Written for hpshipweeks :)

It is raining outside, and a crying girl sits on the steps to the school entrance, shielded by the oversized roof and tightly gripping the hard, cold stone. Around her an icy wind blows, making her shiver as tears roll down her cheeks.

Rose Weasley has never been kissed.

Before, it wasn't really a problem. Rose was strong – still strong, in fact – in her belief that a boyfriend was not essential to her happiness.

But that was before people had started laughing at her, making fun of her, finding hilarity in that most insignificant fact: that her lips had never touched those of another.

It didn't help that it was her cousins who were laughing behind her back: Lucy, Molly and Roxanne were the main culprits. Even some of the people she'd paired up with earlier in lessons were now spreading rumours and gossiping.

Rose wasn't stupid. She knew what they were saying, all of them, the whispers that floated through the corridors and into classes and dorms and bathrooms. Whispers about seventeen year old Rose Weasley, the prude.

Recently, the words had gotten worse. Ruthless, cruel and unforgiving, they invade her thoughts. Whoever invented the "words will never hurt me" phrase was seriously mistaken. Words were breaking her now. She was a prude, a prig, a tease, a famous-by-association bitch.

One word had turned into thousands, and it had all led to Rose Weasley sitting outside, alone on New Years' Eve. As she cries now, she wipes her face with her hand, and inspects the glistening quality of the liquid in the dark.

How has she come to this, to be a sobbing wreck isolated from everyone? She hates herself for it, and that makes everything even harder.

Rose clenches her hands into fists, and digs crescent-shaped marks into her palms. Her body shakes against the wall as she buries her face into her lap.

Then, footsteps and a voice sound. In a few seconds, Rose attempts to pull herself together.

"Weasley?"

Rose swears under her breath and takes a shaky gulp, "Yes?"

White-blond hair and an attractive figure appear in the form of Scorpius Malfoy. "Err, are you..." His voice dies away and Rose understands. She obviously is not okay at all.

"I'm, uh, fine. Thank you." Her hands shake as she pushes herself off the ground to stand up.

"Oh. Well, um, I'll just be—"

"You can stay if you want." Rose blurts out. She doesn't know why she says that – Malfoy and her are hardly friends, if even acquaintances. The only reasons she knows him are because a) he is a Malfoy and b) they compete constantly for top of the class.

"Sure. I mean, okay. That's fine."

Rose sits back down and leans against the icy wall. She shivers as Scorpius sits next to her, knees bent in front of him as they look out onto the dark grounds.

"How did you get out?" She asks.

"Through the front door."

"Oh."

There is a long pause, but it isn't uncomfortable. Rose wonders vaguely if Scorpius has been calling her names, too.

"Weasley?"

"You can call me Rose, you know."

"Oh, okay. Rose?"

"Yes?"

"If you...I mean, if you want to talk to me, you can. Just so you know."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"Scorpius."

"Sure."

She rubs her eyes, and then rolls them a little at the black stains that her hands come away with. She has almost forgotten that it is New Years' Eve, that she is wearing a nice dress and makeup and that most people are inside, celebrating.

"Malf— Scorpius?"

He smirks slightly at her trip up and raises an eyebrow.

Rose takes this as indication to carry on, "Have you ever kissed someone?"

He looks back at the grounds. "Once. 'Bout a year ago."

"Huh." She looks away. "Do you think it matters?"

"What?"

"If you've never been kissed?"

He snorts, and Rose loses hope in the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would understand. She shifts away slightly.

"It's a trap, you know." He says suddenly, and she frowns. He continues, "Kissing people. You think it would be simple, but it's not. You kiss someone, you're a slut. You don't, you're frigid. You can't win."

Her mouth falls open and she gapes at him. He looks at her, amused and grins, "Well, don't look so surprised. I am a Ravenclaw."

She snaps her mouth shut and furrows her brows. "Why can't everyone think like you?"

"I'm just too smart for the system, Rose."

