A/N: A fairly speedy chapter turnaround, if I do say so myself. Maybe I was a tad excited about our trip to the Burrow, fiiiinally. Thanks to Arnel 63 for beta-ing this chapter into shape for us all.

A quick word on future chapters - as those of you who have read some of my previous stories (and my other rambling, tedious A/Ns) will know, I work in the medical field and, as of today, have been redeployed to a busier department with a rota that appears to have been designed by a toddler who has yet to grasp the concept of the 24 hour clock. I'm not sure yet how this will effect writing/posting schedule - not that I have much of one of those anyway, as poor Arnel 63 can attest - but I humbly ask for your support and patience (which has been amazing, as always) as we put our heads down and plough on!

But, for now, enjoy x

Chapter 8: Weasleys & Woes

Things took a more convivial turn in the Malfoy-Weasley love nest for the remainder of that week. It seemed to have been unanimously and telepathically decided that their little physical altercation in the lift wasn't to be remarked upon again, and they both managed to go about their lives with some semblance of normality for a few days.

Of course, this was an entirely new form of normal. One in which they took the Floo in and out of work together every day, held hands in public, and tried not to bite each other's heads off when in company.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of the week, however, was that their respective heads also remained mostly intact when in the privacy of their shared abode. They'd even developed something of a routine – they came home, put on a pot of tea or opened a bottle of wine depending on the mood, each plucking a book from Scorpius' trunk-based library, and sitting down to read and research until one of them grew hungry enough to throw together some dinner. By Tuesday, this routine had expanded to include a half-hour debriefing of their individual work days. And by Wednesday, Scorpius had grown so sick of Rose's attempts at cooking, he'd permanently relieved her of this duty (something she wasn't complaining about it the slightest).

All in all, they had a number of reasons to feel rather pleased with themselves, come the weekend. Their shared notebook of possible clues to the origins and specifics of the blood oath was filling up nicely, and they'd only had two of their usual, door-slamming shouting matches all week. The first, Scorpius could concede, was probably his fault for joking that Rose ought to hand in her resignation soon, as Malfoy wives were traditionally expected to stay home and keep house. The second one he was still at a loss over, however, although he blamed himself for trying to engage the woman in civil conversation before she'd even had her first cup of coffee.

They were, Scorpius realised, as they ate their breakfast in semi comfortable silence come Sunday morning, growing used to one another. They'd even shared out the morning paper – Rose taking her favourite puzzle pages, whilst he'd nabbed the sports section – and were no longer fighting over the breakfast cereal, after he'd nipped out and bought them some more; Pixie Puffs for her and Cheeri Owls for him.

In fact, he'd become so accustomed to her general presence, that he could tell almost as soon as she sat down just how anxious she was about their upcoming visit to the Burrow. His gaze shifted from her foot, tapping rhythmically on the linoleum, to the tight purse of her lips. Her brow had been pinched into a permanent display of worry since the previous evening.

Seeing her so outwardly nervous was starting to make him feel the same, and so he sought to put an end to it by nudging her jiggling foot with his, under the table. All this did, however, was make her jump in her seat – 'tightly wound' was apparently an understatement today – and spill orange juice all over her newspaper.

She frowned – first at him, then at her sodden paper, then back into the middle distance. "Sorry," she muttered, "I'm a little…distracted."

"Really? I would never have noticed," he arched an eyebrow. "You need to stop worrying. The more you over think this, the worse it will be. It's just a spot of Sunday lunch —"

"If you truly think that, then you're kidding yourself, Malfoy," she snorted, Vanishing the spilt juice with a terse flick of her wand. "These people —"

"Your family," he reminded her.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Yes, my family…well, they can be very difficult when they want to be. And, given the fact that we've ignored them for the last few weeks, not to mention that we've supposedly started dating, fallen in love and gotten engaged without any of them ever hearing about it, makes me think they're unlikely to be inclined to go particularly easy on us today."

"I would've thought they'd be happy for you?"

"It isn't that simple, and you know it," she eyed him, tiredly.

Scorpius thought of his own mother, who – less than a minute after the initial shock of hearing that her only child had proposed to a woman she'd never even been introduced to – had promptly burst into exclamations of delight and started discussing a guest list. From what he knew of the Weasleys (which wasn't a great deal, admittedly), he'd never have imagined it would be his family accused of offering the friendlier reception.

