A/N: Hiyoo everyone. Hope everyone is safe and well and not driven to insanity just yet by lockdown/pandemic panic. I'm keeping myself relatively sane by churning out chapters! I am envisaging TRM ending up at 12 chapters, so we are nearing end game (for those who found the last chapter as frustrating as social distancing)!

- The art installation mentioned in this chapter was real! It was created by 'Superflex' and showcased in 2017. I went to see it and, much like Rose here, didn't really get it. But I think that says more about me than the art itself...

Usual disclaimers apply. Enjoy and keep safe.


The Rumour Mill – Chapter 10

That night, Rose had the most disturbed sleep she'd ever had in her life. Her giant, comfy, king-size bed (the one that had got her into all this mess to begin with), did absolutely nothing to soothe her restless mind as she lay awake into the small hours, alternating between tossing and turning beneath the duvet and staring up at the dark ceiling for what felt like hours.

Her mind couldn't switch off, full as it was with the revelation of Albus and Emily's secret affair and her fretting over her cousin's emotional welfare. And when she finally did drift off, sometime after the clocks struck three, she was treated to a slow-motion replay of her and Scorpius' evening – snippets of him leading her through a crowd, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, which blurred into him pressing her against the snooker table, those same hands working their way under her dress. After that, her imagination began to fill in the blanks: he was laying her back on the table, sliding her knickers down over her knees, dipping his head till his stubble scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thighs… She'd woken with a start – anxious, sweaty, and still wretchedly unsatisfied.

As the pale morning sunlight began to creep through her window blinds, Rose realised with a (by now familiar) flip of her stomach, that she had unconsciously kept herself to one side of the bed, preserving what her brain had begun to unhelpfully think of as 'Scorpius' side'. Well, if that didn't scream potential over-attachment issues, then her name wasn't Rose Nymphadora Malfo- oh, Helga's tits! She sat up with a scowl, pointedly ignoring the little voice in her head that was busy speculating whether the spare pillow would still smell of him, and whether or not she should give it a sniff to find out.

To her surprise, she could already hear voices coming from the kitchen. It was incredibly unlike Albus to get up before her in a morning, and given recent events she'd rather expected to have to drag him – kicking and screaming – out from under the covers to face the day. Padding barefoot through the flat, still in her pyjamas, Rose halted in surprise at the threshold to the little kitchenette, her toes cold on the linoleum. Two fully grown men were bounding around her kitchen. One, in a tatty old hoodie, appeared to be attempting to juggle eggs. The other, in a light grey cashmere sweater, was preparing a delicious smelling breakfast on the rarely used stove-top.

"Morning, dearest cousin of mine," Albus grinned in greeting, lobbing one of his eggs at her which she caught just in time. "Coffee? Two sugars, just the way you like it." Rose stared dumbly back at him.

"Morning, Weasley," Scorpius nodded at her over his shoulder, face unreadable. Rose met his eye and felt herself flush bright pink for no reason whatsoever.

Internally demanding herself to get a grip, she turned her attention back to Al. "You're very… cheerful," she eyed him cautiously, choosing not to add: for someone who recently had their heart brutally shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Well, you know what they say, the best way to overcome emotional trauma is to pretend it never happened and bury it beneath layers of bravado," Al continued to grin, snatching a piece of bacon from one of the laid-out plates.

Rose frowned, "I really think whoever told you that may not be particularly trustworthy."

"Oh, lighten up, Rosie," he rolled his eyes theatrically, "And for Godric's sake, go and put some proper clothes on. The last thing Scorp, here, wants to see this early in the morning is you in your skivvies. Isn't that right mate?" He nudged Scorpius in the ribs and Rose just caught sight of the blond's eyebrows making a break for his hairline before he managed to rearrange his face into its usual blasé expression.

"Not at all," Scorpius muttered, casually. "Any amount of nudity is actively encouraged, especially yours Weasley," he shot her one of his smirks – the kind he'd perfected over a decade spent trying to wind her up. Only now it no longer had the effect of riling her into a furious tantrum, but rather made her toes tingle and her lower belly hum with excitement.

