Fic: Articulate
Title: Articulate
Author: i_am_girlfriday
Gift For: sirikit
Summary: Rose Weasley doesn’t understand teenage boys at all, especially Scorpius Malfoy.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2,416
Author's notes: The request was for a friendship-into-romance sort of story. Or even just good flirting, or them having a good laugh together. Prompts included: Hogsmeade weekend -- "Well, that was unexpected..." -- the Giant Squid -- a round of applause -- "thank you." I hope I managed to capture everything sirikit wanted. Also, thanks to my beta!
articulate
ar·tic·u·late
[adj., n. ahr-tik-yuh-lit; v. ahr-tik-yuh-leyt]
-adjective
1. capable of speech; not speechless.
2. using language easily and fluently; having facility with words.
-verb
3. to utter clearly and distinctly; pronounce with clarity.
4. to make terms of agreement.
It’s just another stupid Hogsmeade weekend, Rose keeps repeating in her head, but she can’t deny how much it stings that no one has asked her to go. She’s at the age where her friends are on to their second or third boyfriends. Rose feels hopelessly stalled at unrequited crushes. Her cousin Lily tells her to do as she’s done--do the asking instead of waiting around. Lily has the courage of a Gryffindor, but Rose is a Ravenclaw. She’s pragmatic, even about boys (who make no sense anyway). Rose wants advice, she wants to understand the opposite sex, but it doesn’t help that somehow her father has become the go-to-Weasley on romance. Her mother insists that it’s only natural since he started out on awkward footing and turned out a pro.
Rose is very good at keeping her irritation and disappointment in check around her family, who she can never escape, even in a castle so vast. It’s not that any one boy in particular has scorned her, it’s just that Rose is a perpetual third wheel. Everyone around her falls naturally into a pair, and Rose feels like the leftover sock. Somehow her dad must have found out about her predicament. His owl has just delivered a dozen yellow roses and a handwritten card. She reads her father’s note on the way up to her room, and chokes back a little sob that is half a laugh and half a cry. She really hopes that Lily didn’t tell Hugo about her stupid sock analogy and that Hugo didn’t tell their dad, because having her little brother know about her lack of a love life is more than just bit humiliating.
Rose is so engrossed in her little pity party that she does not see Scorpius Malfoy rounding the corner. Her bouquet collides with his books, scattering petals and pages everywhere. Rose loses her balance and tumbles backward onto the stone floor. She’s a heap of long, lithe limbs and bushy auburn hair.
“Rose! I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?”
Scorpius extends a strong arm, but Rose makes no move to get up. She’s trying her hardest to keep the traitorous tears at bay. One errant salty drop rolls down her lightly freckled cheek. He threads his hands underneath her arms and lifts her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” He isn’t asking about her potential injuries, but instead about whatever it is that has her so upset.
“It’s nothing really. I’m fine.” Rose’s voice is a little shaky, but she moves swiftly to right the mess at their feet. She scoops up the broken stems, trying hard not to prick herself on the thorns, hoping that the bird’s nest she has for hair is concealing the spreading blush that she feels heating her from her follicles to her neck.
It’s bittersweet that Rose has practically mowed down Scorpius in the hall. When she’d stood on Platform 9¾ on her first day of school, her father had proclaimed that she shouldn’t get too friendly and beat him in every test. Now in their sixth year, Rose thinks it’s a shame she’s only had a handful of conversations with a boy who is supposed to be some great family nemesis.
After six years of constant study Rose has gleaned only a laundry list of information about Scorpius Malfoy. He is extremely shy, and though very bright, not very disciplined. Scorpius has always been the odd kid who wanders around Hogwarts with his nose in a book. He doesn’t participate in rivalries or pranks. He was the target, never the bully, until his fifth year when he’d filled out considerably and the Slytherins and Gryffindors finally gave up teasing him. His favorite subjects are Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic. He is a damn good Beater for Hufflepuff, and he is the only sixth year boy that Rose does not tower over. Her ridiculous, unrequited crush is like everything else Rose hates about herself but cannot help--her bushy hair, her uncontrollable blush, and her rather flat chest.
“Here, let me.” Scorpius flicks his wand and chooses his spell carefully, returning the ruined flowers to their previously perfect arrangement.
