Something actually happens in this chapter! Rose and Scorpius finally talk! Things get out of hand!

(that's supposed to sound promoting)

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Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns HP.


THREE

This must be déjà vu. And not the fun kind either.

I can't exactly pinpoint what my first thoughts are at seeing him up close again. I'm way too sober for this? Did he use a bleaching spell for his teeth or is that just the light? Why are the biggest bastards on the planet the best-looking? Has he grown even taller or did I shrink? Was there really a time that he held my hand and kissed my nose? Was there really a time I literally felt something jumping in my chest whenever I saw him? Was there really a time I actually believed I could see behind the pretty boy façade? Was there really a time I didn't have the primal urge to literally rip his blood-pumping organ to shreds?

Because, honestly. That feels like a dream now.

"Well, well," I reply tightly, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. "If it isn't Scorpius Malfoy, unwanted piece of trash extraordinaire."

Of course he doesn't look uncomfortable at all. I mean, why should he after all? He is only the one at fault for ruining whatever illusionary cloud I was drifting on for eight months. He's only the one that made me cry my guts out for weeks, which, as I'm sure, he knows.

So go on, Malfoy. Keep on looking as smug as you do now.

"I see you got in," he mentions casually, shamelessly refilling my glass.

Quickly pulling my glass away, I say snidely, "How sagacious of you, Sherlock."

"Interesting, though," Malfoy drawls, clearly not impressed by my rude behaviour, "seeing as I got in as well. For the same program, even. This is just another fascinating piece of proof that great minds think alike."

How dare he stand there like that?

How dare he stand like – like he owns the world? Like he just saw me yesterday? Like we didn't spend two months apart with me researching legitimate killing spells? Like we're... friends?

"Oh, come on, Sco – Malfoy," I snap. "You're mind isn't half as great as mine. And what are you doing here exactly?"

He smirks slightly at my little slip-up. "Developing a quick case of senility, Rose?" As I merely roll my eyes, he continues, "You know, the Healing department? I'm in your class?"

"It was quite hard to miss your arrival. What held you up anyway? Quick shag in the janitor's closet?"

Not the smallest flinch. "As a matter of fact there were problems with the administration."

"Daddy didn't pay enough to bribe you into the school?"

"Lost the file of my insurance. Turned out to be under my bed."

Wondering why I still bother, my eyes hit the ceiling again. "Whatever. I still don't know what the bloody hell you're doing here."

"I'm here because of the Healing program," he repeats slowly, as if I once hit my head against a tree and afterwards grew retarded.

"Yes," I bite out, frustrated. "But why the Healing program? Why treating patients? You don't give a shit about people!"

"True," he confirms annoyingly. "Which is why I don't want to treat patients. I want to treat illnesses."

"Great. I'd almost forgotten what kind of a selfish cad you are."

His first reaction is to shrug, but then something in him strangely changes. Strangely – because I've gotten to know him, to really know him, from his insecurities (yes, it turns out he has them) down to his nicest smile, but I don't recognise the glint in his eyes now. And, trust me, I've gazed into those eyes more than a few times. I've come to realise that when you look very, very deeply it is possible to detect emotion somewhere (a magnifying glass is always helpful, though).

"Well yeah, you tend to forget things after two months of not speaking," he mumbles then, immediately masking his expression again.

"My memory is quite clear, thank you very much," I snap, and we both know what I'm referring to.

In one flash the unidentified look is back. "Rose – "

And then, in that very same flash, I decide that I'm not going to stand here any longer – watching how the lights enlighten his aesthetically perfect face while he keeps on this excruciating pretence of normalcy or regret or whatever he's attempting to portray here. I've got news for you, Malfoy. If you want to go back to normal, you should just go back to name-calling, seeing as that was normal before we got tangled up in our damned liaison during seventh year. And if you want to tell me you're sorry – well, then I'm just sorry for you.

The Romeo and Juliet phase is over. And they sure as hell were dead long before they could even settle for the friends part.

"Don't," I therefore interrupt. "Don't even start."

"Start what?" He's suddenly smirking and we both know it's the pretence that's making him do so. "I was just going to say that you look nice with heels."

Pretence. Pretence. Pretence.

"I'd say you look nice too, but unfortunately, all I can see right now is a slimy bastard."

"You know you don't mean that."

"Yeah, Malfoy. You've always had the talent of looking right into my head."

He doesn't let my attitude get to him. "Why haven't you touched your drink?"

"You might've poisoned it," I explain, stirring the glass slightly. Of course I know for a fact that he hasn't, but who cares?

He takes a step forward, and puts his hand back upon my shoulder. I immediately slap it off, but he's still standing a little too close for me to feel comfortable. Other than that, he also hasn't stopped wearing that presumptuous smirk, and it's getting on my last nerve.

"Rose, honestly. If you really didn't want to be standing here, you would've run off a long time a – "

And then – because he is so dishonest - I do the first thing I can think off to relieve my anger.

I empty the oh-so important full glass on his perfect face, perfect shirt, perfect trousers, perfect damn everything.

