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Hey everyone!

Allow me to introduce you fantastic readers to my first story (novel, I mean) - Amour.


Love doesn't always have to be about the kissing, shagging etc you know. You can love your family. Friends. Pets. You can even love the dirtly sock under the filth, under the bed, that you're too lazy to put in the laundry.

So what is love?

I for one, have no clue.

Hopefully, through writing (reading for you guys) this story (novel, whatever) we can get some gist of it by the end of this story (NOVEL, SORRY!).

DISCLAIMER : I am NOT an all-knowing wise Dumbledore look alike that will explain the true and divine meaning of love during the story. I'm as clueless as you are. And I am also a kid. Therefore, I cannot be J.K.Rowling. This is her characters, setting etc. Also, the phrase 'The Girl on Fire' is used by Suzanne Collins in the Hunger Games Series (amazing book, by the way).

Thank you, and onwards!


“Slytherin’s in possession. Davies is heading for the goa – NO! The Gryffies have taken the ball! Spectacular interception there! Weasley passes it to Weasley, who passes it to Weasley, who – oh screw it! Dommy passes it to Mols, who passes it to Roxy – Oi, Rox! You still owe me 5 galleons, by the way! Keeper Pucey dives – and SCORE! We Gryffies are in the lead with the score being 30 to 10! Whoo hoo! Take that you snakes!”


“Mr Weasley!”


“Sorry Minnie. It’s hard to keep the house pride down, you know?”


Gryffindor’s deafening shouts and cheers filled the air along with a series of howls and boo’s from the Slytherins. Clearly, they did not like Freddie Weasley commentary too much.

Scorpius’ eyes narrowed as he scanned the pitch. No sign of the snitch yet.

 He’d been ecstatic when he got into the Slytherin Quidditch team earlier this year, and now, his first ever game. It was pure determination flowing through his veins. He needed to win this game. This was it. He needed to prove to himself, as much as he needed to prove to his father that he was capable of holding up the Malfoy name. His father’s words to him before he first left for Hogwarts two years ago, still ringing in his ears…




 “Father? You called?”


Draco Malfoy looked up from the desk,


“Scorpius. Yes. Sit down, sit down…”


Obediently, Scorpius crossed the room and took the seat opposite his father. It was always an off limits room, the Study. His father’s private room. No one was allowed. Not Scorpius. Not Cassie. Hardly ever Mother.


Scorpius recollected the first time he’d ever been there. Cassie was just a couple of years old, and Scorpius, with no one to bother, was bouncing his toy quaffle around the house. Suddenly, it rolled out of sight and into another room. Laughing gleefully, he chased the ball until he saw what room exactly his ball had rolled into. The Study Room. He peeked in quietly and saw his father sitting in the far corner, immersed in a book. Tip-toeing in, he grabbed the quaffle off the floor and ran out of the room giving a quiet, gleeful, five-year-old shriek. He was later found by his mother, in his room, next to his bookshelf, seemingly engrossed in ‘ The Brown Browtruckle’s Brave Adventures’ sitting in an eerily similar pose to his father in the study.


“So, you’re going to Hogwarts in a week?”


“Yes Father.”


“Have you bought your robes and such at Diagon Alley?”


 “Yes father, Mother took me there last week, and it was SO COOL! There was a shop with real racing brooms and – “


 “Scorpius! I asked you a simple question. I expect a simple answer.” Draco said sharply.


“Yes Father. Sorry.” Scorpius hung his head in shame.


 “Now, Scorpius, I called you today to talk to you about something very important. For years after the last war, we – the Malfoys – were laughed at, jeered at, just because we made the mistake of being on the dark side during war. They did not – still do not – understand that we didn’t have a choice. At least I didn’t have a choice. It was how we were brought up. We'd lost our entire childhood. Befriend purebloods; they are born of the purest blood. Hate the muggleborns; they are equal to mud. Of course, you must remember that it isn’t like that these days. We’re all equal. I have come to understand that. As you would do well to remember. Some muggleborns can wield magic than the purest of purebloods.” Draco said, a small smile twitching at corner of his lips. He stood up, and crossed the room to the window, which gave a beautiful view of the Malfoy gardens.



