A/N: Hello all! A wee bit of a wait for this one (big love to those that have been keeping on eye on me and asking about life/work!), but here at last. And I think with probably my favourite chapter title yet. I'll keep this brief so we can all dive in to more of this protracted nonsense: I love your comments, sorry for the tease, enjoy!

(Also, apologies if I haven't yet replied to a comment on the last chapter, I wanted to squeeze this one out before hitting the hay for the night, but I am working my way through them and squealing with delight at each and every one, I promise!)

Praise be to Arnel63, her unrivalled knowledge of Harry Potter canon and ability to spot my many mistakes from half a world away.

Chapter 15: Relics & Right-Hooks

For two whole weeks they'd been searching. Spending hour after hour poring through the old and the confiscated, the peculiar and the forgotten; missed lunches and late nights spent amidst the dusty shelves of the Ministry Archives. It had seemed like the obvious place to look – the metaphorical cupboard under the stairs where the Ministry tucked away the various things it didn't know what to do with but was too lazy to actually throw away. And, for Rose and Scorpius, had quickly become something of a second home.

The trouble was, for two whole weeks they'd been searching and yet, so far, they'd found absolutely nothing.

Nothing useful, that is.

They'd stumbled upon all sorts in their hunt for Benedict Nott's diary, as they'd picked their way through the artefacts hidden under dust sheets at the back of the cavernous hall – chests full of old ceremonial robes, covered portraits with flaking paint and fading subjects, even a Wizard's Chess set with playing pieces that looked suspiciously like they might have been carved from house-elf bone. Rose had gotten excited one evening when she'd stumbled upon a leather-bound folio stuffed with handwritten pages, all in Latin. She'd called Scorpius down to translate, from the top of the ladder he'd been using to search the highest shelves, only for him to inform her that it appeared to be an early seventeenth century essay on Troll migration patterns by a little-known naturalist.

Oh, there was plenty to be found in the Archives. Hundreds of potentially valuable items, either in their physical worth or their historical significance. Just not the one thing that they were both growing increasingly desperate to find.

With each day that passed, they grew more and more frustrated. They eyed each other, tiredly, over breakfasts, taking it in turns to give a pep talk on the way to work – today they would surely find something, today they had a feeling – only to return later that night, empty handed and defeated. They were both beginning to look a little pale (or, in Scorpius' case, even more pale than usual) and in need of natural sunlight. Rose had almost dozed off in more meetings than she could count, and Scorpius' appetite had dwindled to almost non-existent, except for the consolatory Firewhiskey that he took to bed at the end of every long, unsuccessful day of digging through forgotten treasures.

In fact, the only thing keeping each of them sane was the other. Whenever Rose would see the unhappy drop of Scorpius' shoulders, the downturn of his mouth, she would lean her head on his shoulder and tell him about the latest ridiculous thing Creevey had said at work. And when Scorpius would find Rose staring, glassy-eyed, into yet another textbook, he would pluck at one of her curls and tease her until she cracked a smile.

And, though it didn't seem that either time or luck was currently on their side, they took the golden lifts down into the Archives, day after day, evening after evening, without a second thought.

It was a Thursday lunchtime, yet another week later, that Scorpius didn't show up for their usual lunchtime search. Rose set to work as normal, glancing over her shoulder every few minutes and listening out for footsteps, only to be left alone for the full hour. Eventually, she trudged her way back to the lifts – diary-less as usual – before deciding to stop off at Level One to check he hadn't passed out at his desk.

When she got there, however, he was very much awake and very not alone.

"You're sure?" Scorpius was perched on the edge of his desk and frowning at Jasper Nott, as the other man paced the width of the corner office. Rose took note of the deep circles beneath his eyes and the unusual quiver to his voice.

Jasper threw him a grimace. "It's in this morning's Prophet, read it for yourself if you don't believe me."

Rose hovered at the door for a moment, before Scorpius dragged his eyes away from the open newspaper in front of him and spotted her there.

"Rose? Salazar, I'm sorry…" He grimaced at the clock on the wall. "I… I lost track of time. Did you find —?"

