Title: Frauds

Rating: T (for language)

Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to get this up. If it's any consolation, I just finished it minutes ago. Translation: you're likely to find mistakes, but I'm okay with that. Thank you all for reading it – your reviews are super nice and make me giddy. I'm easily pleased. It cannot be helped. Meanwhile, I think Rose ran away from me. I didn't plan for her to be a Person That Thinks in First Caps…And I'll add points of clarification at the end of the chapter. I've been told I throw in references that need explaining some times, so the exposition is meant for those unfamiliar with some of the bits in the writing. Anyhow, onward!

Chapter 02.

On most days, Rose Weasley lied so well that she even she believed that she was simply another Weasley popped out of the same mould as the rest. She was her father's darling girl, her grandmother's wee spitfire, a product of generations of irrepressible do-gooders with the biological imperative to find other do-gooders and do-good together. She barreled into situations with little forethought, jumped to the defense of the weak and defenseless, and dared anyone to stand in the way of her righteous path. Her eyes burned with earnestness, her mouth permanently set in a mutinous line that proclaimed her determination.

Yes, she was a Weasley's Weasley, or better yet, a Weasley improved by the genes of Hermione Granger. The blood of two infamous Gryffindors coursed through her veins – no one questioned her place in Godric Gryffindor's revered house. No one suspected how hard to was to be so damn noble, so bloody courageous and so blindly a martyr. It defied explanation and reason, and Rose really hadn't the time to sort it all out. She also had her mother's legacy to live up to, for that matter.

Rose learned early on that it was easier to be a typical member of the Weasley brood than not to be, particularly because she was her father's little girl. Although she gravitated intellectually to her mother, Rose knew her father doted on her, and she was never one to pass up freely given attention or a good thing. That might have been her first sign that she was meant to be a Slytherin. But the joke was on her: she wanted so much to please her father that she could never be anything but a ridiculous Gryffindor.

"You seem awfully smug this week. Think you have me beat, do you?" he asked, taking the parchment from her fingers.

Scorpius drew out his Meisterstück, and touched the nib to his tongue (unnecessarily). It was a move calculated to catch her attention, and it did, but not for the reason that he always assumed. Yes, his lips, his mouth, even his ruddy pale pink tongue were all perfect – but she was more interested in the fact that he used a Muggle fountain pen instead of a quill like the rest of them. When she asked – and she was fairly certain that she was the only one that dared ask – he'd told her that it was just a Curious Object he'd found in his father's junk drawer. Of course, as he bloody well knew, this sent her on a path straight to the Interweb (thank goodness for Muggleborn mothers!) and to a website that told her just how much that junky Curious Object cost. It was enough for her to consider again what her parents had told her about the Malfoys and their excesses. Honestly, it was downright disgusting, and not worth contemplating. But what was worth contemplating was Scorpius Malfoy's tongue.

Rose cleared her throat, and her head. "I couldn't allow you to win two weeks in a row, now could I?"

He sighed as he observed his manicured fingernails. Rose wondered if having the grooming habits of a girl was a Slytherin trait or a Malfoy trait. "It will be three weeks in a row, not two."

She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it with a frown. Yes, she supposed it has been two winning weeks for him already.

"Are you so used to losing that you've lost count?" he asked with a quirked brow.

"Shut it, you."

"Clever, Rose," he murmured, but he had his pen poised nonetheless.

She cleared her throat. "I combed Mrs. Norris on Wednesday."

"Was it for detention?"

"No. I did it because it was nice," she smirked.

Scorpius nodded. "Disgusting, but acceptable."

"I didn't think before I called Professor Brown a prejudiced bully when she made Margot Winkletimms cry in Divination."

His pen lifted from the parchment. "How is that a Gryffindor trait deserving of a point?"

"Two points. First, I didn't employ any forethought in my actions. They were reckless and foolhardy at best. I earned detention, didn't I?"

He sniffed. "And the second?"

"I defended Margot Winkletimms, in spite of the fact that she truly is a stupid cow who wouldn't know The Grim if it splattered across her face."