She hid all of that, however, with an exaggerated eye roll. "I think your toast is burning," she muttered, dryly, before turning on her heel to head back to the safety of her bedroom.

A dull thud from behind her confirmed somebody had been shoved into the cupboards: "Ow, Malfoy! What was that for?"

"For being a prat," she heard Scorpius mutter. "Now scramble the eggs and shut up for a minute." Rose grinned in spite of herself.

It took her an unduly long time to get dressed that morning. She felt like an anxious teenager, agonising over which outfit to wear in case she bumped into her latest crush. Except her crush was already in her kitchen and apparently making her breakfast. In the end, she gave up with a huff, grabbing whatever was on top of her clean clothes pile – a pair of old shorts and the most recently gifted Weasley jumper – before returning to find the boys already situated in the living room on that god-awful couch.

Rose winced at the sight of it. It was even more fluorescent in the cold light of day.

"Blimey, there you are! We thought you might have passed out in your wardrobe. We saved you a plate, although by now your toast's probably gone cold and I already ate your bacon," Al shrugged, cheerfully.

"Thanks," Rose frowned. There was something really rather eery about her cousin's jollity. Obviously, it was great that he wasn't suicidal, obviously. But she'd rather expected him to be at least a little bit more miserable. After all, he'd just been rejected by the woman he supposedly loved. Shouldn't he have been writing depressing love poems or crying softly into the couch again?

Heading in search of her breakfast – and to confirm that Al had, in fact, eaten all the bacon – she heard Scorpius mutter something about more coffee and follow her into the kitchenette. Her excitement about being in a small, confined space with him was narrowly beaten out by concern for her cousin, and she rounded on him hotly, as soon as they were safely out of earshot.

"What have you done to Albus?" she hissed. "Have you… I don't know, slipped him a potion this morning, or something?"

Scorpius paused, one hand on the coffee tin, and arched a slim eyebrow at her. "Don't be a lunatic, Weasley, I'm not in the habit of spiking people's drinks. You've never seen him in a crisis before have you?"

"Of course I have," she muttered, heatedly, shuffling out of the way as he went to fill the kettle. "He's my cousin!"

"Alright," he smirked, though not unkindly, leaning back against the counter in front of her. "What was he like after he didn't make the Falcons' first team two years ago, and almost got shipped off to the arse-end of Wales to play for that local team… the Caerphilly Catapults, or whoever?"

Rose wracked her mind for this particular occurrence. "Well, he was fine, he was -," Exactly like this, her brain supplied: weirdly cheerful. "I just thought he wasn't really that bothered…" she stopped herself, because even she knew how ridiculous that sounded. It had been Albus' dream to play for a first tier professional Quidditch team since he was old enough to have his own broom.

"And when we were kids, and he got sorted into Slytherin? How did he behave then?"

Rose blinked at him, stupidly. She truly didn't know that Albus had ever had a problem with that. In fact, he'd seemed so ecstatic after the sorting that she'd just assumed he'd wanted to be down in the dungeons with the snakes. She'd even taken it rather personally for a while, wondering if part of the appeal had been being separated from her.

"Thought as much," Scorpius muttered. "Well, I can tell you he acted exactly like this, practically bouncing off the dungeon walls for almost a week, until he came crashing down one evening. I found him sobbing to the Giant Squid in our common room in the middle of the night."

Rose had a fleeting image of the two of them as eleven-year-olds, sat cross-legged on their common room floor, staring wistfully out into the Black Lake through the greenish-hued windows. It broke and warmed her heart all at once. No wonder they turned out to be such annoyingly good friends.

"So, what are you saying?" she cleared her throat, turning away from him to pull the milk from the fridge and avoid his gaze.

"I'm saying, that we're waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'll be like this for a while – a few days, maybe, a week tops – and then it'll hit him all at once. We just have to be there when it does."

