A/N: So kick me for having too much free time on my hands! I just felt like I had to update because I got reviews. Which almost made me cry. You people are just too nice for words. Anyways, as i forgot first time round, I just want to dedicate this to Josephinee for teaching me that Scorpius/Rose is the way to go. Oh, and also to Noc007, for being my first ever reviewer, ever.
And also, for the POV thing, we always start with Rose and alternate between her and Scorpius.
Disclaimer: I'm going to make it my aim in life to think of as many different ways to say the words 'I do not own Harry Potter' as is physically possible.
There are two beaters inside my head and they insist on frequently whacking the bludger against my skull.
I might have just eaten about fifty bowtruckles, complete with scratching fingernails, since that's how much pain my throat is in right now.
And, I appear to have slept on the sofa.
In a not-too-comfortable position.
All night.
Next to somebody.
I turn, and curse light for ever having been invented, that's how much my eyes burn.
Then, I see that white blonde hair and want to throw up.
So, I go to the bathroom and do so.
Wow.
I always did say that the sight of Malfoy would make me vomit one day.
Or maybe that's the fifteen gallons of Firewhisky he plied me with last night?
Even brushing my teeth hurts, for some whatever reason.
Mental note to self: Next time, just let Malfoy win the argument, because this really isn't worth it.
He's still sprawled out on the sofa, looking much better than I feel, when I go back in.
It's quarter to eight, but I'm going down to breakfast now. I get the feeling that I either said or did something ridiculous last night, and I don't particularly want to face Malfoy in the delicate state that I'm currently in, so, I tiptoe out of the portrait hole, school bag in tow, my Arithmancy and Charms textbooks somehow feeling a lot heavier than they normally do, and the staircases seeming much longer than usual.
There is no sign of Lily or Al yet; even my little brother Hugo might have been somebody to talk to, so I just sit at the Gryffindor table and pour myself coffee.
Lots of it.
Strong and black.
My theory is that, if I drink as much coffee as I drank Firewhisky last night, some vital balance in my body will be restored, and I'll no longer feel like death warmed up.
I might need more coffee than is in this pot.
Weasley's gone when I wake up.
Big surprise.
It is also quarter to nine, so I drag myself off the sofa, run a hand through my hair, and change.
Unlike Weasley, I am no lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so although I feel a little rough, I manage to look like my normal charming self. When I catch sight of Weasley at the Gryffindor table, having made it to the Great Hall about six minutes before the first class begins, she does not look good, which makes me feel one hundred times better about myself.
Mariah looks almost hysterical when I sit down at the table to eat a hurried breakfast. The second I touch the bench, she's fawning all over me, flicking my fringe out of my eyes and generally fussing over me in a way that my mother never did.
And I'm glad that mother never did it, so I sure don't want Mariah doing it either.
"Scorpius" she drones, "You don't look good. Are you okay? How come you're so late to breakfast?"
I so do not want to be here right now.
"Shut up, Mariah" I snap, not feeling particularly hungry, and wanting to go back to bed. "Alcohol, what else?"
"Aaw" she pouts, pushing cereal around in her bowl, not eating, as usual. "You had a Firewhisky party without me?"
"No, I made an attempt at loosening up Weasley. I don't think it worked. She's still sitting over there looking like she's got a broom stuck up her arse."
Oh dear. I really need to learn to control my temper.
Especially where Weasley's concerned.
Mariah shoots a death glare, the one that only girls can do, at Weasley, who reciprocates, even in her only-just-sober state.
Glad to see I haven't damaged her.
Even when she looks at me with a scowl to rival that of the famous Basilisk.
As the bell goes, and Weasley moves off for one of her a thousand NEWT classes, Mariah snuggles up to me and asks if I want to do anything during our free period.
I completely see red.
I could have had an extra hour of sleep.
Thank Merlin for Arithmancy. One of the two classes I take that Malfoy doesn't (the other being Ancient Runes.)
However, there is also no Al.
I take Arithmancy because my mom took it and loved it.
I take it, and don't hate it.
I really don't understand why I continued it at NEWT.
I suppose it was the look on my parents' faces when they saw my OWL result on the parchment: another 'O.'
My mom, she looked so happy.
