—CHAPTER 9—
"You're early."
Scorpius stood, framed by the huge doorway, wearing velvet black dressrobes and a bow-tie. Rose had the awful feeling that she was underdressed.
"The invitation said seven, and it's five past seven," Rose retorted.
"You're right…it's just that you're the first to arrive."
"Oh," Rose said.
Dread had settled in the pit of her stomach. How awkward. Merlin, how awkward.
"Well, come in and get out of the cold at least. I'll show you around."
Perhaps showing her around would be the best waste of time, considering the size of the manor. She stepped over the threshold and Scorpius closed the door behind her. The foyer was spacious. Several arrases hung between doors, displaying different historical scenes or exotic magical creatures. Scorpius led Rose through a door on the right, which opened up into a richly furnished drawing room. A fire was burning in the grate of the fireplace. "I thought it would be best to use the drawing room fireplace, which is downstairs, but if you wanted to leave your coat and bag somewhere safe, you can drop them off in my father's library."
"Great," Rose said.
"How was your Christmas?" Scorpius blurted out, staring at her shoes.
"It was fine," Rose said coldly, thinking of the disastrous rehashing of James' secrets. "Yours?"
"Awful," Scorpius replied candidly. "Follow me this way, please."
He led her back into the foyer, and together they made their way into an enormous room emptied of any furniture. The only exception was several plush chesterfields lining the far wall. A chandelier twinkled above their heads. But Rose didn't have much time to take in the space—Scorpius steered her right, up a flight of stairs, where they arrived at a long corridor.
They came upon a room that had wall-to-wall bookshelves. It reminded Rose of her mother's study, except their own house lacked the grandeur of the mahogany wood and polished desk. Rose drifted forward, her footsteps muffled by the carpet, and spent a moment admiring the books.
"I love to read," she announced suddenly, still reading the titles of the books. She felt incredibly awkward and needed to say something to fill the silence.
"Yes, I imagined so," Scorpius replied.
It was so stilted. She had never been at a loss for words before. Rose was usually so vivacious.
There was the sound of the doorknocker downstairs and Rose looked around, but Scorpius waved her off, saying, "One of our house-elves will answer."
"A lot of these are limited edition," Rose noted, trailing her hand over a few of the books' spines.
"My father likes expensive things."
"And some of these are probably illegal," Rose added, squinting at a book on display behind a glass panel, which looked as if someone had spilt blood on it. A shrivelled looking hand sat amputated below, on a pillow of red velvet. Other odd artefacts surrounded it.
"Yep."
The sound of the doorknocker rang out again and Scorpius looked over his shoulder. "I better go see who else has arrived. You can leave your coat anywhere you like."
Scorpius backed out of the room. His footsteps could be heard on the marble staircase. Rose paused for a moment to listen intently. She could hear the sound of muffled voices floating up from the ballroom below. Nervously, she stripped off her coat and rested it on the back of the study chair. She walked over to examine her refection in the bookcase's glass case. She had underestimated the dress code. She should have aimed to look more formal. She regretted picking out the short black dress. Would it look silly to wear her coat all night? She felt this would draw even more attention to herself.
It now sounded as if many guests had arrived, and there was music playing, so Rose decided it was time to return downstairs.
The party, and in extension, the manor, were so elaborate that one could only think of it as prodigal. The central ballroom, that Rose had earlier glimpsed, reverberated with chatter and laughter that ricocheted off the marble floors. People held drinks in crystal glasses, reflecting specks of light from the chandelier above. The high ceiling gave the impression of a museum, so that the flamboyantly dressed guests seemed a part of a living exhibit. Small, well-dressed house-elves wound between the legs of the partygoers, holding up silver trays with an assortment of fluted glasses. A large gramophone was set up on the far wall, from which music boomed, but it was too early for dancing. In any case, the music that was playing wasn't any good.
Rose began to scan the crowd for a familiar face. After a minute, she saw Alice leaning against the magnificently scrolled fireplace with a drink in hand. Her short, black hair was pulled into a slick bun, drawing attention to her hard collarbones and angled face. Her expression seemed to mirror Rose's mood. Feeling some wariness, Rose picked her way through the crowd until she met Alice.
"Hey," Alice said, sipping on her gillywater.
"Glad to see you, Lim."
You look…" Alice paused. She stared at Rose for a moment, frowning a little. "You look a bit like a tart, actually."
"Oh, sod off," Rose snapped, tugging her dress down aggressively.
"I didn't say it like an insult," Alice offered, returning to her previous exercise of glaring at the crowd.
"What's the matter?" Rose asked.
Alice nodded across the room, and Rose followed her gaze. Tim Buckingham was leaning against a wall, bottle in hand, with Estelle Urquart laughing sycophantically at whatever he was saying. They both looked quite jovial, a complete contrast to the two girls watching them. Estelle placed her arm on Tim's shoulder and they moved off together towards the large glass French doors opening into the back courtyard.
Alice slammed her glass down so hard on the mantelpiece that it shattered. Hastily, Rose waved her wand and returned it to its previous state. Alice's face was set. "I'm going to go and—to go—"
"To go do what?" Rose prompted sardonically.
"I have a plan," Alice said firmly. "If I can't get his attention, I'll make him jealous."
"Good luck with that," Rose replied, toasting her with the empty but repaired glass and watching her friend storm away.
Having seen Alice had only exaggerated Rose's bad mood. She wanted to leave. She didn't feel at ease here and there was no one she was good friends with to stick close by to. It had been a big mistake coming tonight. She felt terribly underdressed and out of place, and she wanted nothing more than to find Malfoy and ask to use his floo network.
