Maturity

Rose Weasley has boobs?

Well.

That's new.

Scorpius Malfoy:

I'm going to give you a small insight to the mind of an eleven-year-old boy:

When we make fun of bushy-haired, buck-toothed, flat-chested, pimply, short and slightly chubby girls, we never – I repeat, in case you didn't get the enormity of this word – never stop to think that said girls may look a little different in time.

I'm not kidding here.

That annoying little voice piping up from the front row, hand shot straight into the air like a bullet and just being a little know-it-all – we – okay, I – didn't think that she had the ability to change. Rose Weasley would always be the same, annoying little outspoken brat with bushy red hair I liked to dip down an inkwell.

I was wrong, of course. She did change.

The first change was in second year, when she came back from winter holidays with glasses. Now, they weren't that bad – they weren't nerdy or huge or anything – but that didn't stop me from calling her four-eyes. Nerd. Dork. Loser.

The second change was the summer after third year, when she came back with braces. I'd noticed the buckteeth a mile away, but then when she go the braces? Mother of Merlin, I thought I would never stop laughing – the girl just didn't let up, did she? She just gave me more and more excuses to tease her.

The more I made fun of her, the more frustrating it became. In the four years I'd been poking fun at her, taunting her in the hallways, hexing her robes open so everyone could see her lack of chest, calling her freckles spattergroit, dipping her hair in ink wells, playing pranks on her… she'd never retaliated. Not once had she stood up and shouted at me, or even told me to stop. The most she'd do is give me that wounded look, duck her head down and race away from me.

It was infuriating.

I wanted to push her buttons. I wanted her to yell at me – Merlin, do you know how much I would've paid to see a Hufflepuff yell at me? I wanted to see her face bright red and her brace glinting in my face and the spattergroit dancing on her nose as the ink dripped onto her shirt while she finally cracked. I wanted the title:

Scorpius Malfoy – the one who brought out the Slytherin of Rose Weasley.

That shit'd be all over the newspapers.

Glorious.

I came back in fifth year with fresh insults, head bursting from the stuff I'd come up with from hanging out with my loser family friends. I wasn't going to give. This year. This year was the one I was going to break her and watch her shatter.

That is, until I saw her. I wasn't prepared for it – in fact, I'd expected her appearance to somehow get worse. Maybe she'd contract some sort of disease from having her nose stuck in a book and a stick lodged up her arse. Who knows.

Unfortunately, Weasley retaliated. Silently.

I didn't know. After getting off the train and making our way to the Great Hall, my eye caught a flash of red hair. I'd know it anywhere. I called to her, letting my voice carry through the crowd. "Oi, Ugly Weasley! Did you spend your summer in a dark corner, where no one can see you?"

The crowd stilled. My friends – cronies, really – sniggered, knowing what was coming. They knew Weasley was mine to torture; they merely settled for sitting back and enjoying the show. I smirked and crossed my arms as the crowd parted, watching what would happen next. They didn't dare interrupt.

That's when I saw her.

Her third change.

Her braces came off. I don't know what she did with her glasses, but they were gone, too. She lost a bit of that baby fat. She started wearing makeup. She did something to her hair.

And on top of that?

She got boobs.

That was not okay.

She broke the rules. She wasn't supposed to come back to Hogwarts looking like – like that. She was supposed to come back looking worse. Like the last two years. Didn't she know her name? Ugly Weasley. U-G-L-Y. Ugly. She couldn't just change that.

Her face crumpled, the tips of her ears flaming red. She curled her arms around her abdomen and let her head drop to the ground.

"No."

I swallowed, making my way in front of her, like I had done so many times before. Only this time, my feet felt heavy and I was uneasy. Unsure. Nervous, almost.

"Well," I announced as haughtily as I could, "you should have."

She shrunk into herself. I could feel it – this was the part when she made that tiny little whimper and her entire face flushed red, matching her wild hair. Her freckles were going to dance. Everyone was staring. I was smug.

But for the second time, she'd surprised me.

"Stop," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "Stop picking on me."

What the bloody hell was she doing?

No. Again, not okay. She was supposed to run away or explode. I wanted her to burst like the Ugly Weasley she was – and everyone would see. I wanted to expose her, and I would be the master of this little tirade, the show.

But she retaliated.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I – uhh –" Shit, stammering? Get yourself together! "Ugly –"

"Leave me alone," she interrupted, voice a little stronger. My eyes narrowed.