And my dad was so proud that I'd finally managed to beat James at something (I've been beaten by James in every little thing I've ever done, since before I was born.)
And Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur were so proud of me.
So, I couldn't tell anyone that the subject just doesn't light up my life.
I don't struggle or anything, I'm just not enthralled by it the way that I am by some of my other classes.
As usual, Arithmancy provides welcome relief, which I really need today. I just keep my head down, and try to shake off the rubbishy feeling inside my body.
Like usual, our Arithmancy professor doesn't look to me to answer his questions. Normally, this is because I answer in a deadpan tone, devoid of any enthusiasm.
Today it's because any idiot can see that I've got a hangover.
Even Al was able to tell that I drank an absurdly large amount of alcohol last night.
And he is the epitome of naivety.
Which I've always considered a bit weird, because Harry and Ginny don't really mind what their kids get up to, a situation which James and Lily take full advantage of.
Not Al though.
I always thought that he should have been my brother and that Hugo should have James and Lily.
Ouch.
There goes the bell again.
That means a few things.
One. My head hurts again.
Two. Charms means that I might have to concentrate.
Three. Charms means Malfoy.
Damn.
The good girl inside of me needs to get there early, as usual, just to prove my worth.
But, the bad girl in me demands to sulk along, because she wants to avoid Malfoy like the plague.
She looks better when she enters Charms.
But she did turn up three minutes late.
Not that Professor Creevy would ever notice.
And even if he did, she's the perfect Rose Weasley, he'd probably just be worried that she's ill.
I, unlike her, look like my complete usual self.
An extra hour in your own bed, without a girl lying on top of you, is usually good.
Hmm.
That'd be a nice little rumour to start.
Rose Weasley slept with Scorpius Malfoy.
All it would take is a whisper in the right ear and the Hogwarts rumour mill would do the rest.
I'll just wait and see exactly how much she irritates me today.
As she sidles into the seat next to her cousin, Creevy asks what the verbal incantation that gifts animals with speech is.
Even hung-over Weasley manages to get her hand into the air faster than the speed of sound, as is proven by the whooshing sound her robes make, as Creevy nods and points at her.
Even though he's only asked for an incantation, she feels compelled to explain that Parselmouths can indeed speak to snakes with no incantation necessary, something I rather think that a group of seventh year witches and wizards may have already grasped.
Why is it that she always finds it obligatory to add that extra little bit of information, like she's swallowed a spellbook?
The class drags, as usual, and Rose Weasley is the only person that manages to get her beetle to speak, again, as usual. Creevy gives her a kitten to work on, because apparently the magic I more difficult on vertebrates.
I've half a mind to just stamp on my beetle.
Who really wants to know what it's thinking anyway?
I realise now what it is that annoys me so much about her.
The look on her face, when she knows that she can do no wrong.
I wish, so badly, that I had a different timetable.
Because, nearly every time that I start to feel better about myself, Malfoy's head pops up, looking charming and suave, and I really feel the need to vomit again.
Thank Merlin for my emotional crutch, Al. Without him, I have no idea what I'd do.
Professor Thomas takes Defence against the Dark Arts; he's an old friend of my mom and dad's and went to school with them. I knew him really quite well before I came to Hogwarts, and since he only started teaching in my third year, he sometimes slips into a familiarity that is somewhat inappropriate for a Professor and student in class.
"Rosie Posie" he says, since I've raised my hand to ask a question. There are sniggers from all over the classroom, mainly concentrated at the Slytherin desks, but even a little chuckle escapes from Al. Dean, or Professor Thomas, whichever is more appropriate for the occasion, flushes slightly, but holds up a hand to silence the snickering.
"I was just wondering, sir" I add and extra bit of emphasis on the 'sir' to show everyone that I still treat Dean/Professor Thomas the same way that they do, even if he has known me since I was born. "How you think the outcome of the Battle of Hogwarts might have changed if Narcissa Malfoy had told Voldemort that Harry wasn't dead?" I finish, and there is an intake of breath rivalling a small hurricane from Malfoy's side of the room. Even Al, next to me, nudges me to let me know that he thinks I've crossed the line.
"Erm, Miss Weasley" There's a definite flash in Dean Thomas' eyes as he answers me, and infinite emphasis on the 'Miss'. "Although related to the topic that we're studying, that is a question that ought not to be asked in class, especially under our circumstances"
What?
