A/N: This is a farewell piece of sorts; I'll be swearing off fanfic for the next couple of months – we're having pretty major exams in about 6 weeks, and I feel that I need to cut off all my distractions. *sobs* However, when I'm back, I'll be back with a VENGENCE. Also, these page breaks are pissing me off so sorry if you have problems with the format :(
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, it's a pretty different Scorrose relationship than what I usually write, and I kinda like their dynamic in this one.
REVIEWS ARE MY FOOD, AND I'M HUNGRY. Hahahahaaaaaa
I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own the amazing song that inspired me to write this. :'(
"Keep me closer; I'm a lazy dancer, when you move, I move with you." – Metric, Collect Call.
Ever since I was capable of gurgling 'Dada', I had danced with my father on New Year's Eve.
He would pick me up and hold me in his arms – my feet never touched the ground as we whirled round under the glistening lights from the lanterns that always lit up the giant tent that would always be set up outside the burrow.
By the time I was six, I was too large for him to hold my weight for an entire song, like he always did. He took to holding my small, sticky hands in his large, comforting ones as I allowed my toes to settle on his rather large feet, allowing him to whisk me around, and occasionally, lift me off my – or rather, his – feet.
Even at the age of fifteen, I insisted on stepping on my father's toes, albeit much more lightly than I had done before. He still guided me along, and I followed – that's how it worked.
I never did dance with my own feet.
I never did dance, not unless it was with my father.
I just couldn't dance.
I've tried dancing with other people, I swear I have. Teddy and Albus, for example. Both dances resulted in extremely awkward foot-shuffling and foot-stepping, which resulted in me turning beet red and laughing awkwardly. Teddy's hair even turned bright red.
So you see, I couldn't dance, and thus, I didn't dance.
On our annual New Year's celebration during my fourth year, I realised that Scorpius Malfoy clearly didn't understand this.
Scorpius Malfoy was Albus' best friend - they had both been sorted into Slytherin and they had easily become fast friends, which resulted in Scorpius' frequent appearance at our New Years' party over the past few years.
Albus was my best friend as well, I guess. We never really felt the need to put a label on our relationship – we lived next to each other, we were always there for one another, there was nothing one didn't know about the other, and we shared blood. That was all, and I supposed that made us best friends.
Despite our mutual 'best friend', Scorpius and I had remained nothing more than casual acquaintances, only really speaking to each other when it was to discuss Albus' whereabouts, or to tease him.
You can imagine my surprise when Scorpius asked me to dance with him.
No one ever asked to dance with me. Everyone knew I only danced one dance with my father, and that was all. The rest of the celebrations, I would be doing… something other than dancing.
Being the ever-mature witch of fifteen, I blinked at him and said, "No."
He laughed at my quick response, and I vaguely noticed he, like Albus, had seemed to have magically elongated over the summer and the school year.
"Whyever not, Rosie?"
I raised my brow at him. "I don't dance."
"You dance with your father every year," he refuted quickly, tilting his head to peer at me carefully, as if I were some sort of enigma.
"That, Malfoy, if because he is my father. I don't dance with anyone else."
"Couldn't you make an exception?"
"Come on, Weasley."
Merlin, he was persistent.
"You know what," I laughed, "why don't you go dance with every other Weasley girl and then get back to me?"
He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled mischievously as he winked at me and walked off.
Half an hour later, he fell into the empty seat beside me, breathing rather heavier than before, a shiny sheen of perspiration layering his skin.
"I did it," he announced.
I turned round to look at him, surprised. He was speaking to me more tonight than he had in the past month. "Did what?"
"Danced with every one of your female cousins."
"Already?" I asked surprisedly. "Who dances that quickly? Shouldn't you be out there," I pointed to the dance floor, "rather than over here?"
"I knew you were just trying to get rid of me," he muttered darkly, shaking his head dramatically. As I laughed in response, he continued speaking.
"And yes – 30 minutes, 6 cousins, 5 songs."
