probably find me in the corner reading pretentious literature and getting firewhiskey spilled on me though."

Way to make yourself look cool and not at all like a sad, pathetic loser, Rose. Really. I commend you on your ability to constantly make yourself appear more pitiful by the second.

Sander's crinkled his eyebrows, "For real? I, like, have never seen you at anything. I always see Dom though."

Well now there's a surprise.

"What?" Sander said.

Did I say that out loud?

"Er, nothing."

"Oh. Well, the next time there's a party and I want to talk to someone cool. I'll make sure to check the corner," Lysander beamed, shooting me a wink.

And there goes the feeling in my legs.

I twirled a strand of auburn hair around my index finger and grinned cheekily, "As long as you don't spill any alcohol on me and have a few intelligent thoughts on classic literature, you're totally welcome to join me there."

Oh. My. God.

Did I just kind of a little bit flirt?

With Lysander Scamander?

Without stuttering or blushing or peeing myself?


What is this madness?

"Did you know that you're really awesome to talk to, Rose?"

I blushed for about the thousandth time and snorted attractively, "Not really."

"Yeah you are! I swear, like, you're the nicest person I've talked to."

I didn't really know how to respond, so I just laughed and thanked him.

Well, I mean, I blushed too, but at this point my cheeks were stained an atrocious color of red that didn't so much blush as kept getting darker and darker.

Something vibrated loudly, prompting me to jump a little and Lysander to pull a slim, rectangular object from his back pocket.

"My wizPhone," Lysander assured me before glancing at the screen and releasing an exasperated sigh.

"Ugh. Apparently someone cast the Levicorpus hex on Finnegan and everyone is too wasted to remember the counter curse," he rolled his eyes. "You don't happen to know it do you?"

"Its 'Liberacorpus'," I answered instantaneously like the little nerd I was.

"Thanks, Rose, you're a genius," Lysander praised, causing me to pfft incredulously and melt a little.

He punched a few buttons on his wizPhone before it palpitated again.

"They're too smashed to do any magic," Lysander sighed as his eyes scrolled the screen, brushing hair from his ocean-blue eyes. "I better get down there before all of Finnegan's blood rushes to his head. Any spells to bring him back to life if he's dead by then?"

I squinted my eyes thoughtfully, "Hmm.. no revival spells that I'm aware of. But use 'Rennervate' if he's unconscious."

"You're unbelievable," Lysander beamed, leaning in before...

Oh.

My.

God.

Lysander Scamander kissed my cheek.

His beautiful lips grazed the surface of my perpetually blushing right cheek.


If I thought my heart rate had been rapid before, that was nothing compared to the insane, ridiculously unhealthy pace it was beating at now.

A goofy, dorky grin spread on my face and I couldn't help myself from putting my hand on my right cheek.

I would have tried to play it off like it was no big deal but... Lysander Scamander kissed my cheek.

Did I tell you that already?

"I better get going before Finnegan kills himself," I could barely hear Sander in my airy, giddy trance. "But talking with you was cool. We have to, like, hang out or something sometime."

"Yeah, definitely," I agreed without really thinking, most of me still floating and ascending high above the Astronomy Tower.

"I'll see you around Rose Weasley," Lysander Scamander winked again in that wildly charming, beautiful way of his.

With that goofy, dorky grin still etched on my face, I collapsed back into the stone barrier and breathlessly uttered something that resembled, "See you."

I watched Sander revolve himself around toward the portal, admiring the back of him in a totally non-creepy way. Reality was clouded by happy, dreamy haze, and all I could feel was... floatiness. Like I had temporarily been removed from the world and was hovering high in the atmosphere. And I felt like none of it had ever really happened. Like it had all just been an imagined fantasy.

A noisy creak awoke me from my temporary euphoria.

Lysander was pulling open the door, about to-

"Wait!" I suddenly breathed.

