1.

Soho – 23:16

He whimpered.

The taste of the potion remained fixed on his tongue as his resolution faded. Any piece of strength he had left diminished as he was suddenly gripped with an unbearable exhaustion. His eyelids drooped as saliva dripped absently from his lips—he could sense his breathing rate declining as a senseless throbbing claimed his head. "Please," he managed, the lights in the room beginning to fade, "Please, don't." Despite his best efforts, his head fell forwards. He lost balance—the only thing that fixed him to position was the metal chain that held his hands. Each muscle grew limp and numb and eventually he comprehended the inevitable.

He surrendered.

A pair of eyes watched his demise with excruciating attention.

"You have talked quite enough for this evening, sir." The voice skimmed over the nausea smoothly, "It is about time you rested."

The tired man agreed. A moment after—his eyes shut. Two minutes and the blood in his vessels congealed.

He left with barely a noise.

"*Qu'il repose en paix," the voice cooed. (may he rest in peace)

The emergency meeting was held at exactly 7:31 am. One minute late.

"This is madness—"

"Oh we must start the investigation immediately—"

"—how did the press get a hold of this story, huh? Jackson? Do you know—"

"—did someone get a hold of Magda? Kershaw, here. You—did you get a hold of—"

"Apparently, his tongue was cut out."

The last sentence forced Rose to turn instantly. Her gaze fell on the two newly graduates lingering at the back of the hall—positioned to assist their respective superiors. They glanced back at her, wide-eyed and concluded their conversation immediately. It only dawned on her then that she was glaring. "Oh," Her lips parted to apologize only for the shrill voice of the head of the Auror office to clear the clutter of voices.

"Everyone, please be seated."

Obediently, everyone sat. Rose remained in the back, eyes glazed as she listened to the discussion that followed. She picked up on the details vaguely. Soho—murdered—tip off—mess. This was the word that remained in her mind: mess. It had been a mess, apparently. Her fingers curled as her eyes focused on a spot on her lap. She could feel her stomach tightening as the meeting was adjourned and the noise level in the stuffy room heightened.

She was up instantly.

"Pardon me." Ambling towards the exit, the red head swept past the army of figures.

"Rose," a voice called out.

She kept walking.

"Rose—wait."

Hitting the door, she stumbled out.

"Rose," the call was fainter.

It was only after that she realized that she was on the floor. Her eyelids fluttered open and she was left, staring into the eyes of one Albus Potter. His lips motioned to her name one more time before the light collapsed and she quivered into stillness.

Rose awoke to anarchy. She groaned as she sat up. "Al," the name was gasped out as a memory fleeted into her head, "Al." Her gaze swept across the room which she swiftly recognized as a cubicle in the small clinical wing of the Ministry. She glanced down and after briefly assessing her physical condition—eyesight, memory, balance, thumbs, toes—progressed on to haul herself out of bed.

At this point, her plan of escape hit a bump. Or more specifically, an Albus.

"Rose! Shit—I mean, sorry. You—why did you get out of—go back, back. The Healer said so."

"No, Al." Rose shook her head, "I have work. I'm sure you heard."

A long silence fell then. The two exchanged an extended glance before Albus eventually broke the quiet: "I did," he paused, "I was there at the meeting—and I'm sorry, Rose. I know you were one of Frank's good friends."

The emphasis on good was not a slip of the tongue. Everyone knew that Frank Le Corbusier had many friends; but it was often intimated that not all were good. Rose had been a member of an exclusive minority.

She kept it together just long enough to persuade Al to let her leave the wing. However, much to her distaste, he insisted that he escorted her out of the Ministry anyhow. She even managed a tender smile and a wave as she watched him walk up to the building, leaving her alone. Rose had vowed she would get herself home just as he wished. However, she had not specified that that time be now.

The temptation to cry struck her came hard and she barely had time to react before she was leaning on a tree sobbing into her hands. A mixture of weariness and anguish was the fuel. She had heard the news when they had found the body early this morning and had barely uttered a word since. The cries were muffled and they did not last long. It took longer to recover.

But eventually, she picked herself up and returned.