"You appear to be employing different tactics this week, Rose. This isn't how you go about trying to win," he observed.

Rose suppressed a grin. "Is it two points or not?"

Scorpius inclined his head. "It is."

She laughed a laugh that was by no means angelic. "I thought so."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask one. A question, by general definition, involves asking. You stated."

"Rose…"

"Am I not entitled to changing my strategy when it isn't working?" she asked vaguely.

He took a moment to think, which was more that enough for him to figure out what she was about. Stupid, stupid boy. He was too smart for his own good. "How many technically Gryffindor acts are you going to have me document, then?"

Rose pretend to count on her fingers. There was nothing wrong with a little bit of coyness. "Ten more, thirteen total."

That made him frown. It ought to; it was four more than his tally. "Thirteen?"

"It's a prime number. I like prime numbers."

He put the pen down carefully. If it had been her, she might have hurled it against the old wooden table, but one did not hurl an antique fountain pen. "You must really want this forfeit," he said, annoyance vibrating with each syllable.

"I do, I really do."

"Name it."

Inside her head, Rose was doing a jig. On the outside, her composure was as fine as any Perfectly Behaved Young Miss. "You don't have a date to the Vernal Dance, do you?"

"Rose Weasley, you aren't suggesting that we go together, are you?"

"Don't make me ill. Scorpius, not every girl in school worships at your altar." When he didn't speak, but instead continued smirking, she added, "No, I am not suggesting that."

"Fine. No, I don't have a date. In fact, I didn't intend on going at all."

"Excellent, then you should have no problem inviting Daisy Longbottom to be your date."

"Daisy Longb—she's a third year. I can't go with a third year," he hissed, leaning forward.

Rose leaned it in equal measure, briefly bumping noses with him. "Sure you can, and you'll be the perfect gentlemen. Surely you can do something so simple, Scorpius."

He gritted his teeth and straightened away from her. "You'll pay for this."

She feigned a shudder. "How very Slytherin."

"Excellent. Then you can put this exchange in next week's tally."

"Fine, just remember to put down your date with Daisy as two points in my column. One point for doing a favor for Daisy – she's head over heels for you Malfoy – and one point for annoying a Slytherin."

She had always expected to find common ground with a Slytherin, but she had never expected that Slytherin to be a Malfoy, especially That Malfoy, and especially not because they were both frauds. Her father had warned her about Scorpius and his family, had told her to beat him at everything right before she got on the Hogwarts Express that first year. So she had always been aware of him, always competed even though they never talked about the whys of it all. But they'd never exchanged more than a handful of words. While it was fine and good to follow her father's directions, she had no real reason to pay the blond boy any more attention than necessary, particularly when she had other things to do, like teach Viola Cheswick a lesson. It had never been about Rafe Thomas, and had always been about teaching that snotty bitch a thing or two about crossing a member of the Weasley family.

Scorpius was wrong, the potion wasn't meant to make Rafe fall in love with her, but with her cousin Lily. Lily didn't even like Rafe, but agitating her cousin was Rose's fringe benefit for this act of familial loyalty. Nonetheless, she was less than pleased to have someone get hold of her plans. And for that someone to be Scorpius Malfoy, her ostensible rival…well, that was disaster on top of singularly rotten luck.

It could have been worse, she reminded herself. That is wasn't a complete disaster was all due in part to her Very Bad Habit for Snooping. It paid to have evil qualities, it really did. She had filed that knowledge about Scorpius and the elves for a rainy day, and truly, it felt like a regular monsoon when she saw him with her scroll. Thank goodness she had the memory of a deviant: she remembered best the factoids that would be excellent for blackmail and personal benefit.

Rose was almost surprised that he relented so easily. Honestly, if Rose told the whole of Hogwarts that Scorpius was the heir to Hermione Granger's futile S.P.E.W. movement, no one would believe her, truth notwithstanding. Her threats, though very real (yes, she would have gotten up on a table and shouted it in the Great Hall without reservation), were laughable. Didn't he know that?

It didn't take her long for her to realize that he did.