She. Cut. Me. Off.

I opened my mouth to give her a piece of my mind when I noticed her eyes. Without the glasses, I'd never realized how big they were. Huge, even. Brown and chocolaty and shining. She was biting her lip with straight, white teeth. Her hair was still huge – but instead of it being a great frizzy mess on her head, it was… tame.

And then I realized it.

My eyes were roaming greedily over her – and there wasn't any repulsion. At all.

NOT. OKAY.

I cleared my throat, and in turn, attempting to clear my mind. This was Rose Weasley. Our families were enemies. She was the one I'd been teasing mercilessly for the last four years. I was going to follow through. She was Ugly Weasley.

Though she isn't ugly anymore, is she?

"I see you've made some changes here, Weasley," I said loudly, covering up the voice in my head. I reached out and she cringed as I took a curl between my index finger and thumb, trying to ignore how smooth it was. "Tried to give a shit about how you look, for once?"

A murmur went through the crowd. She shrugged. "Yeah."

I dropped the curl and stepped back, making it obvious that I was sweeping my eyes over her body. "Tried to lose some of that fat?"

She lifted her chin a little. "Yeah."

I felt the eyes on me. What was I doing? Where were all the insults I'd prepared over the summer? Why was I stalling? Why was I addressing her changes? Everyone was waiting. They wanted a show.

And I was going to give it to them.

I gave a loud snort, crossing my arms with a look of disdain.

"Too bad you didn't succeed."

And the third surprise of the evening:

Rose Weasley, the toughest know-it-all in the school, burst into tears.

… maybe that one was a little harsh.

I was the king of the school.

I wasn't trying to be condescending or cocky or anything. It was true. A simply explained fact. I hexed people in the halls. I mocked them. In return, people just looked up to me and praised me for some reason. Before, I thought it was normal, but as time went on… I realized it was some screwed up shit.

That, or they were afraid of me.

Either way, that changed.

See, when you run away from crying, it doesn't mean you're tough. I thought avoiding tears was manly thing to do, but apparently, when the girl you've been picking on since the first day you met her bursts into tears from something you've said, you are no longer king.

You become the bad guy.

But I didn't know that and I left Ugly Weasley crying, hurrying away from the scene and strolled into the Great Hall like nothing had happened. My classmates trailed in behind me, the entire Weasley family giving me the stink-eye. I sat through the Sorting ignoring them, levitating my cutlery into the air like I didn't care.

But then I realized it.

It wasn't just Weasley's family giving me dirty looks – it was everyone.

(Besides the Slytherins, that is.)

What I didn't realize at the time was that as quiet as that girl was, she was the nice to everyone. She wasn't bitter about the fact that I bothered her literally every day, and though everyone stood by me and laughed at her before, they were starting to realize that Weasley was nice. And I was intimidating.

The eyes of fifth years were on me, disgusted and angry and ready to kill.

They were closing in, like walls, and I was suffocating in their fury.

And suddenly, I cared what they thought.

I couldn't help it. I ran out of the Great Hall before they'd served dessert. No one tried to stop me as I left – I think the professors had tried calling me, but I'd ignored them – and I ran downstairs, my footsteps clanging in the corridors and echoing in the emptiness. I stopped in front of my Common Room.

No password.

I stood there, panting and staring at the wall of the entrance. I could stand there like an idiot and guess the password. I could wait and catch my breath until the Prefects got there. But then they would question me and give me that look and I was bloody well not going through that again.

Instead, I decided to trek my way up to the kitchens and satisfy my stomach, which was still growling with hunger. I'd found the place in my third year after catching – I swallowed – Ugly Weasley and her cousin Albus Potter tickling the pear.

I caught a glimpse of the place right before they shut the door, and decided to check it out for myself. I mean, food whenever I pleased? I was on board with that. I was surprised that house elves worked in the Hogwarts kitchens, just like mine do at home. Dad always made me treat them exceptionally well – something about how they can betray you if you don't watch out and they have feelings or something.

Whatever.

As idiotic as I felt every time I did this, I reached out and tickled the green pear in the painting of a fruit bowl. It giggled and as soon as it transformed into a doorknob, I swung the portrait wide-open and stormed inside. The house elves swarmed around me, the little buggers.

"Mister Malfoy!" exclaimed a squeaky voice. My favourite one pushed its way to the front – her name was Idy, or something strange like that. She gripped at the bottom of my robes. "What can I get you?"

