Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Series, any of its character or settings. All you recognise belongs to J. K. Rowling.

A/N: Just needed to get it out...... From Rose to Scorp, oneshot (I think)

From Me to You

Logic tell us when writing a letter, one must identify to whom the letter is written to at the beginning, and sign oneself at the end.

Forgive me, but as much as you cherish logic, I will put it aside, because logic itself tells me it's worthless to write 'Dear Scorpius' at the top, when your hand, besides mine, will be the only one to hold this piece of parchment. I do not intend to make an owl do what certainly only I should; I cannot accept the idea of cowardly actions.

If I could, I'd tell you what I need to say face to face. But until you agree to talk to me once again, this is the only way I can communicate with you directly.

I told you before the first time you caught my eye was on our very first ride on the Hogwarts Express, but I had been too shy to talk to you until a few months back.

I lied.

I don't even remember you on the train. I only noticed you when your name had been called out at the Sorting Ceremony because Albus whispered to me 'That's the Malfoy boy'. You looked cold as an ice and as arrogant as I'm sure all Malfoys look at least once in their lives. That frustrating smirk of yours was enough for me to draw an imaginary 'X' on your face. It wasn't until this year, on my seventeenth birthday that I actually took a good look at you.

Like every other time, I figured you had attended that ridiculous ball my family throws every time one of us comes to age, only for the sake of your parents' demeanour and our society's amusement. I had never imagined you'd ask me for a dance, even less that the most innocent of touches would lead me to lose every sense of logic, every particle of rationality and every ounce of will I had in me.

If it had been someone else in my skin, they would have probably ended up caught in that hurricane of mixed feelings and illusions you always leave behind after climbing out of a bed that you never intended to make your own.

Luckily for you and I, my darling, I'm not 'someone else'.

I guess it's time for me to come clean about what my behaviour came to be after such encounter. I have a slight feeling that you don't need to hear a confession you had already seen coming. Nonetheless, I need to say... well, write down all the excuses I came up just to have a reason to launch myself into that damned hurricane.

You see, I may have not paid any attention to your silvery existence, but the rest of the world did. It was no secret that by your second year you had all the school's female (and sometimes male) population drooling over you. Few were the lucky girls that entered your age range and even fewer the ones that ever had the privilege to touch their lips to yours.

I had always thought it was normal to see a handful of girls hanging around the classroom waiting for you to come out, when in one generation of your family tree, there had been a veela. I had been told your hair was the smoothest, silkiest hair anyone had ever had the pleasure of running their fingers through. That your smirk could literally melt and that your silver eyes could hypnotise 'till heartache. Then again, she-who-told-me had been your toy for very little and her mind was tainted with too much bliss and too many false hopes. She was caught in the sensation of having ever been kissed by your almighty self, to such a level, that she didn't even care you had been drunk and had confused her with whom was your actually gal for the week.

It was quite sickening not being able to talk to my friends without you being brought up by one of them.

In time, I believe I had heard enough to make a very accurate theory on your overall personality, especially the seductive part of it, which was, not very coincidently, pretty much a 90% of you. I figured you had somewhat of a routine, that could change depending of the level of resistance you met, which wasn't that much anyway. I had once heard you meant to ask a girl for the time, and she had launched herself at you before you even said a word.

Overall your technique consisted in three simple steps: approach, charm and collect the prize.

For you, the approach became rather easy with such looks, the charm came naturally and collecting the prize was even easier than dipping a quill in ink.

You had the world (at least the hormonal one) at you feet; you were the ultimate playboy. So when you approached me, I had a slight idea of what it was that you wanted.

If the circumstances had been different (in other words, if I had only been allowed to have a small gathering with my closest friends), I would have probably been the very first to say 'no'. But I was bored, a bit tipsy and quite annoyed over breaking up with my boyfriend. I was on the rebound and you were there, pulling your charms. I figured it couldn't cause any disturbances in my life, since you always sought for 'one night only's and for the first time in my life, I hoped to find one myself.

And so I gave you a green light, and you gave me a very swollen set of lips.

I had always thought that if I ever let you play with me, I'd feel more shame than the normal supply of a lifetime.

But I didn't.

Because you weren't playing with me, I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew a was jumping into a pitch black pit. I was ready to face the bottom when it came. I was not your toy, I was also a player.

So I didn't let it bother me. Every once in a while I would remember you and your kisses. If you must know, I now believed they weren't exaggerating when they said your lips had been made to kiss. Still, you never hung long enough in my mind. It had been my once in a lifetime spontaneous action; it was never meant to happen again.

Nevertheless, when our last term started, the exchange of looks, the hidden smiles, the long eye contact, the brushing hands, also began.

At first, they were just moments when the time and place were right for new displays of spontaneity. They were just kisses, some more innocent than others, some dangerously close to turning into something else.

I knew it was probably wrong, that I was sending the wrong message and that you were just fooling around with me until something better came along. So I decided to let you know, I was not born to be played with.

I believe I told you clearly, I didn't want a new boyfriend, I didn't want anything more than what we already had. It wasn't a relationship, it wasn't a beneficial friendship. It was a lust condition; nothing more. You said you were fine with that. You said you had never been in a more comfortable position in the common girl-boy paradigm.

You lied to me, didn't you?

Because when people are involved in a none-relationship kind of relationships, things don't end up in the foggy path we stand now.

Last time we spoke you said you wanted to have lunch together in Hogsmeade. I told you I had things to do, and that it was better to just meet up secretly, like we always did.

What you replied to that still rings in my head when silence gets heavy.

"Why does everything have to go according to your schedule? Why is it always your way? Don't I count too?"

I remember how icy your eyes looked, how tense your jaw was and how low your voice got. If I had known those were the last words you'd tell me willingly, I would have answered sincerely and not mock you asking if you were talking seriously.

I have always been proud of how smart I am, of how readable people are to me. But, at the moment, I must confess, I did not understand you. I didn't know what you meant by that. Did you want me to ask for your opinion? Did you want me to not take you for granted?

Because why would you want that, when you yourself had agreed on a meaningless, purely carnal based relationship?

I didn't know.

So, every memory I had of you, I tossed it away like a broken quill that, after all, hadn't ever be meant to write.

Funny thing, though. It doesn't seem to work.

Every one of your charming words, whether you meant them or not, keeps coming back to tingle my ear. Every touch still lingers there, as if you had moved your hand mere seconds ago. Every one of your smirks stills gives me goosebumps. And every time your silver eyes cross with mine, even if it's just for a split second, my heart beats faster than before.

I still don't get what you want from me, but I now hope it's the same thing I want from you.

When this all first started I told you in these exact same words "I don't want anything serious; I want to have fun. I don't want a boyfriend; I want a make-out buddy. As soon as there are feelings involved, I'm out."

I know you probably expect an apology from me, but if you know me just a tiny bit, you'd know not to expect anything at all. I don't regret the conditions I laid down; if it wasn't for them, nothing would have happened. I will tell you now nevertheless, that I don't want a make-out buddy anymore, I don't want only to have fun.

I want you... feelings included.

Rose