Rose shook her head, quickly. Scorpius' shoulders sagged a little more. Jasper frowned, thoughtfully, at the both of them.

"Is everything alright?" Rose stepped fully inside the office, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Scorpius' face contorted in obvious discomfort. Jasper opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it again with a frown.

"What is it?" she stared between them, a sense of dread began to settle between her shoulder blades and making her posture bristle. "The pair of you look as if someone's died, for Merlin's sake."

Scorpius winced at her wording, his gaze flicking back down to the open paper, even as he nodded his head at Jasper. "Tell her," he muttered, quietly.

Jasper sighed through his nose. "Elliot Travers and Clarice Bulstrode were apparently married at the weekend." He looked down at the floor, arms crossing in front of his chest.

Rose blinked at them both. Apparently, nothing more was forthcoming. "And? ...I'm sorry, do we know these people?"

"Not exactly," Jasper frowned down at the carpet. "Travers attended Durmstrang, so not really in our circles. Clarice is a friend of my sisters, so I know a little of her. The marriage was… unexpected."

Rose's eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Eventually, they lingered on Scorpius. His face was drawn, fingers gripping the edge of the desk so that his knuckles had turned almost white. She put two and two together, her lips opening into a silent 'oh'.

"You think it was… I mean…" She faltered. She wasn't accustomed to speaking about such things in front of Nott, she didn't know how much she should say.

Jasper answered her unspoken question, however, his hands deep in his pockets. "I have it on good authority that Travers turned twenty-eight on Saturday. The same day they were married."

Rose felt something pooling in her chest, cold as the Black Lake and heavy like cement. Her eyes found Scorpius', his expression mirroring her feeling.

"Right…" her voice sounded a million miles away. She cleared her throat. "Are they… happy, do you know?"

Scorpius turned away to stare at the wall. She could see the flex of his jaw muscles as he clenched his teeth.

Jasper sighed. "By all accounts. My sister heard from the new Mrs Travers this morning. Utterly enthralled with one another, she said."

Rose nodded, jerkily. "That's… That's good, then." She had to blink to stop her vision from blurring.

Scorpius swallowed, thickly, his jaw still working over itself. "Jasper, could you give us a moment?"

Jasper's eyes flicked between the pair of them. "Certainly," he nodded. He made for the office door, pausing as he drew level with Rose, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Listen," he glanced back at his friend. "I… I don't know exactly what's going on, or what the two of you are hoping to achieve, but… if I can help in anyway, you'll let me know, won't you?"

Rose stared up at Nott, eyes wide. In her peripheral vision she saw Scorpius nod at him, and then Jasper was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a click. The room fell quiet in his wake.

"Does he know? About us… about our arrangement?" Rose murmured, eyebrows knotting as she looked across to where Scorpius was still sat, stiffly, on the edge of the desk.

Scorpius' expression seemed to cloud for a moment and then, a shake of his head. "Not specifically. I think he knows something isn't quite what it seems; he's always been a bit too sharp for his own good, that one. And he knows how I feel about the oath, so…" he shrugged, eyes downcast.

Rose tried to swallow and found that her throat felt unusually tight. "Scorpius, I… I'm so sorry. But you have to know that it's not your fault. This Travers person —"

"I didn't know," Scorpius interrupted, gruffly, scuffing his shoe on the carpet. "I didn't know there was anyone else who might be affected before me. I thought I would be the first of our generation. I just… didn't know…"

He looked across at her, then. Rose's breath caught at the sight of such raw devastation.

She went to him without another thought; Scorpius' hands reaching for her as soon as she came within arm's length. He pulled her into his chest, arms encircling her waist as hers looped around his neck, and just held her there. His face pressed into her shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking across the skin at her open collar.

Rose held on for dear life. She could feel his heart, literally pounding out of his ribcage and into hers, his arms almost crushing her to him, though she didn't mind one bit. She allowed a hand to trail across his back in something she hoped was a soothing motion, finding every one of his muscles pulled taut.

"It won't happen to you, it won't…" she muttered reassurances into his hair, whether for his benefit or for hers, she couldn't have honestly said. "I won't let it."

Scorpius said nothing, just held onto her, tightly.

