Tuesday 13th December

- Four-

She'd learnt her lesson—the hard way too.

Vulnerability of any kind around Malfoy was a weapon, one he had the ability to fashion and turn against her. She wouldn't talk to him, she wouldn't even meet his eye. Knowing him, he'd probably watched as she'd grown more comfortable around him, preparing his arsenal for an assault of epic proportions.

But as he'd calcified the obvious parts of her, he calcified this part too, ensuring he'd never see the softness of it again. Tears over him were wasted tears, in Rose's newly formed opinion, and she was a thousand times shy of his bite.

He arrived in their usual Potions classroom after her, for a change, and they began to work on their potion. Twenty minutes in, and she'd practically forgotten what he looked like, her eyes only for the cauldron and the flat slugs slithering about in their glass petri dish.

But it was as though he hadn't received the memo from the tightness of her shoulders and clipped quality of her vowels, his smug gaze following her all the way round the classroom. She wanted to shake it off.

"Congratulations on the Quidditch win." He finally spoke, his voice light with its usual mocking mischief.

"Thanks." Her response was so curt and quick it was though she hadn't spoken at all.

"Ravenclaw played like they'd already been beaten. Wonder why—they're not usually so bad, are they?"

She didn't want to respond, chewing her tongue to stop it from working, but knowing more than him had always been irresistible, "It's because Selwyn was sick. He's the only reason they win games, and they know it."

Rose was organizing the slugs, weighing each one of Malfoy's silver scales, which—Rose would never confess out loud—were more accurate than her brass ones. It was an exercise in futility—the recipe never specified the weight of the slugs, only the quantity—but she needed something to busy herself with, giving Malfoy a non-verbal excuse for why she wouldn't look at him.

"Lucky coincidence."

It was the way he said it that had Rose's gaze snapping away from the slug, completely forgetting her vow to ignore Scorpius' presence in every way possible.

And he looked the same as she'd remembered; hair so fine and silver that the escaping strands looked translucent, cheekbones that would make a model cry, same curiously arrogant twitch to his jaw,

"What?" she asked, because his tone had begged the question.

"I said," he repeated, holding her eye contact was a strange intensity, "lucky coincidence." There it was again—his words were nothing on his inflection, as though he were goading Rose into a realization, as though he'd made an inside joke she wasn't in on yet. It was, in her opinion, typical Slytherin nonsense.

"Do you know what made Selwyn sick?" she asked carefully, knowing he'd be unlikely to respond to any type of straight-forwardness. Bloody Slytherins.

"He consumed the dangerous end of a Puking Pastille, to my knowledge." Scorpius replied just as carefully, with a lofty sort of innocence that did not suit him.

"Why would he do that?" Rose tried to keep the accusation out of her tone.

Scorpius shrugged casually, strange paired with the not-so-casual way he held her gaze, "Creepy guys do that sometimes."

Rose was almost positive he hadn't done what he was suggesting, "You—"

"Whatever you're about to say, you're probably wrong." He interrupted quickly, as though insisting she not say it out loud. But, if she'd read the situation right, she was unnervingly right.

"Your slug is escaping." Malfoy nodded at the desk. And so it was—the slug had taken the opportunity of Rose's distraction to crawl down the scales, and make a vain attempt at escape across the wooden desk, probably sensing its impending doom. Rose almost felt a little sorry for it as she picked it up, trying not to grip it too tightly as she put it back in the glass prison with its peers, all desperately trying to slither from their imminent deaths.

Scorpius watched her curiously, before speaking, "Lauren hates bugs." He pointed out simply, as though it had some relevance to Rose at all.

She shrugged, "What was it going to do, bite me?"

He snorted, turning back to his own ingredient prep at his end of the workbench, leaving Rose to decode whatever clue he'd just given her.