Rose began probing the crowd once more, her need to find Scorpius mounting with each passing second. He was nowhere to be found. Had he vanished in the half an hour since they last saw one another? She bumped into Imogen Abercrombie when she stopped by the butterbeer fountain to pour herself a glass. Imogen was wearing her usual uninterested look, coupled with dark purple lipstick. She appraised Rose for a moment, increasing the cloud of self-consciousness that hung around her head.
"How's it going, Weasley?" Imogen asked, passing her a glass.
"Alright," she replied uneasily. "You?"
"Fine. Glad this year is almost over. It's been a shitty one."
"Can't agree with you more," Rose replied.
"I'm a bit surprised that you're even here," Imogen interjected, taking a gulp from her glass.
"To be honest, I don't even want to be here."
"So, you haven't party crashed or anything out of your desperation to be at the world's best New Years party?"
"Nope," Rose said, although she had spotted a furtive looking Angus Finnigan enter earlier. "I received an invitation and everything."
"An invitation?" Imogen inquired.
"Yep."
"Are you pulling my leg?"
"No," Rose said, surprised by Imogen's ignorant tone. "Both Albus and I received one."
"Well, you two must've been the only ones to," Imogen laughed. "Everyone else is here because of word of mouth."
Imogen left her with this news, departing to join a crowd of Gryffindors. Rose stood by the elaborate butterbeer waterfall, her heart sinking. What was this cryptic gesture supposed to mean? Why had only Rose and Albus received invitations? She drank the rest of her butterbeer and grabbed some food off a passing tray. She wanted to leave more than ever.
She spotted Isabella Nott, dressed in extravagant red dressrobes that were fastened around her waist with a jewelled broach. Without a doubt, she was the best dressed in the room. Although her attire was classy, Isabella was anything but. Lightheaded from laughter, she was doubled up, cackling hysterically, stumbling in Rose's direction and pushing other people out of the way. "Rose! Rose, you must try this."
Rose responded with a wary look, which summarised her entire mood. She was already feeling foul, and the prospect of taking some potion or smoking some knotgrass did little to improve the outlook of the evening—and in any case, she was surrounded by familiar students. She had made exasperated promises to her parents, and she had a reputation to uphold come the start of the semester. She wasn't going to be reduced to a giggling moron.
Isabella shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "Don't look at me like that."
"What have you taken?" Rose asked in an accusatory tone.
"Oh lighten up!" Isabella chirped, patting Rose on the head. "It's just a Cheering Charm."
Cheering Charms were third-year sort of magic, ineffably easy to produce and tragically easy to overdo. Nothing about it sounded sinister, and it was undoubtedly a better alternative to whoever had brought the knotgrass. Still, Rose was unimpressed. Isabella looked sloppy. And the idea of getting high on a Cheering Charm seemed ridiculous. She averted her gaze and directed it instead towards those who had been brave enough to take to the empty dance floor. "I don't need an artificial buzz. But thanks anyways."
"C'mon, Rose! It'll be fun! Ask Travis."
She motioned to the familiar boy leaning up against the wall. Travis Norton. The boy Rose had replaced as Beater. The extent of their relationship ended there, really, as she had only spoken to him at that after party, and he had been stoned then and likely did not remember the conversation. He was a couple years older than both the girls, and had honed his particular brand of confidence. It relied mostly on the mystique of being seventeen. His lazy eyelids opened and closed as he examined Rose, and she became hyper aware of her clothing again. She pulled at the bottom of her dress miserably. She wished she hadn't come to the party, but there was no point wishing that when she had no means of leaving. She wished instead that she would stop being so self-conscious and just have some fun.
Perhaps it was Norton's aplomb that made the spell all that more appealing, although looking back, it was obvious he was just a spotty seventeen year old with an awkward stance. Nevertheless, Rose nodded towards him. She was hoping not to look too keen. But once he had raised his wand and cast the charm with ease, all of the niggling anxieties and insecurities that she had carried through the night vanished. In their place came a sweeping wave of joy. It was an almost palpable transformation, as if she physically became brighter. Her spine straightened. She smiled, almost reflexively. Isabella continued to titter.
"I forgot what this feels like," Rose said, grinning. The practices in third-year Charm classes had always been very controlled. She was partnered up with Albus, who was a whiz at charms and never overdid it.
Norton shrugged, leaning against the wall as he pocketed his wand. "Its ace, isn't it? Really helps you unwind."
Rose laughed because she felt good. The beat of the music seemed to have entered her body, shaking her from the inside. She leaned against the wall beside the spotty seventeen year old and nudged him with her hip to get his attention. He looked down at her. His hazel eyes were clouded, and it appeared he'd done something a lot stronger than a Cheering Charm. He had an indolence that hung off him, a sort of happy sleepiness that can only be produced by a potion. Rose motioned towards Isabella, who had slumped to the floor on weak knees. Sonia Selwyn was trying to support her to no avail.
"How many charms did you cast on her?"
"At least three," Norton said, rolling his eyes. "Ideally it should be two. By the second charm, you've reached this perfect state of bliss."
He smiled to himself, as if slipping into a waking dream.
Cheerful. Rose felt cheerful. Her mood had improved. Yet, the suggestion of bliss was delightfully sustained by the already doleful beginning of the evening. So she nodded to Norton. "Cast another charm on me."
The second charm hit her harder. She felt her fingers and toes lose feeling, and then begin to tingle. Her skin became supersensitive, as if every pore had flowered and exploded. An eruption of goose-pimples climbed her legs and scattered her arms. Her eyes felt wider, more open, more receptive. As she turned to ask Norton whether it was supposed to feel so strong, Rose erupted into laughter.
