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Chapter Text

Rose was staring. Or more specifically, had been staring, for many seconds now.

In front of her, slightly to her right, sat her favourite cousin (who was very much in danger of demotion) Albus, looking everywhere but at her as he shovelled eggs and bacon into his mouth at an alarming rate. 

It was the beginning of summer holidays and they were both staying with a handful of their other cousins and siblings at the Burrow – a patchwork of a house owned by their shared grandparents Molly and Arthur Weasley. 

Rose had entered summer with a longing and excitement for well-deserved rest, but also for alone time with Albus – or Al. She’d had an exhausting sixth year at Hogwarts. Granted, you were spared of both OWLs and NEWTs during your sixth year, but the fact did nothing to ease Rose’s own expectations of herself. She’d studied just as hard, and done her absolute utmost (and a bit more) to be the best seeker she could for Ravenclaw house’s quidditch team. And sure, she had gotten to reap what she’d tried so hard to sow – at least somewhat.  

Ravenclaw had won the house championship, came second for the quidditch cup (soddy Slytherin had nabbed first place), Rose had been highly commended for her work as a prefect, and she was top of all her classes.

Or…

Well…

In some classes, namely defence against the dark arts, potions, arithmancy, transfiguration and charms, she shared her place at the top of the ladder with a blond, prattish, smarmy wanker by the name of Scorpius Malfoy.

Al’s other best friend.

Al’s other best friend who at this very moment was sitting right in front of Rose . He too was eating breakfast with an apparent appetite. Unlike Al however, Malfoy didn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed and pulled on the first best thing he could find that resembled clothing. 

No.

Dressed in a simple white short sleeve shirt that had been ironed to crisp perfection, he wore dark linen pants and clean socks, and his hair – also undoubtedly clean – fell in soft platinum strands down his forehead. He’d even brought with him a refreshing scent, reminding Rose of the smell of freshly laundered sheets.

The git was pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Steadfastly focusing on his breakfast, he wasn’t sparing Rose even a second of his attention.

This was uncommon.

There were only the three of them in the kitchen. Soft light was falling in through the windows. Outside, the mist had yet to be dispersed by the sun. Having woken up early to get some alone time before the entire house erupted into its usual chaos, Rose had planned on having a slow breakfast, reading, or perhaps going for a quick fly. But her plans had been rudely interrupted by the arrival of the aforementioned one and only school rival.

She’d just brewed herself a cup of tea and sunk into her chair, when Al had come down the stairs. He’d given her a wide-eyed look before stating the obvious; “You’re awake.”

Rose had nodded. “Yeah?”

“That wasn’t… I mean… Hm.” He’d frowned slightly, pursing his lips. “Good morning, Rosie,” he’d said then. As soon as she’d greeted him back, he’d shuffled off to the front door and gone outside in a quiet hurry. 

Still a bit groggy with sleep, Rose had absentmindedly wondered what had gotten into her cousin, who normally slept till noon. Her tea had posed a bigger temptation than finding out Al’s secrets, however, so she’d quickly chosen to let go of her questions.

A few minutes, four pages into her new novel, and three sips of boiling hot tea later, she’d heard two hushed voices coming from the hallway. One sounded excited and had been speaking in a rapid fashion – without a question Al. The other had appeared to be quite familiar, but Rose hadn’t been able to place it before they had come into the kitchen, Al smiling sheepishly at her, his own body shrouding, for but a moment, the person behind him.

Scorpius bloody Malfoy.

The tall blond had smirked at her, made some off-hand comment about how he liked her pyjama shorts, and then he’d plopped down in the seat in front of her at the kitchen table.

As if it wasn’t at all odd that he was there.

As if it had been decided months ago that he, Rose and Al were going to hang out this fine morning.

So now, she was staring.

And no one was saying a word.

The minutes passed as Al and Malfoy finished the breakfast Al had quickly prepared (meaning Malfoy had prepared it after Al had brought him the ingredients). As the last piece of egg entered Malfoy’s mouth, Rose scrunched up her nose, asking, “What are you doing here?”

Taking his sweet time swallowing, he picked up a napkin and dabbed infuriatingly carefully at the corners of his mouth before answering, “Visiting. I thought you’d figured that one out.” His silver eyes flashed before he added, “I mean, I am aware that logic and reasoning isn’t your strong suit, but your face has been all red for the past fifteen minutes, so I imagined you’d given it a go.”

Vicious heat exploded in her chest. “Git,” Rose retorted back through her teeth, head devoid of come-backs. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Her face did feel like it probably was red. Silently she cursed her father for the blush she’d been so unfortunate to inherit. It revealed too much of the inner workings of her mind.

Malfoy just smiled smugly. He knew just the right buttons to push when it came to Rose. And he had been pushing them. Continuously. For the past six years.

“Scorpius couldn’t come in August as he usually does,” Al said then, effectively making Rose break her furious glower at his friend. “He’s going to France with his parents.” When she just looked back at him just as angrily as she had at Malfoy, he continued, his voice a touch more pitchy than normal, “And since I’m going away with mum and dad for the last week of July, and since you’re going to your grandma and grandpa in Australia in August…”

Rose raised a brow.

Smirking as if he’d just received more Os than Rose on his end of term exams, Malfoy was looking at his best friend amusedly.

“Well, I mean I obviously wanted to hang out with you, but I also wanted to see Scorp, and… I mean…” Al’s green eyes were half-pleading, half-panicstricken. He was squirming in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, come off it, Rosie, this was the only solution!”

Rose clenched her fists in her lap. She couldn’t believe him. Such an exceptionally stupid idea for such an exceptionally talented wizard! “And you didn’t think to – oh, I don’t know – tell me?!” she hissed, still aware that people were sleeping upstairs.

“As if you’d come here then!” Al whisper-shouted back.

“I might’ve,” Rose sniffed, then added, at Al’s disbelieving expression, “after I’d convinced you not to bring him.” She gave Malfoy a disdainful look.

“Come on, Rose, this isn’t so bad.” He’d resorted to begging now, widening those trustful green eyes at her, knowing full well she was easily broken down by his kicked-puppy-look.

In all matters except for Malfoy.

Where he was involved, Rose’s mind was set.

“He’s promised to be on his best behaviour. Right, mate?” Al turned slightly to give Malfoy an encouraging look.

Malfoy nodded at his best friend. “Right,” he said solemnly.

“He hates me,” Rose exclaimed then, pointing at the blond who raised a brow as if this were news to him. He began opening his mouth, but Rose continued before he had the chance to speak. “This is so unbelievably selfish of you, Al. I really can’t believe you’d do this.” She stood up as she spoke, closing her book and stuffing it under her arm. Face feeling hot, skin prickly, knowing she needed to be anywhere but here, she continued, “You know full well how I’ve looked forward to this, and then you… you…” The loss of words shot shame through her body, making her even less eloquent. She scrunched up her face. “It’s so slytherin of you,” she finished with disgust, turning on her heel, and hurrying up the stairs before he could reply.

A headache was taking form behind her temples, and a dull pressure was building up behind her eyes. They watered as she stalked up the steps to her room. Feeling awful, Rose swallowed down her tears until she got to aunt Ginny’s old room which she always stayed in. Well inside, she closed the door behind her. Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, she leaned against the wall, trying to collect herself.

She was so tired of this. Every time Malfoy was involved, Rose turned into a child. She lost her speech, got easily embarrassed and had worse mood swings in his presence than she did even at home with her nagging parents. He made her head spin, made her want to break school rules just to get back at him. He got so deeply under her skin that she lost all reason. And Rose Granger-Weasley was nothing if not a reasonable person. 

And now she’d even gone so far as to use Al’s house as an insult. As though she’d ever cared about that in any other way than being sad they weren’t in the same one.

It was despicable.

But still…

She did think her cousin had acted really fucking poorly. And it was very slytherin of him to not tell her until Malfoy was well inside their home.

She blinked away the frustrated tears clouding her vision.

What was she going to do? Go home? Would that make her feel better? But then she wouldn’t get to see Al almost at all this summer. And she still wanted to be with her cousin, even though he was acting like a huge prat. And would going home not just further prove that Malfoy could boss her around? That she did throw childish tantrums just because someone she disliked was in her vicinity?

No. Out of the question. Rose was staying. She just had to find a way to make it bearable to live in the same house as him . Maybe she could talk to Al and get him to spend time with them separately.

She doubted it, but it never hurt to ask. If his answer was disappointing, she’d just have to resign to the fact that the little time she would have with her best friend this summer would be tainted. Tainted, but still better than non-existent.

Taking a huge breath, Rose looked up at her ceiling, steeling herself for the days ahead. She put away her book, which she’d been clutching to her chest like a life-line. Then she fell into her bed with a sigh.

She felt drained.

Closing her eyes, she was asleep in mere seconds.

Rose blinked slowly. Her eyes were crusty and her mouth somehow felt claggy yet dry at the same time. Sitting up, she felt a dull ache pulsing in her right shoulder – punishment for falling asleep in a weird position.

The small window at the far wall was letting in hot rays of sunlight and faint sounds of people speaking down in the garden. Looking at it, Rose also registered the way the entire room was bathing her in sweltering heat. She sniffed hesitantly at an armpit, scrunching up her nose immediately.

Showering.

She needed it. Now.

Having gathered up her skin- and hair products, Rose grabbed a towel and proceeded out the door. She looked much like a mad man, walking down the corridor, twisting her head paranoidly, anxious not to bump into a certain someone.

The bathroom, unfortunately, was situated right beside the room Al was staying in. His door was slightly ajar however, so Rose figured he was still downstairs with his pet wanker. Just as she was about to enter the bathroom, Al’s door swung open, smacking into her.

Dropping everything in her hands to the floor, Rose released an incoherent sound of pain, hands immediately rushing to cover her right eye. Al’s door had gotten a clean hit, and half of Rose's face was throbbing.

“Ow ow ow ow ow,” she whispered, feeling for any blood.

At the same moment, a voice said, “Weasley?”

Still holding her right eye, Rose looked up. Malfoy was peering down at her with a slight frown, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be surprised, concerned or amused.

Why oh why did the universe hate her so?

“Did you–” he started, just as Rose groaned, turning away from him.

“Go away,” she said curtly. The dull pressure had come back and she could feel both her eyes – not just the injured one – watering. 

Malfoy ignored her. “Did you get hurt?”

A pang of anger set off in Rose’s chest. “What do you think?” she hissed. “Banging up a door like that – thanks a lot.”

“Let me have a look.” Malfoy reached for the hand she was cradling to her face, but at his touch, Rose jerked back.

“So that you can make it worse? No thank you.” Turned away from him, with her eye that was in his direction covered, Rose couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she imagined he had resigned to quiet amusement. “Just go away,” she repeated. She knelt down to retrieve the things she’d dropped, but Malfoy had been quicker. He’d picked up her little bottles and jars, and her towel.

They straightened up at the same time. Rose glared at him. Malfoy didn’t look amused, but he was smiling slightly, looking down at the label on one of the jars.

“Connolly's Curltastic Curl Enhancing Cream,” he read aloud, the small smile turning into a smirk. Rose reached out to grab the jar from his hand, but he shifted so that his body was shielding the hair products from her. His gaze went to one of the bottles. “Friss-Not-Ever! Shield spray – butterbeer and vanilla scent.” 

Rose could feel her face heating up.

“I’ve always wondered what that smell is that you keep choking up everyone around you with. Of course it’s butterbeer,” Malfoy murmured. The blond turned to look at her. Immediately Rose let go of her shut eye to nab her things from the grinning git. He let her take everything without resistance.

Once she had it all safely pressed to her chest, she gave him a nasty look. Well, half a nasty look, since she could only open one eye.

Malfoy didn’t take offence, just nodded at the products and asked, “So this is how you get that perfect scarecrow look?” He tugged at one of Rose’s curls to punctuate his statement.

Rose didn’t say a word. Instead she turned around and stepped into the bathroom, banging the door shut behind her, her heart going a mile a minute.

If she hadn’t been in so much pain, and if she’d had her wand on her, not much could have stopped her from opening the door to hex him.

Ugh. Horrible. He was simply horrible. What did Al see in him? Rose would never understand.

Yet…

Her heart hadn’t started beating like that until he’d commented on the way she smelled. What was that about? Was he just going around, registering what scent she was wearing? 

‘I’ve always wondered…’, why in Salazar’s name was he going around saying stuff like that? Simply infuriating! Disgusting, annoying, pretty people like Malfoy shouldn’t be allowed. They were much too free to develop too big egos, be frustrating, get away with things and put weird thoughts into your head.

Rose fumed as she went through her very long, very meticulous shower routine, once again cursing her cousin for the way he’d so sneakily brought his best friend to ruin the peace.

When she finally got down to the kitchen and living room, it was half past one in the afternoon. She must have slept for hours. 

Rose surveyed the bottom floor. No one was there apart from her younger brother Hugo. He was curled up in an armchair by the fireplace, reading a quidditch magazine. The last step creaked below Rose, and at the sound, Hugo looked up. His blue eyes met Rose’s brown ones. 

Hugo was two years younger than Rose, and the same age as Lily, Al’s younger sister. Unlike Rose and Al, their younger siblings were in the same house at Hogwarts; Gryffindor. Rose had many times wondered if her parents and her aunt and uncle had planned together so that they’d be pregnant at the same time. She wouldn’t put it past her father to have suggested such a thing.

At fifteen Hugo was already taller than his older sister. He’d shot up so much during winter, her mother had accused James of having done an engorgement charm or fed him with some suspicious growing-potion. With every added centimetre, going ganglier ang ganglier, Hugo looked more like Ron Weasley for each day that passed. And unlike Rose who’d at least inherited a slightly darker, brown-ish tint to her red hair, Hugo had the exact same shade as their father. He had however a lesser spatter of freckles than Rose, who was covered from head to toe, and his hair was more wavy than curly.

“Malfoy’s here,” he told her matter-of-factly as their eyes met over the magazine edge.

“I’m aware,” Rose replied darkly.

“Yeah, Al told me you–” Hugo stopped suddenly, narrowing his eyes at her. “Oi, what’s happened to your eye?”

Bridging the distance between them, Rose walked over to sit down on the ottoman at her brother’s feet. She sighed. “Malfoy swung a door into my face.”

“On purpose?” Hugo quirked a thick brow at her. He scrunched up his nose the same way she did when he was confused.

She shook her head. “No, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Her little brother snorted. “He’s not as bad as you make him out to be.” He smiled at her indignant look. “I mean, I think he’s pretty nice actually. Polite. Everyone close to him seems to worship the ground he walks on.”

“Who’s side are you on exactly?”

“Oh, no-one’s,” Hugo replied easily. “When it comes to each other, you’re both absolute children.”

“You’re a child. And I’m your sister!”

Hugo nodded thoughtfully. “Hm,” he began. “I am. And you are. But you’re also someone who’s bullied him just as much as he’s bullied you.” When Rose just frowned, he switched subjects. “You look disgusting, you know.”

Groaning, Rose reached up to cover her injured eye. It had swelled and gone a bluish black during her shower, and she wasn’t confident enough that she could magic it away. “You’re evil,” she said.

“I’m honest.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

There was a short silence, then as his eyes travelled back to his magazine, Hugo asked, “Why don’t you just use magic? You’re seventeen – I thought it was times like these that would allow you to shine.”

Rose didn’t pick up on the slight bitterness laced in his tone. “Well, excuse me for not being a medi-witch,” she just retorted. Lack of ability had always been a sore subject to Rose, who’d tried her best to be the best, even as she’d been in muggle primary school before Hogwarts. 

It had been Hermione’s idea to put her children in muggle school, and she’d convinced Harry and Ginny to do it too. James, Al’s older brother, who was two years older, had started at the same time as Al and Rose. Thus, he hadn’t had as many years to acclimatise to the muggle world – something Rose meant was to blame for James’s near obnoxious love for the magical world. Al’s brother could be frankly daft when it came to understanding muggles, and he had no interest in learning more.

 “It’s important to know how to exist without magic, and to learn of different cultures,” had been Hermione Granger-Weasley’s slogan when Al and Rose had complained about going to school with people who understood no reference to quidditch, and who were none the wiser about the reality of the world they were living in. 

Rose’s father had always been extra careful not to open his mouth when the subject was brought up. Rose knew that had it not been a fact that her mother was the brightest witch of her age, and that she was downright scary when angry, Ron Weasley would have pulled his daughter out of school the moment Rose had turned her pleading eyes onto him.

It had its perks, but mostly, Rose thought, having your mum be the youngest Minister for Magic of all time, pretty much sucked.

“Ask Nana,” Hugo said then with a casual wave of his hand. “She knows how to at least hurry up the healing process.”

“Where is she?”

Having actually resumed reading, Hugo replied absentmindedly, “In the garden I think,” He was done with this conversation.

“Thanks.” Rose jumped up, tying up her hair in a knot as she walked outside to look for her grandmother.

She found her in a glade close to the house, sitting on one of the mis-matched sunbeds that had been scattered there for when all of their family members were visiting. She was reading Witch Weekly, and beside her, floating in the air, were two knitting needles and a ball of yarn. The needles were moving in a flurry, halfway to completing a dark green jumper.

“Hi, Nana,” Rose said as she got closer.

Nana Weasley looked up over the edge of her magazine. “Oh, hello, Rosie dear,” she said pleasantly, then she did a double take and flew up from the sunbed, scurrying over to Rose. “Your eye!” she shrieked.

Rose smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Malfoy banged a door into it.” She winced as her grandmother’s fingers immediately reached up to touch her face. 

“He told me he’d accidentally opened Al’s door when you were outside it,” Nana Weasley said distractedly as she prodded the skin around the black-eye. “He asked me if I could have a look at it, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad. Oh, Rosie, poor girl!”

A pinching feeling took hold of Rose’s stomach. Malfoy had asked her grandmother to care for her? He probably thought she wouldn’t be able to handle it on her own. Never mind that he was right, but the thought still stung. She hated how the blond prat looked down on her.

“Mm,” Rose hummed. “D’you think we can fix it?”

“Well, I’m no medi-witch, dear, but I can at least hurry it up a bit. Maybe get it to turn green instead of black, reduce the swelling a bit.” Nana Weasley reached for her wand as Rose sulked inwardly.

Wonderful. Just what she wanted. A conspicuously half-green face.

Then as her grandmother pointed her wand at her face, whispering an incantation, Rose sobered up. Being able to see with two eyes and being a bit green was vastly better than having only half her sight and looking like someone had spilled a bottle of ink over her head.

As Nana Weasley lowered her wand and let go of her firm hold of Rose’s jaw, the pain ebbed away. Rose blinked.

“I can open it!” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Nana!” She hugged her grandmother tightly.

Nana Weasley patted her back comfortingly, but as she leaned back, her gaze fixed on Rose’s face again. She looked dubious. “If only Teddy were here,” she murmured.

Teddy Lupin was a close friend to the family. He was like a bonus brother to Al and his siblings, being her uncle Harry’s godson, and he’d spent many weeks with the Potters during his childhood and teen years. 

Although older, having turned 25 this spring, Teddy still came to most Sunday dinners, especially now that he and Victoire – Rose’s oldest cousin – had gotten engaged. The whole family had rejoiced at the news, and since the engagement, the majority of said dinners had mostly consisted of wedding-talk. Much to her and many of her cousins’ chagrin.

Teddy worked at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as a healer. As a small girl, Rose had been quite infatuated with the older boy. He’d never treated her as anything other than a younger sort-of-cousin however. Nowadays, Rose thanked Merlin for that.

“Will he and Vic be here for Dom’s birthday party?” Rose asked, trying her best to distract her grandmother from ruminating over the eye that now felt significantly better.

Her grandmother did a little shake of her head, as if to clear her mind. “Yes, I believe so,” she said, turning around and beckoning for Rose to follow her to the sunbeds. “Victoire said so in her last letter.” She sat down in the same sunbed as earlier, and grabbed the knitting that was still going on steadfastly in the air to her right. She took up where the charmed knitting needles had left off, and continued by hand. “But you never know with those two,” Rose’s grandmother continued conversationally. “Poor Teddy is always called in at odd hours. They work him to the bone, I tell you.” She frowned down at the half-made jumper. “He’s far too skinny for my liking. Needs a proper holiday.”

Rose had sat down at the chair beside her small grandmother. She nodded. “Mm. And it’s not as though Vic has that much free time either,” she said. “I feel like she’s either in France or on her way to France every time I try to get hold of her.”

“Yes,” her grandmother concurred with a sharp nod. “I don’t like the way those Ministry people at the Department of International Magical Cooperation expect her to carry the entire french branch. They could at least give her an assistant.” Rose didn’t know if you could describe someone’s knitting as ‘furious’, but that was the only way she could explain what her grandmother was doing. “And now with the wedding planning!”

Nana Weasley began a long monologue about the unfairness her grandchildren were plagued by, so Rose allowed herself to drift away into her own thoughts. She was looking forward to Dom’s birthday party and seeing all her cousins, aunts, uncles and family friends.

Dominique Weasley was Victoire’s younger sister, and the second daughter of Rose’s uncle Bill and his wife Fleur. She’d been in Gryffindor during her Hogwarts days, but now, soon to be 20, she played for the Wimbourne Wasps quidditch team. For as long as Rose could remember, the whole family had celebrated Dom’s birthday at the Burrow, much due to the convenient fact that the day took place during the summer holidays on July 23.

As Dom got older, the party had grown to include her friends, and Hogwarts friends of her cousins that she knew somewhat. In all honesty, it was more of a general party under the guise of a birthday one, but everyone seemed to enjoy it – even Nana Weasley who always took on most of the preparation – so the tradition had solidified.

James had promised the most flashy firework show yet this year, and Rose was actually looking forward to getting a little pissed – something she usually refrained from during the school year. She’d invited her best friend in Ravenclaw house, Julia Spinett, who’d accepted the invitation. So if Rose could only stay as far away from Malfoy as possible, this party was looking up to be one of the best ones yet.

“... can’t believe your mother hasn’t sacked them yet!”

Rose shook herself out of her daze, and turned her attention to her grandmother, whose face was as red as Rose’s had been earlier when Malfoy had read from the labels on her hair potions.

“They are absolutely incompetent!” her grandmother continued, still frantically knitting away. The jumper was almost finished now. “Practically–”

“Nana!” 

Rose turned around at the voice.

It was Al. He was jogging down the slope from the house to the glade, Malfoy behind him. The blond was taking long steps to keep up, but he looked just as composed as always.

Nana Weasley stopped abruptly in her angry monologue. “Albus dear, what is it?” she asked when he stopped in front of them, her voice turning warm and soothing.

Al gave Rose a quick glance, looking a little apprehensive, before fastening his gaze on his grandmother. “I forgot my swimming trunks at home,” he told her. “Just wondered if you had any old ones I could borrow.”

Malfoy stood, quiet, just behind his best friend. He was looking at Rose with a curious expression, a small smirk on his face.

She raised a brow in question, but he didn’t say anything, just let his smirk grow wider.

“Oh, I don’t believe I have any that would suit you,” Nana Weasley said. “Maybe in the attic, but I don’t like the thought of you disturbing the ghoul.” She fell into a short silence, pondering, then her face lightened. “Your grandfather has a pair he never uses! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you borrowing them.”

Not seeming too pleased about the thought of donning Arthur Weasley’s old swim wear, Al plastered a fake smile onto his face, nodding at his grandmother. “Lovely,” he said weakly.

She smiled back, returning to her knitting, her pace much slower now that she’d calmed down. “They’re in the right upper drawer in the big bureau in our room,” Nana Weasley said. “Just make sure to hang them up to dry after you’ve used them, love.”

Al gave Malfoy a look before thanking his grandmother. The two boys began to turn around, when Nana Weasley piped up again.

“You don’t need to borrow any, Scorpius dear?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, which made Rose snort. “No, I brought my own, but thank you, Mrs Weasley. That’s very kind,” Malfoy said, ever so polite.

Nana Weasley didn’t even look at him as she waved away his appreciation with a flick of her hand. “Tell me if you need anything else,” she just said.

Thanking Nana Weasley once more, the boys turned to leave, but yet another time, Al hesitated, turning around. “Want to come with, Rosie?” he asked, his big green eyes taking on that hurt puppy-look.

Her insides squirmed with indecision. Going swimming with Al would have been the first thing she’d wanted to do on a regular summer day.

But this wasn’t a regular summer day. Because he was here.

Malfoy was looking at her over Al’s shoulder, eyes slightly narrowed, as if challenging her to say yes.

Swallowing, Rose got up. “Sure,” she said casually, deciding to be the bigger man and at least try to not be baited. She didn’t spare Malfoy even a glance as she followed the two boys up to the house.

“Your eye looks a lot better than I expected from what Scorp told me,” Al said as they walked up the stairs to their grandparents’ bedroom.

Rose shrugged. “Nana helped a bit. It looked even worse before.”

“Is that possible?” Malfoy drawled behind them, the first thing he’d said since getting inside.

Stopping abruptly, causing Al to walk into her, Rose spun around to fix the blond with a sharp look. “You know, I don’t hear you asking for forgiveness, Malfoy. Too stuck-up to admit when you’ve done something wrong?”

Malfoy shook his head, eyes widening innocently. “I told you, I didn’t hear you outside the door. I wouldn’t have opened it so harshly, had I known you were outside,” he explained infuriatingly calmly.

“Well, you still ended up banging up my face, didn’t you?”

“If you want an apology, you can have an apology,” Malfoy said simply. “I’m sorry.” He stared up at her with those silver eyes she found so exceedingly hard to read. 

Al was looking between the two of them as if following an incredibly boring tennis match. He often had the misfortune to be caught in the crossfire. Once, he’d even been accidentally hit by one of the hexes his best friends had tried to cast on each other. After that time, both Rose and Malfoy took great care to hone their aim. Al didn’t get mad easily, but when he did, he was terrifying.

“Well, I don’t forgive you,” Rose spat, turning around to march up the staircase.

“Best behaviour, mate,” Rose could hear Al whisper agitatedly to his friend, but she couldn’t decipher Malfoy’s reply.

She held up the door to their grandparents’ room for Al, letting go of it the moment Malfoy got close. The blond rolled his eyes, catching it before it swung close.

As she watched, arms crossed over her chest, her insides still churning by being in Malfoy’s proximity, Al began digging through Grandpa Weasley’s drawers. A few mis-matched socks later, he pulled out a pair of salmon pink swimming trunks, adorned with a pattern of tiny, yellow ducks.

The churning stopped, and a laugh bubbled out of Rose. “What are those?” she asked gleefully.

Al’s face twisted into a disgusted expression. 

“I think they’re beautiful, mate,” Malfoy chuckled. “Real fashionable. You should wear those when Zabini comes over.”

Al fixed Malfoy with a withering look. 

Brianna Zabini was a girl that had been in the year above them before she’d graduated this summer. Al and she had flirted tirelessly for over a year, but neither of them had ever plucked the courage to take the last step and just ask each other out. She was a friend of Dom, and invited to the party. She’d said she’d try to come.

“She’d positively melt,” Rose said and Al turned his frown on her.

He sniffed haughtily when his two best friends started laughing again, stuffing the swimming trunks into his pockets. “You know,” he said, a dangerous calm lacing his words, “I don’t like you two bickering, but I like you even less cooperating.”

That shut Rose up, and she glanced quickly at Malfoy who’d also stopped laughing, but who’d instead donned his signature smirk.

“Can’t be easy, mate,” Malfoy drawled, stepping forward to clap Al over the shoulder, “having two such superior best friends.”

Al rolled his eyes, but Rose had to shake her head in disbelief. Had Malfoy just called her ‘superior’? Sweet Rowena, what was happening?

Having found the swimming trunks, Rose hurried away to change into her bikini, as Malfoy and Al went to change in Al’s room. She pulled on a loose dress and grabbed a fresh towel then went downstairs to wait in the living room for the two boys. Her little brother was nowhere to be seen.

Al and Malfoy came down the stairs, both in matching white t-shirts. But while Malfoy had on simple blue swimming trunks, Al had the pink duck ones, and at the sight, Rose started laughing again.

She pretended to hold out an invisible camera, and clicked in the air with her finger as if taking a photo. “Need to save this mental image,” she told her cousin, still chuckling.

He just gave her a light push, shaking his head. “You do that.”

They started the short walk down to a stream in the nearby forest. As they got closer, Rose could hear the sounds of laughter and indistinguishable voices.

“Rosie!” 

It was Lucy, Rose’s youngest cousin at only twelve years old, who shouted as the trio arrived at the stream. She was in Ravenclaw with Rose, and since she’d started at Hogwarts, they had gotten significantly closer. Rose often felt like she had to take responsibility for the little girl.

Hugo, Lucy, and Louis – Dom and Victoire’s younger brother – were already in the water, throwing a fanged frisbee between them.

“Get in, you lot!” Louis shouted over his shoulder as he quickly threw the frisbee to Hugo before it bit him.

Al scrambled down to the side of the stream, Malfoy following suit in a much more graceful manner. They stopped where the others had discarded their clothes, both boys toeing off their shoes. Al threw his t-shirt to the side and jumped into the water with a great splash . He broke the surface with a grin on his face, black hair plastered to his forehead. “Merlin, that’s fan-fucking-tastic,” he said to no one in particular. Then he allowed his body to float leisurely up to the surface, closing his eyes.

Malfoy was watching his friend with a wide smile. He always looked much warmer and softer around Al, Rose thought to herself. When he was around her, he was never that. No, then it was all jagged edges, smirking, looking haughty – all stuck-up and troublesome.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, the blond turned his head towards Rose. She was still a few steps away from them all. Predictable as it was, his smile turned lop-sided. “Coming, Weasley?”

Rose glowered back at him, twisting her dress between her fingers. She felt a little as though, this second, going closer was dangerous. As if Malfoy was a tiger at the zoo, and she’d be wise to stay back as to not provoke him.

Al had joined the others in their game, and called over his shoulder for his friend to join in, but Malfoy continued looking at her. Waiting. Rose looked back, still hesitant.

Something felt wrong.

Slowly, his eyes still on her, Malfoy began lifting his shirt, pulling it up and above his head before discarding it on a rock next to his feet. Rose felt her stomach swoop. She swallowed, her mouth having gone suspiciously dry.

There was no denying it really; Scorpius Malfoy was a fairly fit bloke.

Rose averted her eyes instinctively, trying to rid herself of the image. Smooth pale skin and lean muscles were painted in her mind’s eye. The way his hair fell prettily over his forehead after his shirt had tousled it coming off. Her fingers were itching.

Ovulation be damned! Her body was betraying her brain. It would do her no good to remember how he looked half-naked.

She reminded herself of his slimy, annoying personality when she looked back, her resolve hardening as she stomped up to him, careful not to let her gaze slip any lower than his neck (which, annoyingly enough, was also sort of pretty).

Without a word, Rose ignored Malfoy’s amused grin, and took off her own dress, very aware of how close to him she was standing. It was as though she could feel the heat radiating off his body, separate from the warmth of the sweltering July sun. Before she’d even dropped her dress to the ground however, Malfoy and his blasted heat was gone, and as Rose looked up, he’d broken through the water surface and came up, pushing his white-blond hair back with his long fingers. He wasn’t looking at her any longer, instead having jumped up onto Al’s back, trying to push him under the water.

Her stomach swooped again, but she told it to shut up.

Rose dipped her toe into the stream, feeling goosebumps travel up her body at the cold. She sat down at the edge, letting both her feet dip in to allow her body to adjust to the temperature. Taking a deep breath she pushed herself from the ground and sunk into the clear cool water. 

Silently, she thanked herself for having used her tiny bottle of very expensive hair oil earlier. It was magical – literally – and it kept curly hair curled, and straight hair straight, for at least three showers or baths after application. She touched her locks tentatively. They looked wet, in the sense that they’d gone dark and shiny, but they appeared dry in the way they were just as light and bouncy as earlier.

Sometimes, being a witch wasn’t all that bad, Rose decided as she pushed up to float on the surface.

She had a few blissful moments of relaxation before she felt something strike down onto her stomach, scratching it. With a shriek, Rose’s eyes flew open as she stood up in the water, splashing away as quickly as she could. A few feet in front of her, the fanged frisbee was floating on the surface, looking smug somehow.

“Who–” Rose started as she looked in outrage towards her cousins and Malfoy. They were all eyeing her apprehensively, sheepish expressions on their faces. 

All, except for Malfoy, who donned a mixture of amusement and something else Rose couldn’t decipher. 

He looked a little… impressed? Challenging? Smug? Excited?

As though he couldn’t wait to see what Rose would do next.

Rose took a deep breath before pursing her lips and wading forward in the water. Everyone was silent as she took hold of the green fanged frisbee. She held it at arm's length, giving it an appraising look, before suddenly launching it off.

It hit Malfoy square in his pretty face.

He released a grunt, throwing the frisbee to the side before reaching up to feel his left eye. His mouth was opened in surprise as he glared at Rose.

She gave him a triumphant smile. “An eye for an eye!” she said, before turning to climb out of the stream. She’d had enough swimming for today.

If Rose had been a little less caught up in her own victory, she would have remembered her dad’s words from when she was younger; 

“Never turn your back on your enemy.”

Just as soon as she’d hoisted herself up, she was being dragged back down. Pale fingers digging into the flesh of her waist and pulling her into the water. She began struggling, but Malfoy took hold of her arms instead, turning her around to grab her around her middle and throw her over his shoulder.

Rose beat at his back, screaming at the blond to put her down, but he just held her tighter. She was just about to knee him in the stomach when Malfoy bent down, submerging them both into the water, effectively shutting Rose up. He held onto her just long enough to set Rose’s heart into a frenzied panic, before letting go and straightening up.

When their eyes met above the surface, Malfoy was laughing. The skin around his left eye had gone slightly red, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You… you arse!”

Her heart was about to beat out of her chest. Not only did her body believe it had just been about to drown, but it was all too much. She felt greatly overstimulated. Malfoy’s hands on her – both weirdly pleasant and wildly unwelcome – had made her scratched stomach erupt into butterflies. And the way he was looking at her now, banged up eye and all… 

Fuck it – he was So. Pretty.

His smile was wide, his laughter deep and genuine, and the lines of his arms and chest, neck and jaw… it made Rose want to curl up into a ball and cry.

This. This was the reason. This was why it had been so good of her to stay away from the Burrow those few weeks every year when her cousin had brought his friend. It did you no good to see your nemesis without a shirt, happy and glistening wet in the water, fit body on display for everyone to see. It did you no good to nurture attraction to a person whose personality you abhorred. It only made for inner conflict.

Rose shook her head to clear it, then shuffled forward, pushing Malfoy out of the way, feeling like her hand burned where it touched his skin. 

He was still grinning at her when she’d gotten up on solid ground and wrapped herself in her towel. His cheeks had gone slightly pink under the sun, but otherwise he looked just as ghostly pale as always. 

“No, are you leaving?” Al said, just now noticing Rose’s absence in the stream. He had a tendency to block out any scene involving his two best friends bickering.

“Yes,” Rose nodded curtly, as she gave Malfoy a vitriolic look.

Al started jump-walking in that weird way someone did when they had to step through high water. “Hang on – I’ll come with.” 

Hoisting himself up, her cousin told Malfoy that he’d be back soon. The blond nodded, still grinning at Rose. “See you later, Weasley.”

“Hope you drown, Malfoy.” She snatched up her dress and walked off towards the small path to the house.

Al scurried after her, falling into step at her side. When they could no longer hear the voices of their cousins, and the stream had been well shrouded by trees, Al made a troubled sound – something between a sigh and a click of the tongue.

Side-eyeing him, Rose said nothing.

Another few seconds passed, then…

“I’m sorry.”

Al had stopped walking. Rose turned to look at him, and he took her wrist, giving it a small shake. As if that would somehow tell her how difficult he found the situation. She frowned down at his hand.

“I know you find Scorp difficult, but I thought–”

“Difficult?” Rose echoed, fastening Al with a sharp look. 

“Yeah, but I really thought that–”

“Al, I… He disgusts me,” Rose interrupted.

Well, parts of him at least, a small voice in her head added.

Her cousin's eyes were uncomprehending, his dark brows knitted together. “Surely, that’s a little harsh,” he said, but he sounded wary.

“It’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to bother me.” Rose could feel her heart picking up pace, her face growing warmer at the mere thought of Malfoy’s taunting smirk. “He never leaves me alone.” Her voice had gone slightly shrill. “It’s like he enjoys seeing me miserable – it’s… it’s sadistic, Al.”

Al let go of her, pursing his lips, as if thinking very carefully of how to best reply. He shifted slightly under her gaze. “I thought you’d get along better if we were outside of Hogwarts.”

Blast those eyes, Rose thought as her cousin looked at her pleadingly. She knew full well he was manipulating her, but she couldn’t find it in her to not want to resign to doing whatever would make him happy. Especially now when Malfoy wasn’t here to sharpen her resolve.

“You know in an environment where you aren’t stressed from homework, and he…” Al frowned. “Actually, I don’t know why I thought he’d be different. But, you know, summer,” he said, shrugging.

Rose scowled. She could feel her defences cracking at the edges. “Well, I mean, it’s only been a day,” she said, as if consoling him. “It might get better.” Merlin, she was batty.

A small smile started to grow on Al’s face. “Does that mean you’ll try to get along?” he asked innocently.

“I’ll behave if he does,” Rose sniffed, crossing her arms.

“Oh, Rosie, you know he only acts that way because you give him a reaction every time. I swear on Salazar, he’s not like that with anyone else.”

“Well, why should it fall onto me to be the bigger man?”

Al took hold of her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “It shouldn’t. It’s up to the both of you,” he said softly.

“Will you talk to him too?”

Al nodded. “I will.”

“And you’ll tell him to stop being a disgusting, slimy wanker?”

“Maybe not in those exact words, but sure!”

“But you admit he’s a narcissistic stuck-up git with way too much confidence?”

“He could do well to be taken down a peg sometimes, yeah, I can agree with that,” Al nodded again.

“And we can spend some time without him, just you and I?”

Circling his arm around Rose’s shoulders, her cousin started pulling her towards their grandparents’ house. “It’d be my pleasure.”

Chapter Text

“FOUL!” Louis bellowed, pointing at Rose.