"Ah, Rose. Are you feeling better, already? I'd assumed you would have gone home."

"I'm fine, Mr Roy. Thank you."

The Head of the Department smiled delicately before following her into her small, cluttered office, "Good. I was hoping you would be here. There is a lot of work for us—now after what happened…" His words trailed as he noticed the distinct soreness in her eyes. Despite being notorious for his harsh management of his department, Davidson Roy had two daughters of his own. He could recognize a damsel in distress almost instantly. It was only now that he recollected something. As a result, he found himself pushing against the door behind him.

"I understand that you were—acquainted with Mr Le Corbusier." Knowing his employees inside out was one of the requirements of being head. How such a significant tidbit escaped him before was a mystery. Quite possibly because such menial details rarely did become significant.

She was looking up at him now, sadly. "I was, sir."

"Then, I must ask. Will you be entirely content to be a part of this investigation, Ms Weasley?" His brow arched, "I would understand if you were not."

A silence chased his words. Distractedly, Roy rearranged the disorderly room in his mind—parchment, quill, trash in the bin etc – until she spoke again. The sadness in her eyes had faded and she was looking at him as if he had just screeched a string of profanity.

"I—of course, sir. I would not—no, no. I want to be in this job—this one too. It doesn't change things. I… I've just been promoted," A glimmer of a smile straightened on her lips, "No. I—please, just give me those."

She gestured towards the papers he carried. Roy smiled again.

"Here," he paused, "I am holding a briefing at midday—multi-departmental," he expressed a light gagging noise which only made the woman's smile widen, "There are plenty of details there. And I want two of you to go and visit the place of death… you… and," A finger on his lip, Roy leaned back and grinned as a figure flashed by the transparent surface of Rose's office door.

He went to open it immediately: "—Ah, Malfoy- do you have a moment?"

His tone of voice suggested intensively that whether he possessed said moment—or not, the man had to respond. The tall trainee did. He turned and attended to his boss' request dutifully.

"More than a moment," he replied, reaching him, coffee in hand, "What is it, sir?"

"I need someone to accompany Ms Weasley to Soho, this afternoon. To attend to the place of death," Summarily, Roy thrust a wad of paper into the man's free hand, "—ensure that you brief yourselves well on the case details," for no employee of mine will look like an idiot, "—and get, get, get the pathology report first—also, Mr Malfoy please may you make fifty five copies of these for the meeting this afternoon. If you leave now, you should make it on time. Keep that in mind, folks yes?"

A busy smile sliding across his face, Roy tossed Rose a determined nod of the head before leaving her office. He scuttled along the corridor, waving heatedly at his secretary –Mona- for his morning cuppa. Considering the manner of the morning, he expected he would need more than two cups of tea to survive the next few hours.

At the same time, Rose was reading over the first page of the case file. She glanced up to reach for a quill and only then spotted the figure leaning on her door frame. His attention remained centred on Roy who had just disappeared through a corner. She watched him in return. It took a second before his eyes finally revolved to meet hers.

Politely, he smiled.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"I'll just have copies of these… and we can leave—should I just meet you outside?"

"Yeah," Gingerly, she squeezed all the papers together, "sure, sure."

"Good."

The history (or lack thereof) between Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy made a very dull train of thought. They had attended Hogwarts at the same time—she was sorted into Gryffindor (predictably) and he was a Ravenclaw (perhaps, not so predictably). Looking back from this moment, Rose was certain that they had only ever had one proper conversation during their time at school. She had been paired up with him one afternoon at Potions. Equipped with the bubbly nature of her childhood temperament, she had tried her best to engage him in conversation. Scorpius had been notorious for his unsociable conduct at the time—a popular observation when contrasted with that of his of his twin sister. Expectantly, he had declined her offer on the first foot by answering her in the most subdued way. The efforts fell through and they concluded their partnership with Scorpius' conscientiously written report handed over later that week. After, she had never tried again. He was delightedly titled by Albus as the most arrogant douche bag in their year; however, Rose had always had a feeling that his behaviour did not stem from arrogance at all. But since that afternoon together, she had barely passed the boy a thought. Man, even. She was never the type to dwell on people she did not particularly like.