"Slytherin to the core," I mumbled darkly, in response to his calculating nature. I shifted in my seat to get a better look at him.
He smirked at me, and I felt an unfamiliar fluttering in the pit of my stomach. "So will you dance with me?" he asked again, seeming to have regulated his breathing rate.
"I spent half an hour dancing for just one dance, Rose."
"I suppose you did," I concluded, looking at him oddly. What a strange boy. Albus had never told me he was such an eccentric. He was interesting, though. I had to give him that.
"I suppose I did, as well."
"Fine," I sighed, standing up and straightening out the skirt of my dress. He grinned widely and stood up quickly. As we approached the dance floor, I muttered, "Scorpius?"
"I thought I should give you fair warning - It's not that I don't dance…" I mumbled, looking past his shoulder, avoiding eye-contact. "I can't dance."
He grabbed my right hand and gently placed it on his shoulder. "Just follow my lead," he said calmly, and grasped my left hand in his right.
"You're awfully insistent on dancing with someone you only know through association," I grumbled.
He laughed, his deep, throaty chuckle and whispered, "I know you well enough, Rose. You just don't know me."
What a bloody cryptic.
"Maybe I should make it my New Year's Resolution."
"Maybe you should," he acquiesced, placing a hand on my waist. I stiffed involuntarily. He leaned in close to my ear, bending over a surprising amount. "Just relax."
"Relax," I muttered sarcastically, rolling my shoulders uncomfortably. "Just the one song, Malfoy."
"That's all I asked for."
The volume of the music began to rise, and Scorpius began to dance.
Scorpius danced, and I followed. It was amazing really – his hands fit in the deepening bend that was my waist – puberty's doing – and he led me through the entire song; his feet moved, and mine moved with his. Our movements weren't separate – they were a single entity. Not once did our feet clash, nor did our knees collide. His being, the feel of him guiding me so effortlessly just felt… correct.
I didn't notice when the song was over.
"That was the one song, Rose," he stated, smirking down at me.
I blinked up at him, still rather flustered from the shocking easiness of the dance. "Oh."
He glanced at his watch. "It's about time for the countdown," he said, releasing my waist. "We best leave the dance floor to the couples." His grey eyes twinkled as he said this, glancing carelessly at my hand that still lay on his shoulder.
"Yeah," I said awkwardly, pulling my hand off his shoulder, immediately busying it with my curls. "Couples," I mumbled.
He smiled, and we walked towards my earlier seat, his hand placed gently on my lower back, guiding me along. I turned round and smiled at him.
"You dance good, Malfoy."
"Speak for yourself," he muttered, looking away, almost shy. He shook his head, and then said, "I really don't understand why you don't dance more often."
"I just can't."
"You just need someone to move with you, Weasley."
With that, he smiled at me, looking oddly genuine, and walked away, probably in search of Albus' messy black porcupine shell of hair.
What a bloody cryptic.
This was my first Victory Ball.
Despite being in my sixth year, and consequently being entitled to coming to the ball for the past two years, this was my first one.
And I wasn't planning on dancing, despite Lily's persistent prodding in my ribs.
"It's a ball! You're dressed up, go find someone and dance!"
"Rosieeeeeeeeeee," she complained.
"Lillllllllllllly," I said in return, mimicking her tone.
This voice was much deeper, calmer, and had an amused tone to it.
I looked at a very tall Malfoy towering over my dwarfed height – I was seated, and he was standing.
"Scorpius!" I smiled awkwardly at him, trying to push away my giggling cousin.
"I see you've finally made it to a ball."
"So I have."
He watched me for a while, eyes roaming over my now silky curls, and my silvery-gold dress.
I crossed my legs awkwardly.
"You look nice," he said, the corners of his lips perking upward.
I blushed, and Lily actually burst into laughter. "Sod off, Lily!" I said incredulously, shoving her away. She stood up and batted her lashes at me, and smiled goofily at Scorpius – he was like a third brother to her, the amount of time he spent with Albus – and sashayed away from us.
