Disclaimer: There's this series called Harry Potter that I don't own.
For those who might wonder—since Ocotillo (that's oh-kuh-tee-yo) is one of my frequently-used OCs, the ocotillo is a type of desert shrub, which really has nothing to do with anything except I like how it sounds. He is the son of Katie Bell and Oliver Wood, as I hope you've realized.
and i see my dreams inside your grey eyes
last night's dream, we rode our bikes to our tree-house by the sea
and there we laid and said we'd never leave
(we the kings.)
Scorpius Malfoy sweeps past his Ocotillo Wood, swiping a doughnut from his plate, ignoring the Ravenclaw's yelp of, "Hey!", before plopping down heavily onto the wooden bench beside a certain ginger-headed girl whose cheeks was hidden by a long curtain of red and brown, her petite nose and eyes behind a worn book.
"Rosie, dear," Malfoy greets, voice muffled by the fact that doughnut crumbs were spilling from his pale lips. "You really should pay more attention to your lover."
The desired effect was reached. Rosie slams the book down, making a loud clap! that results in every Ravenclaw seated at the House Table snapping their necks and staring at them, eyes coloured every which way giving them hard, condescending looks. "Shut it, Malfoy," she snaps, reaching down to pluck a piece of half-eaten toast from her plate and popping it into her mouth briskly before her eyes return to her reading. "Why don't you just leave me alone? I'm trying to study for the Divination exam. Professor Patil said it will be great preparation for the N.E.W.T.s later on, since most of the questions are like the ones on the test, so I want to do well." Scorpius' eyes wander and read the cover of her textbook. Love: How to Predict and Interpret the Strongest Type of Magic by Sybill Trelawney.
He runs a pale hand through dirty blond hair. "That's quite a long titled book you got there, Rosie," he notes. His eyebrows come together in determination when she doesn't even meet his eyes. "Why do you even take Divination, anyway, Rosie? It's just a load of dragon dung—"
The book comes down against the shiny wood again, and this time, the Gryffindors join in glaring at the pair, who are oblivious.
"Oi, quit that!" Professor Lupin shouts toward them, in the midst of a food fight with a certain female Potter daughter.
Rosie, who hasn't quite realized that Malfoy's actually enjoying the fact that she's getting all worked up, gets a very stubborn look on her face that very much reflects her father. "So you're telling me," she says, "that if you had a chance to know what would happen in the future—whether it's tomorrow or in a few weeks or in a year or in a decade, when you'll die or get married or if you get hurt and who you'll fall in love with—you wouldn't jump at the chance of it?" Her lips have formed a thin, hard-headed line, but her eyes sparkle slightly, dancing with laughter as she watches Scorpius' smirk.
"I wouldn't, actually," he admits. "I already know enough about my future to be satisfied, Miss Weasley, and I'm not one to push my luck." Scorpius flashes a sheepish grin, leaning in closer to her subconsciously.
"Oh, that's funny," Rosie grumbles, voice laced with the venomous sarcasm that results from being the daughter of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. "And what do you know of your own future that makes you so smug with yourself, Mister Malfoy?"
Scorpius places his elbows firmly on the table and leans across the sea of mahogany, so far that he's almost laying upon it. His toned stomach presses into the edge as he pauses centimeters from Rosie's face. "All I know is that you're quite a big part of it," he murmurs, "and that's pretty much good enough for me."
A smile spreads across her mouth. She looks away reluctantly, a blush tearing through her cheeks like wildfire. "You're very mushy," she tells him, laughing.
"It's one of my more lovable qualities."
"I'm trying really hard not to snog you senseless because of it, in fact. Maybe you should keep this certain quality." Her confession makes Scorpius laugh out loud and place his finger beneath Rosie's chin, storm connecting with sky.
"Why don't you try really hard not to not snog me, if that makes any sense at all?" he whispers, and captures her lips within his, loving the taste of butter toast and doughnut for breakfast. In fact, the couple are so intent on snogging at the breakfast table and making younger Ravenclaws barf that Scorpius doesn't notice Ocotillo snatch the rest of his doughnut back clumsily.