He watched as Rose's teeth raked anxiously over her bottom lip, and set down his paper with a sigh. "Why don't you give me some tips, then? A few suggestions of what might help us win them over?"

"You're underestimating them," she shook her head, wildly. "There is no 'winning them over'. We'll be entering a battle-field, one that nobody gets to leave until somebody's surrendered."

Scorpius gave her a doubtful look.

"Think of my family as an army, right?" Rose leant forward, gathering utensils and the salt and pepper shakers into the middle of the table. "There's enough of them, at least, and they're practically impenetrable if they close ranks against you." She pushed the spoons to one side and pointed at them. "We might be able to charm a few of the cadets – Lily's probably an easy target, maybe even Lucy and Fred – but the higher up the ranks you go, the more resistance you'll face. It'll take more than a few adoring looks and flowery words to win over the Lieutenants, like Albus and my brother." They were her knife and fork, respectively. "And, a Major such as my Aunt Ginny –" She tapped the top of the pepper mill. "– can have you court martialled in a second if you put your foot in it. Not to mention that none of this will even matter if we fail to make peace with the Colonel!" She slid the salt shaker forward as if she were about to checkmate his breakfast and looked up, expectantly.

Scorpius blinked in startled bewilderment. "The Colonel being whom, exactly? Your Uncle Harry?"

"No, my grandma, obviously!" Rose waved her hands about in distress, narrowly avoiding knocking the salt shaker over and bringing bad luck upon the whole operation.

"I see," Scorpius' amusement was evident in the shake of his shoulders. Rose stared at him, evidently unable to see the funny side of their predicament. "Look," he said, "that rather drawn out analogy notwithstanding, do you think, perhaps, that you might be being a little over-dramatic?"

She shook her head, defiantly. "Not in the least, no!"

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "This is your family, Rose. People who, traditionally, love you and want the best for you. Which means, they'll be looking to find the best in this…" he gestured between them, "in us…in me. They'll want you to be happy, so they'll unconsciously look for the evidence that you are. It's a powerful bias, and all we have to do is play into that."

Rose screwed up her face in frustration. "That is such a…a Slytherin approach!"

He chuckled. "And only a Gryffindor would start planning for warfare without first considering any other options. Diplomacy can usually get the job done in half the time and with significantly fewer casualties. Although, given our own personal history, I'm aware it's not your strong suit."

Her eyes flashed but she didn't bite. She was learning his tells, he realised. He grinned at her, only mildly disappointed.

"We're going to be fine, Weasley." He gave her foot another nudge under the table. "Although…if you don't hurry up and brush that insane hair of yours into submission, we might be late. And that doesn't seem like the best way to get the Colonel on our side, now, does it?"

Rose glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall, gave a distressed yelp, and immediately scurried off towards her bedroom. Scorpius merely shook his head in amusement and turned back to his newspaper. Perhaps meeting some of her wider family might enlighten him as to why Weasley was such a highly-strung nutter, he mused. Although, he strongly suspected that her particular brand of insanity was extra special and entirely all of her own making.

The Portkey deposited them at the summit of Stoatshead Hill, exactly as it was supposed to do, which Rose found incredibly unfortunate. She'd never been the victim of a Portkey accident – she'd heard they could be quite nasty – and yet, on this occasion, leaving half of herself behind at the pick-up point had seemed rather the more appealing of the two outcomes.

The walk through Ottery St Catchpole took them at least another twenty minutes, and would have likely taken longer if Scorpius hadn't chastised her for dragging her feet and threatened to throw her over his shoulder and carry her if she didn't get a move on. Of course, none of this was even necessary – not the Portkey, or the walk – as the two of them could have simply Apparated right onto the front doorstep if they'd wanted. The Anti-Apparition wards hadn't been active for years, but Rose hadn't felt the need to correct Scorpius on that issue when he'd put himself in charge of the travel arrangements.

"Will your mother be there?"

"What? Oh…" Rose looked across, startled by Scorpius' intrusion into her spiralling panic. They'd left the village outskirts behind, and Rose knew that the Burrow would shimmer into view just on the other side of the approaching hill. "No, she –… She's at Hogwarts until Christmas."

She winced, trying to remember if she'd ever mentioned her parents' divorce in front of him. She thought that she had, but maybe only in vague, non-specific terms, which probably meant he hadn't really understood. Divorce was still something of a rarity in the Wizarding world. It happened, occasionally – usually if one or both parties was Muggle-born (her parents' situation being one such example), whose upbringing didn't view it as quite such a sacrilege.