This laughter was good. It was the kind of laughter that hurts your sides and makes you fall over a little and gives you a slight anxiety that you may wet your pants. It was uncontrollable. After about a minute, she was struggling to breathe. She had a tragic moment where she thought she would suffocate from lack of air and had to crouch on the floor, humiliatingly, to regain her composure. Once she had recovered, Norton helped her up. Rose felt lightheaded. The air seemed thinner. "Sorry, sorry," she gasped, leaning on him.
He laughed back—a heavy thick laugh, quite unlike her own breathless, fluttering giggles. She understood what he meant by a perfect bliss. It was as if someone had stained her soul yellow. The night seemed a lot more optimistic. Rose decided she liked the music playing. She decided she liked her dress. She decided that Norton was fit. She told him so, and he looked pleased. It's surprising what you're really fit does to someone's ego. He was caught between being chuffed and embarrassed. Under the pretext he was supporting her, he wrapped a hand around Rose's waist. He asked her if she was in her fifth year, which he should have already known. It was more a check on himself. Rose shrugged flippantly and grinned. "Everyone says I don't look it, though."
He looked her up and down. "You don't."
"Yeah, that's what they say."
A few people moved from the seats by the wall, and he dragged Rose over to take their place. She collapsed into the chesterfield, crossing her legs, still merry. The giggles were from deep in her belly, rising like bubbles to escape from her lips. Norton was amused. It must have looked very different to the Rose he knew, the distant prefect and star student. But she had forgotten all about that Rose.
They were deep inside a mountain, deep under the huge slabs of rock that formed the base. This was where all the natural resources were mined. This was where their money was minted. Of course, they would never see that side of the mountain. But Harry felt ineffably close to a world of magic he had never been privy to.
Despite being so deeply underground, their whereabouts were hardly discernable from any other royal palace. The echoing, cavernous chamber was filled with a fine mosaic floor, showing images of goblins at war against other magical creatures. Gold mosaic icons on the walls featured generations of goblin kings dressed in fine armour. Candles burned in ornate, silver brackets around a raised platform, which supported a glorious, silver throne. It was exactly as one would imagine such a place, and was decorated with the splendour expected from goblins.
Large cave openings rimmed the walls at intervals, leading down tunnels that expanded into other chambers. They had passed many after disembarking the train, but had been shuffled by so quickly they had not seen where they led.
A group of goblin musicians played skilfully in one of the corners, on what appeared to be a large tupan and an instrument similar to a bagpipe. Clusters of goblins dominated the room. They were well dressed in dark blue and burgundy garments. Many wore glittering rings or decorated military medals. They were much shorter than the humans, at least by a head, but had attempted to compensate for this by wearing aristocratic heeled shoes. There were no female goblins in the room, which Hermione was quick to point out when they first arrived. Various human political figures were attempting to integrate themselves into conversations with the goblins, but the goblins were stubborn. Gladstone seemed lost at all times unless he was standing nearby to an interpreter. The mood was still rather tense.
Ginny stirred beside Harry, linking her arm firmly through his. She leaned forward to mutter in her husbands ear, "Rita Skeeter is here."
Harry flinched and looked around. It did not take him long to descry the weedy woman clutching a quill with her sharp, manicured fingers, pestering a goblin who was nervously twirling his beard.
"Hermione will have a fit," Harry whispered back.
"I can't believe she was invited."
"The goblins know she'll make us look bad in the press," Harry muttered back.
"Look, it's Draco Malfoy!"
"Ginny, it might be nice if you pointed out people we actually like."
"Let's go have a word," Ginny whispered, dragging him across the room.
"Are you mental?" Harry muttered furiously in her ear as they darted between mingling officials. "The most I've spoken to Draco Malfoy is to ask which button he needs me to push in the elevator. If you want to go making a stir for a bit of fun this isn't the time or plac—Draco, hello."
"Potter," he said, equally as surprised. His disdain creased the corners of his mouth.
"Draco," Ginny said courteously, nodding her head. The corner of her lips twitched.
He nodded back. They all stood there wordlessly, nothing but the babble of diplomats and the measured beat of the drum filling the silence.
Dread had settled at the bottom of his stomach. How awkward. Merlin, how awkward. "Did you have a nice Christmas?" Harry persisted.
"Delightful, Potter. I would hardly have anything to complain about."
"So, Scorpius has invited Albus to your Manor tonight, and our niece Rose," Ginny said earnestly. "It's nice that they're welcoming in the New Year together."
Harry pinched her waist subtly.
"Yes," Draco said slowly. He awkwardly stared past them both, pretended to greet someone over their shoulder who had not, in fact, called him and added, "Excuse me."
"Like father like son," Harry grinned as they watched him dart away quickly, his sleek blond head bobbing between guests. "He was a twitchy little thing at the train station, wasn't he?"
"It was nice of him to ask our permission for Albus to go, though," Ginny conceded.
"I wonder where Ron and Hermione got off to," Harry muttered glancing around the room. They had been caught up twenty minutes ago in a robust discussion with Garrett Cresswell, who was teaching Hermione how to pronounce several words in Gobbledegook that she had learned incorrectly out of an English to Gobbledegook dictionary.
"Ah! The famous Harry Potter!"
Both Harry and Ginny spun around. The goblin that had been speaking to Rita Skeeter had joined them, his narrow eyes sparkling in the candlelight. He fingered his pointed beard before extending a long-fingered hand. Harry reached forward and took it. When the goblin failed to extend his hand toward Ginny, she held out her own instead. The goblin seemed somewhat affronted but responded non-the-less with a handshake.
"I should introduce myself. I am Grigarex, the King's adviser."
"Pleasure," Ginny said in a tone that suggested otherwise.
"You should follow me so I can introduce you to some of my colleagues."