She stopped abruptly, hovering high up in the air. They were playing a friendly game of three on three quidditch. Her, Louis, and Dom (who’d arrived at lunch), against Al, Malfoy and Hugo. During the past few minutes however, the match had taken a turn onto the slightly more unfriendly route.

Louis, being a Hufflepuff, and therefore victim of many prejudiced jokes regarding the soft, friendly students of the badger’s house, had been selected as referee. Everyone believed he could play and still be impartial.

Well. At least more impartial than everyone else available.

“I didn’t do anything!” Rose called back, lifting her hands from the broom handle in an innocent gesture.

Louis raised a brow at her. “You just hexed Scorpius,” he said flatly, then turned his finger to point at the blond hovering a few feet away.

Except he was blond no longer.

Malfoy’s otherwise shiny platinum hair had turned a hideous shade of neon pink. As Rose watched, his grey eyes travelled up to the bangs falling over his brow. They widened. His head snapped towards Rose. “Weasley, what the fuck.”

Dom zoomed down from higher up, sidling up to Malfoy to give his hair a tousle. “This hardly counts as unsportsmanlike behaviour,” she said grinning as Malfoy scowled at her. “I mean, it doesn’t really affect the game.”

“Yeah,” Rose concurred. “I think it’s an improvement.”

“Shut up,” Louis said, flipping back his own fair bangs, almost as if to taunt Malfoy. “Both of you. I'm the referee and I say it’s a foul. Free-throw for Scorpius.”

Dom stuck out her tongue at her little brother. “Buzzkill,” she tutted, whizzing past him, her hair billowing out behind her like a silky strawberry-blond banner.

Malfoy managed to score a goal, but before they continued the match, he forced Rose to reverse the spell. Which she did. Reluctantly. After a minute of being chewed out by Louis for taunting their opponent and therefore delaying the match.

They played for best of three. But being even, going into the third and last match, Rose, Dom, Malfoy and Al had been so eager to win, that Nana Weasley had come outside, cancelling everything after the four of them had resigned to nasty hexes and jinxes instead of playing. 

Louis and Hugo had watched with unconcealed amusement as one after one, their older cousins, friends and siblings had been stupefied when flying close to the ground, resulting in their limp bodies crashing into the earth, sending soil and grass into the air.

Nana Weasley called this “disgusting, rowdy, and lesser behaviour”. But it wasn’t until she threatened to withhold dinner from them all that everyone agreed to call it for today.

They’d been at the Burrow for four days now. And things were going, if not just as Rose had imagined, a tiny bit better than she’d expected.

There had been no major incidents really. Though that was of course relative to what one would count as ‘major’. To Rose, it entailed neither of her or her blond git of a rival having to visit Mungo's.

Naturally, they’d bickered, and there had been a few well-aimed hexes and jinxes flying about. The second night, Malfoy had hexed Rose’s duvet to sing loudly into her ear every time she tried to fall asleep, and Rose had retaliated the day after by putting a spell she was particularly proud of onto his blanket. She’d made it so that it’d always be just a few degrees warmer than Malfoy deemed comfortable, and it rose in temperature every time he tried to stick out a foot, or do anything else to deal with the heat. And certainly, this all happened behind Nana Weasley’s back.

But, as earlier stated: no major incidents.

It was now well into the afternoon and Al and Rose were outside, helping Nana Weasley de-gnome the garden. She’d caught the pair after lunch as they’d stepped out to go for a walk, just the two of them, and had asked them with kind words, but an awfully piercing look, if they’d “Help their old grandmother, whose back and hips weren’t what they’d been in the old days”.

With forlorn glances at each other, they’d assented.

Malfoy had stayed behind. 

It had become apparent that Al, the same day as he’d talked to Rose, had spoken to his other friend about the him-and-Rose-being-terrible situation. For the past four days, Rose’s favourite cousin (he had not yet been demoted) had made sure that they spent at least an hour together, without Malfoy, every day. Mainly, they’d gone for walks, swam, or flied around the hills, but it had been nice.

When her cousin had told the git that Rose and he himself were going outside, the blond had simply nodded (suspiciously agreeable, Rose had thought) and told them it was probably for the best that he’d stay inside. He ‘didn’t do well with too much sunlight’ – an explanation Rose had teased him for profusely, before Al had dragged her off.

“This is killing me,” Al groaned, sitting down on the dry dusty ground, before falling onto his back dramatically. “It’s too hot.”

Rose looked up at the clear blue sky, pushing back the flyaway curls that had loosened from her ponytail. There wasn’t as much as a wisp of a cloud in sight. “I almost wish Malfoy was here so that we’d finish quicker,” she grumbled.

Her cousin didn’t seem to hear. “Think there’s any pumpkin juice?” he asked, sitting up abruptly. His black hair had turned grey with dust. “I need a drink.”

“Dunno. Want me to check?”

“Have I told you that you’re my favourite cousin?” Al asked, beaming up at her. Then, without even looking, he brandished his wand, smiling, and called, “Accio!” A small, particularly grubby gnome came flying towards them from below a rose bush. Al caught it deftly, surveying it with an unimpressed expression before raising his wand. “Please don’t come back again. It makes for such dull work,” he told the gnome as he made it hover. Then, with a swish of his wand, the grubby little creature was catapulted away, out of sight from the Burrow.

“Beautiful,” Rose said.

Lying back down once more, Al covered his green eyes with a hand. “Make sure the juice is ice cold. Please, Rosie, I’m not kidding – I’m dying over here.”

“Yeah yeah.” She was too tired to laugh at his theatricality.

Trudging up the garden to the house, Rose retied her hair. The strands at her neck and forehead were wet with sweat. She stepped inside the hallway, toeing off her shoes. It was blissfully cool inside. Nana Weasley had put up an enchantment the previous day, finally having had enough of the uncommonly hot summer.

She could hear soft voices coming from the kitchen, interspersed with the tinkling giggles of her little cousin Lucy. Rose crept up slowly, curious to see what was going on. Her head felt clear now when it wasn’t being fried. 

Nearing the kitchen, Rose could make out Malfoy’s voice. She pressed herself to the wall outside the doorway into the kitchen, and leaned forward just enough to get a view of the kitchen island that her uncle George had installed a few years ago.

Lucy was sitting on one of the high stools pressed up against the island, dark blue eyes sparkling in delight. In front of her, stood Malfoy, leaning casually, one hand on the counter. He had his wand out, moving it in tiny intricate patterns through the air, a content smile on his face.

At first, Rose couldn’t understand why Lucy was looking so extraordinarily fond. But then she saw. In the middle of the island, amongst used plates, glasses, newspapers, books and various other trinkets, stood a small vase containing a bouquet of wilted wildflowers. They’d been there since Rose arrived, slumping lower and looking more dry for each passing day. Now however, they were straightening up, one by one, regaining their bright hues.

For every elaborate movement of Malfoy’s wand, a new flower rose from its hunch. Rose stood, transfixed, until every single delicate blossom had been restored to its former glory.

Beautiful.

It was such achingly beautiful magic.

And it was Malfoy doing it.

“Oh,” Lucy sighed happily, beaming up at the blond. Even from her spot behind the doorway, Rose noticed the splotches of pink growing on her little cousin's cheeks. “How did you do that?”

Malfoy scratched his neck, gazing thoughtfully at the bouquet. If Rose hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought he looked almost abashed. Alas, she was well aware that her rival didn’t have even one embarrassed bone in his body.

“My mother–” Malfoy began, just as Rose decided to step into the kitchen. He halted, face turning towards her. To her great surprise, he shot her a smile – a real proper, not at all noxious one – before continuing, turning back to look at Lucy. “My mother loves gardening,” he told her. “She’s been teaching me spells like these since before I even showed signs of any magical ability whatsoever.”

Lucy’s broad smile showed all her teeth. When Rose stepped up to stand beside her, her cousin laid a small hand over her elbow. “Can you also do it, Rosie? Oh, I bet you can – you know everything.” Her beaming gaze was now fixed on Rose, but she noticed, with a sort of half-amusement, half-indignation, that Lucy’s blush had faded now that she had made her presence known.

Had the younger girl developed a crush? On Scorpius Malfoy nonetheless?

She’d have to put a stop to that, Rose thought to herself.

Although hating to admit it, she shook her head, noticing a sort of pinching feeling in her chest. Rose was rubbish at plant magic and domestic spells. It had never come naturally to her, and had never felt relevant. 

But, irrelevant or not, the experience of not knowing something – especially something that Malfoy seemed to master – was unbelievably irksome.

Avoiding his silver gaze, Rose told Lucy, “I’ve never gotten a hang of it actually.” She grinned bashfully. “You have too high of an opinion of me, Luce.”

Lucy shook her head, her smile turning into a frown. “I do not.” She reached over the counter to put her other hand on Malfoy’s wrist, the colour immediately returning to her face. Looking at them both (although admittedly seeming to be having a hard time keeping eye-contact with Malfoy), she said with the utmost sincerity, “I am a hundred percent sure that you two will make Head Girl and Head Boy.” She sat back crossing her arms defiantly. “My mum and dad think so too.”

Rose felt a warm sensation spread through her body, the feeling akin of taking the first sip of butterbeer on a crisp autumn day in Hogsmeade. Now it was her time to blush. It was amazing – and perhaps a little pathetic, how even the affirmation of a twelve-year-old could feel so good to her. 

“Uncle Percy and aunt Audrey talk about us?” She didn’t know if to feel honoured or amused.

Rose did get along fairly well with her uncle – more than a lot of her cousins anyway, especially James, Fred and Roxy – but she had to agree that he was very much an incurable know-it-all. The thought of him and his wife discussing her and Malfoy’s authority at school… it felt, if anything, very very odd.

Lucy nodded. “Of course! Dad thinks very highly of you.”

“He does?” Rose could feel her eyes bugging out of her sockets. “Why?”

Her little cousin surveyed her with narrow eyes, as though she hadn’t really understood the question. “What do you mean ‘why’? He thinks you’re a hard worker, and that you’re intelligent, and he admires your academic endeavours.”

At this last point, Rose could clearly hear uncle Percy’s voice echo through Lucy’s words. She grinned, finally daring to cast a glance in Malfoy’s direction. Her heart flipped when she noticed that he was already looking at her, brow slightly furrowed.

“Of course,” Lucy continued, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in Rose’s chest, “dad doesn’t know about you two.”

At this, both Rose and Malfoy’s heads snapped towards the young girl.

“What do you mean?” Rose asked. She felt a bit breathless. The sun must’ve really drained her of energy.

Lucy blinked. “That you’re always on each other’s throats,” she explained slowly, “and that you lose half as many points as you earn each year.” She released a half-snort, half-giggle. “If he knew that, I don’t think he would be talking about how good of a role-model you are to me, Rosie, and how–”

“How could he not know about our fighting?” It was Malfoy this time. He’d straightened up, and he was looking almost a bit perplexed.

“I… Well,” Lucy looked thoughtfully at him, “I mean how could he know? It’s not like you two are ever here at the same time. Not until now anyway. And I actually take great care not to tell him about stuff like that in my letters when we’re at Hogwarts. He just tries to butt in if I do.” Her small face turned slightly sour. “He always wants to give me tips. I don’t need tips – I can figure things out on my own!”

She smiled down at Lucy and gave a lock of the younger girl’s brown hair a tug. “Thank you,” she said. “Please continue not telling him.” She laughed shortly to herself. “Now that I know he thinks I’m brilliant, I’d rather he keep that image of me.”

Lucy grinned at her cousin. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’re a gem,” Rose said fondly, stepping away to look through the cupboards for what she’d actually come to the kitchen for. “Do any of you know if we have any — ah. Nevermind.” She reached in and pulled out two flasks of pumpkin juice.

She stroked her wand down the flasks’ sides, whispering a cooling charm. Immediately drops of condensation formed on the glass surface.

“Are you and Al done soon?” Malfoy asked, effectively pulling Rose’s attention towards himself.

Without thinking, Rose said, “Would you like to help? It’ll go quicker if you do.” 

At the same time, both her and Malfoy’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

And seemingly just as unthinking, the blond replied, “Sure.”

Rose blinked, but feeling as though she couldn’t really take her words back, she shrugged, then moved to walk past her cousin and the slightly wide-eyed Malfoy. “You should change shirts,” she said, with the sensation as though someone else was talking for her. “That one’s bound to get filthy. The gnomes are quite dirty.” She couldn’t believe she’d just voluntarily invited Scorpius Malfoy into her company. It was outrageous. “See you, Luce,” Rose said airily as she stepped out of the kitchen.

It wasn’t until she was outside in the scorching sun, that her mind caught up to her, starting to race. What did this mean? A few minutes of praise, and seeing Malfoy be good with kids and plants, and she’d turned soft?

She shook her head, as if to clear it.

No.

Snap out of it, she told herself. He’s a massive git.

She reached Al a few seconds later, just as he drew back from a large swinging movement with his wand. Far away, high in the air, a small potato-like shape silhouetted against the blue sky.

Her cousin turned around at the sound of her footsteps. “Took you long enough!” he called, scrambling up to take one of the frosty flasks out of her grip.

She pulled it out of his reach. “Here I go, being a kind cousin, fetching you drinks, and that’s all I get?”

He actually had the sense to look a bit sheepish at her words. “No, of course not.” Leaning forward, Al gave Rose a quick peck on her turned cheek, sneakily grabbing a bottle at the same time. “You’re an angel,” he started when she shot a glare at him. “The best, greatest, most wonderful cousin to ever grace this earth.”

“That’s high praise,” came a voice from behind Rose. Her heart jumped.

“Scorp!” Al called. “Did you feel left out, mate?”

Rose swivelled around and saw Malfoy walking up to them. He’d done as she’d said and changed from a white shirt into an old beige one she believed belonged to Al. 

The colour didn’t suit him, she thought to herself. It washed him out.

Malfoy smirked as he stopped by her side, raising a brow at her. “Thought you might need some help,” he said, eyes turning to his best friend. “You’re taking too long.”

“Be our guest,” Al said, giving Malfoy a small bow of his head. “Show us your superiority, oh great wizard Scorpius.”

Malfoy just shook his head with a smile and took out his wand from his pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.” He narrowed his grey eyes at a spot in a far corner of the garden. “I want to go for a swim.” Wordlessly, Malfoy pointed to the spot with his wand, and a fairly large gnome came shooting towards them. He caught it without looking, instead having his face turned towards Rose. “Would you like to come with, Weasley?” he asked, grinning.

Her heart shot up into her chest. “We'll see,” she replied, hating the breathless way it came out.

It did go a lot quicker with Malfoy accompanying them. He was surprisingly efficient. And an hour later, they were strolling down the path to the stream, Al and Rose tailing after the blond, who seemed to be in a stellar mood. This, despite the fact that he’d gotten a sunburn on his high cheekbones.

“What did you do to him?” Al whispered into Rose’s ear. 

She shrugged. She felt off-kilter, knowing she was walking down this path because of Malfoy . It was as though a barrier of sorts had broken the moment she’d asked him if he wanted to join her and Al in the garden. She was trying hard to figure out what the consequences would be, and if it was a good or bad thing.

“He’s humming,” Al hissed.

Rose shook herself out of her daze to look at the back of Malfoy’s platina head. He was indeed humming.

“Doesn't he always?” she asked airily, already knowing the answer.

“Well, no,” Al said with a side-eyeing her. “That’s what’s weird.”

Rose shrugged again. “I didn’t do anything.” At her cousin’s disbelieving expression she added, tone dry, “Maybe he just is a massive weirdo. Have you thought about that?”

“You’re impossible.”

Pursing her lips, Rose chose to keep her silence, at least until she’d figured out the situation herself.

When they reached the stream, Malfoy was already half-submerged into the water. He sank down as they approached the edge, only keeping his eyes above the surface. Rose felt his stare as though it was a physical thing – a stick, prodding at her insides, commanding her attention. Trying her best not to glare back, she kept her eyes to the ground and everything other than Malfoy as she removed her clothes and slipped into the blissful cool of the stream.

Al joined her a mere second after. “Sweet Salazar, that’s lovely,” he groaned, dipping under before shooting straight up again, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog.

Silent, and relaxed, they floated around. Well, the boys were relaxed. Rose on the other hand felt as though her skin had shrunk and she was itching all over.

“D’you know who's coming to the party, Rosie?” Al asked after a while.

“Hmm. You mean except for the family?” Her face was turned up to the sky, eyes closed, soaking in those hot rays that had been so unpleasant earlier.

“Yeah.”

“Jules said she’d try to come,” Rose said.

“Anyone else we know of?”

Opening her eyes to squint at her cousin, Rose raised a brow. “Well, I think you’ll be happy to hear that Dom was talking about dear Bree maybe paying us a visit.”

Al’s face went puce. “Oh,” he said with a forced lightedness. “How nice for Dom.”

“Yeah, for Dom.”

Beside her, Scorpius snorted, raising a hand to his face to conceal a grin.

Rose grinned, a pleasant feeling spreading in her chest.

What was happening to her?

Dinner became a much larger spectacle than expected. Rose knew that Lily was supposed to come, but then James, Fred and Roxanne suddenly showed up at around seven in the evening, all three of them sporting cheeky grins and a blush that looked suspiciously alcohol-induced. Nana Weasley immediately started fussing about, conjuring up more chairs, plates and cutlery. 

James shooed Al off the moment he saw that Malfoy was there, taking the chair next to the blond, then urged Roxanne to sit down on the other side. Slinging a long arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, James whispered something into the younger boy’s ear, causing Malfoy’s  left brow to shoot up. 

The blond’s eyes flitted in Rose’s direction before quickly fastening themselves on the plate in front of him. “You’re funny,” said Malfoy, monotonously.

“Ain’t I?” James replied. “It’s sad my brother – and your dear best friend – hasn’t come to the same conclusion.” Noticing Rose was watching, his eyes turned to her. “Why do you think that is, Rosie?”

“No clue,” she shrugged. “How can one not love obnoxious older brothers who tease you endlessly?”

James grinned. “Right?”

Beside him, Malfoy was eyeing Rose with a curious expression, but he didn’t say anything. She stuck her tongue out at him, making James laugh and the blond frown, unimpressed. She felt childish, but at least she didn’t have to endure the feeling of that searching gray stare on her skin any longer.

“Rosie.”

Rose turned to her right. “Huh?”

Lily was wearing a serious expression. “Wanna have a midnight picnic tonight? I’ve got firewhiskey. We could ask the others.”

Nodding, Rose stuffed her mouth with another big bite of roast potato. “Sownds gweat,” she said through her chewing.

Lily wrinkled her nose but smiled back. “Great.” She then turned to Louis at her other side, and so the message started spreading.

After dessert and approximately another half hour of the James Show, Lily walked behind Rose up the stairs. They’d be staying in the same room now that the youngest Potter had arrived.

“... and I just don’t know if she’d like a dress or just, like, really casual but sort of sexy summer clothes better. What do you think?”

Rose closed the door behind them, turning around to give her younger cousin a blank look. “I think you’re thinking too much.” She threw herself onto her bed. “Also,” she said looking up at the wooden ceiling. “What are you doing thinking about being all sexy and stuff. You’re a baby.”

“I’m fifteen. Scooch.” She laid down beside Rose. “I just can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Mm. I can tell.”

“She’s so fucking cool, Rosie.”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s like the prettiest person I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t say.”

Lily flicked her cousin’s shoulder. “Here I am, proclaiming my love for a girl, coming out as bisexual, and you just don’t care.”

“You came out when you were twelve.”

“Still.”

Rose rolled over, propping her head up onto an arm. “I’m really happy for your sake. Aurora seems great.”

“Right?!” Lily grinned, sitting up abruptly. “Hopefully she’s not straight,” she exclaimed, jumping out of the bed. Skipping forward to her suitcase, she turned to blind Rose with her winning, straight-toothed, shiny smile. “Now help me pick out a good outfit.”

Blinking, Rose sat up. “You… you don’t know if she’s into girls?”

“Uh, no?” Lily pulled a long green flowy dress out of the suitcase. “What about this one?”

“Pretty,” Rose said weakly. She felt at a loss for words. How could her cousin be so calm about this? “Aren’t you worried?”

“Worried?” Lily echoed, holding the dress out first in front of her, then pressing it to her straight frame, walking over to look at herself in the full-body mirror in the corner. She pursed her lips at the reflection. “Hmm. Too green.”

“Yeah? What if she doesn’t like girls.”

Lily threw the dress at Rose. “You try this one instead,” she commanded. “It would look beautiful with your colours.” She walked back to pull out a pair of short shorts – practically underwear, according to Rose – and a light pink spaghetti strap top. Pulling off her shirt, Lily exchanged it for the top. “Well, of course it would suck if she’s not into me, but, like, what can I do?” She changed into the shorts too, then placed herself in front of the mirror again. “James would kill me,” she muttered to herself.

“I guess.” Rose looked at her little cousin wonderingly.

Lily was too pretty for her own good. Thick dark red hair, a naturally athletic build and big brown eyes. She was slightly taller than Rose, and without the freckles. She did alright in school, had loads of friends and admirers, and she had the skills to be picked for the Gryffindor quidditch team, having played with her family since she learned to walk, but she’d chosen not to apply. Once, she’d told Rose it was due to not wanting to be compared to her mum – something Rose heavily empathised with.

“You’re really brave, aren’t you?” Rose said then.

Lily stopped, right in the middle of changing into a new dress. She raised a brow at Rose. “What’s this? Gone and gotten sappy all of a sudden?”

Grinning, Rose shook her head. “No. I just think it’s inspiring how you tackle life sometimes.”

“Huh. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her eyes still on Rose, Lily finished pulling the flimsy white fabric down her legs. “You know, I think it’s mostly that I don’t stress as much about consequences as you and Al do.”

“Yeah. Sounds about right,” Rose sighed, falling back onto the bed. She clutched the green dress to her chest. “Worrying about consequences is my middle name.”

At half past eleven, the cousins and Malfoy assembled in the backyard. They climbed the nearby hill together, a cluster of loud voices and laughter. Once at the top, Fred and Roxy brandished two blankets, draping them over the ground. Fred plucked out four large glass jars from his rucksack, placing them in the corners of the fabric. Taking out his wand, he whispered something under his breath, and small fires appeared in each jar. Rose stared at the different colours of flames.

Beautiful.

Magic could really be so so beautiful.

Al and Malfoy turned a bag each upside down, letting the contents spill out into the middle of the seating arrangement. Bags of crisps, packets of candy and homemade sweets rained down to the oohs and aahs of her cousins.

They all sat down into a circle around the snacks, Rose ending up sandwiched between Al and Fred, Malfoy in front of her between Lily and Roxy. The blond grinned when he noticed her eyes on him. Immediately, Rose turned her head away.

“So,” James said, pulling a heavy bottle filled with a dark copper liquid out of his jacket’s inner pocket, “what are we playing?”

“I say truth or dare,” Lily replied, taking out a similar bottle of her own. She opened it, grimacing as she took a swig. “Albus, my sweet brother, truth or dare?” she asked, passing the bottle to Malfoy beside her.

The blond eyed the liquid suspiciously. The multicoloured light from the flames around them painted his face purple and blue, falling in a way that accentuated his high cheekbones. Rose watched as he took a careful swallow, wrinkling his nose as he then gave the bottle to Al.

“Truth,” Al said, accepting the flask.

“Alright. On a scale of zero to ten, how fit do you find Brianna Zabini?”

Al took a swig. “Ten,” he said confidently, but Rose, who was sitting right next to him, could see the way his cheeks darkened.

A mixture of whistles and laughter pierced the balmy summer night.

“Are you planning on making a move?” Dom asked then. “I could put in a good word for you.”

Al ignored her. “Moving on.” He surveyed them all carefully before leaning forward, fixing Louis with a stare. “Truth or dare, little cousin?”

“Dare.”

“Hmm.” He tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “Put a chocolate bonbon down your pants.”

Louis looked at him in disgust. “Absolutely not.”

“If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime,” Al shrugged.

“Yeah, Lou,” Dom joined in. “You’ve finally been allowed to come with us on a sacred midnight cousin picnic. Play the fucking game.” She took a swig from James’s bottle. “But,” she added, as Louis reached for the flask, “you don’t get to drink.”

“Why not? Lily gets to – she’s only one year older than I!”

“Lily’s not my little brother,” Dom said simply, hooking her arm roughly around his neck and pulling him to her. Having been drinking during dinner, she was already pissed.

“This sucks,” Louis grumbled, but he reached into the bag of sweets and pulled out a chocolate. “Let go of me,” he told Dom before standing up and turning his back to them. Fiddling for a few seconds, they all waited in silence until the party’s youngest turned around, a sour expression on his face. “There. Done.”

They all applauded him.

Then one by one, each cousin was subjected to the choice of speaking their truth or doing the dare. A few bits of new information was shared; Fred was seeing someone – a delivery guy who worked part-time for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Dom had almost ended up in a threesome with one of her teammates and a guy from an opposing team, Hugo had quite recently caught their parents in the act. Rose dry heaved at that.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that!” Roxy laughed. “It’s sweet – they still have the spark!”

Rose glanced to the side, sharing a wildly disgusted look with her younger brother.

“Did they want to talk about it afterwards?” James asked, the bottle to his lips.

Hugo just buried his face into his hands, releasing a guttural sound in lieu of reply.

They were all starting to get properly sloshed. Dom’s voice had grown even louder than usual, Fred, Al and Roxy wouldn’t stop laughing, Hugo’s face had turned puce and Lily was leaning against Malfoy, looking like she was about to fall asleep.

Rose felt a weird tight sensation in her chest at the sight. Malfoy was looking sideways at the youngest Potter. Seemingly careful to move but, having a hard time keeping his balance due to the alcohol, he was swaying a bit.

“Malfoy,” her little brother said through his fingers. He was the only person other than Rose in their generation of the family who called the blond by his surname, “truth or dare?”

Malfoy tore his gaze from Lily, but placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Truth,” he said.

Sitting beside Hugo, James leaned down and whispered something into his younger cousin’s ear. Hugo raised his brows, his eyes flitting in Rose’s direction, making her stomach swoop. “What’s the best thing about Rose?”

“Hitting him with the hard questions!” Al laughed. Rose punched his arm, effectively subduing the laughter.

Malfoy frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. His face was pink from alcohol and summer sun as he looked at Rose.

“What? Because everything about me is horrible – is that it?”

“No.”

She glared back at him. “Well, go on then,” she spat. “Give it to me. Now I’m curious too.”

Her cousins were egging him on as well.

Malfoy grimaced.

“Scorp, mate, just answer the question! I’m sure you have an answer.” Al swung his arm around Rose’s shoulders, pulling her to his side. “I know you love to tease her, but she has plenty of fantastic qualities even you can see.” He gave her a kiss at the top of her head.

Rolling her eyes, she hugged her cousin back.

She needed to get on his intoxication level asap.

Reaching across Al’s lap for the bottle currently residing in Roxy’s lap, Rose didn’t hear Malfoy’s answer.

“That’s so sweet!” Dom exclaimed as Rose sat back on her spot. “I’m gonna die. Merlin’s cunty little arse, you’re cute!”

Her little brother was looking rather sceptically at the blond, but shrugged eventually. “Alright.”

“What did you say?” Rose asked, taking three large glugs of firewhiskey. She met Malfoy’s grey eyes. They looked a little feverish. “Malfoy, what did you say?”

“Your freckles, Rosie!” shouted Dom and James at the same time.

“So fucking adorable!” Dom continued, clearly having lost all control over the strength of her voice.

Rose felt her face heat up.

Malfoy shrugged, staring back at her. “They’re the easiest target when I want to rile you up.”

Quickly, the soft warm feeling that had spread in her chest turned spikey. “Fuck off.”

“Just playing the game,” Malfoy shrugged. He took the bottle out of Rose’s hands, putting it to his lips. 

Rose could feel the question coming before he’d even opened his mouth.

“Weasley, truth or dare?”

She glared at him. What would be worse? Having Malfoy be able to command her to do almost whatever he wanted, or having to be up front about any question he wished for her to answer?

“Truth,” she decided, voice hesitant.

“Brilliant.” His smile turned lopsided – a tell tale sign he was about to try and rile Rose up. “How a–” but he stopped himself at once, narrowing his eyes. “Ah. Changed my mind.”

Rose frowned. What was he on about? She could feel the fuzziness in her brain working against her. What had he meant to ask her? “What?”

“Anyone have any ideas?” Malfoy asked, looking around and ignoring her. 

Immediately her cousins began spewing out questions.

“Who’s her favourite cousin? She can’t say Al!”

“Who would she rather shag – Lorcan or Lysander Scamander?”

“Which professor is most fuckable?”

“What would you have to do to get her to date you, Scorp?”

“Ask if she really hates you! I doubt it!”

Rose could feel her face redden with every suggestion.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was laughing loudly. He shook his head. “Alright. Alright,” he chuckled, making her cousins simmer down. “All great suggestions, but I think I have it now.” He focused his gaze on Rose. “Weasley,” he said.

“Yeah?” She said, raising her chin, voice infinitely more cocky than she felt.

He huffed out a last laugh. “When have you found me the least excruciating?”

Everyone booed. 

Everyone, except for Rose.

Had she heard him correctly? What kind of question was that? Her insides were squirming. It wasn’t even a spicy question – why was it so hard to answer?

“I…” She frowned. “I don’t know. You’re always awful.” Crossing her arms, she felt smaller than ever.

“That’s not an answer. I asked you when you found me the least excruciating. You have to have an answer. You don’t even have to admit to you thinking I’m alright sometimes.”

A small fire lit in Rose’s chest at the assumption. “Well, my answer sure as hell isn’t right now.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Then when was it?”

“Yeah, when was it, Rosie?” Al asked from beside her, almost unable to speak due to how much he was grinning. He turned to Malfoy. “I think I know,” he said in a sing-song tone.

Rose elbowed him. “You bloody well know that you don’t know a thing.”

Malfoy just continued grinning.

“Rosieee,” Dom whined, “just answer so that we can move on.” She took another swig of fire whiskey. “It can’t be that hard.”

Pouting at her older cousin, Rose took a deep breath, pretending to think it through carefully.

She knew exactly when it had last been that she’d found the blond the least awful; when he’d stood with Lucy. She saw his beautiful plant magic before her, his soft smile. She heard his voice as he spoke with the youngest Weasley – kind, melodic, humble…

But she couldn’t say that, could she? It felt way too intimate.

Also, she’d be admitting to having eavesdropped on them.

Both Al and Fred had started nudging her from each side, imploring her to fess up. “Alright!” she exclaimed. Everyone quietened, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ve never found you less excruciating than that time you snatched the snitch right before that bitch Vanessa Thomas’s eyes in fifth year.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he just said.

Calling Vanessa Thomas a bitch was going a bit overboard, but Rose had disliked her since far back in third year… and the alcohol had begun to finally kick in. Thomas was in the same year as Al, her and Malfoy, but she was a gryffindor. Just like Rose, she played seeker and had been named prefect. When they were thirteen, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors had had potions together and it was one of the first times Rose had interacted with the girl. Thomas’s father was old friends with her parents, but their families hadn’t really spent much time together. As a child, Rose had only had a distant impression of the girl as pretty and probably popular based on her conventionally attractive looks.

In the potions class, she’d been placed beside Rose, and all she’d wanted to talk about had been Malfoy. Needless to say, it hadn’t been Rose’s favourite subject, and it had made for a rocky start to a relationship that only worsened for every interaction between the two girls. Rose found Thomas to be vapid and a huge gossip, and Thomas found Rose to be unexpectedly snarky and rude. When they had rounds together, the tension between them became a solid thing.

Rose shrugged. “That’s my answer. Take it or leave it.”

Looking highly disbelieving, Malfoy mercifully accepted her reply with a nod. Rose’s mouth was tight as she looked back at him. Neither seemed able to break their stare, before Lily promptly straightened up, twisted around and emptied out her entire dinner on the grass behind her.

“Accio Weasley’s glasses.” Three pairs of spectacles whizzed through the air, landing in a neat row in Malfoy’s outstretched hand. He looked down at them with a frown. “Huh. Didn’t think about that.”

Rose reached up to pluck her pair from his palm. “You didn’t think about the fact that about everyone here is a Weasley?”

“I’m not,” Al piped up from his seat at the other side of the couch.

Rose sighed, putting on the glasses.

“Wait.” Malfoy, who was standing before the couch the cousins were lounging in, bent forward slightly. “Look at me.”

Feeling her heart speed up, Rose peered up at the blond. He had a small wrinkle between his brows. It was cute. Cute in that arseholey way that everything attractive about her rival was. Malfoy raised his wand, making her jerk back. She put up a hand to shield her face.

“Stop! What are you—”

“Relax. I was going to help you.”

Lowering her hand slightly, she glared at him between her fingers. “Help me with what?”

“This.” Scorpius’s small smile was lopsided. “Scourgify,” he articulated and immediately, Rose’s vision cleared.

She blinked. “Oh.” Looking down at the pages of the book in her lap, she felt her face flush. “Thanks,” she grumbled.

“Happy to be of service,” Malfoy said before clapping his hands together. He reached down to grab Al by the wrist. “Come on then. Let’s go, mate.”

“Scorp, mate, please.”

“You said we’d go for a run.”

“It’s too hot.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Don’t make me,” Al whined, curling up to burrow deeper into the couch cushions.

Rose glanced up at the two boys. Malfoy was rolling his eyes, letting go of his best friend’s arm. “Alright then. I’ll go on my own.” He pointed at Al. “You’re weak.”

Al nodded. “I totally am. A complete and utter weak wanker.”

Malfoy just shook his head. “I’ll see you later.” At Al’s nod, Malfoy turned and left, already in his workout clothes.

As soon as the blond had gone, Rose felt her cousin’s eyes fasten on her face. She shifted. “What?” she asked, glancing at him.

Al had pushed himself up into a sitting position, resting his head in his palm, elbow propped up on the back of the couch. He was grinning slyly. “Admit it,” he said.

With a huff, Rose closed her book, careful to earmark it. She stared in front of her as she replied, tone wary. “Admit what?”

“That he’s growing on you.”

She narrowed her eyes, turning to look at him. “What?”

“Scorp. He’s growing on you. Right?”

She just shook her head, putting on a face of disbelief. Inside, her heart was hammering away frantically.

“Hah! I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself from succumbing to his charms.”

“Succumbing to his charms,” Rose echoed with a scoff. “Al, please.”

Her cousin just laughed.

“In no world do I find Malfoy charming,” Rose said, more to herself than to her cousin.

Because the fact was, she did.

She did find him charming. Incredibly so even.

A twat. A wanker. An absolute shit. Sure. But she also found him charming as hell.

It was awful.

They’d been at the Burrow for roughly a week, and in those nine days, Scorpius Malfoy had managed to quell her animosity towards him ever so slightly.

Awful.

And miraculous.

He still teased and mocked her when he got the chance, but the glint in his eye seemed more warm than cunning all of a sudden – more familiar and friendly than cold and illwilling. Plus, he’d done almost as promised and partly been on his best behaviour. Going so far as to having taken up the habit to randomly help Rose with various small things.

Like getting her her glasses.

Before she’d even asked for them.

And then cleaning them.

Before she’d even noticed they needed cleaning.

“You do though. I can see it on your face, Rosie.”

She gave Al a deadpan look. 

“I read you like a book,” he drawled. “Like a very, easy-read-for-children-book.”

“You’re a twat.”

Al hummed. “What’s so horrible about not hating him?” He peered at her as he started gnawing on his thumb nail.

Maybe the fact that that meant that she’d been wrong for six years of her life? And she hated being wrong vehemently.

Maybe because it meant that she was the shitty one, if he now turned out to be kind of alright.

At her silence, Al sighed. “He doesn’t hate you either, you know.”

She made a noise to show she’d heard him.

“He really doesn’t,” Al pushed, leaning toward her.

“Alright. Okay.” She stood up. “Great, so he doesn’t hate me. Wonderful.”

“Isn’t it?”

Completely aware of her own apparent moodiness and childlike demeanor, Rose stuck her tongue out.

Al huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure that’ll take your crush away.”

“I don’t have a crush on him! Merlin, Al.” She snatched up her wand from the coffee table, shaking her head profusely. “You’re mad.” Walking around the couch to flee to her room, she said rushedly, “I mean I can admit he hasn’t been as much of an insufferable dick these past days but a crush…” She inhaled deeply. “You are absolutely insane.”

“Am I, Rosie?” Al shouted to her back as she began ascending the stairs. “Am I?!”

“Rosie!” Ron drew his daughter into his arms, hugging her fiercely. “How are you?”

“’m fine,” she mumbled into her father’s chest, circling her arms around his waist. “Hi, Dad.”

Suddenly, she felt very very young, her chest tightening with emotion. It was always like this – she didn’t miss her parents at all until she met them again after some time apart. When she met her mum and dad at platform 9 and ¾ at Christmas and at the start of summer holidays, the mere sight of Hermione and Ron Granger-Weasley made her feel small and vulnerable, incapable of anything without the help of her parents. Well, for a second at least. Before they all opened their mouths and Rose remembered they were all very much alike – opinionated, stubborn and loud.  

He released her to look into her face, brows rising. “Your eye!” Hands flew to her cheeks to steady her, and in a millisecond Ron’s face was inches from her, worry making his eyes bug out. “It’s green!”

Rose swatted at him, trying to no avail to look away. “It’s nothing. Honestly, I’m fine. Just an accident. Nana helped me.”

“It’s bloody green!”

As though she hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Scorpius did it.”

Rose looked to her left where Roxy had materialized, grinning cheekily. She gave her older cousin a look that she hoped conveyed all the annoyance she felt at her starting something.

“Malfoy did this?” Ron looked at his daughter in alarm. “He punched you?”

“No. Merlin, Roxy – what the fuck.” She finally managed to push her father away. She gave him a stern look, fixing him in place. He looked as though he was about to run off and look for a blond to have a word with him. “He accidentally opened a door in my face. And anyways – I’m fine.”

Why am I defending him?

A week ago I wanted everyone to believe he’d rejoiced in hurting me.