And now he was here.

They apparated to the place in silence. Parting from the small conversation and a wayward comment about the December weather, the pair had kept the menial exchange to a minimum.

"We're Investigators—sent by Mr Roy," Holding up her badge, Rose introduced herself to the figure in front of the pub they'd apparated to, "I'm Investigator Weasley—this is my colleague— "

"Malfoy," Scorpius interposed, flicking his badge for view.

The man nodded, lightly gesturing for them to take the stairs to the basement. The pub was dark. Rose glanced around, half imagining the figures that must have been prancing senselessly here last night—whilst an innocent man languished to his death downstairs. The thought was enough to force her throat to dry and she followed her colleague down.

"His body's been taken to the morgue," Scorpius told her flatly, as if comprehending the hesitance in her eyes.

"Oh, well get the pathologist. I'll try and talk to the others and see what I get."

"Okay."

"Okay."

For a moment, she sensed that he wanted to say something but was too tentative to press the words. Rose saved him the trouble.

"I'm fine," she paused, "really."

He nodded.

"I'm aware," his tone was strict, "I'll meet you here in twenty."

Twenty minutes later and Rose had spoken to approximately the auror in charge, a fellow Investigator, two MLEs and the owner of the pub.

"I run a respectable business, here Missus—I don't know what you're thinking—"

"No accusation was offered, Mr. Patmore. I just need a statement—"

The plump man shook his head, waving off her words with a hand."I've been talking to all of you since two in the morning—I can barely see straight considering how tired I am."

"A man was murdered in your establishment sir," Rose explained wearily, feeling both annoyance and sympathy for the man, "An important man," A friend, her mind winced, "I'm sure you understand that this is all out of necessity."

Her words clearly struck a chord. He wiped his face with a sleeve and then nodded, "Fine," Taking a breath, he began.

"There was a party here, last night. Expectantly. It's December. Every day is celebrated," Exhaustedly, he smiled before progressing, "It stopped—about one-ish, possibly. I wasn't here. One of my employees was in charge. I was on my way—packing. And then, I got an owl from yous and went straight back."

Patiently, Rose nodded, glancing down at her book which had the statement already written. She had inquired for she wanted to know herself. It was a talent she had cultivated over time—how to tell when someone was a liar. Mr Patmore was certainly as innocent as he proclaimed. "Thank you, sir." Glancing up at the stairs, she then said, "Please, go get some sleep. I think we're done. If there's anything else, we will get in touch."

At that point, Rose sensed a presence behind her. She turned, almost colliding into her partner in the process. "Done?" she inquired, gesturing towards the file he held, "double checked?"

"Triple," Scorpius responded.

"Which pathologist was it?" the red headed woman turned her eyes picking out the figure in the coat.

Sylvia White. The woman straight out of romantic fiction. Popular amongst her colleagues—particularly of the male orientation—Ms White was undeniably pretty. Long dark hair, tall slim frame and a smile which never ceased despite the grotesque nature of her job—she was the perfect recipe of female beauty crossed with the burning allure that came with career women.

It was a shame, Rose supposed, that she was a bitch.

A bemused smile on her face, Rose returned her gaze to the blonde man.

He was blushing.

Not wishing to embarrass him, she said nothing. "We have time," forty minutes until the meeting, in fact, "want to get some coffee? We can talk all this…" She gestured towards her cargo of papers, "along."

"Sure," he stated, discomfort fading.

"Lovely," She tossed the Auror in charge a wave, "I'll just excuse us."

Taking a step forwards, Rose found her eyes centring on the chair in the middle of the room. A chain lay beneath it- no doubt smothered in Frank's blood. Briefly, she felt herself whimper as images of what the man could have endured in his final moments entered her mind. The pain - the inevitable surrender to death. Plus, the extraction of the tongue. It was all so horrible.

'Yet you've seen worse.'

Closing her eyes briefly, she reprimanded herself before continuing.

"So," Stirring the milk into her coffee, Rose glanced up into the eyes of the man sat across her.