"Dinner, please," I said heavily. I moved away from the elves slowly, sinking into a chair at a nearby table as they scurried off.

Wow.

I said 'please'.

It was a weird night.

"Is something on your mind, Mister Malfoy?" Idy asked as she slid a platter full of food towards me.

"I'm okay."

"If there's anything I can do…"

"Thanks," I said, cursing the word as it came out of my mouth. Really? This politeness was getting too much.

Idy bowed low, glanced around sneakily and stood up to come close to me. "Can Mister Malfoy keep a secret?"

I raised an eyebrow. House elves have secrets? "Of course."

"There…" She lowered her voice, covering her floppy ears with her hands. As though it would make other elves suddenly deaf. "There is a girl in the back of the kitchens. She took a container of ice cream and a spoon and won't stop eating."

I rolled my eyes. "So?"

She looked at me with a wounded expression. "Mister Malfoy, she is crying and ruining the ice cream! We won't be able to serve it at dinner tomorrow!"

"Well, if she's crying, she'll probably finish it anyway."

"Please help us!" Idy cried, abandoning pretence and grabbing my knees. "Please get her out! She is disturbing the other house elves."

I scanned the room. They were going about their duties – a little tense, maybe – but still working. "They look fine to me."

Her eyes were huge. Pleading. Damn. "Please."

Merlin, did I have to do everything around here?

I stood up and dusted off my robes – don't look at me like that, I was in the kitchens – and followed Idy through the tiny elves, weaving my way to the back of the kitchens. He turned around and pointed to someone who was hiding in the corner behind a giant box that was emitting cold air.

My jaw dropped.

"Weasley?"

She looked a right mess. Her eyes were puffy and pink, tears sliding down her pink face and her ears turning pink and she was eating pink ice cream with a large scooper.

All in all, that much pink clashed with her red hair.

Her gaze shifted to me upon hearing my voice. A second of shocked silence passed as we stared at each other – going from the hair to the eyes to her cheeks to the ice cream and the bit of ice cream on her nose. She looked miserable and honestly? A little shocked I was there.

Then she snapped.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" I retorted. "Eating your weight in ice cream?"

"So what if I am?" she demanded, throwing me off.

I acted on instinct; I shrugged. I didn't really feel like smirking, but I did anyway. "You're going to have to eat a lot more than that, Ugly Weasley."

She didn't say anything. I continued.

It really was the only thing I could do – the only thing that was familiar.

"I'm not even surprised you're here," I said, not thinking about what I was saying. "It's just like you to be hiding out in the kitchens, with the help. I mean," I cut off with a snort. "You just make it so easy, Ugly."

I gave her one, last pitiful look. "Pathetic."

I didn't get time to think before she was up on her feet, eyes blazing. It was like something had gone off – like a time bomb, slowly ticking away over the years.

Was she…?

No.

She wasn't going to…

But she was.

"You know what, Malfoy?" she shouted, tossing the bucket of ice cream onto the floor. A house elf squeaked in surprise and picked it up. She ignored it. "I am sick of you."

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Oh really?"

"Yes." She crossed her arms as well.

Her new boobs bulged out.

Shit.

"Do you know what you've done?" she asked in a low voice. "You – you are the reason I dread getting out of my Common Room. I go out of my way to sit as far away from you as I can in class. When you look at me, you…" She flushed a deeper red. "You make me feel like you're seeing through me – like you're looking for my flaws.

"And it kills me that they're so easy to find," she whispered.

Not knowing what to say, I shrugged again.

Mistake.

Her eyes flashed and her ears burned. "What is your problem, Malfoy?" she demanded. "What have I ever done to you? Did I insult you in some way? Did I hurt your fucking ego?"

Did she just say 'fuck'?

Damn, that was hot.

I shrugged yet again, trying to ignore my highly inappropriate thoughts. "It's more the fact that you exist, if you know what I mean…"*

If I thought she was angry before, I was wrong.

Fury raged through her. She was like a fireball, heat sparking through her like lightening. Weasley was shaking, and she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to tear me to shreds.

It was more than I'd ever wished for and wanted.

So why did I feel guilt coiling in my stomach?

"Fuck you!" she shouted, her arms collapsing at her sides. "Fuck you! I never did any of this – these changes – for you! I did them so I could feel better about myself, and it's all your fault."