She couldn't stop watching him. She hoped that he didn't notice. She hoped that he was concentrating so hard on copying all of her notes from last week's classes that he wouldn't catch her staring.

Rose took a moment from her musings to be angry again. For him to request her notes as the forfeit, the git would have had to be so confident about his misdeeds that he knew he would win. She hadn't even considered his less than studious behavior in classes. The loathsome rat. The handsome loathsome rat.

But that was beside the point.

Yes, he was handsome. But it was more than that. It was the ease with which he carried himself. It was the careless (yet careful) way he looked completely put together and completely disheveled all at once. Her mother had a name for such boys. Public School Boys. Rose had seen her share of them (wasn't her house close to Harrow?), and Scorpius fit the type perfectly. However, that is not why she stared. There were beautiful boys a plenty if she simply wanted something to look at, hell, several of them occupied her family tree. No, it took more than a pretty face to make Rose Weasley pay attention.

"You realize that we're sitting very much in plain sight, don't you?" she asked, breaking their companionable silence.

"Mmmhmm," he agreed. His Montblanc did not still, his eyes did not lift.

"Aren't you concerned that someone will see us together?"

"No."

"Why not? Slytherins and Gryffindors do not sit together," she reminded him.

"So we are setting a precedent. The headmistress will rejoice."

"Your flippancy is not appreciated," she huffed. "Why can't you just take my notes and copy them in your room or something? Why must we remain by the lake?"

"I am not being flip. I rather think that McGonagall would do somersaults if she saw us out here. But this speculation is beside the point."

"What is the point?"

Scorpius stopped writing and slanted his blue eyes in her direction. "No one questions what I do, or whom I do it with."

"Is that why we've been meeting in the Owlery the past month, then?"

He breathed in deeply then resumed his task. "I had to be sure."

"Be sure?"

"When we started, I thought this would be a passing interest to both of us. I didn't think it would keep me amused for this long, but it has," he smiled. "Logically, I know our little game cannot continue indefinitely, but it's equally rational to assume that it will last long enough that sneaking around will become tedious."

"Do you really need this much exposition, or do you just like the sound of your own voice, Malfoy?"

"I've been told my baritone is quite soothing," he purred (or something like it).

"Hmph."

"Do you actually want to sneak around? I thought you would appreciate my bravery at taking us public, so to speak."

She snorted. "We're not a couple, Malfoy. We're competitors."

"Indeed," he concluded, finishing his writing with a flourish. Scorpius handed back her notes and tucked his own copy into his satchel. "Well this has been very productive, don't you think?"

He was extending his hand down to help her up, but she was too busy thinking.

"You're not scared of my threat to blab about the elves, are you?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why haven't you said anything to Rafe or Viola?" she asked, gazing up at him.

"Why would I? I can't wait to see you put your plan into action," he said, too pleasantly for her comfort. "Or have you given up on it because you're afraid I'll tattle?"

Rose put her hand in his, letting him pull her up with an ease that annoyed her. Regardless, she shook it off and affixed a sly grin on her face. "Do you know how hard it is to brew an Amortentia, let alone an Amortentia with the modifications I have planned? It'll be another fortnight before it's ready."

"Ah," he nodded. "I await the show with bated breath."

They had started their game in the winter of their fifth year. Two years on, and they were still having weekly meetings to compare notes and trade forfeits. Rose didn't honestly think it would go on this long, but she also wouldn't know what to do if he asked to stop. Meeting him had become such a routine activity that its absence would leave a void. She wasn't convinced that she liked him overmuch, but he was a friend of sorts.

She would like him more if he didn't always prove her wrong.

Scorpius had been right, as per usual. No one questioned him about being seen with her; other students wrote it off as perverse behavior, but not something worth crossing Scorpius over. The case was very different for Rose; she had questions aplenty from her housemates, half of whom were related to her. They were all such nosey bastards. Naturally, she'd told them all to sod off and to mind their own business. She couldn't give the same excuse to her relatives. No, to them she'd rattled off a monologue about inter-house unity laced with such fervor and self-righteousness that even her mother would have been proud.