Her father’s already lined forehead was accompanied by a deeply furrowed brow. “Why haven’t you told me this happened? I can go talk to him, Rosie. If you want to. He’s been here long enough. I’ll send him ho—”

“No.” She rolled her eyes, heart strangely picking up pace. “Thanks, Dad, but it’s fine. Drop it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I’d be happy to—”

“Dad.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Alright. But you tell me if you change your mind or if something else accidental happens?” He crossed his arms, peering down at her. “Right?”

“Right,” Rose sighed.

“Good.” The conflicted look on his face was exchanged with a wide smile as he turned to Roxy. “Hello, Ro. It’s good to see you.”

Roxy skipped up to her uncle, giving him a hug. “Hi, Uncle Ron.”

Patting her head as he embraced her, Ron glanced down at his daughter. “Roxanne, I trust you’ll tell me if the Malfoy-kid does something?”

Roxanne drew back, wearing the same grin she’d had when joining them. “Of course.”

“Good. Great.” Ron matched her expression. Then, lowering his voice, he stage whispered, “You know you’re my favorite niece.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Sweet Rowena,” she grumbled, turning around to go back to the kitchen.

During dinner, Rose sat next to Al who was whispering in her ear, a running commentary regarding the piercing looks Ron was directing at Malfoy, and the defensive dodging of eye-contact the blond was responding with. She was following the match with a sort of exasperated tiredness.

“So, Scorpius, I hear you’re going to France,” Hermione said. She’d turned up an hour later than her husband, held back by a prolonged ministry meeting. “It sounds lovely.”

If Rose and Ron had a lesser opinion of Malfoy, and Hugo had a neutral one, Hermione was the one in the family who’d always tried her hardest to find all the positives and stick to them.

Malfoy swallowed quickly, his eyes turning to Rose’s mother. Since the short witch was sitting right next to her trying-awfully-hard-to-look-menacing husband, Rose could tell the blond was trying his best to look at Hermione and only Hermione. He nodded. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a while since we went there. And my grandmother’s coming with so that will be,” he paused for a millisecond, something flashing in his eyes, “interesting.”

Eyebrows raised, Hermione smiled stiffly back at him. “I can imagine.” She speared a piece of potato onto her fork before continuing gently, “Good for Narcissa, to get some sun.”

Hermione Granger-Weasley might have nurtured a fondness for the newest generation of Malfoy, but she had little left for the older.

Beside her, Al snorted. Malfoy’s gaze darted to his best friend, fully unimpressed. Al raised his eyebrows as if to say What? but also Sorry .

“Yes,” Malfoy replied. “Though I imagine she’ll most likely want to go inside the museums and to vernissages, so I fear she’ll miss the sun for most part.” He smiled warmly at Hermione who blinked once before mirroring the young man’s expression, shoulders relaxing.

“And is that something you enjoy also?” Hermione continued the conversation easily.

“Oh, yes.” Malfoy nodded. “Quite so.”

Narrowing her eyes, Rose thought to herself that she must be hallucinating because her mother’s cheeks were looking a little tinted with pink all of a sudden.

First Lucy. Now Mum.

Is he just going around, seducing everyone? Is that his grand plan? 

Roughly, she pierced a piece of chicken onto her fork, stuffed it into her mouth quickly, and swallowed. Immediately, she began to cough, dropping her fork in the panicked way you do when you suddenly think you’re about to die from choking.

Al began to beat at her back. Malfoy stood up – to do what, no one knew, himself included. Everyone, who had been having their own conversations at different ends of the table, turned to stare at the commotion.

“Rosie!” Ron, who’d also risen from his chair, shouted. “Are you alright?! Can you breathe?!”

A small hand placed itself calmly on the tall man’s wrist. “If she can cough, she can breathe,” Hermione said, before brandishing her wand and pointing it at Rose.

A second later Rose could feel the piece of chicken dislodge from her throat. It shot out of her mouth and bounced onto the table, landing wetly in Malfoy’s pool of gravy. Her face started burning.

Still standing, Malfoy’s eyes went to the mushy piece of chicken. His face was blank, but if Rose looked closely – and she was – she could see a twitch starting in one of his cheeks.

James started to laugh. “150 points to Ravenclaw!” he proclaimed, making some of his family chuckle,

“Sorry,” Rose exhaled, mortified.

Malfoy looked up at her again. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied smoothly, glancing quickly at Ron to his left, before sitting down, schooling his face to perfect pleasantness. 

Everyone went back to their own discussions and gossip, but Rose sank into a silence, ignoring Al’s whispered comment about her really putting that charm on.

Malfoy left the rest of his dinner untouched.

Chapter Text

“Rosie! Light of my life!”

“Jules!”

She was engulfed by Julia’s body, hair getting into her mouth. Rose spat it out before hugging her closer. She smelled of warmth and Hogwarts. Taking a deep breath, a smile spreading on her face, she gave Julia an extra squeeze then took a step back.

“You came,” she beamed.

Julia’s eyes turned heavenward. “Of course. I’m insulted by your surprised tone.”

“I’m not surprised. Just happy.”

The brunette smiled down at her. “Me too.” Her eyes continued down Rose’s body. She made a sound Rose hoped was impressed. “Your boobs!” she exclaimed.

Face red, Rose resisted the urge to cover her chest with her hands. “Uncommonly visible!” she replied instead.

“I like it,” Julia nodded appreciatively. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The two girls fell into laughter. 

Rose felt light, the way you do when all of a sudden a piece you didn’t even know had gone missing is placed in its rightful place. Having Julia here – a best friend she didn’t have to share with Malfoy, and that wasn’t related to her and therefore liable to betray her for another relative – was simply wonderful.

Drying some unshed tears from her eyes, Julia shook her head. “Ah,” she sighed, “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but it really is good to see you.” She glanced downwards quickly, adding, “You, and your breasts.”

“You too,” Rose said. She made a face. “You’re making me uncomfortable though.” She looked down at the cleavage she so rarely let see the sun. She didn’t have that much boob to start with, but the dress was cleverly sown to lift whatever you had. “Is it really that revealing? Lily said it wasn’t, but I’m beginning to think she has different reference points than most.”

“No, she’s right,” Julia chuckled. “Own it. It’s not that bad. It’s just because it’s you.”

Rose pursed her lips.

“I mean, I feel like until now I wouldn’t have been able to picture you in anything but a button-up or a t-shirt. If I’m thinking really hard then maybe a very oversized knit jumper.”

Looking up into her friend’s amused eyes, Rose wrinkled her nose.

“It’s a gorgeous dress. You look gorgeous. Stop overthinking.” Julia shook her arm a little for emphasis.

Stop overthinking.

Rose wondered how many times she’d been told those exact words. A few hundred times at least by Julia. A few thousand by her father. Yet another few thousand by Al.

She smiled a half-smile, surrendering. “Thank you,” she said. “You too by the way.”

Julia wore a flowy blue dress, cinched at the waist, and the exact shade of her eyes. Skirt reaching down to right below her knees, the fabric fluttered and danced as she moved. Her hair was pinstraight as always, falling down her shoulders and back, thick and long. Leaving two front pieces to frame her face, she tied back some of the rest in a small braid. A small white flower had been pushed into the end of the plait.

“Just one thing,” Rose said, reaching into the folds of her own dress. It had pockets – a fact Lily had used to convince her to wear it. You never knew when you’d have to have a wand close at hand. Maybe the opportunity to hex Malfoy and look great doing it would arise. She brandished her wand, reaching up for Julia’s small braid. Gently, she turned the flower to her before lifting the wand with her other hand. She tapped it to the petals which turned a matching cornflower shade. “There,” she smiled.

“Brilliant. Thank you.”

They started walking towards the backyard where three of Rose’s relatives were raising a tent while others were buzzing around, loud and colourful in their partywear. Dom was sitting at a table with a teammate from the Wasps, matching glasses filled with an amber liquid in their hands. She was already clearly tipsy.

“So,” Julia said.

Rose glanced at her. “So,” she replied.

“I heard Malfoy’s here.”

“Mm. He usually is. Al always invites him to the party. Why, I don’t understand. He doesn’t exactly contribute to the atmosphere in a pleasant way.”

Slowing down their pace, the cut of Julia’s mouth took on a tint of exasperation. “You know I meant that he’d been here before this too.”

Rose shrugged. She felt vulnerable under that gaze.

“Has it been horrible?”

“Obviously.”

“Has it just been horrible?”

Rose stopped, Julia turning around to look at her. “Are you and Al colluded? What is this?”

Her friend laughed. “Come on, Rosie – I’m just curious. You know what I think.”

“Well, I don’t agree with you.” She crossed her arms. As previously stated: when regarding Malfoy, Rose regressed.

Julia thought the blond fancied her. Which obviously was ludicrous, disgusting and entirely wrong. Nothing about the way he acted had ever implied anything of the sort.

Not until now anyway. 

If under death threat, she might’ve conceded that he tolerated her more than she’d previously imagined. She thought of him bending closer and scourgifying her glasses for her. Her heart fluttered.

“Well, what do you think of him then? Like, do you actually still hate him or are you kind of just following through the motions.” Julia made a vague hand gesture.

“He’s awful towards me.” But even as she said it, she saw Malfoy’s eyes as she asked if he’d help with the gnomes, his laughter when she’d made fun of Al’s crush on Bree.

“That isn’t an answer to my question,” Julia said, the mix of annoyance and amusement clear in her tone. 

“Merlin, Jules, I don’t know.” She hesitated before finally giving up her defenses. She let her hands fall to her sides. Eyes on the ground, she sighed, “Maybe I do find him a little less terrible than usual.” Julia made a squeaky noise, making Rose shoot her a stern look. “Don’t tell Al.”

Julia shook her head, the excitement on her face obvious. She skipped up to Rose, grabbing her by the bicep. “What’s happened?” she whispered.

Looking around for potential eavesdroppers, Rose saw James and Fred staring at them from below the now fully upraised tent. James grinned at her and lifted a bottle of butter beer in acknowledgment. She narrowed her eyes, before taking Julia’s hand and beckoning for her to follow her. “Not here.”

Obedient as a well-trained dog, Julia trailed behind Rose up to her and Lily’s bedroom. She looked inside, expecting to find her younger cousin preening at herself in front of the full-length mirror, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Here’s fine,” Rose said, pulling her friend in after herself, making sure to close and lock the door.

Julia went to sit on Rose’s bed. She kicked up with her legs, enlivened like a child at Christmas. “Tell me! What’s going on?” She made a scandalised face. “You haven’t kissed, have you?”

Rose’s stomach swooped. “No!” She hugged herself, walking up to the small window looking out over the garden. “Sweet Rowena — are you out of your mind?”

“Well, what then?”

“I… I don’t know. Everything just…” she trailed off, not sure herself what it was. What had really happened? A slight change of heart? A small acceptance of attraction? She jutted out her lower lip, half-turning to look at the brunette over her shoulder. “It’s different.”

Julia’s face twisted in confusion. “What is? Malfoy?”

Rose shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “I – I don’t know. Just… it feels different.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I don’t either, to be honest.”

Julia laughed, which made Rose smile sheepishly.

“Hmm,” her friend began. “Is it maybe that you’ve never spent time like this together before, and now you’re forced to see different sides of him, and…” she paused, “Is it that he’s not as awful as you’ve previously assumed?” 

What the —? Rose was stunned into silence.

Julia raised her eyebrows. “Was I correct?” After yet a few seconds of no reply, she smirked. “I’m going to assume that I was correct.”

Blast ravenclaws with their curiosity and deadly sharp wit.

“First things first,” Rose said as she’d collected herself and went to sit beside Julia. “I still don’t think he… fancies me.” Simply saying it made her jaw clench. Her best friend waited patiently for her to continue. “He did however promise Al to be on his best behaviour and he’s sort of kept that promise.”

“And that’s made you see him in a different light?”

Rose pursed her lips. She hated to admit to maybe not being correct – especially when it was concerning Scorpius bloody Malfoy. “Maybe,” she grumbled, then sighed at her own stubbornness. It was pathetic really. She hated this kind of behaviour in her mum and dad – why couldn’t she live by example? “Okay, so yes. Yes, I do see him a tiny bit differently.”

The corners of Julia’s mouth twitched.

“He helped clean my glasses, Jules!” Rose exclaimed, as if that explained everything conflicted she was feeling.

“How kind of him,” Julia said. She was full on grinning now.

“But he also tried to drown me.”

“That’s not very kind of him. I hope it was a failed attempt at being playful?”

Rose frowned at her, then promptly threw herself back onto the mattress. Covering her face with her fingers, she groaned. “I hate this. I hate him. I hate that I don’t know if I still actually hate him.”

Plucking her hands away from her agitated friend’s face, Julia asked, “Are you attracted to him?”

Rose stared up at her. “I’m not Towler,” she spat. “I’m not a bimbo.”

“You don’t have to be a bimbo to find Malfoy attractive.” Julia raised a brow. “And Towler’s not a bimbo,” she added, a touch of reproach in her voice. “I’m just asking because – from experience – most people I’ve seen that become whatever this is,” she waved a hand over Rose, “are sexually frustrated.” She shrugged. “Horney, if you will.”

Rose’s face turned a magnificent shade of puce. “Stop,” she whined, once more raising her hands to cover her face.

“So you find Malfoy hot. That doesn’t really say anything about what you think of his personality.”

“Doesn’t it though?” Rose said into her palms.

“Do you think it does?”

Did she think it did? Had she thought Malfoy was attractive before these past days? Yes, she had. She was certain. But then, she’d also had more of an earnest dislike for him, and that had sort of won over the physical pull. So maybe, maybe the attraction was separate.

“No,” she decided. “You’re probably right.” She removed her fingers on her own this time. “What do you think I should do?”

Julia’s face was hard to read. “What do you want to do?”

Rose knew full well she was being treated like a psych patient. Her best friend was playing  mental health worker – which to be fair, was what Julia wanted to become after Hogwarts. But, that didn’t mean Rose liked it. She wanted to be told what to do and think right now. She wanted tips, concrete ones. She didn’t want help to explore her inner self.

“I have no fucking idea.”

“Maybe no fucking is a good start then,” Julia said, before erupting into a laugh at her own joke.

Very un-psychologist of her.

Rose could feel her face heat up again. Unwittingly, her brain had conjured up an image of the situation she’d just been suggested to avoid. She groaned again. “Why can’t he just leave?” she asked the ceiling. “I don’t want to think of this anymore. I want it to be like before, when I didn’t have to question myself.”

Julia’s laughter had died down and now she was simply looking down at Rose with a very calm, but still amused smile. Julia was always amused. Well, at least when she had the high ground. “It’s going to be alright, Rosie.” Her eyes wandered to the small window and the summer sky outside it. “I promise.”

Three hours after Julia’s arrival, the party was starting to really work up a sweat. People – lots of them – were mingling about in various stages of drunkenness. There were young Ministry people – friends of Dom’s from Hogwarts who were at the beginning stages of their careers. There were her teammates, their partners, and players of other teams. There were relatives, friends of cousins, friends of aunts and uncles, childhood friends, friendly neighbours… Basically anyone that anyone had thought to invite. The birthday girl herself was perched on top of a table, loudly handing out glasses of some sparkling liquid to newcomers.

Rose was sitting in the hammock at the edge of the garden, swaying back and forth. It had only been an hour and a half since the party officially started, but her head was already buzzing pleasantly. Usually, she didn’t care much for alcohol, but she could admit that the occasional dabble was fun. Parties like these, picnics with her cousins… they were more than alright.

Gazing out over the scene, she saw Al chatting with Bree Zabini below an oak tree. He was leaning awkwardly against the trunk, the widest of smiles on his face. The image of Al without her or Malfoy beside him was uncommon. She wondered where the blond was hiding.

Then she silently cursed herself for wondering.

Most probably, he was off flirting with some influential older friend of Dom’s somewhere, using heaps of his aristocratic charm and all of his infuriatingly good looks.

Rose shook her head. No , she told herself. No thinking about him tonight.

Instead, she continued her survey. Behind the one wall of the otherwise open tent, stood Lily with another girl. Rose had no better word to describe her than cool. With black hair, carefully twisted into small braids, she wore dark make-up and rows upon rows of thin gold necklaces, bracelets and rings of various types. The jewellery glinted in the golden light of the summer evening.

Aurora Allen, Rose presumed. Lily’s crush with an unknown sexuality. 

Narrowing her eyes at the pair, Rose certainly didn’t think Aurora looked un interested in being there. The tall girl was looking attentively at her cousin, a straight-toothed smile on her angular face.

“Can I sit?”

Rose tore her gaze from the younger girls. “Hah?” Out of nowhere, someone large and looming had appeared in front of the hammock.

Or maybe she was just drunker and less observant than she’d thought.

She peered up at the stranger before she realised that he wasn’t a stranger at all. “Ivan!” she exclaimed, her voice decidedly more shriek-ish than she would’ve ever let it be when not intoxicated. She launched herself out of the hammock to embrace him tightly. “I didn’t know you were in England!”

Ivan hugged her back, his grip more careful than Rose’s. As they let go, he leaned back slightly to smile down at her. “Didn’t you hear?” he said, his hint of accent appearing very charming to Rose in the state that she was. “I’m going to Hogwarts this fall. For a year.”

She gave his arm a light slap. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said. His excited smile had turned smug. He clearly enjoyed the fact that he’d managed to surprise her. “I thought your mother would have told you.”

Her mother. Hermione was the reason for their acquaintance, Ivan’s father being the legendary seeker Viktor Krum – an old friend of the British Minister of Magic. Rose suspected that he’d been a little more than a friend however, based on the way her father’s face looked on the rare occasions when the topic came up. 

Rose had met the Krum family quite a few times during her childhood. At least once a year, Hermione had managed to arrange something, be it a party or dinner or (when her father got involved) a quidditch match. Her and Ivan being the same age had equaled her and Ivan getting along – at least according to the grown-ups. And after six years of being thrown into the same room to play, they’d actually cultivated a companionship. One that had only grown stronger with age.

However, it seemed that it wasn’t just their friendship that had gotten larger; Ivan had grown considerably since the last time she’d seen him. He must have been well over six feet, lean and pale, with dark hair and a straight, somewhat large nose. Like Al, his eyes were green, but a darker sort, less clear and more grey-ish.

He was handsome. In a brooding sort of way.

This was news to Rose who’d always found him mildly pretty at best.

She shook her head. “No. Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Was it? A good surprise?”

His gaze on her was intense. It made goosebumps spread like wildfire over her bare arms despite the remaining heat of the day. “I assure you it is.”

Ivan’s smile broadened. “Good.” He pointed toward the hammock. “So, can I sit?”

Nodding, Rose fell back into the seat.

Ivan had barely sat down before he immediately stood up again. “Drinks,” he said, more to himself than to Rose. “Do you want me to get some for us?”

Rose glanced at the empty cup by the front leg of the hammock. Earlier, for the few minutes it had taken her to consume the lot, it had contained an icky mix of pumpkin juice and firewhiskey. Every last drop had been poured down her throat and now made for a warm feeling in her stomach and chest. She looked back at Ivan. “That’d be nice. Thank you.”

He nodded tersely, almost bow-like, before turning on his heel and quickly disappearing in the ocean of people.

Leaning back, Rose inhaled deeply. The smell of sweat, grass, flowers and possibilities were heavy in the air. Carefully, she took a sniff of her own armpit. She was safe. 

As she waited for Ivan to return, she kicked off her pair of strappy sandals and folded up her legs under herself. She fanned out the green dress around her and smoothed out the fabric over her thighs. Lifting her face toward the crowd to look for Ivan, her gaze was caught by a glint of platinum.

Malfoy stood diagonally from her, not far from Dom and her drink-distribution. He was holding one of the glasses of sparkling liquid, sipping from it calmly as he listened to a girl in front of him. She was tall and straw-blonde and wore a white dress that was not quite translucent, not quite opaque – just enough to clearly show what sort of underwear she'd chosen for the occasion. It enhanced her curves nicely, and together with her soft beachy waves, it made for an ethereal look.

It was Rose’s quidditch captain: Lyra Towler. 

Instantly, a pang went off in her chest. If it was for the fact that comparing herself to Lyra made Rose equal her own attractiveness to that of a flobberworm or at her best maybe a mandrake baby. Or if it was because Malfoy seemed captivated by whatever she was saying – Rose couldn’t tell.

She hoped it was the first; just regular plain ol’ envy. Not disgusting, foul jealousy over someone she didn’t even know if she liked that much.

A movement in her periphery made her break her stare. Julia was standing with a group of Hogwarts girls at the edge of the crowd, waving at her. Rose waved back just as Ivan appeared. As Rose’s eyes traveled to him, Julia’s followed. Catching her friend’s grin and its accompanying thumbs up, she tried to force a smile onto her face. The air didn’t smell as possibility-filled now.

She looked quickly toward Malfoy as Ivan got closer. Another sensation shot through her body, electric and triumphant. The blond was observing Ivan, attention no longer solely on Lyra’s story, even though the girl’s arms were still waving about, clearly enthusiastic about something. When Ivan broke free of the crowd and neared Rose, Malfoy’s gaze fell on her. Noticing she was looking his way, he lifted an eyebrow before returning his focus to the ravenclaw quidditch captain.

A buzz filled Rose. She felt energised and ready to do something – anything. As long as it included action.

“Here,” Ivan said and handed her a glass of white wine.

Rose did not care for wine, but Ivan couldn’t know that. She thanked him and took a big gulp, grimacing at the tart taste as he sat down.

Ivan hadn’t noticed her reaction. He was twisting his glass in his fingers, elbows resting on his knees as he looked out at the crowd. “Your family knows a lot of people,” he said matter-of-factly.

“They do.” She didn’t want to sit here anymore, but she also didn’t want to leave Ivan or venture into the sea of people. “I reckon it’s the same with your family. Everybody knows your dad.” She looked at Ivan’s stark profile. He was truly becoming a perfect mix of his parents. Strong features – his father’s features – but with an elegance to them, the fine-tuning of his mother’s. He appeared very grown up.

“Mm, everyone knows him. He doesn’t know them back — doesn’t care anyway.”

Rose raised a brow as he turned slightly to gaze down at her. “Should I feel offended for my family and myself?” she asked, the joking note in her voice not quite presenting itself as clear as she wanted it to.

Ivan made a disgruntled face, but then the clouds dispersed and he offered her a grin. “Of course not. You, he likes.”

She smiled back.

“He doesn’t like me though,” he said lowly, his eyes cutting away to the chattering crowd again.

At first, Rose thought he’d meant his father, and for a second confusion filled her, but then she followed his stare to the person he was looking at and she realised. “Malfoy,” she said. 

Ivan nodded.

“I didn’t know you two had met.”

“We have. A few times.” Ivan looked very displeased about this.

“When?”

Raising one of his thick brows, he hummed. “Quidditch games mostly. You’ve been there once or twice too, I think.”

“I have?” Rose scrunched up her face in thought. “When?” she asked again.

Huffing, Ivan sunk back in the hammock. Rose could feel the way his eyes studied her face and hair and the curve of her body as she sat, still leaning forwards slightly. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, this sort of attention, she decided to herself.

“You’re usually distracted by the match,” he said in lieu of explanation, a small smile suddenly tugging on his thin mouth.

Rose tried on a sheepish grin. “Sounds like me,” she said. Even though it didn’t entirely. If Malfoy was in the box or near her in the audience, she usually had a hard time focusing on the play. “What has he said? Or what’s happened to make you think he doesn’t like you?”

Ivan shrugged. “He’s usually looking at me funny.” Pursing his lips, he continued, “He’s — ah, how do you say it? — insinuated things.”

“Like what?”

“Like that I like you,” he said, voice factual and calm. “And that I think too highly of myself. And that you don’t like me that way.”

Rose blinked, but apart from that she couldn’t move. Was someone behind them in the bushes, stupefying her? 

What was he saying? Was he professing that he had a crush on her? Was he professing that Malfoy thought he was stupid for having a crush on her? Would she have to respond to said profession?

“He’s right about the first of course,” Ivan continued, with just as much ease and calm radiating from his voice and body language. He shrugged again. “I do like you.”

This wasn’t good for Rose’s heart. She could feel it speeding up, the adrenaline-spike making her arms and hands feel cold and numb. She shifted, pushing a lock of her own hair behind her ear just to have something to do while she thought about how to reply.

Ivan didn’t appear concerned by her silence. He just continued looking ahead, sipping his wine as he waited.

“I… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He glanced at her, cocking his head to the side. “How could you? I’ve never said anything.”

“I’m not sure I… Uh.” She frowned down at her fingers in her lap, at the half-empty glass clasped between them.

“You don’t have to say you like me — or don’t like me,” Ivan said then. “I know you don’t. Not yet. Not like that.”

Rose met his gaze. “How do you know that if I’m not sure?” She laughed breathlessly. What was this situation? How had she ended up here? A childhood friend confessing to her hadn’t been in the cards for tonight.

Then again, it didn’t really feel like a confession. It felt more as though Ivan was simply informing her of a fact.

“I think it’s pretty obvious.” His smile was small and content. A silence spread between them for a minute before he broke it, saying, “I’m looking forward to doing my last year of school with you, Rose.”

Her next words were completely genuine if not a little tinged by surprise still. “I do too.”

They sat and chatted about nothing for a while, before Rose grabbed him by the wrist and told him that if he were to start at Hogwarts he’d better start networking a little. Suddenly stiff and uncomfortable, Ivan told her that he was fine with knowing just her and Hugo and their family.

Rose shook her head. “Let me introduce you.” She was standing in front of him and the hammock, still clutching at his wrist, trying to get him to stand.

Ivan glared up at her, but the moody facade was ruined by the small twitches in the corners of his lips. Half a minute later, he stood up without a word.

She took him to the gaggle of girls Julia was still conversing with – a mix of soon to be seventh and sixth years. “Everybody,” Rose said, breaking into the circle, “this is Ivan Krum.” Seven pairs of long-lashed eyes turned toward Ivan’s stoic face. “He’ll be joining us at Hogwarts in the fall.” The pairs of eyes widened.

After that, Rose’s work was done. All the girls, except for Julia, battled for a chance to ask the tall handsome foreign student questions. Rose grinned as Ivan’s face morphed into a sort of overwhelmed but pleased expression. Five minutes into the questioning, she placed a hand at his elbow. “I’m going to get myself another drink,” she said. “See you later.” 

Ivan nodded and opened his mouth as though to say something, but Rose turned away before he had the chance to, leaving him with the overjoyed girls.

It didn’t take long before she ran into a relative.

“Rosie!” Fred exclaimed. “Why are your hands so empty? Want me to get you something to drink?”

She threw out her hands to her sides in a defeated gesture. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Rose spent a good thirty minutes, after leaving Fred to flirt with his delivery boy, just mingling around, stopping every other minute to talk with some acquaintance. She learned of internships at the Ministry, and of an opportunity to go and study dragons in South America. She got to hear about divorces and break-ups, engagements and make-ups, of new teachers who were to join the Hogwarts staff. She got told that everyone expected her to get Head girl – “Just you wait and see.” – and it all went into the fizzing sparkling substance that was her brain, sloshed around for a bit and then got filed someplace she hoped she'd be able to find later when sober.

During her mingling, she’d been in the tent, in the backyard, in the glade with sunbeds, and in the front garden (that was still free of gnomes) and all she could think as she walked into the Burrow was that Malfoy must have vanished and that she was parched. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.

Tasting the sour and dry inside of her mouth, she managed one step through the doorframe to the kitchen before promptly stopping. A lonely character was standing with his back to her, bent over the kitchen island, elbows on its cluttered surface.

In contrast to the garden, the inside of her grandparents’ home was still and quiet. Only a murmur from outside could penetrate the spells put on the walls to keep out noise.

The lonely character – Malfoy – was reading something, fully immersed in the text. Rose's heart had sped up to a pace previously unknown to her and as she tried her utmost to keep quiet, sneaking up half-behind half-beside the blond, she feared the sound of her pulse would rouse him.

Just as she'd reached her spot successfully, Malfoy seemed to finish. He straightened up and immediately swivelled toward her. Something Rose hoped was akin to humor crossed his face. Inconspicuously, he pocketed the paper he’d been reading from.

“Boo,” she said, then immediately regretted it. Pathetic, she thought. What was that?

“I might die from fright,” Malfoy deadpanned.

He looked… warm. Warm and windswept. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, showcasing lean arms and smooth pale skin. Fair bangs fell over his eyes, tousled – but in a way that made it seem as if he'd been styled to look messy for a photoshoot. He'd been in the sun far more than his complexion normally allowed for, but in the dim light you could only tell that there was a dusting of pink on his high cheekbones.

“So,” Rose began, shifting when she noticed her own staring, “you seem to be enjoying yourself.” She leaned back against the cupboard, taking a sip of the too-strong drink Fred had given her. He’d called it a ‘spicy dragonwing’. Or maybe it had been ‘strong dragontail’? Her brain felt fussy. She blinked.

“Are you drunk? Already?” 

Rose narrowed her eyes at the blond bastard. He was a bastard for calling her out and he was a bastard because no one should be allowed to look so pretty when sweaty and disheveled. “So what if I am?” she said, the words coming out a bit slurred. Inside, she was already building up to launch into a fight. That familiar burn had started to sizzle in her chest.

But, to her great surprise, Malfoy just raised his brows. 

She couldn’t tell if he was being condescending, amused, worried or a bit of all three.

Before she could say something else, he turned around and went to the sink. He grabbed a glass that had been sitting in it, pointed his wand to it, immediately causing it to turn clean and pristine. After he’d filled it up with water, he walked up to Rose, beckoning for her to take it. “Drink,” he commanded.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes. Lily had curled and put make-up on them, and Rose hoped it gave her more oomph. “Don’t tell me what to—” she started.

“Drink,” Malfoy insisted, giving her a look as if to silently add and don’t be an idiot.

Without a word, she grabbed the glass, placed it to her lips and drank until it was completely empty. A few drops dribbled down her chin inelegantly, spattering onto Lily’s green dress and the curves of Rose’s breasts. It really was uncommon for her to wear something with such a low decolletage, but instead of feeling awkward, the alcohol and Ivan’s attention had made her confident. In all drunk honesty, she felt sexy – water dribbling or not. She pushed the glass to the blond’s chest. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He took the glass out of her hands, and walked back to place it in the sink.

Rose felt a twinge of something when he stepped out of her proximity. She’d been able to smell his perfume.

“I am enjoying myself, by the way.”

Looking up, she saw that Malfoy had turned around and was leaning against the counter, peering at her. Now there were definite sparks of amusement in his cool eyes. Amusement and something else. Something more hard to read.

“To comment on your earlier statement,” he finished.

“I can tell.”

“Really? How so?”

The cold water had done wonders in just a few seconds. Not that she’d ever tell him that. Instead, she smirked at him. “Well, I was observing you and Towler…” She shrugged.

Malfoy stared back blankly at her.

Feeling a little antsy over him not immediately throwing something back, Rose continued, “I always knew you had to be one of those guys that just loves blue-eyed blondes.”

“You’ve always known that, have you?” he drawled.

Rose nodded. “Oh, it’s obvious.”

“Really?”

“Mm. You’re a narcissist after all.” 

Malfoy’s eyes on her shot tingles down her spine.

“Well, not to be a contrarian,” he said, “but to be fully honest – and I’ve always felt that honesty is something that has really been a constant in our relationship – blondes aren’t really what I usually go for.” He pursed his lips, then added drily, “Got enough of them at home.”

Rose couldn’t help the giggle-snort that escaped her at that. It was good that she was drunk and naturally warm from the summer night – it made her blush less obvious. “Is that so?” she said, taking a sip from the dragon-whatnot.

In a second, Malfoy and his lovely scent was back right in front of her. He plucked the drink from her hand and placed it behind himself on the kitchen island. “I recommend you don’t for maybe twenty more minutes.”

Rose frowned at him. “It’s very unsexy of you to be so controlling.”

He began fiddling with a frayed nail as he replied, now lounging against the island instead, “I thought you always found me unsexy. Didn’t know it was particularly when I’m trying to be considerate.”

She scoffed.

A few seconds of silence stretched out between them.

It was Malfoy who broke them. He looked up at her, and his eyes were burning, all molten silver. “Truth or dare?” 

Surprise froze her. For a moment, she considered the situation. It was most likely unwise of her to play along, and much better to try to joke herself out of it all.

But she was very tired of always trying to be wise.

She wasn’t her mother. And everyone who thought she was could fuck off. Herself included.

And also, Malfoy smelled so so good. How had she never noticed? Was this a new cologne?

“Truth,” she said.

Malfoy pursed his lips. “Sure?”

“What – did you have a better dare in mind?”

He smiled a very secret smile.

Once again, her brain immediately calculated if it was wise to follow along.

And once again, the drunk, confident Rose shrieked at herself to stop trying to be Hermione.

“Alright. You win. Dare.”

Malfoy’s smile bloomed into a small grin of victory, making Rose’s heart shoot up into her throat.

He’d shifted closer to Rose while she was thinking. Her breath caught as she looked down to where his fingers had gone to her wrist, his touch infinitely light. When she returned her gaze to him, his features were just as at ease as usual, but she didn’t miss the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

“I don’t get it,” she said, cursing her voice for sounding so weak. “What’s the dare?”

Malfoy’s fingers closed around hers, making tiny sparks shoot up her arm. “Please,” he said, tone mild and conversational almost, “allow me to kiss you.” Then with a small smirk, he added, “I dare you.”

If possible, Rose’s heart beat even faster in its spot in her throat, but she narrowed her eyes as if the request wasn’t the greatest idea she’d heard in probably ever. Trying to not seem as eager as she felt, she forced herself to clasp her hands behind her back, her shoulders to shrug, her lips to purse as if in deep thought. “Uh,” she started, which made Malfoy laugh. She smiled coyly at him, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“I was about to say that you’re playing very hard to get, but to be fair, you’re not playing,” he said, voice low now that he’d gotten even closer.

“No?” she breathed back, her right hand coming out from behind her as if on its own accord, flattening itself softly against his chest. They looked at each other for a few more charged seconds, Malfoy’s other hand moving to land at her waist, while Rose’s went to unnecessarily push a few strands of platinum hair out of his eyes. It was just as soft as she’d always imagined. “Alright,” she whispered then, “I’ll allow it.”

“Thank Merlin,” Malfoy grumbled before ducking to touch his lips to hers. Once. Twice. Thrice. Staying put.

It was as if everything in Rose’s head went simultaneously dead silent and crashingly loud. She imploded. Her body was sparks. Then it was nothing. Then it was only the feeling of Malfoy’s hands and mouth on her. 

She made a soft grunt as she parted her lips, feeling his tongue follow her lead. She — Or was it Malfoy? — One of them or both of them were trying to tug the other closer to themself.

Then, as quickly as the cool water had cleared her head somewhat, the feeling of Malfoy’s fingers traveling up into her hair, getting caught in a tangle, brought her out of her trance. Her eyes flew open, and a millisecond later, the blond was stumbling backwards. She hadn’t meant to push him. Not so harshly anyway.

He looked just as astonished as she felt. Just as confused. And just as dazed.

“Uh,” she said smartly before shaking her head and rushing off to anywhere but the kitchen. Preferably some place with more alcohol, noise and female friendship. Somewhere she could hide.

She managed to find one and a half out of three as she hurtled out the front door and crashed into Al holding a wine bottle. They fell magnificently to the ground, Rose landing with a thud on top of her startled cousin. 

“Ow,” she groaned, just as Al bit out, “Rosie, what the hell. Ouch.”

She pushed herself up by the elbows, crawling to her feet. Looking down at her indignant cousin, she extended a hand. “Sorry,” she said, wiggling her fingers to urge him to take them. “Didn’t know you’d be just outside the door.”

Al frowned as he clasped her wrist and allowed her to help haul him up. “Why were you running like a complete mad-woman?”

Rose pressed her lips tightly shut.

Raising a brow, Al kept his eyes on her as he brushed off his pants. “What?”

“No reason in particular. May I have some of that wine?” She nodded toward the bottle by his feet.

The furrow in his brow deepened. “You don’t like wine, Rosie.” He bent down to pick up the bottle. “But sure, if you insist.” Al held it out toward her. Just as she was about to clasp her fingers around the neck of it, he drew back. “You can have it as soon as you tell me what’s going on. You look like you’ve just seen a boggart.”

Rose made a face. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are. Tell me.”

“No.”

Al glared at her. “What the fuck? I’m your best friend.”

Shifting, Rose looked down at the dust on her dress. A hand fell onto her shoulder.

“Rosie, for real, are you okay? Did somebody do something?”

Shaking her head profusely, she placed her palm over his knuckles. “No. I’m fine. Really. It’s — it’s nothing. No one’s done anything weird.” Liar! her inner voice shouted. “I’m just…” Ivan’s face popped up in her head. She made a split-second decision and met Al’s eyes steadfastly, “Ivan told me he likes me. You know, like that."

Al’s eyebrows went up and disappeared under his messy fringe. “Ivan did? Ivan Krum?”

“Yeah. What a surprise, right?”

Her cousin frowned, wrinkling his nose. Absentmindedly, he passed her the wine bottle, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go someplace else.”

Yes please, Rose thought, glancing behind herself at the front door, but to Al she simply nodded, letting him lead her away to the glade where she’d been previously. Louis was sitting on two sunbeds with another boy and girl. Rose recognised the boy to be James Abbot, the little brother of Heath Abbot, a surprisingly rowdy Hufflepuff prefect in Rose’s year.

“Hi!” Louis called as they got closer.

Rose waved at him, glancing at Al. 

We can’t talk with them here, her eyes said.

Al nodded, placing a hand on her elbow to steer her wherever they were going. They stopped for a second to talk with their little cousin so as to not raise suspicion.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Al asked, his eyes on the cups in the young teenagers’ hands.

Louis’s cheeks turned pink. “Fred gave them to us,” he explained quickly, then made a pained face. “Don’t tell Dom.”

Al barked out a laugh. “I don’t think she’s in a state to lecture you,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“She’s always in a state to lecture me.”

Louis’s friend – the one Rose knew to be James Abbot – clapped Louis on the shoulder once, before extending a hand. “I’m James.”

Al shook it. “I’m Al.”

“We know,” James and the girl said simultaneously.

Al made a face. “You have an awful name, James — no offence.”