Part of the floatiness within me had transformed into a passionate insanity. The half of me that had finally found itself half-way in reality had lost all its reason and logic. My brain had lost its dominance to my senseless, stupid heart.

Lysander rotated back to face me, his visage contorted with worry, "What's wrong? What happened?"

I inhaled a gulp of frigid air and let out a deep, quivering breath.

"I think I'm in love with you."

...

Holy. Ships.

...

For the second time that night, it was as though I was witnessing everything unfold in tardigrade motion...

The gradual plummet of Lysander's jaw, the nearly-decelerated-into-stillness breeze...

Everything was painfully slow.

Except my ungraceful nose-dive back into real life. And except my transition from imbecilic-heart-thinking to reasonable-head-thinking.

And definitely except the quickly-processed knowledge that Rose Weasley had just royally screwed herself over.

Which, sure, she had done on numerous occasions due to her weird personality and knack for being a moronic nerdcake. But never to this humiliating, life-ruining extent.

"You... you think what?" Lysander rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably, squinting his eyes.

Oh God.

This is really awkward.

And that's coming from me.

I neglected to reply for a few seconds. I mean, what are you supposed to say when you've just confessed your affection for someone who barely knew you existed until that night, and then they ask you what you said when you know that they know what you said but the situation is just so bloody uncomfortable that you don't really feel like repeating your words of un-reciprocated love and putting yourself through more torture?

Holy mother of run ons I think I should receive an award for that one.

Actually, I should receive a punt in the face from myself for single-handedly ruining my already sad life.

Or maybe I should say something.

Or, better yet, explain to him that this is all an absurd dream before putting a confundus charm on him. Of course, then there would be the risk that he would become so confused he'd stumble off the Astronomy Tower...

Other than that would be an excellent idea. You know, if I didn't have morals.

Darn you, morals.

Well then. Truth it is.

"Okay," I said in small voice.

My hands were shaking and my stomach was fluttering with apprehension. It was a horrible feeling. I felt so nervous and small and uncomfortable. I just wished Merlin would let me vanish. Rescue me from having to continue.

"Lysander, I... Okay. So I've... I've had a really huge crush on you for a really long time."

I bit my lip and timidly peered up at Sander, who looked thoroughly shocked.

"I just... I just always thought you were really smart and sweet and pretty..."

Sander scrunched his eyebrows curiously.

"Er... I mean, you know, handsome. Yeah. And I just have always really liked you. And I just sort of got caught up in the moment. And I'm sorry about all this. And I feel really, really awkward right now and..." I sort of just stopped and buried my scathing face into my palms.

There was a few seconds of thick, unsettling silence.

"Wow," he finally said.

I widened the gap between my fingers so I could see through my hands.

Sander was still rubbing his shoulder.

"That is... wow. I'm sorry, I'm just sort of... surprised, I guess?"

I tried to conjure a reply, but nothing remotely response-worthy popped into my head.

"But... thank you though. That's really... nice," he finished.

I winced a little. Don't get me wrong, Lysander was being really kind about the whole ordeal. I mean, given that his admirer was me, I would have understood if he looked completely repulsed and lectured me on how I should find someone more on my level like Harold McLaggen to invest my undesired love into. But, even for the biggest losers of the world, having your love exchanged with a thank you and a 'that's really nice,' was slightly painful.

"And, Rose... Listen, you are so nice, and cute and everything.You're just really sweet and innocent, you know? You're perfect. Like too good for me."

I opened and closed my mouth repetitively.

Me too good for Lysander Scamander?

Is the boy bloody mad? Or does he have some serious self-worth issues or...?

I sighed as I tried to piece together what he meant.

"Like, its just that we wouldn't be right for each other. You're so... pristine."

"Pristine? Oh, no, no, no," I said cheerfully, waving the statement away. "I'm so amazingly far from being intemerate that one could say I was unpristine, actually. Terribly unpristine."

