Barcelona was energy draining. You can always check my livejournal for a review & photos of my journey (check my profile for the link.)
I'm sorry for the delay, but I really couldn't update any sooner. The faster we approach the end of the school year, the more work I get, so that's rather annoying.
Disclaimer: no infringement intended. JK Rowling owns.
TEN
"Ah, right on time I see," are the words Professor McGonagall welcomes us with, while rearranging some pieces of parchments on her desk. "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley. Please take a seat."
Keeping my eyes straight on our well-respected, strict Headmistress, I oblige politely. By what my ears tell me, Malfoy has imitated my movements and is now sitting next to me. I restrain myself from stealing a glance from the corner of my eye, because I don't have to do so to know for sure what he is currently looking like.
Smeared in smugness. That's what.
"Good afternoon, Professor," I greet.
Malfoy repeats my words, but while they sound humble and courteous when I say it, he makes them come off like he is her equal. This angers me to no end, because this brave woman has been through more than the pale, obnoxious cad on my left could ever imagine.
But I suppose that in his world he would be considered her equal.
Being that exceedingly rich and sophisticated and all.
"You probably wonder what I called you in for," she speaks, with quite a cheery voice. "Well, we, myself and the rest of the school staff, have decided to do something refreshing and new this year. As you know, the War ended a little less than three decades ago. That's a long time. I'm sure you know this."
She holds up for a second, probably remembering that we – especially we – are very aware of what she is telling us. I'm the product of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, participants and heroes extraordinaire. Malfoy is the heir of the notorious Pureblood bloodline, a family whose share in the War was more than dark.
So yeah. I think we know.
"Many people still hold the belief that Voldemort only fought for a 'purer' blood amongst the Wizarding world. You two being my brightest students and also undoubtedly very familiar with the facts, albeit a tad biased perhaps," did her gaze linger on Malfoy? "I assume that you're aware that Voldemort was simply a selfish, power-obsessed man, who was only a half-blood himself and above all, wanted complete control over everyone ."
"I'm aware," I declare, nodding.
Malfoy clears his throat. "So am I."
"Right," she folds her hands on her desk. "But, nonetheless, we do want to celebrate what we achieved concerning the blood theory. There are still people out there, however a slim amount, who still consider Muggleborns inferior. To put emphasis on the fact that we no longer live in a society where this kind of behaviour is tolerated, we decided to organize an evening with a Muggle theme."
"And that's where we come in, I suppose?" Malfoy asks.
"Indeed. The theme is up to you," she replies.
I cock my head slightly. "And the organization...?"
"As well," she finishes. "It is a great opportunity to show your creativity and ordering skills. It is also required that the Prefects aid, of course."
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Do you hear it coming? Do you see it? Do you sense it?
Because I do. I can feel those pitch-black clouds drifting their way over to above our heads, waiting for the ideal moment to release a huge thunderstorm on us. I mean, Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley organizing an event together? Yeah. Fireworks alert!
(And not the pretty ones. I'm talking about the ones that crash down and evoke horrible accidents.)
"We'll do our best, Professor," Malfoy promises courtly.
I swallow the sour taste on my tongue. "I'll be looking forward to it, Professor."
"Good," she smiles warmly. "I expect you in this office in approximately a month. I'll alert you."
I hear Malfoy's chair shoving backwards. I do the same, while smiling back at our Headmistress. As we both wish her a good afternoon, we leave the room. I walk behind Malfoy, and while feeling small in the shadow of his back, it occurs to me that I haven't looked at him once this meeting.
Saturday.
It is beautiful outside. A typical autumn afternoon – average temperature, dim, orange sunlight, sprawled leaves, red, brown, green, yellow. And amidst this enchanting scenery, stands the also very enchanting figure of a tall Stephano Zabini. He is waiting for me with his hands in the pockets of his black pants, wearing instead of school robes a casual grey sweater made of cashmere, and his green Slytherin scarf.
"Hey Stephano," I smile as I approach him, dropping the family name.