Rose filled in, before James could reply to the rude comment, “You’re Heath Abbot’s younger brother, aren’t you?”

James’s time to grimace. “Yup.”

“And you are?” Rose turned to the girl.

“Jane. Jane Grace.”

“She’s in my year,” Louis added. “Hufflepuff.”

Rose smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Opening her mouth to speak, Rose was interrupted by Al saying, “Well, we were just off to take a walk.” He started pushing on Rose’s lower back. “But we'll see you lot later I hope.” He left the younger teens no room to reply before he coaxed Rose past them toward the little path to the stream.

Feeling Al’s hand, insistent at the small of her back, Rose realised that her cousin was far drunker than she’d previously recognised. Sober Al would've never made such a clumsy and queer exit. She glanced at him, but he was staring straight ahead into the dimness of the forest. His gaze had that unfocused quality that alcohol was sure to give it.

They walked for a few minutes, silent, before finding an old log to sit down upon. 

“So, Krum,” Al said and took the wine bottle from Rose’s hand, twisting the cap off and touching the glass to his lips. 

“Yeah. He kind of shocked me,” Rose said, accepting the wine when Al pushed it at her. “I’ve never noticed…” She looked at her cousin, eyes wide. “Have you noticed?"

He stared back blankly, shaking his head. “No, but, I try to stay out of your love life.”

“Pshaw.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rose raised her brows. “Really? You’re willing to argue with me over how invested you’ve been?”

“Not argue.” Al pursed his lips, glaring ahead into the space between the trees. “Discuss, maybe.”

Jutting out her lip in annoyance, Rose took a swig of wine. It was red. It was disgusting. She swallowed.

“What I meant,” Al said after a beat, his voice a touch softer, “was that I have never thought Ivan fancied you more than any other bloke does.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rose mimicked her cousin.

“You know exactly what.”

In all honesty, Rose didn’t really. It wasn’t that she’d never gotten any male attention – she had. Not much, but enough to feel like she wasn’t completely left out. But, the majority of boys’ attraction to her stemmed from them having some sort of deep-seated admiration and reverence of her and Al’s parents, that translated into a slightly more perverted deep-seated admiration and lust for the war-heroes’ kids. It was more the idea of Rose, than Rose, that tickled. 

Plus, they were teenage boys.

Teenage boys could be attracted to a rock if they tried hard enough.

“To conclude,” Rose said, “you have noticed that he likes me. You just haven’t cared.”

Al shrugged. “More or less.” Then he frowned and turned to give her a curious look. “Should I have?”

“Uh.” Rose tried to picture all the gatherings with the Krums they’d had. She’d never felt anything more than friendly toward the lanky young boy at those times. Then she thought of him tonight, in her soft alcohol-hazed vision, with his sharp dark features. She’d found him handsome. Very so. She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Good to know.”

At his words and the following silence, Rose remembered why they’d come here in the first place. A wave of heat went through her as images of Malfoy flashed before her mind’s eye. She could feel his soft hair on the pads of her fingers, smell his scent, hear his low voice as he’d asked to let him kiss her.

What a proper idiot she was.

Why had she done that?

Sharp, burning shame mixed with the more billowing heat in her body. 

She wrung her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead.

Suddenly, Al’s hand fell on her wrist, giving it a small pat. She flinched. “Don’t worry, Rosie. I’m sure Ivan’s decent. He can take a no.” He did a small pause. “If that’s what you want, that is.”

Nodding slowly, she kept looking forward for a few seconds before turning to look at her cousin again. Al had a gentle smile on his face.

What would he say when – if – he found out about the kiss? Would Malfoy tell him? Should Rose? What would he think about it?

“He’s coming to stay at Hogwarts for his last year.”

Al would probably be annoyed. He would tell Rose that she’d been rude to his best friend. That she’d been impossibly reckless or stupid. He would say that she was supposed to be the smart one. Or he would tease her. Or even worse: not say a word, but instead radiate smugness.

“Oh,” Al said. “Yeah, I know. Dad told me.”

“What? When?”

Smacking a mosquito on his thigh, Al winced. “Bugger. It got me,” he murmured. Then, looking up, he shrugged. “I dunno — a couple weeks ago? Maybe?”

Rose frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Figured you knew. And anyways, I didn’t really care. I’m not that close to him.”

“But,” Rose couldn’t believe this nonchalance, “what about me? You didn’t think I would care?”

Al’s eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t even know you bloody fancied him until, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Rose’s stomach swooped. “I don’t. Fancy him, I mean.”

“Alright.” Al rolled his eyes, sighing.

Her insides and chest was churning and itching. Rose took a deep breath. She was still drunk, but her head had retained some clarity since the kiss. Carefully laying her head on her cousin’s shoulder, she swallowed the angry retorts and let Al’s warmth and steady presence calm her. He was an idiot, but he was her best friend.

After a second, Al’s head came to rest on top of hers. His voice was low and grumbled. “I’m sorry for not telling you. It seemed like a bit of a secret, and I truly thought that either you already knew, or you didn’t care. Sorry.”

Rose hummed, taking hold of and hugging his arm to her. She closed her eyes. “It’s fine.”

A minute passed in silence before Al said, a smirk in his tone, “So if I am to meddle, would you like me to perhaps become better acquainted with mister Krum?”

Without recoiling or even lifting her head, Rose punched Al’s side. He made a well-deserved grunt. 

“Noted,” her cousin just replied.

Rose stumbled out from the bathroom on the second floor. She’d thought she’d have to be sick, but after a few minutes of closed eyes and kneeling in front of the toilet, the nausea had passed. When walking by the room Malfoy and Al were staying in, she noticed the door was ajar. Hearing a noise from inside, she stopped, and listened.

Small giggles intertwined with short mumbled sentences and light gasps. Rose couldn’t help herself; she peeked inside.

And immediately jumped back.

She had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle the laugh that was about to burst out of her.

Al and Bree had been lying on Al’s bed. Rose thought she’d seen Al sneak a kiss.

Heart racing, she started down the corridor, anxious to get as far away from the pair as possible. She didn’t want Al to think that she’d been intentionally spying on him. 

Just as she was about to go down the stairs, head turned over her shoulder to assure that her cousin or Bree hadn’t stepped out of the room and seen her, she felt a hand fall down on her arm.

“Weasley.”

Rose’s head snapped forward to look up at Malfoy. If possible, her heart was beating even faster now. “Out of my way,” she quipped, trying to push the boy to the side.

He stood fast. “No.”

“Move, Malfoy.”

“No.”

Rose glared at him. “Stop being a cunt,” she hissed, careful not to be too loud. She didn’t want the noise to disturb Al now when he’d finally succeeded in his quest.

Malfoy raised a pretty brow. They were darker than his hair – the brows – just a few shades, but it balanced out his face nicely. “I could say the same to you.” He frowned. “I wondered where you went.”

A reasonable thing, Rose thought, since she’d been avoiding him like dragonpox. She’d moved in groups after having returned to the party with Al, switching from cousin to cousin, from Hogwarts friend to Hogwarts friend, from family to family. She’d danced and drank and laughed and avoided. In fact, it wasn’t until just a quarter of an hour ago that she’d parted from the intoxicated crowd to surrender herself to her own lonesome, nauseous endeavours.

“Well, here I am. Now, move.” She tried to push him aside for a second time, and yet again he did not budge.

“No. I want to talk.”

She noticed now the slur in his voice, the starryness of his eyes. He’d accused her of drunkenness a few hours previous, but he seemed to have reached her level in the time passed.

“I don’t,” Rose retorted, spinning around to go up the stairs to the third floor. If he wouldn’t let her return to the garden, she’d at least get as far away from the git as she could.

Of course, he followed.

“Don’t be fickle,” Malfoy said, walking behind her.

Rose shot him an acid look over her shoulder. “Don’t you fucking dare call me fickle.”

“But you are.”

Having reached the next floor, Rose walked with determination to the bedroom farthest away. It was her uncle Percy’s old room. Lucy and her older sister Molly were staying in there, but Rose happened to know that they were outside in the tent. Molly, who was one year Rose’s senior, had trapped her little sister in a conversation that could last hours if she weren’t stopped – and stopping her would require violence or magic. Most people at the party weren't prone to the first, and were too drunk for the second.

Rose attempted to slam the door shut behind herself, but Malfoy had been following her too closely, so she just ended up hitting him with it. “How the turns have tabled,” she said drily as Malfoy glowered at her, hand clutching his head.

“Funny,” he grunted.

Not knowing or wanting to reply, Rose just snorted and went to lie down on Molly’s bed – a mattress in the corner. It had been made very neatly, but Rose didn’t care that her cousin would be upset about her laying on it in her outside-clothes, ruffling it up. She closed her eyes. “Now would be a great time for you to go away. If anyone comes in here, they’ll think you’re trying to molest me or something.”

Malfoy made a disgruntled noise, then she could hear the creak of the floorboards as he walked closer to her. “Don’t… say stuff like that.”

Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that he was right beside her, almost at her level. Most likely, he’d sat down on the floor next to her. She inhaled deeply. She could do this. She could survive a conversation with him. Really, they’d just kissed – he’d dared her to kiss him. Well, he’d dared her to let him kiss her and she’d sort of just responded. But that didn’t mean anything! Surely… it didn’t. Or did it? Rose didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. She wanted to be alone and let the drunkenness that had made her body feel all fuzzy and pliable lull her to sleep.

“Are you drunk?” She asked the question before registering that she’d wanted to ask it. Since Malfoy didn’t reply immediately, she continued, “I mean, I know you’re drunk, but how drunk are you, if you were to rank it?"

“Nine,” Malfoy replied then. She heard his smile in the single word. “Give or take.”

“Same,” Rose replied. “Give or take.” She heard Malfoy hum in reply. She continued, “Out of nine then, I assume.”

“Oh, sure. Clearly.”

“Fantastic.”

“I’ve never witnessed you at a nine out of nine level of drunk.”

She was so tempted to lift an eyelid at glance at him, but she forced herself not to. The warmth that was spreading through her body did not bode well for opening of eyes and watching of beautiful boys. Regardless if said beautiful boys – boy – was insufferable. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

The urge to open her eyes was almost unbearable then. “Was that what you wanted to talk about?” she asked instead, feeling her pulse everywhere. It was unlike her blond nemesis to speak like he was doing right now. Then again, the same thing he’d said regarding her, was true for her too: she’d never seen him at a nine out of nine level of drunk. Maybe this was what he became with liquid courage in his veins.

“Yes. No,” Malfoy said calmly. “Both.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, I felt it would be amiss of me to not mention the fact that you’re looking incredibly pretty tonight but—”

“Hot. You said I looked hot.”

“My apologies. Hot. It would be amiss of me to not mention the fact of your hotness this evening.”

“And?”

“And I wanted to say that that kiss is something that’s up to you if we’re to forget or not.”

“What?” Rose sat up. Her eyes were wide open now, and staring back at Malfoy who was indeed sitting on the floor beside her.

He blinked. “It’s up to you.”

Thoughts rushed through Rose’s head – none decipherable. Again, impulse took over. “What an absolute shit thing to say. What do you mean it’s up to me? Like you didn’t cause this?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, something passing behind his eyes. “I mean, you didn’t seem to hate it. If I remember correctly, you kissed me back.” There was a touch of venom in his voice, a clear annoyance at Rose disliking what he’d thought had been gallant.

Poking a finger into his chest, Rose felt anger surge in her chest, mixing with the previous irritation and desire that had lingered in there. Everything was warm warm warm. “You always,” she paused, searching for words in her jumbled mind, “assume things,” she finished bitingly.

Closing his hand around her finger, Malfoy glared back. “Well, do you mean to tell me that I’m wrong? Because, I’m sorry, Weasley, but that would be hilarious.”

She watched his mouth form the annoying words. He had such a lovely mouth. But, Merlin, how she hated the shit it was spouting. No one was more infuriatingly correct about her actions than he was always. Not Julia. Not even Al.

She stared back in fuming silence, glancing from his stormy eyes, to his set mouth, to the long fingers wrapped around her own and then back to the silver of his irises. She noticed, almost simultaneously, that they both were breathing heavily.

“Go on. Tell me I’m wrong,” Malfoy challenged, and just like hers, his eyes fell to her lips for a millisecond. “Tell me you didn’t kiss me back. That you hated it.”

“Fuck off,” Rose said instead.

“Tell me,” Malfoy insisted, his grip on her index finger hardening.

“You’re so selfish.”

He swallowed. “I’m not.”

She didn’t know if the rushing in her head was from the alcohol or the quickening blood flow in her body, but it was roaring.

“Tell me,” he said again, and in the back of her head, Rose recognised the note of desperation lining the words.

“No,” she said, pulling her finger to her and in the process, dragging Malfoy closer. Then, when he was so near she could feel his breath on her face, the only natural thing to do, Rose’s body felt, was to kiss him. So kiss him, she did.

And kiss her back, he did. Hands flying up to press to her neck and cheeks. He pushed her down onto the mattress, the weight of his body on hers deliciously heavy.

Like the first time, Rose’s mind went wonderfully blank and loud at the same time. Not giving herself time to reconsider, she let her hands wander to the hem of Malfoy’s shirt, and she let them pull out the fabric, and she allowed her fingers to freely explore the skin of his back. He was smooth and compact. As she pressed down over his ribs and shoulder blades, his waist and the small of his back, Malfoy made a choked noise into her mouth. 

Rose smiled against his lips then pulled back slightly. “You’re very warm,” was all her alcohol-addled brain seemed to want to say.

“Is that your way of saying that you find me hot too?”

Snorting, she brought his face back to hers. He complied easily, kissing her back but slowing down the tempo from earlier, a hand sliding down the side of her ribcage to her waist, then back up again slightly. He seemed to hesitate, so Rose decided for him, bringing her hand to his and placing it on her breast. She could feel Malfoy’s smirk for a second.

“I really like the dress,” he grumbled, lips moving down her jaw and neck. “Spectacular choice.”

“Thanks,” she breathed. “It’s Lily’s.” A small squeaky sound escaped her as Malfoy’s tongue flicked across the sensitive spot of skin where collarbone met neck. She felt her cheeks flush.

Malfoy hummed. “It’s a little long though.” He pulled back, pushing himself up onto his elbows to look down at her.

Raising a brow, Rose appraised him and his feverish eyes. “Is that your way of asking if you can take it off?” she said, trying to sound confident, a tad mocking, and a little reproachful, as though she didn’t like the idea.

It had the sought effect; something passing over Malfoy’s face – hesitation or maybe apprehension. He started pulling back even more. “I didn’t — I mean… We can stop if you want.”

Rose laughed. “Oh, fuck off,” she grinned, reaching up to place a hand behind his neck, the other moving to push his fair hair out of his eyes.

A furrow appeared between Malfoy’s brows. “You sure? I mean, we’re both pretty drunk—”

“Nine out of nine,” Rose supplied unhelpfully.

“Right,” Malfoy said, cheek twitching. “Nine out of nine. So maybe we shouldn’t…” He looked down at Rose – all of Rose – below him, the column of his throat shifted.

Rose’s stomach flipped. “Look, do you not want to?”

“No.” The reply came instantly – before Malfoy had even looked back into her eyes. When he did, his high cheekbones had pinkened even further. “I mean, I do. Want to, that is.”

Pushing herself up slightly, Rose kissed him, heart beating rapidly at the implication. She tilted herself, lips ghosting over the blond’s ear. “Great,” she whispered. She felt on fire, invincible – there was no awkwardness or trepidation. There was only Malfoy and the feeling in her chest telling her to go go go.

Malfoy’s eyes were wide when she lay back down to look up at him expectantly. He gave her a long soft kiss and after, when their eyes opened and met, he said, voice a little breathy, “We’ll talk after?”

Rose took a shaky breath, nodding.

Smiling broadly, he then ducked down again, hands once more moving to her face and body, touching touching touching.

Humming against him, Rose asked, “Help me?” as she tugged at her dress. She pushed her hips upward, allowing for Malfoy to pull the hem up and over her thighs, her stomach, before stopping to stare down at the bare skin now presented. A twinge of self-consciousness surged through her, but she stubbornly pushed it to the dark corners of her mind. Not tonight.

Slowly, Malfoy’s hands released the bundle of fabric at her chest, moving to her hips. He pushed his thumbs carefully into the soft pale flesh of her stomach, traced the freckles and birthmarks covering her. He was watching his own movements with reverence, as though those fingers belonged to someone else, as though he was doing something sacred – almost forbidden.

Which, Rose thought with amusement, he sort of was. Doing something forbidden, that is. This was uncharted territory. Risky. With consequences that were hard to anticipate, both because of the uniqueness of the situation and the alcohol’s depressive effect on their cognitive function.

“You’re really beautiful, Weasley.” He looked up at her and seemingly he could foresee what she was about to say when she started opening her mouth, the reverent expression disappearing as he grinned. “And hot. I’m not forgetting that.”

Rose smiled, sheepish and pleased. “You’re not awful.”

“Merlin, thanks.” He leaned down, putting his lips to hers as he grabbed the dress again. He kissed down her cheek to her earlobe, nibbled it before grumbling straight into her ear, “Sit up, will you?”

Complying, goosebumps spreading over her skin, Rose straightened slightly, stretching her arms up so that Malfoy could pull the dress off completely. He blinked at her chest. She’d chosen not to wear a bra. Well, the dress hadn’t done well with one anyway. In Rose’s mind, she didn’t have much working for her in that particular area, but Malfoy didn’t seem to agree.

After a beat, he smirked and wordlessly went back to his spot by her ear.

Rose allowed him a few minutes of mapping out her body with his hands and lips, before grunting into his mouth and pushing him back an inch. She could feel – physically, against her hip – that he was really getting into it. The situation, however, wasn’t completely fair, Rose thought. “Your clothes, Malfoy,” she murmured. “Very un-feminist of you. Such uneven playing ground.”

The blond looked down at his rumpled shirt as though he hadn’t even noticed it was there. “Uh,” he said smartly, expression a little dazed before blinking and inhaling sharply. “Well, I do want people to know I first and foremost support women – after Al, of course – so…” His hands went to the top button, but Rose stopped him before he could pop it open.

“Allow me.”

“Please.”

She fumbled for a few seconds, cheeks burning, before the shirt finally fell open. Malfoy was all lean muscle and smooth skin, and Rose marvelled at the sight for a few seconds, thinking back to when they’d been swimming in the stream. A-couple-of-days-ago-Rose would’ve probably cursed tonight-Rose (and been secretly pleased) if she’d told her this was about to happen.

“Not awful?” Malfoy asked and Rose could tell it wasn’t a fully sarcastic question – he truly wondered.

She nodded, returning her eyes up to his face. “Trousers,” she said and he grinned. 

“You know, sometimes you’re bossy-ness isn’t all that annoying,” he muttered, grunting a little as he tried to remove his clothes as smoothly as possible while still staying horizontal.

Fingers gliding over his now bare chest, Rose clicked her tongue. “I’ll remember you said that.”

“Please don’t,” Malfoy sighed as he finally kicked off the trousers and got his hands and mouth back on her face.

Rose shut off her mind.

Things moved quickly after that.

She couldn’t for the life of her remember who started tugging at the other’s underwear first, but they were unceremoniously removed, thrown away and forgotten. All she was was feeling and feeling and more feeling. 

Later on, she would remember bits and pieces.

Malfoy’s head between her legs. Her hands in his wonderful hair.

Malfoy’s fingers. Squeezing. Stroking. Petting. Pushing.

And his lips. Everywhere his lips. And his tongue. On the insides of her thighs, between her thighs. On her stomach. Waist. Ribs. Breasts. Nipples. Throat. Shoulders. Arms. Face. Sucking, kissing, drawing out all kinds of sounds out of Rose that she’d blush over afterwards.

And the feeling of him. The movement. Fullness, slight pain, then pleasure. Overwhelming. Breaths getting caught in her throat.

She gasped, and moved, and matched, and touched, and kissed, and followed and then, with a wave it was over.

Malfoy sunk down onto her, face burrowing in the crook of her sweaty neck.

Rose took the deepest breath she could with his weight on top of her chest. Her fingers went to the nape of his neck, twisting into the fine, damp hairs. Moments passed in comfortable silence, before she said hoarsely, “Can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” Malfoy mumbled into her skin, rolling off but immediately slinging an arm over her. He kissed her freckled shoulder with an open mouth.

She glanced at him. He was already looking at her, silver eyes tired, satisfied and inquisitive.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel that drunk any longer, and her shut-off brain was whirring to life. “I,” she started, but faltered. Malfoy raised a brow. “I should go pee.”

He hummed, but tightened his hold.

Rose inhaled deeply. What did this mean? A kiss was easy to shrug off as nothing. But sex? She closed her eyes.

It was a weird sensation: body tired and filled with happy hormones, but brain getting ready to sound the alarms.

A few more seconds of savouring the calm, she begged her head silently. Then she’d let the overthinking and self-admonishment wash over her. She turned to lay on her side, opening her eyes as Malfoy’s hand reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She gave him a small, ridiculously shy smile, before touching her lips softly to his, his eyes fluttering closed. They parted, stared at each other for yet another moment, before his hand cupped her cheek and they both pressed forward, this time almost harsh.

Rose could feel the last-ness in the kiss.

She swallowed down the weird heavy feeling that started to spread in her chest.

“Alright,” she said as they separated and she started to sit up. Her voice wasn’t quite as strong as she’d wished, but her tone managed some degree of factuality. “We should get out of here. Lucy might come up any second.”

Blinking up at her from his still lying position, Malfoy nodded slowly. “Mm. Yeah. You’re right.” He sat up, raking his fingers through his hair and shaking his head slightly before reaching to the side of the mattress and coming back with a bundle of green fabric. He dropped it into Rose’s lap. 

She tried not to drape it over herself too quickly, not wanting him to think she was self-conscious, but inside she was very thankful for the mass of fabric and the way it didn’t require standing up and tugging and other possibly awkward movements.

Movements that Malfoy executed with precision, having stood up and located his trousers and shirt. He looked down at his hands as they closed up the buttons. Finishing up, then noticing her stare, he started to look around himself at the floor. “Ah,” he said after a second, taking a few steps and bending down. A pair of yellow lace underwear came flying at Rose.

“Nice,” she mumbled. Carefully, she squashed them into a bundle and pushed them up between her thighs, standing up awkwardly. “Uh,” she said, glancing at Malfoy. “I guess I’ll just,” she waved a hand toward the door airily. He looked back blankly. “Goodnight,” she bristled, before walking away as quickly as she could with a hand between her legs. As she rounded the doorway and started down the corridor, she heard Malfoy say something. She couldn’t decipher the words.

She didn’t turn around to find out.

What had she done?

Chapter Text

“I still want to know who deemed it polite to have sex in my bed.”

Rose glanced up at Molly from her porridge. Her cousin had been bitching about the subject for three days now, and every time it came up, Rose wanted to smash something. Sometimes that something was Molly’s nose.

During the days after the party, the Burrow’s number of occupants had lowered considerably. There were only a few relatives left, and they were all gathered, having breakfast under the tent that was still raised in the garden.

“Molls,” Dom said grouchily, almost sounding as done with the complaining as Rose, “how do you even know someone fucked in there?” 

Nana Weasley made a disapproving sound. “Dominique dear,” she said sharply before Molly had a chance to reply, “language.”

“Sowhy,” Dom said around her spoon.

Meanwhile, Molly had stood up, her bowl and cutlery in her hands. She sniffed haughtily. “I know,” she insisted. “My sheets were all rumpled and the smell in there.” She made a face. “Ugh.”

No one replied. No one cared. No one knew who’d deemed it polite to have sex in Molly’s bed.

No one except for Rose. And she was sure as hell not going to fess up.

She watched her cousin’s back as she stalked over the grass toward the kitchen entryway. Her cheeks felt warm. It wasn’t due to the July sun.

As soon as Molly had disappeared inside, the door closing behind her, Louis said, voice contemplative, “I actually am a bit curious at who it was.

“Right?” Dom twisted to look at him, suddenly brimming with energy. “I wanna know so bad, but I don’t want to encourage Molly’s droning.”

Louis smiled, humming. “It must’ve been someone that wasn’t too unfamiliar to the house,” he pondered.

Rose’s skin was beginning to feel itchy and far too small for her insides. Knowing a reaction could raise suspicion, she forced herself not to engage, however.

It was only her, Louis, Dom, Lucy, Hugo and their grandparents around the table. Everyone else had left for home or gone to work to return later in the evening. Al and Malfoy had left the Burrow before Rose had woken up at noon the day after the party. She’d been seething since.

Never before had as many conflicted feelings battled for dominance in Rose’s poor body. Never.

She hated every second.

She hated Malfoy. And Al.

Logically, she knew it was long since planned that he’d leave for a trip with his parents and siblings, and she could have figured out – and had hoped – that Malfoy wouldn’t stay behind after his best friend left, but Al was her best friend too.

And she wanted his comfort.

Even though she didn’t exactly want to tell him why she wanted his comfort.

“What’s up with you?” Hugo grumbled then, voice barely loud enough to be heard over Louis’s and Dom’s discussion.

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. Her little brother wasn’t much of an early riser, but he also wasn’t much of a check-to-see-if-everything-was-alrighter either – not with her anyway. Now, sitting in front of Rose at the end of the long table, he was scrutinizing her face, a wrinkle between his bushy brows.

“You look…” he shrugged, grimacing as though he was mimicking Rose.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She hadn’t meant to sound so acid, but her skin was crawling, and had been crawling for the past few days. Beyond her own agonizing, she didn’t need others butting in to give her even more headaches.

Hugo shrugged again, his expression bored. “Shitty. Or rather, you look like you’re in pain or something.”

“Whatever,” Rose huffed, turning back to her breakfast. Suddenly, the fresh berries swimming in the creamy milk didn’t seem so appetising. 

“Something happened?”

She didn’t look up at her little brother this time. Instead opting to smush the berries with her spoon. Tendrils of red spread through the milk, turning it pinkish. Silently, to herself, she wondered if she should use the same excuse with Hugo as she had with Al; tell him that Ivan had confessed that he fancied her. She pursed her lips. “No.”

“Bollocks.”

Rose shot him a sharp look. “Bugger off.”

Making a face again, Hugo just stared back before shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe her impudence, then slumped down onto the table, grumbling back, an echo of Rose from earlier, “Whatever.”

Rose sat on her bed in aunt Ginny’s old room. It was only her in there now that Lily had gone off to travel with the rest of the Potters. Despite the room’s modest size, it felt cavernous. She fell back, sighing as she stretched out her arms to her sides. 

When she closed her eyes, she thought back to her time with Malfoy at the party. In her mind, she first drew up the kiss, then the argument on the second floor, before gathering the flashes of memory she had of the time in Molly's and Lucy’s room. A pang of heat spread through her chest, up her neck and face. She wanted to claw her skin off.

Why had he just left? Why hadn’t he stayed to talk to her the day after?

Then, on second thought, Rose wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to the blond. Sure, they’d said they would beforehand, but what was there to say really: I’m sorry? That was terribly stupid of us?

Because it was certainly an us. It pained Rose to admit it to herself, but she’d been just as happy to jump into bed with Malfoy as he had been to go with her.

And what did that mean? Was Julia right – did Malfoy fancy her? Or had he simply been drunk and horny? Maybe all three? Or just the latter two? Was it that Rose had simply been the woman in closest proximity to him when his mood had struck?

“Urghh.” She shoved her hands into her hair and dragged her fingers down her face. “Stupid stupid stupid.”

Just as she was about to jump up and write Al a message containing a few choice words, a shrill voice reached her from downstairs. 

“ROSIE! THE LETTERS ARE HERE!”

She sat up abruptly. 

The letters.

Her heart somersaulted in her chest.

Rushing downstairs, Rose tumbled into the kitchen where Louis, Lucy and Hugo stood around the kitchen island. Nana Weasley was peering over Lucy’s shoulder – the only grandchild she had that was shorter than herself.

“Where’s—”

“Here.” Hugo brandished an envelope from under his arm and waved it at Rose.

She took six long steps towards him, taking it from him with shaking hands. “Thanks,” she mumbled weakly.

With eyes transfixed on the Hogwarts-seal, Rose didn’t see the way everyone was looking at her apprehensively, but she could feel it prickling her skin. 

“Open it up, dear,” Nana Weasley said, sounding far more positive than Rose would ever be able to muster. “Let’s see what it says, shall we?”

“Mm.” Rose nodded, tucking her finger under the flap and loosening the seal. She pulled out the thick papers inside. The first one was a list of the classes she’d take her coming, and last, year. Then there was another list of required books, tools and other materials needed for the aforementioned classes. 

Before moving to look through the last papers, she shook the envelope slightly – something was still in there. Her stomach jolted at the heaviness. Quickly, she flipped her hand and out fell a golden badge. It skipped over the island surface before grinding to a halt, turned downward. Rose stared at it.

Beside her, Hugo began to clap slowly. 

Rose turned her head to look at him, wide-eyed.

He was smiling lop-sidedly. “You did it, Rosie.”

“Another Head Girl in the family! How wonderful!” 

Her head swiveled to her other side where Nana Weasley had snatched up the badge, already on her way around the island to press it onto the chest of Rose’s t-shirt. She blinked down at her grandmother as she fastened the golden H above her heart. The moment Nana Weasley took a step back, Rose exhaled, slumping forward onto the island. “Merlin,” she breathed.

Everyone came forward to clap their hands on her shoulders, giving their praise and congratulations. She nodded and thanked, then excused herself to go up to her room to read McGonagall’s letter. Nana Weasley promised her a celebratory meal as Rose ascended the stairs.

Shutting the door behind her, she went to sit on her bed as she had minutes previous. She brought out the letter from the headmistress. In cursive almost inscrutable writing it read:

Dear Ms. Rose Granger-Weasley,

You have been appointed Head Girl of Hogwarts. First and foremost, I want to congratulate you. This is the result of your tremendous hard work and engagement in our beloved school. This is a title you have earned. 

Second of all, I would like to remind you that this is an honorable duty that dates back hundreds of years, and that is not to be taken lightly or for granted. With this title comes expectations. Besides practical duties, it is a matter of being a symbol, a front figure and a paragon. You, and your fellow Head Boy, will have the unique position of being something between student and staff, and myself and my colleagues anticipate that you will act accordingly.

Rose blinked down at the ink. Somewhere, among the rushing of thoughts – too fast to hold on to – she could register the furious beating of her heart. 

A paragon. Expectations. Head Boy.  

She continued reading, already feeling a weight settling over her shoulders, pressing her down into her mattress. 

By any means, I do not wish this reminder to frighten you. I simply want you to have my words to recall when facing future decisions, because sometimes you will be deciding for more than yourself. Be sensible, but also, be excited.

Excited? Rose was about to be sick.

Moreover, I trust you are familiar with the duties of our Heads. You are a pair. You work as a pair. You discuss amongst yourselves and then make collective decisions. Besides organising the matters of all our prefects, making schedules for rounds and being the main persons they are to turn to with questions, you are also the students to represent our school if a situation calls for it. Certainly, you are to keep the privileges that came with previously being appointed prefects of your houses, but you will also receive new, shared living quarters. They are meant to aid your communication. These dorms will be for you two, and you two only. 

Rose could hear the warning in that last sentence. In front of her, she could conjure up the image of her sharp, graying headmistress, who despite her age, was ever as intimidating as someone much younger and ostensibly powerful. No funny business was allowed – they shouldn’t even try.

Furthermore, you are expected to attend certain staff meetings, and to be available for younger students if they are in need of simpler forms of support. It is up to your judgement whether staff needs to be involved. You report straight to the headmaster or headmistress. This year, that will be me.

Now, you are perhaps wondering who you will be working as well as living with during your remaining time at Hogwarts.

Rose couldn’t breathe. Something was lodged in her throat. Saliva, maybe. Her heart, more likely.

As previously mentioned, you have been appointed due to your work being of high standards – standards that we wish for the rest of the student body to be able to look up to and follow. You two are our most promising students. I trust you will use your wit, grit, unique personalities and skills to form an admirable partnership. And for your own sakes, I hope you continuously decide to put old grudges behind and focus on your individual, as well as the school’s, futures.

A bad feeling was starting to bleed out of Rose’s stomach to the rest of her limbs. Dread. She was almost certain that she didn’t need to read the next paragraph to know what name would be etched there. But, with a last ounce of hope fighting for air in her chest, she turned her gaze to the last sentences.

I am pleased to inform you, Ms. Granger-Weasley, that you will be collaborating with Mr. Scorpius Malfoy of Slytherin house, who has been appointed Head Boy. I look forward to meeting you both at the feast on September 1st. Enjoy your summer until then.

Sincerely,

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Her pathetic ounce of hope whimpered sadly before drowning in the ocean of simultaneous anger and fright that flooded Rose’s insides. She blinked down at the letter and all she could think to herself was:

Fuck.

It was August and Rose was in Sydney. She was in Sydney and she was nauseous. She was in Sydney and she was nauseous and she would have to go behind that tree because soon she—

The contents of her lunch splattered to the dry grass by her feet.

“Rosie!” Ron’s voice was worried as it drifted to his daughter, a few feet away. 

Hands on her knees, Rose stared at the mess, then closed her eyes, trying to take deep breaths. She felt a hand land softly between her shoulder blades, but there was no energy in her to straighten and look who it was.

“Maybe we should go back to the hotel. I think we should.”

Hermione.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, still not righting herself. “Just need a second.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione sniffed. “Let’s go back.”

“A second,” Rose grit out through her claggy teeth. Opening her eyes, she saw two pairs of shoes on each side of her own – one pair was small, the other long and large. Her father had joined them.

“Maybe we should apparate with her,” Ron said, apprehension lacing his voice. He lay his hand beside Hermione’s on their daughter’s back. “There aren’t that many muggles here so—”

“No,” Hermione and Rose said at the same time. Equally as sharp. Equally as commanding.

Rose couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than side-apparating in this state. Just the thought of the pressing sensation of the travel-method made her knees buckle slightly. She felt both her parents’ hands grabbing onto her, keeping her up.

“That would be unbelievably irresponsible. We can’t apparate in broad daylight, in the middle of a city — honestly, Ron.” There was a no-nonsense quality to Hermione’s voice – one that would give anyone an idea regarding her ascension to the role of minister of magic.

Somewhere to Rose’s left, she heard a retching sound not unlike the one she herself had made seconds earlier. Then:

Splat.

“Hugo!” Ron’s shoes left Rose’s field of vision.

“Oh my,” Hermione said, probably more to herself than anyone else. “What’s going on?” She leaned down, placing her face level to Rose’s. “Rose, my love, was there something wrong with your lunch?”

The thought of the fried fish and vegetables made Rose’s throat spasm. She made a choked sound. “I… dunno,” she croaked. “Hugo?”

“He seems to have caught the same thing you have,” Hermione replied, straightening. Then, to herself, “I’ll see if I can book a taxi that’ll take us.”

And so, Rose and Hugo ended up next to each other, in parallel twin beds in their properly air conditioned hotel room. The taxi ride there had been murder, but the moment they got out of the heat and into the cool, getting to lie down, Rose’s stomach and mind settled a bit. Their parents had left them with bottles of fizzy sugary drinks and Ron had plopped a tiny bottle into each of his children’s laps, saying something about auror-level stuff for queasy mission-stomachs.  

“How you feeling, Hughie?” Rose used the nickname very sparsely, but she felt the shared patheticness of the occasion demanded it.

Hugo made a noise, something between a groan and a Fine.

“I feel so bad for grandma and grandpa,” she whispered. 

Except for the murmur of the AC, the room was quiet.

“... too,” Hugo grumbled finally.

“Did you also have the fried fish?”

Another groan. Rose took this to be a Yes.

She swallowed. All of her felt sticky and gross and heavy. She was pretty sure there was still some puke in her hair somewhere. “I think,” she said slowly, sliding one leg over the edge of the bed, “that I’ll take a shower.”

Hugo didn’t even groan this time, and when Rose looked to his side, she saw that he was asleep, chest rising and falling heavily.

Well in the shower, she felt infinitesimally better. The nausea had gone down, she didn’t feel too hot or cold, but she was so so tired. If it wasn’t for pure stubbornness and suspicion regarding the cleanliness of hotel room shower floors, Rose would’ve dropped to the ground to sit. Her body was aching with fatigue, each limb feeling five times more heavy than usual.

She washed off as thoroughly as her energy levels allowed for, before stepping out, and wrapping herself in one of the hotel’s fluffy white towels. She didn’t bother moisturising or fixing her curls, just went immediately to sink back onto her bed. Despite the tendrils of anxiety curling in her chest, she managed to fall asleep almost the second she closed her eyes.

It was a persistent knock on the door that startled her awake. From outside the hotel room, a muffled “Rosie! Hugo! It’s me!” could be heard.

Rose glanced at her little brother who glanced back, looking just as groggy. They both groaned at the same time, before Rose got to her feet, beginning to move towards the door. It was being properly assaulted by the person on the other side. 

“Alright alright alright. I’m coming.” Rose tore the door open, being met by her mother and father. She blinked down at Hermione. “What?”

“Tea,” Hermione said. “You should get something little.”

Pursing her lips, Rose looked over at her shoulder at Hugo who was still splayed out on his bed. He shook his head.

“I’m not eating,” he told them loud enough so that everyone would hear.

Something stubborn washing over Hermione’s face, she nudged Rose to the side to go into the room.

Rose turned back to look at her father, just as Hugo whined, “Mum, no.”

Smiling down softly at his daughter, Ron picked at a tangled piece of hair resting damply at Rose’s shoulder. “You alright?” he asked and when Rose just mumbled that she was tired, he nodded once. “Alright. Get dressed then, Rosie, then come down to the lobby.”

She walked back to her bed, past her mother who was quietly chiding Hugo, expressing her worry in a quite aggressive way. After another three minutes, Rose’s little brother and her small mother managed to compromise – Hugo would come down, get something from the vending machine and then he could go back up to his room.

Well at dinner, Rose picked at the food. It wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry, it was more that some of the food twisted her stomach, while the other looked appetising. Thinking back to the fried fish, she shuddered.

“I still can’t believe Malfoy’s son got Head Boy.”

Rose blinked, turning to her father. When did they start talking about Heads-business?

