2018/09/09, an edit and update—this is embarrassing and about eight years too late
How's Your Father? Wink. Wink.
If she wasn't mistaken, and honestly it was so rare that that happened, the room would be just around this next corner—
"Rose—where," a ragged breath, "where in the seven bloody hells are we going?"
Rose bit her cheek, trying her best to keep her grin at bay. She couldn't appear too eager. That would be terribly unseemly. "Malfoy, dear, you sound a bit out of breath," it was almost embarrassing. She refused to slow her pace, but glanced back all the same, making sure to give her boyfriend (!?) one of her best you-poor-pitiful-thing looks, "You alright?"
His lip raised in what was clearly offense, "I bloody well am."
Rose made sure she was fully facing forward again before rolling her eyes, no need to poke the lion—or in this case, snake—more than she had already this evening. Scorpius could really be such a little Doxy when he was breaking rules. Who knew a Slytherin could be such a goody-two-shoes?
They turned the corner. Along one wall hung an aged tapestry, the wall across it barren. Finally. They were here.
Probably?
Rose came to a full stop, gnawing on her lip she twisted to face Scorpius—who narrowly avoided running her over. There couldn't be multiple tapestries of Barnabas the Barmy about the castle, right?
"Is that man teaching trolls ballet?"
The man really was. But Rose chose to ignore Scorpius as she pulled out a bit of parchment from her robes. She hadn't closed off the spell, so the map of the castle was still visible.
"Rose—"
She shushed Scorpius as she flipped to the seventh floor, if her estimations were correct—
Scorpius snagged some of her curls in his fist, forcing her attention back to him, "Rose, why are we watching a man teach trolls the ruddy Nutcracker?"
Rose eyed him over the map. His typically perfectly coiffed hair had fallen, a few strands hanging over his brow. Apparently he hadn't the chance to spell it into submission after his evening shower. No wonder he was acting like he had a Blast-Ended Skrewt up his arse. Chaos, even as simple as unruly hair, was no pal to Scorpius Malfoy.
And honestly, how cute was that?
Rose let one hand drop and the map fell to rest against her thigh. Her free hand lifted to the hand twisted in her hair. She wondered if he noticed how her fingers shook. Her stomach felt as if someone had caste a Papilionesos jinx on it. She truly feared that at any moment she'd begin belching butterflies. Merlin how old was she, twelve?
Steeling herself—because she'd be damned if she'd let a bought of nerves fluster her this much! She was basically a grown witch, top of her class, and the daughter of two distinguished war heroes!
Rose gently pulled Scorpius' fingers from her hair before tucking the loose hair back into place. She settled her palm on his cheek. His breathing was heavy—poor lad was really out of shape. A smile broke across her lips and her stomach calmed. "Just how is it that you're able to last out on the quidditch pitch for more than a few laps?"
Oh dear, his eyes looked positively molten. Rose bit the edge of her lip and hoped to Merlin he wouldn't notice how much that turned her on.
"Suck my—"
She tutted at him and moved her hand so that three fingers covered his mouth, putting an end to his rant mid spew. "That's exactly what I'd like to do quite frankly," Oh Merlin, now she'd done it, "and if you'd just quit moaning about maybe we could actually get to that part of the evening?"
Entranced by the quicksilver of his eyes, Rose watched as the heated annoyance seeped into arousal as Scorpius slowly realized why she'd called him out of his dorms in the middle of the night. Rose felt an answering burn (or was it more of a tingle?) in her stomach, more pleasant than the jinx feeling. He might have been at the top of the class—following behind her, of course—but Merlin could Scorpius be thick when he was sleep-deprived.
Rose let the tips of her fingers stroke across his bottom lip (how was it so bloody soft?) as she glanced down at the map, lifting it back up so she could get a better look at their location.
James had been the one to gift it to her, and she was forever thankful for it. Her cousin has claimed to have nicked it from his father's desk in his third year—he'd passed it on to her when he graduated. The room they were headed into wasn't depicted on the map, but (again) thanks to James being a general all-around prat and bragging on about all of the secret rooms and corridors he'd found while at Hogwarts, she knew the general location.
From the looks of things, it seemed like they were in the right place. She just need to—a tongue flicked atop the tips of her fingers. Rose felt her breath catch in her throat and again found herself hoping Scorpius didn't notice how he affected her. Which was honestly downright ridiculous.