Trailing hopelessly after him, Harry and Ginny were led to a small group of goblins who were speaking in low, guttural voices. Grigarex spoke to them in the same tongue and they parted their circle to include the wizarding celebrities. Harry and Ginny were introduced to the Natural Resource Manager, the Minister for Trade and the Finance and Operations Director. The three goblins greeted them with stiff nods. The Natural Resource Manager was one of the few in the group who spoke English. He was also relatively friendly to the couple, shaking both Harry and Ginny's hand.
"So, how does goblin mining work exactly?" Harry asked, unable to help his curiosity.
"You have to understand that as the Resource Manager, I mostly focus on analysing profit potential of a proposed mine and the like. I don't really get my hands dirty."
"Ah, Alec is being modest," Grigarex said snidely. "It was he who introduced the use of trained Nifflers to find potential gold mines. It's decreased goblin-labour and increased our turnover by twenty per-cent!"
"If I am modest, then Grigarex exaggerates," the other goblin protested, clearly looking abashed. "Anyway, introducing Nifflers was the next logical step. We had been breeding them for this purpose for many years before we got it right."
"I've never understood economics very well," Harry conceded kindly. "It has always been the domain of the goblins, and rightly so."
"If you are so easily impressed by Nifflers, you will be surprised how goblins have been implementing betting arbitrage," Grigarex said in a coy tone.
Before Harry could process the shrewdness of the comment, Hermione and Ron joined them, both looking deeply exasperated for different reasons.
"I've been pronouncing 'thank you' incorrectly this whole time," Hermione cried. "What I've been saying is closer to 'fried trout' than 'thank you'."
"Isn't that a shame?" Ron replied, heavily sarcastic. "This whole time Hermione has been saying fried trout to goblins by accident. Really, it'll cause the entire night to go down in flames."
"Did you notice Rita Skeeter is here?" Ginny muttered quickly.
"What?" Hermione barked, looking around. "Ugh, that woman. Why would they invite her?"
The sound of a trumpet blasted and the room fell still. The music grinded to a halt. A short goblin by one of the tunnel entrances, standing on a small tuffet to see over the crowd, lowered his trumpet and spoke to the room in a high voice. "Goblins and wizards, I would like to announce His Majesty the King." The goblin proceeded to click his long spindly fingers. A thick, velvet carpet unrolled across the tiled floor. The guests parted to make way as four goblins emerged, bearing some sort of portable throne, which resembled an open palanquin, on their squared shoulders. Sitting upon this elaborate throne was a fat goblin swathed in dark purple garments and wearing a dazzling crown. The room broke into applause upon seeing the King.
Upon reaching his platform, the goblin King stepped off of his palanquin and stood before the crowd. His beady black eyes raked the guests and when he spoke, his voice grated. "Welcome," he said, extending his arms, which glittered with jewels. "Welcome, to goblins and wizards alike. Tomorrow we will discuss matters that will define the relations of our two species. But, tonight, we feast!"
This short speech was met with much applause from the goblins.
"Here comes the elephant in the room," Ron grunted.
Curtius Gladstone had ambled up to the King, holding something blazing in his thickset hands. He bowed deeply before extending the fiery branch in his possession. This display of prostration was met with some more applause.
"As a gift to your Majesty," Gladstone blundered nervously. "The Ministry of Magic presents before you a branch of Gubraithian Fire, to symbolise the ever-burning amenity between wizards and goblins from here on."
"Overkill," Ron choked.
The King accepted the branch, immediately passed it to his herald, and then shook hands with the Minister. The bulbs of several cameras flashed, capturing the moment. After some more applause, Gladstone returned to his fellow politicians, looking chuffed and wiping his forehead in an exaggerated expression of relief. The King seated himself on his elevated throne. On this cue, the trumpet began to play once more with a great flourish, and the musicians started up once more. Marching in time to the drum, swarms of goblins entered from all sides, hauling in long tables that they set in straight rows. They clicked their long fingers and a number of chairs appeared as well. Already, the table was set with fine silver cutlery, engraved goblets and silver plates of food.
"Please," the herald said. "May everyone take their seats."
Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all found a cluster of seats together. As if he had been starved for days, Ron fell upon the food, but recoiled after the first bite. "What is this?" he hissed.
"It's boiled pork wrapped in flatbread served with a side of fried onions and cabbage," Hermione replied, delicately cutting into her meal.
"Are you joking? I can't eat this gruel! I though goblins were supposed to be flamboyant."
"They have different tastebuds," Hermione replied. "I told you to eat at home before we left."
"Some sort of feast," Ron muttered, pouring a thick custard dipping source over his flatbread roll.
"Did you hear what that Grigarex said?" Ginny murmured quietly to Harry under Ron's loud complaints.
"Yes. But I refuse to worry about it right now," Harry replied.
"How can they know?"
"I have a feeling the King is well connected," Harry replied in an inaudible breath.
"How do you think the tone of the evening is going?" Hermione asked anxiously, leaning over Ron to address them.
"Well, I don't feel very welcomed," Harry replied darkly as he looked across the room to where the king was being served his meal. "I'm not sure how many enchanted branches of fire we'll need to make the goblin King warm up to us."
Rose danced with her eyes closed, moving along with the crowd who seemed equally ecstatic to be moving along to the music. She sang the lyrics, and when she didn't know the words, she continued to sing anyway. She was uninhibited. A wild freedom had possessed her. Albus, who took her arm firmly and pulled her out of the crowd, interrupted this effervescence but did little to shake Rose's mood.
"Want to dance?" she grinned.
He planted his hands on Rose's shoulders. His green eyes studied her with concern. "Have you had anything to drink?"
"What?"
"Have you had anything to drink?" he called louder, over the music.
Rose shook her head. "Cheering Charm."
