Rose Weasley (mini_mione) wrote in unloading_zone, @ 2010-09-03 22:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | rose weasley, scorpius malfoy |
Who: Rose and Scorpius
Where: Malfoy's cottage
When: Friday evening
What: Discussing that ridiculous poem
Status: Incomplete
Rose always knew what to do. She always did. And if she didn't, she asked her father for advice. If his didn't make sense, she turned to her mother. But she never, ever felt so bereft of a reasonable reaction. Ever. She'd been sitting on her bed with her open journal on her lap, quill inked and at the ready, dripping onto the page while she tried to figure out what to say. What was there to say besides... everything ever? She wanted to call him on his bullshit, on the fact that despite Rose's request that he never speak again, that he stop using her as the butt of the joke, he was still doing it. Though he hadn't spoken to her directly... And what if his stupid little poem wasn't aimed at her at all, what then? What if it was just wishful thinking, like during those first few days when he'd arrive and she'd pathetically believed that he was actually here for her. That was truly ridiculous. No one was here for anyone else, they were here because they'd been randomly picked out of a hat and he was unlucky enough to have been selected. That was all. It had nothing to do with her.
And his knowing her name? Purely because she was Hugo's sister, not under any of her own steam, any of her own merit. She was Hugo Weasley's sister, not a person, a whole person with feelings and emotions. She was background noise.
So that poem hadn't been aimed at her at all. Obviously it hadn't been. But Rose couldn't help but feel targeted. Maybe it was her enormous ego. Or maybe it was because the possibility still existed that it was about her, that she had hurt him, as preposterous as it seemed.
Rose wished her parents were here. And there was no way in hell she was going to Hugo about this. That left only one person.
She brought her journal and quill with her as she walked over to Scorpius's cottage and knocked on the door. Though she knew she didn't need her journal while she was with him, she couldn't help but hold on to it. What if it was about her?