She laughs at this and realises; it's the first laugh she's had in ages, and it's because of Scorpius Malfoy. He smiles at her and nudges her shoulder. She nudges him back.

"Rose."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go inside?"

"What time is it?"

"Quarter-to."

She thinks about it. Inside are her so-called classmates, cousins, friends. Only half of them are people she actually wants to be around. But who cares?

She's got Scorpius Malfoy with her. One single person, who doesn't care that she's never been kissed. He understands, how bloody stupid the whole kissing nonsense is, and he'll stay with her (she hopes).

Rose nods, and Scorpius takes her frozen hand and leads her inside.

There is pandemonium in Gryffindor Tower, mostly on the part of James Potter and Fred Weasley, who are having some sort of drinking competition that seems to have attracted a large crowd.

Rose and Scorpius easily slide between the people and stand together in a corner of the common room, Scorpius rolling his eyes at Rose's cousins' antics. Rose glances at a clock and realises that they must have walked slowly, because it's already five to midnight.

"Five minutes," she says to Scorpius, and he nods.

"Rose?" He turns to her.

"Yep?"

"Do you have any resolutions?"

She frowns and shrugs. "I guess. Be friendlier, work harder, exercise more, do –"

She breaks off as Scorpius laughs, "I mean real ones. Proper ones."

"Like what?" She puts her hands on her hips and feels confidence rush to her nerves. This self-assurance has been sorely missed. Words might have broken her, but they're healing her now. "You tell me yours, then."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath and lifts a finger. "Number one; be friends with Rose Weasley."

Rose blushes a deep red as he continues, "Two; compliment Rose Weasley."

She looks at him like he's crazy. "I like your hair, Rose. It's awesome."

"Awesome?"

"Awesome."

She snorts and says, "What kind of resolutions are these?"

"Awesome ones."

(Clearly, there's only one word in his vocabulary.) "But you're doing them all before the new year!"

"Oh. Well, never mind. I have some more. Three; actually try to study."

"That's better."

"Of course it is."

She shakes her head in exasperation, but smiles all the same. He smirks cheekily and she wants to wipe it off his face. Scorpius opens his mouth to speak, but a loud yell comes suddenly from a nameless voice that screams, "Sixty seconds!" and the countdown begins.

Scorpius joins in, "Fifty nine, fifty eight!" and Rose hollers along, and a triumphant lion is roaring in her heart now because really, who cares about first kisses when you've got a new friend by your side to start a new year with? (She smiles – she never thought her hair was awesome before.)

The numbers go down and down and down again until the final cry of "Happy New Year!" and Rose grabs Scorpius' hand, lifting it as the shouts continue and fireworks erupt from the window sills around them.

They grin at each other and the whooping fades into the distance in a blur of sound because their fingers are intertwined with each others' now and Rose can feel her heart go thumpity-thump in thrill.

Rose smiles, and Scorpius' mouth moves, forming words that she can't hear. "What?" she shouts over the noise.

He laughs, "Happy New Year, Rose."

"Oh! Happy New Year, Scorpius."

"Rose!"

"Yeah?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Definitely."

She grips him round his chest and he holds her waist, squeezing and lifting her into the air and she giggles ridiculously but he doesn't seem to care.

And that's when Rose gets it, when she really understands. It doesn't matter what her friends or cousins or peers think. It's what she cares about that matters the most. It's how she wants to live her life and just, well, be.

It's what she loves about herself and doesn't, so changes for the better, because she can, and it's a new year and nothing, especially not stupid whispers, is going to stop Rose Weasley from being whatever the hell she wants to be.

In the grand scheme of things, kisses are minute.

Scorpius Malfoy sets her down on the ground and she thanks him for her little revelation. He looks at her questionably, but she shakes her head, smiling to herself.

It doesn't even matter that Scorpius hasn't kissed her (yet), because to Rose, a hug and some words can do wonders more than just a silly little touch of the lips.