“Thanks.” Rose bites her lip, sure that if she lets her mouth run wild she’ll surely scare him off.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Because you really don’t look fine.”
Rose cringes at his insinuation. She smoothes her hair as best she can behind her ears and straightens out her wrinkled school robes. It isn’t enough that she’s already feeling vulnerable, but now he’s taking cheap shots at her fragile self-esteem.
“That’s not what I meant!” Scorpius realizes his gaffe and attempts to correct his clumsy words. “You look perfectly fine. You’re perfect, really. I mean, um…” Scorpius exhales nervously. “What I mean is that you look rather, er, upset.”
“Oh.” Rose’s usually loquacious self has gone missing in the presence of his gorgeous blonde hair and hard forearms. He makes her head spin. She isn’t supposed to be the boy crazy one--that’s Lily, and Roxanne, and Dominique! Rose is the over-achieving, gangly one. Her Auntie Fleur insists that at 5’10” she’s modelesque, but Rose only feels in control of her body when she’s on a broom. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was walking. I guess I have a lot on my mind…I should get going.” Rose walks shamefaced toward her tower and hopes that Scorpius has a short-term memory.
***
Scorpius stares after the blazing trail of hair, wishing he were better with words. He refines that thought, edits himself, because it’s not that he has trouble with words. His mind races with them, he is eloquent, he can even be poetic. He devours the language of prose. He hoards lyrics, stanzas, stories, and spells. Yet he’s unable to translate his thoughts into normal conversation. When he’s around Rose especially, he can hardly form sentences. He can’t seem to speak above a whisper. His mind only has access to ten words at most, not the profuse tens of thousands of words he knows. He can’t believe he let it slip that he thinks Rose Weasley is perfect. Rationally he knows the admission is accidental and hyperbolic, but his heart tells him it’s true; there is enough evidence from the last six years to support his theory.
Rose isn’t like anyone else at Hogwarts. She doesn’t take offense to Scorpius’ crippling shyness. The Gryffindors and Slytherins see it as snobbery, and it’s perhaps the only thing upon which they agree. She never complains that he is too soft-spoken. She simply steps in closer and ignores--no, defies--personal space. She never makes him talk more than absolutely necessary when they interact in class. The fact that she doesn’t expect him to speak makes him want to talk to her that much more.
It isn’t just her personality that he admires. He hasn’t been able to ignore her impossibly long legs since his hormones kicked in when he was thirteen. He knows the rest of her figure is just as nice underneath their stupid school robes. What he wouldn’t give to see her dressed daily in formfitting muggle clothes!
Surprisingly, it’s easy having a crush on Rose Weasley. Scorpius has never felt that any sort of relationship between them should be forbidden. After all, he was sorted into Hufflepuff, and he’s certain that nothing else could shock his father more than that. The loyal family he found in his house made it easier for him to simply be Scorpius, to ignore the pressure of both living up to and living down the Malfoy reputation. Ultimately, that’s all his mother and father have ever wanted.
Scorpius curses his uncooperative tongue. He’s never been able to work up the courage to chat Rose up, much less ask her out. Even if he could work up the nerve, he’s not even sure she’d say yes. While he’s not totally unaware of the appraising looks he’s been getting since he shot up a foot and finally figured out how to get his unruly blonde hair to look purposefully tousled, Scorpius likes to think that looks don’t matter to Rose.
Since he’s spent considerable time watching her from afar, he knows the reason for her distraught state has to do with the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. There is a constant buzz around school with the latest gossip of budding romances and broken hearts. Scorpius had actually been in search of Rose, hoping that she’d be alone and not with one of her cousins. He wanted to get the words out of his mouth that have been weighing heavily on his heart. With his mission still unaccomplished, Scorpius trudges slowly back to his common room, praying that he’ll get another chance before it’s too late.
Scorpius flips through his Astronomy notebook and is startled by a note stuck between the pages in unfamiliar scrawl. It says, “Rosie, Boys are idiots. I should know. Love, Dad.” He smiles and then feels immediately guilty. Everyday that goes by that no one asks out Rose Weasley has been a glorious day for Scorpius Malfoy. How could it be that what has him rejoicing is making her so miserable? He feels lazy and anguished for putting off to later what he should have done long ago. It is more than just a divine accident that Rose’s note ended up in his book during the shuffle: it is a sign.
