jacobnott:
Jake had been expressly forbidden from speaking to Vi until at least an hour into the ball. He thought back to her speech early that afternoon–“do you really want me to be distracted and not notice that the caterers had left orange out of the fruit pride flag? Or that the photo backdrop is crooked? Don’t come near me until after eight or I’ll never speak to you again, brother,”–with a smile. All of this in a rapid stream of French and English, natch. So, instead of his preferred activity–standing near his sister and making questionable jokes in low, murmuring French–he was aimlessly walking the perimeter of the Great Hall, greeting people he knew and watching Vi put out fires as they arose.
He noticed Rose the moment she entered the room. There was some sort of magnetic force that pulled him in her direction, like a compass aligning with due north. She was clad in twinkling silver, the beading on her dress winking in a way that seemed impossible without a bit of extra magic. He watched her get settled with a glass wine, watched as the crowd seemed to part around her. Jake was unsure whether Rose even noticed the effect she had on those around her, or whether she just took it for granted as an immutable aspect of being Rose Granger-Weasley.
Jake kept his eyes decidedly forward as she sidled up to him, taking a sip of his champagne before responding. “Oh, gods no. I made her nap a bit yesterday, but that’s been it. And that took about twenty minutes of wheedling, bribery, and sheer physical power on my part.” He imagined that it was akin to getting a toddler to nap, if the toddler in question was a sophisticated and cunning woman in her mid-twenties. He turned to face her, raising a single eyebrow. “If I may, you look absolutely stunning this evening. I thought Iris over there would be the only Greek goddess in attendance, but it seems to me like you’re channeling Selene.”
Even as he said it, Jake winced at how absolutely cheesy the words were. Rose’s proximity made him feel loose, unable to maintain his usual level of careful control. He opened his mouth to make a joke, to do something to divert attention from his obscenely sincere complement, but no words came. “Fuck, GW, I-” he said instead, voice low and tight in his throat. He wasn’t even sure where that sentence was headed, but it seemed unnecessary to continue. Rose was a brilliant woman she could figure out what he was trying t say better than he could. He wasn’t equipped for this; the only person he’d ever felt this strongly about was Vi, and–needless to say–his feelings toward Rose were decidedly un-sisterly. He’d had a handful of girlfriends at Hogwarts and beyond, and another handful of flings and one-night stands, but none of them held a candle to the redhead next to him.
“I think Vi exists solely on spite and the spirit of the country of France alone. For that, and for this part, I admire her.” Rose allowed him a graceful smile before taking a sip of champagne. The complement shocked her so much she felt the need to look away. She was accustomed to the attention, of course, but the rawness of his tone—especially at an event like this—threw her off her game. The usual grace she carried with her was gone, replaced with a flush that had absolutely nothing to do with the champagne, which she downed in a single gulp. “Alfie, would you—“ he nodded and ran off in search of a Scotch, bless him.
The impropriety of the moment was not lost on her, nor was the fact that she had severed ties with Teddy. She knew full well the reasoning behind that decision was standing right in front of her, yet she was hesitant to make the move that she so desperately wanted to. Vi was a ghost between them, but it was more than that, and she felt like they both knew it.
Rose finished off the champagne and replaced the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter before clearing her throat. “You know the motto of Gryffindor house is ‘Their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart’ and I have always done the daring part justice. Always gone blindly into the dark, never worried what was on the other side. My father always possessed a bravery my mother never had, and vice versa. My father possess a bravery that relies on selflessness. He is absolutely unafraid to sacrifice himself for those he loves, the innocent, the unjustly accused, you name it. My mother’s bravery is more about speaking up for the voiceless. My mother is brave for those who cannot be brave for themselves.”
She avoided his gaze, unsure if she could face him. “I’ve always been brilliant at facing the unknown. My bravery has always been feeling the fear and doing it anyway.” Her eyes glistened, which she hid with a carefully timed smile at a passerby. “But you, Jacob Nott, scare the devil right out of me. I cannot for the life of me understand why that is. You look at me and I want to run straight for the hills and never look back.”