When it came to marriage, Wizarding culture was rather old-fashioned. Betrothals and blood-oaths were only one side of the coin; a marriage vow still meant a life-long commitment to most witches and wizards, especially the older generations. Rose knew that was why her grandma – infinitely loving and kind, though she was – had effectively ostracised her mum from all recent family gatherings. Grandma Molly simply didn't know how to reconcile with the fact that her son's relationship with his childhood sweetheart, once bursting with love and devotion, had ended prematurely, with a few, sad signatures in a back office of the Ministry. For the time being, at least, it was simpler for her to pretend that Hermione Granger – Brightest Witch of her Age and, now, ex-daughter-in-law – just didn't exist, than to accept that their marriage hadn't turned out to be all that was promised.

Rose felt the knot in her stomach twist, wondering how an entirely faked engagement might be received by the likes of her grandparents. It wasn't as though she and Scorpius had made any vows to one another, but this arrangement of theirs was still a sham, a mockery of something their culture held as sacrosanct. She wondered who might receive the colder reception – her, or her mother – if all of this went truly belly-up.

"There's something you probably ought to know…" Rose heard herself speak, eyes focused on the rapidly approaching garden gate that would lead them into the Burrow's small orchard. "My parents are…well, they're no longer together."

She felt Scorpius turn his gaze on her but kept her own glued ahead. This still wasn't comfortable territory for her, but she supposed it was something you'd probably have shared with your fiancé, before they turned up to meet the relatives. It would seem odd if he didn't know.

"Err, of course." She heard the confusion in his voice. "Hogwarts is a long way away, and if they're still not allowing conjugal visits, then I imagine term time must be tough for them —"

"No, that's not —" Rose pressed her mouth into a thin line and sighed, coming to a halt with one hand on the gate post. She glanced up at him, struck by the realisation that she was now obliged to have these sorts of intimate, personal conversations with Scorpius git-face Malfoy, of all people. How very strange.

"They're divorced," she stated, plainly. "As in, no longer legally married. It's…err, not a secret, but it's not exactly common knowledge, either. They managed to keep it out of the newspapers… I'm not really sure how. I think Skeeter might be scared of my mum, for some reason, Merlin knows why." She offered him a small shrug whilst she tried to work out what to do with her hands.

"Oh…" was all he eventually responded with. She flicked her eyes back to him, taking in the hands shoved into his pockets and the crease of his brow – his thinking pose, she'd come to recognise. "That… makes sense, actually."

Rose blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Well," he cocked his head to one side, thoughtfully, "most women who'd just been dragged into a bathroom and propositioned with a fake marriage would have likely slapped me for insulting their honour, or some such drivel. You, on the other hand, barely batted an eyelid and started negotiating with me. This… situation with your parents… well, that explains it."

"What?" Rose scoffed at him. "How?"

He smiled, faintly, and leant against the gate beside her. "Because it means you're like me. You understand that marriage isn't just about responsibility and what makes a good match on paper. If it isn't what you want, you shouldn't be forced into it, or forced to continue on with it, if it no longer makes you happy." He let out a huff of laughter at her indignant expression. "Believe it or not, that was actually a compliment, Weasley. Take it."

She was about to string some sort of sentence together that alluded to her displeasure at being likened to him in any way, but a flash of red in the Burrow's third floor window caught her eye.

"Bugger," she hissed. "I think we've been spotted."

Sure enough, the excited cry of "They're here! They're here!" followed by a number of loud crashes and bangs, could be heard all the way down at the bottom of the orchard. Definitely Lily, Rose recognised, with a grimace.

She made to open the gate but drew her hands back to her sides, uncertainly. "Maybe we should have some sort of signal," she fretted, "you know, in case we need to make a hasty retreat. Maybe a hand gesture, or some sort of noise —"

Scorpius stopped her ramblings by placing a firm hand on her shoulder. She looked up into a determined stare, and an oddly reassuring smile.

"This is going to be fine, Weasley." She felt his thumb brush across her collarbone, just as it peeked out from under her dress collar. "We're a team, remember? We'll get through it together."

And with that, she let him open the garden gate and lead her up towards the house, her hand firmly clasped in his.