Lily loved teasing me with Scorpius; she thought our dance at every New Years' Eve party, which had become a sort of tradition for us – he would dance with every one of my female cousins, and then with me last – was sweet.
Scorpius dropped into the now vacant seat next to me, and I felt oddly aware of how his thigh brushed against mine as he sat down.
"So Rosie," he began slowly, and I could hear the smile in his voice even without looking at him. "Care for a dance?"
I laughed, and rolled my eyes. "Don't you have a date?"
"Ashlyn won't mind."
I burst into laughter at that, turning to look at him. "Wasn't her name Anne?"
"It was?" he asked, and at least he had the decency to look shameful.
"How could you not know the name of your date?" I asked incredulously, greatly amused.
"She asked me!" he said defensively. "She looked alright, and I couldn't be bothered to think of an excuse, so I said yes."
I pursed my lips and shook my head, albeit playfully.
"Anyway, Rosie, didn't Finnegan ask you?"
"Yes," I drawled, looking at him oddly. How would he know?
"And yet here you are, dateless."
"I figured," I began, "that having a date when you go to a ball would rather hint at wanting to dance. And I don't want to dance."
"You're still adamant about not dancing?"
I didn't reply, meeting his playful grey irises with my chocolate ones.
He stood up and moved before me, holding out a hand, saying, "Come on, Weaselbee," his eyes twinkling.
I would be lying if I said there wasn't a tiny bubble of anticipation in my belly as I looked at his outstretched hand.
After my first dance with Scorpius, we had become more than mere acquaintances – more like friends; good friends. He sat beside me in several classes, and we shared a very playful, teasing friendship, consisting of meaningless flirting that often resulted in Albus making weird gagging noises. We did it mostly to piss Albus off. We had actually grown to know each other rather well – I seemed to have succeeded with my New Year's resolution those years ago. I even accompanied him and Albus to Hogsmeade more often than not.
Sighing as though dancing with him was a tremendous chore – it was far from it, actually, if I remembered the last time correctly – I placed my much smaller hand in his, and allowed him to help me out of my chair.
As we approached the middle of the dance floor, I felt awkwardness settle over me, and looked up at him uneasily.
"Loosen up, Rose."
I nodded tersely as he placed a hand on my waist. I caught my breath as his large hands settled into the curve in my waist; somehow it felt more intimate than last time – his hands were larger, and the curve in my waist was more defined, and his hand settled more comfortably on my waist. I found myself thinking something rather foreign – that at that moment, we literally fit each other.
I had danced with him last year, during New Years' eve, but something about this time was different; when we usually danced, I would usually be wearing a light cotton dress, rather than a sleek, shiny dress, and him, jeans and a t-shirt rather than a suit. My hair would be casually tucked into a long braid, not knotted into a sleek bun with bangs framing my face. Few strands of hair would be easily flopping over his eyes, but now it was slicked back handsomely, accentuating his jaw.
We were different.
"Alright, Rose?" he asked, completely unaware of the uneasy train of thought his hand had brought on.
I shook myself and looked up at him. "Yeah."
In the dim candlelight, Scorpius' sharp aristocratic features were thrown into sharp relief, and as his lips drew into a smile slowly, my stomach experienced a rather unfamiliar sinking feeling and I found myself wondering how I could ever really just be friends with someone so… beautiful.
Was the pumpkin juice spiked, or something?
Pulling my thoughts away from dangerous territory, I placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted my left elbow, waiting for him to take my free hand in his.
He clucked his tongue at me, shaking his head at me. "I think we can do better than that, Rose." He lifted my awkwardly suspended arm and settled it on his shoulder.
His other hand slipped onto my waist, and I felt my knees wobble a little.
WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH ME?!
He pulled me closer to him, and I knotted my fingers behind his neck as he began.
I always say he began – this was because he did all the work. He moved me; the slight movements of his hands, the swaying of his body, the light steps of his feet.