***
Rose lies on her bed melodramatically, as if in her final repose, her arms cradling her flowers. She wants to die of mortification. She just fled from an almost-conversation with a boy she has fruitlessly been pining after, a boy who probably has never given her a second look. All of this is just further evidence of why she has no date for the last and final Hogsmeade weekend of her sixth year. A flustered first year interrupts her reverie.
“Rose! There’s a boy waiting for you outside the tower!” The young girl shrieks with excitement.
“What?” Rose bolts up in her bed. “Who? It’s not Al is it?” Rose conjures a vase for her flowers and stands up in a hurry.
“No, it is a blonde boy,” the little girl says.
“Thanks. Let him know I’ll be right out.” She rushes to the mirror to fix her tear stained face before anyone can question her too much. She goes to meet her visitor, who she assumes to be Louis, her cousin who lately has been utilizing Rose as his Arithmancy tutor. To her great shock, the boy waiting outside her tower is not her cousin.
“Rose.” He speaks so quietly that Rose has to stand very close just to hear him. She can’t help but feel that it makes every conversation more intimate.
“Yes, Scorpius?” Rose asks tentatively.
“I accidentally ended up with something of yours when we--”
“--When I crashed into you?” Rose finishes his thought.
“Yes.” Scorpius sighs with relief. He holds the note in his hand and extends it toward her. Rose grasps it, but he doesn’t let go.
Rose blushes upon seeing her father’s note. She hopes that Scorpius has not read it, but suspects that he probably has and can now guess why she was so upset earlier. “Thank you for returning this to me.”
“Your welcome.” Scorpius holds her gaze and takes a deep breath. “Rose, can I ask you something?”
Rose looks away from Scorpius’ piercing eyes. “Sure.”
“Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?”
Rose’s heart gives a great thud and she glowers. “No.”
“Why not?” Scorpius apparently wants to inflict insult upon injury.
“Because no one’s asked me.” She feels absurd admitting that she doesn’t want to go alone, again, or worse yet, be a tagalong.
“There are lots of guys who would go with you.” Scorpius informs her.
Rose gives him an incredulous look. “But apparently none that will ask me.”
“They’re afraid that you’ll say no.” Scorpius explains as if it is obvious.
“And what makes them think I’ll say no?” Rose practically shouts.
“You’re Rose Weasley,” he says.
“What does that even mean?” Rose suspects this is some sort of backhanded compliment. Her mother prepared her well for adolescent jealousies and name-calling.
“It means that you’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and athletic, and good at everything, and nice to everyone. If you were anyone else it would be rather…annoying. But you’re not even close to annoying. You’re…lovely.” Scorpius’ eyes widen in shock at his words.
Rose reaches out for the wall behind her for support. “Well,” she gulps, “that was unexpected.” Rose can hardly believe that this declaration has come from Scorpius Malfoy.
“I’m sure this may come as a shock to you, and I’m sorry for that.” Scorpius smiles sheepishly.
“Don’t be sorry,” Rose reassures him, "you’re very…sweet.” She smirks. Her blush recedes, and she begins to feel bolder and more self-assured.
“Thank you. But there’s more…” Scorpius trails off, lost in thought, trying to string more sentences together.
After a pregnant pause Rose can’t hold her tongue any longer. “Do you need a round of applause for encouragement?” She quirks a playful eyebrow at Scorpius.
He laughs and it eases his tension. The low rumbling of his laughter makes butterflies take flight from Rose's stomach to her chest. Their wings beat so hard she is sure they are tampering with the rhythm of her heart. The sound of his laughter is hypnotic and she hopes to elicit it long and often.
“Rose, would you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
Rose considers the offer longer than necessary, this seems to alarm Scorpius. She teases him with a laugh. “Yes! Of course I’ll go with you!”
“Oh.” Scorpius heaves a sigh of relief. “For a minute there I was sure you were going to say no.”
“Well…it was a real toss up between you and the Giant Squid.”
“Rose!” Scorpius laughs again.
“What? I have never heard you laugh before and I am determined to find every evil way to make you do it whenever I can.”
“Rose, you’re too much.” Scorpius shakes his head.
Rose imagines he’s trying to clear his mind of the words that used to get stuck going from his brain to his tongue. Now his thoughts seem to move through his heart, and everything just flows.
