First of all, before I forget, for everyone who volunteered for the Beta function, I already got a friend doing it for me. But thanks anyway!

Before you read this chapter, please note that Rose is neither a slut nor an alcoholic. I realize I make it seem like that with the drunken detention, but hey! Scorpius and Rose are doomed otherwise, with their stubbornness and all.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns.

ELEVEN

Let me tell you about Club Enchanted.

It is a relatively new club, opened more or less twenty years after the Final Battle. Albus, Louis and I were second years, and of course the world of partying was something far, far away for us. But Club Enchanted was hot topic amongst the older students, and we used to walk through the woods in the evening, fantasizing about the future where we'd do the same things all these cool students did. We were twelve and full of characteristic naiveté, wanting grow up instantly and therefore receive the same privileges older people got.

It's quite ironic how you can be so eager to lose your childhood while you're stuck in it, and then desire it back when you're finally out of it.

We went for the first time in fourth year, on Albus' initiative. We snuck out of our beds on a Saturday night, charming them to feign our presence, We walked all the way to Hogsmeade, where we used a Portkey to get to Diagon Alley. We entered the place with charmed ID's. It was the first time in my life I've gotten so plastered that I couldn't walk straight. Louis and Albus weren't much better. We nearly crawled back home.

The picture I'm trying to paint here, is that going out in Club Enchanted, is bound to go wrong.

Which is the reason why I am currently regretting my decision.

"Come on, Rose," Stephano is standing in front of me with his hand stretched, "we ought to get in line. "

I arouse from my daze. "Oh, what?"

"In line?" snorts the King Prick in his most obnoxious manner. "Have you gone mental? Do you see all these people?"

"No, no," I pipe up, "these two eyeballs in our faces are just for decoration, aren't they, Stephano?"

King Prick rolls his eyes, being the drama queen he is. "Do I look like I'm talking to you?"

"Hmm," I sigh deeply, rubbing my temples as if I'm contemplating his suggestion for real, and then widen my eyes in feigned realization. "Oh! That's right! I don't care! At all!"

"Let's keep it peaceful, shall we?" Stephano intervenes carefully, turning his face from one to the other.

"Sure," Malfoy coughs ostentatiously, "but seriously now. I'm not doing this queue."

"Why not? Afraid of catching a cold? Are you too fragile, Malfoy?" I ask innocently.

Malfoy opens his mouth to retaliate, but Stephano is first. He steps in between the two of us and gives us The Evil Eye. "Children, I want you both to shut up this instant!"

I return The Evil Eye.

I kind of would've liked to hear Malfoy's undoubtedly conceited response.

"Whatever, you sound like my bloody mother," the albino looks quite disgusted (and –ing, for that matter) while he tells his best mate this. "I'm off. Bribing that security man into letting me in. I don't care what you are going to do, but..."

I open my mouth, but Stephano being in the cutting off mood he is in today, is ahead of me. "We're going with you."

Before I can protest he grabs my arm and drags me towards Malfoy and his nasty politics.

Fifteen minutes later, Malfoy has disappeared, and Stephano and I are already seated at a table surrounded with easy chairs. It is on a podium, which causes the music to be less loud over here. In front of us stands our fair share of cocktails. I haven't forgotten my bad experience from last week, but in a club like this one, you ought to not be sober.

You might just witness scenes that scar you for life.

Trust me, I know.

"So, what do you think?" Stephano shoves his chair closer to mine and lays a hand on my arm.

"I think we're going to have a good time," I smile, raising my glass.

He understands the message and bumps his cocktail against mine. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" I repeat, and shower my throat with the tasty liquid.

"So," says Stephano after he's done the same, "do you go out very often?"

"Depends," I reply, "I don't go out often during the school year, but in the Summers I do."

Stephano smiles his Charming Smile. "I never pegged you as the partying type – no offence."

"None taken. I'm not, not really. I'm Head Girl, and as opposite to Malfoy I deserve that title," I laugh a little, putting my empty glass on the table and replacing it with a filled one.

Stephano follows my motion, apparently not wanting to waste this evening with a clear head either.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I ask, bumping my glass against his for the second time. "Cheers."

"Cheers. Sure."

"What," gulp, "do you," gulp, "like," gulp, "about Malfoy?" gulp.

He blinks. "I wasn't expecting that." He thinks for a second. "We've known each other since we were three or something. We grew up together. We understood each other – we still do. I don't mean to sound gay or anything, but there's this bond between us, formed in our childhood, that nothing insignificant – like distance or a girl – will ever be able to break. And I know Scorpius can be a total cad, but he's also funny and intelligent."

I simply snort.

"You know," the tanned wizard speaks up, with an unreadable expression, "you talk about him an awful lot for the way you claim to hate him."

My eyes widen involuntarily and it seems as if my heart has stilled against my ribcage.

