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THE BEGINNING OF THE END
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Chapter II: And the walls kept tumbling down...
He was sitting on the tattered seats of the compartment, thumbing through an old copy of the Head's rulebook.
He looked…well, he looked….
Peaceful.
Rose hadn't expected that word to jump to her mind, and was surprised when it did. Peaceful? But it was true. His platinum, almost white, locks were bathed golden in the light of the mid-afternoon sun, and the corners of his lips were turned upwards in what would look like, to one unfamiliar with Scorpius, a smile. Unlike last year, when issues with his father had come to a head and he had been so on edge about everything that he'd forgotten, for one heart-stopping moment still captured in the fibers of a woolen Ravenclaw scarf, that he hated her.
"Staring again, Weasley?" The characteristic smirk caught Rose off-guard and she jumped a little before collecting what was left of her dignity and sitting opposite him.
"Not at all," she retorted primly, "Just committing to memory a very unusual sight: Malfoy holding a book right side up for once."
The shadow of a flush spread across Scorpius' pale cheeks. "Okay, Weasley, that was one time and it was in History of Magic…"
Rose let out a breath of relief that she didn't even know she'd been holding. They'd reverted to their old, teasingly hateful banter; there was none of the awkwardness or tension that she'd been anticipating. None on his side, anyway. Obviously, what happened that night had been an aberration, an anomaly chalked up to fatigue and circumstance that could soon be forgotten.
Rose told herself that she was relieved that it'd meant nothing to him. She told herself so persuasively that she almost convinced herself. Almost.
"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she demurred, and looked down to the scrap of parchment she'd scribbled notes on. "So I divided the house Prefects – this list should cover settling in the first-years tonight, and patrols for the next week."
He snatched the paper out of her hand and rolled his eyes. "I've already sent McGonagall a schedule for patrols for the first term, so we won't be needing this. Didn't you get my owl over the summer?"
"I – what? No, I didn't," Rose said, flustered. "So then why did you call this meeting?"
He stood up, turned to leave, and he was suddenly too big, his pressed black robes seeming to fill every cranny of the compartment. "Ask McGonagall. It would seem like we're done h – "
Before he could finish, Rose had risen and grabbed his wrist. He turned, startled, his eyes widening for a brief second before he composed himself.
Their faces were too close together. Rose could feel him, rather than hear him, breathing. It didn't help that she was still grasping the material of his cloak, either.
"Malfoy, like it or not, we are doing this together," she hissed, flustered both by their proximity and his easy dismissal of her proposal. "You don't get to do whatever you feel like just because you can – those days are over. Get used to it."
He pried her hand off his wrist and cast a cool eye over her. "Easy, Weasley," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned closer, like he was about to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it and strode out, leaving Rose alone in the compartment with a spinning head and an erratic heartbeat.
The feast, the Sorting, and the rest of the traditional first-day-back activities had passed in a whirlwind of chaos and adrenaline, and Rose was finally, finally alone. She had waited until McGonagall had given her the okay to leave the Great Hall, long after the first-years had been assigned their dormitories, long after clean-up, long after even the house elves had drifted off to sleep. She'd drafted a plan with the professor and Scorpius, outlining the rest of the year in the smoothest manner possible, and at long last she could retire to her room.
Despite her exhaustion, Rose couldn't help but feel an oncoming wave of anticipation as she whispered the password, "Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,"* to the portrait of the young couple that guarded the Heads' chambers. She'd heard rumors about these rooms, stories of a bathroom with solid gold faucets and beds with towering mattresses and canopies…
She was not disappointed. The space was beautiful, every inch justifying the outrageous descriptions. The floor was layered with plush red carpets, and rolls of drapery ornamented the heavy stained glass windows that adorned the walls. Even the polished mahogany of the tables was carved with intricate designs that spoke of an elegance Rose had never seen before in her life. She finally flopped onto the bed-cushions in the girl's room, drained after the long day she'd had. This was the life.
Before she knew it, she'd drifted off to sleep, cocooned in satin sheets and still fully dressed.