He sighed, exasperated. He was probably thinking all of the judgemental thoughts Rose had previously directed towards Isabella. "Stop being on a permanent downer! It'll be New Years soon!"
He was disapproving—if it were him, Rose would have responded in the same way. But she was on a buzz and impervious to his disapproval.
Albus had grown up in a bubble. He had always been the child who hadn't given his parents any trouble. James was rebellious and Lily was neurotic. Usually, Rose admired him for it, but just then she wished he would let loose. She took his hands, forcing him to move. After a few stiff arm movements, he finally relaxed a little and began to dance. Rose laughed, and closed her eyes once more. This was mostly to Albus' benefit, as she could not see how awkward his dance moves were.
He stopped abruptly, forcing Rose to look around and find the source of his discomfort. She descried Lucy struggling towards them through the crowd. Albus pulled away from his cousin, almost embarrassed.
"Oh, it's Lu Lu," Rose said in a loud whisper.
"Don't say a word," Albus replied through clenched teeth.
Lucy reached them, and took Albus by the arm. She shouted at him that she wanted to dance. The absolute shock and horror on his face seemed comical to Rose. "Go on, Al! Dance with her!"
Rose was pleased to watch the leggy fifteen-year-old drag her cousin away.
The next hour or so unfolded in blurry, episodic fragments and she lost track of the time. She dodged around Nathan Corner and Caleb Macmillan, who had some of the most bizarre dance moves she had ever seen, and made her way to the centre of the group. She danced until she became tired and sweaty. She felt a hand on her upper arm and turned to find André Zabini. She grinned, and tweaked his nose.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, slapping her hand away.
He wouldn't believe her when she said she wasn't. Rose laughed and told him if he didn't believe her he could smell her breath. She blew on his face.
"What's wrong with you?" he demanded incredulously, trying not to laugh.
"I'm just enjoying myself!" she exclaimed. "You should too! Dance with me!"
He was a more than willing dance partner. The Half-Blood Bandits were blearing through the gramophone. Together, she and the crowd screamed out the lyrics.
"What time is it?" Rose yelled into his ear. She was having trouble reading the roman numerals on the enormous clock. Zabini smelt wonderful—like musk and sweat.
"It's a quarter to eleven!"
Time had slipped away so quickly, but nevertheless, the prospect of midnight was exhilarating. "It'll be New Years soon!" Rose cheered, shaking Zabini by the arm. He laughed at her, and she laughed with him because her spirits were soaring.
As they continued to dance, he wrapped his arm around her waist, which she didn't seem to mind at all. Zabini was fit and Rose enjoyed the attention. She enjoyed the dancing. He leaned in and kissed her. At first she didn't register the change from dancing to kissing. He didn't kiss her sweetly or slowly to afford her any time to think. It was forceful and compelling, and for a moment Rose found herself snogging Andrè Zabini in the middle of the ballroom, her brain struggling to catch up with her actions.
A small muted part of herself was alarmed. She didn't want to be kissing Zabini. It was a bad idea. It was dangerous, blurry territory. She especially didn't want to be kissing him in the middle of Malfoy Manor, with a bunch of strangers and friends and relatives and people she knew well enough to begin rumours standing about. Everything about it set alarm bells ringing.
Then, feeling it was a colossal effort, Rose pushed him away. It was difficult to commit to this decision, as it went against her overall mood—she felt happy. What reason was there to stop this? He clung to her waist, making it more difficult to decide what to do. As he leaned back in, Rose pushed him away more firmly and told him to stop.
He immediately released her, but Rose knew that he was pissed. It was there in his expression.
"I have to go," she said thickly.
As she shoved her way through the dancers, her head was pounding with conflicting emotions. She was feeling like a green girl, dreadfully naïve and stupid. Despite this, she couldn't shake the overall buzz. She couldn't help but giggle, as if everything that had just happened had happened to someone else, and she was passively watching on. It was a disconcerting combination.
Malfoy. Prior to having the charm placed on her, finding Malfoy had been Rose's imperative.
Although she could no longer recall why she had to find the host with such urgency, the search began anew. Somehow, finding Malfoy would reverse everything. She asked anyone who looked familiar if they had seen him. She parted through socialising groups to check faces. Despite her best efforts, she wasn't able to locate Malfoy anywhere in the room. She did, however, notice Lucy and Albus snogging beside the butterbeer fountain. He looked clumsy but happy, and Rose made a mental note to congratulate him later.
A fight broke out in the middle of the crowd. Norton, who had seemed so sleepy and docile earlier in the night, was now brutally punching Toby Fleischer, while Jonathan Sterling and several others attempted to break up the violence. Rose's head was beginning to spin. People were screaming and someone dropped a glass near by, so that the sound of shattering glass split the air. Rose made her way into the kitchen, desperate to remove herself from the fray. It was one of the few places empty of baltering guests.
The kitchen was crowded with food to be served and the house elves preparing to serve it. Black and white chessboard tiles covered the floor. Rose hoped along them, imagining each tile to be a stepping stone, until she reached a counter. She was admiring an unmanned platter of cupcakes when a house elf tapped her knee. Rose looked down, and then looked around, suddenly aware of the sheer number of them. How many did the Malfoys have? Did they hire them for parties? The one staring up at Rose asked whether she needed anything. First, Rose asked for a cupcake. Once she had obtained the first request, she asked if they knew where Malfoy was.
"Millie can't say. Master Malfoy doesn't like to attend parties."
If Rose weren't in such a cheerful mood, she would have surely been scornful. Of course, by Malfoy's ethic, the only person to not appear at such an extravagant party was the host. He was perhaps the most socially inept person she had ever come across.
