"Snapshots" - A Gift for ladyshina
Title: Snapshots
Author: princessgilly
Gift For: ladyshina
Summary: A few weeks in the south of France, maybe a nice summer fling is all that was expected but things don't always turn out as planned. A serious of snapshots.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,780
Author's Note: I hope that I incorporated the things you asked for enough. This was actually quite hard to get write( 2 failed attempts!) but definitely worth it so I really hope you enjoy it.
i. Monday
She wanders along the stonewall that rises up to the town from the beach, less than a foot of the ground on one side, higher than she was on the other. It was one of the days she was especially glad to be a witch. A Muggle with her skin could not walk around in the mid-day sun without ending up looking like some kind of lobster. With a simple sun-repelling charm she could wander around in next to nothing without the slightest hint of a tan afterwards. Not that she was wearing next to nothing. Her sarong was wrapped loosely around her waist covering her legs to mid calf, and maybe her daddy wouldn’t approve of the strappy -and admittedly low cut- singlet top she wore over her bikini but he didn’t approve of anything that didn’t cover her neck to ankle. Laughing, she finishes off her ice-cream and tosses the chocolate smeared napkin in the nearest rubbish bin; Rose raises her camera. Through the frame she focuses on one of the many people seated in a café along the boardwalk. She zooms in slightly and pauses with her finger on the shutter. An amused smile plays on her lips as she hears the satisfying noise and saunters away.
Click
ii. Tuesday
She sees him again and rolls her eyes as she passes; he seems oblivious to anything other than his work. She has no doubt that he is working; even though she has reliable information he was ordered to take a break by his boss. They had something in common then; her vacance français, as Lily called it, had been planned out by her well-meaning and interfering cousins as an intervention of sorts. She could hardly argue with them, the carefree sunny days were making her feel much happier than the all time dreary England had given her. She knows more than one picture is uncomfortably close to stalkerish tendencies but she can’t really help herself. She spins around and aims.
Click.
iii. Thursday
He gulps down his café while pouring over the parchment his boss had forbidden him to take with him. It’s rich and bitter just as coffee should be and he allows himself a moment to smile and the imagined look of horror on his British friends faces. They all drank tea, milky and sweet. Scorpius shuddered.
“I call this one, Malfoy’s idea of a holiday.” A familiar voice said at his elbow, he looked up and saw a mane of red hair pouring out from behind a camera.
“Rose Weasley?”
Click.
iv. Friday
She wasn’t planning on talking to him, after all they were just two people who happened to have gone to the same school and then years later had ended up in the same tiny seaside town for a holiday.
It lasted two days, by which time she was feeling so bored and lonely she accosted him at his habitual café and dragged him off for lunch. They ate in one of the many seafood restaurants that overlooked the ocean. She ordered Moules à la Marinièr and to her amusement, Scorpius ordered a hamburger and chips. The waiter looked insulted and went away muttering about les stupides américans. Scorpius’ face was a study of indignant shock.
Click.
v. Sunday
They wander the steep, narrow streets of Colliure together, Rose snapping away at the colourful buildings as they wound their way along the cobblestone. Each street is a new adventure, paintings propped by doorways that led to tiny art galleries, washing strung across from windows, pots of brightly coloured flowers pouring down from window boxes. They reached a small carpark halfway up the hill; small ancient stone surrounded it in a low wall. Scorpius reached out a hand and helped her over it, holding tight she dragged him to the edge and gazed out. No matter how many times in his life he had looked over the town, at the ocean, the view always took his breath away. “You really have the most amazing expressions,” Rose said from his left.
Click.
vi. A small crowd was gathered at the bridge so they wandered over to see what was going on. Rose hung over the rail with her camera while Scorpius murmured translations of the chatter around them and held onto her waist so she wouldn’t fall. The Muggle military were training, pushing large rubber boats into the sea, swimming around the harbour, packing and unpacking bags, equipment and the boats all while a large aggressive looking man barked out sharp orders. Eventually they wandered away, Scorpius’ his arm still around her waist. Rose smiled, but didn’t look up from her camera.
“Rose…”he began cautiously, “do you want to..?”
“Yes.” She said spinning away from him and laughing at his confused face.
“Yes I do.”
Click.
vii. Wednesday
She lay, sprawled over his bed, the sheets a tangled bunch at her feet. It was not the bed he’d slept in as a child, though it was the same room there were only a few relics left of his childhood. She smiled up at him, “I didn’t know you grew up in France.” He shrugged, “I’m a Malfoy, remember, England wasn’t exactly the kindest place to be.”