“Hogwarts for you will be very different to my Hogwarts days. But you must remember son, to always hold up the Malfoy name.”


“Yes Father,” Scorpius vowed.


“Never do anything that will tarnish our name.”


“Yes father,”


“I’m sure you’ll make me proud Scorpius.” Draco finished.


“I will Father.”


Scorpius gave a polite nod and walked towards the door. Talking to his father had always been more like talking to a stranger. Utmost respect should be perceived at all times.


“Oh and Scor? Make sure you beat the Weasley’s at every Quidditch Game.”




“WAIT! What’s that?! What’s he doing? Has he – MALFOY HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH! COME ON ROSIE! GO, GO, GO!!!”


Scorpius narrowed his eyes and flattened his body on the broom. He was so close. He could see Weasley out of the corner of his eye. Behind him. But he was nearly there. He could do it. Bring Slytherin to victory. Make it the best Quidditch final Hogwarts has ever seen.


He was so close.


He saw Weasley. One second she was behind him. The next, right beside him. He faltered for a second. She was coming closer by the second. He needed to do this. He leaned forward and slowly brought his hand towards the snitch.



  It was so close. Doing its job well as it hovered teasingly close to his fingers.


God dammit, he was so bloody close.


Yes, he could feel the snitch’s metallic surface at his fingertips. He was opening his fingers to capture the snitch and end this game with a bang, when he was shoved roughly from the side.


Scorpius heard roars go up as he tumbled through air, struggling to climb back onto his broom. Looking up, he saw Rose Weasley perched perfectly on her broom, her fist raised in triumph. He could see the snitch struggling in her hand, and her teammates zooming towards her for their customary group air hug. He saw the crowd spilling out from the stands and shouting at the Gryffindor team to come down. He heard Fred Weasley shouting some nonsense into the microphone as Professor McGonagall simultaneously told him off and added in her own jibes at Professor Slughorn. He saw the rest of his team fly dejectedly down to the change rooms for a shower and sulking in the Slytherin common room.

He saw all this, but in reality he could only see one. Rose Weasley.




And god did she look beautiful.


The way her fiery red hair flowed out from behind her, making her look like the girl on fire. Her crystalline blue eyes that shone with victory and determination. The thin sheen of sweat on her face, showing how hard she’d flown to catch up with me. That smile. Or half-smirk really, directed straight at Scorpius, taunting him, daring him to say something. Show some emotion: anger, dejection, anything. But it was the confidence and the way she was so self-assured that it practically poured out of her body, which made Scorpius just stop. Stop, and stare at her.


Holy Merlin, she was stunning.


And that was when he lost himself.


He forgot everything. He forgot he lost this first Quidditch final. Lost to Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake. Lost to a girl. A Weasley girl. He forgot his promise, his vows to his father. He forgot his father’s numerous rants about Mr Weasley and how much his father hated him. He just…forgot.


Lost himself in those eyes, in that face, in that fiery personality.


And all he knew – for sure – was that he was love. Unconditional, irreversible love.


Of course, Scorpius would realise he’s in love with someone when they bump him off his broom and win the Quidditch final.


 A bit of a slow start, I know, but....I promise that there will be more drama, fluff and humour later in the story. I can't promise that the story will get better, that's for you to decide and lemme know in a review!

As a reader on HPFF, I used to read, and read, and read, and never leave a review. Because 'They don't even read them anyway,' or 'One more won't make a difference,' or 'Here they go again, begging pathetically for reviews'. Right?


 Once I finally became an author and I posted my first story (one-shot, called Waiting at Platform 9 3/4) I realised what authors go through. Coming back home every day to check if there are any new reviews, or staring creepily at the laptop screen to see if the read count is going up: trust me, not fun.


 I'm not asking you to review, I letting you know what - not only me - authors go through while writing. We NEED feedback. We NEED to know if what we're writing makes sense, is likable etc.


Oh, and favourite quotes are cool too.


So next time you read ANY story, let the author know what you thought in a nice review.


And while you're all off doing that, I'll work on shortening my author's notes.




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