Thursday 22nd December
- One -
Rose and Hugo hadn't received a letter from their parents since the 29th of November—and Rose hadn't even realized. It was unusual for their parents—their mother was a religious twice a week writer, even if she was busy with work. The worst part of it all, was that Rose hadn't even noticed. Hugo had approached her about it, taking time out of his busy moping schedule to ask,
"Have you gotten any letters from Mum and Dad?"
Rose had trawled through her drawers, realizing the last letter they'd received from their parents had been in regard to her detention with Scorpius, which felt like years ago.
She'd fired a quick letter to her parents, checking-in, but mostly trying to prompt a reply.
At least it gave her something to worry over. The Veritaserum session with Scorpius had been like whiplash—too much all at once. It had been a brief, perfectly contained bout of chaos, and Rose's had needed two hours alone afterwards, so she could attempt to recuperate.
Then, combing through with care, she'd plucked at the tiny threads of truth she'd missed the first time around, trying to arrange them into something like order. It was an odd metaphor for the boy himself, she was discovering slowly, too overwhelming to process at once, but so interesting upon closer inspection.
There were three things that emerged, Rose listed them mentally;
1. Scorpius' father wished he'd defected against Voldemort
2. Scorpius, in conflict with unofficial school lore, was a virgin
3. The spirit he'd named in her likeness, was beautiful enough to inspire suicide
Whatever they were playing at, Rose could see the danger in it—or rather, the danger in being caught up with someone like Scorpius. Hatred was easier than whatever they were playing at now.
She wasn't supposed to crave his sole attention—these hours were meant to be punishment, not an event she looked forward to in a very roundabout way. Rose hadn't recognized this until she'd done some maths, realizing today was their last detention together. Only when faced with the reality of losing their sessions, was Rose confronted with the true extent of how important their time together had become.
She recognized, again somehow, that pleasure had crept in, either growing from, or totally overwhelming her previous hatred of the detentions with Scorpius. Much like falling asleep—an overused but apt simile—she'd been unable to pinpoint the change, much like slipping from consciousness to unconsciousness.
There, naturally, was still a degree of betrayal she guilted herself over—in the end, was this it? She'd shown such a united front against Malfoy for six years, and eight hours was all it had taken? But trying to hate him now was so much harder, like his newly revealed humanity made it ruder somehow.
But her mind was the only part of her trying to keep a united front—seeing as Rose's stomach fluttered in a not so subtle way as she entered the detention that evening.
"Evening." She nodded, training her eyes to the floor.
"Hello." He replied, eyes trained on her, "Ready to finish the potion?"
"Finally, yes."
They prepared the last step of the potion, aware of how coordinated they'd become, how easily they predicted the other's movements. Their avoidance had grown from hatred, but now was testament to how comfortable they were with one another—something they'd never admit out loud. Rose could still feel energy crackling in the spaces between them however, only more aware of the distance she worked hard to maintain between them. Now it was the danger of attraction that she was wary of—a different kind of explosion that could occur between them (another reminder of how much had changed).
"I suppose," Scorpius remarked lightly, after a quarter of an hour of silence, "that we ought to reflect on the lessons we've learned. I'm sure that McGonagall was hoping we'd get at least one thing from this."
It was small-talk, but Rose felt a flutter of anticipation at being addressed.
But really, what had she learned? That hate and lust were more intertwined than she'd previously thought? That the willpower she'd previously prided herself on was as malleable as dough? That Scorpius was the prettiest bloody thing she'd ever seen?
"Alright, then. You can go first." Rose turned to him, "What have you, Scorpius Malfoy, learned from all this?"
"Me?" Scorpius straightened, a teasingly lofty expression on his face, "These sessions have changed my life." He proclaimed, "I was on a downward spiral, you see. The sex, the drugs, the rock and roll lifestyle. I was bound for prison. But being forced into eight hours with you, has set me on the straight and narrow. I've re-evaluated—my chastity belt is on its way, I'm sure—"
"Ha. Ha." Rose rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile, "That's a crock of shit."
"You think?" Scorpius drawled, but his smile matched hers, "How about you, then? Don't tell me you've learned nothing in this whole shitfest."
Rose thought for a moment, "No, I think I have learned something, actually."
"And that is, pray tell?"