“But you got to live in this town. It’s so beautiful.” She was so beautiful, her hair a tangled mess of red, her skin glowing. Despite the explosion of reds pinks and oranges in the sky and their reflection dancing across the Mediterranean, Scorpius knew she was the most beautiful sight in the world. He picked up her camera from the dresser. Laughing she protested, but blew him a kiss as he pressed the shutter.
Click.
viii. Friday
He doesn’t want to. It seems too much like something a family would do, or a couple on a honeymoon. They’re neither -as much as he might wish it otherwise; this is a holiday romance, sun and sand, not substance. He does it anyways, because she asks him to. Because it was Rose with big brown eyes that plead so effectively. Because of the tiny curve that appears in the corner of her mouth when he gives in.
“Excusez-moi madame mais est-ce que vous pouvez prendre une photo s’il vous plait?”
The woman smiles, compliments him on his pretty girlfriend and takes the camera.
Rose can tell he didn’t want to ask, probably too much like commitment, a photo, something tangible that says ‘we were here, together.’ But she asked him anyway. Because she wants that, for when they both return to life apart. He to his work (and whatever else), she to her loneliness.
His arm goes around her; her head rests on his shoulder
“Ouistiti” The woman calls. They smile.
Click.
ix. Saturday
They have breakfast together before Scorpius heads of to Perpignan, the nearest city with an International Apparation Point. She wants to go with him, to have him hold her tight, so she can cry a little and he can tell her it’ll be all right and they’ll be together again soon but she can’t and he leaves her with a friendly peck on the cheek and a careless wave over his shoulder. Once again she raises her camera and says a final goodbye.
Click.
x. Monday
She packs her things and goes back to England. Lily comes by, bubbly giggling and engaged. All things Rose once was but now isn’t. Not now with the big gaping loss of what she was, what she lost; of what she could’ve had back almost drowns her. Rose pushes down the rising panic. She tells herself to calm down, holidays invariably end as do summer romances and it never killed anyone.
“Are you okay honey?” Lily asks. Rose pushes aside the concern and gets out the holiday photos she knows her cousin is dying to see. Too late she remembers the sheer number of pictures taken of him. Lily doesn’t mention it, but Rose knows her well enough to spot the tiny smirk at the corner of mouth. It is so Lily that she can’t help but raise her camera.
Click.
xi. Monday
She gets back into her routine, spending a lot of time in her dark room experimenting, even though she knows she can’t use the photos in an exhibition. Not without the subjects permission. She sighs, transferring the current picture out of the developer. She wondered what he would say if she worked up the courage to ask. It would depend on the question, she decided.
After setting the photo into the water wash she heads out to the living room and spends the required fifteen minutes drafting a letter. “Oh Merlin, please let him say yes.”
Hope and panic entwined in her stomach as she watched the owl fly off into the distance, an elegant black mark against a dreary, dapple-grey sky.
Click.
xii. Later
Rose has been different since she got back from her holiday. Lily wasn’t sure if she should be glad or worried. The holiday had been planned to lure Rose out of the cocoon of depression she’d woven around herself after her fiancé left her and to that purpose, it’d worked. She was working again; Lily smiled at the camera in her hand. Rose had left it behind when she’d dropped by for tea. Another positive change: actually leaving her house. But there was something going on. Lily knew her cousin well enough to see that, and there was also the large number of times Scorpius Malfoy had popped up in Rose’s holiday photos. It was certainly enough to make a girl wonder. She climbed the stairs to Rose’s flat wondering why it was she always seemed to walk when she could simply Apparate. She arrived at the landing, cursing Rose’s choice of floors and her own stupid stubborn streak. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Rose stood, framed perfectly in the doorway, a mess of emotions running across her face. Before her stood a tall, handsome man with pale blonde hair. He was holding his hands out to her, asking her to take them. Tears in her eyes, Rose places her own hands in his and his fingers closed tightly over them.
Lily held back tears herself. It was just so romantic, like those movies her brothers, and now her fiancé refused to watch with her. She could practically hear the violins playing. With a small, slightly wistful sigh, she raised Rose’s camera and fiddled with the focus. There was a lot to be said of marrying your childhood sweetheart but every now and then she liked to indulge (vicariously of course) in a whirlwind romance.
