@halfsquibwitch from here
He has taken his time on the approach. He had noticed Genevive in their first year - she too, he figured was Irish, from her accent. But in some ways that had dissuaded him more than their different houses - her accent after all, for all it’s similarities to his had its differences too and at eleven he understood the prejudice of class.
And then, Hogwarts taught him the prejudice of blood. His, apparently, was dirty and marked him as worthless in the eyes of some people. He made it his personal mission to black as many of those eyes as possible and while there were some so-called ‘purebloods’ who hadn’t cared, who had accepted him he’d always found them a little... High-strung. Like thoroughbred horses.
Through their schooling, Genevive had remained mysterious and distant and he hadn’t minded that much. At first, he’d had little interest in girls anyway but in the more recent years - there were girls just as pretty who were more welcoming.
But still, he’d noticed her... Her floundering magical talent was hardly a secret and certainly the subject of some scorn. And, one of the reasons he felt confident in approaching. Not because he thought any less of her for it - but because, at least, if she reacted less than favourably - she’d hardly be able to hex him to pieces.
He had to be careful, however, after all his reputation was starting to proceed him. While he's not quite become a serial womanizer - still school aged he is a year or two away from that - he’d certainly set himself on that path.
But, he figured, at least he was honest about it - unlike some others his age.
At her suspicion, he glances from her face to the rose, and then back again. “My ma always said beautiful Irish roses were best in a bouquet, and you looked mighty lonely.”