"Rose," he says my name sensually, and leans in to give me a peck on the corner of my mouth, "you look nice."
"Thanks," I say modestly, "so do you."
In other days I would've replied that he didn't have to lie, but I do look nice. A blue skirt, just above my knees, a pair of low brown boots, slightly healed, a feminine yet tough hooded sweater, and of course, my blue Ravenclaw scarf. For a change, I also tied my hair into a loose bun, a few strands framing my face.
"What would you like to do?" he asks while we start walking.
I shrug. "Doesn't matter much to me. What do you think of just hanging around in Hogsmeade?"
"Alright," he says, "I needed to retain my Nimbus 2025 from Dervish & Banges anyway."
Stephano Zabini is the essence of perfection, let me tell you. I mean, honestly, he's becoming more handsome every minute, he has a good brain, he's filthy rich, he doesn't hesitate to defend me in front of his lifelong best mate, and he's also the captain and seeker for the Slytherin team.
Essentially perfect indeed.
"Didn't you have that one in the last game?"
He shakes his head. "Do you really think the Gryffindor team would've beaten us last time if I had?"
"Oh, finally," I punch him playfully on his arm, "I was beginning to wonder where you'd hidden that characteristic arrogance."
"Ouch, Rose," he puts a hand on his heart, "your words have wounded me deeply. I am now a broken man."
"A dramatic one, you mean," I correct, grinning.
He returns my playful punch. "That too. Hey, by the way, I heard from Scorpius that you have to organize a Muggle themed feast?"
My good mood evaporates in a fraction of a second. "Could you please not remind me?"
"Why not?" He looks genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd like that kind of challenges."
"Shows how well you know me," I mutter viciously, and regret the words as soon as they fly out of my stupid mouth.
"That's not fair, Rose," Stephano reprimands in such a mature tone it makes me want to crawl under a rock in shame.
"I'm sorry," I offer feebly, "it just bugs me, you know? I don't want to spend extra time with Malfoy. He's only going to ruin it for me."
"That's not true. You're both inventive and smart people, I bet you'll figure it out," he says, trying to
persuade me.
"I am inventive and smart," I comment, loose-lipped, "Malfoy's just loathsome and cruel and miserable and pathetic."
"Come on, he has good points too," points out Stephano with an amused look on his face.
"Those are his good points."
This time he laughs out loud, putting an arm around me in a light-hearted manner. I can't help but laugh with him, even though what I said was no joke at all. Chuckling, we arrive at Dervish & Banges. Stephano holds open the door for me to enter. As I pass the thought of Malfoy briefly floats through my mind.
I bet he'd never open doors for a girl like that.
Three hours and five shops later, Stephano and I enter the Three Broomsticks. Stephano immediately claims a table in the back, guides me with an arm shoved over my shoulders and then pulls out a chair for me. The boy has manners – that much is clear.
"Hey Stephano," I say softly, nodding towards the bargirl discretely, "that girl was eying you like a piece of meat when you came in."
He sits down himself and grins at me. "How flattering."
As expected, the bargirl disappears from her safe spot behind the counter and makes her way to our table – dark hair cascading down her back, her butt shaking with every step she takes. I give her a pitying look, embarrassed by the doings of my fellow female specimen. However, this antipathy isn't triggered
by a feeling deep down my gut, is simply caused by a general dislike of a social problem.
Cheap bargirls hitting on young schoolboys on a date with another girl, that is.
I mean, that's just fundamentally incorrect.
Right?
"Can I take your orders, please?"
Cheap Bargirl's voice sounds thick with a Scottish accent and is layered with flirtation, seduction and invitation. My olfactory organ perceives a strong odour of thick perfume – you know, the kind of perfume you can still smell after the person in case has passed you by five minutes ago – and upon closer examination, my eyes detect a pseudo pretty face layered with make-up. That's quite an accurate way to describe this woman.
Thick and layered.
"Two Butterbeers, please," I snap unkindly, before Stephano gets the chance to speak.
Cheap Bargirl looks at me like hadn't even noticed my presence. She hastily scribbles down what I said, and then dismisses me immediately. She turns back to Stephano.