Scorpius was partly right, at least. He needn't have worried in the slightest. She on the other hand…

From the moment they were welcomed into the Burrow's cramped kitchen, it was clear that no one held even a whiff of animosity towards Scorpius for their secret courtship and weeks of aloofness. They were all apparently delighted to finally meet him, which Rose could tell from the hastily assembled queue of cousins and uncles and aunts, all standing in line to shake his hand or jovially clap him on the shoulder as they introduced themselves. Lily even snuck in a kiss on both cheeks, claiming it was "a perfectly normal European greeting" when Rose arched an eyebrow at her.

Rose's reception, on the other hand, was a rather frostier affair. Whilst her Grandma Molly had swallowed Scorpius into a trademark hug, announcing how thrilled she was to finally have him visit, all Rose received was a "hello, Rosie, dear," and a wave in her general direction. Which was about as close as you could get to a passive aggressive smack around the ear-hole.

Dominique was even worse. She was simultaneously batting her lovely, long eyelashes at Scorpius, whilst throwing Rose the filthiest of scowls. Rose suddenly remembered the French speaking Howler she'd received the morning that their engagement had first been announced in The Daily Prophet and winced. She never had replied…not to that one, or any of the other Howlers, and now she was going to have to pay penance for it, judging from the various frowns and cold shoulders she was currently receiving.

Scorpius' fan-club, of course, was notably lacking a few particular members. Her dad, Albus and Hugo all remained sulking in the living room throughout the initial introductions. Rose caught Hugo's eye over the various heads of her cousins – he flushed, scowled, and muttered something to Albus who grimaced and rolled his eyes.

Prats.

It took about half an hour for the two of them to even make it more than a few feet from the front door, what with the sheer volume of relatives there were to meet. It seemed every family member – regardless of how far away they lived – had deigned to attend this particular Sunday Lunch.

"Gosh, Uncle Charlie," Rose muttered, dryly, "I can't remember the last time you had a weekend off from the Reserves. I'm fairly sure you've even missed the last three Christmases. How lucky we are, that you were able to be here, today of all days."

Charlie offered her a roguish grin and ruffled her curls, a move he'd been fond of ever since she was three years old. "Well, I couldn't miss my chance to meet the latest addition to the tribe," he nodded at Scorpius, "not to mention celebrating the engagement of my favourite niece."

"Oi!" About six other heads turned round to glare at him.

Scorpius shook his hand, cheerfully, and launched into conversation about the effects of Muggle air pollution on Dragon migration patterns, as if it were something he read about on a daily basis.

Rose found it hard to take her eyes off him, truth be told. It was fascinating, really, watching Malfoy go to work, charming her family, one by one, almost as if they really were his future in-laws and he was out to make the very best of impressions. He chatted to her Uncle George about the recent spike in the rental market for properties on Diagon Alley, and his plans for expansion of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He confessed to her Aunt Ginny that he was an avid reader of her sports column in The Daily Prophet and was suitably bashful in front of her Uncle Harry – which earned him a playful eye-roll from Ginny and a plea not to stroke her husband's ego any more before lunchtime.

Rooted to his side throughout all of this, Rose became acutely aware that Scorpius was exceptionally talented at all this…diplomacy, as he had termed it. She could see why he'd been fast-tracked for his promotion at work, and realised that they'd all probably be calling him "Minister" before she even made it out of her and Creevey's shared broom cupboard. Oddly, this revelation didn't make her feel as instantly wrathful as it once might have.

It was during his blatant seduction of her Uncle Percy, as Scorpius congratulated him on his recent appointment to Head of the Department for Magical Transportation, that Rose found herself ambushed.

"Rosie, you cow! I can't believe you didn't tell us!" Her cousin Roxanne popped up at her elbow, yanking her over to the kitchen sink – away from her cosy little bubble of Scorpius' one-man charm offensive – and rounding on her viciously.

Lily and her cousin Molly appeared at her shoulder, flanking her, and effectively trapping Rose against the kitchen counter. It was only when one of them thrust a much-needed glass of wine into her hand, that Rose realised they weren't about to triple team Bat Bogey Hex her.

"And now you owe us…" Lily wiggled her eyebrows, salaciously, "…details."

Rose stared at the three of them in turn, feeling an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. She suddenly felt like she was in fifth year again, having been dragged into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to answer a panel of questions about her date to Hogsmeade with Oliver Higgs. As she recalled, they'd been disappointed at the time by the distinct lack of groping.

