o0o
Just over two months in and his routine is set.
Wake at 5.30AM.
Into the shared bathroom before the rest of his house stirs and sullies the pristine sinks and baths.
Clothes freshly pressed and folded. He dresses meticulously and then busies himself with taming his hair which curls ever so slightly, he is in the habit of slicking it back with Sleekeazy's hair potion.
Down to breakfast every morning at 7am precisely.
One soft boiled egg. Two slices of wholegrain toast.
A cup of coffee. Black. No sugar.
He then reads the Daily Prophet in silence until the others join him, savouring the peace in the hall at the beginning of the day.
An only child, he is used to solitude and this is his way of seeking it out.
On the morning of Saturday November 14th. Two months and fourteen days after he started at Hogwarts his routine is disrupted for the first time.
On the table at breakfast next to his copy of the Daily Prophet there is another newspaper.
He hesitates and then peruses it curiously.
THE BEACON
A Weekly Hogwarts Newspaper. For the Students. By the Students.
1st edition.
He reads it, interested despite himself, there is passion and vibrancy to the writing. There are copies on every table in the Great Hall and once the rest of the school join him it generates a lot of interest. Nobody is admitting to producing it and the teachers appear just as stumped as the students.
He doesn't realise it yet, but just like that she's begun her invasion of his carefully crafted morning routine.
o0o
Rose harrumphed back to the semi-detached house in London that she shared with her cousin and best friend Fred Weasley, her hair in disarray, shirt half tucked into the back of her trousers and her coat buttoned incorrectly. Bursting through the front door she deposited her shoes, coat and handbag in a heap and then ran upstairs to browse through her wardrobe quickly. She has to attend the odd formal occasion for work and she's pretty sure she has something buried in the back of her wardrobe that will do for tonight. She's buggered if she's going to go out and buy new clothes.
She ransacked her wardrobe, a small mountain of clothes accumulating on her bed until she finds an ivory dress with black embroidery around the bodice. She wore it for an International Wizarding Press Awards Dinner two years ago, and it'll do. She rooted around in among some battered looking shoe boxes and is just extricating a very squashed looking shoe from underneath a suitcase when she hears the tell-tale crack that informs her Fred has just apparated into the hall.
"Rosie?" He called stomping up the stairs. "Rose?"
"I'm in here!" She called, her voice muffled by the wardrobe.
Fred knocked and then entered without waiting for a reply. Tall, dark skinned, with tightly curled hair, light brown eyes and a wide smile he's the only other Weasley of their generation who seems to enjoy the single life, the others are all married, engaged or in serious relationships.
"You're back early." It's a statement but it's really a question.
She appeared from the wardrobe, red curls askew, shoe in hand and sighed. "I have to bloody attend a big gala ball thingy at some fancy hotel tonight. You know, for the Prophet."
"Really? Surely that's the sort of thing Abby would be better for." He raised an eyebrow.
"Tell me the fuck about it. Anyone would think I was writing for bloody Witch Weekly not the Daily Prophet. Anyway," she stood, "I tried to tell the chief to send Abby but he wouldn't listen and I've been roped into it." She paused mid rant and gazed at him with narrowed eyes. "By the way, talking of Abby, she asked after you again today and I fobbed her off, but just so you know I'm not fixing you up with anyone else from my work if you're just going to shag them and leave them." She cast a couple of quick charms on the shoes and the robes to clean them, just in case.
Fred has the grace to look a bit guilty and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly "Yeah well, she was okay but a bit vapid."
Rose stared daggers at him "You begged me to ask her, I tried to warn you, but you insisted and now look where it's got me. Speak to her. Tell her you're not interested. Don't. Leave. It. For. Me. To. Do." She poked him in the chest with her finger repeatedly to accentuate each word.
"Ow! OK. OK. I'll get round to it. I promise." He grinned charmingly, "Shall I get Roxy to come over and do your hair for you?" He looped his arm through hers and they made their way downstairs together.
"Yeah, you better had, I guess. We both know I'm crap at this type of thing, and I'm under strict instructions from the chief to appear as un-me-like as possible tonight."
o0o
Well she has to admit, Roxy has done a miraculous job in just two hours, looking in the mirror she can hardly recognise herself. Her robes have been adjusted to fit better with a couple of well placed charms. The black embroidery that runs in a panel down the front has been repaired properly, she hadn't even realised it had loose threads. Roxy has even managed to tame, if not totally control her hair, giving the impression of pre-raphelite curls and sweeping it into a beautiful half up half down style which she had decorated with tiny white flowers. Rose poked her head round the door to the kitchen to say goodbye to Fred before she set out and he winked at her. "Looking good cuz! Forgiven me about Abby then?"
