A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to all you reviewers! You're awesome! Anyways, here's Christmas Day for the Malfoys! WARNING: Emotional roller coaster ahead! Get a box of tissues before you read, just in case! ;)

"The more and more I spend time with you, the more and more I realize I am doing the one thing I told myself I would never do... fall in love."

–Anonymous

"Rose. Rose, wake up."

"Mmph," I moan into my pillow, rolling over to escape the nagging voice and the hand that is now prodding me in the back. "Go 'way."

The voice laughs. "All right, I guess I can just leave you to spend Christmas morning alone in bed."

Instantly, I wake up, flopping back to my other side, grinning up at Scorpius. "It's Christmas!"

He gasps in mock surprise. "No! Really?"

I scowl at him, but can't keep a little smile off my face. "Great, my sarcasm's rubbed off on you. Now how are we supposed to communicate effectively?"

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Come on, up."

Mimicking his action, I do as he says, pausing in momentary surprise to see that, for the first time, his hair is still mussed and he's in pajamas. I've never seen him awake in his pajamas. Well, not in the morning, anyway.

Frowning at my scrutiny, he asks, "What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Let's go!"

He leads me down to the elegant sitting room, where one of many trees has been set up, the smallest in the house (though even this one is seven feet), my own personal touch obvious. The boughs are decorated with little twinkling lights of various hues, with glittering snowflake ornaments, as well as the traditional glass orbs, placed here and there among the shimmering, silver tinsel. Atop the tree is a bright star, which glistens and gleams over us. I smile at it, before turning my eyes to the pile of colorfully wrapped presents, resting neatly beneath the tree.

Without waiting, I plop myself unceremoniously onto the floor beside them, while Scorpius gracefully lowers himself into a sitting position (it's just not fair). He grins at me, then reaches under the green boughs to pull out the box nearest to him. "To Rose," he reads the tag aloud, handing it to me, then he gets one for himself.

About thirty minutes later, all our gifts are opened and have been placed neatly on some nearby tables, thanks to Tilly and Gabby. I'm surprised to see Scorpius give them gifts, as well, and I hold my breath, hoping it's not clothes. To my relief and even greater surprise, the presents are not so offensive; he gives Tilly an egg-timer, and Gabby receives a bizarre sort of tool that I don't recognize, but she's delighted with anyway. I don't bother to hide a snicker as Scorpius unwraps his Weasley sweater—forest green with a silver "S" on the front. He seems touched by Gran's sentiments, but makes no move to put it on.

Now, all that remains are our gifts for each other. I nervously hand him his, not sure how he'll take it. He does likewise, and instructs me to open mine first. I consider protesting, but my curiosity prevails, and I gently untie the ribbon, and lift the lid of the small box. I gasp aloud as I see what's nestled inside the box.

"Oh, Scorpius..."

Gingerly, I lift the delicate silver chain, which bears a sapphire pendant, encased in an intricate design of thin silver loops and swirls. It's not overly large, but certainly not small, either, and it's obviously very expensive. I have to remind myself that price is not an issue anymore, and allow myself to admire its beauty.

"You like it then?" he asks me.

I sigh, turning my eyes to him. "It's beautiful," I breathe. "Thank you."

He grins, shrugging like it's not a big deal, but I think I see his cheeks turn a little pink. Smiling to myself with humor, my eyes fall to the haphazardly wrapped package in his hands—my gift to him. Instantly, a wave of disappointment washes over me, and I find myself wishing I'd found something more... well... something better than what I did find.

Scorpius' brow furrows. "Rose? What's the matter?"

Knowing I can't lie to him—stupid connection—I merely sigh again. "It's just... you got me the most amazing gift, and... mine's just... well, it's nothing compared to this," I hold up the necklace.

He lifts an eyebrow, seeming unconvinced, but says nothing, and instead turns his attention to the gift, slowly unwrapping it. I vacillate between the urge to get up and run and the desire to see his reaction, eventually deciding that I'd rather know now how much he hates it. I chew anxiously on my lip, taking slow, careful breaths.

Finally, he opens the thin box, and stops. He stares. I struggle to read some sort of emotion from him, but there's none. That's almost worse than the dissatisfaction I was expecting.

"I told you it was horrible," I whisper, and my eyes begin to sting.

"Rose," he shakes his head, and I watch him gently lift the worn, wrinkled pages from the box. I watch his eyes travel over the intricate and difficult phrases on the first page, then to the title, then the name beneath said title: N. Malfoy. I'm not sure who that is, but obviously it's some relative of his. I hoped, when I found the music gathering dust beneath a cello in a forgotten corner of the music room, that it would mean something to him. But clearly I was mistaken.