"Err, well," she started, taking a hefty gulp of her wine, "we met at work, of course —"

Roxanne clucked her tongue against her teeth in annoyance. "Not those sorts of details! And besides, we've all read Skeeter's interview, we know all about your boring first date and trips to museums." She rolled her eyes, as if she couldn't imagine a duller way to get oneself proposed to. "We want to hear about the other stuff."

"Yes, how exactly does your 'tender caress stoke a heady fire behind Malfoy's lifeless eyes'?" Lily smirked, and Rose recognised the quote from Rita's nonsense article. She remembered how outraged Scorpius had been about the description of his dead gaze, remembered how she'd thrown herself on him in the enclosed space of the Ministry lifts. She recalled the sudden awareness that she was pressed up against him, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck and his hand warm on her hip, and felt her cheeks surge with colour. Her cousins spotted her darkening blush and cackled with glee.

"Oh, Rosie, you dark horse!" Roxanne's face split into a wide, delighted grin. "I always knew you'd be a wild one in the sack!"

The girls howled again, and Rose caught Scorpius' gaze dart over to them, clustered in the corner. Oh, Merlin, Avada me now, she groaned, internally, wishing they'd had time to decide upon that emergency hand signal.

"But what about him?" Lily pressed forward, her own wine sloshing dangerously against the sides of her glass, threatening Rose's dress and shoes. "I mean, what's he got going on under all those fancy dress-robes? The way he used to swagger about; you've got to assume it's all rather impressive. Not that you have to assume anything, anymore, you lucky sod!"

"Err… I… well, I —"

Thankfully, Molly interrupted with her own wide-eyed confession. "Gods, do you remember how good he used to look in his Quidditch uniform? I'd barely be able to stay on my broom with him on the pitch."

"Oh, yes, sweet Helga…" Roxanne's eyes had almost glazed over. "I could have watched that boy do a Wronksi Feint all afternoon…"

Having not been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, herself, and therefore never shared a Quidditch pitch alongside her future husband, Rose had little to offer the discussion as it veered into an analysis of their most memorable matches, in reverse order of when Scorpius had looked his most attractive. She managed to slip away, almost unnoticed, as Lily was remembering the occasion that a Bludger had all but ripped Malfoy's shirt off in the middle of a particularly feisty Slytherin-Gryffindor grudge match, and found herself navigating back to his side.

Scorpius slipped an arm around her waist with casual ease, momentarily excusing himself from her Uncle Percy and glancing between her red cheeks and her cousins, still gossiping animatedly in the corner.

"Everything alright?" he murmured.

"I'm fine," Rose griped into his shoulder. "But I'd avoid sitting near those three at lunch, if you value your chastity." She felt, rather than saw, his little huff of laughter, as it lifted her curls away from her forehead.

"Come on," he tugged her gently towards the living room, "I'm about to go compliment your Aunt Audrey on her taste in pyjamas. Remind me, were the Pygmy Puffs pink or purple?"

She swatted him on the arm, his eyes flashing teasingly, and allowed herself to be immersed back into the throng of relatives with a rather stupid smile on her face.

The meal itself was really something of an after-thought, though given that it had been prepared by her Grandma Molly, it was, of course, delicious.

Her dad, along with Albus and Hugo, had plonked themselves at the far end of the table and continued to sulk throughout lunch. Rose had started referring to this as the children's end of the table, which her Uncle George had thoroughly enjoyed and joined in on, even offering to cut up her dad's potatoes for him, in case he was struggling. Rose had carefully situated herself in a seat between Scorpius and Roxanne, and her Grandma Molly had eagerly taken the chair to Scorpius' other side, meaning she was currently basking in the glow of his unadulterated attention.

His charm, it seemed, was infectious. As they warmed to Scorpius, Rose noticed, so too did her family thaw to her. Or rather, they'd stopped being quite so snotty with her, at least. Even Dominique had ceased her scowling, mentioning over dessert how pretty Rose had looked in The Prophet photograph earlier that week, which Rose knew was as good a peace offering as any from her part-Veela cousin, who frequently graced the cover of Witch Weekly and the like, herself.

All was going remarkably smoothly, until her granddad silenced the rabble by raising his mug full of wine – evidently, they'd run out of wine glasses and he'd been given the dud.