This suited me perfectly – I was a passive dancer, and he led me.
It was so easy, dancing with him. Thinking about it, being around him was just as easy. I never really had to dig up things to say when he was around; we just didn't fall into awkward silences. Our conversations weren't forced, much like our movements as we danced. There was no friction between us.
I don't know how long we danced.
We didn't speak, and I just stole occasional peeks at him, musing at how much he had grown since the last time we had done this. His fingers drummed lightly against my waist to the beat, and I almost didn't notice when the song playing had increased in tempo and he began moving faster.
I looked up at him, and found him looking at me, a small smile etched on his face.
I really couldn't do fast dances. Not even with him.
As though he knew exactly what I was going to say, he said, "Just give it a shot, Rose."
In all our dances – exactly three – we had never danced to anything upbeat. It was always a slow, mellow song, and slow movements that were easy to follow. I was not used to this.
"But I really can't-"
He interrupted my protests by abruptly removing my hands from his shoulder and twirling me round under his arm. Gasping in surprise, I followed the movements of his arm, spinning around, my dress rising up around me.
He laughed at my expression, and said quietly, "You see? You can do anything. I'll help you."
"I'll trip on my own feet!" I exclaimed.
"I'll catch you."
This was the thing about Scorpius – he brought me into uncharted territory.
And to be honest, I enjoyed it.
This was my first New Years' Eve party without Grandpa Weasley.
This was everyone's first New Years' without him.
I sat alone in my dad's old room – the room I always bunked in whenever we stayed over – in the burrow, staring out of the window, into the open field where my cousins and family friends – namely, Alyssa and Francesca Longbottom, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander, and a bunch of our own respective friends, including Scorpius – were playing quidditch.
As I saw Scorpius turn round to look up at the burrow, I ducked away from the window quickly.
I wanted to be alone.
The mood this year was much more sombre, and there was a certain stiffness in the atmosphere, paired easily with stiff, fake smiles. I abruptly got off the creaky bed and darted toward the old desk sitting in the corner of the room, under a faded, feebly flashing 'Chudley Cannons' poster.
I pulled open the first drawer, and a brief smile flickered across my lips as I realised that the stack of photos I had developed last summer was still there.
I sifted through them impatiently, looking a particular photograph.
I found it.
Impatiently stuffing the remainder into the drawer and violently pushing it close, I didn't allow myself to properly take in the photograph until I was seated on the bed again. I placed it on the bed, a sob already caught in my throat as I looked at it.
My grandfather and I stood before the burrow in the photograph, laughing, showing off his collection of spark plugs. I moved forward and kissed him on the cheek, and he clumsily hugged me, wrapping his arms, with his soft, wrinkly skin, around me.
I missed that feeling.
I missed coming to the Burrow every Christmas to him waiting by the fireplace, where he waited to greet me with a hug.
I was closest to him, even since I was little. I would help him snag muggle merchandise from my Granger grandparents' house, and he'd bring me into the garage, showing me his old collection of muggle things. They were almost always my favourite part of summer.
I remembered how he said electricity wrong.
I remembered how he told me stories about the war.
I remembered how he still couldn't say 'Voldemort'.
I remembered how he smiled, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes deepening.
I missed him.
I put my head into my hands, my palms covering my eyes as I cried quietly, only gasping loudly in the process of inhaling. I don't know how long I sat there, but I knew tears were running down my forearms due the ferocity of my crying.
I didn't wipe my eyes, though. I just sat there, mourning the loss of my favourite Grandfather, my Gramps.
The door creaked open slightly, but I couldn't muster the energy to wipe away my tears or look up.
"Rose? Al's wondering where you've go—Rose?"
I heard the creak of the floorboards as he approached me. "Go away, Shcorphius," I said thickly, not lifting my head.
"Rose," he complained, and I felt him reach out and grasp my wrist with his large hand.
He tried to pry my hand away, but I stubbornly kept it plastered to my face.
"Rosie," he repeated.
