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ลำดับตอนที่ #1 : ♡ HP NEXT-GEN | COLDBURN (SCOROSE)
He was, to simply put, at lost for words. They were all crammed up in his mouth, filled to the brim and ready to be uttered. Such a shame that Scorpius swallowed his tongue a long, long time ago.
A heart of a madman, he had. It kept beating to the fantasy of her, pumping blood and oxygen to memories better be forgotten. Even his hands were shaken. With lips bitten raw, cigarette tasted metallic; sour blood and saliva. Scorpius knew he was dying. It was a statement exit for a great escapist, you see.
Oh, he was so, so, so very sorry for the chances blown by ego and pride. The devil of it all. But he is a Malfoy and she a Weasley. Their existences clashed and they aren’t meant to be, even if they were. What can he do, really? People don’t reach beyond their means, and Scorpius had just spent a good portion of the last eleven years proving exactly that.
Rose looked exquisite in white. She was a vision of a fucking goddess to his sore, pathetic eyes, some sort of a renaissance enlightenment. The back of his head burned just thinking of – remembering – her in all the colours.
She was lovely in navy, when she was a starry-eyed Ravenclaw. That did seem like another lifetime altogether, if only there was another life. Scorpius wouldn’t mind running in circle for a girl called Rose Weasley at all. Karma probably is a blessing by that point. Then there was the first time he saw her between his sheets of Slytherin green. Silk against her speckled milky never-ending length. And it used to feel heady and fervent, now it was sordidly sorrow to revisit.
Something happened after that, wasn’t it? Rose Weasley in Beauxbatons periwinkle blue and him with a suitcase packed for Durmstrang. It wasn’t bitter, it wasn’t sweet. Scorpius recalled not feeling much back then. He was powerless against the tides of time constantly trying to serve its course. Not even a word exchanged. Then eleven years gone by, and now all they had and will ever have got reduced to a monochromatic reintroduction.
Him in black, her in white. His eyes red and blue. Rose Weasley was no different, except she was much prettier crying than he could ever be.
A madman in a three piece, he was. Mad with desperation for a woman no longer his yet secretly gleeful for being the cause of her tears.
It has never been easy for the both of them. Now it had just become impossible.
He knew he should’ve stayed away, but he didn’t want to, did he? He wanted so badly to see and take it in with every fibre of his being the hard truth of how Rose Weasley was now mutually lost to him as well. Even if it was so cold to the touch, even if the frost would tear apart the skin right out of his palms.
And he didn’t want the silver band on his finger to suddenly felt all too tight and heavy, all the more similar to the lump in his throat. No, not really. And Agathe probably picked up on that, too. The way she put her hand on his arm all possessively earlier.
On the day that Rose Weasley married one of the Scamander prick, Scorpius finds his own perfectly loving wife to be unbearably repugnant.
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This is like an earlier version of my now full-length (and better!) Scorose fanfiction, “of flora and serpent.” which you can read (in the near future) here.
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