Does he mean because Al and Malfoy are here?
Because, to me, this is just a class, and mine is a perfectly valid question, even if the offspring of the subjects are sitting in the same room as me.
Thank Merlin that Defence Against the Dark Arts was the last lesson of the day. Although, just my luck, I get to go and spend the entire evening with her.
Surprise, surprise, Weasley has next to no homework from her classes, even though the rest of the seventh year is already drowning in a sea of schoolwork.
So, whilst I'm cross-referencing potions ingredients for an essay, all her homework is in a neat pile on the coffee table, and Weasley's taking great pleasure in conversing with her owl, which she has charmed to speak.
"I always wondered why you called me Echo" the owl says and even though I've got a massive pile of homework, I feel myself getting drawn into their conversation, mundane as it is.
"Oh! Don't you like it?" Weasley looks horrified, like she's done the bird some great injury. "We can change it is you like. What would you prefer?"
"Oh no" the owl replies, and the pair of them are becoming quite distractive. "I like the name, it's always just intrigued -" The owl is cut off, and what should have been the word 'me' is now an unintelligible squawk. Did anyone mention that it's only a temporary charm?
As Weasley goes to re-charm her delightful feathered friend, I reach out and grab her wrist.
"If you don't mind, Rosie Posie" I drawl, "I'd rather if your owl shut up for a bit. Not all of us can do our homework in ten minutes, you see" She is just as aware as I am that I'm still holding onto her delicate little wrist, and she isn't making any attempt to move it.
"I'll take Echo to my room then Malfoy" she decides finally, her owl clearly more worthy than human company.
Or, my company.
As she's leaving I can't concentrate either, what with all her rustling and making noise. When I look up again she's staring intently at the essay I'm writing. Then, she notices that I'm watching her, and she turns to leave.
But, as she disappears through her bedroom door, I'm sure I hear the words, "You forgot to add the mayfly wings"
No.
I do not have a life.
And yes.
I am choosing to continually charm my owl to speak over the company of a fellow human being.
If you can call Scorpius Malfoy human.
Although, I wish I could have kept my mouth shut about the mayfly wings.
I sounded just like my mother.
"So, why Echo?" The owl resumes our conversation, fluffing her wings, as I sit on the end of my bed.
"Because of Lily" I reply, paying less attention to her, than my own reflection, I'm afraid to say. Echo just looks at me like I'm crazy, which is strange, seeing as though she's an owl.
"Oh, it's a pet name for Lil" I explain, "Because she had a bit of a phase where she followed me around everywhere, repeating me. And then, when Aunt Ginny gave you to me, you looked at me with your big amber eyes and ohmygosh, you looked so much like her, so Echo it was."
To my absolute horror, there is a slow clapping from my main doorway and the bane of the earth, Scorpius Malfoy, is standing there, with a look of sheer delight on his face.
"Rosie, that is so touching" He puts a hand over the place where his heart should be, and fakes wiping away a tear.
My hand is on my wand automatically, but Malfoy is there faster. Pointing his own wand at my throat he drawls "Put the wand down Weasley, and I might not hurt you so much"
And, as I don't have a death wish, I do as he says.
He moves towards the bed where I'm sitting and, sadly for me, my charm on Echo has worn off, so she's no help.
"You, Weasley," Malfoy says, with a noticeable lack of snarl, "Are starting to annoy me. Not that you haven't since Day One, but even more so right now."
I'm barely breathing.
Louis once cast a very awful Cruciatus Curse in me, which was more like a Tickling Charm. (Don't worry, he was ridiculously drunk, he wasn't trying to cast an Unforgivable on me for real.)
I don't however, want to tempt Malfoy, especially since he has a lot of malice to pour into an Unforgivable Curse, if he chooses to use one.
"And now, you're going to pay for getting in my way for six whole years"
I'm not going to say that my life flashes before me; all that happens is that I open my mouth to scream.
And Scorpius Malfoy kisses me.
I don't know what I'm doing.
I meant to curse her.
I meant to hex her into oblivion.
Yet here I am, kissing the girl.
And her hair is in my fingers, and her pulse is about three hundred beats per minute, and why can't I stop this?