If Rose couldn't sense the danger from her own racing pulse, then their lowered tones had to be a sign. But she'd never been good at staying out of trouble, far too curious for her own good, and she felt a smirk light her face, "Well, I learned Slytherin's legendary 'sex god' isn't quite up to par as rumour would have us believe." She leaned against the desk, her heart skipping a little as the risky comment hung in the air,
Scorpius turned to her, his mouth a circle of offence, even if humour warmed his eyes, "Hey now, that's an unfair assumption."
"You told me you were a virgin—under Veritaserum, may I add." She played along, liking the way his eyes had narrowed now, darkening with the implication, his gaze so focussed wholly on her, Rose couldn't help feeling as though she was about to be leapt upon.
Scorpius' smirk joined hers, and Rose warmed under it, and the suggestive direction their conversation was heading,
"Doesn't mean I don't know anything about pleasing my partners." Scorpius proclaimed, a little smug. And if Rose wasn't mistaken, he shifted a touch closer to her, his body facing hers now, hip resting against the wooden table top. The warm buzz in her belly growing to something that refused to be ignored.
"Oh really?" she didn't want to back down—seeing the silent challenge in Scorpius' eyes, the strange game of chicken they seemed to be playing with each other was reaching dangerous levels, but the hum of Rose's veins was almost lava in heat, with a magnetism that picked up on something in Scorpius,
"Are you asking for a demonstration?" he hummed, his voice so low it was a growl. He only looked more predatory with his pupils blown out—the ring of silver around the edge swallowed by black—and Rose's gut instinct warned her she was playing with fire, but desire screamed over it, needing Scorpius' hands on every inch of her.
Rose wanted to say these feelings were new, or entirely foreign, but that was a lie. Ever since their night on the Quidditch pitch, ever since comments from her friends, ever since Scorpius had emerged gracefully from the awkward chrysalis of puberty, Rose had known he was gorgeous. But never had his brand of gorgeousness lit her up like this, never had this been an option.
But Scorpius was close now, his muscles tightly coiled—because even in his moments of weakness, he still had a composure and restraint Rose envied, holding something back that even Rose couldn't draw from him.
Rose, on the other hand, could feel the weakness of her own knees, as though Scorpius' gaze alone had liquified the joints in her body, reducing her to the burning in her belly and the tickle of her lips, mere miles from Scorpius'.
"Maybe." She whispered, so close now the volume wasn't needed, her eyes only for Scorpius' smirk, pink against his alabaster, and how she'd close the gap between them, struggling to remember why she'd insisted on maintaining it before.
It was as though Scorpius sensed her intention recognizing what she wanted, and something tightened infinitesimally, and Rose paused for a moment—did he not want her? Had she misread the signs?—before he was standing between her legs, gripping the back of her thighs, hoisting her up onto the bench. The sudden lightness of her body—the disconnect from her feet in the floor—did nothing to help the strange trance Rose found herself in, the absence of her usually endless internal string of thoughts replaced by buzzing.
Instead she was driven by the tug in her gut, her internal tides drawn and pulled by the moon that seemed to light Scorpius—all the silver he was. Her thighs were parted by his place between them, one of his hands drawing over the skin of her knee, shifting distance upwards based on the sounds Rose couldn't stop herself making. His other hand had found its way to her hair, twisting and fisting in the locks, tugging them to bare her neck. She felt as though she didn't exist as an individual in that moment, every nerve in her body condensed to where Scorpius touched her.
His lips were ghosting her neck, as though placing them on her would break the spell, as his fingers slipped under the hem of her skirt, pausing for a moment. Rose barely managed to consent—'please'—before his fingers were skimming higher, slipping aside the cotton barrier he met with impatience, as though this contact was as necessary to him as it was to her. Her mind was all white noise, all logic and reasonable thought muted for the moment.
It was foreign—not because of pain, or uncomfortableness—but she'd only ever been the master of her own sensation before, a routine she rehearsed in her spare time, or when her dormmates fell asleep before her. But now Scorpius was controlling her, listening for the movements that made her breath hitch, or drew a whimper from her. He learnt at an enviable pace, soon finetuning the movements of his fingers to suit her, based on how she responded, a curling motion deep inside, paired with the pressure of the heel of his palm grinding against her clit.
Rose felt as though her body had melted, reforming itself around the movement of his hand, like he was holding her together with that alone. It was strange though, Scorpius had buried his head in the crook of her neck—still not having kissed her—as though she was supporting him. It was like he was inhaling her, but not daring to put his lips to her skin, as though she was made out of dust.