"Weasley!"
Groaning, Rose turned over in bed and gripped her covers a little tighter. "Ten more minutes…"
A pillow zoomed at her and hit her smack-dab in the face. "Get up. It's the first day of classes – are you always like this? Because that would be a problem."
She sat up suddenly when the voice registered: Malfoy, Hogwarts…what? Right, summer was over. And the git was leaning against her doorframe, showered and dressed with not an irritating platinum hair out of place.
"Malfoy, what the hell?" she cried, pulling the duvet up to her neck. "Get out of my room!"
He quirked an eyebrow, before saying condescendingly, "Trust me, there's no enjoyment on my side, either. Are you sure that the thing on your head is, in fact, hair and not some obscure magical creature Professor Oakwood would be interested in studying?"
Rose could feel a furious blush spreading like wildfire across her face and, trying to spare herself any further humiliation, tossed the pillow back at him and muttered a quick spell to slam the door in his face.
"And stay out!" she yelled to the faint chuckles she heard behind the door.
She was already late, so she ran into the bathroom for a quick shower and pulled on her robes before making it down to the Great Hall just in time to see everyone finish breakfast. Disgruntled – she'd secretly harbored the fantasy of making a dramatic entrance on the first day of school and watching all the first years stare in awe and whisper to each other, "That's Rose Weasley, the Head Girl. Isn't she amazing?" – she began to trudge to Herbology, her first class of the day. Lizzy fell in step beside her and said consolingly, "I saved you some toast – here."
Rose took the grease-covered tissue and smiled at her friend. "Ugh….seventh year so far? Not exactly as I imagined it."
Lizzy's smile was as bright as ever, and just being with her made Rose forget – to a certain degree – her earlier mortification. But not quite.
It was just …. him. He managed to get under her skin like no one else could. Why couldn't she get him out of her head? Why did she still feel a flutter every time his eyes met hers?
Why couldn't she get that night last spring out of her head?
Ugh. And now she was stuck working with the bastard, effectively ruining what was supposed to be the best year of her life.
Fan–bloody–tastic.
Scorpius was sitting at his usual spot in the Great Hall - right side of the Ravenclaw table, fourth seat from the left. His usual breakfast was in front of him – scrambled eggs, a side of toast and two strips of bacon. His usual friends were around him, gabbing endlessly about classes and professors and who fancied who.
And yet Scorpius was not his usual self.
Actually, scratch that – he'd been this way for months now. Maybe this was his new "usual". This moping, mooning, hopelessly-in-he-wasn't-ready-to-say-the-word-yet shadow of his former self. Ever since a cold spring night half a year ago when…
Fucking Rose Weasley.
This was her - this wasn't him! She was making him this way; she'd wriggled her way into his head somehow and she wasn't coming out. This…this was madness. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.
Hell, he wasn't a prude. He'd been with girls before; he'd even garnered a reputation as somewhat of a ladies-man. But what he was feeling right now wasn't lust. Or rather, it wasn't just lust.
It must be some sort of spell, some enchantment she'd cast over him. This lunacy couldn't be natural. The way his throat dried up whenever her warm eyes twinkled at him, the way his palms sweat whenever he heard her full laugh.
The way his breath caught in his throat whenever she touched him.
That moment in the train…he'd thought he could handle working with her, he'd thought he could be professional and keep his recent psychosis under control. But it was too much. She was too much. And when he couldn't take it anymore, when he had to get out…
She'd grabbed his wrist, and he could have sworn there was bloody electricity coursing between them, the kind he'd only heard of in soppy dramas his mother was addicted to.
What the hell was going on?
Scorpius exhaled slowly and took a long swig of his pumpkin juice. It was going to be a rough year.
*Aut viam inveniam aut faciam: "I will either find a way or make one."
A/N: This chapter title comes from a lyric in a song called Pompeii by Bastille. If you don't know them, check them out - they're an amazing band!
As always, leave a review!
Kisses,
- CandiFloss