She really was quite good at being Rose Weasley, Gryffindor Princess (and Insufferable Know-It-All). So it was anyone's guess as to why she didn't beat Scorpius more often. But in the interest of full disclosure (and in no means a way to justify her losses), as time passed, she was less interested in winning, and more interested in solving the mystery of Scorpius. She had to. She just had to. Before it drove her batty.

It was a nice night, he said. The clearest night in months, a perfect night to look at the stars. He was headed up to the Astronomy Tower—did she want to join him?

Something told her to go – it felt like it originated in her chest – so she went.

Because it was the week before exams, the tower seemed to be deserted. They were perhaps the only two people in the castle not revising or sleeping. It was nice to be a prefect, but even nicer not to give a toss about punishments.

For the first fifteen minutes, they sat on the parapet in silence. He was half-reclined, kept aloft by a cushioning spell. She was cross-legged, but otherwise stiff. As though sensing her tenseness, he invited her to lean back and join him. Rose agreed, and as she got comfortable, he started naming the constellations. She listened to him without interruption, lulled by the uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice. Scorpius always sounded polite, but at that moment he spoke in whispers, as though afraid that a raised voice would send the stars scurrying across the sky.

"Why do you know all this?" she asked, matching his whisper.

"When your entire family bears names from constellations, you take the hint and pick up a star chart." Rose could feel him smile.

"You didn't show me where your namesake is," she smiled back.

"Scorpius, like my father's namesake Draco, occupies the summer sky," he sighed. "We won't be able to see it until July. So unfortunately, I won't be able to show it to you."

"Not necessarily," she said before she knew what she was about.

He did not respond right away, instead allowing the awkwardness to stretch. Why couldn't he be a simple boy who reacted before he thought? Or maybe this was better. Maybe he was thinking of a way to change the subject. Yes, that was it.

She heard a brief intake of breath from beside her. "Are you suggesting we see each other during summer holiday?"

Bugger. Well. Right. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Is that so unheard of?"

"A bit."

She sighed. "You're in Wiltshire, not the Outer Hebrides. And are you saying you don't know how to use a floo?"

"No, I don't floo. But…perhaps you know how?"

Rose couldn't help herself. She turned her head to look at him and saw the mischief clear as day, even in the utter darkness that stargazing demanded.

"Me? You want me to go to Malfoy Manor?"

"You clearly know where it is."

"I know that we have declared détente, but perhaps you forget that we aren't meant to be so friendly in the eyes of our families?"

"And with this bit of rationale, you expected me to show up at your father's front door?"

She shrugged. "You stand a better chance with my parents than I do with yours."

How had the conversation gone down this road? They were speaking as though they were thinking of confessing their relationship to their parents. It was absurd, particularly because they didn't have a relationship that needed explanation. Not really, anyhow.

"I used to think so too, but my mother is terrific, and my father isn't nearly as terrifying as people think."

She swallowed. "And your grandparents?"

"Spend their summers in Tuscany."

There was that silence again, and this time it was her fault. Was she really considering going over to his house – nay, manor – during summer hols? As though they were regular old friends?

"You don't have to spare my feeling. You can say no, Rose."

Courage, Rose, courage, she told herself. "I'll visit you if you visit me."

"How will you tell your father that you're having a Malfoy over for afternoon tea?"

Rose allowed herself to grin. "I reckon I'll find a way. Honestly, he'll probably thank me. That's one more person to choke down my mother's crumpets."

TBC

End notes:

Montblanc Meisterstück - one of those pens that clearly paints me as a nerd. It's the original Montblanc, the one that made it famous. A gorgeous fountain pen that translates to 'masterpiece'.

Interweb - I call it The Interweb, so Rose does as well, very much facetiously.

Public School Boys - public school in the UK is pretty much the diametric opposite of public schools in the US. They're usually boarding schools, or at the very least, quite private. Think Harrow (like Rose) or Eton.

Draco and Scorpius, the constellations, not the adorable Malfoy men - They do indeed only appear in the summer sky. You know I would have loved to make it work during school, but even I can't make the constellations move around to my heart's desire.