"I would just like to say, on behalf of all of our family," he gave his wife's hand a squeeze across the table, "how nice it is to finally meet you, Scorpius. It's a pleasure to welcome you to the family, and certainly better late than never."

A few murmurs of "here, here," from a number of her uncles, a pointed but humorous look from her Aunt Ginny, and Rose felt her cheeks pink at the light admonishment. She felt Scorpius' hand tighten reassuringly around hers, and realised they'd been holding hands under the table for a while, where no one could even see them. She supposed they were method acting, now.

"Thank you, Mr Weasley —" Scorpius paused whilst her granddad made a show of insisting he call him Arthur. "And, if I could add my own sentiments to that, thank you all for being so welcoming. I am sorry it's taken us so long to visit, but the last few months have been something of a whirlwind for Rose and I, and I'm afraid that's entirely my fault for keeping her so busy."

There was a wolf-whistle from somewhere in the middle of the table – possibly her cousin, Fred – and Scorpius' cheeks pinked to match hers. A ripple of amusement carried down the table.

"What I mean to say is," he continued, bashfully, "whilst I must admit to being a little nervous to meet you all, Rose assured me how wonderful you all were, and was incredibly excited for us to get to know each other. And I'm delighted to say, she was right…of course." He added a playful eye-roll, as if acknowledging an inside joke between them. All the married men around the table gave a small chuckle of solidarity.

Rose's Granddad Arthur was beaming with patriarchal pride. He lifted his mug of wine again: "To Rosie and Scorpius!"

Several other glasses went up around the table, their names echoing, and Rose had a horrible thought that they were going to have to kiss again – in front of her entire family, this time. But Scorpius, it seemed, wasn't so easily caught out a second time. Their eyes locked briefly, his lips twitching at her startled expression, before leaning over and planting a gentle but lingering kiss amidst her curls.

Rose breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring Lily's tutt of disappointment and Hugo pretending to throw up over his food. Scorpius' hand gave hers another squeeze under the table and then released.

They'd done it. They'd achieved what they set out to accomplish by coming here. Her family was well and truly fooled, and half in love with Scorpius already. As Rose swept the table, glancing between her beaming Grandma Molly and her enraptured cousins, she found that she felt equal parts relieved and sick about it.

A few hours later, as they were saying their goodbyes and preparing to walk back to Stoatshead Hill for their return Portkey, Rose stuck her head into the den, where her dad and brother were bent over a Wizard's Chess board, lost somewhere in the middlegame.

Watching them for a moment, she was struck, as she often was these days, by how very much alike the two of them were. The same mop of red hair, the same long nose. The same face, really, apart from Hugo had somehow stolen their mother's warm, brown eyes. Her own hair, she knew, was slightly darker – more auburn than ginger – and her face was rounder, more like her mother's. The freckles, though, that was something that drew all three of them together and marked them out as belonging to each other.

She cleared her throat in the doorway and the two men looked up.

"We're, err, heading off, now," Rose jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen, where she could just hear her grandma encouraging Scorpius to drop by whenever he liked and take another slice of Bakewell tart home with him.

Both men nodded, and Rose thought that might be that, but then Hugo climbed to his feet with a sigh. She eyed him warily, but he stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled sheepishly at her. "He doesn't call you Rosie," he said.

Rose's eyebrows lifted. "Sorry?"

"I noticed," Hugo shrugged. "Finnigan used to call you Rosie, and I hated it. Only we get to call you that. Anyway, Malfoy just calls you Rose, so…so I guess that's okay."

Rose stared at him for another moment before her gaze started to soften. She realised that was about as gracious as Hugo was ever likely to be, when it came to a man she was involved with. What a shame it had to be wasted on her fake fiancé.

She swallowed, thickly, and turned to her dad, who was grimacing down at the chess board as if he might be able to manoeuvre his way out of an awkward conversation. Hugo gave him a rather unsubtle nudge, and he eventually sighed and clambered up from the battered old pouffe he was perched on. His facial expression was one she'd come to recognise over the years as his 'apology scowl.'

"About last week, at the flat —" he started, but Rose cut him off with a smile and a shake of the head.

"Already forgotten."

"No, Rosie, listen. Your mum says it's important that you know how sorry —"

She rolled her eyes, lightly. "Yes, well, Mum says a lot of things."