Lysander's lips crinkled upward into a half smile, "You're adorable. But you are. And I don't want to corrupt you. Look, Rose, what I'm trying to say is... I'm really tempted, but I can't. I'm sorry."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and whispered, "Stay sweet, love."

Without another word or glance back, he lifted the iron handle of the portal and descended down the steps.

When the door finally shut with harsh, punishing thud, I sunk to the stone floor.

For the first time that evening, I felt the bitter cold.

It wasn't pleasant.

For awhile, I sort of just laid there. I didn't self-loathe, or mull over the details of what had been the worst nights of my life, or puzzle over how I gone from being dizzy with glee to numb with nothingness. I simply laid. I simply was.

I felt nothing other than the cold.


* * *

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* * *


November 6th - Saturday - 10:34 pm - The Astronomy Tower 'Post-Incident But Before I Make Yet Another Mistake'

* * *

I am so stupid.

I rolled onto my back and tilted my head towards the sky, gazing at-

Hey! The stars are out!

You know, that's so exciting that I almost forgot about how stupid I was.

Because I'm really stupid.

Would you like to hear a funny story about how stupid I am? Well then, you'd better hold your socks so I don't knock them off when I explain to you how thoroughly, pathetically, ungodly stupid I am!

Ha ha. Right. Story time.

So, once upon a time, there was a really stupid girl who was hopelessly infatuated with an unattainable guy. Then stupid girl tells unattainable guy that-

BA HA HA!

Forgive me, I crack up telling this story every time. Its just so gosh darn funny how bloody stupid she is.

Anyway, stupid girl tells unattainable guy she's IN LURVE with him!

I know right! So stupid!

And then unattainable guy is really sweet about everything and lets her down really gently but, in the end, she still made an imbecile of her already stupid self. And then she winds up collapsing into fetal position on the Astronomy Tower in an unemotional blob.

And then, still a pathetic heap on the ground, she is so stupid that she begins telling this story to herself out loud. Like a flipping wacko, psychotic nutcase.

And that's the wonderful story of how Rose Weasley is really stupid.

The End and Happily Ever After for All and To All a Good Night for everyone but Rose Weasley who is really stupid.

You know, I really should become a griot. Like the African storytellers? I think I have a raw, natural talent for that.

Seriously.

You know what else I have a raw, natural talent for?

Being stupid!

I laughed hysterically with myself until I started choking, feeling only slightly mental.

Tonight had been absolutely catastrophic. A complete disaster. Everything had turned so terribly, horribly bad that it was almost comical. I mean, in my sixteen years of life I've humiliated myself an unfeasible amount of times and been in more awkward situations than one could go about counting. But tonight... Well, tonight was even worse than when I was seven and used the floo network by myself for the first time, said something that apparently sounded closer to 'Brazil' than 'Burrow', and ended up spending what was the most terrifying half hour of my life with an extraordinarily shady group of Latin Americans until Mum rescued me.

I placed my hands on my abdomen and extricated a sigh.

I wonder what time it is. It couldn't be that late, right? I mean, I'm not cold at all.

Actually...

I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

I slapped myself a little bit, fruitlessly hoping to elicit some pain or any sensation of touch.

I kept smacking my face, purely for the sake of it making a really cool sound, until I realized it probably wasn't healthy that body was completely numb. And that I probably looked ridiculous sprawled across the ground of the Astronomy Tower bashing in my own face. But I had already put on a moronic display anyways, so the latter wasn't really an issue.

Besides, ridiculous would be just simply lounging on the ground by myself at whatever time at night, sans the slapping; The word for lounging on the ground by myself while hitting myself would be 'psychotic.'

Unexpectedly, I erupted into maniacal, lunatic laughter, taking even myself aback.

You know, I should probably get inside. Before the cold addles my brains more than it already clearly has.

Somehow, I picked myself up to my feet. Which, considering my body possessed no feeling whatsoever, was quite an impressive feat.