"What are you implying?"

I don't even have to fake the surprise in my voice.

He locks eyes with me. "Nothing."

This time I read suspicion.

I down my glass.

"Shit!"

Stephano and I look up from our more than fascinating conversation and encounter a frantic Malfoy. We both shoot him questioning looks as he slouches down in the easy chair on our opposite and pours an entire cocktail down his throat at once.

"What's the problem?" Stephano asks diplomatically.

Malfoy gives an exasperated sigh. "My date is here. You know, the blonde one from earlier?"


Unable to hold in my upcoming laughter, I shake my head. "That's karma for you."

"This isn't a funny matter, Weasley!" Malfoy exclaims, glaring at me.

"Well," I giggle, "I beg to dif –"

"Shit, shit, shit! She's coming this way," Malfoy interrupts me in all his terror, "hide me or something!"

"Sneak under the table," Stephano suggests, raising an eyebrow, indicating that he couldn't care less.

Malfoy increases his glare tenfold. "A little empathy is in order here!"

"Wow, she really is coming our way," I add superfluously.

Which is not a lie, by the way.

Currently she is zigzagging her wiggling ass (inspired by Cheap Bargirl, I bet) through the massive crowd near the Bar. She is obviously looking for something or someone, and if my blurred thoughts are correct, she is looking for the one person that doesn't want to be looked for.

I grin in sardonic satisfaction as I fantasize about the possible situations that could unfold here.

Muhahaha.

"Come on, Weasley!"

I frown, snap my head up, and suddenly find myself pulled along, out of my chair. I look to my left for Stephano, but notice that he's not there anymore. Flabbergasted, I turn my vision back to my potential rapist and see it's only Malfoy.

Wait.

Malfoy?


Why is Malfoy pulling me out of my chair in so prehistorically?

"We're going dancing," Malfoy mumbles next to my ear, pressing my side to his with the force of his arm around my shoulder, "Stephano is going to distract Elizabeth."

"Oh, she has a name now?" I utter back, not quite cloudless.

Malfoy and I descend the stairs, while he still holds me in an effort to not lose me in the stuffed crowd. I catch a whiff of his perfume and close my eyes in pleasure. Mental note: let Stephano buy the same perfume Malfoy has. It's fresh. It's masculine. It's alive. It's -

"Malfoy?" I speak up dazedly. "Are we really going dancing?"

He looks down on me – why is he so damn tall? - from the corner of his eye and nods. "Yeah, maybe then she'll get the message."

"But," my brows push together, "can't you ask another girl? Doesn't Stephano mind? I mean –"

"Must you always talk so much?" Malfoy asks, and then quickly as an afterthought: "That was a rhetorical question."

He comes to a standstill in the centre of the dance floor, glancing from left to right. He lets go of my shoulder and instead stands in front of me. I look around too, and probably come to the same conclusion as Malfoy.

'Elizabeth' is nowhere to be seen.

Apparently Stephano is doing a good job.

Which is only normal, since Stephano is very, very charming. And handsome. And nice. And intelligent.

And so on.

"Want anything to drink, Weasley?" Malfoy asks rather civilized.

I gape at him. "Am I going bonkers? Did you just really ask me if I wanted something to drink?"


"Get over it," he replies, smirking, "I'll get you another cocktail."

"But I'm already drunk!" I sputter.

"The drunker, the better," he winks, and in a flash he is gone.

Baffled, I close my mouth. This is so typical. Leave it up to Malfoy to carry his best mate to the club with him because he wants to lose his date, protesting to let his best mate's girlfriend come along, then let his best mate distract the date who seemed to have showed up too, and then drag his best mate's girlfriend down to the dance floor to give the date the message.

Yeah.

Oh, did I mention that he almost snogged his best mate's girlfriend and then threw a fit about it because he didn't know it was his best mate's girlfriend?

It also doesn't help that I still can't figure out why he is gorgeous past all belief while he must be the prickiest prick of them all.

Scorpius Malfoy is a jigsaw puzzle. And not one of the fun kind.

"You're looking sort of lost."

I look at the object of my hatred, who's handing out a cocktail to me while sipping from another one himself. I eye him challengingly at take the cocktail. After swallowing the biggest part, I put a finger on his chest.

It appears to me that I'm intoxicated.

It also appears to me that Malfoy is probably intoxicated as well.

"I'm not lost," I lie, "in fact, I feel completely in place."

He leans over, and breathes in my neck: "Prove it, then."

"We might as well dance now we're here," I comment.

Malfoy gulps down his cocktail too. "You're my best mate's girlfriend. And I hate you."

"So...?" I cock an eyebrow, holding out my hand.

He stares at it with a strange glint in his eyes. "It might give the wrong impression. And I'm drunk. Alcohol is dangerous."