"Doesn't she ever." They both shared a quiet chuckle and stared at their feet.

"I am sorry," he snuck in, after another moment, those gigantic arms of his suddenly coming up to engulf her shoulders. "It's not our place to try and second guess you, love. If he makes you happy – and he clearly does, that's plain to see – then we're all behind it. Isn't that right, Hugo?" She heard a grunting noise of agreement from somewhere in the room.

Rose pressed her face into the front of her dad's jumper and tried not to feel like the two-faced, low-life liar she actually was. "Thanks, Dad," she managed to choke out, before pulling back quickly, offering them both a watery-eyed smile and stumbling back towards the kitchen.

Here, she found Albus, begrudgingly shaking hands with Malfoy and she cursed under her breath. Why was everyone suddenly trying to be the bigger person today?!

"You should come by the training grounds, if you're ever down in Falmouth," her cousin was saying. At least he was still frowning – a begrudging acceptance of his old House-mate, at best. "And Rosie knows there's always spare tickets going for family, just drop me an owl."

Scorpius nodded, respectfully. "It's good to see you, Potter."

Rose tried to picture the two men sharing a dorm-room – Scorpius ironing his boxer shorts, whilst Albus dropped sandwich crumbs all over his bed-sheets. Not the most harmonious of living arrangements, she could imagine.

Scorpius turned his gaze on her, then, and she jumped a little, as if she'd been caught eavesdropping.

"Shall we?" he held the front door open for her – the picture of an adoring fiancé – guiding her through with a hand on the small of her back.

There was a chorus of various "goodbyes" and "nice to meet you, Scorpius", and one "keep those hands where we can see them" which was almost certainly her Uncle George, as they headed back past the broom shed towards the orchard. Scorpius turned and waved, but Rose kept her eyes firmly trained on the ground. There was a heaviness in her stomach, and she was half afraid that her Sunday lunch might make a reappearance all over the grass.

They were just passing through the garden gate again, when Scorpius turned so that he was walking backwards, and fixed her with a triumphant grin. "I'd say that went exceedingly well, wouldn't you? Merlin, at this rate, we'll probably have convinced ourselves that we're really engaged by Christmas."

Rose thought of her family's kindness, of her grandma's warmth and her granddad's proud smile. She thought of her brother and her dad, finding it within themselves to accept Scorpius, because they'd been hoodwinked into believing her in love with him. They were invested.

And this was exactly why she hadn't wanted to come here today.

She wanted to take it all back. She wanted to find a Time-Turner and erase this whole afternoon. No – she wanted to go back even further and drag herself out of that bloody fifth floor bathroom, before she could agree to any of this ridiculousness in the first place! Because surely, this was all going to go to pieces at some point? And now it wasn't only her and Scorpius that were going to be hurt, when it did.

Rose glanced up at the man in front of her and glared, ferociously. He was rather taken aback by it, actually.

"I think we've done quite enough of playing pretend, Malfoy," she hissed at him, feeling like she'd swallowed a ball of cotton wool. "We need to hurry up and find a way to get you out of this blood oath, and then we're going to part ways and never darken each other's doorway again. Is that understood?"

He stalled, his footsteps losing their cheerful, bouncing rhythm, and stared at her for a moment, trying to catch up. Rose held his gaze, her own icy, and watched as his expression shifted and closed, until she was staring up at the familiar arsehole she knew and hated.

"Absolutely understood," he clipped, falling neatly back into step with her, eyes on the horizon and jaw tense. "Quite right to keep it professional, Weasley. After all, we may be a team, temporarily, but it's not as if we're ever likely to be friends."

He didn't bother to ask what had dampened the mood.

They walked the rest of the way to Stoatshead Hill in silence. With his long strides, Malfoy quickly gained a decent distance on her, so all she had to scowl at was the back of his head for the twenty-minute walk. By the time the tattered old peg basket at the top of the hill had started to glow a bright, otherworldly blue, neither of them even wanted to look at the other. And, when they finally made it back to Rose's flat, they both marched into their respective bedrooms without another word, doors slamming behind them.

Rose sank onto her bed and allowed herself a ten-minute cry before she'd try to pull herself back together. Whilst, across the hall, Scorpius swore, loudly, and cast a frustrated Confringo at his pillows, spending the next few hours picking feathers out of his hair.

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ET - please keep your lovely messages and comments coming! Until next time - stay safe, folks.