Hermione speared a seared carrot onto her fork. “Scorpius is a lovely boy,” she said. “He’s just behind Rose in all their classes and from what I’ve heard he’s a good leader too.”

“Who’s said that?” Rose asked.

“Well, Al, but—”

“Al’s his best friend,” Ron pointed out, stabbing the air with his fork as he levelled his wife with an unimpressed look.

Bushy eyebrows furrowing, Hermione retorted, “Well then he should know, shouldn’t he?”

Father and daughter rolled their eyes in sync, neither wanting to admit that she had a point.

“How are you feeling about having to work with him? Shitty?” Ron asked, turning to Rose.

She shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it that much to be honest.”

That was a great lie.

Rose had thought about it every day for the past fortnight. And every evening. And every morning and every time she woke up during the night.

She would be living with Scorpius Malfoy. For a year.

“Surely, you must’ve,” Ron insisted. “You two are always fighting. You must have plans on how to take him down a peg now that—”

“Ron,” Hermione half-hissed, half-sighed.

Normally, Rose would have grinned at this interaction, but she felt too… upset? She didn’t know what she was feeling, except for being tired. Maybe she was a little scared of having to inevitably speak to him. Maybe she was a little angry that he hadn’t wanted to stay and sort things out immediately. Maybe she was a little ashamed of herself for having had sex with him. Maybe – and this was not a feeling or thought she liked paying attention to – she felt a little pleased at having had sex with him. Maybe she just didn’t have any energy whatsoever to want to deal with this right now.

“It’ll be alright,” Hermione said then, tone a little softer as she looked at her daughter’s slumped shoulders and sullen expression. “You’ll sort things through. Lay old arguments to rest."

Rose frowned, but nodded without conviction. 

“Your father and Harry had lots of fights back in the day,” Hermione said then. “And look at them now.”

Ron made a face.

“Dad and Harry didn’t start out hating each other though.”

Hermione pursed her lips, silent for a few seconds. Finally, she concurred, saying, “No. You’re right.” She reached out to tuck a frizzy curl-wave of Rose’s behind her ear. “But I have faith that you and Scorpius are far more emotionally intelligent than your father and Harry were at your age.”

“Hey,” Ron blurted. “We were in a bloody war. I think I was plenty emotionally intelligent under those circumstances.”

Hermione continued gazing at her daughter. “Perhaps,” she said. “But then imagine how much better it’ll go for two even more emotionally intelligent people, not in a war.”

Ron hummed, pointing his fork at his wife again. “Your mum’s onto something, Rosie.” He placed a too-large piece of meat into his mouth, talking around it, “But you really shouldn’t force yourself to befriend him. I don’t trust him – not with that dad of his. Just do your job, keep old McGonagall happy, and do whatever else you want. No pressure.”

No pressure.

Expectations. Honorable duty. Privilege. Responsibility.

Rose put down her utensils. “Yeah. Sure, dad.”

Rose looked down at the clean underwear around her ankles. No blood today either. The sight tickled her stomach unpleasantly. Granted, she’d taken a day-after-potion after having woken up the day after the party, and that could fuck with your period. Also, Rose’s cycle wasn’t the most predictable anyways – it never had been – and during times of exceeding stress, it was even less reliable.

But still, it was unnerving. It always was. Regardless of if one had had sex or not, the sight of a missing period was no fun.

She finished up in the bathroom, combed through her hair with her fingers and rejoined Hugo and their grandparents at their small round table on the patio of the café.

They had three days left in Australia, and yesterday, both Ron and Hermione had started feeling queasy. Apparently, the fried fish hadn’t been the enemy, and Hugo was back to normal. Rose on the other hand, still felt a little unsteady, endlessly sleepy, and occasionally nauseous.

So, while she and her brother were accompanying their grandparents, Hermione and Ron rested up in their hotel room.

Later on in the evening, they all joined up to have dinner together, Ron uncommonly picky with his food. 

Rose’s maternal grandparents had a calming effect on her. Being a person who was usually quite loud and boisterous – at least in the company of her paternal cousins – it was easier to just lie back, listen and relax with her little maternal family. Her anxiety stopped chewing at her and settled on light gnawing instead.

“So what does this all mean for you then, Hugo?” Grandma Granger asked as Rose chewed slowly at her pork. “Is Rose allowed to boss you around now when she’s gotten this Head Girl position?”

Hugo made a pained face, glancing at Rose before replying, “Uh, she can give me detention, I guess.”

The lines in their grandparents’ foreheads deepened. 

“Surely that won’t be necessary though? You’re an upstanding gentleman, aren’t you, son?” Grandpa Granger said, a half-smile stretching out his wrinkled tan face, showcasing perfect teeth. He clapped a hand on Hugo’s shoulder, making the young boy sway.

“Right.”

Rose frowned at her little brother. His eyes were unreadable, but she got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t enjoying the subject at all. He’d always expressed a disinterest in Rose’s extra curricular activities, be it quidditch or prefect business. Not that he didn’t attend matches or congratulate her when she got appointed, but he just didn’t care. Maybe he was bored, Rose thought, but it didn’t sit right.

“Hugo’s going to take his O.W.L exams this year,” Hermione chimed in. “And Rose is doing N.E.W.Ts.”

“Owls,” Grandma Granger hummed, nodding. “I remember you talking about those a few years ago, Rose.” She smiled at her granddaughter. “And I do think I’m correct in thinking you passed with flying colours, didn’t you?”

Rose smiled tersely. “Mm, kind of. I got an E in History of Magic.”

“Remind me what the E is again.”

“Exceeds expectations, Mum,” Hermione said before Rose could reply. “It’s next best to an O which is Outstanding.”

Grandma Granger tittered. “I do enjoy your system,” she said with a smile, before turning to Hugo. “Are you expecting all Os too, Hugo dear?”

Hugo stopped chewing for a second, his eyes flitting to his mother and father before swallowing, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not as smart as Rose, so no, that would be insane if I did.”

Their grandmother frowned. “Oh, but everything’s alright? You’re not failing any subjects, are you?”

“No.”

“Hugo’s doing great,” Hermione said just as Ron piped up, voice surprisingly stern as he said, “He’s doing just fine.”

Grandma Granger’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly. “That’s nice to hear. I wish you both good luck.”

“Thank you,” Rose said as Hugo just nodded, staring at his food.

“I need to pick up some things for Potions,” Rose said, breaking herself free from the gaggle of relatives she was walking with.

“Want company?” Al asked. No one else noticed her leaving.

Rose looked at him over her shoulder, already on her way. “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

“Alright. See you later.” 

“Yeah. See you.”

Rushing back the way they’d come, Rose cursed herself. She was impossibly obvious. She never rejected Al’s company. He had thought it too, she just knew. His face had been smiling, but his eyes had wondered what was going on. Surely, he would interrogate her later.

But she wanted to do this alone. It was too embarrassing otherwise.

Her face felt a little heated just thinking about it.

Ducking into the apothecary, she noticed it was thankfully quite empty. She waited in line for a minute before finally getting the bored witch behind the counter’s attention. A spark of recognition cleared the daze in her brown eyes.

“What can I help you with?” she asked monotonously.

“I need birth control.” The words rushed out of Rose, too big to contain any longer.

The apothecary-witch stared back blankly, but Rose’s insides twisted at the thought that someone now knew that one of the ‘Golden Trio’s’ kids was being sexually active. This would be a conversation starter at the witch’s dinner table tonight. Taking a small breath, Rose tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that she was being responsible. This was responsible. 

It really was. 

Nothing to be ashamed of.

“Potion or powder?” the witch asked, taking out a binder from beneath the registry.

“Uh. Potion. I think.”

“Uh-huh. You haven’t taken any contraceptives before?”

“No.”

“Uh-huh. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Uh-huh. One second.” The witch disappeared back behind a door beyond the counter. She returned back with a semi-large box, placing it in front of Rose whose eyes widened. “12 vials. Take one each full moon. Enough for a year. I know it sounds werewolf-y, but you should thank Merlin that you’re not a muggle. Their stuff’s much more complicated.” After she finished, she stared at Rose.

Rose swallowed. “Are there any side effects?”

“There’s a list in the box. Read it before you start. Oh, and talk to your healer or a medi-witch if anything happens. But you should be good.” She raised her brows once, as if punctuating her words. “Like I said, be glad you’re not a muggle.”

“Mm, alright.” Rose pulled the box closer, pulling up her wallet at the same time. She paid the other witch – her name tag read Winnie, Rose noticed belatedly – and started turning around, the box cradled to her chest, before halting herself. She looked over her shoulder, the anxiety pinching in her chest. “You won’t… I mean, I hope…” She frowned at herself.

“I won’t say anything,” Winnie said and smiled smally for the first time since Rose arrived. “Promise.”

“Thank you.”

Winnie just waved her hand leisurely. 

After Rose left the apothecary, she only managed ten steps up the street before she was stopped by a familiar tall figure. Walking in Diagon Alley the week before September 1st was more of a guarantee to run into someone you knew than even walking the corridors of Hogwarts.

“Rose,” Ivan said, a pleasant tone in his low voice. “Good to see you.” He bent down to hug her, Rose only being able to return it with one arm.

“Yeah. Hello.” She smiled up at him, hoping the stress was interpreted as shyness. “Nice to see you too.” Hoping Ivan couldn’t see the label on the box, clearly marking it as a contraceptive, she balanced it on her hip, trying to conceal the text partly with her arm. Not that it was uncommon for a 17-year-old witch to take precaution, but it was Ivan – Ivan who apparently had a crush on her. “What’ve you been up to? How are you?”

“Good good. My dad’s been taking us all over. Came back from Wales yesterday.”

“That’s nice. I love Wales.”

Ivan nodded. His gaze on her was so intent, it made Rose wonder if she had food in her face from lunch. “I’ve never been there before.” For a brief moment his thick eyebrows pinched together, before he reached out to lift back the strap of her top that had slipped down due to her awkward stance. 

Rose swallowed, but smiled just as well. Ivan smiled back – an awkward smirk, as though he wasn’t used to moving those facial muscles. “Are you here with your family to shop? For Hogwarts?”

“My parents went back to Bulgaria this morning.” He squinted against the sun that was high in the sky. “You?”

“Yeah. But I broke free from the pack.” The comment made him snicker. “Will you miss them?”

“Who?”

“Your mum and dad.”

Ivan tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think.”

“No?”

“You have many freckles,” Ivan said then, ignoring her question or perhaps too distracted to hear it, his index finger rising to hover just above her bare shoulder.

Oh.

Snorting out a giggle, Rose grinned as she looked from calloused finger to handsome face. “Yeah. I tend to get even frecklier in the summer. Especially when I go to Australia.”

“Australia?”

“My maternal grandparents live there.”

Ivan nodded again, his eyes still roaming over all of Rose’s exposed, speckled skin. A small paus stretched between them before he stopped, and met her gaze. “It’s pretty. You’re very pretty.”

She blinked, her grin wavering as heat rushed to her neck and face and ears. Not knowing what to say, she just nodded curtly.

And just then, a flash went off to Rose’s right.

They both turned toward the sound and burst of brightness.

“Fuck.” Rose frowned.

The gossip magazines’ desperate photographers had sort of respected her family’s peace when she was a child. Rose wasn’t entirely sure if it was out of the goodness of their hearts or if they were too intimidated by her parents and uncle, or, if she were to be crass, they’d been bribed – but regardless, they’d mostly been left alone. Now, however, being seventeen and legally a grown-up, they had started appearing when she least suspected it.

She imagined a picture of the daughter of Hermione and Ron Granger-Weasley and the son of Viktor Krum standing close was worth many galleons.

Her stomach sank when she remembered the box on her hip. But it was on her left, and the camera was on her right – hopefully the picture hadn’t captured it.

“Maybe we should say bye for now,” she murmured. Reaching up on her tip-toes, she gave him a quick one-armed hug. “See you on the train.”

Eyes flitting from where the photographer must have been, Ivan nodded, expression cloudy. He gave Rose a curt troubled smile. “Yeah. It was nice to see you, Rose.”

She smiled again before rushing past him, now fully intent on just finding Al and getting this day over with. There was a heavy rock in her stomach and nausea was scratching up her throat. She longed for being back in the Hogwarts castle where people cared less of her last name and photographers were strictly not invited.

“Rose Granger-Weasley, 17 year old daughter of Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Granger-Weasley, was seen meandering London in the days before her last year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. By photographs alone, we think everyone can see just how fond she appears to be of quidditch legend Viktor Krum’s son Ivan Krum, 17. The two could be seen cozying up to one another in the midst of the crowd in Diagon Alley – seemingly enjoying the attention their meeting got from the passing shoppers. Sources tell us that Krum, who has grown up in Bulgaria, will be studying at Hogwarts for the remainder of his time in school. Which begs the question: is this the result of trying to patch up a deteriorating long-distance relationship? The quidditch king’s son and the daughter of two war heroes — doesn’t that sound just like something out of a fairytale? We at Witch Weekly certainly think so. And by the looks of Rose Granger-Weasley’s blushing cheeks and bubbly smile, we think she agrees with us. Or maybe she’s just smiling because her man is finally coming home? Join us in cheering for the young couple, and in following their journey in the coming issues.” Having just finished her dramatic read of the article, Julia’s face had crenchendo-ed into a spectacular grimace, having grown more and more agitated with each sentence. She gave Rose a sympathetic look. “Merlin.”

Rose just closed her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the back of her seat in their compartment. They were an hour and a half into their journey to Hogwarts, the windows of the Hogwarts Express showcasing rolling green hills and pastures . Rose had just managed to sneak away from the rest of the prefects and an unusually quiet Malfoy, after they’d had their first official meeting as the new Heads, when she was met with her best friend and the offending magazine. She took a deep breath. “Is that all?”

“Well, kind of. There’s a little section about where to write in with tips about you both.” Julia was quiet for a few seconds before adding, almost in a murmur, “People will go bloody insane over this.”

Sighing, Rose slumped down in a half-sitting, half-lying position, but after a second of despair, the heavy feeling started burning off in her chest, quickly being replaced by anger. She shot up to her feet, swinging out her hand towards Julia. “What the fuck do they mean by cozying up? We were barely touching!”

Julia frowned, looking down at the image covering an entire page in the magazine spread. “Well, to be fair, you do look quite cozy.”

“Gimme.”

Obediently, Julia placed the paper in her outstretched hand.

Rose’s eyes scanned the page. She hadn’t dared to look closely before. Unbeknownst to her, the photographer she’d noticed must have taken more than just the one picture with flash. There were at least four different images beside the one she assumed was taken in the moment before she’d been aware they were being watched. The one covering the page was an image of their good-bye, with Rose on her toes and Ivan bending down to accommodate her. True to the text, her cheeks did look pink, but her smile sure as fuck wasn’t bubbly. The other pictures were a mix of before and after they’d noticed the cameraman. One, to Rose’s great annoyance, was of Ivan readjusting her top’s strap, by-passers staring at them. One was of her grinning after he’d commented on her freckles. One was of them just talking, and the last of them wearing matching confused expressions, turned toward the camera.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, and a building pressure over her chest, Rose had to admit that whoever the writer of the article was, was partly correct: she did look fond. Even so, Rose despised the way they’d manage to twist the story. In the way the text was written, it appeared almost certain that she and Ivan were an item – and a serious one at that. She could see in front of her how the respect her prefects held for her diminished by the second.

Just as she was about to say so, the door to the compartment slid open. Hastily, Al stepped into it, coming face to face with Rose. His eyes dropped to the magazine in her hands. “Ah,” he said. “So you’ve seen.”

Rose ducked to let her forehead rest on Al’s left shoulder. “I’m doomed.”

Al’s arms came up to circle around her, the magazine getting crushed between them. “Hi, Spinnet,” he said over his cousin’s head. “Had a nice summer?”

“It was fine. Bit boring. You? How was the family-trip?”

“It was—”

“Hello?” Rose pushed back from Al to look between her best friends with a sour expression. “I’m having a crisis here!”

Al laughed and reached out to haul her back into his embrace. “Sorry, Rosie. But you know, I think we all expected a sex scandal in the family sooner or later. I just didn’t think it’d be you getting caught. I would’ve put my money on Dom or James. They’re much more—”

“It’s not a fucking sex scandal.” She tried to free herself from his arms once more to look at him beratingly, but he held fast and just chuckled again.

“I know. Just kidding,” he said into her hair. “Trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well. Don’t.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

When he released her and she stepped back, both Al and Julia were wearing matching expressions of poorly contained laughter.

“Go ahead, you arseholes. Laugh all you want,” she said, but when the two actually did begin to laugh, Rose couldn’t help the small smile that stretched her lips. Her chest felt lighter. If Al and Julia behaved like that, it couldn’t be all that big of a catastrophe.

“Rosie, no one believes those shit articles,” Al said after he’d simmered into just the occasional chuckle.

“And if they do,” Julia added, “they’re idiots for trusting a few pictures and an anonymous writer.” Al, who’d sat down beside the brunette, nodded. “Everyone knows your families are close — that’s been written about before. They just want a new angle now that you’re seventeen.”

Rose groaned. They were speaking the truth. “I know. I know. But I fucking hate this. It’s so… It’s so—” She hadn’t the words.

“Mean?” Al supplied. “Yeah, it is.”

Rose nodded, and after a few minutes of talking about other matters than her non-existent dating life, and Witch Weekly columns, she did feel better. Sadly, the sensation didn’t last long. After about fifteen minutes of having Al with them, he started glancing toward the door to the compartment.

Narrowing her eyes at her cousin, Rose asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

Of course, she knew the answer before he replied.

“Uh, yeah. Scorp said he’d join me when you were done with your meeting.” Al frowned at Rose. “Did he have something to do after? D’you know where he went?”

Praying to whatever deity or deities in the sky, Rose hoped her face didn’t show the inner turmoil arising in her at his mere name. Standing beside him at the meeting had been a thirty-minute preview of her own death. She shook her head, shifting slightly in her seat. “I don’t know. We barely spoke.”

A furrow appeared between Al’s dark brows. “Aren’t you two supposed to be all buddy-buddy now that you’ll be working as a pair?”

Rose sniffed, turning to look out the window. “It’s not a prerequisite.”

“No.” In Rose’s periphery, Al was looking at her with newfound despair. “No, Rose, please. I thought you two were finally starting to get along? I could see it. You didn’t always have that I-want-to-murder-him-expression every time he entered the room anymore.”

She didn’t reply, because she didn’t know what to reply with.

“I was so happy,” Al said weakly. Dramatically, Rose thought. “My two best friends. Hitting it off…”

This ignited something in Rose.

“Okay, relax. We didn’t fucking hit it off. It was toleration at most.”

Beside Al, Julia raised an unimpressed brow, but she didn’t say anything. Julia was loyal, but more important than that: she was smart. And she knew that what Rose said about Malfoy to her, was not to be joked or insinuated about, or even partly mentioned before Al. She knew it without Rose having to say it.

So she stayed quiet. But her expression, not noticed by Al who had all his attention on Rose, spoke volumes.

“You’ll be living together,” Al pointed out, as though Rose didn’t know of this horrible fact already.

“Yeah? So?”

“For a year,” Al pressed.

“I know, Al.”

“You don’t think it’d do you well to—”

“I don’t need your fucking help with Malfoy, okay?” Rose crossed her arms, levelling her cousin with the most venomous glare she could muster. Below her anger, she was well aware of the fact that Al was right, and that he was only trying to look out for her and his git best friend, but he almost always managed to go about it in the wrong way, getting all man-splainy and judgmental.

Al’s mouth twisted up, but closed, and he sat back, not saying a word.

To Rose, it didn’t feel like a win in any way whatsoever. Her heart was beating frantically.

They would be living together.

For a year.

And she’d started to not look like she wanted to kill the sod every time they were in the same room.

What should she do?

After a minute of silence, Julia cleared her throat. “Speaking of missing boys: where’s Krum?”

For a beat, Rose and Al just looked at each other, still stubbornly quiet, willing the other to be the first to speak. Then Al rolled his eyes, turning slightly toward Julia. “He’s with Hugo and Lily somewhere. She whisked him away at the train station.”

“He didn’t want to sit with Rose?”

She’d told Julia all about Ivan’s confession in a letter after the party. Her best friend had been ecstatic. The word love triangle had been thrown into her reply an excessive amount of times, Rose had thought.

She hadn’t even told her of Malfoy.

“I didn’t see him before I boarded,” Rose said, words stunted. She still felt uneasy and annoyed.

“Weird he hasn’t gone to look for you.”

“He probably thinks she’s still at the meeting in the front,” Al said, placing his hands behind his neck. He didn’t look like even an ounce of unease was still lingering in his body.

Rose would never say it, but he and James were more similar than Al wanted to admit or could even see. The oldest Potter sibling was just as efficient when it came to letting things roll off his back.

“Al.”

The word came from the sliding door to the compartment. Rose glanced toward it just as Malfoy stepped all the way inside. The blond took them all in, before he fastened his gaze at his best friend. There was something very intentional in his stare – it didn’t seem even possible for anyone but Al to catch his eye.

“Scorp!” Al smiled up at him. “Where were you, mate? I was starting to get worried.”

“I…” Malfoy frowned for a millisecond, “had something to attend to.”

Al raised a brow. “Okay?” Then he shook his head, and indicated for the blond to sit down in the empty seat in front of him. Like Julia, Al knew when to shut up about his best friend’s business in front of his cousin. “Sit,” he said.

Now, Malfoy’s gaze did slide over to rest on Rose. He sat down as far from her as he could without it looking awkward. While Rose was close to pressed up against the window, Malfoy’s left shoulder nudged the wall to the corridor every time the train hitched.

“Surprised to see you here,” Malfoy said. Everyone knew he meant Rose.

“Why is that?” Rose said, trying hard to remain slouched and as though she was still relaxed.

Al and Julia’s eyes hopped between them.

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth quirked. “Thought you’d be with your boyfriend.”

Rose wanted to scream. But, instead, she sniffed, letting her glare travel to the scenery passing by outside the train as she said, “Fuck off.”

“Had a lover’s spat?” 

Rose’s right eye twitched.

“Scorp,” Al said quietly, the slightest hint of warning in his tone.

“What? Is this a touchy subject? The whole train is buzzing about it.”

“Well, the whole train knows fuck all,” Rose said through her teeth, finally straightening to be able to meet Malfoy’s glinting eyes fully.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly how much under Rose’s skin he was getting. And he was enjoying it immensely.

But there was something else there too. Rose couldn’t tell what exactly, but it made each word more biting.

“Witch Weekly is a shit magazine, Malfoy. Everyone knows that.” Julia had both her brows raised in quiet challenge as the blond looked back at her, acknowledging her presence for the first time since he’d entered.

“It is,” he replied simply. The air and humor seemed to mosey out of him. He wasn’t much for arguing if the person he was to argue with wasn’t Rose. Rose herself had always found that unbelievably unfair. Falling back in his seat, he waved vaguely with his hand. He had the enviable skill to look proper and formal but at the same time fully at ease. “I take it, that you mean it isn’t true then?” His silver eyes turned to Rose, unreadable. “Krum isn’t your tragic long-distance lover?”

Rose made a face, but decided to be thankful for his change of attitude instead of annoyed. “Right,” she said curtly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything else. Instead Al switched subjects and everyone – everyone being mostly Al and Julia – fell into a semi-comfortable discussion about the coming year, intermingled with little stories from the summer. Al took great care not to speak of anything from the time both him, Rose and Malfoy had been together.

Rose was thankful.

She imagined Malfoy was too.

Sitting beside the blond was alarmingly taxing – never mind the gap between them. Rose felt like her entire skin had broken out in eczema. She wanted to bolt straight out the door, or at least push Malfoy out the compartment, but she also wanted to seem as though she didn’t have a care in the world when it came to spending time with him.

She wondered what he was thinking, if it was as difficult for him as it was for her. She also wanted to know if he’d thought anything about their night together. For a horrible second, she realised that he might not even remember that it had happened. They’d both been quite drunk. 

Then she quietly scolded herself, because that would’ve been to her advantage. If Malfoy didn’t recollect that they’d had sex, then Malfoy wouldn’t want to talk to her about it. Then again, if Malfoy had remembered, and he had wanted to talk about it, why hadn’t he?

She felt faint. And itchy. And nauseous. And she was still just as tired as she’d been every day since Australia – maybe even before that.

She sighed to herself, listening quietly to her two best friends and her nemesis speaking. 

How was she going to stand the coming year? Where would she find the energy to?

Chapter Text

“Um,” Rose said.

“Um,” Malfoy agreed. “I guess I’ll take the left one and you’ll take the right?”

Rose glanced at him. “Why?”

Silent, Malfoy pointed to a small placard Rose hadn’t noticed on the door to their right. It read, in pretty gold letters, Head Girl.

“Oh.” She swallowed down the indignation over that he’d seen something she hadn’t. It wasn’t difficult. Her anxiety was far larger than her irritation, and it had only grown since every second she’d spent alone with Malfoy since having left the Great Hall after the welcoming feast. “Okay.”

Without another word, she walked past the blond and upp the small, rounded staircase to what was apparently her room for the coming year. Stepping inside, she noticed it was almost as large as the room she’d shared with the other girls in Ravenclaw Tower. There was a huge difference however; this room held but one four poster bed. She saw her trunk to her right as she walked inside and up to the window. The room was high up, and it faced the grounds. Far off, she could see Hagrid’s cottage. Smoke was curling out of the chimney, inviting and warm. Numbly, she told herself to remember to go visit him as soon as possible. 

After having unpacked and had a first look at everything, she decided for an early night. The only thing that had made her feel even slightly more to the positive side, was the great bathroom connected to her bedroom. Everything else, though it should have felt grand, had been inherently meh.  

She missed Julia beside her. She missed the hushed speaking and the warmth that spread naturally through the room when you shared it with three others.

Now, in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, she felt small and lonesome. And sad - if she was to be completely honest with herself. Her throat and chest hurt.

Ridiculous.

I’m ridiculous.

Having an own common room was the dream – should be the dream, anyway. The same went for the Head title. Like McGonagall had written in her letter: it was a huge honor.

But even so, Rose couldn’t help but want to grieve a little.

With moisture collecting in the corners of her eyes, she closed them, took a deep breath.

Her bones were aching for sleep and she had a long year before herself.

Rose picked up her pace, glancing over her shoulder. She couldn’t exactly see Malfoy, but she could hear his footsteps around the bend of the corridor.

It had been two and a half weeks since they’d returned to Hogwarts, to their new living arrangements and their new duties, and Rose had taken on a new practice as well, one that she was on her way of perfecting: avoiding Scorpius Malfoy.

The first week back, it had seemed that he too wasn’t very keen on discussing anything but necessities with her. Then at the start of the second, he’d done a complete turn. Suddenly, he appeared everywhere Rose went, insisting that they had to have a chat. So far, Rose had managed to keep her encounters with the blond short and to the point. She woke up early every morning and listened to make sure Malfoy wasn’t in the common area of their shared living quarters before she left and didn’t return until late at night. She always made sure to pack everything she needed for the day in her bag – having had to charm it to allow for more space. 

It was cumbersome, sure, to only study in the library or in empty spaces such as the Astronomy Tower and cramped broom closets, but it was worth it. In a pinch, she climbed all the way up to the Ravenclaw Tower, but she’d started disliking that as well due to the newfound curiosity every Hogwarts student seemed to hold regarding her relationship with Ivan Krum. Sometimes she went to Hagrid’s, but he too couldn’t keep quiet for long, even when she explicitly told him she needed silence to read.

Julia thought she was being dramatic. Al thought she was being childish.

Both of them spared no expense in telling her so.

Neither of them knew the full story.

Absent-mindedly, she wondered what excuse Malfoy would have this time – if he caught her – to get her to speak with him alone. It usually worked to keep their interactions to run-ins in front of others, or to the Saturday afternoons they’d agreed to use each week to plan for prefect rounds and informational meetings. Then Rose could always direct his attention to the task at hand, and slip away the moment they started finishing up, when Malfoy got that determined look in his eyes.

She fell into a half-jog, then halted promptly when her eyes landed on the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet. Quickly, Malfoy’s steps getting louder behind her, she started a brisk walk back and forth, thinking silently to herself, I need somewhere to hide from Malfoy. Over and over again, she repeated the plea in her head, until a door appeared at the wall opposite the tapestry. Quick and silent as a cat, she disappeared into the room, closing the door behind her.

How hadn’t she thought about this before?

Rose had known about the Room of Requirement long before she even started Hogwarts – how had the greatest hideout of all slipped from her mind? Silently cursing herself for her stupidity, she began to take in her surroundings.

She hadn’t been very specific in her request, but the room had still decided not to simply give her a bare space to hide.

There was a cot to her right, and a full-body mirror with a table made of matching wood beside it. In the far left corner, a light drape hung from the ceiling. It looked a bit like the ones in the hospital wing. Rose walked up to look behind it, finding, to her surprise, a toilet and a sink. A frown and amusement mixed on her face as she walked back to the small table. Upon it laid a book and to the side stood a small flask filled with a swirling turquoise liquid. Carefully, Rose picked it up and shook it lightly. She’d never seen anything like it.

“What are you?” she asked the flask, narrowing her eyes at the tempting way the potion slid against the glass. Then, since she neither expected nor got an answer, she moved on to pick up the book. 

It was empty, but there were clear lines for where you were to write, and squares were painted out, indicating where photographs were to be plastered.

Rose raised a brow. What was this? Had she accidentally stepped into someone else’s room? Had the room confused her with some other student that also wanted to get away from their roommate – someone that had a need for a certain potion that Rose had now been gifted instead?

With a decisive move, she placed back the book and moved the flask to precisely where she remembered them being when she entered, then went to sit on the cot. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable – the perfect mix between soft and hard. Tentatively, Rose laid down, kicking off her shoes.

One little nap…

She could have one little nap before she went back to Malfoy and the quidditch practice she was about to have in an hour.

She deserved it. She’d been tired for almost two months, and with her anxiety and her new birth control she harbored nausea more hours of the day than not.

A little sleep couldn’t hurt.

She closed her eyes and for the first time in a fortnight, she dozed off easily.

When she woke up, Rose knew instantly that she’d fucked up. Jumping up, she grabbed her bookbag and began rushing for the door, before pivoting and going back to the cot, smoothing out the sheets in case this truly was someone else’s requested room.

She thanked the room before opening the door. The high windows at the far end of the corridor, turned toward the grounds, showcased a purple and blue sky. A few stars had already come out. It was going to be a clear night.

“Fuck.”

She’d missed practice. Lyra was going to be livid with her.

Even though she no longer had anything left that she had to do tonight, Rose felt she needed to rush. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as she made her way from the seventh floor toward the Heads’ common room. 

As she started down a staircase, she saw Ivan and two students Rose thought belonged to Slytherin standing at its foot. Since joining Hogwarts, Ivan had been living in the dungeons with the rest of them. He shared a room with Al and the two other seventh year slytherin boys other than Malfoy; Artie Dankworth and Jonathan Hall. They were beaters for their quidditch team.

But it wasn’t Dankworth or Hall that were standing with Ivan. Rose squinted as she walked down the staircase, her footsteps echoed, capturing the attention of the three students.

“Rose,” Ivan called up to her, sounding surprised. “Hi.”

The other two whirled around. It was Phillip Harper, sixth year slytherin prefect, and Harry McDougal, a sixth year prefect as well, but from Ravenclaw. Seeing their faces, Rose realised they were out on their round for the week. She’d planned for them to walk together herself.

It was even later than she'd thought.

“Weasley,” they both said, nodding when she joined them.

No one ever called her Granger -Weasley except for some professors. It had irked her at first because it felt unfair to her mother, but then she’d realised it stemmed from laziness. There were already dozens of Weasley, might as well lump her in with the rest.

“Harper,” she nodded. “McDougal.” She smiled hesitantly at Ivan, her heart picking up pace once more. She didn’t know if it was because she always felt watched by the entire student body when she stood beside him, or if it was plain nervosity. She hoped for the latter. She wanted to fancy him, she’d realised about a week ago. Ivan was nice and good-looking and most importantly: he liked her and was not afraid to show it. “Ivan,” she finished softly. “Hi.”

The two younger boys looked between them, before glancing at each other, both sporting ill-disguised grins. Rose knew the story of this encounter would spread like wildfire tomorrow morning, and it would probably have taken on a few extra little well-crafted details that had been spun out of nothing.

“What are you doing here?” Rose didn’t know if she was asking the sixth-years or Ivan. 

Harper replied, still grinning, “Me an’ McDougal were doin’ our rounds, you kno’, and we ran straight inter Krum ‘ere.” He shrugged, looking up at Ivan. Rose could see the awe in his dark eyes. “Tried to tell ‘im, ‘e can’t be up this late.”

“Then you showed up,” McDougal finished.

“Oh?” She turned to Ivan. “It’s true. The rest of the student body aren’t allowed to walk around after curfew.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was worried about you.”

Rose’s heart skipped a beat. Harper and McDougal’s faces lit up.

“Your quidditch captain was saying you were missing at dinner,” he added at the sight of Rose’s expression.

McDougal snorted. “She was screaming,” he corrected.

“Eh.” She didn’t know what to say. Thanks? Perhaps not. “Alright.”

“Where were you?” Ivan asked.

Rose raised her brows. “Nowhere. I mean, uh—” What could she tell them? She couldn’t expose the existence of the Room of Requirement. “I was studying,” she decided.

Ivan nodded but still looked sceptical. The prefects shared his expression.

“I forgot about practice,” she added, but their expressions didn’t change. Rose wasn’t known for forgetting. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she tried slowly. “I think its messing up my memory.”

Finally, all three boys seemed to accept her excuse, their glares softening.

Rose exhaled. “I'll take care of this,” she said then. “Harper, McDougal, you're excused. You can go to bed. Good job.”

“But, we've only done half—”

Rose waved a hand airily at McDougal. The adrenaline was wearing off and she felt almost as tired as before her nap again. “That’s fine.”

“Yer sure?”

“Yeah yeah. Thank you. Go.”

Taking one last look at both Rose and Ivan, the two younger boys seemed to come to the same conclusion because their faces both lit up again before taking on twin mischievous smirks. 

“Okay,” McDougal said slyly as he took hold of Harper's bicep. “Let’s go then.”

“Have a nice night,” Harper grinned.

Ivan’s face looked as impassive as always. Rose tried for a more unimpressed look.

“Night,” she said, as sternly as possible.

The two boys scampered off, their chuckles and whispers bouncing off the stone walls.

Rose rolled her eyes before turning back to peer up at Ivan. “Were you actually worried?”

“Yes.”

Rose crossed her arms. “Really?”

“Mm.” Ivan was frowning heavily. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Dunno.” Rose shrugged before bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Come on,” she smiled, “I’ll escort you to your common room.”

“You will escort me? ”

 “Problem?” 

“I was the one out looking for you.”

Rose stuck her chin in the air. “Yeah? And I’m the one who’s actually allowed out after curfew.”

Ivan looked like he was silently trying to solve a particularly difficult arithmancy problem. “But—” He grimaced. “I don’t need help.”

“And you think I do?” Rose laughed. It echoed around them. Plenty of portraits on the walls turned to hush at them. “This is my school. I’m Head Girl. I know my way around.”

Ivan stared at her. He seemed to have run out of counterpoints.

“Just—” Rose grabbed him by the elbow. “Come on.” Tugging once, she started walking, and thankfully Ivan followed. Her hand resting in the crook of his arm felt hot, but she didn’t remove it. Not even when she saw Ivan glance down at her curled fingers. Not even when his mouth twitched into a miniscule smug smile. It did make her blush, however.

“Will I get in trouble?” Ivan asked. 

They were standing still on a staircase that had just decided to move.

“Nah.”

“Those two boys thought so.”

Snorting, Rose glanced at him. She was standing one step above him, making them nearly the same height. She enjoyed it immensely. “Those two boys just wanted to intimidate you. Besides, they didn't know that I’d get there, and I certainly won’t report you.”

Ivan grinned. “You won’t?”

“You’re new here,” Rose shrugged, but she too was smiling. “You didn’t know better.”

“Right. And the Head Girl was missing.”

“Right,” Rose nodded. “But if I see you again outside the dungeons after curfew…” She wagged her finger at him.

“I’ll behave,” Ivan concluded.

“Good. I don’t want to have to put you in detention.”

“You can do that?”

Rose just snickered.

As they neared the dungeons, sleep started to tug at her eyelids. They were discussing quidditch and Ivan who, like his father, was quite the seeker, was talking about joining the slytherin team. Only half-listening, Rose simply nodded and hummed at random intervals to seem as though she was participating. Maybe she should tell Ivan that Slytherin already had a seeker – Malfoy – but when she thought about it, she wasn’t sure he’d even said that it was the seeker position he was after.

Rose didn’t follow him all the way, instead opting to halt outside the entrance to the corridor leading to the dungeons. “You’ll have to manage by yourself now,” she said.

Ivan ignored the dig. “Thank you for not reporting me,” he said instead, bending down to give her an airy hug. He always hugged like that, with a few respectable centimeters of space between their bodies, only arms latching.

“Thank you for caring enough to look for me.”

Ivan frowned, stepping back. “Of course.”

“It’s not a given,” Rose shrugged. “I hardly think any of my cousins were beside themselves?”

“No.” Ivan shoved his hands into his pockets. Like always when he was beside her, his gaze was forever fastened on her face. “When your captain ran around, asking people if they’d seen you, no one seemed particularly bothered. Well, except for him. Malfoy.”

Suddenly, Rose’s drowsiness was as good as gone. “Malfoy was worried?” she asked, disbelief sharpening her words.

“Not worried,” Ivan said, effectively making Rose’s heart sink annoyingly. “He seemed angry.”

About what? About me ignoring him?

She’d have to investigate, but not tonight.

Rose shook her head to clear it, sighing out a vague, “Sounds like him.” Giving Ivan a perhaps too friendly pat on his shoulder, she thanked him again, then turned around and said her goodbye over her shoulder.

The dungeons were situated far away from the Heads’ common room, which meant Rose had loads of time to go over various things with herself. Her nausea had returned now when she was no longer properly distracted, and it reminded her of one of her more pressing issues.