"We get along just fine when we're drunk," I chuckle, not retrieving my hand.

Eventually he takes it, and the hairs in my neck rise when his minty inhalation tickles the skin of my cheek. "That's the problem, Rose."

My mind is screaming to run away. It is kicking and thwarting and hurting and screeching at me to leave this dance floor with this alarmingly insufferable and attractive blond boy.

I start moving my hips and block it out.

I couldn't say how much time has passed.

The only thing I know, or that rings through me, is the rhythm. I twirl, I sway, I pause, I glide – I dance. And Malfoy twirls and sways and pauses and glides with me. Feeling the beat pumping through my veins, I let myself go. My head is a blur and I love it. I don't think of housework. I don't think of expectations. I don't think of my Head Girl badge and therefore good behaviour. I don't think of Albus and Louis and what they'd say. I don't think of Lily and her squeals. I don't think of my parents. I don't think of my duties. I don't think of the upcoming party. I don't think of Stephano.

I swirl around, let Malfoy guide me.

There is no distance between us and I don't think about this. I don't think about the fact that I don't like this young man. I don't think about how he's nasty and arrogant and vicious and mean. I don't think about our past. I don't think about our future. The thing I think about is the beat that is pulsing through my body as well as his and that we can feel it pulsing together.

"You're a good dancer, Weasley," he gasps against my shoulder, "who would've thought?"

The coloured flashing lights slide over his perfect, aristocratic face. His eyes are closed and he is breathing hard. I gaze at his lips and realize I gaze at them way too much, but I don't bother to look away. I feel his fingers crawling up my back. From my hips, up my back, to my neck. He pulls me closer – out of breath, instilled with tension.

"Why do we get along so fine when we're drunk?" I manage to bring out in between puffs.

The tempo speeds up.

"We don't think, then," Malfoy points out, hitting the nail right on the head.

I feel his defined muscles pressing against my own soft chest. "Do you sense the tension, Malfoy, or is that just me?"

"I'm afraid not," he mutters, alarmingly close to my mouth, not stopping his movements for one second.

We dance synchronically. Our coordination is perfectly similar. We're tuned as one. And I don't think about this. I'm only thinking about his mouth now. It's close and it comes closer. His hands leave an imprint on my burning skin. His fingertips travel their way around my arms and wrists and then -

A jolt of electricity shudders through me when our fingers entwine.

"I want to finish our dare, Weasley," he groans, almost painfully, "but you're my best mate's girlfriend."

I know this should be like a bucket of ice water splashing over me.

But it isn't.

The only thing I register is that I share his sentiment.

"Where is he?" I ask in the same tone.

Malfoy looks around the crowd. "I don't see him anywhere. We must've dancing for an hour at least now."

"Time sure flies when you're having a good time."

"I want to kiss you," Malfoy repeats, and I'm not sure if he even heard me, "I want to kiss you senseless."

We stare at each other.

We see the traces of conflict in the other's eyes. It is so clear in his that I can't imagine it not being obvious in mine. I draw in a breath, deep in contemplation.

I want him to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me senseless.

But is it worth it? Is it worth hurting Stephano over?

"Maybe we go and look for him," I force myself to formulate, swallowing every emotion, "we can't do this to him."

Malfoy slowly stops moving and puts his hands in his beautiful hair. He looks deeply troubled – which is understandable. "You're absolutely right," he sighs after a while, "you're right. Let's go. Let's go and forget all about what I said. And what you said yourself."

Something is twisting in my gut, but I ignore it. "Alright."

When we leave from the dance floor, he doesn't put his arm around my shoulder.

We find Stephano after thirty minutes, and you really don't want to know where.

In a toilet stall.

With a girl.

Hah! I got you there, didn't I?

He truly is in the restroom with a girl. Only the girl is called Elizabeth, a.k.a. Malfoy's date, and she is currently hugging the toilet. Stephano, being the gentleman he is, has stayed with her out of worry.

Yeah.

And I was dancing with his best mate at that time.

Give Rose Weasley a prize.

"You're way too nice," comments Malfoy after Stephano has explained the whole ordeal.

I put a hand on his shoulder, feeling guilt-ridden about my last performance on the dance floor. "Is she alright?"

Elizabeth herself manages to stand up with wobbling knees, using the wall and Stephano's other shoulder as support. "I'm okay, I think." Then she seems to notice Malfoy and she frowns. "Oh, fancy seeing you here."

Stephano and I exchange meaningful looks.

"Eh, yes. Hello," Malfoy mutters, offering her his arm.

"Let's get out of here," Stephano says smartly, looking completely sobered, "I'm fed up with this place."

I'd be quite fed up too if I'd resided in the restroom the whole time too.

But whatever.

"Okay," Malfoy, Elizabeth and I respond synchronically.

TENSION, anyone? Review!