Rose nodded thoughtfully. "Fine. Then that's what we'll do. We'll take shifts, we'll keep him distracted, we don't let him out of our sight and then, when he has his moment of self-implosion, someone will be there for him." She glanced up to find Scorpius still watching her, a small smile on his face. "What?" she muttered, suddenly concerned she might have accidentally smeared toothpaste on her nose.

He shrugged, "Just seems like Albus Potter has more than one good friend looking out for him. That's all." Rose rolled her eyes, cheeks colouring at the reminder of their awkward goodbyes the previous evening, but failed to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

They were interrupted then by the loud whistle of the boiling kettle, and Rose turned to grab a clean mug from the high shelf. As usual, even on her tip-toes, the blasted thing was just out of reach. She felt Scorpius move behind her, leaning over her with his rather notable height advantage to pull one down for her – just as he had done the other morning. This time, however, there was something far more deliberate about the way he brushed against her, bringing his chest flush against her back. And whilst one arm reached out to pluck down her favourite mug with ease, the other coiled around her waist, his palm splayed against her stomach, his fingertips just grazing the hem of her jumper, and making Rose's entire body feel suddenly boneless.

He stilled against her, dropping his head to bring his lips to her ear and murmured: "And don't worry, Rosie. I haven't forgotten that you owe me a rather special favour. Rest assured, I don't intend to wait too long before claiming the spoils."

Gripping the sideboard in front of her just hard enough to turn her knuckles white, it took all of Rose's inner strength not to turn her head just an inch or two to the left, to swallow what was undoubtedly another self-satisfied smirk in a needy kiss. It was overwhelming – he was overwhelming. The weight of him against her, the warmth and the friction; it was all too much and yet so very far from enough. Her desire for him came back, full force, and when he stepped away – far, far too quickly for her liking – she was half surprised that she didn't just collapse to the ground, a trembling wreck.

"Oi! Where's my bloody coffee?" came Al's jovial yell from the next room, and Rose's eyes snapped open. She caught the ghost of a grin that flittered across Scorpius' face as he backed away from her, disappearing into the living room where she could hear him jokingly tell her cousin to "piss off". She didn't understand how he could hide it so well. If he wanted her as much as she wanted him, he shouldn't be able to string a sentence together right now.

By the time she'd pulled herself together enough to be able to walk in a straight line, it seemed that Al had already decided on an itinerary for his day. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to go flying (not necessarily in that order), and so Rose temporarily acquiesced all Albus-sitting responsibility to Scorpius, who gladly grabbed his coat. In fact, the next few days continued in a fairly similar manner: wherever Albus decided he wanted to go, at least one of them would dutifully follow. Monday involved an expensive trip to Quality Quidditch Supplies, with the rest of the afternoon spent in the pub. On Tuesday, it was lunch at Al's favourite spot, before the boys tried their hand at golf with Rose's Grandad Granger. That had ended rather poorly when Albus – who had never taken an interest in muggle driving lessons – had insisted on piloting their golf buggy and they'd all ended up waist deep in a pond. Still, it had amused and distracted Al to no end, which she supposed was the whole point, even if she did now owe her grandad a new set of golf shoes and a very large apology.

Wednesday had been Rose's day off and she'd dragged her wayward cousin to the Tate Modern in an attempt to fill his head with "something other than booze and sport" for a few hours. They'd spent the morning lying on the carpeted floor of the large Turbine Hall beneath a giant swinging mirror-ball, which was probably meant to represent capitalism or fatalism or the relentless passage of time, but actually just made Rose feel a bit queasy and Al reminisce about the time he smacked James in the head with a conker.

