Of Thunderstorms and Drizzles

It’s not working, is it-trying to keep you away from me? I can’t help but wonder if you probably are missing me, even though I know that it is preposterous. How can you, after all the names I’ve called you, and the horrible things that have happened? How can you, when you have others to keep you occupied? Others who you clearly love more than you could possibly like me. I know I’m looking too much into this, but I can’t believe you actuallytalked to me, after I ignored you (unwillingly, of course), and cut you out of my life because you are too much of a distraction for me.

You, with your expensive perfume and priceless sarcasm, your persuasive boring eyes and your tantalizing stories. Do I tell you you’re dashing and perfect and everything I hope for in a man? Of course not! That’ll only fill you with more pride than your big head can possibly take in. So I try to prick you with my needles, hoping that you don’t figure out my feelings for you. I hope that I don’t scare you away. I hope that I can keep you in my life in whatever form I can- in whatever form you’ll let me.

But I know, and I know because you’ve told me this innumerable times, that I don’t mean anything to you- nothing more than somebody to pass time with. You’ve told me I’m nobody more than a person you share some interests with. You’ve told me I’m nobody who cannot be replaced. But then why do you talk to me more than you talk to others? Why do you seek me out, when I’m ignoring you? Why do you ask me about my future, my dreams, my life, as if you’re bloody interested? Why do you make my toes curl every time I have a deep meaningful conversion I have with you? Why do you not pick up fights with me anymore and treat me like a friend, when you don’t even consider me as a person? Why do you ask my opinion on things that matter? Why do you know and remember what I love and what will make me happy?

You’re unfathomable, you know? I should have listened to my father’s advice and not talked to you ever. But you were best friends with my best friend and there was no way I could have ignored you, when both of you literally live together! I would run into his room with some or the other thing to crib about and there you’d be, in your silk PJs with him, playing Exploding Snaps, or Wizarding Chess, or just lying on the bed talking about girls you fancy. Then I’d have to pour my heart out in front of you, because Albus Potter is thicker than a piece of wood. And you’d listen to me uncomfortably and not tell me anything in return, even when I’d love to hear what you had to tell me.

Seriously, I need to stop with all the feelings. Because I know you would never have them back for me. Even when you tell me how you’ve paid no heeds to the advances of a pretty girl, who was perfect for you. Even when you tell me how you didn’t care about a hot girl a year above us who’d be clearly out of your league generally. It’s almost as if you’re doing that because you’re interested in me, my heart screams. But my brain tells me that’s because you’re a narcissist.

But how can I ignore how both our dreams include the same things? How can I ignore the fact that you think I’m worthy of your respect, when you hardly care about others? How can I ignore how you’ve changed your preservatives to the world, when I urged you towards it? How can I ignore the stares and the whispers we get when we’re having a conversation in public, when they’re rooting for us? How can I ignore the fact those little glimpses of insecurities that you share only with me? How can I ignore the fact that you probably are in love with me, and don’t know it yet?

I should have listened to my dad and never gotten close to you, because Merlin! It’s you! And it’s me! And we are something, we have something. It’s not just me being Albus’ cousin- because there are others! I mean, there’s Lily, who’s beautiful, and there’s Molly, who’s incredibly smart, and there’s Roxanne, who’s hilarious, and there’s Lucy, who’s a Quiditch prodigy, there’s Ella Longbottom, who likes the same things as you, and is not awkward at all. And yet you choose me- to talk to, to tease, to tell things you don’t tell anybody. And yet you choose me- to make me fall in love with you!

Two days ago, as I ran into you at the Potter’s mansion, as you walked up to me, when I was reading and made it clear I didn’t want to talk to you, because you were distracting me, and when I told you to go away, you held my hand. You stopped me from going away by holding my hand and turning me around and asking me to wait. We talked all night, and you make me laugh. I had to shut my book, because Darcy and Elizabeth weren’t as interesting as your cat, or your owl, or your dad, or the time when you were seven and crashed your toy broomstick into an apple tree in the orchard and two apples fell on you and you cried because it was humiliating, and not because you were hurt.

And that’s when I think of the thousands of owls we send each other over the Summer, and the way you divert the topic when our friends tease us. I think of the girls you dump, and the way you froze when I accidentally said you’re also one of my brothers, when I do not think that. And I think that you probably actually missed me. Scorpius Malfoy missed me, Rose Weasley. Because, goddamnit, after five and a half years of friendship, and seeing you caring about me more and more, and the fact that I can’t get a coherent sentence out half the time I think about you, makes me think that there wouldn’t be anybody I’d willingly let into my life and drive me as crazy as you do.

You’re the thunderstorm to my drizzle, and the dragon to my dolphin. And you’re the smirks behind my giggles, and the lyrics to my music. Because we’re Scorpius and Rose, who are never meant to be, but cannot do without.

Okay, a little shaky, I know. But I wanted it to reflect Rose’s tormented, split mind about Scorpius and what he means to her and what she doesn’t mean to him.
And yay, fanfiction! Haven’t written one in so, so long!
Please leave reviews if you liked it, or not! Thank you. 😀

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

2 responses to “Of Thunderstorms and Drizzles

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