Rose didn't return to her own office that afternoon. When Scorpius had calmed enough that she felt she could reasonably leave him without fear he might Avada himself at his desk, she headed straight down to the Archives again and set to searching amongst the shelves with renewed vigour.

She didn't want to pin all of their hopes on the diary, preferring to think there was always more than one solution to every problem (something her mother used to tell her regularly), but in all honesty, they'd made very little else in the way of useful discoveries since they'd started this quest, almost three months ago now. Aside from a few scribbles in a notebook – theories on blood magic that they had no way of proving, and unsustainable short-term solutions like using Dreamless Sleep Potions to stave off the oath's effects – the diary was the first and only concrete lead they'd had.

And it was nowhere to be found. Possibly even destroyed, decades ago, by some well-meaning Aurors who had no idea of the fate they were sealing for future generations of Pureblood offspring.

Rose felt her lower lip tremble as she sagged against the nearest shelf, fingers curling around the edges of a tarnished silver jewellery box marked with the label 'Seized from MF on 3rd October 1996. Likely origin: House of Black.'

She was being silly, she chided herself – after all, it wasn't her that had just been married off by powerful magical forces against her will. She didn't even know these people, Travers and Bulstrode, whoever they were, and yet she felt the blow as if they were her dearest childhood friends.

The full weight of her exhaustion pressed in on her until it became hard to breathe, the cold metal of the shelves pinching through her work robes as she steadied herself against them. She had a sudden and irrepressible urge to sink down onto the dusty concrete floor and scream or sob until her throat was raw.

She wondered if Travers had known it was coming. Whether he knew what fate awaited him, like Scorpius, or if he were utterly blindsided like her Uncle Percy.

She wondered if Clarice Bulstrode had ever even considered marriage, before she'd woken up one morning intent on walking down the aisle. Had she even been single? Or was there some poor man or woman she'd just been getting to know, whose hand she rather liked to hold and whose laugh made her feel like she could conquer the world, that she'd turned her back on without a second thought?

Rose gasped as the sharp edge of the jewellery box sliced into her palm. She'd been gripping it so tightly she'd managed to draw blood.

Hastily shoving the box back on the nearest shelf, she aimed a quick healing spell at the gash and tried to gather herself. Her eyes pricked with the promise of unwelcome tears and her chest felt as though she'd tried to swallow a Quaffle that had lodged somewhere in her windpipe.

What in Merlin's name was the matter with her? She didn't know Travers or Bulstrode, and she wasn't at risk of landing the same fate, anyway. She was safe, thanks to her mother's heritage… She was out of the blood oath's reach…

So, why did it feel like her own future was on the precipice of being wrenched away from her?

Rose stayed in the Archives until almost five o'clock, going back through some of the antique trunks and storage crates they'd already searched, just in case they'd managed to miss the diary on their first go-around. Eventually, her wand chimed from within her robe pocket, letting her know it was time to head home, and – utterly drained – she trudged her way back to the lifts, wearily hitting the button for Level Five. She just needed to grab her notes and satchel and then she could retrieve Scorpius from where she'd left him, a broken man in a very expensive looking office chair, and get them both back to the flat for the night.

She passed by Creevey and several others as she stepped out of the lifts, chatting amongst themselves and trying to convince her to join them down at The Leaky for a few. Rose forced a smile and politely declined, making a hurried bee-line for her office.

She was just gathering up the last of her work files when a curt knock made her jump. Niall Finnigan barged through the door without waiting for a response.

"Oh… Niall," she sighed, tiredly, turning her attention back to her desk, "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for whatever —"

"So nice of you to join us this afternoon, Rosie," he cut her off with a sneer, arms crossing in front his chest as he glared down his nose at her.

Rose glanced up at him, startled. "This afternoon —?" Her brow knitted. "… Oh, Godric, the meeting with the Polish delegates. I completely forgot…" She shook her head with a groan.

"Six months of planning," he hissed, taking an imposing step towards her. "Six months of rescheduling and sweet talking to get them here, and then you don't even show up for the bloody meeting?" He stared at her, angrily. "Please tell me what could possibly have been more important this afternoon than negotiating a new extradition treaty with a historically hostile territory? Something that you and half the rest of this office have been working on for Six. Whole. Months?!"