I let him pull my hands away from my face, only realising after he did so that my face would be a blotchy mess.
"M'ughly," I muttered, trying to wipe away my tears with the back of hands.
Ineffective method, if you must know.
"Never," he replied easily, shaking his head. He knelt down on the floor, beside the bed. He then shook his hand back into his sweater a little, letting the sleeve reach up to the middle of his palm. He gently wiped the tears off my face with the sleeve of his sweater, the skin of his thumb grazing the underside of my eye gently.
I looked at him with undoubtedly red and puffy eyes. "Sorry," I mumbled as he pulled his arm away from me. I embarrassedly covered my face in my hands again. "I'm such a mess."
"Rubbish," he said, gently prying my hands off my face again. "You have nothing to apologise for. I should have knocked."
"Knocked?" I asked, confused.
"Knocked on the door, love," he said, laughing a little.
"Oh," I said thickly, and I couldn't help the tinge of pink making its way to the tip of my ears. "No," I blubbered. "That's okay."
He knelt before me, one knee on the ground and the other raised, his elbow resting on it. His eyes flashed to the photograph I had been looking at – more like crying at, actually – and then he looked at me intently.
He reached out to hold my hand tentatively.
"I can't even begin to understand what you feel, Rose," he began quietly, and he glanced at the photograph again. "But I can try to make you feel better."
He used his free hand to carefully pick up the photograph and place it a distance away from me. He stood up, still holding my hand. He waited for me to follow his lead, and I stood up with him, looking at him cautiously, not sure exactly what he was doing.
He flicked his wand at the small wireless in the corner of the room, and the dulcet tones of Merlin and His Fiends engulfed the room. Understanding washed over me like the music did.
He held his hand out to me. "Dance?" he murmured quietly, tilting his head to the side, his lips sketching into a gut-wrenching half smile.
I had to smile at that. "S'abit early, don't you think?" I laughed, my voice still thick from my clogged nose. Nonetheless, I placed his hands on my waist and put my arms around his neck.
His hands wrapped tighter around my waist as we swayed, him leading me, as he always did, and as I inhaled his scent lightly, I felt a sudden sense that I was home, right here, in his arms. My sadness, the lonely feeling in the pit of my stomach – they all faded away slowly as we swayed, my head resting on his shoulder. The best thing about dancing with Scorpius, I decided, was that I could just feel his unwavering support in the way he held me.
And he fulfilled that, today.
He showed me that he would always be there for me, not only when we were being playful and teasing one another, nor when there was music playing and there was an opportunity to dance.
He was there for me as a person, not just for a dance, or a witty – albeit flirty – comment.
I may have resumed crying at some point, judging by the wet patch on his sweater as I finally stepped away from him, hands flying to my face, trying to wipe away the left-over tears.
"They'll be wondering where we got to," I said softly, glad to hear that my voice was back to its normal self. I glanced at the window to the darkening sky – the lanterns were already lit up, and people had begun assembling under the tent for dinner.
"Blimey, you're right," he muttered, releasing my waist. He sighed. "Albus'll never let me live this down," he mumbled, placing his hand on my lower back, directing me out the door of the room.
"What?" I asked loudly as we climbed down the stairs.
"Figure it out," he winked at me as we reached the bottom, heading off in the direction of the garden, Albus, and the rest of my cousins.
Scorpius slipped into the empty spot on the bench on my right, and Albus slipped into the spot on my left. I looked at the empty chair at the head of the table, the one that belonged to Arthur Weasley, uneasily, turning around to look at Scorpius.
He squeezed my shoulder.
This was the part of the night I had been dreading.
Every year before dinner on New Years' eve, Grandpa Weasley would make a speech. Mum told me he'd done this ever since the war had ended. He'd always talk about how important it was to be together, as family – he considered everyone present, Uncle Neville, Aunt Luna, and even Scorpius, family. He would tell us how lucky we were to still be here, after the tough times our family had experienced before.
And every year, he'd end with a toast. "To family," he would say.