Scorpius, being essentially self-employed, could devote the most time to keeping an eye on his friend and took his role very seriously. Rose could hardly complain about this since it meant that she knew her cousin was in good hands whenever she had to go to work, but having him around so much – even more than usual – was slowly starting to fry her nerves. Normally, when she got home after a wearing shift, she could collapse in a heap in their living room, moving only to the kitchen for food if the need arose like some sort of foraging troll. Now, when she got home to find Scorpius in her flat every night, she felt on edge and unable to relax. She wanted to be around him but it was also exhausting to do so. She had all these pent-up feelings and urges, and no idea at all how to go about acting on them.

In fact, on Thursday evening, Albus had insisted on all three of them going to the local muggle cinema together where they'd watched a film that Rose couldn't even remember the name of, given that she'd had to spend two hours sat in the dark sandwiched between both men. It had been nothing short of torturous in her opinion; Scorpius' thigh warm against hers to her left and Al chewing loudly on popcorn to her right.

Things came to something of a head on Friday. Rose had the early shift that day and so was already home by the time Scorpius turned up to take Al out to their favourite muggle bar on Clapham High Street. Rose popped her head around her bedroom door at the sound of the Floo, assuming it was Albus returning from the corner shop where he'd gone to get more beers, and started at the sight of Scorpius, dressed to impress and alone, in the living room.

"Hello," she blurted out, not really knowing what else to say but having heard that's how a normal conversation might start.

Scorpius turned at the sound of her voice, his face breaking into an easy grin at the sight of her. "Hello, Weasley…" he glanced about the flat. "Al not here?"

She edged out of her room, "Just popped out. Back any minute, I suspect."

"Right," Scorpius nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then stuck his hands in his pockets as he began to head towards her, attempting to look as casual as possible.

"I see dressing like an actual adult didn't really take, then? You're literally one shirt button away from disaster, Malfoy," Rose chewed on her lower lip, her eyes drawn to the open collar of his dark green shirt. She swallowed thickly.

He chuckled and eyed her mischievously. "That's funny, I seem to recall you were far more interested on getting my shirt off altogether, the last time we were alone."

Rose blushed furiously and glanced away, directing her poisonous eye roll at the far wall, which was far less likely to answer back in her experience.

"Don't be shy, Rosie," he drawled, amused by her reaction. She watched him meandering lazily around the edge of the couch, her pulse quickening with each step he took towards her. "I've been in enough compromising positions with you by now to know that you are anything but."

Rose's glare lacked all of the necessary malice, owing to the sudden fluttering in her knickers at the mention of their previous encounters. It took every ounce of restraint not to rise to him, and instead, she cleared her throat: "So, what's on the itinerary tonight? Another evening of drunk and disorderly behaviour, no doubt?"

Scorpius' grin widened and he tilted his head at her. "You say drunk and disorderly, I say spirited and spontaneous. Besides, there's nothing wrong with blowing off a little steam with a drink or two, is there?"

"A drink or two, no. Turning my cousin into a functioning alcoholic on the other hand…" she arched a slim eyebrow and felt the smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "Surely you used more wholesome tactics to cheer him up after his Sorting?"

"Ah, well, there was such a thing as Honeydukes chocolate to soothe the soul when we were eleven. Now there's copious amounts of alcohol and flirting with barmaids." Scorpius smirked; Rose couldn't help but scowl. Whilst she didn't particularly like to think of her cousin chatting up random women, she liked it a whole lot less to imagine Scorpius doing it as well. "Don't pout, Weasley," he practically sniggered, finally close enough to reach out and tug on her jumper, urging her to cross the last few feet of distance between them. "It makes you look jealous."

"I can't imagine what I'm supposed to be jealous of…" she murmured, her chest bumping against his as his hand slipped around her waist. It was entirely futile to resist and, besides, she didn't really want to.

The sigh that escaped her when he brought his mouth to hers was practically one of relief. She felt her whole body relax, as if it had been held taught on a wire all week. One of Scorpius' hands came up to rest on the wall beside her head, the other working its way beneath the hem of her jumper until she flinched at the feel of his cold fingers against her skin. He chuckled against her lips, but she cut him off quickly by sliding her tongue against his. He responded with fervour, pushing himself more firmly against her, and Rose was once again irrationally annoyed that he was such a good kisser – because it meant he must have done this before, many times most likely, with someone that wasn't her.