It had said in the long list of side effects, that the contraceptive potion Rose was taking, could cause sickness, but Rose wondered how much and how frequent was normal. Because, she was beginning to feel that being safe wasn’t that worth it if it meant walking around feeling like she had to spew every time something jostled her.

Granted, she knew it might be an interaction effect with her anxiety, which usually manifested physically in stomach issues, but she wasn’t that much more anxious than usual. Maybe it was having moved to a new common room? Maybe it was all the change overall?

She should probably go to the hospital wing.

Next on her agenda was Malfoy. As she walked up a corridor on the fifth floor, she thought about Ivan’s furrowed brows when he talked about how no one had shared his worry over Rose’s sudden absence. It didn’t exactly bother her that no one cared – she often disappeared for hours on end to study by herself – but it did bother her that Malfoy had been ostensibly angry. The blond git was rather stingy when it came to sharing what he felt, so Rose could only imagine how worked up her avoidance must’ve managed to get him, if he was showing his frustration in front of the whole school.

She would have to speak to him sooner or later.

It was just that she preferred it if it was much much later – later probably than Malfoy would allow.

Most likely, it was only a matter of time before he cornered her in a more unpleasant manner.

She twisted her hands in her fingers as she walked up the last staircase to the large, ugly vase that would allow her access to her and Malfoy’s shared living space. You had to say the password into the mouth of the vase, then tap it four times.

“Ferret,” Rose whispered into the gaping hole.

It had been she who chose the password before Malfoy had the chance to intervene. He’d shot her a deadly look, but hadn’t said a thing. Probably due to the fact that McGonagall had been standing beside them both.

She tapped the ceramic, and a large oval-shaped door appeared in the stone behind it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside, holding her breath. It was dark inside the common room. The fire was burning, but only barely, sending out flecks of gold and ruby and ash. She tiptoed forward and was just about to pass the large twin armchairs when someone cleared their throat.

Rose shrieked, spinning to her left. Malfoy was glowering at her from the armchair furthest away, cloaked in shadows. “Bloody hell. You wanker – you scared the—”

“Where were you?” Malfoy stood up, closing up a book and setting it back on his seat.

Rose gave him a reproachful look, her left hand over her heart, her right on the armchair closest, helping her keep herself upright. “Don’t ever do that again,” she hissed, ignoring the question. “Git. I can’t fucking breathe.”

Seemingly trying hard not to roll his eyes, Malfoy merely pursed his lips. “You’re fine,” he said, then repeated, “Where were you?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’m asking. Stop being difficult.”

Rose scoffed. “I’m not being difficult,” she said, though she was. “You’re being an arse.” He was.

Malfoy looked just about ready to reach back, pick up his book and hurl it at her, but instead, he took a deep breath. “I was looking for you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh?” Rose said airly, as she started inching closer to the Head Girl staircase. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Weasley.”

“Yeah?” She put her foot on the bottom step.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh,” she looked at him over her shoulder. His pretty face looked dramatic in the light of the fire, all the angles and hollows accentuated by the glow. She swallowed. “Yeah. Not now though.”

He bristled. “If not now, then when?”

She took two more steps. “I don’t know – later?”

He sighed and she walked the last few steps to her door.

“I’m trying, you know.”

Rose felt her breath catch in her throat. With her hand on the door knob she twisted slightly to look at him. He looked smaller from above, more tired, less confident. She swallowed, nodding once. “Yeah. I know.”

“Then can you please—”

“Not now,” she interrupted, feeling her chest clench at the way his face fell and annoyance returned to mar his features. “Goodnight,” she whispered as she slipped into her room. 

She almost didn’t make it to the toilet before she emptied out her stomach.

“It’ll be class,” Al said to Ivan as Rose came up behind them at the slytherin table. Across from them sat Malfoy, eating porridge as his gray eyes followed Rose’s movements. “I mean, I’m going to miss you, mate, but you’ve got us one hell of a replacement.”

“I haven’t had anything to do with this,” the blond said after having swallowed his food. His eyes met Rose’s. “Morning, Weasley.”

She nodded at him. Things were at a stand-still between them. Malfoy had lessened his efforts to speak with her, but had instead turned cold and quiet. She still sort of avoided him, but felt awful about the way she was being so unprofessional. This wasn’t how she’d imagined she’d be as a Head when she was younger.

“What’ll be class?” she asked, placing one hand on Al’s shoulder and her other on Ivan’s. The latter shifted into her touch, making Rose’s stomach pinch.

Al looked up at her. “Oh, it’s you.” He patted her hand sloppily before returning to his bacon. “We’ve finally found a replacement for Scorp,” he told her through the mush in his mouth.

“A replacement?” She glanced at Malfoy who’d sat back in his seat, apparently finished with his breakfast. He wore an unreadable expression as he looked, not at Rose, but at Ivan. “A replacement for what?”

“I’m not doing quidditch this year,” Malfoy said factually.

“You’re…” She blinked. Was she still asleep? “You’re not playing?”

The blond quirked an eyebrow as he finally looked back at her. “No?”

Reaching across the table, Al gave him a friendly clap on his arm. “It’s a real shame – you would’ve probably made captain if you’d stayed.”

Malfoy just shrugged.

Rose couldn’t believe this. It was bollocks.

Scorpius Malfoy would never.

And yet, apparently, he was.

“I’ll be playing seeker instead,” Ivan explained then. He looked up at Rose with a curious expression as her head twisted to look down on him.

“You? But you’re not even in Slytherin. Not really.”

It was Ivan’s turn to shrug, but unlike Malfoy, he looked a little disappointed by her reaction.

“He’s honorary Slytherin, is what they’ve told us,” Al supplied. “McGonagall’s allowed and confirmed it.”

“But,” Rose’s gaze flipped to the sullen blond sod again. “Why?”  

Picking up a napkin to dry off his clean hands, Malfoy shot her a half-annoyed, half-wary look. “Are you sad about not having me around to beat you or what is this?” He let the napkin fall to his plate before standing up abruptly, drawling, “I figured you and the rest would enjoy this.” His eyes travelled between her and Ivan, a wicked smirk twisting his mouth. “Very star-crossed lovers, so to speak.”

Ivan met his gaze placidly, but Rose could feel her face beginning to burn.

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy.” When Al snorted to disguise a laugh, Rose cuffed him over the head.

Malfoy, still smirking, just said, “I need to talk to you. Later.” Then he left.

Rose wanted to run after him, hex him or shake his shoulders. But she didn’t. 

It probably wasn’t as apparent, but she too was trying.

She had to talk to him.

“Weasley.”

Rose ignored the voice, shouldering her way forward through the mass of students.

“Hey, Weasley!”

With a huff, she struggled ahead. The voice had sounded further away this time. A few younger students actually stepped aside when she tried to worm her way past them, still holding some sort of respect towards Rose’s H-badge. Most of the lot didn’t care one bit.

“I said: Weasley.”

“Fuck,” Rose hissed as two arms circled around her stomach, halting her before dragging her aside, out of the ocean of black-robed teens and tweens. She’d already been nauseous, but now with the added pressure to her middle, she felt like she was about to be sick all over one of the first years milling past her. 

“Let go of me,” she spat, pushing off Malfoy’s hands, and turning to give him a scalding look. “You can’t just go around grabbing people. Honestly, Malfoy, what the fuck.”

He was looking down at her disapprovingly, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pursed, as though it was she who was acting inappropriately. “I can, and I will,” he began, tone icy, “if the person I have to speak with keeps being impossible, ignoring me.”

Feeling her face heating up, Rose crossed her arms, leaning back against the stone wall. A couple of days previous, she’d decided that it was for the best that she finally had a talk with him. But it was one thing to think it, and an entirely different thing to actually do it.

“Well, go on then, what do you want?” she asked, looking out over the crowd, trying her best to avoid his glare. She could still see him rolling his eyes in her periphery.

“We need to plan rounds for next week. I wanted to know which time on Saturday suits you.”

“I always give you the same time though, don’t I? Three thirty in the afternoon.”

“I wanted you to confirm it,” Malfoy said, paying her hostile tone no mind. He’d regained his usual calm poise, and it annoyed Rose even worse than when he’d acted like he had no social boundaries. “Shall we just decide, that from now on, that will be the time we always–”

“Yes. Sure. Are we done here?” Rose turned to look up at the blond, eyes cold.

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose imperceptibly. But still, he nodded, and in the same cool tone as Rose, said, “I’ll see you on Saturday then.”

Rose nodded once. “Great,” she said scathingly.

“Perfect,” Malfoy bit back.

Staring furiously at one another for yet another second, the pair eventually broke apart, both turning on their heels to stomp away in opposite directions.

It was Saturday, three fifteen o’clock, as Rose stumbled out of Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory. All day her stomach had been churning, and a mere hour after a forced lunch, all its contents had come back up again.

She was dreading her and Malfoy’s planning session like dragon pox. Thrice now, she’d gotten away with rushing in, finishing their work as quickly as possible, and then giving a feeble excuse that she’d had to go see a friend. But somehow, today she felt as though Malfoy wouldn’t be as forgiving. All week, she’d had nightmares about him cornering her to pester her about their night together in July.

If he brings it up, Rose thought glumly to herself, I’ll petrify him.

Rifling through her bag for some gum, she staggered off towards the entrance to the Head dorms. Behind her, Rose heard the incoherent taunts of Myrtle echoing through the corridor.

She was excruciatingly tired. Having woken up at five thirty for an early quidditch practise, and then having to exercise for three hours because Lyra Towler thought it perfectly okay to not excuse her team until they’d perfected one ruddy play. She suspected it also had something to do with wanting to get back at Rose for missing practice the week previous. Rose wanted to curl up into fetal position and cease her existence. 

After practice, Julia had fetched her and dragged her off to the library to study, and then they’d been joined by Al who’d done his best to distract them. It hadn’t been until around half past one that Rose had excused herself and gone down to the kitchens for some alone time and a late lunch.

And then she’d hurled.

Stepping into the dorm, Rose groaned as she sunk onto the closest chair – more a stool – at one of the tables in the middle. She crossed her arms on the wooden surface, and laid her head to rest on top of them. Her hair cascaded down her back and front. It shielded her face from view as she peered at her watch. She yawned.

Malfoy wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes. She had time to rest her eyes.

Just a little while.

She blinked a few moments later, once more taking a look at the time.

Seven minutes to four.

Seven minutes to four?!

Sitting up abruptly, the force of the movement made Rose’s chair tilt backwards. She started falling over, following its motion. Her heart shot up into her throat as she locked eyes with Malfoy, sitting across the table from her.

“Ma–”

The blond lurched forward, seizing Rose by her arms and pulling her back to balance. Half of his body stretched across the table surface, he kept his hands in place. His face was mere inches from hers. Voice admittedly a bit strained, he said in an exhale, “Afternoon, Weasley,” his breath ghosting over her lips.

Rose shook him off. “Don’t touch me.” She shot him a reproachful look, knowing full well that his ‘touching’ had probably saved her from a nasty concussion. Raking her fingers through her hair, she pulled it away from her blushing face as she watched Malfoy sit back, looking absolutely unperturbed. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

An odd silence stretched between them as Malfoy just looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. Rose shifted under his gaze. Then, forehead smoothing out, he shrugged. “Came here five minutes early. Figured I’d let you nap for half an hour. It seemed like you needed it.”

“Oh.” She crossed her arms, looking away. “Thanks,” she told him begrudgingly.

“No problem. Sleep well?”

At this she merely raised a brow, not returning his small grin. She could see his brain working fervently behind his silver eyes.

Seemingly changing tactics, he asked, voice wary, “Are you alright, Weasley?”

“Mm-hm. Just haven’t slept enough.”

He peered at her consideringly. His worry appeared, to Rose at least, to be genuine. “You sure?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I’m sure,” she sighed, leaning down to pull her bag up onto the table, emptying it of its contents. Quills, ink bottles, and parchments – both empty and full of schedules and lists containing all prefects’ names – spilled out onto the old wooden surface. “Let’s just get this over with,” she said tiredly, picking up one of the schedules to see what needed changing.

“If you want, I can do this on my own. And you don’t have to do rounds next week. I’ll take care of it.”

Rose looked up from her parchment. Malfoy was still sitting, unmoving, on his chair, surveying her with that anxious gleam in his eyes. “Are you joking?” He was starting to worry her. What was this twilight zone she’d accidentally fallen into?

The blond raised a brow. “No?”

“Did you get hexed on your way here? Or did someone offer you a suspicious potion during lunch? You know you’re not supposed to drink from strangers’ bottles, Malfoy.” Rose forced a lighthearted tone.

“Weasley,” he clipped, not helping her diffuse the tension at all, “I’m just saying – if you need someone to ease your load, I can do it.”

“But—” Rose began, searching for words to convey the exact mixture of unease and confusion she was experiencing. 

“Yes?”

“You’re not supposed to want to do that,” she finished lamely, still staring at him, eyes widened.

Malfoy shrugged again. Scratching his neck, he looked out the window towards the grounds. “It’s fine,” he said, an air of indifference about him now, as though he too had suddenly gotten enough of the weird atmosphere. “I’m quite bored nowadays anyway. The common room is murder.” He turned his silver gaze on her. “You’d be doing me a favour.”

Assuming ge meant his old living quarters, Rose ignored the last part. She wasn’t about to let Malfoy take care of all Head-responsibilities, no matter how much both she herself and he wanted her to. That would entail going against 99 percent of her being. ”Why’s it so boring down there?” she asked instead.

“Well, with no Al, I don’t really have much to do,” Malfoy replied, slouching back into his chair as though the reminder had put a weight onto him.

“What d’you mean ‘no Al’? Where is he? I hung out with him earlier today.”

Malfoy released a mirthless laugh. “He’s there physically. But mentally,” he shook his head, then closed his eyes, his thumb and forefinger coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear to Salazar, I will avada him if he says one more thing about bloody Brianna Zabini.”

“Bree?” Rose couldn’t help herself – she started giggling, her lack of energy giving fuel to the humour. “Is that what’s got your knickers in a twist? You’re feeling lonely now that your best friend’s got a girlfriend that he’d rather play with?”

Malfoy opened one eye to shoot her a glare. “I’m not ‘feeling lonely’,” he said, clearly affronted at the thought. “And you wouldn’t like it either, having to listen to him wax poetry about her ‘perfect waist’ and the ways she kiss and—”

“Stop,” Rose interrupted sharply, her giggling immediately coming to a halt. She held up her hands in front of her in a warding gesture. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve made your point. I feel bad for you. Happy?”

A small smirk bloomed on Malfoy’s face. “Exuberant,” he drawled.

She rolled her eyes. “Can we get started then?”

Nodding, he picked up his brown leather bag and took out his own pieces of parchment. He stacked them neatly on top of each other before looking up at Rose expectantly. “Well?” he said after a few seconds of silence. “Any ideas?”

“Why do you expect me to have suggestions? Just a while ago you were offering to do this all on your own.”

The truth was, her mind was blank. 

Utterly (and worryingly) empty. 

Since the start of term, Rose had had a vague sensation of moving through water. Her brain worked sluggishly, and the rest of her body felt off. But she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Those symptoms weren't on the side-effect list.

She tried to eat and sleep as she normally did. And she still got her exercise from quidditch practices. Granted, she had Head-responsibilities now and N.E.W.Ts to think about, on top of her regular load of homework, quidditch and prefect duty, but it wasn’t that big of a change. And, if she was being completely honest, Malfoy was an exceptional partner. He completed tasks quickly but precisely, and he didn’t even seem aware that he was doing some of her work on top of his.

But still, the ever churning of her stomach, her bouts of nausea and heightened anxiety, didn’t seem to have an end-date.

“You declined my offer though, didn’t you?” Malfoy said, perfectly calm. “I expected it was due to you having opinions.”

Rose frowned. “Well, sure, always, but—” She broke off, huffing irritatedly. Shaking her head, she tried to rid it of the disorganised, buzzing sensation she was having.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re alright?”

He was looking at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. And wings.

“Yes,” Rose said impatiently. Then again, with vigour, more to herself than Malfoy, “Yes, I’m fine. Stop asking.”

It was Malfoy’s turn to raise his hands, now in a placating gesture. “Merlin,” he muttered.

A short, tense silence later, Rose took a deep breath, collecting herself. She was being ridiculous. For once, Malfoy wasn’t being a complete wanker, and she should be happy. She should not, however, be snapping at his every word.

“Frank Abercrombie has detention on Wednesday,” she said then, a feeble attempt to smooth things over and placate the blond. “And Emma Bell is in the hospital wing so she isn’t available either.”

If you just pretend that nothing is wrong, things get better, right?

Malfoy seemed to understand and accept her roundabout apology. He leaned forward in his chair and started scribbling on a piece of parchment. “Abott’s a no-go too,” he said without looking up. “And Smith turned in a complaint last week. He doesn’t want to do rounds with McMillan.”

“Why not? I thought he’d be pleased that we put them together. His crush on her is painfully apparent.”

Benjamin Smith was a fifth year gryffindor, and for over a year, he’d been mooning over Ava McMillan in Hufflepuff, throwing lovelorn glances and taking every chance to sit next to her during prefect meetings. She always agreed to do tasks with him, and Rose had seen them talking in the corridors, outside prefect duty. Lily, who’d been appointed as the female fifth year prefect in Gryffindor, had told Rose that ‘Ben wouldn’t even look at her as to not give McMillan the wrong impression’.

Malfoy glanced up. “Not to her, it seems,” he replied drily, then returned his attention to the parchment. “She’s going out with that ravenclaw — Patil, I think.”

Rose winced. “Poor sod.”

Malfoy hummed back in assent.

His fair bangs were falling into his pretty, focused eyes, and an overwhelming urge to reach out and push them back washed over Rose. She might not remember that night in July with clarity but she could recall the softness of his hair. She placed her itching fingers below her thighs, keeping them locked in place.

“So, maybe Smith can go with Katie Vane?”

Malfoy shook his head. “No-can-do. Vane hates his guts. He pushed one of her friends into the lake in third year. According to him it was accidental, but she doesn’t believe him."

A sort of snort-like giggle escaped Rose.

The sound brought Malfoy’s gaze to her. His eyes turned to where Rose was biting her lip, containing laughter. Sitting up straight, he braided his hand together in his lap, leaning back in the chair. “Do tell, Weasley. Why am I amusing you?”

Grinning, she shrugged. “I don’t know, Malfoy. Why do you know so much about Hogwarts’s fifth years?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I know you haven’t realised this yet, but I’m actually a quite likeable person. People talk to me. They entrust me with secrets and information.” He widened his eyes slightly at the end of his sentence.

An image of Malfoy, sitting in the slytherin common room with a gaggle of fifteen year old girls who relayed gossip to him, arose in her mind. She snort-giggled again at the thought.

“I wouldn’t trust you with one of my secrets even if it meant death.”

The blond did not bite. Instead, Malfoy shrugged. “You’re missing out,” he said, tone light.

“Yeah, I'm sure you think so.” He kept looking at her with a small smile, remaining silent. Shifting, Rose switched subjects, her heart suspiciously quickening its pace. “What do you suggest we do then? About rounds next week?”

Malfoy pushed the parchment he'd been writing on in her direction. “I was thinking something like this.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at his tiny, neat scrawl. He'd drawn up a table chart and had a horizontal row dedicated for each day of the week, as well as a vertical row for each house. For every rounds-shift he'd put down two prefects. And Rose had to agree that the duos were quite well matched. On some days however, since there were a few absences the coming week, he'd simply written down his own name, alone.

Frowning, Rose realised her name was nowhere to be seen. Grabbing his quill from his hand, she didn’t spare Malfoy a glance before pulling the parchment closer and putting a ‘Rose Granger-Weasley’ next to each ‘Scorpius Malfoy’ in the chart.

“There,” she said, pushing the parchment back. 

Malfoy had an unimpressed look as he surveyed the modified chart. His jaw tightened for a moment, before peering up at Rose through his lashes. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m happy to—”

“No, I didn’t,” she interrupted, mirroring his unimpressed expression. “But I did.”

The air suddenly felt thick. Rose could feel her already over-working heart speed up even more as the silence stretched out between them, Malfoy’s silver gaze feeling almost painful.

She hoped he understood that this was her way of making up for having been an unprofessional wanker. A white flag of sorts. She still didn’t want to talk to him about the party, but she also couldn’t deny that they had gotten along better after those days at the Burrow. And that he was a great Head Boy.

After a few seconds, not being able to withstand it any longer – and fearing what would happen if she allowed the blond to speak – Rose stood up abruptly. She scrambled to swipe up all her unused parchments, quills and ink bottles, stuffing them into her bag with the elegance of a flobberworm.

“Well, if this was all,” she began as she accidentally knocked over Malfoy’s opened bottle of ink, its contents spilling over half his piles of parchment. Stomach tightening, she immediately raised her wand, rectifying her mistake with a flick of the wrist and a quick look at her rival.

Completely ignoring the mess, Malfoy was staring up at Rose with a thoughtful, almost pitying expression. There was a small wrinkle between his brows, and a muscle in his jaw was working.

Rose stared back dumbly for a second, before nodding in good-bye and turning on her heel, her bag thumping into her back at the harsh movement. Her foot had barely crossed the exit door’s threshold before she froze in place at the word spoken behind her.

More specifically, the name spoken behind her.

“Rose.”

Giving herself whip-lash, Rose jerked her head to look back at the boy still sitting down in his chair, a solemn expression on his stupidly pretty face.

“What did you say?” she asked, voice tight.

Horrifyingly enough, her eyes had started to water.

Please don’t do this right now, she thought. Not now. Please, Malfoy. Please please please.

She squeezed her eyes shut quickly, swallowing down the bout of nausea that had just risen within her.

“Could you please stop trying your absolute hardest to escape me? I would almost prefer you hexing me all the time instead of whatever this is.” 

He looked… hurt? And when Rose didn’t reply to his frankly ridiculous query, Malfoy sighed, standing up.

“Could you come sit down? I just want to talk,” he said, motioning tiredly to the chair she’d just vacated.

Rose remained frozen in the doorway, merely glaring back at the blond, not able to breathe.

Sighing again, he pushed a hand through his hair, looking away for a second. When his eyes returned to her, they were sharp. Focused.

Determined.

She held her breath.

“Look, Rose,” he said, making her flinch yet again. “I understand you don’t like me — probably hate me even. And that you think us having sex this summer was a huge fucking mistake.”

Her mouth fell open at his bluntness, as if instinctively wanting to reply to him. If she hadn’t been mortified, panicked and beyond anxious, Rose would have been impressed by how unabashedly he used the word ‘sex’, not a trace of blush or discomfort on his face. 

“I don’t know,” he continued. “You’re probably right. It most likely was a huge fucking mistake. But,” inhaling deeply, Malfoy took a short pause as if to collect his thoughts, before braving onwards, “I don’t hate you. I never have. I actually – believe it or not – kind of like you after this summer.”

He must have noticed the fearful glint in her eyes, because he shook his head, holding out a hand. “Not like that,” he said hurriedly. He glanced behind her as if afraid that she’d right up and leave any second if he didn’t choose his next words very carefully.

Considering her inner raging turmoil, he was most certainly right.

With the softness and great care of someone approaching a frightened animal, Malfoy slowly walked up to Rose. Just as cautiously, he put a hand on her arm, making her turn around properly.

Mouth feeling drier than a desert, Rose finally released the breath she’d been holding. She glanced down at Malfoy’s fingers curled around her bicep, before returning her gaze to him. “What do you want?” she asked hoarsely.

He frowned. “I want us to be able to work together without you feeling like you have to avoid me, shout at me, or curse me. Being a Head is already a lot of work. Us not being able to collaborate only makes it worse.” She could see the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, but it was the only mark of nervosity. “I mean, don’t you agree?” he asked her.

Rose pursed her lips, looking down at her feet as she thought. Then it hit her.

“I don’t hate you,” she blurted, brown eyes darting up to meet his gaze.

Malfoy blinked. “What?”

He let go of her arm. Rose took a half-step even closer to him, furrowing her brow as she stared back challengingly. She’d shaken off the cold fear of the subject. This was the point of no return. She couldn’t exactly not respond.

“I don’t hate you,” she repeated, voice stronger, more clear. “You said that I ‘probably hate you’. I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“It’s just… difficult.”

Malfoy had frozen. “Difficult,” he echoed.

She nodded. 

Taking a deep breath, seemingly trying to regain his usual sense of ease, Malfoy pressed his lips together. He looked away for a second. Rose could see his brain working behind the silver of his eyes. As his gaze returned to her, he asked, “Difficult how, you mean?”

She was much aware of the close proximity of their bodies, but didn’t dare move away. Couldn’t move, more likely. “After…” She bit her cheek, focusing her eyes on Malfoy’s forehead. She didn’t want to appear embarrassed, but at the same time she didn’t think she’d be able to keep upright if she had to suffer his stare. “... you know.”

“After we slept together?”

Her cheeks burned. She nodded again. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, or how I’m supposed to act.” She inhaled, just to give herself time to think of her words. “And also, I’ve just been out of it lately. Haven’t really had the energy to work things out.”

In her own ears, it sounded like the most vague response she’d ever given anyone in this serious of a situation. And sure enough, Malfoy was looking down at her with a frown, but on closer inspection, he didn’t appear confused – just concerned.

A few seconds of silence passed between the pair, before he narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head to the side as he asked, with an almost innocently curious voice, “How do you want to act around me?”

Rose blanched. “What?”

The blond gave her a soft smile in return that twisted her chest and insides. It was so uncommon, so uncharacteristic – at least when directed at her. “You said you didn’t know how you were supposed to act. Well, how do you want to act?

Opening her mouth, hoping for a coherent answer to hop out, Rose looked like a fish on dry land.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I– I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“Mm.”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “Do you want it to be like before?” he asked then. “That we’re rivals or whatever.” He rolled his eyes at his own words.

“No. I don’t want that.” He was looking at her so piercingly that she felt the need to continue, dispel the tension. “Too many visits to the hospital wing. I haven’t the time for that this year.” She tried for a small, unconvincing smile.

His expression didn’t so much as twitch. “So you don’t want us to go back to what we were, and I’m assuming you haven’t fallen head over heels for me and want us to get toge—”

“Absolutely not.” The whole of Rose’s body felt like it was disintegrating at his suggestion, erupting into a swarm of buzzing insects. If she thought her cheeks had been burning a moment ago, it was nothing next to now.

This time, Malfoy did react, but it was almost imperceptible. At her interruption, his eyes widened, but his voice hadn’t faltered as he spoke. “Alright. So you don’t want us to be arguing, and you don’t want us to be a couple.” 

“Right.” 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Malfoy began, and Rose couldn’t tell if he sounded haughty, kind, searching or exasperated. “But to me it sounds like there are only two other directions you could possibly want us to go in; that we commit to just never talk or interact ever again – which is impossible since we are co-dependent in our positions as Heads – or that we,” he paused for a second, brow furrowing, “become friends.”

She stared up at him. Those stormy eyes were completely unreadable. His soft hair fell in pale strands down his forehead, and once again her hands itched with want to push it back. He felt so large and imposing, standing there in front of her, waiting for her assent, but at the same time it felt like the most normal thing ever. How many times hadn’t she ended up like this with Malfoy, mere inches apart in a staring match? Would it really be that hard to transition into a more friendly relationship?

“Friends,” she blurted, very intellectually, before thinking further. 

A small smirk seemed to pull on the corners of the blond’s lips. He hummed, “Mm, is that something you’d like for us to be?”

Why did she have to say it outright? A spark of annoyance lit in her chest. Yeah, she thought to herself, why was it that she had to be the one to make the calls about everything? He hadn’t said anything about what he wanted their relationship to be like, except that he wanted to be able to speak to her more easily. He always took the initiative, but never the final decision.

“Well what do you want?” she said then in indignation. “Do you want us to be friends?”

“I asked first,” he replied quickly, his grin unfolding fully onto his face.

Rose frowned. “You child.”

Malfoy merely shrugged. “I did ask you first. It feels like you’re trying to evade the question.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms. She was sufficiently irritated enough to be able to look into his eyes now. “Well, fine,” she said, almost spat. “Fine, we’ll be friends.” At Malfoy’s amused look, she rolled her eyes. “You, me and Al,” she muttered, “best mates.”

At the end of her sentence, he started to laugh, but he quickly collected himself when she stared up at him with a profusely annoyed expression.

He grinned, as he once again placed a hand on her bicep, squeezing lightly before letting go and offering her his hand in a handshake. “Friends,” he said, trying not to chuckle.

“Friends,” she echoed, still with narrowed eyes. As she grabbed his hand and shook it harshly, she had to focus all her attention on ignoring the electrical currents shooting up her arms at the feel of his skin on hers.

“I have such a good feeling about thi—”

“Alright,” Rose quickly let go of his fingers. Readjusting her bag’s shoulder strap, she gave him what she hoped was a scorching look. “I’m leaving now,” she announced, but she felt unable to move, fixed to the ground by his everlasting stare.

“Mm,” Malfoy was grinning still.

Rose had never seen him look so amused, so fully at ease.

“You were leaving?” he asked after a few seconds.

Her eyes widened. “Shut up,” she grumbled, spinning on the spot and marching away. She could hear Malfoy laughing.

“See you later, mate!” he shouted from behind her.

She merely raised her left fist, showing him her middle finger.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?” Rose wrinkled her nose as Malfoy sauntered up to her.

“Careful, Weasley.” He smirked. “That tone isn’t very friendly.”

“Bugger off.”

The smirk widened into a grin. “Abbot said he’d come down with something,” he told her, placing a hand at Rose’s back to urge her to follow him. “Most likely, he’s fibbing, but I can’t be bothered to care.”

Rose very nearly flinched, that sodding hand shooting goosebumps up her back. Instead, she inhaled, trying to ignore it. “You’re covering for him.”

“Right.”

They walked a few corridors in silence. Rose twisted her damp hair between her fingers as she let her eyes roam over the sleeping portraits. Before her and Abbot’s – now Malfoy’s – round, she’d had quidditch practice and after she’d done an everything-shower. She’d almost been late to the meeting spot by the grand entrance.

She peered at Malfoy in her periphery. He looked relaxed even though his back was incorrigibly straight, an easy smile on his face. It had been only one day since their agreement. They were friends now.

Rose wondered if it was okay to want to both shove your friend down a stairwell and shove him into a closet and snog him senseless.

Probably not.

“So,” they said at the same time.

Malfoy waved a pretty hand at her. “Ladies first.”

“Happy birthday,” Rose said. Her face felt hot.

But they were friends, and friends told each other happy birthday.

“Thank you.” Glancing down at her, he couldn’t quite hide all his surprise. “Didn’t know you knew it was today.”

Rose shrugged.

“Did Al tell you?”

“No,” she retorted, shooting a glare. “Of course I know when your birthday is. You know mine.”

“Sixth of January,” Malfoy nodded, not missing a beat.

Her heart skipped. “Right,” she grumbled. 

She didn’t see Malfoy’s amusement, having decided to stare directly ahead, arms crossed.

Quiet reigned for yet another half minute. Rose’s skin itched.

“What,” she forced out, “was it you were about to say? Before.”

Malfoy snorted. “Oh. Nothing. A bad joke. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

“Like I said: you wouldn’t like it.”

“Try.”

He raised a brow, looking down at her beside him. “Alright.” His tone made alarm bells clang in Rose’s head. Malfoy was right; she wouldn’t enjoy whatever came next. “I was going to ask you how things are going with Krum.”

She halted. “Fuck—”

“You asked to know,” Malfoy reminded her quickly, placing his hands in a very I-want-no-trouble gesture. 

“Git,” she grumbled at which the blond just shook his head. They resumed walking.

“Honestly though, how’s it going? Do you fancy him?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“So no.”

“No.”

“So yes?”

“No. I—” She huffed and turned to give Malfoy’s bicep a measly little flick. Now that they were friends, she assumed hexing wasn’t allowed. 

“It’s complicated?” he asked, looking unimpressed at her tiny act of violence.

She groaned. “Yes, okay? Yes, it’s bloody complicated.”

She had no want whatsoever in her body to discuss her love life with Scorpius Malfoy. And to be fair, she didn’t understand why he’d want to do so either.

They’d stopped again, in the middle of a corridor filled with classrooms, both half-turned toward the other, mere inches apart. They were so close, Rose could see how Malfoy’s chest rose and fell below his dark robes. She pursed her lips as she met his eyes with a rapidly weakening defiance.

“Why” she started, her voice sounding squeakier than she’d wanted. She schooled her face into a light frown, “are you asking?”

“We’re friends,” Malfoy replied evenly. “Friends ask about other friends’ love lives.”

They stared at each other for a beat, before Rose sniffed, diverting her eyes. Amid the pressure she felt over her chest, a certain curiosity was also building. She started walking without a word, glancing at Malfoy as he followed.

“Why’d you quit quidditch?” Her question echoed around them.

“Wanted to have more time to study, and to do a good job with this.”

“This?”

“Heads’ stuff.” Malfoy’s face twitched but when he looked down at her by his side, he wore his usual smirk. I didn’t anger Rose as much as it normally did. “Why are you asking?”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “We’re friends,” she mimicked him. “Friend’s ask about other friends’ big decisions.”

“Hm.” They managed half-way down a staircase before Malfoy asked, voice sly, “Will you miss me?”

A cackle of a laugh spurted out of Rose, and it made for such a edged, loud sound in the otherwise silent school, that she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Malfoy grinned. “Will you?”

“No,” Rose scoffed through her fingers.

A lie. She loved playing against Malfoy. Not only because he was talented and it made for a good match, but also because it was one of the few ways they could argue without anyone thinking they were insane.

And now Malfoy would be replaced by Ivan. Ivan, who looked at her, and her only, when they were standing in a group. Ivan, who didn’t feel the slightest bit of embarrassment in telling her how he felt about her.

“The Cup will go to Slytherin, that’s for sure,” Malfoy continued, and if it weren’t for the lightness of his voice, the way he said it like he’d read it from a sign, not as something meant to taunt, Rose would have pushed him down the last step of the stairs. He glanced at her. She was already staring. “Don’t you think?”

She set her jaw. “Ivan’s a great – an amazing – seeker, but that’s never a guarantee.”

Amusement pulled at his lips. “Right.”

“You should know,” Rose continued before she had time to stop herself.

“What?”  

Rose shook her head.

“Was that a compliment?”

“No. No no. You misheard.”

His grin was broad. “I think I heard just fine. You think I’m an amazing seeker.”

Rose frowned, shaking her head. “I meant in general. You should know, because it’s never a guarantee in general.”

“Oh? So I didn’t mishear then, you just meant something different.”

“Right,” Rose bit out.

Malfoy laughed. Flames licked Rose’s cheeks.

“Thank you, Weasley,” he said, eventually, after his laugh had diminished into just a grin. He bumped his shoulder to hers.

“Whatever.”

Nearing the end of their round, Malfoy said, “I’m liking this friend-thing, I think.”

Rose hummed. She did too, probably, but it was difficult being close to the blond. For multiple reasons.

As they were walking past the tall, closed doors to the Great Hall, Malfoy plucked something out of his pocket. He held it out to Rose. “Want one?”

It was a chocolate frog and at the sight, she felt a queasy sensation swell up in her. Clenching her jaw, she shook her head, afraid of what would happen if she opened her mouth.

“I thought you loved chocolate,” Malfoy said, a small furrow between his brows.

Rose nodded. “I do,” she said quickly, which proved to be a bad decision. Her throat spasmed, a bitter taste spreading over her tongue. Eyes widening, she brought a hand up to cover her lips. “Bathroom,” she grumbled in excuse before taking off.

She heard Malfoy’s confused calls echo after her as she skidded into the closest lavatory, sprinting into the nearest stall, then falling to her knees. All she could think as her dinner left her, was that she’d have to explain this to him. She groaned after the final retching, straightening up slightly, bringing a sleeve to wipe at her moist eyes. As she regained a semblance of calm, she heard the sharp sound of feet hitting stone. She cursed, launching forward to flush.

“Weasley?” 

“Just a second.” By the sound of his voice, Malfoy was standing in the doorway to the lavatories. Rose took a few deep breaths before standing up on wobbly legs. She hated, absolutely despised, throwing up. It left you so feeble. “Sorry,” she said weakly as she stepped out of the stall. She avoided meeting his eyes and walked up to a sink, beginning to rinse her mouth.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, leaning forward, her mouth in the stream of water.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” 

He was behind her now. She spat twice before straightening and turning half-toward him. “Mm.” She probably wouldn’t, but she was fine – she was just anxious and suffering the side-effects of a blasted potion that was supposed to aid her. When she started walking, expecting Malfoy to follow, she felt his fingers curl around her arm.

“Wait. I—” he stopped, tugged at her, and when she turned around, his eyes were filled with worry. “What just happened?”

“I think you know what just happened,” Rose quipped.

“Weasley. I’m serious.”

She shifted, looking down at his hand still grasping her. Immediately, he let go. “I… Uh.” Looking up, she faced him fully. “My birth-control… It’s making me nauseous.”

He blinked. “Oh.” Face clearing, eyes widening slightly. He opened his mouth, then paused, seemingly rethinking his words. “That must be… I mean – that sounds awful.”

Rose huffed, feeling her entire body cringe. “Uh-huh,” she said, giving his conflicted expression a last look before turning back to walk out the lavatory. Malfoy followed her.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She scowled at him for a few seconds, not saying a word.

“No. Of course not.” He raised his brows, turning to look ahead. “Sorry.”

“‘s fine.”

“Mm.” Yet another few seconds passed before he spoke up again, tone wary, “Have you talked to someone? A professional, I mean.”

She could feel his eyes on her, the way he was afraid she’d snap at him. The feeling was justified – she wanted to, but she was trying, so she took a deep breath. “No. But it’s probably nothing. Nausea is a common side-effect.”

“But to the point of vomiting?...”

This made her halt. Pressing her lips together, she waited for Malfoy to look at her before saying, dangerously calm, “I’m sorry, but do you have a lot of experience with contraceptives, Malfoy? Because you sure seem to have a lot of opinions.”

“I’m just—” He faltered.

“You’re what?”

“Well, I…” he frowned. “I don’t want my Head partner to be sick.”

“This is an inconvenience for you,” she deadpanned.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I’m fucking worried about you – okay?” It came out harsh and loud, more vexed than careful.