"You don't have to keep it," I insist, "I just thought... well, it has the name Malfoy on it, and though I don't know who N. Malfoy was, I thought you... but if you want, you can just throw it away, and I'll—"

I stop mid-sentence as he looks up at me, and finally, I can feel his reaction—and I can even see it. As his eyes meet mine, wide and shining with unshed tears, I feel a sweet warmth erupting in my stomach, and my throat tightens. The strength of his gratitude and emotion takes my breath for a moment, and suddenly, I'm the one in tears. A moment later, a brilliant smile spreads across his face, and he closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug.

"Oh, Rose," he murmurs in my ear, and I feel a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. "I love it. Thank you so much."

Sniffling, I hug him back. "You're welcome." He smiles at me as we pull out of the embrace, which I return with my own watery grin. Curious again, I ask, "So who is N. Malfoy, anyway?"

He bites his lip, and a strange mix of sadness, sentimentality, and curiosity swirls in my chest. "Narcissa. She was my grandmother," he clarifies. "I knew she played, she was the one who taught Dad, but... I didn't realize she composed, too..."

For a moment, I feel incredibly stupid; how could I have not known that the "N" stood for Narcissa? Way to be the second-brightest witch of the age, Rose. But as this realization sets in, a memory flashes in my mind, one of a stout, heavily-perfumed beautician, professing some rather surprising opinions. Monica said that I could be good for Scorpius. He's been so solemn ever since his grandmother died...

More than ever, I want to know more about this, to know why the death of Narcissa Malfoy inspired such grief in her son, and grandson, that it would change them so explicitly. I recall my resignation to leave this subject untouched, but it becomes difficult as my curiosity burns? What really happened to Narcissa, and to her family? Is it a simple matter of mourning the loss of a loved one? Or is there more to it than that? I have a feeling it's the latter.

"Rose?"

I jump at the sound of his voice, trying to ignore the incessant pooling of warmth beneath my skin. "Yes?"

He looks at me nervously for a moment. "Would... would you play it for me?"

At once, I am both terrified and flattered. "Oh... er... well, I haven't practiced it, I only just found... erm..." I trail off, seeing the hopeful look on his face, and I give a small, acquiescing smile. "I'll give it a try."

Scorpius jumps up, grabbing my hand and all but dragging me to the music room. As we enter, he leads me to the piano, and spreads the music out in front of me. He has to switch a few pages around, but soon, he stops, stepping back into the crook of the piano's body, watching me. I clear my throat anxiously, then turn my eyes to the music. It's an incredibly complex melody, with lots of jumps and stretches. I look over the whole song a few times, before gently placing my fingers on the keys and cautiously coaxing the melody from them. I have to stop a few times throughout the piece, just to get my bearings. But eventually, I make it to the end, until I reach the last note, a high B-flat, held on its own, sweet and soft and poignant.

When I glance up at Scorpius, I have to fight against a gasp. His eyes are firmly shut, his lashes darkened with the tears that flow down his cheeks, and his lower lip trembles ever so slightly. I must have been so focused on the song that I didn't notice his change in emotion. I can feel it now, though; a bittersweet remembrance, and a painful longing so intense that it nearly knocks the wind out of me. No wonder he can't hold back the tears.

Cautiously, I rise from the bench and walk to him, putting a hand on his face. He takes in a sharp breath, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge my presence. Not one to back down, I lift the other hand, placing it against his other cheek, so I'm cupping his face. "Scorpius?" I breathe. "Please look at me."

After a moment, his eyes open. They're so raw with emotion that it almost sends me staggering backward, but I stay put, steadily meeting his gaze.

"It sounds like her," he whispers at last.

I smile sadly, and use my thumb to catch a tear. "Then she was very beautiful."

He exhales shakily. "Inside and out."

"You loved her very much," I observe.

His eyes close again for a minute, and he says, "More than anything. She was my confidant, my best friend, my comforter. And when Grandfather died... I became hers. We relied on each other, until..." His words are swallowed by a sob that shakes his entire body, and I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him. As he weeps into my hair, I feel myself crying with him—damn estrogen!—and clinging to him almost as tightly as he does to me.

I half expect him to pull away abruptly, and mutter some nonsense about dust in his eye, or allergies, but he makes no such movements or excuses. He just holds me, and lets me hold him. Once, I make a move to step back, but his arms tighten at my waist, and he whispers frantically, "Please don't go. I don't... want to be alone."

Shocked, I can do nothing but submit, and remain wrapped in his embrace. We stand for several long minutes—perhaps even hours—before finally, he seems to have regained control of himself. Though his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, he seems... somehow more at ease, peaceful. I guess silently that his tears must have been something he's held in for a very long time, and that this was a much-needed release from the turmoil locked in his heart.