He had been watching his cup for a few seconds now. She supposed that he must be evading conversation. Clearly, nothing much had changed since their graduation a few years ago. They were twenty five—and still, he refused to talk.

"Do you wish to discuss these matters here?"

His tone caught her by surprise. It verged on angry—but Rose surmised that it was discomfort above all. "No," she responded honestly, "I just wanted to get something to drink… I don't think we'd get much breaks after this afternoon's meeting." Warily, she watched him. His eyes were fixated on the window by their table.

A silence followed.

She hated silence. "I'm sorry," Pausing, she waited until he turned back to her before clarifying, "I'm sorry I missed your trainee-welcome party last Friday. I was helping my brother pack for Egypt."

Scorpius smiled; the sentiment gentle. "It's fine. I didn't stay long. Plus, it wasn't just for me."

"I have to say," she said then, feeling like the ease had returned in his manner, "I didn't take you for an Investigator. More… well, I don't know."

Rose had said it in a tone which (she hoped) waived all offence possible. It worked because his smile did not fade. If anything, he laughed.

"That's why I applied late," he answered, finally taking the first sip of his cappuccino, "I understand. I worked for Mungo's actually."

"Let me guess," The redhead grinned, "Medical researcher."

"Ah," Pleasantly surprised, Scorpius chuckled, "Yes."

"So, why did you leave?"

"Because I applied here."

There was nothing defensive about his answer however Rose sensed that his honesty had slipped then. But she respected people's privacies; at least she had learnt to ever since starting her job and realizing that everyone was as secretive as hell. He was private. There was something about his cool expression that suggested someone who had things to hide.

But everyone had secrets. He was nothing special.

Eyeing the Malfoy, she found a smile cross her face again.

He was very much the same Malfoy she remembered; quiet, solitary and very dismissive of company. However, there was a maturity in the depth of his eyes which made her hopeful that he would not be the identical arse she recalled from school. Physically, he was taller—his hair was much darker—and he was cleanly shaven. They were details that were lost on people but Rose liked to explore people's physical profiles. There were often momentous details on the surface of people which revealed much about their character.

It would be said that her companion gave very little away. Scorpius dressed plain—he acted plain—and thus, he appeared plain.

"Have I got something on my face?"

Almost desperately, Scorpius reached for a tissue.

Rose blushed heavily, "No," she shook her head.

"Oh," His expression dropped—so did the newly acquired tissue, "Then." Insecurely, Scorpius brushed a finger against the bottom of his lip, "you were—staring at me."

"I like to stare at people."

Lightly, her eyes closed as she cursed herself, "I meant," she paused gingerly, "I'm used to staring at people. It's in the job description isn't it. To look at people and figure out what they're like. I mean it's not the only variable, but you have to consider it."

Aware that she was getting redder by the second, Rose took a sip of her drink and looked up to spot him staring back.

"So," Pausing, Scorpius asked, "what did you find out?"

"Not much," she revealed almost miserably, "only that you're very tidy."

"And you're not."

He paused.

"I saw your office this morning—remember?"

"Oh," Rose smiled, "yes, you did. I—yes, I've been willing to get all that sorted."

She had for about two years now. The fact was that she spent so much time in the office that by the end of the day—all she wanted to do was go. She couldn't bear the extra time required to stay in that cupboard a moment longer than necessary.

"It's alright though," she mumbled, sipping again, "I mean, I know where everything is… so the messiness is no problem."

He laughed a little but said nothing. Rose wanted to sustain the conversation but came up with no subject matter to pursue. Fearing that she would irritate him, she simply kept to herself-fiddling with the top of her case file. Eventually though, she was salvaged from the silence. She did not notice him shuffle forwards a little as he asked,

"You knew the victim, didn't you."

Rose blinked numbly for a moment.

"Yes," she paused, "—but who didn't. It was Frank. He was assistant to the Minister. He was basically a political celebrity."

"Personally, I meant."

"Yes," It was her turn to dodge his glances as she watched the muggles amble happily past the window, "I did."

"As friends."

She cottoned onto his tone instantly.