It was only when Rose felt the approach of a familiar crest—the only recognizable part of the whole encounter—that she allowed herself a moment of weakness. Both her hands were white-knuckled to the desk, her only grip on reality, but one flew to Scorpius' hair, freeing it from the leather band. She allowed herself, only for a delirious moment, the action she'd been resisting for the past month. Scorpius' hair was so soft through her fingers, it made them feel calloused and wizened—just something else to be embarrassed about later.
But all of Rose was reduced down to animal instinct—desire, need and action—and she wouldn't chastise herself now.
She bit down on a cry, muffling it against Malfoy, as he coaxed her through her spasms and shudders, gentle words of encouragement and praise even as his hand guided her mercilessly through.
Rose felt exactly when rough, angry, desire gave way and softened around the edges, and this was around when Scorpius' fingers stilled against her. She huffed a laugh—had she been expecting this when she'd woken this morning? She hadn't even allowed such an improbable idea to enter her fantasies, let alone her mental schedule.
Rose had needed Scorpius' hardness, his roughness, his desire. But now she craved what he'd refused to indulge her with, a simple kiss. It had all happened backwards—wasn't that supposed to be the first step? Instead he'd given her an orgasm on a desk. Why didn't it feel more wrong?
But she was a happy cocktail of post-climax endorphins, all smiley and sleepy now, and couldn't see the harm.
The hand she had in his hair slipped to his chin, and Rose pulled his head from the crook of her neck. His cheek was so soft it tickled her sensitive skin as he moved, and she shifted, leaning forward to press her lips to his—expecting something sweet and tender, finally finally reaching the real climax—because in all this brewing sexual tension, and awkward transition from enemies to something less bitter, wasn't this what it all came to? The simplest, most innocent kind of contact? Something far more intimate than exploring fingers, more profound than an explosion of desire and lust.
Rose's mind had felt foggy before, but finally her thoughts were clear, earnest, and not clouded with her previous insistence on hatred, on maintaining what she and Scorpius had always had. She wasn't afraid of rejection, because she didn't doubt now, that this was what Scorpius wanted too.
The kiss never came. He stumbled backward, his hand leaving her with a sound that would later make her cringe.
"Scorpius?" she asked, confused, as to why he had placed metres between them with such urgency.
He didn't need to answer—as when he finally met her eyes—the horror in his expression was all she needed.
Scorpius didn't pick up his bag. He didn't look back. He spun on his heel, all but sprinting for the door. The slam of it happened to coincide with the exact moment Rose's body flooded with shame.
Friday 23rd December
Albus wasn't sure why Oscar—his ferret—was deciding to disobey him, of all the days he could've chosen.
"You've been in this cage a million times." Albus huffed in exasperation, "What's the bloody problem?"
His day hadn't been going well, but Oscar's obstinacy was the icing on the Christmas cake. Albus was supposed to be at Hogsmeade station in five minutes, and he was likely to miss the carriages if he didn't haul ass.
Scorpius hadn't waited for him; he'd been in one of his 'moods' where he'd refuse to talk about what was bothering him, but also refused to stop sulking about it.
Albus respected his best friend, but often he could be so bloody childish, especially in the face of adversity. He rarely shared his issues with Albus; either ignoring them, or not confessing what had troubled him until months had passed. It was a mixture of upbringing and genetics, taking the whole 'stiff upper lip' thing to new heights.
It frustrated Albus because he felt like it put up walls in their friendship—to him a friend was a person who you turned to when you were struggling, and needed support. But Albus respected that Scorpius hadn't been raised in Al's world—the loud, expressive, emotionally embracing Potter/Weasley brood. Scorpius' family and upbringing had a few more demons to deal with, and he'd faced the brunt of that as an only child.
But Albus had his cheats—often Scorp was a little more loose-lipped after a Firewhiskey or two, or when the two lay in the dark in their dorm, and Scorp couldn't see Al's face. Seeing as neither of those tricks were possible currently, Al would just have to tolerate a scowling, door-slamming Scorpius for the train ride home. He wasn't looking forward to it, to say the least, but he could always spend time with Rose if he got too fed up.
Albus ran out of time to coax Oscar into his cage, instead letting the ferret hide in his robe sleeve, before throwing his rucksack—filled with things he wouldn't go without over the break—and all but ran for the carriages before the castle.
