A little idea I've had rattling round in my head that I thought I would upload. Some Hogwarts flashbacks from Scorpius PoV and 'present day' Rose. Flashbacks to Hogwarts are in italics. And off we go!

o0o

2017

Nervous... that's how he feels. Sick to the pit of his stomach.
Unacceptable.

He gazes impassively round the small train compartment at those who share it with him.
Still, the sick gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grows.
He closes his eyes and allows the rhythmic sound of the train to lull him.
Feigning sleep for a while will allow him to gain composure.

He is a Malfoy. There can be no trace of weakness.

o0o

10 years later...

"Rose!"

"Yes?" She snapped irritably, glancing up at the unwelcome intrusion.

Peter gulped audibly and paled slightly. In a flash he is forcibly reminded of a wildlife documentary he watched on his muggle grandparents television when he was a child. A lioness stalking her prey through the grasslands, steely focus, no mercy. The antelope skittish and nervous. A short chase, a bloody end, there was never any doubt about the outcome.

Well he won't be lunch today. He took a step back.

"The chief wants to see you..." He sees her eyes narrow, he chickens out, "Erm... something about the ball tonight... I'm not a hundred percent sure... you may want to um..." He lets his voice trail off and he backs away gesturing vaguely towards the office of their Editor in Chief. Her lips pursed, she holds his gaze as he backs across the office and finally turns scuttling off to his desk.

"Shit!" She exclaimed kicking the side of desk in a fit of temper.

"Put a sickle in the box!" sighed Lorcan leaning across their shared desk and raising an eyebrow in the direction of a bright red container with the words 'Rosie's Swear Box' scrawled across it in large gold letters.

Rose transfered her glare to him but he met it steadily. "Your New Years resolution, not mine!" he smirked.

Without breaking eye contact she reached into her draw and picked a sickle up and dropped it into the box, then rising from her seat she turned her back and stalked away.

"You're going to have to do it Rosie!" Lorcan called after her retreating form. He sniggered as she turned and gestured rudely at him.
"That counts for the box too." He yelled and then chuckling to himself, he returned to his work.

Rose strode across the office, mentally going over her reasons for avoiding tonight's ball whilst simultaneously playing out the finer details of the Bulstrode story which was where her real interest lay.

"Look Chief, I really think we need to rethink this whole ball thing..." She began. Rpse never bothers to knock on the door of her Editor in Chief's office, but barrels in already in full flow. "I mean, bloody hell, it's just going to be a bunch of self congratulatory, pretentious, posh tossers patting each other on the back. Nobody's interested in reading it, so send Abigail. She wants to cover it and I really think I'm on to something with this Buls-" She suddenly registered the presence of others in the room. "Oh Fuck me!" She finished abruptly.

Ernest Ramshackle, long suffering Editor in Chief of the Daily Prophet stood at his desk massaging his temple with one hand and giving her a look of immense irritation. Sitting at his desk and staring disapprovingly at her are Horatio Zabini and Alfred Burke current patriarchs of their respective pureblood families and two of the three filthy rich sponsors of tonight's ball.

"Rose?" Ernest grinds out, his eyes boring into her skull.

Merlin. She's surprised her head hasn't exploded.

Unrepentant and amused but unwilling to further embarrass her boss, she groped for a way to make it better. "Erm... Pete said you wanted to see me about the ball tonight? Obviously... ahem... we need to have a word about that other ball that's coming up next week that Abigail wants to cover, but... we can do that any time!" She gave them a bright smile and pushed the fiery red curls that are constantly falling in her eyes out of her face. She fought the urge to laugh, which always seemed to happen in awkward situations.

Ernest stared at her. His fingers increased the pressure to his temple, perhaps imagining that if he pressed hard enough he will wake up to discover that the last five minutes have been a dream.

Someone cleared his throat behind her and Rose jumped. Up until that point she had been unaware of any other person in the room. She swung around and noticed someone lounging against the wall behind her. "Malfoy?" She snorted disbelievingly.

He stared at her with cool grey eyes, his lips pulling upward at the corners in an expression of haughty amusement that she dimly remembers from the corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts.

"Weasley." He acknowledges, stepping forward, taking her hand and raising it to his lips in a brief kiss. He looks at her inscrutably. He is wearing an immaculate grey pinstripe suit with a waistcoat and a crisp white shirt that looks expensive. His blonde hair is slicked back in his trademark style.

She removed her hand looking confused and unimpressed. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow "Our company is providing financial backing for the ball tonight, my father sent me to discuss the press coverage with Ernest, who assures me he is sending the Prophets star reporter, so that we receive excellent coverage in your esteemed publication." He drawled out the last few words lacing them with irony.

Shrugging she turned back to Ernest who was still glaring at her. Her editor cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well Rose would be our first choice to cover tonight's festivities. She's an extremely experienced reporter who is very capable of..." Ernest wilted a little under the weight of the disapproving stares that Zabini and Burke are currently giving him. "Unless uh, you would prefer somebody else?"

Rose bit her lip trying to look penitent but struggling to contain her glee. Any moment now she will be out of this assignment and free to concentrate on the Bulstrode story. Let Abigail fawn over the society news. There are real stories to be told.

Scorpius Malfoy stepped forward with a wry smile "I am sure Rose will do an admirable job Mr Ramshackle." He turned to Rose whose jaw had dropped in disbelief. "I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you this evening Weasley, I have it on good authority that there will be an almost unlimited supply of self congratulatory pretentious posh tossers for you to ingratiate yourself with. Who knows you may even enjoy it."

He reached forward and shook Ernest by the hand. The other two rose and said perfunctory good-byes. Within moments they were gone.

Ernest released a breath that he seemed to have been holding in for the last five minutes and sunk into his chair like a large balloon deflating.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" exploded Rose, "I was this close to getting out of it and that smarmy-"

"Rose" Ernest growled warningly, his head snapping up. "May I remind you that the companies owned by Draco Malfoy, Horatio Zabini and Alfred Black generate at least fifty percent of the advertising revenue for this paper."

"But-"

"May also remind you that that revenue goes to pay your wages."

Rose shut her mouth, fuming silently.

"Go to the ball. Write the damn story. Make it look good."

"The Bulstrode story..." She began.

"Will be here when you get back. GO!"

She turned on her heel and strode out of the door.

"Oh and Rose?" She looks back at him questioningly. "Take the rest of the day, sort your hair out, buy a dress, maybe even put some make up on. I want you on your best behaviour tonight, not sticking out like a sore bloody thumb!"

Lorcan glanced up at Rose as she returned to her desk swearing steadily and creatively under her breath, he caught her eye and then gestured dramatically to the swear box on her desk. She reached into her handbag pulling out her purse and emptied it into the box. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm paying in advance for the rest of today." She harrumphed.

"You could try not spewing profanities all the time," he joked "think of all the money you'd save"

"I don't spew profanities Lorc" Rose spat back as she stuffed parchments and quills into her bag with venom, "I articulate them clearly like a fucking lady."

o0o

He needn't of worried. Centuries of tradition and breeding and he supposes it should be no surprise. The Malfoys belong in Slytherin.

o0o