"If you need anything," wink wink, smile smile, "just call me!"
"We will," Stephano says complaisantly, though putting a light emphasis on the 'we'.
She sends one last lingering smile his way before she parades her way back to the place where she belongs – behind the bar. To my great peevishness I notice many pairs of eyes following the waving of her curved hips. To my great happiness, nonetheless, Stephano's eyes stay transfixed on me.
"More Scorpius' type, you know," he explains needlessly. "Speaking of which – "
"Speaking of which?" I repeat, alarmed.
I see that Stephano isn't looking at me anymore, but at something behind my shoulder. His face lightens up and a broad grin spreads across his cheeks. "Good afternoon, mate."
Horror-struck, I snap my head around and register the persona of Scorpius Malfoy. I register it because I recognise his sophisticated and manly and probably very pricy cologne. I register it because the first thing I see is a black polo T-shirt with the signature of an exceedingly expensive brand on the chest. I register it because in a way I just do.
"Hey Stephano," very much Malfoy indeed, "hey, uh, Weasley."
He speaks my name with clear contempt.
Which makes me grunt in reply.
"So, what's up? Who're you here with?" Stephano asks while Malfoy just keeps on standing behind my chair.
I don't need to turn around again to know that he's smirking. "Do you see that girl in over there?" Stephano cocks his head to the left. "Yeah, the blonde one. She's bugging me though. Never met anyone more annoying, except for maybe, well, ..."
"Ha, ha," I look upwards to face him now, "extremely funny, Malfoy."
"No need for sarcasm where none is due, Weasley," he bites out, looking downwards, "it's wasn't a joke."
"Will you both please quit it?" Stephano frowns deeply, disturbed. "Scorpius, what did you come for?"
"Oh, right, I was just going to tell you that – "
"Two Butterbeers," interrupts the aforementioned layered voice of Cheap Bargirl.
I turn my head. She is looking from Malfoy to Stephano and then back to Malfoy with a hungry look sparkling in her dark eyes. Stephano just takes both the drinks from her with a small smile, but Malfoy instantly starts grinning like a madman.
"Good afternoon," he says suavely, annoying me greatly.
"Oh, hello," the girl replies, almost swooning, "how are you?"
My eyes hit the ceiling.
Stephano notices and presses a hand in front of his mouth to silence his laughter.
"I'm fine, especially now," Malfoy has now turned his back to me completely and is facing the Cheap Bargirl with a very close distance.
This is more than irritating. This is beyond irritating. This is a-mosquito-flying-next-to-your-ear-the-whole-time-when-you're-trying-to-study-for-your-NEWTS-irritating. Can't he go and demonstrate his honey-dripping flirting techniques elsewhere? I mean, Merlin. We know you're able to charm almost every girl in a matter of seconds, Malfoy. Can you please leave us alone now?
"The same goes for me," the girl giggles, batting her eyelashes so hard I can almost hear it.
"Excuse me," I butt in, in a tone that makes clear that I'm everything but sorry, "could you please
continue your conversation somewhere else?" Then, for the extra effect, I add: "Stephano and I were just having a wonderful, private conversation, so..."
Cheap Bargirl awards me with a murdering gaze and Malfoy sneers. "Actually, I'm fine where I am now."
"Scorpius," Stephano sounds like professor reprimanding a student, "she's right. I'll see you later, okay?"
Cheap Bargirl, getting the message, huffs and turns her heal. I sigh in relief as her face is out of my vision. There's only so much of make-up and Scottish accents I can handle.
"No, wait, I came here for a reason," Malfoy holds up his two hands, "I came to ask you if you wanted to come to Club Enchanted tonight? I really need to ditch my date."
Have I mentioned yet what kind of a cad he is towards his girls?
"Well, I'd love to, but only with the company of Rose here," Stephano responds.
"No, no!" I sputter immediately, not finding this a good idea. "You can go alone if you want!"