Author: i_am_girlfriday
Gift For: sirikit
Summary: Rose Weasley doesn’t understand teenage boys at all, especially Scorpius Malfoy.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2,416
Author's notes: The request was for a friendship-into-romance sort of story. Or even just good flirting, or them having a good laugh together. Prompts included: Hogsmeade weekend -- "Well, that was unexpected..." -- the Giant Squid -- a round of applause -- "thank you." I hope I managed to capture everything sirikit wanted. Also, thanks to my beta!
articulate
ar·tic·u·late
[adj., n. ahr-tik-yuh-lit; v. ahr-tik-yuh-leyt]
-adjective
1. capable of speech; not speechless.
2. using language easily and fluently; having facility with words.
-verb
3. to utter clearly and distinctly; pronounce with clarity.
4. to make terms of agreement.
It’s just another stupid Hogsmeade weekend, Rose keeps repeating in her head, but she can’t deny how much it stings that no one has asked her to go. She’s at the age where her friends are on to their second or third boyfriends. Rose feels hopelessly stalled at unrequited crushes. Her cousin Lily tells her to do as she’s done--do the asking instead of waiting around. Lily has the courage of a Gryffindor, but Rose is a Ravenclaw. She’s pragmatic, even about boys (who make no sense anyway). Rose wants advice, she wants to understand the opposite sex, but it doesn’t help that somehow her father has become the go-to-Weasley on romance. Her mother insists that it’s only natural since he started out on awkward footing and turned out a pro.
Rose is very good at keeping her irritation and disappointment in check around her family, who she can never escape, even in a castle so vast. It’s not that any one boy in particular has scorned her, it’s just that Rose is a perpetual third wheel. Everyone around her falls naturally into a pair, and Rose feels like the leftover sock. Somehow her dad must have found out about her predicament. His owl has just delivered a dozen yellow roses and a handwritten card. She reads her father’s note on the way up to her room, and chokes back a little sob that is half a laugh and half a cry. She really hopes that Lily didn’t tell Hugo about her stupid sock analogy and that Hugo didn’t tell their dad, because having her little brother know about her lack of a love life is more than just bit humiliating.
Rose is so engrossed in her little pity party that she does not see Scorpius Malfoy rounding the corner. Her bouquet collides with his books, scattering petals and pages everywhere. Rose loses her balance and tumbles backward onto the stone floor. She’s a heap of long, lithe limbs and bushy auburn hair.
“Rose! I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?”
Scorpius extends a strong arm, but Rose makes no move to get up. She’s trying her hardest to keep the traitorous tears at bay. One errant salty drop rolls down her lightly freckled cheek. He threads his hands underneath her arms and lifts her to her feet.
“Are you okay?” He isn’t asking about her potential injuries, but instead about whatever it is that has her so upset.
“It’s nothing really. I’m fine.” Rose’s voice is a little shaky, but she moves swiftly to right the mess at their feet. She scoops up the broken stems, trying hard not to prick herself on the thorns, hoping that the bird’s nest she has for hair is concealing the spreading blush that she feels heating her from her follicles to her neck.
It’s bittersweet that Rose has practically mowed down Scorpius in the hall. When she’d stood on Platform 9¾ on her first day of school, her father had proclaimed that she shouldn’t get too friendly and beat him in every test. Now in their sixth year, Rose thinks it’s a shame she’s only had a handful of conversations with a boy who is supposed to be some great family nemesis.
After six years of constant study Rose has gleaned only a laundry list of information about Scorpius Malfoy. He is extremely shy, and though very bright, not very disciplined. Scorpius has always been the odd kid who wanders around Hogwarts with his nose in a book. He doesn’t participate in rivalries or pranks. He was the target, never the bully, until his fifth year when he’d filled out considerably and the Slytherins and Gryffindors finally gave up teasing him. His favorite subjects are Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and History of Magic. He is a damn good Beater for Hufflepuff, and he is the only sixth year boy that Rose does not tower over. Her ridiculous, unrequited crush is like everything else Rose hates about herself but cannot help--her bushy hair, her uncontrollable blush, and her rather flat chest.
“Here, let me.” Scorpius flicks his wand and chooses his spell carefully, returning the ruined flowers to their previously perfect arrangement.
