A/N: So I am a long-time reader of Scorpius/Rose, but never attempted to write my own until now, so I'm fairly nervous… go easy on me.
Tell me I'm having just a bad dream tonight
Tell me love, that it's all alright
Tell me I'm having just a bad dream tonight
Come wake me up
I just want to make one thing clear, right off the bat. I am not the type of girl who would normally be writing in a diary. I had considered them to be silly and frivolous, and frankly, a complete waste of time. When I had been given one as a gift as a little girl of six or seven, I attempted to fill it, but I didn't last long. You can only write 'today I had eggs for breakfast' or 'I flooed to Aunt Ginny's' so many times before you have a book filled with inexorable proof of just how tedious your life really is.
Since then, I had sworn off the damn books for good, and, honestly, hadn't even considered writing down my 'thoughts' until now. There is simply no other option if I am ever going to sort out what's going on upstairs, because right now my thoughts are so completely bent out of shape that every few moments I have to remind myself of my own name. The hangover certainly doesn't help.
I have always been an overly analytical and overly emotional person, which is a huge contributing factor into the current and rapid disappearance of my sanity. What other people do is not black and white, you know, and my desire to know the meaning behind their actions is perfectly reasonable. Er, most of the time anyway. Sometimes I can get a bit carried away, like on the train ride home at the end of last year when Jeff Maniloe casually told me to 'write him this summer'.
What did that mean? Did he really want to hear from me? What was I supposed to say to a cute guy I had barely spoken to in all my years at Hogwarts if I was to owl him? Even though it was his suggestion, would he find it odd if I did? Did it matter to him if I didn't? I was oh so tempted to ask him, and I would have, if not for Lily expressly forbidding me and insisting it was the worst possible way to handle the situation. If you had a fiery red-headed witch snarling at you while thrusting a wand in your face, you would have surrendered too. Even if she is barely five feet tall. Anyway, my point is, this trait is generally a useful one; it tends to lead to me making rational, intelligent decisions. God knows where my trusty brain was last night when I needed it most.
As for the whole, over-emotional thing… Now that's something I could definitely do without. I am not a fan of being unable to stop myself from bursting into tears over things that I know should not be upsetting me. And that's not when Aunt Flow is visiting either… don't even get me started on what happens then. This was the reason that, to the eternal dismay of my father, it took me so long to follow Quidditch. I mean, sure, I found the game interesting enough (come on, who wouldn't) but watching it just wasn't worth the devastating heartbreak I would feel when the team I was cheering for came up short. But even that's not the worst part.. the worst part was being unable to fully appreciate my team's victory because my heart would completely go out to the team that hadn't won. Someone had to lose, and no matter who it was, I felt the loss so powerfully that it may as well have happened to me – and I hate to lose.
I take things personally. So when my boyfriend, Lorcan Scamander, told me he couldn't come to Ravenclaw's Quidditch victory party with me because he had an essay due and no other free time to do it in, I assumed it was because he simply didn't want to spend time with me. Even though his intelligence and diligence in class was one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. I really am a rotten girlfriend.
So Lorcan made his way to the library and completed his essay like the responsible young adult that he is, while I tried to enjoy the party in the tower while feeling upset and trying to deal with that horrid 'not good enough' feeling. You know the one. I couldn't help it; I wanted Lorcan to be here with me, I wanted him to think, just this once, that spending time with me was a priority. How could a class be more important to him than me, the girl he claimed to love? I know, I know. I'm selfish as well as horrid. Don't worry, it gets worse.
So, what do you do when you're miserable at a party? I'm aware that it wasn't entirely responsible of me, but it really seemed, at the time, that drowning my sorrows in Firewhiskey was the only thing that would make me feel better. Yeah, won't be making that mistake again. Hopefully. It's not like I hadn't drank before, I am, after all, cousin to James Potter, biggest party animal Hogwarts has seen since, well, my guess is ever.
But this time, it was different. I suppose you could say that I was drinking with the sole purpose to get drunk, while the previous times it had been just a drink or two because it was expected of me. Note to self: when others are telling you you're done, you're done. Don't laugh like they have no clue what they are talking about and then trip over a chair leg and fall on your face. Oh god, and I landed on that little third year, Susan whatever, who really should have been in bed anyway and is therefore more to blame than I am, really.
Which is one of the only clear memories I have of last night, which is not at all promising. I don't want to think about all the humiliating things I got up to last night… In particular the one other thing I have memory of. Oh my God I can't even believe I am going to write this down, where it will exist as tangible evidence of my guilt. I remember… lips. On mine. That definitely did not belong to Lorcan. And the eyes, cold like steel instead of the warm chocolate of my boyfriend… Okay, so I remember the who.
Scorpius Malfoy. The how and the why of our making out has been erased from my brain. There is no acceptable excuse for this; it shouldn't matter how it happened. But it does. I need to know how I went from dancing on the common room table shaking Billy Reid's tie like a lasso above my head (which I will forever vehemently deny) to cheating on my boyfriend. With Malfoy. Who I hate. Firewhiskey should be out-lawed if it causes well-intentioned young girls like me to end up going at it with boys they've hated since before they had even met. Maybe I thought he was Lorcan. Lorcan is the only guy I want to be kissing.
Malfoy… is part of why I'm still hiding up in my dormitory instead of going to Lunch even though I'm starving because all of my stomach's contents have been thoroughly emptied into the toilet. I can't stand to look at his smug face, have him lord it over me that 'no girl could resist him', seeing as, until last night, I was probably the only one who ever had. What a victory it must be for him. I never want to see his face again, see those lips and those eyes. But I have to, and I know I have to soon, because there is no way he's just going to keep this to himself without multiple threats to his life. I'm praying to Merlin that no one saw us last night, and I'm clinging to that like a lifeline.
No one will believe Malfoy if he just starts mouthing off about how he kissed Rose Weasley if he has no witnesses. Hopefully. I mean, it's hardly plausible. And Malfoy has a bit of a reputation for boasting and over-exaggerating about his female conquests. Oh, who am I kidding. If he breathes a single word, my life is over.
-Rose Weasley. The cheater who is going to Hell.
A/N: So, I know the plot is a bit cliché, but I hope it's enjoyable all the same. Please review :)