In a fraction of a second, the whole room is in a frenzy. A collective buzz breezes through the basement. I hear a lot of laughter, and Eloise and Albus – whom I'd totally forgotten about – even start an applause. Other people actually join in and cheers and 'oohs' and 'aahs' are thrown around. I wonder briefly whether no girl has ever emptied her drink on a boy before, but then I realise we're – of course – Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy, and we'll probably be in the papers by tomorrow if somebody happens to have a camera.

The only person that doesn't look too happy is Malfoy himself.

That, in itself, is enough to make me smile.

"You know," he sputters, completely baffled, pushing wet hair out of his face. "If you wanted to be left alone, you could've expressed so verbally."

I hold up my hands in a defensive manner. "Oops. That totally slipped."

"You're fucking mental," He spits, checking himself out to measure the damage.

"Or, wait. You know what, Malfoy?" I pretend to inspect my nails for a second, and then tilt my head back up. "It was on purpose. And for your information – I was going to express my desires verbally, but then I just thought a little show would be more entertaining to watch. Goodnight."

And with that I receive another round of applause. I pay it no heed, however, and simply push a cursing Malfoy aside to go and refill the drink I just wasted on the sorry excuse of a Wizard.


Five drinks later, the party is in full swing. Eloise and Albus have hit it off, apparently, completely against my warnings. I can't be bothered, though, as my own head is also somewhere up the clouds. Firewiskey is no Butterbeer, and I'm experiencing that right now. Malfoy is still around as well (nothing a Cleaning spell can't fix), and if I'm not mistaken, he's currently chatting up some blonde girl. Since the only feelings I now harbour for him are hate and disgust, I naturally don't care. Why should I care? I mean – really? I know she's probably thinking he's some great catch or something, but he's not. Every woman in her right mind knows that. So bottom line: I don't care. I repeat: I don't care.

"You were hilarious earlier."

I nearly get a heart-attack as someone says that in my hear. I look to my right to find a chestnut-haired guy taxing me up and down. He's wearing glasses and clean-cut clothes, but I suppose he isn't bad-looking. As soon as my pulse's back to its normal rate, I turn to him.

"Thanks. And you might be...?"

He grants me a smile and then offers me a drink. "Vincent. Law department."

"You sound like you're reading your card," I giggle – yes, giggle – while taking the drink. I'm feeling kind of fuzzy, and I'm obviously not thinking too straight.

Mister Law department doesn't seem to mind though. "What's your name?"

"Oh, come on," I respond, placing my hand on his chest due to some drunken impulse, "like you don't know already!"

"Alright, Rose," he caves. "Want to dance?"

I shrug carelessly. "Why not?"

He grabs my hand that's on his chest and guides me through the people. I quickly down my sixth glass, even though something in the back of my inactivated brain is telling me to stop. That same something is also pointing out that it makes no sense that I'm actually following this Law student, since there's nothing special or even likable about him, but the other part of my mind, the intoxicated one, reminds me of the fact that it's my first party at the L.W.U., and... well. I just had the first, not to mention horrible, encounter with my ex-boyfriend since we broke up, and really, that sucks. It fucking sucks. So correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm allowed to get drunk out of my wits and dance with people who wear glasses and clean-cut clothes and introduce themselves by informing me they're a Law student.

"Another drink?" he proposes, upon noticing I've finished mine.

I nod stupidly. He instantly obeys my wishes and disappears again. I start moving slightly, momentarily closing my eyes. I realise I haven't seen Albus or Eloise in a while, but the thought vanishes as quickly as it has come up. The music sounds like, well, music in to my ears, and suddenly I'm determined to make this night worthwhile. After two minutes of dancing on my own, I feel two arms circling around my waist. I recognise the pattern of Vincents sleeves, and take the drink he is holding. The liquid now glides down my throat, and there is nothing left of the earlier burning.

"You're a good dancer," Vincent whispers in my ear, rubbing his body against mine.

There is something struggling inside of me, but I don't know how to place it. Instead of answering, I let myself get carried away mindlessly. He's not a bad dancer himself – I should give him that. I, on the other hand, am not doing too well, if you ask me, because there's this thing with my legs and arms and head and everything. Everything is way too vague and blurry. Except –

It takes me a couple of seconds to register Malfoy standing only a few metres away, still talking to that blonde girl I don't know, but looking straight at me. To refrain myself from getting lost in some staring contest, I press my eyelids closed again and move faster, more intense. Vincent obviously approves, but I must say I don't give two cents about what he thinks. I just dance. Dance, dance, dance –

Anything to get him vanished from my vision.

I don't care, I tell myself. The music speeds up and I tell myself I don't care. Even with my eyes closed he's there, in front of me, sharp and defined, more sharp and defined than anything else in this entire world, and he's giving me the sensual smirk he's granted me so many times. It's not Vincent but him standing behind me now, behind my eyelids, and he's kissing my neck and he's apologizing and he mumbles I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I –

You're too late.

My eyes fly back open.

But then everything fades to black.


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-Josephinee