The Red Rose That Has Green Thorns

I was sprawled across the couch reading Eragon a week and a half later. All the teachers had gone over N.E.W.T.’s repeatedly already, and now it seemed as if just hearing the word ‘N.E.W.T.’ would make me sick. I’d been back in the common room for an hour, and Scorpius hadn’t made it back yet.

I turned the page and let my eyes roam across the words as I drank in the familiar story with a still insatiable hunger. And it was here that Scorpius burst through the door so suddenly and so loudly that jumped and, thus, fell off the couch.

“Sorry,” he said shortly, then took a deep, steadying breath to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I think that’s what I should be asking you,” I retorted, picking myself up off the floor with ease. “So, are you going to tell me or not?”

He just stared at me blankly, then asked, “Tell you what?”

“It’s simple.” I stated. Walking over, I grabbed his arm and led him to the couch, where I told him to “Sit!”, then I levitated one of the chairs to the spot across from the couch (with the long coffee table in between them) and here was where I sat. “Now, you tell me why you’re in a sour mood and I will suggest ways for us to cure it.”

He snorted, “Are you my therapist now?”

“Maybe.” I grinned.

“Okay, okay,” he relented with a huge sigh. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good.”

I waited expectantly for him to begin his story, looking at him intensely. And waited. A few minutes later, and still I waited, but he was still silent.

“I thought you were telling me?” I prompted. He sighed dejectedly.

“I don’t really want to!” he moaned. “It’s embarrassing and it pisses me of like no other and if it were up to me it would follow me to the grave, and that’s where it would stay, even if I somehow rose up out of it!”

“Oh.” I then smirked. “Just let me guess first, then. Is that acceptable?”

“If you must.”

“Okay. First off, Ariel Montague has been after you for seven straight years. She finally decided to do something about your complete obliviousness and chose the ‘seduction’ route. She cornered you in the broom closet just off the Transfiguration corridor with Brett Goyle’s help and then she proceeded to attempt to literally snog the pants right off of you.”

My smirk was left firmly in place at his dumbstruck expression.

“How--” he began, but I cut him off.

“Ariel is a whore,” was my simple statement, “and I’ve heard that she’s been planning this exact scenario for three years.”

“Three?!” he roared, jumping up. “We were only fourteen, only fourteen bloody years old!”

“And how does this revelation make you feel?”

“Pissed and revolted!” He cried indignantly.

“And how do you think this situation can be resolved?” I asked, my smirk only growing larger.

“I don’t know! If shoving her off and running like a bat out of hell doesn’t prove to her that I never have and never will bloody fancy her, I don’t know what will!”

“And how does this make you feel?”

“Furious!”

“Kindly take a seat, Mr. Malfoy.”

He slumped down on the couch with an annoyed huff.

“Now calmly tell me how this makes you feel.”

“I already said - bloody hell, Rose!” he burst into laughter. “And I didn’t even notice!”

“See? I could so totally pull off this whole ‘therapist’ thing.” I teased him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “But on a more serious note, Ariel is as dense as Brett, and they will eventually end up together - mark my words on that one. She has eyes only for you, and you have absolutely no interest in her. Brett has his eyes on her non-stop and [ishe’s completely oblivious and doesn’t even care because she’s too busy staring at you. But who is it, Mr. Malfoy, that draws your attention? The girl who you’ve set your sights on so firmly that even Ariel Montague can’t sway your decision when she tries to rape you in a broom cupboard?”

He flushed and replied, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

I laughed. “How’d I know you were going to say that, huh?”

“You’re psychic.” he rolled his eyes.

I kind of flushed, because he didn’t know that he’d actually gotten really close to a secret of mine. He didn’t know I was actually really talented in Divination and that I take secret lessons from Firenze every time I get the chance.

“Whatever,” I managed with a slight chuckle.

“If you don’t mind,” he was the one to smirk, “I’m going to continue reading.”

I groaned, realizing that he’d once again picked up Eragon from the coffee table. Sighing, I levitated the chair back to its original spot and went to sit in it again.

That, however, was before I froze, an image flashing through my mind. It was this that made me so talented in Divination; I often had prophetic visions of what would come to be in minutes.

This one was to occur soon, obviously...in minutes...there was a tall figure in a small, dark room, with a wand pressed right up to the rapidly paling Lily Potter’s neck. I couldn’t tell who it was until she tried to duck to the side and he grabbed her wrist in what I could tell was a painful grip.

I hadn’t noticed I’d totally zoned out and been getting just as pale as Lily would be in exactly six minutes until I heard, “Rose! Rose, are you all right? What’s wrong?”