Al tried to ignore the glaring silence of he and Scorpius' compartment, trying to focus on the magical travel guide he'd borrowed from the library for Christmas break. Since the discussion with Taki, he'd spent every spare moment learning more about the destinations Taki had mapped out—their history, must see sights, their wizarding hubs, and (most importantly) their ecology.
The more Al found himself learning, the more excited he became about the trip—visions of himself and Taki snuggled in the corner of magical taverns, charting their work for the day and sharing a few drinks. The fantasy was still up in the air, however, as Al hadn't made an official decision on whether or not he was joining Taki on his travels.
He had—as Taki had advised—slept on it, but as he'd lay in bed (not sleeping) he'd realized how big of a deal it really was.
Primarily, he had to have a discussion with his parents. Al had been thinking around the idea of coming out of the closet for a while, but whenever he set dates for himself to do it, he always managed to wriggle out of it. But if he told them he was planning to travel the world with a boy, the nature of their relationship would be discussed, and that wasn't something Albus was willing to lie about.
It wasn't like the Potter family was homophobic—at all—but Albus still had his own insecurities surrounding how they would react, that it would change their view of him even slightly. And once it was out there, it wasn't something he could undo, or take back.
Then there was the matter of money; a trip like this wouldn't be cheap. Though Al knew his parents had a bit of money put away for each of the Potter kids upon leaving high school (for house deposits, buying furniture, tertiary training and the like) he didn't know if they'd be willing to give it to him for something as frivolous as travel, even if it related to his future in a roundabout way.
But Albus figured the biggest tripping point for his parents would be the timing of the trip. It would mean that Albus wouldn't be completing his last year of NEWTs with everyone else. He could always come back and finish, but that wasn't guaranteed. Albus could imagine what his parents would say, but he'd already planned his ultimate trump card—pointing out that his father hadn't finished school either.
By the time Al flew out, he would be of age (so technically, could leave without his parents' permission), but he wanted them to be happy with his decision. Leaving the country without their approval would be the worst-case scenario.
So, as the train sped towards London, the twisting and clenching of Al's stomach increased, and Scorpius wasn't even trying to distract him. Not that, of course, Scorpius knew how he was feeling, or what he was anxious over, as he'd decided to tell his parents first.
"You know," Albus said lightly, attempting to engage Scorpius in conversation, "if you want to visit over the holidays, you're welcome to the New Year's Party at the Burrow. Everyone will be there—"
"I think we have plans." Scorpius grunted, cutting Al's sentence short. Albus would've pulled him up on his bad manners if Al weren't feeling so hysterical—they were only an hour from London, and his parents who were waiting on the platform for he and Lily.
Speaking of the devil, and momentarily distracting Al from his panic, the door to their compartment slammed open. Scorpius seemed to jump at the flash of red hair, face twisting, before he recognized Lily.
"I think Hugo's having a panic attack in the hallway." Lily stated, raising an eyebrow in Scorpius' direction. His sister really wasn't one for beating around the bush, "Go fix him, Scorp."
That seemed to pull Scorpius from his mood, he jumped to his feet.
But they didn't have to move, as a figure quickly shoved himself and Lily fully into the carriage, slamming the door forcefully behind him.
"I can't do it." Hugo panted. His face was a flushed red, his fringe sticking to his forehead in strands, "Jesus, I can't do it."
"Hey, easy. Take a deep breath, Hugo." Scorpius said quickly. Albus had always found it funny how Scorpius had taken on a big brother role with Hugo, taking the boy under his wing. Al almost felt sad that Scorp didn't have any siblings of his own; he'd be excellent, "Tell us what happened, and just take your time."
Hugo took a stuttering breath, which looked so funny on his tiny frame, "I—I went to invite Neema to our New Year's Party at the Burrow—like you said, Scorp—but I got to her carriage door, and I just couldn't—I couldn't—"
"It's alright Hugo. It's fine. Take a breath." Scorpius patted Hugo's shoulder, as though he was trying to calm a nervous animal.
"There were just so many girls! Sitting in the carriage! Giggling! And then…" Hugo cringed, recoiling from the memory.
"And then?" Albus prompted, the only one in the carriage still sitting down.