Suddenly, despite the space around her, she felt claustrophobic. “Well,” she retorted, just as loud, “don’t be. I’ve got it under control.”

“Fucking fine.” 

They stared at each other for a few charged seconds before Malfoy twisted around and started walking at a much brisker pace than before. Finishing the round in electric, indignant silence, they both stomped into their common room and up their respective staircase, only turning to look at each other when they each had their hand on their door.

“Night,” Malfoy said, tone sharp.

“Night,” Rose mimicked, equally as sharp, before they both stepped into their rooms, slamming the doors shut behind them.

Rose’s heart was beating frantically in her chest as she walked into her bathroom to ready herself for bed. 

He’d said he was worried about her. The sentiment had conjured up the image of Ivan, at the bottom of the stairs the previous week, breaking the rules to look for her. Because he was worried.

How couldn’t they all see that she was fine? She didn’t need help. She needed more time. More time, less nausea, and less men that thought she needed their advice or to have their hero complex shoved down her blasted throat.

She brushed her teeth with an angry fist clamped around the toothbrush, spitting blood when she was finished. Looking down at the pink froth she thought reluctantly that maybe she should see a professional.

Her last thought before she fell asleep, after she’d stopped fuming, was accompanied by a twinge of guilt.

She’d made Malfoy go to bed angry on his birthday.

Rose zig-zagged through the air, peering down at the quaffle as it flew from Julia’s hands to Lyra’s. Ducking from a bludger, she zapped to the right, nearing the goalposts. She’d thought she’d seen a glint of gold. Turned out it had only been the sun’s rays bouncing off the bronze of the posts. She huffed in frustration. If only she’d catch the bloody snitch, and practice would be wonderfully over.

Lyra scored a goal, the quaffle soaring through the right hoop, right below Julian Vane’s outstretched hand. Rose thought she heard him curse, but it was difficult to tell through the rushing of wind in her ears.

It was an unseasonably warm day in early October, a week after she’d readily angered Malfoy on his eighteenth birthday. They’d both seemed to grouchily accept that they’d been unnecessarily upset with one another, and hadn’t spoken of the argument, but had been significantly more civil toward one another than they’d ever been in the days after a fight in their previous years. Rose assumed it had to do with their truce and newfangled "friendship".

There! Before mentally registering what she’d caught sight of, Rose’s body had already leaned forward, her broom shooting straight ahead.

“Come on,” she gritted out, lifting her arm in the direction of the little golden ball that was flitting around before her. It zipped downwards and Rose followed without a second of hesitation. Her fingers closed around it. “YES! I GOT IT!”

The practice-game halted and everyone looked up at her.

“I got it!” she repeated, waving her shut fist in the air.

She received a few hoots and Well done’s before landing softly on the still green grass below. Walking up to Lyra who’d stepped off her shiny broom a few feet to Rose’s left, she reached out and dropped the little ball in her captain's leather glove-clad hand.

“There,” Rose said.

“Good job,” Lyra told her, but her forehead was lined in a frown. “Are you up for another—”

“No!” Elton Meyer – their third chaser – came up behind the captain. His hand came down on Lyra’s shoulder, making her turn. “No more. Towler, please – you’re killing us. Enough is enough.”

Lyra seemed to mull this over as she looked at his pained face. “Hm,” she began slowly, still frowning. “I mean, I just want what’s best for us, but if you lot don’t—”

“Please,” repeated Elton, shaking her slightly.

Their captain pursed her perfect lips. “Alright,” she huffed finally. “I guess we’ve done enough for today.”

Elton fell forward – in a bow or in relief, Rose couldn’t tell. It was possibly both. “Thank you,” he sighed.

They changed out of their training clothes quickly, most eager to get back to the castle. In the end, only Julia, Rose and Lyra were left. The latter was checking her reflection in the mirror, swishing her wand about her hair, making it fluff up. Rose sat on a bench behind the honey-blonde, wondering with an envious twinge in her stomach what sort of magic that was. 

Lyra caught her eyes in the mirror. “So, Weasley,” she said as Rose stirred. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about your predicament.”

Standing up to pull on her skirt, Rose raised a brow at Lyra’s reflection. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What predicament?” Was she about to punish her further for her blunder from a couple weeks ago?

“Scorpius,” said Lyra with a sly smile. “What’s it like living with him?” 

Rose blinked. “Sco— Malfoy? Why’re you asking?” But of course she knew why; Lyra Towler had had a weakness for Malfoy since second year when he (and Rose, mind you) made their respective quidditch teams. She felt Julia’s eyes travel between them.

“Oh, I’m just curious. And, like, I know everyone’s got their knickers in a twist about you and Ivan Krum – which, if that’s true by the way – I mean, I don’t think it is, but if,” she looked at Rose and nodded as though very impressed, “then go you, Weasley. But, regardless, I feel like I know that you’re not taking advantage of your living-situation in a way any other sensible girl would.”

Rose bit down the profanities she wanted to shout. “And what would that entail?”

Lyra winked at mirror-Rose, puffing up her hair one last time before turning around. “You know what I mean.”

How was she so beautiful? They’d been training for hours and Lyra’s hair looked clean and dry, arranged in soft waves, her face merely prettily blushing. Nothing like the tomato-face Rose was still sporting.

“I’m afraid I’m not following,” Rose said slowly, hoping Lyra heard the distaste in her tone.

Regardless if she did, her captain kept going. “Oh please. Don’t act like such a prude. Malfoy’s fit. You know it. I know it.” She glanced at Julia, shrugging, “Spinett knows it.” When Rose just frowned back at her she sniffed, rolling her eyes. “To be frank, I just don’t see why you haven’t switched your tactic. The sworn-enemies thing is getting old. You’ll never get him like that.”

Rose’s face exploded with heat, deepening the red from her earlier exertion.

“I mean,” Lyra continued as if she hadn't just said something obnoxiously ridiculous, “I’m not complaining. I’m grateful that you make yourself less of a threat. That means it’ll be easier for me, but I just don’t understand.” She made a face. “I hate not understanding.”

It was Julia who burst out into laughter, breaking the silence after Lyra’s monologue. “You think Rose’s behaviour towards Malfoy’s been a tactic of hers to get him to fancy her?” She grinned when Rose shot her an affronted look. “That’s hilarious. It’s been years.”

Lyra wrinkled her nose. “But, why else? Why else would one act like that? He’s such a great guy.”

Julia just shook her head in disbelief. “Yeah, maybe,” she shrugged, then fastened her eyes on Rose who pressed her lips into a thin line. “Why else would one?”

This was absurd. Completely and fully absurd. Not only because of the assumption of intention, but also that Lyra actually considered Rose a threat in separation from her apparently abysmal behaviour. Granted, she and Malfoy had slept together, but there was no romance between them – nothing real.

After a few too long seconds of being stared at, Rose huffed. “I’m not interested in Malfoy, Towler. You’re welcome to try all you want.” But even as she said it, she felt a bitterness rise in her chest. Lyra always got her wish. It irked Rose that she might get Malfoy too.

Lyra raised her perfectly plucked brows. “I don’t need your blessing, I think, but thank you.” She smirked again. “Maybe you can smuggle me into your common room some time? Help a girl out.”

Rose had to force herself not to stick out her tongue in disgust. There were few things she could imagine coming into their shared space worse than Lyra Towler. “Can’t,” she said eventually. “It only allows me and Malfoy.”

A teeny white lie was alright once in a while, right?

Lyra snickered. “What a shame.” Shaking her head, she reached for her bag. She stared into the air in a fabricated daze and said, almost whispered, “So much potential…” Then she left, shaking her head to herself.

Rose lingered in the changing room, feeling heavier than even hard training could be accounted for. Julia, who’d begun to stand up and leave, stopped when she saw Rose slump further onto the bench.

“You alright?” Her blue eyes scanned her friend.

“Yeah, ’m fine. Just tired.”

Slowly, Julia nodded, before putting on a small smile. “She outdid herself today,” she said, making Rose grin tiredly. “I don’t understand where she gets the energy from.”

“Me neither. She’s a right monster – and a horny one at that.”

Julia snickered, matching Rose’s grin, before asking, voice very kind, “Want to go back with me?”

“No,” Rose smiled apologetically. “Think I need a few moments for myself.”

“Fair.”

“Thanks though. I’ll see you tomorrow? Breakfast together?”

Julia nodded. “It’s a date,” she said, before stepping forward and giving Rose a short hug. “See you tomorrow.”

Rose watched as Julia disappeared out the door, her sleek brown hair swishing after her as she rounded the doorframe. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes, taking a few well-deserved, deep breaths.

She had to go back sooner rather than later, having tons of homework that she’d had to put off for a few days. Maybe Malfoy was onto something. Maybe she too should have quit the team to focus on studies and Heads’ business. Then again, quidditch was a stress-relief for Rose, and also, as much a potential way to a career as any school-subject. Not that she’d ever actually thought about playing professionally, but she’d also never had any other profession clear in mind. So, she stayed on the team, wanting to keep all doors open. Of course, that also meant she had to excel in everything.

She let out an exhale through her nose, before standing up resolutely. Trying not to think about Lyra’s perfect hair as she stood before the mirror, and picked at her tangles with a wide-toothed comb. Hugo had given it to her on her last birthday – a surprisingly fitting and thoughtful gift, coming from a younger brother in his early teens.

When her curls looked semi-presentable, she pursed her lips at her reflection. To her, it seemed her entire face was still glowing pink, her freckles standing out against the shade. There was a sink below the mirror, so Rose bent over it, turning on the faucet to splash some cold water onto her cheeks and forehead. She straightened up, using part of her sleeve to dry off.

There, she thought. As good as can be.

She hauled her bag over her shoulder, then stepped out into the cooling evening air. As she trekked up the grounds toward the castle, she watched as dusk unfolded. The sun had just lowered itself behind the high treetops of the Forbidden Forest, colouring the greenery orange and gold, and high up in the sky, a lone star had come out in the deepening blue.

As the temperature dropped, the grass at her feet had gotten damp and the moisture collected on her shoes. Rose watched as a bird landed close by among some shrubbery. She smiled at it and it tittered back.

Nearing the courtyard, Rose heard the movement before she saw it. Freezing to her spot, she began to look around. At first, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen him, but he camouflaged perfectly into his background as he leaned back against an old low wall.

Ivan wore a gray sweater and dark pants, and with his pale face and brown hair, it all blended into the nature and stone of Hogwarts. He looked up at her as she unfroze, his patented slight smile appearing as he started walking toward her.

“Hi,” Rose said, meeting him halfway. “What are you doing here? Curfew’s soon.”

“Afraid you’ll have to give me detention?”

“Maybe.”

He shook his head with amusement, before placing a large hand on her back, pressing lightly to get her to follow him. “Lily told me you had practice tonight. I wanted to go watch, but it seemed I was too late, so I thought I’d just wait for you.”

Glancing at his profile beside her, Rose suddenly thanked her face for having already been pink when they met. For now, fresh abashment was deepening the colour. “Oh,” she said. “That’s… How sweet of you.”

Ivan just shrugged.

Like always, his lack of self-consciousness disarmed Rose. The vulnerability made her jump to humour. “Why’d you want to watch us though? Are you spying on us now that we’ll be competing against each other?” She bumped her shoulder to his playfully. “Should I be worried?”

They’d reached the beginning of the low wall he’d stood against when she found him. He stopped, and resumed his earlier position. Tilting his head as he looked at her, he said, “I won’t go easy on you.” And before Rose had a chance to reply that that’s what she wanted, he added, “But I wanted to watch your practice because I’ve never seen you play and I heard you’re good. And,” he finished with a small grin, “it’s you.”

Wide-eyed, Rose swallowed down her first reply, which had been formed to wave off his flattery. If she wanted to fall for Ivan, she would have to start letting him in. After too many seconds of silence, she finally sighed, “You’re killing me.”

Ivan looked confused by this. “What do you mean?”

Rose flapped her arms agitatedly. “You’re so calm. And honest.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No no. It’s a great thing.” She took his hand, hoping to convey the message thoroughly. 

His fingers clasped around hers. “Then why am I killing you?”

Just as she was about to explain, an owl whizzed down from above their heads, landing beside them on the wall. Both turned to look down at the great oak-coloured bird. It hopped closer, sticking out a leg for Ivan.

Without a word, he started unfastening a large letter. Rose tried to reach out to pet the owl’s fluffy feathers, but it snapped its curved beak at her fingers.

She drew back. “Sorry,” she smiled sheepishly. “You’re a pretty one.”

The owl just blinked, its round, yellow eyes fastened on her face.

The moment Ivan released it from the letter, it hopped off the wall and took flight, disappearing into the fast-approaching night. He looked after it for a few seconds before turning back to frown at the letter.

“Who d’you think it’s from?” Rose asked. She’d leaned forward slightly to see the lettering on the front. Ivan’s name was written in a big, sharp scrawl.

“My parents,” he responded simply, his frown disappearing as he began to rip at the top.

“What do they want?” Her voice was low. She didn’t have to raise it, standing so close, her curls brushing against Ivan’s cheek as they leaned over the words in his hands.

Eyes moving quickly over the text, he said, just as lowly, “Say happy birthday, I think.”

Rose stiffened. “What?”

Ivan looked up at her now, his gaze heavy through his dark lashes.

“They want to tell me happy birthday,” he repeated matter-of-factly.

“It’s your birthday?”

“Yes?” He didn’t seem to understand why Rose was utterly flabbergasted.

She gripped his shoulders and shook him once. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t know!”

He frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

Acting fully on impulse, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ivan made a noise – something between a grunt and surprise. “It’s your birthday,” Rose breathed. “We should have celebrated.”

Arms carefully coming up to snake around her waist, Ivan shrugged. Rose could feel his nose in her hair.

“We don’t really care much for birthdays in my family,” he said softly. “Don’t be sorry.”

Rose felt her chest stir– with anxiety or relief, she couldn’t tell. Silently, she cursed herself. Regardless of how the Krum family dealt with celebrations, she should have done something for him. Not only because she felt a certain responsibility, what with Ivan not knowing all that many people at Hogwarts, but also because… because she just should have. You should know the people you cared for’s birthdays, and that was that.

She leaned back, letting her hands slide down to grip at his shoulders. Ivan’s arms remained around her waist. He didn’t look displeased in the slightest – rather the opposite, actually.

“Tell me if there’s something I can do for you to make up for it. I feel awful. Is there anything you want maybe?” Her mind was already whirring ahead. Maybe she could go down to the kitchens and ask the house elves for a cake or... Did Ivan even like cake? She tried to remember if she’d ever seen him eat anything sweet, but came up short.

Tilting his head again, he seemed to ponder her words carefully, a small furrow between those dark, bushy brows. “Like a present, you mean?” he asked finally.

Rose nodded quickly, encouragingly.

“Well, right now, I want to kiss you, but I don’t want you to say yes just because you feel bad for me.”

Please allow me to kiss you. I dare you.  

Her head spun. For a moment, she was back in the Burrow’s kitchen, glaring up at Malfoy. 

Her grip on Ivan’s shoulders loosening, she blinked. Silently, she considered the feel of Ivan’s hands on her back. It felt nice. Warm and soft. She took in his green eyes, confident but curious, waiting for her reply.

He was so handsome. Maybe she didn’t feel that spark yet, but who was to say that it wouldn’t come with a kiss? 

Slowly, she nodded. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” she whispered, leaning her head slightly closer. Her eyes flitted to his lips, then up to his eyes again. They looked wide this close. She felt his fingers tighten on her hips.

“Good,” Ivan said, also nearing her infinitesimally. “Then…” He looked questioningly at Rose.

She gave another slight nod and closed her eyes.

Ivan’s mouth was firm but slow on hers, as though feeling her out. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, a sort of sigh, that made some kind of sensation shoot down Rose’s spine. She let her hands travel to his neck, stepping forward to close the gap between their bodies. 

Just as Ivan was starting to deepen the kiss, his lips coaxing hers open, Rose feeling his tongue reach hers, a sharp sound made her flinch, breaking the kiss. She looked first at Ivan, who looked just as dazed as she felt surprised, then her eyes went to her left – the direction in which she thought she’d heard the noise.

Brown eyes met silver.

“Malfoy,” she said dumbfoundedly. He was standing a few meters away, in the curved opening to the courtyard. “Why… What are you doing here?”

The blond’s face was impossible to read, but when he spoke, his words held a cutting edge. “I could ask you the same.” His eyes left hers to rest on Ivan. “Curfew starts in five minutes. Better hurry, Krum, if you don’t want detention.”

Ivan raised his brows, but straightened from the low wall behind him. He looked at Rose, who imagined she appeared a touch frantic, giving her a small smile before leaning forward to touch his lips to her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, letting go of her waist. “Thank you for the present.”

She nodded dumbly, watching him in silence as he walked away, past Malfoy who was also glaring at him. Belatedly, she remembered to call out a weak, “Happy birthday!”

Ivan looked softly at her over his shoulder, raising his hand in a silent thank you. Then he disappeared behind the high stonewalls of the yard, leaving Rose alone with Malfoy.

Simultaneously, they looked back at each other. Rose noticed, for the first time, that he was holding his broom. Her first instinct was to tell him she wasn’t sure they were meant to use their Head-privileges to go flying in the night, but she was unsure of in what state she’d found the blond. It might set him off too badly. And they were supposed to be friends. She wouldn’t say that to her friend.

So instead, she asked carefully, “Were you going down to the pitch?”

He ignored her question. “I thought you said it was complicated.”

“What?”

Malfoy tsked to Rose's great annoyance. “You and Krum. You said it was complicated. That didn’t look very complicated to me.”

“I…” Rose frowned. Who was he to interrupt in the middle of a kiss just to be rude to both her and Ivan? “That’s none of your business,” she said with the most calm she could muster. Malfoy’s gaze bore into her. “It’s not up to you how I choose to date.”

Eyes widening, he just shook his head, beginning to stomp forward. “You’re unbelievable,” he said as he reached her. 

She was about one hundred percent sure he didn’t mean it in a good way.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said then, giving her a final glare before walking past her, not turning around once as he set off toward the pitch.

Rose followed the back of his platinum head with her gaze, feeling slightly put off. What was she doing? Was she actually trying to do something impossible? Could you make yourself fall for someone? Or was she just meaninglessly and cruelly leading Ivan on? She swallowed, deciding that she would answer those questions best as she could tomorrow, after she’d slept enough to trust her own mind.

She stayed long enough to see a shadow appear against the now dark sky above the goalposts, whizzing around in elegant patterns. It wasn’t until a shudder wracked through her body that she moved, arms coming up to hug herself as she turned to walk the way to her bed.

When Rose woke the next day she felt much better than during the too many hours of nauseous overthinking that had happened in the night. Even though Malfoy had made her falter, she was right: he didn’t have anything to do with how she chose to lead her dating life. And if she wanted to see how things would turn out with Ivan, that was none of her Heads-partner’s business.

She got dressed and clipped up her hair, then went down to the Great Hall for her breakfast-date with Julia. Arriving, she saw that her friend had already sat down at the ravenclaw table. Lysander Scamander was sitting opposite to her, chatting away, his white-blond curls bouncing in excitement. Rose slid into the seat next to her friend.

“Ah, Rose,” Lysander said. “Good morning.”

Julia let her head fall to Rose’s shoulder, apparently exhausted. Rose suspected it wasn’t from lack of sleep. Snaking an arm around the brunette’s shoulders and squeezing tight, she shot Lysander a smile. “Good morning, Lysander. How are you?”

“I’m perfectly good, I think. Just got a letter from my parents. They’re researching a new species of…”

Rose zoned out. It wasn’t Lysander’s fault, but she knew how it went when he fell into a monologue about never-heard of animals and plants. She guessed she at least could rule out a career for herself in the magical creatures branch.

After five minutes of Rose and Julia staring blankly at their fellow Ravenclaw as he went on and on about the fascinating new discovery, he suddenly stood up. “Thank you for the company,” he said. “But I just remembered I forgot my books in the tower. Bye.” He left with a flounce of fair curls.

Julia and Rose waved at his retreating back.

“He truly is something else,” Julia said.

Rose snorted. “He doesn’t mean anything by it – nothing bad anyway. His parents are just like him.”

Julia hummed, slumping down over her crossed arms at the table.

“D’you wanna know something?” Rose asked, trying to make her voice as neutral as possible, but Julia immediately perked up at her tone.

She lifted her head. “Yes. What’s happened?”

Leaning closer to whisper in her ear, Rose said, “Ivan kissed me last night.”

“What?” Julia jerked back, blue eyes wide. “That’s… That’s,” she frowned, “nice?”

“Why do you look so sceptical?”

“I just,” her friend hesitated, “I mean, I just didn’t know you actually liked him like that.”

That made Rose start. “Oh.”

“Do you?”

Did she? Not yet maybe, but she enjoyed his company, and he was nice and respectful toward her. Also, he was pleasant to look at. And the kiss hadn’t been bad at all. In fact, it had been perfectly nice.

“No,” she responded, not seeing the point in lying to her best friend. “But I think I’m working up to it.”

Julia made a face that made Rose's stomach sink. “Working up to it?” she mimicked.

Crossing her arms, Rose bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah? What of it?”

“I just… It doesn’t sound very romantic, is all.”

“A kiss is plenty romantic!”

Julia kept making that face that bordered on pity, but finally acquised, “Alright. I mean, you should know.”

Having realised the way she’d just raised her own voice a little too loud for comfort in the rapidly filling hall, Rose whispered her next reply. “Can you please not look at me like that? You’re making me feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t.”

Raising her hands in a placating gesture, the expression disappeared from Julia’s face. “No. Sorry. You’re free to do whatever you want – of course you are. I just thought…” She faltered, her eyebrows pinching together. “Nevermind. You do you, Rosie. If you think you just need some more time with him, then I trust you. I’m on your side.”

Again, Rose felt like when Malfoy had left her by the courtyard the previous night – confused, annoyed and guilty. “Alright. Thank you,” she forced herself to say. You couldn’t always be in agreement with your friends. Besides, Julia clearly just wanted what was best for Rose. “What were you about to say, by the way?”

Julia just shook her head, turning to pour herself a glass of juice.

“No, please tell me. I want to know. It’s fine.”

“I don’t know. You won’t like it.”

Rose thought back to her round with Malfoy when he’d asked her about Ivan. She’d replied that it was complicated. That thought in turn brought her back to his words from the day before. That didn’t look very complicated to me.

A lump formed in her stomach. “No. Tell me,” she said, trying her best to sound at ease.

Why did everyone around her seem to think she couldn't handle what they had to say? Was she really seen as that emotionally volatile?

Julia pressed her lips together, shrugging, as if to say Suit yourself. “I was going to say that I was starting to think you were beginning to… warm up to Malfoy.”

Rose blinked, feeling warmth spread up her neck. “You’re just as bad as Towler.”

Rolling her eyes, Julia sighed, “You said you wanted to know.”

Just then, Rose spotted the blond entering the Great Hall, and to her great horror, her and Malfoy’s eyes met. Ducking down with her head, Rose whispered, “Right. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Julia replied glumly, taking a sip from her glass.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, before Julia’s elbow nudged Rose’s side. “So,” the brunette said, her tone back to normal. “How was it? Really?”

Rose appreciated the effort. She gave her friend a half-smile. “Honestly? It was just nice.” 

When Julia looked away to hide her grin so as to not seem too smug, Rose appreciated that too. Turning back to shrug at her best friend, Julia said, “Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah,” Rose said, feeling laughter clog her throat – it was all so silly, “it really could’ve.”

Smiling, she felt a sudden twinge of guilt at not having told Julia of Malfoy. But what good would it do now? She knew they’d decided to be friends, and that was what was important – the only thing that mattered.

It’d have to do.

Three weeks passed, filled with nausea and tentative dating.

Tentative because Rose had approached Ivan, strengthened by her and Julia’s conversation, to tell him that she needed them to take things even slower. She didn’t regret the kiss – at all – but she felt it was too much for the place she was in at the moment.

Ivan had looked a little disgruntled by her wish, but had acquiesced like she’d expected him to.

The first Hogsmeade weekend, about a week into October, he’d asked her to go with him. Rose who’d had a particularly nausea-and-toilet-visit-filled day hadn’t felt overjoyed, but she’d said yes.

She’d ran into Malfoy on her way out of her room, about to go meet up with Ivan in the entrance hall.

“Oh,” Rose exhaled, stopping abruptly at the first step up to the Head girl bedroom. “Hi.”

Malfoy looked up at her from a large newspaper in his lap. “Hello.” Eyes scanning her quickly, seeing her outdoor clothes, that she’d fixed her hair, the light make-up she’d put on, he asked, “Are you going to Hogsmeade?”

“Yeah. You?” she asked even though it was obvious he wasn’t. He was wearing a pair of soft cotton pants, and a large jumper with holes at the sleeves. If she wasn't misremembering, she thought she'd seen Al in the same shirt once. On his feet were a pair of slippers that Rose had mocked him for immensely. They made him look like an old man – especially when he was carrying around the Daily Prophet on weekend mornings such as this. Malfoy seemed to think it was an okay thing for her to joke about.

He shook his head. “I was thinking about getting a head start with the potions assignment.”

“Oh,” said Rose again. She felt weird – stuck – as though she didn’t really want to leave the warm common room at the same time as she really didn’t feel like staying.

“You…” He frowned.

“Yeah?”

Sighing to himself, Malfoy slumped to the side, placing an elbow on the armrest. He waved lazily with his free hand in her direction. “You look nice.”

Rose felt a burst of warmth rise to her neck and cheeks. Unwittingly, her hand went up to her hair, fingers twisting into a curl. “Really? You think?”

Malfoy’s face took on a look of exasperation. Rose thought his moment of softness was rapidly coming to an end. He was going to tell her off now, surely – twist this into an argument. 

But then he surprised her, simply pursing his lips. “You know you do.”

Rose, in fact, wasn’t at all sure about that, but it was a kind sentiment.

“Thank you.”

He waved again.

Feeling the conversation was over, Rose walked down the stairs then headed for the exit door. As she passed him, Malfoy’s eyes fell to his newspaper again. Just when she was about to leave, she halted.

“Would you,” silently, she cursed the way her voice came out so weak and wobbly, “like something from any of the shops?”

Malfoy looked up again, gave her a funny look, before shaking his head. “No. But thank you.”

Rose smiled. “No problem. That’s what friends are for.”

The date in itself had been nice. They’d gone to the Shrieking Shack, and the sweets shop, to the Three Broomsticks, and the newly opened Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. James and Fred had been working when they entered. They’d both remarked on what an honor it was to have the wizarding world’s hottest new couple in their shop. When Rose had hissed at them to shut up, the rest of the jeers and jokes had been in the form of whispers in her ear as her older cousins passed her when she looked at products.

Ivan had seemed to be enjoying himself. He rarely reacted when people commented on his and Rose’s relationship. She put it down to a high baseline level of self-esteem, and an inherent certainty that he knew exactly what they were and that Rose would continue being honest and upfront with him.

She liked that about him.

After they said good-bye to her teasing cousins, but before they left the small village, Rose remembered to run back into Honeydukes for some sugar quills. They were Lucy’s favourite. While in there, she scraped together a few chocolate bonbons as well. When her nausea passed, she’d be sure to want them.

Ivan dropped her off by the large vase in front of the Heads’ common room with a kiss on her cheek. Rose guessed that was fine.

The coming fortnight they hung out a few days a week. He came to watch her quidditch practice – something Lyra was highly suspicious of, they went on walks around the lake, sometimes alone and sometimes with Julia or Al or even Lily and Lucy, and he studied with her a few afternoons in the library. 

Rose enjoyed the latter the most. Not only because she loved the quiet and comfort of a room bursting with books, but also because she didn’t have to come up with conversation, and she got work done. Sometimes it was more difficult than others. Ivan had a tendency not to actually read or write, but rather just sit with his books in front of him and look at Rose while she studied. But after she’d gotten used to it, and realised it didn’t mean she had to stop writing and instead entertain him, it had been alright.

With all the newness of seventh year, it wasn’t until a few days before Halloween that Rose decided she’d put it off for too long; she marched her way up to the hospital wing.

Madame Rowe, Hogwarts’s young, newly hired healer and matron welcomed her with kind, curious eyes. Everything about her was warm. From the brown shade of her irises, to the hue of her hair and robes, all the way to her smile and her palms when she took Rose’s hand.

“Ms Granger-Weasley. What can I help you with, dear?”

Rose swallowed. “I,” she started, but immediately her throat closed up.

“Yes?”

Sod it! She was a legal adult – why was it so difficult to talk about her issues?

“I,” she tried again, “have been experiencing some nausea lately.” It was putting it mildly, but it felt easier to say that way, Rose thought.

Madame Rowe nodded. She was looking down at a small pad, writing down notes. “And when did this start?”

“Uh, somewhere in August, I think.”

“In August,” Madame Rowe echoed, then her head shot up. “August?” Her brown eyes had widened slightly.

Rose nodded quietly.

Madame Rowe’s eyebrows pinched together as she tilted her head at her. “Poor girl, why haven’t you come earlier?”

Looking down at her hand in her lap, Rose murmured something about a full schedule. She felt very very small.

This seemed to annoy the matron, who spun around to fetch something from a cupboard, mumbling to herself about perfectionistic students, insane teachers and too high expectations. As she returned, she seemed to have regained a sense of calm, but the soft pink of her cheeks had reddened. She bent down over Rose who was sitting on a cot close to the closed exit door. Madame Rowe placed her warm hand over Rose’s knuckles.

“I’m sure we can manage this just fine,” she said, searching for eye-contact. “Why don’t you tell me a bit more of your symptoms? Would that be alright?”

Rose nodded, meeting her gaze. 

Madame Rowe smiled confidently. “Alright, let’s start then. For example: when does this nausea usually arrive? How bad is it? Do you vomit or have you noticed anything else such as tiredness or the like? Do you have an idea about the cause?”

As concisely as possible, Rose tried to explain it all, being as clear as possible without going into the gory details. First, she told her about the contraceptive potion and the list of side-effects – how she thought that was the main culprit, and how the witch at the apothecary had told her to look up a healer if she experienced bad symptoms. She tried to excuse her procrastination by telling Madame Rowe how she hadn’t been sure that she was experiencing something out of the ordinary or that she maybe wasn’t sick enough (something Madame Rowe had tutted, but at the same time also squeezed Rose’s hand a little extra at). Then she went on to talk about the randomness but high frequency of the nausea, about how it fairly often led to her being sick. She described how she didn’t have as much of an appetite any longer, but did try to eat enough to compensate for her vomiting. She explained how she’d been tired for weeks, but that she didn’t find it all that odd due to her mass of duties. The words fell out of her, faster and faster with each sentence.

Madame Rowe listened attentively, not interrupting her even once. Not until Rose was completely done and had sat silent for a few seconds, did the healer say another word. “It sounds,” she said, voice clear, “that you’ve suffered quite greatly.”

Rose’s chest clenched, her throat clogging. With embarrassment shooting up at her, she felt her eyes begin to water. “Mm-hm,” she squeaked out, causing a tear to roll down her cheek.

“It’ll be alright,” Madame Rowe said, sympathy shining through her eyes. She straightened up. “I want to run a few tests. It sounds likely that your potion is contributing to your sickness, but I want to make sure we’re not missing anything. Does that sound okay?”

Rose nodded.

“Any questions?”

“No.”

Madame Rowe smiled. “First, let’s take your temperature.” She took out a thermometer from her apron, asked Rose to gape, then put it into her mouth. After a minute or so she took it out, scanning the object’s surface. “A little higher than normal, but not a fever,” she said. 

They went on to take her pulse and blood pressure. The latter looked normal, but it seemed her pulse was also a little on the higher side.

Madame Rowe narrowed her eyes as she wrote down the numbers on her pad. “Alright,” she said before looking up at Rose again. “Onto the next. Are you feeling okay?”

Having only spoken or moved on command from Madame Rowe for the past fifteen minutes, Rose felt a little dazed, but fine. She nodded. “I’m alright. Just happy to get this over with.”

“Right.” Madame Rowe smiled, then went further back into the large room to fetch something. When she returned, she was holding a glass of what looked to be water, and a small bottle.

As she passed them both over to Rose, she realised with a start that the latter contained a turquoise liquid. The same one she’d seen in the Room of Requirement.

Chapter Text

Rose eyed the swirling liquid sceptically. “What is it?”

“Ms Granger-Weasley,” said Madame Rowe, making the redhead look up at her, “is there any chance you might be pregnant?”

A snort wrestled out of her. “No.”

“Are you sexually active?”

Rose’s cheeks burned. “I haven’t slept with anyone since July.”

“And when was the last time you had your period?” Madame Rowe asked, calmly.

“Late June, beginning of July.” Rose frowned. “But…” she faltered, thinking back. “I took a day-after potion.”

Madame Rowe nodded. “I see. I’m asking because there are so many hormones and such that can cause all kinds of oddities in a teenager’s body – in anyone’s really.” It felt more to Rose, that Madame Rowe could see right through her, than that she was looking at her. “And I want to cover all areas,” the healer continued calmly. “If we take a pregnancy test, we can then proceed and take a few different tests to look for STIs.”

Rose blinked up at her. Her stomach was a black hole. “Do you really think I’m pregnant?” she whispered.

Madame Rowe looked back at her, face unreadable but well-meaning. “I don’t think anything yet. These are all just hypotheses that I feel we should try. What do you think?”

“Me?” Rose swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“But do you understand my reasoning? Are you comfortable taking a pregnancy test before we move to the STI-tests?”

Rose was about to shrug, but then she realised she was being ridiculous. Madame Rowe knew best – obviously – and if she thought Rose needed this, then she probably did. Plus, Rose herself knew how difficult it was to get pregnant, especially factoring in the day-after potion. She was probably worrying for nothing. Taking a deep breath, she nodded once.

“Alright.” Madame Rowe placed a hand on her hip. “Drink that glass of water and the full bottle of potion. We’ll have to wait twenty minutes or so before you can go pee.”

Suddenly Rose felt a pressing need to go to the loo.

“If your pee is a normal colour, it means you're not pregnant. If it’s turquoise, there’s a significant probability that you are.”

“Okay.” She downed the glass, then the bottle. It tasted pleasantly of something akin to black currant. “Should I…? Is there anything else I can do?”

“No.” Madame Rowe shook her head. “You just rest, dear. I have to fill in a few forms, but I’ll tell you when it’s been twenty minutes.”

Every second felt like ten minutes, every minute like hours. When Madame Rowe returned, Rose felt it wouldn’t have been odd at all if she’d see night descend outside the windows, even though she’d walked to the hospital wing right after having woken up.

“Alright, dear. You can use the one in the back.” She pointed to a drapery in the far right corner of the room.

Rose pulled away the drapery, finding a toilet of sorts. It looked movable. She closed the drapes around her, pulled down her trousers and took a seat. It took a minute before she could finally get some fluid out and even longer before she dared to stand up. Without looking, she got dressed. Her fingers stumbled on the buttons and zipper.

“Madame Rowe,” she said. “I’m finished.”

Seemingly sensing her anxiety, Madame Rowe came up to her. “Is it alright if I move the drapery?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

With a swish, they were eye to eye.

“Would you like for me to look with you?”

Rose nodded, immensely grateful for the lack of judgment in the matron's tone.

“Okay.” Madame Rowe took a step closer, a hand falling to rest comfortingly at Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s check then.”

Turning around, Rose and Madame Rowe peered down together into the bowl.

Turquoise.

Rose’s heart sank.

She flinched when Madame Rowe turned toward her. The young healer's face was schooled into a soft neutral look. “Ms Granger-Weasley, would you like to go sit down?”

She was pregnant.

As in a human was growing in her uterus.

Still staring at the turquoise, Rose was paralysed.

“Ms Granger-Weasley,” Madame Rowe said again. “Come here.” She took Rose firmly by the crook of her elbow and led her back to the cot.

Just as she fell back onto the mattress, the entrance doors to the infirmary opened with a bang. She couldn’t be bothered to look. A fuzzy sound filled her ears.

“Madame Rowe, we think Silverton's sprained her wrist. Could you… Rose? What are you—”

“Mr Potter,” Madame Rowe interrupted, making Rose raise her head slowly, “tell Ms Silverton to come here in an hour. Wrap something tightly – but not too tight – around it to reduce swelling.”

“Okay, but… Rosie, is everything alright?”

“Mr Potter,” Madame Rowe said, the warning clear in her voice.

“Alright alright. Talk later, Rosie?”

“Mr Potter, don’t force me to use magic.”

“Fine,” Al bit out.

Rose watched numbly as he spun around and slammed the heavy doors closed behind him.

Hot, fat tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Once again, Madame Rowe sank down before her. “I understand this is difficult, but we can’t be entirely sure that you are pregnant yet. Regardless, there are plenty of options for you to choose from. I can help you. And if you want, we can firecall your parents right now. Just—”

“No,” Rose sobbed. “Please don’t tell them. Please. My mum would never understand.”

Madame Rowe made a soothing sound. “Deep breaths,” she said, patting Rose on the arm while inhaling and exhaling with her. “That’s fine. Ms Granger-Weasley, you’re legally an adult. I’m sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell your parents anything about your medical history unless you give me permission or ask me to.”

Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, Rose nodded. A small wretched sound left her.

“Would you like to rest for a bit, or should we do another test to be fully sure?”

This was it. She already knew what the test would say. Of course it’d be positive. It was written in the fucking stars that Scorpius Malfoy would ruin her life.

“Just— Get it over with,” she whispered, trying hard to even out her breathing.

“Okay. Could you lay down for me please?”

Madame Rowe helped Rose scooch back on the bed to lie down flat on her back.

“Will it hurt?”

The matron’s eyes widened. “Merlin, no. It’s just a spell. You won’t feel a thing. I promise. Later on, however, you might experience some dizziness, nausea and shortness of breath. That’s why we usually do the potion-test first.”

As she was already feeling all three, Rose closed her eyes, and revealed her stomach when the matron told her to. Her chest hitched. The cool, fall temperature that permeated the castle felt invasive.

“Do you want to watch or would you prefer to keep your eyes closed?”

Opening them, Rose glanced at her. “What will I see?”