She glares at him a little, "I'll forgive you once you speak to her."
Roxy bustled in and fussed round her making a couple of last minute adjustments. "You look beautiful!" She grinned broadly.
"Yeah. Thanks Rox, I owe you one!" Rose cast another dark look at Fred. "Now if only I can get through tonight without spilling something on myself I should be fine."
The twins snorted with laughter and she kissed them on the cheek in turn, consciously trying not to smudge her make up.
o0o
It was six thirty and she had arrived early to meet up with Nate Plimpton who had been assigned by the Prophet to photograph tonight's event. It was at the Grange Hotel, which she learned this afternoon is an ancient, sprawling, converted country house in Sussex set in one hundred acres of land.
She turned to Nate, "Get a few shots of the grounds before the guests arrive. I'm going to have a poke around and see what's what."
He grinned at her and she heard the camera click and whir into action.
She stood a moment to drink in the beauty of the silver birches that line the gently curving driveway into undulating hills. The twilight air was clean and fresh, biting at her lungs and the first few stars of the evening were twinkling in the autumn sky. She breathed deeply and then ducked quickly into the foyer of the hotel.
It was a hive of activity inside. A slightly built witch with quick dark eyes and angular features accosted her and introduced herself as Venetia Darlington-Smythe, event co-ordinator. Once she realised that Rose was with the press, she quickly showed her to the massive ballroom where the main event will be held. It really is spectacularly impressive. It has high ceilings with oak beams and crystal chandeliers enchanted to hover high above the tables, highly polished parquet floors and huge windows that reveal perfectly landscaped gardens lit in the dusk with glowing torches. The room smelt heavenly, fresh flowers are on every table, and elegant garlands hung from the beams. Enchanted butterflies with gossamer wings flit lazily between the bouquets leaving silvery, glittery trails in their wake. Rose has never been anywhere like this before. It's all so opulent. So effortlessly elegant. It fairly takes her breath away.
Suddenly realising that she hasn't been listening at all to Venetia she tuned quickly into the conversation again, "...and obviously if you can make sure you interview the really important people, you know anyone who will sell the event to the general public. It's all about raising money for the new wing at St. Mungo's, and celebrity support always encourages people to donate more. Obviously it would be fabulous if you could cover the charity auction later tonight. Such fun!" She gave Rose a thin smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and then disappeared off.
o0o
An hour in and the room began to fill with the great and good from the wizarding world. A string quartet played in the background and a steady murmur of chatter thrummed through the room. The initial awe at her surroundings had dissipated and working her way round the room with a fixed grin she started to mingle with the guests, glass of wine in hand, wishing to all hell that she could have a shot of firewhiskey instead.
Half way through a particularly dull conversation with a short, whiskery man who she thinks might be on the board of trustees for St Mungo's she noticed the tall blond figure of Scorpius Malfoy enter the ballroom and her eyes narrowed. She averted her gaze quickly, deciding a little unfairly that as it is at least partly his fault that she is in this predicament and it will be better all round if she can ignore him this evening.
Inevitably though this plan is doomed to failure. Half way through the conversation with the whiskery man she jumped slightly as she felt a hand press briefly to the small of her back and she looked round to find herself staring into the insolent grey eyes of Scorpius Malfoy. His lips pulled up in a slight smile as he caught her eye and his shook the hand of the whiskery gentleman, whose name has eluded her. "Falstaff, glad you could make it this evening, and I hope that everything meets with your approval?" he drawls.
"Fabulous Malfoy! Fabulous! Cracking absolutely cracking! Great company as well." Falstaff replied heartily, gesturing towards Rose. "Can I introduce you to this enchanting young lady? Works for the Daily Prophet, what! Going to give this a good write up in the press eh?"
"Weasley and I attended Hogwarts together, so we are acquainted. In fact she was just telling me today how much she was looking forward to attending this evening and reporting back on it. Tell me Weasley, is tonight living up to all your expectations?" He smirked knowingly at her.
"Well Malfoy, I can honestly say that it hadn't quite reached those heady heights but now you're here I hold out great hopes that it will be exactly as fabulous and exciting as I predicted it would be." She replied with venom taking a slug of wine and wincing slightly. Malfoy raised an eyebrow sardonically.
"Weasley, that's right Rose Weasley! Knew I'd remember your name. Read your articles in the Prophet with my wife. Great stuff! Do you get to come to events like this often? Bit of a treat eh?" Falstaff guffawed slapping her on the back so that her wine nearly spilled over the edge of the glass.
