Title; Faltered
Written for; femaledan
Based off; No. 11 on this post
It smells the way December should, like gingerbread and spruce and treacle and warm butterbeer and air so cold it burns your lungs when inhaled. Rose doesn’t think it should be any other way, but this year, there’s an overpowering stench of cedar, sandalwood, and narcissism, uncharacteristic for the Burrow. And as much as she’d like it ignore it, she’d like to ignore the source much more.
Rose’s protests were unheard when Albus decided this would be the year to invite Scorpius Malfoy to ruin Christmas. And now that he’s here, her protests remain entirely muted. But it’s not so much his revolting presence as it is the Snow War. The Potter-Weasley Snow War, the highlight of the holiday for the self-proclaimed ‘Snow Queen,’ reigning ever since she could aim. It’s what got her a position as a Chaser, it’s what makes her smile when it snows. And there’s no way in hell that Malfoy is taking it away from her.
She’s wearing four layers of clothing and two layers of clearly ineffective warming charms because her toes and fingers are still red, numb, and buzzing. She’s hiding behind a four foot wall of snow and brush and Lily’s breath is fogging her line of vision over the barricade.
“Lil, move. I can get one of them from here,” Rose whispers excitedly, packing snow in between her palms. She peeks out over the snow to see another pink nose, part of a platinum blonde target. Rose meets his eyes with a glare she’s got reserved for him, but she falters. There’s a fire in the grey, making them molten silver, and she can already see what’s happening.
“Malfoy, don’t you dare throw that snowb––” and it’s quiet. Time’s paused. Rose’s hair and jumper are littered with snow, and the assailant smirks just long enough to see an angry mass of auburn barrel into him, throwing him to the ground. They’re a struggle of violence and snow until she’s on top and the spectators are frozen.
Rose Weasley has lost, she’s lost, and he took the title from her. She’s breathing hard and her core is warm and she’s hitting him, but he’s so much larger and he’s holding her helpless and she’s left reduced to breathing. Really hard. Her head is hanging until they’re freckled red nose to pale pink nose and his silver eyes aren’t arrogant. They’re astounded, they’re astounding. And there’s cedar and sandalwood, but there’s also treacle and warm butterbeer and burning like there should be. And Rose Weasley is numb and molten and buzzing and heated but she’s heard around, that, that’s the way it should be.