A/N: I'm replacing this chapter 'cus the last one was riddled with mistakes. I've rectified most of them, I think, I was really tired when I was writing the first version, and my spellcheck let me down.

There is a vague sense of déjà vu in waking up.

The sofa is familiar, but there is a conspicuous lack of Malfoy, and also of a hangover.

It is altogether much more agreeable, especially with his cloak on top of me, smelling of him.

It's a very masculine scent, although a bit musky at the same time.

The best of it is that there's a torrential downpour outside, the first of the term, but I'm all safe and warm in our cosy sitting room.

The words total and bliss spring to mind.

The comfortable thoughts continue, until I glance at my watch accidentally.

The big hand is on three, and the little hand is on eleven.

Eleven-fifteen.

The time sounds quite familiar, and I realise why as I sit up and catch sight of a scrap of parchment lying on the coffee table. It reads, Weasley, don't forget, brunch with McGonagall and the prefects at eleven-fifteen, be there, Malfoy.

Eleven-fifteen brunch.

Eleven-fifteen Rose is still in bed.

I let out a little scream.

Merlin.

As it is, I'm already dressed, since it was a bit of an impromptu nap that I took last night.

So, because it's a dire situation, I just sprint to the bathroom to brush my teeth, then drag a brush through my haphazard curls before hurrying along far too many corridors, because Head Girls never run.

I skid to a halt in front of the entrance to McGonagall's office, my way obstructed by a pair of particularly ugly gargoyles.

"Password?" one sneers, as I stand flabbergasted and completely out of the loop on the password.

As it is, before the other can say anything condescending, I hear the sound of a staircase moving behind the stone doors and McGonagall's tiny frame appears in the doorway.

"You're late, Weasley" McGonagall barks, in a way that is so familiar to me, "Come along, let's not keep everybody waiting any longer"

So, I follow her meekly as she climbs up the stairs, ending up in an office that I've only ever been in a handful of times. James was always the one that was consistently sent to the Headmistress; I've never really had the pleasure.

But I recognise the glorious portrait hanging directly behind her mahogany desk; twinkling eyes and arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome.

Who would be able to mistake it for anybody other than Albus Dumbledore?

Weasley's mouth is hanging open slightly in her reverence for the portrait of Dumbledore.

It's a look that is mirrored on many faces in the room.

Even I'm a little impressed.

The portrait, like every other in the wizarding world, is not stationary, but even so Dumbledore's seems more alive than any of the others in the room.

"I think that Professor Dumbledore has a few words to say before we start" McGonagall announces, looking respectfully up at the portrait, which clears its throat and smiles widely, "Welcome, once again, to another year of learning, and in your case, responsibility. My best wishes to Miss Weasley and Mr Malfoy, I hope that you serve the school as faithfully as your predecessors. Now, without further ado, I think you were all partaking of a spot of brunch?" The portrait's hands clap together and on the golden plates before us are the usual delectables, served at any Hogwarts feast.

I overhear Weasley gasp at her cousin, "He said my name. Albus Dumbledore actually said my name"

Mini-Potter doesn't look impressed, just shrugs and replies, "Yeah, and he said Victoire's too years ago, and he actually talked to dad all the time, you know, back in the day, so what's the big deal?" With a final rolling of the eyes, she turns to speak to the Hufflepuff prefects, and Weasley turns back to her plate, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Philistine"

I've no doubt that mini-Potter is just irritated because I dragged her out of the arms of some boy last night so that she could patrol the corridors whilst Weasley and I slept.

Not together.

Obviously.

She slept on the sofa, I slept in my bedroom.

Nothing exciting happens at our brunch, it's a mere ceremony that McGonagall instituted all those years ago, back when she first became Headmistress.

It's all over by half-twelve, a long meal by some standards, but McGonagall is insistent on our mingling, which mini-Potter does with ease, and Weasley does awkwardly.

As for me, I stick conversing with the Slytherin prefects, whom I know, even under the malevolent glare of McGonagall.

I do not do brunch.

Lily is talking.

I am not listening.

That is, until I hear the word 'Malfoy.'

"What?" I ask sharply, causing Lily's head to whip round, "What did you just say?"

"Malfoy and Salinas, tying the knot. July 29th, by all accounts" she repeats, looking at my face closely, "Why?"

I don't give her a reply.

That's because there is so much hot blood rushing about in my head at the moment that it's impossible to have one straight thought, let alone enough to form an articulate answer.

"He might have told me" I murmur, and it shocks me how little anger is in my voice, and how much hurt.

"Why would he have told you?" Lily quizzes, checking the polish on her fingernails, and paying no attention to the stunned look on my face.

Stunned, but wounded.

"Newsflash! You're mortal enemies, remember?" she adds, needlessly.

Mortal enemies?

I wouldn't say we were that bad, would you?

I force myself just to breathe, then blink, and only then can I regain control of my limbs.

Start with the reflex actions, and work my way up.

Baby steps, Rose. Baby steps.

"I remember, Lily" I reply drily, "You're speaking to the girl who lives with him."

"Not that I'd mind that" she says wickedly, that flirtatious sparkle in her brown eyes, "I mean, the guy's a jerk, but he's a hot one. What I wouldn't give-"

I don't want to hear anymore.