I hobbled over to the portal like a sad, crippled animal, only falling one time. It took me a substantial amount of time to open it given that my fingers were a little bit frozen to the point immobility...

You know, I could really use some help right now. Its rather a shame I have virtually no friends. Well, actually, I have a friend... If Dom counts. I don't know, our relationship isn't so much a friendship as it is a 'veela-cousin-who-pities-nerdy-pathetic-charity-case-of-other-cousin-and-attempts-to-help-out-said-pathetic-cousin-when-in-all-actuality-said-pathetic-cousin-just-ends-up-worse-off-than-before-ship.'

I shut the portal and sighed. At least Dom's intentions in helping me were good. Even if her aid and interference had only prevailed in dooming me. Dooming me to a dismal and terrifying... erm... 'date thing'... with Harold Cat-Happy McLaggen. Ultimately dooming me to the Astronomy Tower where I would sully any chance I ever had with the boy of dreams, consequently destroying whatever miniscule shred of dignity I formerly had.

I took my wobbly first step down the everlasting staircase, and shook my head. No, Dom was guiltless in this disaster. The sole role she had played in this mess was attempting to make me happy. However, the absolute abominable nature of the night was completely my fault. I mean, for one, Harold wasn't all that... repulsive. I shouldn't have made such a snap judgment, you know? Like, yeah, perhaps he was rather quirky, but there was most likely a deep, admirable explanation for that that would have made sense to me after awhile. I mean, Dom wouldn't have set me up with a complete dud, right? So it was my fault for not putting in any effort into my 'date thing.'

And obviously I only had myself to blame for the Sander Disaster. Granted, I was motivated by frustration and loneliness and every other repressed, unspoken feeling that had been growing inside me for the entirety of my life. After a lifetime of concealing everything, for once I just wanted to declare. Declare how I felt. Declare my feelings. Feelings that had intensified throughout the course of the evening and exploded. But still. I was guilty.

... And yes. You read that correctly. The Sander Disaster.

Rhymes elicit some sort of inexplicable joy in me, don't you see, golly gee?

You see what I did there?

Actually, a more fitting question would be, Why why why am I such a loathesome, sad individual?

I'll save that one for my therapist though.

Not that I actually 'have' a therapist... yet. I mean, I inevitably will someday. Its just one of those things that is going to happen. I can't stop it. Its just lingering there in future. And I don't know when its going happen, but I'm completely certain it will. Sort of like when Uncle Harry had the epiphany that his destiny was to vanquish Voldemort. He realized that an encounter with the Dark Lord was unstoppable. And he could escape it for some amount of time, but in the end, it was simply going to happen. I mean, he could have fled to Canada and grown a mustache and masqueraded as a maple syrup salesman for a bit. But, the point is, Voldemort was going to find him. I mean, he probably would have done something completely deplorable first like ridiculing the caterpillar above Uncle Harry's upper lip and stealing all of his maple syrup or something, but...

... What?

You know, sometimes the nonsense I spew out honestly scares me. I mean, imagine what I'll be like when I go senile.

... Oh dear God.

On second thought, please don't imagine.

...

* * *

After approximately 5 hours and seven minutes -not to mention an infinite number of eons - I finally reach the end of the staircase.

You know... reach... stumble... biff it painfully. Same difference, really.

I entered the corridor and ambled on aimlessly, not heading to my dormitory or... you know... anywhere entirely. Just walking.

For most likely the first time in my life I was apathetic. Indifferent. Woeless.

It was an odd feeling, as I was a perpetually woeful person. And now that I was in a situation that would inspire woe in even the more woeless people - strutting about the castle past curfew when Filch and his decrepit, feline companion are likely on the prowl - it was particularly odd to be experiencing the sensation of... erm... woelessness?

Sure, frolicking around the castle about an hour after curfew wouldn't precisely be considered terribly rebellious. Especially in my family. But for me it was sort of a big deal. I mean, I'm a strict abider of the law! A firm advocate of rule-following!