"Feel better?" I ask, then kick myself internally. Feel better? Merlin, Rose, what are you, his mother? Asking how he feels after scraping his knee? Stupid!

He smiles, the faintest hint of humor dancing in his eyes. "Much better," he nods. "Thank you, Rose."

My usual blush spreads across my face—and beyond, since that's my luck—and I try to give a half-hearted shrug. "It's nothing, really."

"No," he whispers, his eyes locking with mine. "It's definitely not nothing."

I just stare back at him, unable to form a coherent sentence in my mind, let alone attempt to speak. An inexplicable feeling of desire and warmth envelops me, and I draw a trembling breath. Scorpius' eyes flicker to my lips, and they darken as the same desire billows within him—and, by extension, me. He licks his lips, drawing my eyes to them, and I'm dimly aware that our bodies are growing closer. His breath fans out across my face, smelling vaguely of cinnamon toothpaste, and my mouth goes dry. I swallow hard as my pulse drums a wild, erratic rhythm in my ears.

"Rose," he murmurs, and that simple act of saying my name is what sends me over the edge.

Without a thought, I grab him by the back of his head, my fingers knotting in his platinum locks, and pull him down for a kiss. Scorpius groans, and the sound sends a delightful shiver down my spine, urging me closer. His hands find my waist, gently caressing at first, then pulling me tightly against him.

For a while, we stand there, exploring each other's mouths with our tongues. At one point, Scorpius' tongue grazes my bottom lip, then he sucks it in and gently nibbles it, causing an involuntary moan to erupt from my throat. He inhales sharply, and kisses me even more firmly, our teeth knocking against each other, and his hands curl into fists around the fabric of my shirt. I press myself closer to him, every inch of my body touching his, indirectly. Simultaneously, we seem to have an unspoken agreement that the clothes on our bodies are just plain in the way. His hands reach beneath my shirt, tracing sensuous patterns on the bare skin of my back, while I slide mine under his, raking my fingers across his (perfect, taut, amazing) abs.

Suddenly, my knees weaken, and I nearly collapse. Taking the initiative, Scorpius carefully lowers me to the floor, where we both slide beneath the piano. His lips only leave mine long enough for him to remove my shirt, and for me to discard his. In less than a minute, we also manage to rid ourselves of the remaining impediments, and are at last exposed, skin against skin.

Scorpius' lips move across my cheek, along my jaw line, to the base of my throat, where he begins sucking and nibbling, and I let out a whimpering moan. It escalates to a cry of sheer ecstasy as he enters me with one great thrust. My head spins as he repeats the action, and I arch toward him, grinding my hips into his. "Harder," I implore in a husky murmur; he complies eagerly, eliciting a shout from me with every plunge.

As our passion slows, he withdraws from me, and presses a light kiss on my lips before laying beside me. Neither of us dares make a sound, save for our panted breaths, for a long time. After a while, though, I can no longer remain silent. Quietly, curiously, I ask, "Where did that come from?"

He exhales slowly. "I have no idea."

"It was..."

"Incredible," he finishes for me.

I grin. "Yes, it was."

Scorpius turns his head toward me, and I do the same, meeting his eyes. He reaches out a hand, tenderly brushing a damp, red curl off my face. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes full of the same wonder I can feel emanating from him.

My face flushes, and I avert my eyes. "I'm not, really."

"You are," he insists. "Rose... you are quite possible the most beautiful person I have ever met. You... you amaze me."

I look at him again, my heart racing, and I swallow thickly at the unmasked fervor and adoration in his eyes. If I weren't already lying down, I'd probably collapse from the dizzy excitement and wondrous rapture. At that moment, something hits me, and although part of me insists that it's dangerous, that I shouldn't allow it, a bigger part of me squashes that part, and lets the danger in, lets it swallow me whole. And I smile, despite myself, as this realization rolls around in my brain a while, and then, as it settles and registers completely, my smile widens.

Scorpius eyes me quizzically. "What is it?"

Not wanting to spoil the perfect moment, I simply shake my head. "Nothing," I tell him, still smiling. "I just... I'm happy."

He grins. "So am I."

Impetuously, I roll onto my side, intent on closing the distance between us. Guessing my train of thought, Scorpius does the same, one arm wrapping around my waist, while the other hand caresses my cheek. We meet in the middle, and share a gentle, yet wonderfully passionate kiss. That familiar, tingly warmth spreads through me, and once again, I smile against his lips, recalling my discovery. As our ardor slowly increases, building to another climax, I find myself repeating the words over and over in my head, thus assuring myself of their absolute truth:

I'm in love with Scorpius.

A/N: Yaaaay! They got some action! ;D And, YAAAAAAAAY! She's finally realized she loves him! The question is, when will Scorpius come to the same conclusion? Thank you all again for your patience and your reviews! Loves!