I gave her an incredulous look. My fault?

Tears streamed down her face, ignoring my expression. "There's obviously a problem with me, right Malfoy?" Her eyes locked with mine. "Why else would you hurt me like this?"

I couldn't speak. The elves were staring.

Suddenly, as though she couldn't take anymore, she collapsed back onto the floor into herself, hugging her knees and sobbing.

And like the little shit I was, I ran.

There's a reason Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin used to get along so well.

If you think about it, the two traits of the houses were similar – if nothing else, they were in motive. The difference was that Gryffindors were rash, impulsive. Too busy being the hero. Slytherins were the brains behind the operation, but unfortunately, they didn't have the brawn.

And I, Scorpius Malfoy, was the essence of Slytherin.

But another thing about Slytherins is that we're proud. So I sucked up my fears and strutted around as usual, being as I'd been for the past four years. Surely, the entire school didn't turn against me overnight?

I was right. They hadn't.

I kept bothering Weasley (who was, incidentally, in Hufflepuff). But it got worse. As it turned out, my craving - the explosion from her – hadn't been satisfied. I pushed away the guilt, convinced myself it was because there hadn't been an audience to see the true Ugly in that girl, my actions could still be justified.

I usually didn't outright call her out like I did in the Great Hall. Most of the time, it'd be comments thrown in the beginning of class, when we passed in the halls – the random insult that made everyone snicker.

But I was out of insults, wasn't I? Sure, I could've kept up that Ugly Weasley thing – and I did – but it was obvious that she wasn't anymore. She wasn't four-eyes without the glasses, or brace face without the wiring in her mouth, or wild without the hair to go with it, or fatty without the fat.

But… even I'm ashamed to what I called her next.

"Oi, Ugly!"

It was mid-September and I was getting desperate; the dirty looks that the Weasley family was giving me had spread to nearly everyone – except for the Slytherins, of course. They knew better than to side with the other houses.

So how did Weasley get the upper hand?

It had nothing to do with her fame. Now that Ugly wasn't quite so Ugly anymore, everyone was questioning my words. The sad fact of bullying is that the more attractive people win in the battle.

That used to be me.

Apparently, the vulnerability of the female gender also counts for something – and combined with her newfound beauty (ugh), she was slowly becoming the most popular girl at Hogwarts. After her Veela cousin Dominique, of course.

You understand, don't you?

I had to take Weasley down. Back to the hole where she belonged.

I smirked as she turned to me. We were in-between classes, and the corridor was absolutely packed. The perfect audience. The crowd stilled upon hearing my voice; there was something about my tone that demanded such authority that people stopped and listened. Even if half that crowd were the ones who gave me those dirty looks.

Weasley immediately glanced away, casting her eyes down. "That's not my name."

I shrugged. "You responded to it."

She didn't answer, but her shoulders tensed. All I needed to know.

She was still afraid of me.

"So," I began conversationally, walking closer to her. I noticed she had a couple of friends with her, but they backed away, letting Weasley fight her own battles. Hmm. "I was wondering…"

"What."

"Tsk, tsk," I said, clucking my tongue. "So impolite, Ugly."

Her ears burned red.

"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted," I said loudly, "I was wondering, something, Weasley. Regarding your new appearance, and all." She lifted her head her to give me a questioning look. I took a deep breath, casting a smirk around the still corridor to the audience that was hanging on my every word.

"Who'd you fuck over the summer?"

A slut.

I named her a slut.

At the time, I thought I was a genius. After all, people believed it – why, I didn't know. It's not like I gave evidence. All she did after I said it was mouth wordlessly at me. Like a fish. A very attractive fish.

(Shut up.)

Then she ran away like a true Hufflepuff. I laughed, and everyone else started laughing and clapping me on the back. I grinned triumphantly. I was back. I was king again.

After that, I didn't really bully her any more. Besides the fact that the bitchiest girls in our year took care of it, I never saw her anymore. It's like she disappeared in the halls. It's like she couldn't hear me in class. Rose began to do something she'd never done before.

She was ignoring me.

And that shit? Pissed. Me. Off.

But slowly, as the months went on, I forgot all about her and her stupidly attractive self and her new boobs. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. I moved on to picking on firsts years. Going on dates. Rose Weasley wasn't a part of my life anymore.

Until April.

Shit always goes down in April.

*Quote from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, page 570.