He tasted just as she remembered, felt even better than she remembered, and the head rush that came with him was nothing short of delirium. The heat scorching through her was like nothing she'd experienced before, either. Maybe it was the waiting and the frustration, maybe it was just him, but her body responded in a way she wasn't prepared for. She felt all at sea and fiercely present all at once.

Before things could get too heated, and conscious of her absent cousin who was due to return any moment, Rose pulled away after another delicious second. She glanced up at him and marvelled – cheeks flushed, eyes dark, and hair mussed; a freshly kissed Scorpius Malfoy was rapidly becoming one of her favourite things to see.

"You know," he murmured, toying with an errant curl by her shoulder before shooting her a lazy grin. "I could ask Al for a rain check? Tell him I'm tired or sick, and then we could -,"

Rose stopped him with a shake of her head. She was worried if he actually managed to finish the thought, she'd be powerless to refuse. "He needs you," she grumbled, ruefully, almost disbelieving her own ears. "You should go."

But what happened next took her completely by surprise. Scorpius huffed in frustration, stepping away from her with a grimace: "And what about what I need?"

"Sorry?" she blinked.

He stared at her blank expression, his own quickly darkening. "You're really going to pretend that we're not on the same page here? Well that's… That's brilliant. Just fucking brilliant."

Rose bristled, "What's that meant to mean?" she frowned, her back stiffening against the wall.

"Just… Nothing," he scowled and raked a hand through his hair, turning away from her to mutter, "Nothing. It doesn't mean anything."

But his sudden change of tone had Rose's temper flaring. "Oh, of course," she rolled her eyes. "I forgot this all had to be about you, Malfoy." She clucked her tongue against her teeth in annoyance. "There I was, thinking what a great and noble friend you were being, but you'd bail out in a second for the chance of a quick shag -,"

"A quick shag! Are you joking, Weasley?" he turned on her, incredulously. "This isn't anything like that and you know it. And don't try and tell me otherwise, you're not that good a liar."

Rose stared at him, open-mouthed. She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't even really know what it meant.

Scorpius was glaring at her, his expression foul, his cheeks still flushed but now for an entirely different reason. Her brain, befuddled as it was after that mind-bending kiss, was struggling to catch up with this reversal of fortunes. What in the name of Merlin's arse was he talking about? There was a small part of her that felt like she might understand, or at least be beginning to, but a part much larger still that didn't feel like trying to puzzle that out right now.

And luckily for her, she didn't have to. The jangle of keys in the lock announced Albus' return, and he came stumbling into the living room under the weight of several crates of lager. If he was at all surprised by the sight of his cousin and best friend glaring daggers at each other in one corner of the room, then he didn't show it.

"Oh, good, you're here, Malfoy! Give me a hand, would you?"

Rose's gaze flicked from Scorpius to Al, and then back to Scorpius. The blond was still staring at her with a murderous scowl and looked for a moment as if he might be about to say something, but then clearly thought better of it and turned away with an angry shrug.

And, suddenly, it was business as usual again. Rose could do nothing but watch them disappear into the kitchen with Al's spoils before slinking away into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her in annoyance. Well, wasn't this just bloody fantastic, she cursed into an unsuspecting pillow. Now she was even more frustrated and confused. The only rational conclusion being that Malfoy was evidently still a git. Albeit a handsome, funny, excellent kisser sort of git. She supposed it was good to know she hadn't been completely deluding herself for all those years.

She stayed hidden in her room, listening out for the rush of the Floo or the bang of the door to signify the boys had left for their night out. About twenty minutes later, when she was sure she was alone, she grabbed a towel from the radiator and traipsed to the bathroom for a much-needed cold shower. Two things were for certain: she had another sleepless night ahead of her, and Scorpius Malfoy was still very much dead meat.