Malfoy and Stephano both look at me strangely. As on a cue, they synchronically ask: "Why wouldn't you want to go to Club Enchanted?"
Because I'd sure as hell get drunk on your account and then I'd certainly do stupid things. Because all the girls would flock around you like sheep, and I'd be vexed about this. Because all those girls wouldn't stand a chance against me when it comes to Stephano, and it would still vex me, because Malfoy would just take them all. Because maybe I'd be dancing with my apparent boyfriend and I'd understand exactly why every girl flocks around his best mate.
But I can't say that out loud of course.
"I don't feel like it," I defend myself very weakly.
"Oh, come on, Rose!" Stephano objects. "I'm sure Scorpius won't make a problem out of it."
"Not that I care about that anyway," I murmur under my breath.
"Do never take things for granted," Malfoy murmurs under his breath.
Stephano grants Malfoy a glare, and repeats sternly, "Scorpius doesn't have a problem with it."
"Alright," I spat Malfoy's way, to spite him, "I'll come. Even if it's just to pester him."
"I'm honoured," Malfoy grimaces. Then he shakes hands with Stephano the way real boys do, and dismisses me like Cheap Bargirl did before. After that he takes off, leaving a smirking Stephano and an almost-vomiting me behind.
"Now," Stephano leans towards me, waiting until Malfoy is seated next to his date, "why do you actually hate him so much?"
"You mean besides the fact that he's such an asshole to me all the time?" I ask sarcastically.
He shakes his head. "You've always been a bitch to him as well, as far as I remember. I'm just wondering whether something triggered this or anything."
Oh, yes, Stephano. Something triggered it indeed.
His stupid face is bloody likely.
"Yeah, something happened," I answer truthfully, "when I first saw him. He said some things that made
me hate him instantly."
"Tell me," Stephano inquires, sincerely interested.
"Well," I take a breath, "it was on the Hogwarts Express, first year. My dad had just obliged me to outdo Malfoy in everything I did, as an old grudge towards Draco Malfoy, you know."
I think back about that moment. I'd been excited out of my wits, eleven years old and delighted to finally attend the school I'd been hearing everything about. The first people I happened to spot were the Malfoys, without really knowing who or what they were. The father was a tall man – sharp, white, glowing – and the woman was awfully beautiful, a member of the Greengrass family as I learned later. I hadn't noticed Scorpius until my dad pointed him out to me and said what he said. I remember looking at him, angelic features distorted into a sneer, apparently whining to his mother about something.
"I was looking for a free seat," I continue, "when I suddenly caught my name. I came to a halt to see who was talking about me, 'cause I didn't recognise the snobby voice. It was Malfoy, and he was talking to you."
Stephano nods comprehensively.
"Of course I started eavesdropping on you. Maybe you remember what he said, maybe you don't, but sure as hell do. It's imprinted in my system, to be honest."
"I don't remember," Stephano admits reluctantly.
"I'll quote him literally: "Did you see that redhead, the Weasley girl? Have you ever seen anyone more funny-looking?" When you told him you hadn't seen me, he went on: "Her hair was like fire, you know? And her skin had all these ugly freckles over it. And oh, she was already in her school robes. I mean, what a dork!""
That was a horrible moment. Imagine standing there and being talked about that way on your first day, when you're full of insecurities. It stung. It cut. It stuck.
It bloody fucking ached.
"And then I got sick of listening to my own faults and I walked into the compartment," I explain.
Stephano looks up. "Yeah, I remember that. You called him every name in the dictionary; you insulted him, you went all crazy. And he stayed calm, didn't he?"
"Yeah," I confirm, "he was so calm. He was looking at me like I was nuts, you know? And he kept on doing that. He still does it. Like I'm beneath him."
"I'm sorry," Stephano says, "I know. But you're not. If anything, you're above him."
"Thanks," I smile warmly.
Essentially perfect indeed.
Aargh, this chapter SUCKS. I am elsewhere with my head, that much is clear. Hopefully I don't disappoint you too much, but I didn't want to rewrite the entire thing. That would mean extra time, and it's been long enough as it is.