The cupcakes proved to be a distraction for a time. Rose was licking her fingers after her third when Naomi Bones entered, followed by David Wolton. She couldn't be sure when exactly Wolton and Bones got together, or whether they intended it to be a secret, but they were both chagrined to see Rose and an entire room of house elves. They had obviously been aiming to find a room with a bit more privacy.
"It's fine," she grinned. "I was just leaving."
She wanted to make a joke about Wolton jumping her bones but the play on words failed to flower on such heavy lips so, instead, Rose gave them a thumbs up, and let the doors swing shut behind her.
If Malfoy wasn't in the ballroom dancing, then he'd have to be somewhere else. Rose had already ruled out the kitchen. He wasn't in the foyer. When she checked inside the drawing room, she found Estelle Urquart sucking off Tim Buckingham. His expression of ecstasy quickly turned to horror as his eyes found hers, but before he could respond Rose had shut the door. She continued her search upstairs. The study was empty, and the guest bedrooms were bare. It was only when she came to a room at the end of a hallway, with a small gold plaque inscribed with Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy did her mood spike pleasantly. She wasn't sure if she would find him in here, but even if the room was empty, there was a slight thrill about entering without his permission. With a nervous flutter in her stomach, she pushed open the door.
Rose was shocked by how neat he was. It shouldn't have come as such a shock considering what she knew about Scorpius Malfoy. Yet, his room almost seemed clinical, close to indistinguishable from the guest rooms across the floor.
She tiptoed further into the room to examine the bookshelf on his wall. Perhaps this was the part of his room that spoke most palpably of his presence.
There were a whole variety of books lining the shelves—Sacred Plant Medicine: the Wisdom of Ancient Herbalism, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and The Encyclopedia of Toadstools looking like the most well read and dog-eared of the bunch. But between the spines of rather dull books on subjects like Herbology and Potions sat other inconspicuous gems. A thin play written by Heliotrope Wilkins was stuck between two books about Quidditch. On the shelf above, a skilfully illustrated copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard was open and on display. Rose ran her fingers over the books, sincerely impressed by the collection. This was one thing she and Scoprius had profoundly in common.
Her eyes drifted to the shelf below, which was covered in an assortment of knickknacks and photos. The closer Rose looked, the selectivity of the assortment became more apparent. A Golden Snitch, it's wings folded, rested beside a small glass bell jar containing a spikey green plant beneath its cover. The only other items occupying the shelf were two silver photo frames. The first consisted of a picture that had been taken a few years ago, in which a younger Scorpius and Isabella were waving and laughing. The background looked mundane enough; it could be a backyard, a park or else the grounds of Hogwarts. The only other frame on the shelf held a family photo, austerely formal. Scorpius looked no older than four years old. He sat on his mother's lap, his pointed face turned towards the camera. His father stood behind the lavish chair that Scorpius' mother occupied. No one was smiling.
"Well, what have we got here?" said a disdainful voice from the doorway.
Rose swung around and almost knocked into the shelf. An old man stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on an ornate cane shaped like a serpent. His long, silver hair was plaited down his back, and he wore a velvet nightgown. His jowls quivered slightly and his skin was creased and lined, but despite his palpable age, he had a startling resemblance to Scorpius.
His glassy grey eyes darted over Rose, who (rather foolishly) tried to tug her dress down.
"I could have guessed who you were without even seeing your face," he hissed.
"And I could have guessed who you are," Rose said, grinning. "You're Lucius Malfoy."
The patriarch of the Malfoy household raised his eyebrows in disbelief and shifted on his cane. "How dispiriting. The daughter of a Weasley and a mere mugglenborn, attempting to mingle with the aristocracy."
"You seem to be a very naturally bitter man. That must also be dispiriting." She blurted it out, almost idiotically, and then couldn't stop laughing afterwards. She was making a poor impression.
The old man thumped towards her, his cane clacking, fury etched into every line on his face. His gnarled hand gripped the snake that formed the hilt of his cane. "Do you have any idea what happened the last time your family was in this house?"
Rose nodded slowly, trying hard to recall vague details. "Yes. They beat you. You took my parents prisoner and they beat you."
They were both silent for a moment.
"Your grandson invited me here tonight. He invited me. You can be upset over that, or you can accept that your grandson is different. That we're not on opposite sides, that he doesn't decide my merit based on my blood. We're not the same as you."
She smiled at him nervously and pushed passed him, walking swiftly out of the room. Her heart was hammering as she took the stairs two at a time.
The Cheering Charm now felt as if it was suffocating her. This was that house, that nightmare house with the prison basement. Had this ballroom once seen the torture of her mother? She glanced up at the chandelier, at the vast mirrors on the walls. Were they the same? Had they bore silent witness to her parent's capture? How many people had been tortured in this room, had died in this room? Had Voldemort stood where she stood now? All of this seemed bizarrely comical, horrifically funny. People were dancing in this room, only a few decades later.
Rose quickly pushed through the crowd and legged it for the double French-doors that opened up onto the backyard beyond. Rationally, she knew she should not feel cheerful but the feeling wouldn't lift. Rose's stomach felt unsettled but, otherwise, she just felt breathless. She had to sober up. It was cooler, and her head became clearer. She sat down on the Malfoy's back porch and just watched the fairies dart about in the cold air. She watched her breath turn to vapour and coil in the air like little clouds.
In the ten minutes that Rose sat there, she decided that the Malfoy Manor's garden was her favourite part of the house. It seemed to stretch on forever. Neatly trimmed green hedges formed a labyrinth. A fountain was visible, with water bubbling over marble. Retreating like ghosts into the dark were majestic, albino peacocks. Rose had never seen creatures so pretentious, but it encapsulated Malfoy perfectly.