But now... Well I feel like a bad a-

A bad apple.

Wow.

Rose Weasley... official bad apple.

I like it.

My walk transformed into a gleeful, joyful skip that was most likely very bad-apple-esque. It was rather exciting, breaking the rules. You know, I can almost comprehend James' ridiculously idiotic, terribly bad actions now. Almost.

I continued on like that for a few corridors, feeling bad apple and woeless and wonderful.

I couldn't care less that I was putting my immaculate record in jeopardy. I couldn't care less that I was mortified and heartbroken and...

Just as abruptly as the woeless feeling had precipitated, it disappeared. The raw memory of the incident ignited in my conscious and burned there. The emotions I had repressed was suddenly and rapidly expanding within me, and I couldn't breathe. An urge to cry collected in my throat, but I wouldn't succumb to it.

Perhaps I was pathetic. In fact, I knew I was. I was pathetic to be this upset by the inevitable rejection, inevitable embarassment that would follow confessing my feelings to a boy who would never want me. It was a stupid thing to do. I was stupid. I deserved this. And I was pathetic. But I wouldn't cry.

I pressed my back to the wall of whichever corridor I was in and tried to catch my breath.

How could I have been so completely daft? Really though. I mean, has there ever been a time where I spoke out and it had positive consequences? Being spontaneous and brave and impulsive was for girls like Dom. Those were the girls who were destined to declare and rebel and take risks. The beautiful and wonderful girls. The conspicuous girls.

Not me. I was intended to be a wallflower. Blend in. Be nice. Follow the rules. I wasn't supposed to act boldly. Doing so would only disrupt the natural order of the universe. I wasn't an instigator or declarer or mess maker. I was meant to be an insignificant character, not a main one. Just there, not instigating conflict or wielding influence on the story. Just there.

And, you know, I've acknowledged that. I'm... I'm okay with that.

I just forgot for a moment.

I'll try not to forget again.

I rubbed my eyes and picked myself up, groping the wall to-

A shrill giggle echoed through the corridor, causing me to jump approximately an infinite amount of feet into the air and shriek at a volume I didn't know humans were capable of.

My head turned frantically, searching desperately for the source.

My heart was pumping at the pace of someone at wandpoint. I mean, when you hear a cute-to-the-point-of-demonic-sounding giggle in the dead of night - alone, mind you - you begin to freak out. Like about the possibility that your life is probably in the hands of some demented, cackling, midget clown or something.

Oh, God. It probably lurks in the corridors, then emits a cutesy-sounding chuckle before pouncing on you and strangling you with balloon animals!

HOLY FRENCH TOAST, THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO ME, ISN'T IT!!?

But then I noticed sliver of light reflected on the wall. I revolved around to face a portal that had just opened. The kitchen portal.

The kitchen that opens its entrance when you tickle the painting of the pear. The pear, of course, releasing a giggle when you tickle it. Or, in this case, grope it.

I repressed a desire to smack my head in the forehead on account of my idiocy. Not to mention knack of jumping to lethal conclusions.

I looked around the corridor curiously, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Something was particularly inviting about the kitchen. But it felt wrong to enter at this hour. Or, actually, just enter at all.

I bit my lip and glanced at the kitchen. It was beckoning me almost. With its gleaming light and promise of nourishment.

Food.

Like Nom. Nom. Nom.

I took a step forward, but then stopped myself.

What in the name of french toast was I thinking anyway? Intruding in a place where students weren't even permitted in the first place? There wasn't even a purpose in it. And, again, it wasn't allowed, was it? I mean, even if James and Fred had done it numerous times.

I inhaled decisively and turned in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower. No, the idea of trespassing into the kitchen was ridiculous. Not to mention wrong and foolish and bad. Really bad.

But then I stopped myself again and took a long glance at the opened portal.