Her plan—and oh, yes she most certainly had planned this evening down to the last drop of ink—was to remain cool. Calm, collected, and in charge. She'd talked to her cousin Victorie about it (because Rose was nothing if not well-researched). Vic had been adamant about Rose needing to have nothing to fear, and that if Rose did have any strong reservations then she probably hadn't found that right person to be doing it with.
Merlin bless her, but Vic hadn't really grasped where Rose's fears were coming from. Which probably had something to do with Vic being utterly gorgeous (possibly thanks to a smidgen of the Veela blood in her veins) and utterly in love with her fiancée.
Rose wasn't nervous of who Scorpius Malfoy was; she knew him, she understood him. She knew he liked to read muggle Science Fiction books and that his favorite sweet was Tesco Value Lemon Sorbet. She knew he loved his dad no matter how the rest of the wizarding world viewed the elder Malfoy, and she knew that he was oddly quite allergic to Pygmy Puffs. She knew a lot about what Scorpius Malfoy liked. She had six years—almost seven now—of insight into who he was as a person.
And thanks to—an admittedly reluctant—Albus, Rose knew that Scorpius had only shagged two girls ever. His first girlfriend at age fifteen, Laurie McLaggen, and an older girl in the year ahead of them—who Albus had refused to name after Rose had threatened to jinx the bint because the five month long (five months!) secret affair had left Scorpius with a broken heart at the end.
No, it wasn't about who he was. It was more that she was nervous of who she was.
Rose Weasley was gifted.
She knew that. Merlin, practically all of Wizarding Europe knew that! Things came easy to Rose, she wouldn't deny it, but she still worked her arse off in every aspect of her life. Perfection was always her goal.
She mastered spells well before her classmates, she was Head Girl after all, and how could she not be—being the daughter of 'the brightest witch in the United Kingdom'?
In second year she'd secured a spot as Keeper on Gryffindor's quidditch team (mostly thanks to her Aunt Ginny there, and none to her mum) and just recently she had received two separate owls confirming available apprenticeships! One at the Ministry and one under an apothecary master in Portugal—should she receive the necessary N.E.W.T.S. by the end of term.
Rose thrived on being the best.
But there was one aspect of her life where she just didn't have the experience—not that anyone would know by the rumors that flew around the castle. That wasn't to say she was a prude, she wasn't! She snogged as much as the next seventh year, and she was bloody well good at it!
Of course she'd had boyfriends—several, thank you very much—and she enjoyed a good fap. She knew her body, she knew what she liked and she knew what she wanted… she'd just never actually acted on her desires with another person.
Rose Weasley was a virgin.
Which was right hilarious honestly. No one would probably bloody believe her if she told them.
It had started in her fifth year. Most likely set in motion after two tossers from Ravenclaw stumbled upon her and Wilfred Bones snogging in the Potions pantry—it hadn't even been a decent snog, much too wet. But then the damage had already been done.
Boys from all four houses had seemed to come right out of the bloody castle walls with their sordid tales of how they had deflowered Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger's only daughter—because apparently that was a prize to be had. Ha!
The liars had soon found Rose's cousins didn't take kindly to such stories and eventually the rumors died down. Every so often when some lad was feeling particularly adventurous he would spin some story on how they'd done it in the stairwell or against a tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Which always gave her a really wonderful excuse to practice her Bat Boogey Hex (more thanks to her Aunt Gin).
Even with her cousins cutting down the stories whenever they cropped up, Rose had still come out of fifth year with a bit of a reputation. She refused to let that bother her, she'd eat a whole blooming Hypogriff before she let a bunch of stories mess with her. So she'd let the tall tales lie (and, okay, maybe she fueled the fire occasionally) and thus she'd entered seventh year with the reputation of a witch who knew her way around a broomstick.
No, she didn't worry about Malfoy at all. She worried about what he would think of her when he found she wasn't quite the sexual fiend she'd been painted. For once in her life Rose was utterly clueless.
"Rose," teeth nibbled the tips of her fingers, "what are we bloody doing here?"
Bollocks.
2018/09/09, an edit and update—a quick note: this edit was fueled by an entire bottle of red wine...but hopefully it's somewhat better than the original. I'll be sure to try to fix any mistakes within the next 8 years! second installment to come