Click.
Author: princessgilly
Gift For: ladyshina
Summary: A few weeks in the south of France, maybe a nice summer fling is all that was expected but things don't always turn out as planned. A serious of snapshots.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,780
Author's Note: I hope that I incorporated the things you asked for enough. This was actually quite hard to get write( 2 failed attempts!) but definitely worth it so I really hope you enjoy it.
i. Monday
She wanders along the stonewall that rises up to the town from the beach, less than a foot of the ground on one side, higher than she was on the other. It was one of the days she was especially glad to be a witch. A Muggle with her skin could not walk around in the mid-day sun without ending up looking like some kind of lobster. With a simple sun-repelling charm she could wander around in next to nothing without the slightest hint of a tan afterwards. Not that she was wearing next to nothing. Her sarong was wrapped loosely around her waist covering her legs to mid calf, and maybe her daddy wouldn’t approve of the strappy -and admittedly low cut- singlet top she wore over her bikini but he didn’t approve of anything that didn’t cover her neck to ankle. Laughing, she finishes off her ice-cream and tosses the chocolate smeared napkin in the nearest rubbish bin; Rose raises her camera. Through the frame she focuses on one of the many people seated in a café along the boardwalk. She zooms in slightly and pauses with her finger on the shutter. An amused smile plays on her lips as she hears the satisfying noise and saunters away.
Click
ii. Tuesday
She sees him again and rolls her eyes as she passes; he seems oblivious to anything other than his work. She has no doubt that he is working; even though she has reliable information he was ordered to take a break by his boss. They had something in common then; her vacance français, as Lily called it, had been planned out by her well-meaning and interfering cousins as an intervention of sorts. She could hardly argue with them, the carefree sunny days were making her feel much happier than the all time dreary England had given her. She knows more than one picture is uncomfortably close to stalkerish tendencies but she can’t really help herself. She spins around and aims.
Click.
iii. Thursday
He gulps down his café while pouring over the parchment his boss had forbidden him to take with him. It’s rich and bitter just as coffee should be and he allows himself a moment to smile and the imagined look of horror on his British friends faces. They all drank tea, milky and sweet. Scorpius shuddered.
“I call this one, Malfoy’s idea of a holiday.” A familiar voice said at his elbow, he looked up and saw a mane of red hair pouring out from behind a camera.
“Rose Weasley?”
Click.
iv. Friday
She wasn’t planning on talking to him, after all they were just two people who happened to have gone to the same school and then years later had ended up in the same tiny seaside town for a holiday.
It lasted two days, by which time she was feeling so bored and lonely she accosted him at his habitual café and dragged him off for lunch. They ate in one of the many seafood restaurants that overlooked the ocean. She ordered Moules à la Marinièr and to her amusement, Scorpius ordered a hamburger and chips. The waiter looked insulted and went away muttering about les stupides américans. Scorpius’ face was a study of indignant shock.
Click.
v. Sunday
They wander the steep, narrow streets of Colliure together, Rose snapping away at the colourful buildings as they wound their way along the cobblestone. Each street is a new adventure, paintings propped by doorways that led to tiny art galleries, washing strung across from windows, pots of brightly coloured flowers pouring down from window boxes. They reached a small carpark halfway up the hill; small ancient stone surrounded it in a low wall. Scorpius reached out a hand and helped her over it, holding tight she dragged him to the edge and gazed out. No matter how many times in his life he had looked over the town, at the ocean, the view always took his breath away. “You really have the most amazing expressions,” Rose said from his left.
Click.
vi. A small crowd was gathered at the bridge so they wandered over to see what was going on. Rose hung over the rail with her camera while Scorpius murmured translations of the chatter around them and held onto her waist so she wouldn’t fall. The Muggle military were training, pushing large rubber boats into the sea, swimming around the harbour, packing and unpacking bags, equipment and the boats all while a large aggressive looking man barked out sharp orders. Eventually they wandered away, Scorpius’ his arm still around her waist. Rose smiled, but didn’t look up from her camera.
“Rose…”he began cautiously, “do you want to..?”
“Yes.” She said spinning away from him and laughing at his confused face.
“Yes I do.”
Click.
vii. Wednesday
She lay, sprawled over his bed, the sheets a tangled bunch at her feet. It was not the bed he’d slept in as a child, though it was the same room there were only a few relics left of his childhood. She smiled up at him, “I didn’t know you grew up in France.” He shrugged, “I’m a Malfoy, remember, England wasn’t exactly the kindest place to be.”