Oh... But- But- But-

Food.

...

Oh screw this internal conflict! THERE'S FOOD! YOU CAN'T RESIST FOOD!

I darted into the kitchen searching for any ort of nourishment I could find.

And holy pumpkintarts it was gorgeous.

Glimmering pots and pans were stacked along the stone walls. There was a plethora of appliances and immaculate countertops. And-

"Would Miss Weasley like something to eat? Twinky is happy to serve Miss Weasley!"

Startled, I jumped a bit before meeting a pair of big, brown eyes. A house elf.

"Hi, Twinky. How are you?" I asked pleasantly. As if it were a totally normal thing for a person to have just sprinted into the kitchen with the urgency of one escaping from a troll at Merlin knows whatever time at night.

A beam spread across her face, "Twinky is wonderful Miss Weasley! What would Miss Weasley like?"

You see. That's what I adored about house elves. If a human had witnessed me sprinting into the kitchen at Merlin knows what time of night, I would be chastised or judged or most probably lampooned for being a fat kid. But Twinky the House Elf harbors no judgment. Well, I mean, maybe she does. But she's tactful enough to be nice. Or maybe she just feels sorry for me because clearly I am a hopeless, nerd with mental issues so she will withhold the judgmental comments since clearly I am a pathetic individual. And-

You know, I think I may have a smidge of a tendency to overthink. But I still adore house elves nonetheless.

"Oh, that's okay. Actually, its quite rude of me to just barge in, so I'm really sorry. But thank you though..."

"Twinky would love to serve Miss Weasley! Twinky serves Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley every night!"

James and Fred.

Surprising.

"Do you think I could have some cookie dough ice cream, please?" I ventured timidly.

Because I just really wanted ice cream. Rejection just really arouses a craving for ice cream.

Winky clapped her palms together and a tub of ice cream nearly the size of myself materialized before me.

My jaw plummeted as I gazed down at the gargantuan display in front of me. No, I take back my previous statement; the ice cream tub was double the size of myself.

Well. That confirms it. Twinky does, in fact, think I'm a fat kid.

"Oh, wow, Twinky. Thank you so much but I don't think I can -"

"Miss Weasley is welcome!" Twinky said cheerily, before strutting off somewhere and deserting me with a container of cookie dough ice cream the volume of Neptune.

I exhaled and rubbed my hipster glasses - as Dom liked to call them - on my shirt.

So here I was. Heartbroken. Humiliated. Pathetic. Completely desolate. Well, except there was disgustingly massive tub of sugar by my feet. A really delicious tub of sugar...

I sank to my knees, prepared to begin gormandizing it like the pig I was. I lifted up my sp...

Spoon.

There was no spoon.

I picked myself up and scoured every kitchen crevice for some acceptable eating utensil. Anything.

I found an infinite supply of pots and pans. A really atrocious piece of cloth that may have been hat (but I wasn't sure.) And more pots and pans. Seriously, in this room alone, I'm almost positive there would be enough pots and pans to be lined up singularly along the equator and completely encircle the earth.

But literally no spoon. Or fork. Or spork. Or even chopsticks.

After sifting through the entirety of the kitchen, I came to a sad conclusion.

I closed my eyes. Then I looked at the ice cream tub.

I could practically hear it. The haunting, nonexistent whisper of the ice cream, I mean.

Hey there, little girl... Come eat me. I'm not dangerous. Just 4956394543897543975 calories of freaking delicious, that's all. 

But, I mean. I couldn't. There wasn't even a eating utensil. And I couldn't conjure one without my wand.

You know, I really should start carrying my wand on me more often. I mean, not for defense or anything insignificant like that. Just for really crucial, imperative matters like when you need to conjure a spoon for your 5000 pounds of cookie dough ice cream.

I cast a pained glance at it. The tub. The irresistible creamy goodness.

I exhaled and clamped my eyes shut. There was only one way.

I rolled up my sleeves and winced.