“Thanks.” Rose bites her lip, sure that if she lets her mouth run wild she’ll surely scare him off.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Because you really don’t look fine.”
Rose cringes at his insinuation. She smoothes her hair as best she can behind her ears and straightens out her wrinkled school robes. It isn’t enough that she’s already feeling vulnerable, but now he’s taking cheap shots at her fragile self-esteem.
“That’s not what I meant!” Scorpius realizes his gaffe and attempts to correct his clumsy words. “You look perfectly fine. You’re perfect, really. I mean, um…” Scorpius exhales nervously. “What I mean is that you look rather, er, upset.”
“Oh.” Rose’s usually loquacious self has gone missing in the presence of his gorgeous blonde hair and hard forearms. He makes her head spin. She isn’t supposed to be the boy crazy one--that’s Lily, and Roxanne, and Dominique! Rose is the over-achieving, gangly one. Her Auntie Fleur insists that at 5’10” she’s modelesque, but Rose only feels in control of her body when she’s on a broom. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was walking. I guess I have a lot on my mind…I should get going.” Rose walks shamefaced toward her tower and hopes that Scorpius has a short-term memory.
***
Scorpius stares after the blazing trail of hair, wishing he were better with words. He refines that thought, edits himself, because it’s not that he has trouble with words. His mind races with them, he is eloquent, he can even be poetic. He devours the language of prose. He hoards lyrics, stanzas, stories, and spells. Yet he’s unable to translate his thoughts into normal conversation. When he’s around Rose especially, he can hardly form sentences. He can’t seem to speak above a whisper. His mind only has access to ten words at most, not the profuse tens of thousands of words he knows. He can’t believe he let it slip that he thinks Rose Weasley is perfect. Rationally he knows the admission is accidental and hyperbolic, but his heart tells him it’s true; there is enough evidence from the last six years to support his theory.
Rose isn’t like anyone else at Hogwarts. She doesn’t take offense to Scorpius’ crippling shyness. The Gryffindors and Slytherins see it as snobbery, and it’s perhaps the only thing upon which they agree. She never complains that he is too soft-spoken. She simply steps in closer and ignores--no, defies--personal space. She never makes him talk more than absolutely necessary when they interact in class. The fact that she doesn’t expect him to speak makes him want to talk to her that much more.
It isn’t just her personality that he admires. He hasn’t been able to ignore her impossibly long legs since his hormones kicked in when he was thirteen. He knows the rest of her figure is just as nice underneath their stupid school robes. What he wouldn’t give to see her dressed daily in formfitting muggle clothes!
Surprisingly, it’s easy having a crush on Rose Weasley. Scorpius has never felt that any sort of relationship between them should be forbidden. After all, he was sorted into Hufflepuff, and he’s certain that nothing else could shock his father more than that. The loyal family he found in his house made it easier for him to simply be Scorpius, to ignore the pressure of both living up to and living down the Malfoy reputation. Ultimately, that’s all his mother and father have ever wanted.
Scorpius curses his uncooperative tongue. He’s never been able to work up the courage to chat Rose up, much less ask her out. Even if he could work up the nerve, he’s not even sure she’d say yes. While he’s not totally unaware of the appraising looks he’s been getting since he shot up a foot and finally figured out how to get his unruly blonde hair to look purposefully tousled, Scorpius likes to think that looks don’t matter to Rose.
Since he’s spent considerable time watching her from afar, he knows the reason for her distraught state has to do with the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. There is a constant buzz around school with the latest gossip of budding romances and broken hearts. Scorpius had actually been in search of Rose, hoping that she’d be alone and not with one of her cousins. He wanted to get the words out of his mouth that have been weighing heavily on his heart. With his mission still unaccomplished, Scorpius trudges slowly back to his common room, praying that he’ll get another chance before it’s too late.
Scorpius flips through his Astronomy notebook and is startled by a note stuck between the pages in unfamiliar scrawl. It says, “Rosie, Boys are idiots. I should know. Love, Dad.” He smiles and then feels immediately guilty. Everyday that goes by that no one asks out Rose Weasley has been a glorious day for Scorpius Malfoy. How could it be that what has him rejoicing is making her so miserable? He feels lazy and anguished for putting off to later what he should have done long ago. It is more than just a divine accident that Rose’s note ended up in his book during the shuffle: it is a sign.