Why was he so hot and cold? He was nothing like he'd acted in the previous detention, where he'd torn Rose into the tiniest pieces he could with nothing but his tongue. Had he really poisoned Selwyn? And was it, as he'd insinuated, for the fact that Richard had been a bloody creep?

It was like he had an evil twin he switched places with just to fuck with her, leaving her reeling from one detention to the next.

Maybe he'd heard her silent vow to shut him down, and he'd raised her this, an attempt to worm his way back in again. Maybe this was an apology from him, acknowledging the aggression with which he'd treated her in the last detention. But when had he ever apologised for it before?

Or maybe, this was just a new way to break her—exposing her to such extreme temperature changes that she finally shattered.

If he picked up on her confusion—he probably did—Malfoy made no move to comment on it. In fact, neither of them made any move to make comment on anything, and the rest of their detention passed in silence.

Or at least until they made moves to leave. She packed up before him, slinging her back over her shoulder, striding for the door with dinner on her mind.

"Seeya Thursday, Roza." He said it so cheerfully, that Rose was immediately annoyed. Instead of responding, she let the door to the classroom slam shut as she left, hoping that adequately communicated her current feelings towards him.

It felt a little less creepy, now that Albus had a little more confirmation on Arataki's interest in him. And, credit to him, he'd successfully resisted the urge for a while now. In fact, anyone else would've congratulated him on his show of willpower, if anyone else had known about the internal struggle he'd been facing.

So, when Scorpius fell asleep just before midnight, Albus sat up in bed, pulling open the drawer of the bedside table that stood between their beds. Their dormmates slept also, if the snores from behind their bed curtains were enough to go by. The only other sound was Oscar rustling around in his cage, most likely settling for the night.

Carefully, Albus withdrew the hefty piece of blank parchment, and tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He mumbled, hoping his barely-above-a-whisper was loud enough for the map to detect.

Apparently it was, as ink was spreading from where Albus' wand touched the parchment, as though it were pouring from the tip of it.

Quickly scanning the levels, eyes peeled, he spotted the name he'd been looking for, floating unmoving in a room near the kitchens,

Arataki Lockridge

So that's where they'd put him. It always explained why Albus never saw him at meals—why would he bother attending when he could nip into the kitchens for a quick feast?

Albus and Scorpius had had too many debates on the ethics of Al's grandfather's map. Scorpius was a fervent advocate of privacy, claiming the map too easily breached it, and should only be used for the most dire circumstances. Albus was sure this was because Scorp was embarrassed by the amount of time he spent in various broom closets with various girls, and didn't see the harm in keeping a quiet eye on the comings and goings of Hogwarts.

He only ever used it practically anyway—if Scorp were running late for a study session, he'd see where the boy was. Or if he needed to speak with Rose, he'd use it to find her quickly. And often he'd use it to check up on Lily, and his array of cousins, making sure all were attending classes and getting outside and not spending too much time in their dormitories.

Now, admittedly, his use of it was a little questionable, which was why he'd waited until Scorp was asleep. Both boys had agreed to share the map, though Albus secretly used it far more than his best friend.

There was something a little exciting about the thought that Arataki was on the same floor as Al, even if he were on the other side of the castle. He briefly entertained a fantasy of dashing across the castle, racing around corners and curves, throwing himself into Arataki's private room. Arataki, in this fantasy, was happily expecting him, and was lying on his bed, displaying those gorgeous shoulders he'd bared at the Lake—

Albus paused his train of thought, recognizing it was heading an interesting way and it was perfect conditions to indulge it. But really—when would his other four dormmates ever be asleep this early, leaving him peacefully to his business? They had a rule about drawing the curtains, and silencing charms, but everyone knew what you were doing.

He was a little excited now, and quickly tucked the map away in its rightful place, dousing his wandlight.

But, just in case someone woke, he cast a quick Silencing Charm.

A/N: This chapter is short because I have an absolute monster of a chapter coming tomorrow, and I had to find a place to split it up. Thanks again for the absolutely wonderful reviews!