Well, its not like I had dignity anyway..

And this is happening. This is actually happening, isn't it?

I'm actually about to immerse my entire arm in a enormous tub of rejection ice cream at eleven o' clock at night by myself.

On the optimistic side, I can probably never ever do anything more pitiful than this. And there's certainly no way in the name of Merlin that I could possibly sink to any level lower as a human being than at this moment.

Well... Cheers.

...


November 6th - Saturday - 11:23 pm - The Astronomy Tower 'Post-Incident But Before I Make Yet Another Mistake'


* * *

So that's how it happened. The most pitiful event in my life.

Pawing cookie dough ice cream and voraciously cramming it into my mouth whilst on my knees all by myself on a Saturday night.

But you know... its actually all good. I mean, ice cream is really comforting. Especially when its served in quantity more suitable to a giant than a 100 pound teenager.

I mean, the only negative part of it is that I'll inevitably have to cease my voracious consumption at some point to heave my overstuffed guts out. And then there's the fact that I have ice cream stuck on my face. Which really isn't an issue, but its uncomfortable and just makes me feel bad about being a messy eater. The fact that its in my hair though is a problem, however. Because it takes enough time to detangle my waves as it is and adding clusters of stickiness to that will consequently result in a five hour shower. Because detangling charms just don't work on my hair. And then there's the blatant. The obvious. That I undoubtedly look like a bloody moron. But I'm all alone. So only I can judge myself. Well, I mean, the big man can judge me too. But considering he's watched me fail miserably for the entirety of my life, this really wouldn't surprise him. I think he may have accepted the fact that I'm a hopeless basket case at this point. And now that he's come to terms with that, he possibly finds these situations amusing. Or maybe disappointing.

I deposited my hand into the neverending tub, and scooped up what could have been my 400th palm-full of ice cream.

A noise somewhere between a giggle and cry escaped my lips for some reason. I guess because of the simultaneous humor and tragedy in the situation. My 400th palm-full of ice cream. Me, practically on the verge of vomiting, engulfed in a person-sized container of comfort food with ice cream smeared on my nose.

It was so bloody sad it was nearly comical.

I let out a laugh and buried my face in my knees.

Merlin, with all the lunatic laughter and fat kidness going... Well, I mean, its just a wonder Sander didn't want me.

I laughed harder until it abated into a just a smile. You know what? This is good. This experience was actually good. Because I'm going to have a lot of inside jokes with myself after this.

Inside jokes with myself.

Oh, Merlin.

I dipped my arm back in the tub, synchronously entertained and repulsed by myself.

You know, it seems like I'm usually at conflict with myself. As if there's a lot of discord. within the confines of my own noggin. But if there's something I can agree with myself on its that this ice cream is-

"Weasley?"

- magnificently scrumptious.

Was that... Was that a voice?

No. Couldn't be.

Right?

Good gracious. Just when I was finally starting to concede with myself too, dag nabbit!

I turned my head around slowly, fruitlessly hoping that no one would be there. That I was just in delirium. Well, I mean, I've always been in delirium. But now crazy enough to be hearing voices as well.

But, instead of nothingness, my sight landed on a pair of snazzy shoes... then traveled up a pair of uniform pants... to white collared shirt and emerald tie... to...

Holy ships.

I just gave Scorpius Malfoy a once over.

...


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Abhor me immensely for being a circumlocutious shit who didn't squeeze in Malfoy's appearance? (I swear I'm not teasing, I just had to have a lot things happen before I could fit him in how I wanted. And this chapter was super long and I didn't want to make it even more into an unorganized ramble than it already is.) Like Rose's hipster glasses? Passionately loathe cookie dough ice cream? Let me know in the box situated below and Ryan Gosling will take off his shirt for you. Well, not really, but if you look up Ryan Gosling on google there's a number of shirtless pics of him. Yeah. You're welcome. ;)



 












 


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