Being Weasley, she takes control, of course, pulling her head away.
She looks at me, and I can't even begin to fathom what is going on in her head.
And then, from out of nowhere, her open palm stings my cheek and she glares up at me with unfounded venom.
"Get out of my room Malfoy" she orders, her voice dangerously low, yet steady.
I don't waste any time, but get the hell out of there the fastest I can without running.
Staring at the pile of work in front of me, I replay the last few minutes in my head.
She makes the snarky comment about my potions essay and leaves, I follow her and listen to her sentimental conversation with her owl, I interrupt and she goes for her wand, I get my wand first, point it at her throat. I tell her I'll let her off lightly if she puts her wand down, she does, I speak, she opens her mouth to scream.
At this point in my mind, I snarl an incantation, something like the Cruciatus, and she's left writhing in pain, while I go back to finish my essay.
Only, that never really happened, for some reason.
For some deluded reason, I kiss her.
I think that years of continuous drinking has finally taken its toll on me.
Because my brain is addled.
Perhaps, if I ignore it the fact that it happened, forever, it'll go away?
The alternative is to find a Time Turner and prevent myself from committing that travesty in the first place.
Merlin.
My face hurts from where she slapped me.
I know that we're destined to be enemies, I've known it since I was eleven years old.
And that set up has served us perfectly for six years.
And it will carry on.
Now that I've got that little 'glitch' out of my system.
I pick up the essay that I had abandoned, dip my quill in some ink and continue, remembering to include the step about the mayfly wings.
I don't want to sit around in my room until nine o' clock, but I have to. Doing anything else would mean interaction with Malfoy, which I'm attempting to avoid, at all costs.
So, I just open up a book, and start reading.
I have no idea what it is, but it's a book, with print on the pages, so very shortly I'm engrossed. So engrossed, in fact, that it takes quite a few sharps taps on my door for me to notice that someone wants me.
"Erm, come in" I say, shutting 'Defensive Magical Theory', a book my mother had lent me, with a vision of my comprehension of why she, dad and Uncle Harry had set up Dumbledore's Army.
It's Malfoy.
I'm not happy.
"I see you've learnt to knock, Malfoy" I comment sourly, avoiding looking at any part of him, but especially his face.
"Charming as ever, Weasley. I don't know why we're not good friends" he drawls, not crossing the threshold, like some sort of vampire.
"Good friends tend to enjoy one another's company, Malfoy. I've just been thrust into yours, and no, I'm not happy about it" I reply, irritated, tired and angered slightly by what I'd been reading in the textbook.
"I'm afraid it's one of those such times, Weasley" Malfoy says, with a hint of genuine annoyance in his voice. "It's nine o' clock, we've got to go."
They say Time flies when you're having fun.
I just want to know exactly what Time flies on.
A forty year old Cleensweep?
Because, the rate at which the aforementioned Time is flying whilst Malfoy and I carry out our patrol, is about the same as on said Cleensweep, through golden syrup, surrounded by a flock of adoring fans, in a land where an hour is six hundred minutes, as opposed to sixty.
Maybe that's because 'fun' isn't one word that I'd use to describe our patrol.
Tiresome, boring, unnecessary.
Those are only three of the words that spring to mind when I think about climbing all those flights of stairs with Malfoy in tow.
After the 'conversation' in my room, we don't say another word to each other for the entire night.
The amount of times I've cheated on Mariah is barely countable. It's not as if she expects fidelity from me. And I don't expect it from her in return. Naturally, when I'm with pretty girls and they flirt, and they tease, one thing leads to another and I often end up in compromising positions.
And even though I only kissed Weasley, and it lasted about thirty seconds, and nothing came from it, my infidelity right now bothers me.
Because she's everything that I've never wanted in a girl; intelligent, sarcastic, a Gryffindor, a Weasley.
Old prejudices don't do so easily as you might think.
Okay, so my father doesn't feel the need to jinx Ron Weasley every time they cross each other's paths at the Ministry, but neither has he ever invited him round to the Manor for tea and scones.
The way that they will never have a relationship that could be described as more than civil, that's the same way that Weasley and I will never have a relationship that could be described as anything other than enmity.
She scurries away to her bedroom as soon as she's through the portrait hole. I'd never have expected Weasley to be weakened so fatally by one kiss.