***
Rose lies on her bed melodramatically, as if in her final repose, her arms cradling her flowers. She wants to die of mortification. She just fled from an almost-conversation with a boy she has fruitlessly been pining after, a boy who probably has never given her a second look. All of this is just further evidence of why she has no date for the last and final Hogsmeade weekend of her sixth year. A flustered first year interrupts her reverie.
“Rose! There’s a boy waiting for you outside the tower!” The young girl shrieks with excitement.
“What?” Rose bolts up in her bed. “Who? It’s not Al is it?” Rose conjures a vase for her flowers and stands up in a hurry.
“No, it is a blonde boy,” the little girl says.
“Thanks. Let him know I’ll be right out.” She rushes to the mirror to fix her tear stained face before anyone can question her too much. She goes to meet her visitor, who she assumes to be Louis, her cousin who lately has been utilizing Rose as his Arithmancy tutor. To her great shock, the boy waiting outside her tower is not her cousin.
“Rose.” He speaks so quietly that Rose has to stand very close just to hear him. She can’t help but feel that it makes every conversation more intimate.
“Yes, Scorpius?” Rose asks tentatively.
“I accidentally ended up with something of yours when we--”
“--When I crashed into you?” Rose finishes his thought.
“Yes.” Scorpius sighs with relief. He holds the note in his hand and extends it toward her. Rose grasps it, but he doesn’t let go.
Rose blushes upon seeing her father’s note. She hopes that Scorpius has not read it, but suspects that he probably has and can now guess why she was so upset earlier. “Thank you for returning this to me.”
“Your welcome.” Scorpius holds her gaze and takes a deep breath. “Rose, can I ask you something?”
Rose looks away from Scorpius’ piercing eyes. “Sure.”
“Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?”
Rose’s heart gives a great thud and she glowers. “No.”
“Why not?” Scorpius apparently wants to inflict insult upon injury.
“Because no one’s asked me.” She feels absurd admitting that she doesn’t want to go alone, again, or worse yet, be a tagalong.
“There are lots of guys who would go with you.” Scorpius informs her.
Rose gives him an incredulous look. “But apparently none that will ask me.”
“They’re afraid that you’ll say no.” Scorpius explains as if it is obvious.
“And what makes them think I’ll say no?” Rose practically shouts.
“You’re Rose Weasley,” he says.
“What does that even mean?” Rose suspects this is some sort of backhanded compliment. Her mother prepared her well for adolescent jealousies and name-calling.
“It means that you’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and athletic, and good at everything, and nice to everyone. If you were anyone else it would be rather…annoying. But you’re not even close to annoying. You’re…lovely.” Scorpius’ eyes widen in shock at his words.
Rose reaches out for the wall behind her for support. “Well,” she gulps, “that was unexpected.” Rose can hardly believe that this declaration has come from Scorpius Malfoy.
“I’m sure this may come as a shock to you, and I’m sorry for that.” Scorpius smiles sheepishly.
“Don’t be sorry,” Rose reassures him, "you’re very…sweet.” She smirks. Her blush recedes, and she begins to feel bolder and more self-assured.
“Thank you. But there’s more…” Scorpius trails off, lost in thought, trying to string more sentences together.
After a pregnant pause Rose can’t hold her tongue any longer. “Do you need a round of applause for encouragement?” She quirks a playful eyebrow at Scorpius.
He laughs and it eases his tension. The low rumbling of his laughter makes butterflies take flight from Rose's stomach to her chest. Their wings beat so hard she is sure they are tampering with the rhythm of her heart. The sound of his laughter is hypnotic and she hopes to elicit it long and often.
“Rose, would you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”
Rose considers the offer longer than necessary, this seems to alarm Scorpius. She teases him with a laugh. “Yes! Of course I’ll go with you!”
“Oh.” Scorpius heaves a sigh of relief. “For a minute there I was sure you were going to say no.”
“Well…it was a real toss up between you and the Giant Squid.”
“Rose!” Scorpius laughs again.
“What? I have never heard you laugh before and I am determined to find every evil way to make you do it whenever I can.”
“Rose, you’re too much.” Scorpius shakes his head.
Rose imagines he’s trying to clear his mind of the words that used to get stuck going from his brain to his tongue. Now his thoughts seem to move through his heart, and everything just flows.