She imagined her skin turning to glass, allowing her view of her glistening insides, the guts and gore. She shuddered.

“It’s a bit like the last test: if you’re with child, your stomach will glow, if not, it’ll stay the same.”

She already knew anyways, so what was the point in acting like a coward?

Taking a last rattled breath, she sighed, “I’ll watch.”

“Alright then.” Madame Rowe raised her wand and slowly traced a complicated pattern across Rose’s middle, her lips moving in a silent incantation. As she moved away from Rose, a glittering fog, a soft and solid light, started to emanate from Rose’s skin.

Fuck fuck fuck.

She made another squeaky sound.

Fucking Malfoy and his fucking hair and eyes and hands and fuck him and his disgusting dares.

I’m going to die. This is it. 

Fuck this.

I’m probably not suited for birth. I’m weaker than other women. I’ll die delivering the baby. Madame Rowe can probably tell that too, just looking at me.

Fuck Malfoy.

Fuck me.

Mum and Dad will murder me dead.

Fuck him.

A burn scratched at the backs of her eyes.

Madame Rowe gave Rose a minute, before she said, “This confirms the potion-test. Ms Granger-Weasley, I am here for you. Whatever you choose to do from now on, I’ll support you.”

As if on cue, her tears began to stream down her face once more, dampening the pillow below her. Her breath hitched. “What should I do?”

Madame Rowe sat down beside her on the mattress. “Well, there are lots of alternatives—”

“I can’t be a mum,” Rose wailed suddenly, interrupting the healer who just blinked. “I’m so anxious — a baby can’t have that!”

“Ms Granger-Weasley, let’s take a few more deep breaths.”

Rose tried her best to follow Madame Rowe’s exercise. Surprisingly, it helped. She was still weeping, but her pulse slowed, and her breathing evened out ever so slightly.

“Now,” Madame Rowe’s eyes were stern but still warm, focused, “as I said, there are multiple alternatives for you to choose between. Certainly, keeping it is one, but there are also adoption and abortion.”

Rose’s mind swam at the words. None felt right. “I— I don’t,” her throat clenched, “I don’t know.”

Madame Rowe gave her a small smile. “You don’t have to choose just now, dear. Take a few days.” Her lips pursed. “You said your last period was between June and July, correct?”

Rose nodded.

“And you last had intercourse in July?”

“Yes, around the 20th.” Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. Her eyes burned.

“Would you assume that is when the conception happened?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have sex before that?”

Shaking her head, Rose brought her fingers to her eyes to dry away her tears – her skin was starting to itch. “Not for months,” she told Madame Rowe shakily.

The healer nodded slowly. “Right. Then you have a few weeks to decide on an abortion, if that would be the option you feel might suit you best. Until then, I’d like for you to come in once a week so that we can keep an eye on you and your baby.”

Your baby.

My baby.

Rose looked down on her still bare stomach. It was growing in there, becoming a full-blown human being. Pulling at the hem of her shirt, she nodded at Madame Rowe.

“And Ms Granger-Weasley,” the matron’s eyes were intent on Rose’s, “I know you said you don’t want to discuss this with your parents. I understand just the thought might be frightful, but I do feel that I would be amiss to not ask you to reconsider. If not your parents, then another relative or adult who has children. Having someone who’s been through something similar by your side is invaluable.”

Queasiness started climbing up her throat, but she nodded again. “I’ll think about it.”

Madame Rowe smiled. “Good. Would you like to stay here for a while? Otherwise we can decide on a date for you to come back.”

“I think I’d like to go back to my room.”

“That’s fine. Do you have any questions?”

Did she? Probably. Thousands of them. But not one stood out clearly enough for her to ask it.

“I— Not now. Just… Please tell me if there’s anything special I should think about.”

Rose clutched the pamphlet to her chest as she climbed the last long staircase to the floor of the Heads’ common room. Echoes of footsteps reached her as she got closer to the corner beyond which stood the vase.

Instinctively, she knew at once who it was.

Of course.

Because, it seemed, the universe didn’t like her all that much lately.

She stopped, shoved the pamphlet under her jumper, and waited. Just as she’d known he would, Malfoy appeared, walking directly toward her. In the second before he noticed her, Rose thought he looked rather perturbed.

“Weasley,” his footsteps quickened, “are you alright? Why were you in the hospital wing? Al—”

“I’m fine.”

He stopped two steps before her. “Why were you there?” His gray eyes roamed over her, from top to toe, still that small wrinkle in his brow.

“I…” What could she say? The dizziness Madame Rowe had warned her of was starting to creep up her brain, making her feel physically as well as mentally out of balance. She shifted. Staring at her feet, she replied, “I did like you said. I told Madame Rowe of the nausea.”

“Oh.” 

Suddenly a pair of black loafers joined her own sneaker-clad feet. A tentative hand landed on her bicep.

“That’s great.”

Rose looked up, directly into Malfoy’s intent gaze. “Yeah. I guess.”

Her voice was so weak.

Pressing to her stomach, the pamphlet felt as though it was on fire. She shifted again, almost stumbling to her left before Malfoy’s hand gripped her a little tighter, unwittingly keeping her upright. Dazedly, Rose recognised that the blond must be able to see that she’d been crying. 

Then again, maybe he didn’t. Men were stupid like that.

“What did she say?”

“Uh.” Rose frowned, searching for words.

Malfoy, seemingly thinking her expression indicated anger, widened his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously.” She could see the memory of her fuming at him outside the lavatory flash before his eyes. “If it’s private.”

“She said I’m fine.”

“Right.” He nodded once, more to himself. “Good. Great.”

“Yeah.” 

She couldn’t tell if he believed her. He seemed too hesitant to.

Clearing her throat, she glanced over Malfoy’s shoulder. “I… I was about to go back to the common room.”

His hand tore off her as though she’d given him an electric shock. “Of course. I’ll…” he paused, something passing over his face. Then, he straightened, squaring his shoulders. When he continued, his tone was more certain, more him, “I’ll see you later. I have some thoughts regarding the next prefect meeting.”

“Okay,” Rose said, already having begun to walk past him. “Great. See you.”

“Right. Goodbye, Weasley.”

She didn’t turn around, only raised her hand in a lethargic wave.

When she finally reached her bed, she tore out the pamphlet and flung it as far away from her fluffy duvet as she could. Information could wait. 

Fuck the world.

Fuck having to know.

Fuck herself.

She needed sleep.

The three following days, Rose walked around in a fog. Usually, when her schedule allowed it, she was early to class. Usually, when she felt normal and social, she stayed behind after. Usually was not a word she could use to describe anything she did at the moment. She sat down at her bench the second class started, and left the second it ended.

Julia and Al both tried to get her to fess up but she waved them off with a limp hand and a fragile smile. Regretfully, Al had told multiple people that she’d been to the hospital wing. Only Malfoy had gotten a semi-truth.

“Rose,” said Julia on the third afternoon. She took hold of her wrist and started pulling her friend away from their History of Magic classroom. 

“What are you doing?” Rose stumbled, almost tripping over the hem of her robes. “Where are we going?”

“To your common room. You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“Jules, no,” Rose groaned. “I’m fine.”

“That’s absolute bollocks.”

“It’s really not.”

Julia looked at her over her shoulder, a deadpan expression on her face.

“Okay,” Rose tried to squirm her hand out of her friend’s hold unsuccessfully, “so maybe I’m not super, but you don’t have to worry – really.”

Her heart was beating fast in her chest. She wondered if Julia could feel it under her fingers.

Still striding confidently in the Heads’ common room’s direction, Julia didn’t reply. Rose followed clumsily, her head filled with two voices at the moment: one, her own, screaming at her that she couldn’t tell anyone what was happening to her, the second, Madame Rowe’s, calmly saying that support was invaluable.

They reached the vase and finally Julia let her go. Rose snatched her hand to her chest, beginning to massage her wrist. “You’re freakishly strong, you know.”

Julia stared at her. “Let me in.”

“I—” Rose frowned. “I promise you right now I’m not lying, but I can’t let you in on my own.”

“Rose—”

“I swear. We need Malfoy.”

Just saying his name made her throat constrict. She’d been avoiding him too, but he hadn’t confronted her yet.

Julia pouted. “Fine,” she said, and to Rose’s horror began settling down on the floor, her back to the stone wall. “Then we’ll wait for him.”

“That seems excessive,” she tried carefully, Julia’s glare like hot pokers on her skin. “Are you sure this can’t wait?”

At the same time as Julia said, “No,” another voice from further down the corridor called, “Weasley?”

Salazar’s bloody tits. Why?

“Ah. Malfoy.” Julia jumped up on her feet. “Help me get into your common room, will you?”

Malfoy strode up to them, one elegant brow lifted. He side-eyed Rose’s sullen face before replying to Julia. “What for?”

“I need to talk to Rose.”

Another side-eye. “Well. She’s right there.”

“I need to make sure she can’t run away and hide from me.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“It’s urgent.”

“Saying that doesn’t make it less so.”

Rose met his eyes, kept them on her. “Just…” she sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s let her in.”

To allow entrance to another student, both Heads had to say the name of said student into the vase, at the same time. Then, passage would be possible for up to twenty seconds.

Rose leaned forward, gripping the edge of the ceramic. Malfoy’s head ducked down beside her. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered, as if Julia wouldn’t hear him.

“Yes,” Rose grumbled. Seeing that he was about to refute her claim, she interrupted beforehand, “On three. One. Two. Three.”

The name Julia Spinett was articulated, loud and clear, into the gaping hole. In the wall beside Julia, a door was beginning to form, symmetrical cracks forming in the rock. Wide blue eyes stared as a curved handle shot out directly in front of her. “Wow,” Julia sighed. She turned to look at Rose and Malfoy beside her. “You know, sometimes it irks me that I can’t always understand it, but magic’s just so…”

“You have twenty seconds,” Rose said pointedly, as Malfoy asked, “Beautiful?”

Julia blinked. “Right. Beautiful,” she concurred, grabbing hold of the handle and opening the door. She disappeared inside.

Staying behind, hesitating to follow, Malfoy bumped an arm into Rose’s. “What’s going on, Weasley?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. She wants to talk to me, I think.” She walked past Malfoy, reaching for the door.

“About?”

Rose looked down at clenched fingers around the handle. “I don’t know. She’s overthinking.” She shrugged. “Anxious.”

Malfoy appeared beside her, placing himself between her and the entrance. “What is it that she’s overthinking about? Is it you?” He tilted his head as if trying to catch her eye.

“Yes,” Rose sighed. “Now let me in before she starts overthinking this too.” She made a small unceremonious gesture between them, making Malfoy scowl. But, he did move to let her pass.

Skin crawling, she heard him follow, the door closing with a soft creak.

“It’s lovely!” Julia said as Rose came up behind her. “Are the colours meant to represent a match between your Houses?”

“What? I haven’t…” Rose wrinkled her nose, looking around herself at the rounded room. All details were either bronze or silver, all the furniture and rugs in various greenish blue: teal, dark cyan, turquoise and sea. She blinked. “Merlin, I’ve never thought about that.”

“That in itself, is quite telling, I’d say.” 

“Oh, sod off, will you? I’m fine.”

Malfoy came around to face the two girls. He looked at them both, furrow in his brow, hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” he said in a way that made Rose very unsure of if he actually would be in his room if they needed him. He left the second they nodded.

“I’m starting to feel I need to have a chat with him too,” Julia mumbled as the door to the Head-boy bedroom shut softly. “I know you’re friends and all, but that’s… Do we know if anyone’s been brewing polyjuice lately?”

Her grin lifted something in Rose. Madame Rowe’s voice was getting louder inside her head.

“Come on. I’ll show you my bedroom.”

They went up the stairs, Rose letting her friend in with a tired flail of her arm. 

Julia’s eyes turned into saucers. “Oh! Rosie,” she breathed. “So big. And you’ve got it for yourself!”

Passing her and turning to sit down on her bed, Rose wrinkled her nose. “I miss you. I even miss Towler.”

Julia sniggered, coming up to sit down beside her, the mattress swooping low. As Rose fell back, Julia followed. “I don’t believe that for a second,” the brunette exhaled. “Well, maybe you miss me sometimes, but Towler – be honest.”

“Alright, so maybe Towler was more a cry for sympathy.”

“You’re not getting any sympathy from me in a long time after I’ve seen this.” Julia rolled over to look at Rose, her hand tucked under her own cheek. Her voice fell into a whisper. “You have your own room, Rosie. At Hogwarts.”

Rose glanced at her, not saying a word, just missing her best friend.

“It’s great. It’s such an achievement. You’ve fully and completely earned it, of course.”

Rose really missed her best friend – so bad it hurt. No matter if she was beside her.

“I understand it was difficult for you – with Malfoy and all – but. Oh, I don’t know – I’m just so proud of you. The Head-girl position; it never could’ve gone to anyone more deserving.”

She missed her like a lost limb. 

“You’re an inspi—”

“I’m pregnant.”

Julia closed her mouth instantly. Blinked. Stared.

Rose sat up, hands going up to run through her curls, finding the tangles and tugging at them until they separated. “I don’t know what to do, Jules. I’m completely… I don’t know what to do. Madame Rowe says I’ve got a few weeks to decide if I want an abortion but I don’t know. Should I? Is that best? I’m only seventeen – eighteen when the baby comes. Merlin, just saying it – when the baby comes – it’s ridiculous. I’m only seventeen. I can’t be a mother. Right? Jules… I — what should I do?” She looked down frantically at Julia behind her. Her best friend just met her gaze with a wide-eyed expression.

Maybe she should’ve explained it all with a bit more tact. But Rose had never been good at that.

Silently, Julia sat up, swallowed, arranged her hands in her lap carefully. “What… Um, just. What?” She blinked up at Rose. “You’re pregnant?”

To her horror – but also maybe somewhere deep inside of her, to her relief – tears began to blur Rose’s vision. Her mouth knotted itself as she tried to speak, a lump pressing in her throat, barring air from entering. She made a small, squawk-like sound before falling forward, throwing her arms around Julia’s neck.

As sobs wracked Rose’s body, her friend lifted her hands slowly, hesitantly, before firmly pressing them to her shoulder blades, hugging her closer closer, impossibly closer. She didn’t say anything, because what did you say when you were a teenager, still in school, and your best friend, also a teenager still in school, told you she was pregnant? Julia didn’t know. A hug between two people who loved each other, however, she knew was very rarely the wrong option.

It was hard to tell how much time passed before Rose slowly started to sniff instead of cry, dislodging herself from Julia’s death-grip. She sat back silently, dragging a hand over her eyes and cheeks. It came away wet and snot-covered. Disgusting. Unbelievably, a snort and shortly thereafter a small chuckle wretched their way out of her. “I’m so sorry,” she laughed-cried.

Julia smiled softly at her, shaking her head. She looked around them then, before reaching back and plucking a hair claw from atop Rose’s nightstand. Holding it out to Rose, she said, “I think you need it.”

Rose spluttered, fresh new tears beginning to run as she grinned and accepted the clip, reaching back to clasp back her fringe.

“Now,” Julia took a deep breath, “could you… Is it okay if you explain?”

“Yeah,” Rose sniffed, the back of her hand to her nose as she nodded. “I’m sorry – I’m such a mess.”

“Rosie. Stop.”

“Sorry.”

Julia pushed her shoulder lightly. “Stop apologising and tell me what happened.”

“Mm.” Rose frowned. Her head ached vaguely from the flood she’d just released, but today was a thankfully not-nauseous-day, so at least there was that. “Where do I start?”

“I mean...” Julia made a face. “I was about to ask who the father is, but maybe you want to build up to that.”

Rose hummed, swallowing.

“It’s not…” Julia looked troubled, turning her eyes to an unidentifiable spot in the ceiling. “It’s not Ivan, is it?”

“No.”

Julia’s gaze returned to her, filled with understanding. “Malfoy?” she nearly breathed.

Rose just stared back, wide-eyed.

“Rosie…”

“Don’t,” Rose lifted a hand to cover her face, “look at me like that. It’s awful, I know. I’ve felt so guilty over not telling you. But I didn’t think it mattered, and then this happened and… Just – I’m sorry.”

“Quit saying you’re sorry – I know you are – I don’t care if you didn’t tell me about sleeping with him. I care about you.”

Rose gave her a pained look, making Julia actually huff and roll her eyes – a quite silly expression in an otherwise not so silly situation.

“Okay, so perhaps I’m a little upset, but I think we both can agree that there are bigger things to focus on right now than if you did right or wrong in not telling me.”

“I… Yeah, I guess. You’re right.”

“You know I am.” Julia took Rose’s hand. “So, tell me. When, where, why? What happened? When we talked before the party you said you were warming up to him. You hadn’t even kissed.”

“I know. That was true. It didn’t happen until... later.” She winced. “Honestly, it was so stupid. At the party he, like, kind of dared me to kiss him when we were alone in the kitchen and—”

“Wait wait wait. You had sex in the kitchen? Rosie!”

“No! Merlin. We just kissed. Then I panicked and I went outside and I didn’t see him again for hours.”

Narrowing her eyes, Julia nodded, a sceptical sheen to her eyes. “Okay… I feel like you’re glossing over the fact that you just happened to kiss Malfoy, whom you have hated. Continuously. Until a day earlier. But, please, continue.”

Rose pursed her lips. “I've never hated him.”

“I've literally heard you say you do.”

“That was a hyperbole.”

Julia raised her brows. “Yeah. I knew that. You seemed to genuinely believe you did, however.”

Huffing, Rose turned her head to gaze out the window. After just a second, a soft palm blanketed her knuckles. 

“I’m sorry.”

Rose looked back to her friend, eyes glossy.

“I truly am. So sorry. I don’t mean to bicker. Not when you’re…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes trailed down toward Rose’s stomach. They snapped up almost instantly. “Just. Sorry. Again. Forgive me.”

That was a lot of apologizing, but unlike Rose, Julia never sounded pathetic when excusing herself. She was simply truthful, accepting of her own mistakes, of any possible consequences – okay with being wrong.

Rose wished personality rubbed off more sometimes.

“It’s alright,” she said, even as tears pooled. She gripped Julia’s fingers. “I’m just so fucking sensitive. And tired. Merlin, Jules, I’m so bloody tired.”

“Well,” Julia’s smile was strained, “you’re literally growing something in your body. I think it’s accounted for.”

“Something is a good word for it. Might be a human. Might be an alien. With Malfoy as a dad, who knows.”

Julia raised an unimpressed brow, seeing clearly through the fragmenting facade of humor. 

It made Rose shrink a little. “Alright. So to backtrack…” She found encouragement in Julia’s nod. “We kissed in the kitchen. He dared me to let him. And I rushed off to find you, but ran into Al instead.”

“Wait. Just— Sidenote. We shouldn’t get distracted all the time, but he dared you to let him?”

“Yeah. I mean… Well, no, it was exactly that. He said something like ‘allow me to kiss you’ and then dared me.”

Julia’s eyes were saucers. “That’s… Blimey, Rose. That’s telling.”

“What do you mean?”

“He likes you! You daft witch – how can you be at the top of all classes?”

“No,” Rose frowned. “As friends maybe, and attracted I guess – or he was just drunk.”

Julia made a choked, exasperated sound before falling back on the bed again. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, making Rose think about Malfoy even more than she already had for the previous minutes. After letting out a long sigh, she closed her eyes. “Continue. You met Al. Does that mean Al knows?”

“No. I… He saw something was wrong but I just told him about Krum instead.”

“Clever girl,” Julia huffed.

Rose shrugged even though her friend wasn’t looking. “He bought it. Sort of. We had a talk about it and then I just mingled for a while. Thought I was about to be sick, so I went up to the bathroom. Didn’t vomit, but ran into Malfoy instead.”

Julia exhaled, “And then…”

“And then we… He wanted to talk. He told me the kiss was up to me if we forgot it or not. I got mad. He got mad.”

“As it so often goes,” Julia interjected drily.

“As it so often goes,” Rose agreed. “And then we did it.”

Julia’s eyes opened slowly, stared up into the bed ceiling. “Did you talk after? I assume you didn’t use protection.”

A curl of warmth snaked in Rose’s chest. “Right,” she choked out. “And no. We didn’t talk. I just walked out of there and went to bed. I don’t know what happened to him. We didn’t meet until the train.”

“Merlin.”

“Right.”

“Have you mentioned it after? Has he?”

Rose shrugged again. “Barely. It came up when we decided to be friends.”

Julia’s eyes had turned to watch Rose fidget, analyze her wary expression. “And what did you say then?”

“He said he thought I thought it was a mistake, and that he just wanted us to get along. Then asked what I wanted us to be. Said he assumed I wasn’t in love with him so friends it was — I mean, is.”

Julia hummed, sighed, pursed her lips, sat up. Silent.

“And now we’re here. And I’m…” She couldn’t say it again.

“Yeah.” Julia nodded. She leaned forward and hugged Rose again. “It’ll be alright.”

“Yeah?” It came out wobbly.

“Yeah.” It came out certain.

“But, Weasley— I mean Rose, do we really have to be at, like, stand-by at all times?”

“All night?”

“All night?! Oh, you are joking.”

“That’d be so long.”

“And boring!”

“Because, I really want to, like, hang out with my friends too, and—”

Rose sighed. “You don’t have to be at ‘stand-by’, just make sure you’re close to your house mates so that you can help them if the hanging out gets out of hand.” She glanced at the three prefect girls that were half-jogging behind her, trying to keep up. They were looking at her with varying amounts of desperation and annoyance. She stopped suddenly, the girls almost careening into her. “We’re not asking you to miss out on all the fun, just be responsible.”

Rose heard herself how grossly adult and tedious she sounded.

The taller of the girls – Margaret, Maggie, Harper – was making a face. “That sounds impossible,” she said drily.

“How come?” Rose asked. “What is it you so want to do that can’t be considered responsible?” She leveled them with her most impatient, disapproving look.

The prefects shifted before her, glancing at each other, communicating in silence. What was the best way to go about this? How could they tell the Head Girl that they wanted to get sloshed with their friends and give fuck all about the rest of the student body, without telling the Head Girl that they wanted to get sloshed with their friends and give fuck all about the rest of the student body? Should they have tried talking to the Head Boy instead?

Rose knew exactly what they were saying to one another.

They should have asked the Head Boy. Malfoy would’ve said no – just like Rose but with his added Malfoy-charm – and they would have swooned, and that’d be final.

She wanted nothing to do with it.

“We…” the second tallest, Saide Silverton, started but immediately quietened. She pursed her lips.

“We just…” Olivia Perks sighed. “We just want to have fun.” Her eyes glowed.

Rose swallowed down the sour words on her tongue. She’d always been weak for the Hufflepuff prefect. 

Just as she was about to give them her slightly softened, disappointing reply, an arm fell down around her neck. Rose flinched, turning around to come face to face with Al. “Hi,” she said gruffly.

“Hello.” He gave her a squeeze before turning his gaze toward the wide-eyed girls. “Hello,” he said again, a little more awe in his tone. “What’s going on?”

Saide’s face had turned gloriously pink. Maggie’s as well. “We,” they both started at the same time. Saide clamped her mouth shut, nodding at her friend. “We wanted to ask Rose if we have to be on duty all night on Halloween.”

Studying Al’s face as the two Slyterins spoke, Rose could tell he’d figured out the real question in their words as well. This year, the feast would be followed by a dance, and after parties were sure to happen in the wee hours of the night – Rose was almost certain Al himself had concocted plans.

He grinned. “Well, I see what you’re getting at. Don’t want to miss out on the fun.” He glanced at Rose, his arm still around her. “What’s the verdict, Rosie?”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Rose watched as the hint of puppy-eye and the slight tilt of Al’s thick brows asked her to be cordial. She didn’t feel like playing nice. But she was also in a pissy mood, having been to the Hospital Wing that morning with Julia to have a check-up (it had looked great – in the sense that it looked great for people who decidedly wanted to be pregnant and wanted to have a baby in a few months – something Rose was undecided upon).

Al gave her another squeeze.

Relenting, she sighed. “Fine. Have fun.” The younger girls’ face lit up. “But,” Rose continued harshly, making the light falter slightly, “if I find out you’ve gotten so drunk you can’t perform good magic, or have gone someplace others can’t find you, there will be consequences.”

The girls all nodded excitedly. 

“Of course!” Olivia squeaked. “Thank you, Rose!”

The other two nodded vigorously again before they all turned on their heels and rushed off before she could change her mind.

Rose watched them disappear around a corner, face stormy. “See what you just made me do?”

Al laughed. “I didn’t make you do anything.”

Turning toward him, his arm fell from her shoulders. Rose just shook her head, grabbing his elbow to urge him to follow her. He did.

“Everything alright?” Al asked as they walked briskly down a corridor toward the kitchens.

Rose hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just have a lot on my plate.” Her expression softened. “You? How’s Bree?”

Al’s grin was broad. “She’s doing great! They’re loving her at her new job.”

Rose quirked the corner of her mouth. “Awesome. And you? Is it difficult being apart?”

“Sure.” Al tickled the pear on the large painting. It swung open. His smile was suddenly pensive as he let Rose in before himself. “But it’s fine.”

Rose side-eyed him as she walked past, contemplating pressing him for more information. In the end, she simply nodded, humming. “Can imagine it’s difficult.

“Yeah.”

They walked through the passage and entered the large kitchens. Immediately house elves scurried up to them, asking questions, offering services, offering hot chocolate. Al thanked them loudly, accepting the drink. Rose, feeling her stomach churn, declined politely. Instead, she told them about the feast and informed them of a few honorary guests that were attending from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. She described how kind and lovely it would be to have a few of their national dishes on the four long tables.

The house elves nodded reverently, their large tennis ball eyes gleaming attentively as Rose spoke.

When she’d finished, she was about to turn when they stopped her, begging her and Al to sit down for a while. Feeling her heart squeeze, Rose relented.

They were directed to a small table, obviously made for the small chefs and housekeepers. Rose and Al sat down directly on the stone floor. Al got a second hot chocolate while Rose, to her great surprise received a cup of bone broth – something she’d never been offered before in her many visits through the years.

She took a tentative sip, scared what it would do to her insides. The salty, umami liquid slid down her throat and a sigh slipped out of her, her shoulders sinking, a contented smile blooming on her face.

Al peered at her. “You okay, Rosie?”

I’m pregnant, she thought, but she said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Like I said before: just have a lot on my plate.”

Taking a deep breath, Al continued looking at her as he put down his mug. “You don’t seem fine,” he said after a few seconds.

Behind her cup, Rose pursed her lips.

I’m pregnant, she thought again. But she said, “Oh? Odd.”

Al frowned. “I can tell you don’t want to talk about it. And I know you’ve been avoiding me since the Hospital Wing — Actually, why were you there? You still haven’t told me exactly.”

I’m pregnant.

She merely sniffed, taking another sip. “Don’t worry,” she said against the porcelain.

“Rosie, please. Why can’t you tell me?”

I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.

She shifted on the floor. The broth almost skipped out of her cup. “It’s not that I’m trying to be mean,” she said. “I just don’t… I’m just… It’s too awkward.”

His entire face screamed of confusion. Confusion and worry, intermingling to make his brow furrowed and his eyes conflicted.

“But… what can be so bad that you can’t tell me?”

I’m pregnant.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing dangerous. It’s just something I want to keep for myself for a little while.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes – she knew she’d fold immediately. 

“You were sad.”

“Mm.” She chanced a quick glance at him. His green eyes were compelling her to speak up. Sometimes she’d wondered if they were magic. “I’d been throwing up a lot. I was exhausted.” She closed her own eyes as she took a deep gulp. When she opened them, Al was sitting next to her.

He wrapped one arm around her, pressed his cheek to her hair. “And that’s fixed now? Madame Rowe helped you?”

Leaning into his warm body, Rose nodded. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Was it your anxiety?”

Rose shrugged.

They sat like that, huddled together, sipping their drinks for a few minutes before Rose shifted slightly to look at her cousin’s sharp profile. 

“You looking forward to Halloween?” she mumbled, once more pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

His head folded atop hers. “Yeah. We were thinking of having an after party in our dorm – you know, invite the Durmstrangs and all that. You’re coming, right? You can bring Jules.”

The broth went down Rose’s windpipe. Around a cough, she asked, “Is Malfoy invited?”

“Yes. Ivan too,” Al said, a starkly unimpressed tone in his voice. “Why?”

“I’m not sure I feel up for—”

“Fuck that.” Al released her, jerking back and almost making Rose topple over. “You’re coming, Rosie.” His green eyes were just as insistent as the hand he held out for her.

Her mouth clamped shut. She grabbed his calloused fingers, stood up, frowned, lost the staring match, and bristled. “Alright! Fine. But the Slytherin dorm, Al? Do we have to be there?” It was childish, but she didn’t want to give him the whole win. “It’s so cold and grubby.”

“It’s not grubby,” her cousin crossed his arms over his chest, but he looked accordingly pleased to have gotten what he wished for. “And I’m fine with moving it somewhere else, but where? I don’t particularly feel like showing Ivan’s friends the Room of Requirement.”

Rose’s frown deepened. Just as she said, “No, but–”, Al’s eyes widened and he exclaimed, “Your dorms!”

“Absolutely not.” Rose shook her head harshly. “I can’t imagine something more unethical than having a drinking party in a common room meant to strengthen bonds between two Heads, to help with work and collaboration in their shared responsibility.”

Al’s ecstatic face didn’t fall. He placed his hands on Rose’s shoulder, shaking her slightly. “No. Rosie, imagine – it’s actually just that that you’d be doing. You and Scorp will both be there. It will be great for your bonding-whatnot!”

“Our bonding-whatnot,” Rose echoed drily. “Are you hearing yourself? This is purely selfish.”

Al groaned. “Alright – so what? I want you there. I want Scorp there. I want to have a good last Hogwarts-Halloween, and I want to have a party in the Heads’ common room because it would be legendary.” He drilled holes into her skull with his green gaze. “Please, Rosie.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rose took a deep breath through her nose. “Al…”

“Please.”

“Fucking— Alright.”

“Am I paranoid or is someone watching me?” Rose asked Julia who was sitting in front of her at the grand Halloween feast.

“Hah?” Julia’s eyebrows rose with her face from her plate, stacked with food. Her blue eyes scanned the tables behind Rose, face neutral, before stopping to her right, a small smirk quirking her cheek. “Yeah,” she said before turning back to look at her fat-glossy chicken. “Seems like the Durmstrangs want to have a gander at their bestie’s new girlfriend.”

Almost giving herself whiplash, Rose turned to look over her shoulder. Four pairs of eyes met hers, including Ivan’s. She wanted to make a face, but instead she merely lifted a brow. Ivan didn’t look embarrassed to have been caught – neither did the other boys – but he nodded at Rose before returning to his drink, saying something that made his former schoolmates look away.

Wide-eyed, Rose turned to Julia. “Hell,” she said.

“Mm. Durmstrang isn’t really famous for subtlety,” Julia said as she chewed. “You’d imagine one would want to have a bit more tact.”

“Right. They didn’t even look surprised that I caught them.” 

Julia hummed.

Feeling as though someone had dug into her guts to twist her stomach, Rose made a face. “And by the way, don’t call him my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Finally, Julia put down her utensils. “No,” she insisted. “I said that you’re his girlfriend. I didn’t say Ivan’s your boyfriend.”

“That’s the same!”

“No,” Julia sighed. “I think it’s a pretty accurate representation of what’s actually going on.”

Digging the heels of her hands into her eyes, Rose leaned forward, resting her elbows on the long table. “You think he thinks we’re together? I told him I wanted to take things slow after we kissed.”

“Well, you still kissed, and you’re still acting as though you want to be with him. Kind of. Maybe not as much this past week, but still. I think he thinks you still want to be together.”

Rose groaned. “I do.” When Julia made a noise – something between a scoff and a laugh – Rose looked sharply at her, her vision blurry from having pressed for too long. “Don’t laugh. I do. But it’s not like the circumstances are the same.”

“With circumstances,” said Julia, leaning forward and lowering her voice so only Rose would hear her, “do you mean the fact that you’re pregnant and infinitely more attracted to Malfoy than you are to him?”

Breath catching in her throat, Rose had to take a second before replying. It came out a wheeze. “Don’t say that out loud. Someone could hear you. And I’m not more attracted to—”

“Psst.”

Rose spun around, meeting Lily Potter’s brown eyes. 

Lily gave her cousin a funny look. “Are you plotting something?” she asked, then added with a grin, “Can I join?”

“We’re… No. What?” Rose wrinkled her nose. “Did you want something?”

“Happy Halloween to you too, Rosie.”

Rose stared back blankly.

“I wanted,” Lily said then, pointedly even though she lowered her voice, “to give you this.” Sneakily, she procured a bottle from inside her school robes, passing it to Rose smoothly. “I’ll see you later,” she said and winked before walking onwards as if she’d merely stopped to say hi.

Rose blinked, looked at the bottle of firewhiskey, then up at Julia. “Alcohol,” she said. “I hadn’t…” she drifted off as she remembered to quickly stow away the bottle.

“Will you…?” Julia too faded out. The humour in her expression was gone, replaced by wariness.

“I can’t.”

“It’d definitely mean taking a stand if you did. You’d have decided.”

Rose shifted. “Regardless of what I decide, not drinking lets me put it off a bit longer.” 

But it does feel like I’m saying I want to keep it.

“Right,” Jules said. “Of course.”

They drifted off into silence after that. Below the table, Julia pressed her ankle to Rose’s as they listened to Headmistress McGonagall’s speech about why this Halloween was oh so special. Rose had been told why multiple times beforehand, but she’d forgotten, and she forgot again the moment McGonagall stopped speaking, having finished with saying that everyone were to stand up because the tables would be vanished to allow for dancing. It just didn’t feel important in any way.

As students went to press up to the walls of the room, food began to disappear, then silverware and lastly the large, long tables. Rose bid farewell to Julia, and went to check on her prefects, assuring that they knew what to do, where to be and what to look for. Then she took her own spot, close to where the staff table had previously stood.

A minute later, as the first pair of dancers – the Headmistress and the herbology teacher Professor Longbottom – had taken to the dance floor, Malfoy joined Rose, taking his place at her right side.

“Evening,” he said below his breath, staring straight ahead, posture incorrigible, hair a glorious soft platinum, hands clasped behind his back. His dark dress robes were tailored to perfection.

“Happy Halloween,” Rose replied, also staring at the crowd before them. Her heartbeat felt capable of rocking her off her feet. She could feel Malfoy beside her more than she could see him in her periphery.

Somewhere far ahead, close to the large double doors leading into the Great Hall, Rose saw Ivan with his three foreign friends. As she watched them, Ivan broke free from the group to begin a trek through the mass of dark-clad students and teachers. Her heart shot up into her throat.

“So I heard from Al that we’re apparently hosting everyone tonight?"

Rose flinched. Without her noticing, Malfoy had bent down to murmur in her ear. Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. “I… I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s alright.” His smile was blinding. Winning. His eyes, however, were still fixed on the people before him. “You can imagine my surprise, but I’m fine with it.”

“Oh. Great,” she said stiffly, beginning to twist her fingers in her hands.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, “You alright?”

He still wasn’t looking at her, neither of them turned toward the other. Rose cleared her throat. Her heart wouldn’t budge. “I’m fine.”

Humming, thoroughly unconvinced, Malfoy nodded slowly beside her.

Rose spoke before she could stop herself. “How are you?” She turned to face him in time with her words. With a quiet start she realised this was probably the first time she’d ever asked him that.

Malfoy’s head swiveled to meet her eyes. He looked softly surprised, and maybe, Rose thought, even a bit pleased.

“I’m grand.”

She mimicked his previous nod and hum. “That’s good,” she said. “I need your head if we’re to make it through this tonight.”

“I hardly think this will be that—”

“Rose.”

Both Heads turned sharply back toward the crowd. 

Ivan stood about two metres away, but he walked up further, placing himself in front of Rose. If not for the hundreds of raucous voices echoing through the room, making it difficult to hear, his proximity would’ve been considered queer.

He glanced at Malfoy before fastening his stare on Rose. “Rose,” he said again, reaching out to take hold of her left hand. 

“Hi,” she said, cursing her voice for how neutral it sounded. “Happy Halloween, Ivan.” She gave his fingers a squeeze, even though he was holding hers a bit too tightly.

“Would you like to dance?”

Eyebrows shooting up, Rose parted her lips, but no words left her, just a soft Oh.

Ivan frowned. “Would you? My friends want to meet you.”

“I… I’m sorry, I can’t.” Rose’s chest felt as though it had caught flames. It singed and stinged as she watched Ivan’s face fall – a more disappointed, clear expression than she’d ever seen him don ever in her presence. “Me and Malfoy,” she glanced at her blond companion who was staring intently at Ivan, face unreadable, “we’re on duty all night.”

Letting go of her hand, Ivan’s face twisted as though he was about to argue, so Rose hurried to add, “But I’ll see you at the after party. Later.” She reached out and gave his forearm a small pat.

Face smoothing out into somewhat neutrality, Ivan nodded curtly. “Have a nice evening. See you later,” he said lowly, then spun around without another word, without waiting for a reply, and stalked off.

With alarm, Rose felt her eyes water. She blinked quickly. She was an awful person. A horrible, mean, disgusting person. And Ivan didn’t deserve this, but she needed to make a decision about her condition before she would know what to do about him.

Just as the moisture cleared from her eyes, Malfoy jostled her lightly with his elbow.

Most likely, he could see the upset on her face. The realisation did not, however, make it any easier to face him directly. She wanted to pretend, if just for a bit longer, that everything was fine. Normal. Nothing.

“I,” he began uncharacteristically uncertain, “I can keep watch alone for a while, if you want to go with him. That’s no—”

“No.” She looked at him before she could remind herself not to. His silver eyes were pensive, molten. “Thank you, but it’s fine. I will see him later. We don’t have to hang out now too.”

Malfoy nodded, something shifting in his gaze.

Half a minute passed without another word, both Heads’ hands behind their backs, both keeping a straight posture, eyes fixed ahead.

Then, in the corner of her eye, Rose saw Malfoy’s mouth twitch, forming into a smirk.

“Lucky me,” he said slowly, a try for sarcasm tinting his voice, “getting the Head Girl all to myself.”