"Of course, as friends," Her eyes widened, "If you're suggesting—"

"No accusation was offered," Scorpius interrupted smoothly, holding up a hand and shaking his head, "I was simply asking."

By then of course, he had pressed the matter too much. Pale tears had returned to her eyes and the taste of the coffee was growing bitter on her tongue.

"We can go." He suggested, meeting her eyes as she nodded wordlessly.

It was then that she noticed that he'd barely touched his drink. "Oh, no." She gestured towards it, "Finish your drink."

"It's fine," Scorpius answered, coat around him already, "I'll only upset you further if we stay."

The casual way he'd stated it almost made Rose bypass the comment completely. It took her a moment to absorb the words before she was up on her feet:

"No," she argued, managing a smile, "you haven't upset me."

He passed her a smile in return—(perhaps even more unconvincing than hers) before passing her the papers she'd abandoned on the table.

"Let's go, Ms Weasley," he responded, glancing at a spot over her shoulder.

Rose realized then that the situation may have been misconstrued in Scorpius' head. After all, now that she peered further - she realized that he was more upset than she was. And she had barely said anything.

The easiness in his eyes had faded.

She clutched the file closer to her chest. There was work that required doing; this was nothing.

"—Justice for our fallen colleague is paramount and all departments must work together to bring those responsible to account. I will be present at this afternoon's press conference which will be held downstairs. The Minister will be making a short speech as well. For now, we must review the plans we have brought in to protect London. This is the fourth death of its kind. This is unacceptable and must not be allowed to happen again. There is something happening in the streets. Something stirring that we are missing. And we must find out what it is and stop it—there will be a ceremony for Frank tomorrow. For now, I call all departmental heads to stay behind for another briefing. That is all. If you have questions, stay behind."

Rose walked down from the meeting alone. Her hands were shaking. Turning a corner, she turned to the side and realized that Scorpius had been walking with her.

"Oh," She smiled, "I didn't see you there."

"Mr Roy is pulling the department together in about twenty minutes," he paused, "we are widening the span of the investigation on the previous three murders."

He paused again.

"We're doing the Collins case."

"Collins," Rose ran through the details in her mind—three months ago, Caucasian female, Thames, poisoned. It took a second. "Wait, we."

Scorpius nodded.

"We."

She wasn't sure how to respond. Enthusiasm and disappointment were both too ugly of an expression to really define how she felt. Instead, she just nodded.

"Well, best get to work then."

Rose looked up at him and found herself a little at a loss. Because for a moment—she swore she had seen a gleam of sympathy in his eyes. Genuine sympathy. However this sensation wore off and she figured that she must have imagined it.

"Your office or mine?"

She figured that was a joke. "Trainees don't have offices."

"I have a desk," The blond admitted, "It's tidy."

Now it dawned on her that he was (possibly) attempting to enlighten her after what had transpired earlier in the morning. Perhaps that was why he was behaving so oddly.

"Your desk then."

He smiled.

She smiled back.

The moment was extinguished by a lean figure brushing through them.

"Oh, fuck's sake you two. Walk faster, fucking buggers."

Separated by a rather flushed looking Investigator Dawson, Rose retained her smile before realizing that Scorpius had disappeared. He had walked the other direction—towards his desk, without even a prompt of a goodbye.

The redhead could only shrug, almost entirely accustomed to the man's conduct despite only reacquainting with him a few hours ago. He was an odd one. A much kinder description than the one attributed consistently by her father.

Ah, her father. He would be fascinated to hear about this.

About Frank too, she reminded herself as all previous cheeriness left her face and she walked steadily back to her office.

Disclaimers: I own nothing. Watchtower - Devlin ft. Ed Sheeran

A/N: So hello, much thanks for reading. This is the first chapter of my first fic of my first delve into next!gen with Scorpius/Rose. I am very excited and I hope you like it so far. I wanted to divert away from the Scorpius/Rose manwhore!Hogwarts stories so I decided to create one where they did not have that pleasure of forming a relationship at school. It is a romance at heart. Scorpius' point of view in the next installment.

Thank you; I hope you are all having a lovely holiday.