But then, she's just so full of surprises.
My homework still isn't finished when we return and I settle down to another few hours of charms, hexes, anti-jinxes and the correct composition of Felix Felicis.
Delightful.
I have other things on my mind, however.
Like the fact that her mouth has been on mine.
The notion is sickening.
This leads to a lack of concentration.
This, in turn, leads to boredom.
I realise how uneventful life is when there's no Weasley around to taunt.
I slam my DADA textbook shut, since I've read the same paragraph at least fifteen times.
In my bedroom I open my trunk, lovingly extract my Mercury 2020, open the window and fly straight out of it.
Night-flying soothes my nerves, and tonight is definitely one of those nights where I need to relax as much as possible.
Soaring around the Quidditch goals, flying next to the Astronomy tower, just sitting still fifty feet above the ground.
Nothing can calm me more.
I even manage to forget the fact that I'm Head Girl and therefore, if I get caught, I'm in serious trouble.
No.
It's just me, my broom, and the night sky.
I'm floating lazily above the Quidditch pitch when I hear the whooshing noise that accompanies flight.
It's not me, I'm stationary.
That means that it's someone else.
I bite back the Head Girl voice that's condemning their actions; it would be hypocritical to the core.
I'm surprised, yet glad, that someone else shares my passion for flying through the darkness.
So, I follow the noise of their broom, thinking maybe I can talk to them.
They start their descent near the Forest, so I gently and quietly dive after them.
"Hey" I call out, after dismounting, and shouldering my broom. The figure turns towards me, and even through the darkness I can see that shining white blonde hair, his piercing grey eyes reflecting the moonlight.
"Weasley?" Malfoy replies incredulously, walking towards me.
My own feet are planted firmly on the ground. I must look like I've been Petrified.
"Malfoy?" My voice is caught in my throat. I want to turn and run, but I physically can't.
We stare at one another for few seconds before simultaneously spitting,
"What do you think you're doing?"
Neither of us reply. I, because, I don't actually know what I'm doing and he, I'm sure, because he thinks he's above answering to me.
"Whoever would have thought that Rose Weasley would be so big on breaking school rules?" Malfoy drawls, his smirk still quite visible, even in the darkness.
I don't know what to say.
My voice keeps getting stuck in my throat.
I need to get out of here.
"So Weasley" I ask, sneering at the girl who looks like a deer caught in headlights, "Why isn't our Head Girl tucked up in her red and gold sheets, dreaming of school awards and homework?"
Every time she opens her mouth to reply, she clearly realises that what she has to say isn't scathing enough, and ends up closing her mouth, looking like a goldfish, quite a few times, before she whispers,
"We should go back in. We'll get into trouble if we get found."
Now there's the Rose Weasley we all know and hate.
"Why exactly do you always need to be so perfect?" I drawl, as she gets redder and redder, due to excitement or embarrassment, or some other ludicrous girly emotion.
"I'm nowhere near perfect, Malfoy" she murmurs back at the ground, rather than me.
"Then please explain to me why you feel the need to act like it all the time" I ask sourly, knowing exactly why she can't look me in the eye.
"Because" she starts, and her voice is wobbly, "Because I'm not worthy of attention. Because I'm one child in a bunch of about twenty. Because there's nothing noticeable about me. Because my mother is Hermione Granger, the greatest witch of her age. Just, because."
Her voice gets shriller and shriller with each passing statement and I'm slightly worried that she's going to breakdown, a situation, needless to say, I am quite unfamiliar with.
"Alright, Weasley, I get it" I don't.
"Everything in your life is crap" It isn't.
"Nobody will ever notice you" But, they will.
Everything I say to her is a lie, and she knows it.
She doesn't reply, just glowers at me, sits on her broom and kicks off sharply, so that she's flying back towards our windows, her red hair shining in the moonlight.
If there's one girl I understand less than all the rest, it's Weasley.
A/N: And no, I didn't forget QuickQuotesQuill07 (What is it they say about leaving the best til last?) because your review was actuallly the sweetest thing ever and is what prompted me to get out of bed at 8.30 this morning and write, as opposed to stay in bed for a few more hours.
But, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, not just the people I've personally mentioned; you're all great and I love you to pieces.