The green maze seemed to lead off on paths that were hidden from sight. Feeling less giddy but terribly cold from sitting so still, Rose decided to follow one. With great care, she left the booming music behind and began to follow the path that led to the right. Gravel crunched underfoot, startling a peacock. But otherwise the night was peaceful.
A house emerged out of the gloom like a glimmering iceberg at sea. It was a small greenhouse, made entirely from glass. It was no bigger than a cabin. Rose walked around the small structure until she came across the door, slightly ajar. Feeling breathless, she entered.
The air was fragrant and sweet. The area was dense with plants. "Lumos," Rose whispered into the dark, and the entire space unfolded before her eyes. Beautiful flowers of every variety bloomed at her knees. Vines and leaves hung down from hooks in the roof, brushing her head as she moved in deeper. Strange vegetables and exotic fruits ornamented the room. As Rose moved like a ghost between the pots of herbs and small shrubs, she brushed leaves and blossoms at every side. The only space that was not occupied by vegetation was a small workbench attached to the wall, covered by seeds and a watering can filled with old quills and blunt pencils. A gramophone, much less expensive than the large one in the ballroom, was propped in the corner. A few old record jackets were balanced on top. But what caught Rose's attention was a small, leatherbound diary.
Feeling a little furtive, Rose placed her lit wand inside the watering can and picked up the journal. She began to flick through the pages. It was filled with detailed diagrams, neat instructions and dried leaves or petals. It was filled with dedication and quiet passion and it breathed like Scorpius himself.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Rose placed the diary back on the bench and turned around. Scorpius was standing in the far corner, behind a particularly breezy plant that was waving its leaves gently as he passed. He smiled warily at Rose.
"This is amazing," Rose whispered, gesturing to the greenhouse in its completeness. "This is magnificent."
"It's my favourite spot on the entire property," Scorpius agreed.
"Is this all you?" she asked.
"I told you, the house-elves attend to the plants while I'm away."
"But it's all you," Rose confirmed breathlessly.
"Is there a reason you came snooping around in here?" he added.
"I was looking for you."
"Oh?"
"Mm. I don't remember why, it wasn't important. I just had to find you."
"Well, I'm glad you found me."
They were silent for a minute. Rose was waiting for him to say something cheesy or awkward. But he didn't say anything. Her head was still reeling slightly.
"What time is it?" she asked, more to break the silence.
Scorpius checked his watch.
"Half past eleven."
"It's almost midnight," Rose said.
"Do you want to head back into the party then?" Scorpius offered.
Rose shook her head. She didn't want to leave this place. For the first time that entire evening, she felt genuinely happy. Her mood matched her surroundings.
"Let's put on some music and just have a party of our own," she suggested, and she motioned towards the gramophone.
To her surprise, Scorpius obliged. He drifted over to the bench and began to study his records thoughtfully. He chosen a particular one and brought the needle down after a slight pause. A slow, happy tune crackled up out of the flowering brass horn.
"Do you know how to dance the foxtrot?" he asked.
"No," Rose replied. He must, though. He was addressing her with such confidence. "Show me."
He moved towards her and took her into an elegant embrace. His left hand was respectfully high on her back, and his right took her own in a gentle grasp. His back was straight and his pointed chin held high, and for the first time, Scorpius looked his height. He looked young—he looked his age—but he also looked mature. He counted the steps for her benefit and they both watched their feet for a moment. They slowly turned on the spot, hardly foxtrotting at all. When she tilted her head and looked up, she could see the pinprick stars and waxing moon hanging above her in the sky, framed by the glass ceiling.
"This is the happiest I've ever been," Rose hummed, slowly closing her eyes.
"Oh," said Scorpius. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.
"I never want to leave," she added as they swayed.
Scorpius didn't reply and their movements became a little stiff. Rose wondered if she had said something wrong. But happiness washed through her like waves, making her groggy now.
"Promise me we will be friends," she said.
"Can you please look at me," he said, his voice a little tight.
"Hm?"
"Open your eyes for a second," Scorpius said, and they now came to a standstill. Rose opened her eyes and Scorpius pulled up her eyelid to examine one of them. "Have you taken something? A potion or something?"
"No," Rose said, beginning to laugh. "No, silly. Just a Cheering Charm. Hours ago. It's started wearing off."
Scorpius' shoulders relaxed slightly and he smiled at her in an indulging way, but he stepped back nonetheless. The music began to crackle into silence.
"I'm really glad you came tonight," he said again.
"What time is it?" Rose insisted.
Scorpius checked his watch. "It's a quarter to twelve."
Rose gasped. It was so soon! Soon it would be a new year, a brand new 365 days to use to the fullest. There was so much potential flirting with the start of January, so much promise to look forward to.
"We have to make New Year's Resolutions," Rose said eagerly.
"I don't…I don't usually do that."
"Well, neither do I, but we will this time," she interceded. "This year, I vow to actually be your friend Scorpius."
"Impossible," he scoffed teasingly.
"No, no. I will. I'll stop complaining about you and holding it against you when you do better at me in classes. And I'll listen to all your problems and I'll sit next to you in class or at dinner. I'll be your friend."
Scorpius stared at her for a minute, a little bemused. He took her hand in his own and gave it a little squeeze. "I promise to be your friend too."
She felt terribly underdressed and out of place, but that hardly mattered by a quarter to twelve. Nothing mattered at a quarter to twelve—other than the promise of a change of heart, the turning of a new leaf. She felt terribly underdressed and out of place, yet she felt so much hope in those fifteen minutes to midnight. The music pounded in the distance and a spell was coursing through her veins. And, yet, the childishness of a New Year's Resolution seemed as solemn as an unbreakable vow. So, she felt hope. Hope that he would change, that things would change. A giddy but unshakable hope...