"Well when I walked past," Lily offered, "he was just standing in the window of the door, staring at them. They were kind of confused, because he wasn't moving, and they were laughing—"
"I just froze!" Hugo cried, "They all stopped talking, waiting for me to come in! And then I couldn't move, and they started whispering! And then because I was frozen, I couldn't walk away either, so they probably thought I'm some sort of pervy creep—"
"No offence, Hugo, but it was pretty creepy." Lily pointed out.
"Lily…" Al sighed, "Not helping…"
"What? I'm just saying what I saw!" Lily protested, shooting Al an affronted look.
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Hugo," Scorpius assured him, "these things always seem worse when we're experiencing them, but in reality, it was probably only a few seconds, and not nearly as bad as you think it was."
"Oh my God," Hugo groaned, slumping onto a seat, "I'm going to die alone."
"That's not true," Scorpius was quick to assure, sitting next to Hugo, "remember, girls are people too. Nothing to be afraid of."
But Hugo was too deep in the well of self-pity now, and he slumped against the cushioned back of the bench, "I didn't even manage to give her the Christmas present I made."
Al looked to Scorp, apparently he'd known, "You got her something?" Al was surprised at the forethought—he hadn't had such a thing at fifteen, "What is it?"
Hugo fumbled in the pocket of his robes, producing a fairly pretty little box, cream with golden decoration. It was a tad smaller than Hugo's clenched fist, and Al expected a pair of little earrings, or a pendant of some kind. But when Hugo opened the box, the hinge at the back snapped open, and a surprisingly strong song rang from it. It took Al a second to recognize the sound of a piano, playing a melody he hadn't heard before.
"Scorp helped me with the charm," Hugo said in a resigned voice, "But I wrote and played the song. Took me two months to finish it." He snapped the box close, and the music abruptly ended.
Albus fumbled for words, but Lily spoke first, "Wow, Hugh, that's actually…like, really thoughtful!"
Hugo huffed, slumping further down in his seat, so his chin was on his chest, "Yeah, but it's all pointless now. I don't even have the courage to give it to Neema, let alone take her out on a date."
Scorp opened his mouth, looking as though he was about to say something reassuring, but Lily cut in a with a huff,
"I don't even know why you're interested in Neema. She's a right bitch, everyone else in our year knows it. I walked past the Ravenclaw table the other day, and heard her complaining about 'the short Gryffindor' following her around. Don't bother—go after someone who actually has a soul."
Hugo's mouth was popping open and shut, he looked utterly rattled, "But—but—"
"You can't defend her," Lily shrugged, "it was completely obvious you were just after her for her looks. And let's be honest, Hugh, she's completely out of your league."
Hugo had sat up in shock, his mouth continuing to pop like a koi fish, as though Lily's bluntness was something new.
Al winced, "Merlin, Lily, could you have some tact for once?"
"What?" Lily was on the defensive, "It's the truth! You two were just going to keep boosting his ego, letting him delude himself? Let's be real, it would've been a harder blow to deal with further down the line. If you look at it that way, I'm actually the nicest person in here." She turned to Hugo, "Come on Hugh. Let's get back to our carriage—the trolley lady will be going through soon. You can have a pumpkin pasty on me."
Lily grabbed Hugo's hand, pulling the shell-shocked boy into the corridor, poking her tongue out at Albus through the door window.
There was a moment's silence after the pair left, and Scorpius finally sighed, "God, your sister is bloody something, isn't she?"
Albus nodded, "She's always been like that." Before his eyes narrowed, "Decided to talk now, have we?"
At least Scorpius had the grace to look a little sheepish, "Yeah…uh… sorry for being a bit of a grumpy prick."
Albus gave a little nonchalant shrug, "I figured it was your business. Unless you want to talk—?"
"Nope." Scorpius said firmly, "I'm fine. I just…" he sighed, "this is something I need to figure out myself."
Albus sure as hell could sympathise with that, "Yeah, I get you man." He conceded, "Just give me a bit of warning, yeah? At least so I know to avoid you for a few days."
"Yeah, fair enough." Scorpius agreed, "Do you want to get into our normal clothes?"
"Yup, good idea." Albus agreed, and both boys stood to pull down their luggage. At least if everything turned to shit this Christmas, he and Scorpius wouldn't spend the holiday on bad terms.
A/N: You're all fantastic and your reviews are amazing. I'd send you all thank-you cards if I knew your addresses and could afford the postage. Thank you!