“But you got to live in this town. It’s so beautiful.” She was so beautiful, her hair a tangled mess of red, her skin glowing. Despite the explosion of reds pinks and oranges in the sky and their reflection dancing across the Mediterranean, Scorpius knew she was the most beautiful sight in the world. He picked up her camera from the dresser. Laughing she protested, but blew him a kiss as he pressed the shutter.
Click.
viii. Friday
He doesn’t want to. It seems too much like something a family would do, or a couple on a honeymoon. They’re neither -as much as he might wish it otherwise; this is a holiday romance, sun and sand, not substance. He does it anyways, because she asks him to. Because it was Rose with big brown eyes that plead so effectively. Because of the tiny curve that appears in the corner of her mouth when he gives in.
“Excusez-moi madame mais est-ce que vous pouvez prendre une photo s’il vous plait?”
The woman smiles, compliments him on his pretty girlfriend and takes the camera.
Rose can tell he didn’t want to ask, probably too much like commitment, a photo, something tangible that says ‘we were here, together.’ But she asked him anyway. Because she wants that, for when they both return to life apart. He to his work (and whatever else), she to her loneliness.
His arm goes around her; her head rests on his shoulder
“Ouistiti” The woman calls. They smile.
Click.
ix. Saturday
They have breakfast together before Scorpius heads of to Perpignan, the nearest city with an International Apparation Point. She wants to go with him, to have him hold her tight, so she can cry a little and he can tell her it’ll be all right and they’ll be together again soon but she can’t and he leaves her with a friendly peck on the cheek and a careless wave over his shoulder. Once again she raises her camera and says a final goodbye.
Click.
x. Monday
She packs her things and goes back to England. Lily comes by, bubbly giggling and engaged. All things Rose once was but now isn’t. Not now with the big gaping loss of what she was, what she lost; of what she could’ve had back almost drowns her. Rose pushes down the rising panic. She tells herself to calm down, holidays invariably end as do summer romances and it never killed anyone.
“Are you okay honey?” Lily asks. Rose pushes aside the concern and gets out the holiday photos she knows her cousin is dying to see. Too late she remembers the sheer number of pictures taken of him. Lily doesn’t mention it, but Rose knows her well enough to spot the tiny smirk at the corner of mouth. It is so Lily that she can’t help but raise her camera.
Click.
xi. Monday
She gets back into her routine, spending a lot of time in her dark room experimenting, even though she knows she can’t use the photos in an exhibition. Not without the subjects permission. She sighs, transferring the current picture out of the developer. She wondered what he would say if she worked up the courage to ask. It would depend on the question, she decided.
After setting the photo into the water wash she heads out to the living room and spends the required fifteen minutes drafting a letter. “Oh Merlin, please let him say yes.”
Hope and panic entwined in her stomach as she watched the owl fly off into the distance, an elegant black mark against a dreary, dapple-grey sky.
Click.
xii. Later
Rose has been different since she got back from her holiday. Lily wasn’t sure if she should be glad or worried. The holiday had been planned to lure Rose out of the cocoon of depression she’d woven around herself after her fiancé left her and to that purpose, it’d worked. She was working again; Lily smiled at the camera in her hand. Rose had left it behind when she’d dropped by for tea. Another positive change: actually leaving her house. But there was something going on. Lily knew her cousin well enough to see that, and there was also the large number of times Scorpius Malfoy had popped up in Rose’s holiday photos. It was certainly enough to make a girl wonder. She climbed the stairs to Rose’s flat wondering why it was she always seemed to walk when she could simply Apparate. She arrived at the landing, cursing Rose’s choice of floors and her own stupid stubborn streak. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Rose stood, framed perfectly in the doorway, a mess of emotions running across her face. Before her stood a tall, handsome man with pale blonde hair. He was holding his hands out to her, asking her to take them. Tears in her eyes, Rose places her own hands in his and his fingers closed tightly over them.
Lily held back tears herself. It was just so romantic, like those movies her brothers, and now her fiancé refused to watch with her. She could practically hear the violins playing. With a small, slightly wistful sigh, she raised Rose’s camera and fiddled with the focus. There was a lot to be said of marrying your childhood sweetheart but every now and then she liked to indulge (vicariously of course) in a whirlwind romance.
Click.