At about three-thirty in the morning, Rose felt as if a fog had lifted.
She stirred gradually from sleep. Her tongue was dry and stuck to the roof of her mouth, reminding her of the jinxes she and Albus used to cast on each other when they were younger. Disorientated and parched, Rose sat up. She was still in her black dress. She couldn't recall how they got home, although she remembered that Albus had come and found her—her coat already in his hand—and directed her to the guest room's fireplace. She must have flooed home, because her mouth tasted like ash.
Lily's light breathing filled the room. Logically, Rose made the connection between her cousin and the dark, spare room she was in. She was at her grandparent's house.
As quietly as possible, Rose found the pyjamas that had been folded so neatly at the end of her bed (no doubt this had been Lily) and gently tiptoed out into the corridor.
The night was one, big blur of faces and songs that were still stuck in her head. Layers of sweat were still clinging to her body, and not all the sweat was her own. She felt rank and was in a desperate need for a shower. When she entered the bathroom, she was sure to first cast a Muffliato charm to hide the sound of the shower water running. Rose then spent twenty minutes shampooing her hair and scrubbing her skin. She emerged from the hot water as pink and clean as a newborn baby.
What had happened? She had foxtrotted with Malfoy. She had taken Isabella's advice on a Cheering Charm. She had shared a kiss with Zabini. What else had happened? She had spoken to Lucius Malfoy. What had she said? She couldn't remember. None of it seemed funny anymore.
She stared at herself in the fogged-up mirror. She wondered if she stared hard enough, whether she would begin to see who she was supposed to be. She was a Weasley; she was a Slytherin; she was a prefect; she was a rascal. Her reflection did not yield up any clear results. All she saw was wet brown hair and freckles and pinkish skin. What was Rose even supposed to be looking for?
Once she had dressed in her soft pyjamas, the real world began to slowly creep in, as if it was leaking under the gap in the door. Perhaps sleep would be her answer. Perhaps she could pretend these shadowy, offensive memories were only dreams.
As Rose ventured back across the landing, intent on returning to bed, she noticed light pouring up the staircase. Instantly, she paused, like a cat intent on listening to some human's secret. Despite the harder and longer she listened, all she could make out was a dull buzzing in her ears. She didn't have a watch to check the time, but she knew it was late—or rather early. Softly, she padded down the steps until the kitchen was in view and Rose could make out the lanky boy relaxed against the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. Rose drew closer until he looked up. He placed his spoon into his bowl, but it didn't make a sound. Clearly, Rose wasn't the only one casting charms to stay quiet.
As she joined James in the kitchen, he quickly picked up his wand to include his cousin in the charm. The buzzing disappeared, and was replaced by the sound of his noisy crunching. Rose grabbed a spoon from a drawer and asked if she could have a bite.
"Why're yehup?" he asked through a mouthful of cereal, still holding the bowl possessively.
"I needed a shower."
"Hm. I was wondering what that smell was."
Rose smiled hesitantly and crossed her arms. Things had been so tense with James for a while that she had been avoiding him. But just then, at three-or-maybe-four in the morning, they seemed to be okay. There was a little more easiness between them. Perhaps it helped she wasn't wearing a Slytherin tie or because she wasn't the opposition team's Beater or because there was no secret hanging over their heads. She was just his cousin. And in the kitchen of the Burrow they were just family, not competitors or traitors.
"I'm sorry," Rose said. "That I had to rat you out. I didn't mean for you to get in trouble."
"I'm sorry I put you in that position," James said.
"So what happened?" Rose asked, settling beside him and grabbing a spoon.
James sighed heavily. "I may have been out of my league after all."
"You think?" Rose laughed quietly, forgetting they wouldn't be overheard.
"Yeah. They were playing me the whole time. I was so bloody stupid."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rose asked.
James shrugged. "No. How was the party?"
Rose shook her head and took his bowl.
"That bad?"
"No. I just…I dunno. Didn't enjoy myself. Well, I suppose I did really. I was off my face."
"Did you drink?"
She shook her head and took a bite of cereal. "Cheering Charm."
"Oh, Rose, a Cheering Charm? Really? What are you, ten?"
She elbowed him.
"If you were off your face then how many?"
Rose held up two fingers, which reignited his laughter. She rolled her eyes and took a few more bites of cereal to hide the embarrassment.
"I once had a mate who took four Cheering Charms as a dare and he pissed his pants because he was laughing so uncontrollably," James grinned.
"Who was the mate?"
"Lorcan."
"Ah. Charming."
"C'mon. Two Cheering Charms and you don't have any ridiculous stories to tell? What was the point?"
Rose cringed. "I may have snogged Zabini."
"What?" James' face fell. She couldn't have given him worse news by the looks of his expression. "Zabini? That pureblooded berk? Why'd you kiss him? You trollop. You could've picked someone a bit more classy."
"He kissed me, really."
"I'm going to smash his head in."
"Leave it. The fact I pushed him away will do greater damage to his ego than having his head smashed in."
James did look concerned though, and no doubt he was doing a mental inventory of everything he knew about Andrè Zabini. Rose returned the empty bowl. She was starting to feel sleepy and was struggling to sustain the conversation. She slid off the counter and told James that it was time for bed. But as Rose turned away, she hesitated slightly. She looked back at him, where he was still sitting on the counter, scratching his nose. " What?" he asked.
"Is—Is everything alright between us? I know it's been a rough year."
James smiled. "Let's leave everything that happened last year in last year. Fresh slate."
Rose returned his smile gratefully, and went to bed deciding that everything that happened before midnight belonged to last year as well, and she was allowed to begin again.
A/N: I've had this chapter in the works before I had even written chapter one. It's basically a result of my love for greenhouses and my desire to learn the foxtrot. One day...