This year he wasn't here.
The loud chatter died down as Uncle Bill clambered out of his seat and stood at the head of the table.
I guess it was only appropriate his oldest son carry on the tradition. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears.
A hand suddenly slid into my empty one, on my lap, interlocking my fingers and his.
I glanced up at him in surprise, but of course he wasn't looking at me, his eyes were fixed on my Uncle, looking at him intently, waiting for him to begin. Well, at least that proved it really was him doing it. Only Scorpius would do something as intimate as holding my hand without looking at me.
It wasn't intimate in a romantic way, though. I knew it and he knew it. It was a way of him showing his support – telling me I'd never be alone.
"No one," Uncle Bill said loudly, his voice booming as he spoke in the quiet, "can ever replace Dad."
I noticed Grandma Weasley quietly crying into a handkerchief.
"But we have to be strong; because no matter what we wish, life'll go on as it always did. The best we can do is to honour Dad by remembering what he always told us – family is the most important thing in our lives."
Scorpius squeezed my hand lightly.
"And I don't mean just blood-relatives," he added, looking at Teddy, who sat with his daughter, Victoire, their arms linked. Teddy smiled in understanding. "Whoever is here, under this tent, you are family."
I squeezed Scorpius' hand this time, trying to convey that I agreed with what my Uncle was saying.
"So, to end this off quickly," he said, raising his glass of champagne and pausing, waiting for the rest of the family to scramble to get their glasses, "here's to family."
"Family," we echoed, mirroring his movements.
Scorpius' thumb brushed past my hand comfortingly as he released my hand, his fingers sliding out of mine. I looked up at him and smiled as he met my eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek.
I gulped at the full length mirror I had conjured, especially for the occasion.
I rolled my shoulders back, and I watched my exposed collarbones' movement through the mirror. Fully aware of the unbecoming look of uneasiness on my face, I fingered the fluffy material of my wedding gown.
"Sweetheart?" I heard my grandmother call through the door.
"Come in, Gran!" I called out, and turned around to watch her plump figure enter the room my dad had spent his childhood in. Her withered fingers flew up to her mouth, and I saw tears briefly form in her eyes as she looked at me, all grown up in my wedding gown.
"You look so beautiful," she said, eyes shining, moving toward me, arms outstretched.
I shuffled toward her, allowing myself to get lost in my Grandmother's arms one last time before I became a part of a new family.
We pulled apart eventually, and she looked at me through the reflection in the large mirror. "He knew, you know," she smiled at me.
I tilted my head, confused.
"Arthur," she said. "From the first time you danced with Scorpius, when you were 15, Arthur knew he loved you. 'It was in the way he held her' he told me. He said his family background didn't matter when he looked at you like that."
My lips trembled with emotion as I cherished this nugget of previously unknown information that came from my Grandfather. "Thank…Thank you for telling me that, Gran."
She reached up and put a hand on my cheek. "He would be so proud."
I covered her hand with mine, fighting the tears that would undoubtedly ruin my make-up.
"We are so proud of you, Rosie."
"I love you, Gran."
Later that evening, I found myself in the middle of the twinkling tent that was always set up outside the burrow on New Years' eve. Scorpius and I thought it would be appropriate, since that was when we first danced, exactly eight years ago. We also felt it was appropriate to hold our wedding on New Years' Eve.
Mrs Malfoy, Mum, and Gran had eventually agreed, although we allowed them to magick the tent white, and set up more 'wedding-y' decorations. I didn't let them touch the lanterns, though.
I was looking up at my now-husband, grasping his shoulder nervously.
He smirked at me. "Do we have to go through this every time we dance?" he asked playfully.
He bent over me and kissed my forehead, which was met with a general 'awwwww' from the crowd surrounding us, eagerly anticipating our first dance as a married couple. "Relax into it, Rose. Move with me."
"When you move, I move with you," I mumbled to myself.
"That's the way it is," he confirmed, beginning to sway to the music.
A/N: Don't forget to review!