"Whore" I cut in, and even I can't tell whether I'm in earnest, or joking.

She, of course, takes it as a joke and cuffs my shoulder playfully, saying, "You're no fun, Rosie"

"No, I have morals" I reply, thinking about how devoid of morals I am.

I drop her off at her common room, and decline the invitation of entrance.

Instead, I trail back to my sitting room, promising myself that I won't cry, not again.

Clench jaw.

Breathe deeply.

Rub eyes.

Sniff.

I fail.

"You've been crying"

My insight is phenomenal, I kid you not.

Weasley obviously has the same opinion of my judgements, since she snarls at me, "Malfoy has eyes! That's lucky. You can go gore them on a unicorn now. Careful not to hurt the unicorn though, it's worth so much more than yourself"

Well, that was a tad garbled, to say the least.

"Sit down. Talk" I order, expecting her to bend to my will quickly, use up another box of tissues and leave smiling.

Alas, I'm not that insightful.

"Oh really, you'd love to do that wouldn't you, Malfoy? Practising sorting out your marital problems on me, are you?" It's not even a snarl anymore, it's more of a grimace, as if I truly disgust her.

She whirls past me, before I can talk sense into her and into her bedroom, slamming the door loudly.

I can't break the door down again, even an inanimate object such as it doesn't deserve that.

"Weasley?" I say, loud enough to be heard through the thick wood, but hopefully in a tone that is considerate and approachable.

Scorpius Malfoy, considerable and approachable?

And Harry Potter is a Z-list celebrity.

The sarcasm is too much, isn't it?

"Weasley, please. Talking about it would make it better. We've already proven it, and I can listen, you know. I'm not that insensitive a slimeball"

No reply.

I can't even hear any movement inside her room.

And Malfoys don't beg.

Thirty seconds pass.

"Weasley, I'm not going to beg, if that's what you want. Just talk through it like an adult"

Sixty seconds pass.

"You're acting like a three year old!" I exclaim, banging on her door with my fists.

And there goes two minutes.

"I'm begging here! Talk to me, I want to help"

Aah, signs of life!

The door opens a sliver.

I'm talking a fraction of a sliver.

Like, not even enough to see her hazel eyes.

"Once again, Scorpius Malfoy is on the brink of being considered as a human being, when he messes up again" she sneers, though her voice is thick and her remark is punctuated with pauses.

I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to have done this time.

"Rose, will you please come out and talk to me? Surprisingly enough, talking to you through a chink in your bedroom door is not exactly how I imagined spending my Sunday afternoon."

"No"

No scathing reply?

I must really have offended her.

He has the audacity to call me by my first name.

He is marrying that skank, and he has the audacity to call me Rose.

There is a voice in my head that's telling me to curse his perfect body to oblivion.

But I can now control that particular part of myself.

Just about.

"Please, Rose, this is getting silly now. How can I make up for whatever it is that I've done if you don't tell me?" The pleading note in his voice is quite pleasing.

If I didn't hate him so much right now I'd be enjoying myself.

"I would have thought it's pretty obvious what you've done Malfoy" I reply, attempting to keep the quiver out of my pathetic voice.

But, because I'm a pitiable Lion and a sucker for his voice, I open the door by another fraction, and look out.

Damn it.

Shouldn't have done that.

He looks wretched for some reason, which tugs at my heart, and makes me open the door properly and look him in the eye.

"You look awful" I say, revelling in his pain.

"Right back at you" he replies, a weak smile forming on his face as I narrow my eyes.

"You're marrying Salinas"

Not a question, a statement.

To which there is absolutely no reply.

At least, for a few tense seconds.

"It's planned that I marry Mariah, yes" he replies carefully.

Just put the atmosphere on a chopping board and take a knife to it, why don't you?

"I don't understand why it makes you mad though" he adds, his head held high, looking slightly arrogant.

Oh, for Merlin's sake.

Now I have to explain.

That, or lie.

Explain.

Lie.

Explain.

This is going to be painful.

"Sit down" I say roughly, feeling myself turn green with sickness, and red with embarrassment.

Great, so I'm saying this to him and I look like a quarter of the rainbow.

"This is going to sound so, so stupid to you Malfoy, but-" I manage to get this far without choking.

Now comes the hard part.

"I like you too Weasley"

The words are out of my mouth and hanging in the air between us before I know what's hit me.

I can't take it back now.

Or, can I?

"Like, as in?" Weasley asks, her eyes boring into mine.

Oh, this is so difficult.

"As in" I start, before choking like she did, "How you like me"

There is that flash of anger that I've come to associate with her especially.

"And you dare to assume that's what I was going to say?" she hisses.

Oh please.

I don't understand why I do these things to myself.

"So, what exactly were you going to say then?" I challenge, managing to remain more dignified than Weasley, who's doing a magnificent impression of a banshee right now.

That is, until her face softens and splits into a smile.

"You admitted it first"

Merlin.

I'm so weak.

"You little-"

Beauty.

That's what I want to say.

But I don't.

I hardly want to seem any more feeble than I already know I am.

"Oh shut up Malfoy" There's no snap in her voice, in fact, it's quite sultry.

"Come here you" I order.

You don't need me to spell out what I spend the rest of my Sunday doing.