Malfoy leaned across to a passing waiter and whispered to him briefly.
"To be frank, it's not really my area of expertise." Rose replied a little irritably, "I prefer investigative journalism and sometimes opinion pieces but honestly, this is a little beyond me."
"Ah so! A great treat then eh?" He beamed at her clearly no longer paying any attention to what she was saying. "Ah look! Finch-Fletchley has arrived. Must go over and say hallo!" and with that he bumbled away.
She glanced up at Scorpius who was looking at her intently. "What?" She grimaced, "I'm here, there's no point in pretending to you that I want to be but I am."
The waiter returns carrying two small glasses of Ogdens Firewhiskey, He took them both and handed one to her, passing her half finished wine back to the waiter.
"Oh Thank God!" She sighed and chugs it back quickly. Letting it warm her throat.
Then she glances up at him, momentarily confused. "How do you know I wouldn't want ice?"
He looks down at her, his face inscrutable. "A lucky guess."
o0o
It's a quarter to midnight on the final day of their sixth year.
Gryffindor have won the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup and a raucous party is taking place in their common room.
He can hear the celebratory noises from Gryffindor tower as he makes his way back from the Owlery.
He walks swiftly along on his way to the Slytherin common room, where he is sure the mood will be a little less buoyant, but comes to a halt as he sees the somewhat surprising sight of someone attempting to have a serious discussion with the unsurprisingly unresponsive statue of Wilfred the Wistful. A half empty bottle of firewhiskey clutched in their hand.
As he gets closer he sees that it's Rose Weasley, The long red curls springing out of her ponytail give her away even from a distance. Nobody else has hair that's that unruly.
"Y'seeee... and thatsh what Imma tellin' you." She pats Wilfrid's shoulder consiprationally.
"Weasley!?" He almost tries to sneak by her, but decides against it at the last minute. The Gryffindor common room is not far away and perhaps he could try help her get back.
"Whoosit?" She spins round drunkly and staggers back against him in surprise.
"Scrawpius Mafloy. How the devil are you?" She slurs and leans in to him; he recoils slightly as the pungent smell of firewhiskey hits him in the face.
"Y'wanna join me for a little, tiny weeny itty bitty drink?" She blinks owlishly up at him.
"No thanks" he replies a little stiffly.
"Huh! Fucking pussy. Whiskey is the best, better then Butterbeer or wine or anything. It's best straight as well" and to illustrate her point she takes a long swig from the bottle. "D'ya Shee?"
He places her arm around her shoulder in an attempt to support her weight and her legs immediately seem to give out under her dragging them both to the floor and they end up sitting with their backs leaning up against Wilfrid.
"Here, here, here, you have some Scrotius" She attempts to push the bottle to his lips and tips it up. He grabs the bottle before she ruins his shirt and partly to silence her takes a chug of the whiskey. Which burns his throat, he wheezes slightly.
"There! Now your shelebrating with me properly!" She beams up at him. The vacant smile of the drunk.
"Yes, well done Gryffindor." He mutters under his breath a trifle bitterly and takes another swig.
"Well yesh, I shuppose so but I'm really shelebrating becaush of my article."
"Oh? Which one?"
She has become momentarily distracted by a loose thread in her jumper and he has to repeat the question twice.
"The one about the Shorting Hat, they're going to publish it in the Daily Prophet. It'sh a big deal for me y'know? Mr Ramshackle, he's the editor, he reckons he's going to let me write a few articlesh over the next year or sho. Then I might get a job at the Prophet when I leave."
He digests this information, and takes another slug of firewhiskey.
"Wow...congratulations."
She leans her head against his shoulder and he nearly ends up with a mouthful of hair, he brushes it out of the way noting that it's a lot softer then it looks.
She puts a hand on his thigh and he tenses briefly.
She looks up at him, and he's never realised it before, because he's never had a reason to be this close to her, but her eyes are a really dark brown.
In that instance he realises how funny it is, because even though they've hardly ever had reason to speak, he feels like he knows her nearly as well as any of his own friends. It's the damn paper he realises, she's poured so much of herself into it that he could just as easily tell you her opinions on everything from books to house elves and a hundred subjects in-between.
"Muffly... I mean Moulfoy.. I mean you... you know who you are." She gestures vaguely at him. "Thanks for sharing a drink with me."
He smiles slightly and then on impulse he bends down and presses a kiss on her lips for a few seconds.
He pulls away, gauging her reaction. "You smell nice Muffly" She hiccups loudly. "What was that for?"
"Thank-you Rose" He says softly.
He helps her to her feet and they stagger gently toward the Gryffindor common room.
o0o