Rose pressed her lips together, even as her cheeks burnt. "Niall, I'm so sorry —"

"No, really! I genuinely want to know where you've been all day! Was there something you felt was more pressing, more urgent, perhaps?!"

Niall's hazel eyes gleamed with ill-suppressed fury and Rose flinched as the volume of his voice rose above what was strictly comfortable for the small confines of her shared office.

"There… There was an emergency," she fumbled, "Scorpius and I received some unfortunate news —"

She knew she'd said the wrong thing almost as soon as the words had left her lips. Niall's glower darkened even further, his jaw and his shoulders stiffening into harsh lines.

"Scorpius…" he growled the name as if it were acid on his tongue. "Well, isn't that just fucking brilliant."

Rose swallowed, clumsily, fingers tightening around her satchel strap. She watched, wide eyed, as Niall raked a hand through his tawny coloured hair, the ends sticking out at unnatural angles, before coming to rest at his hips.

"I feel… I feel like I've bitten my tongue on this long enough," he struggled to keep his voice even as he stared at her, his gaze wild. "Can't you see how insane this is?"

Rose merely blinked back, too tired and taken aback to respond.

"Honestly, I feel like I've been going mad these last three months. As if I blinked and you're a completely different person!" Niall was shaking his head at her in bewilderment. "Skipping meetings, avoiding the boss… you're constantly distracted, too wrapped up in what the newspapers are saying about you from one week to the next."

"That's hardly fair —" she started, only to be cut off again before the very next breath.

"And it's all because of him, don't you see?!" Niall gestured into the ether, not that Rose was in any doubt who 'he' was. "You're engaged, out of the blue, to a man you've publicly despised for years, and overnight everything changes. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the bastard had Imperiusedyou for some nefarious purpose —"

"Oh, don't be absurd —!"

"I know you, Rosie," he beseeched her – half imploring, half accusing – as he searched her gaze, taking another step towards her. "I know you. And this… this just doesn't make any sense to me. I feel like I'm going insane —"

"Yes, you said that already," she muttered, curtly.

"Well, maybe because I feel like you aren't listening!" he practically snarled at her, then. It took all of Rose's will power not to stumble backwards into the bookshelf. She swallowed, thickly.

"Let's be clear about something." She arched a pointed eyebrow, daring to hold his gaze even as her fingers trembled. "Is this dressing down because you're my boss and you're unhappy with my work ethic, or because you're my ex-boyfriend who doesn't like the fact that I might be moving on with someone else?"

He glared down his nose at her, mouth forming an argument that didn't quite deliver. He scoffed, after another moment, shoulders rolling back uncomfortably. "If you're implying that I'm being unprofessional here, then you ought to take a long hard look at yourself, Rosie. This thing between you and Malfoy —"

"Our engagement, you mean?"

"— is the talk of the whole bloody office, has been since the moment Skeeter announced it in that society rag of hers. The two of you parade yourselves around here, sneaking off for lunch dates, visiting each other's offices after hours. Constantly rubbing it in my… in everyone's face!"

"I beg your pardon?!" Her ire bristled.

"I mean, Creevey's practically obsessed with the pair of you, which is unbelievably annoying and probably why he's been happily shouldering your work load for the last few weeks."

Niall took a third step towards her, those broad shoulders – that had made him such a successful Keeper for their once beloved Gryffindor team – crowding in on her. Rose lifted her chin, defiantly.

"Rosie…" he dropped his voice, that Irish lilt imploring her; a hand hovered dangerously close to her elbow. "You and Malfoy… if this is some kind of… scheme to try and get my attention, well, then you have it, wholeheartedly. You don't need to pretend —"

"And what if I'm not pretending?" she snapped, suddenly. Niall frowned at her. "What if I told you that I've never been happier? That Scorpius makes me feel a way that I never felt for you?" She arched an eyebrow, challengingly.

He pulled a face, as if she'd just let off a particularly potent Dungbomb under the desk. "I can't believe that," he shook his head. "What you and I had was something special."

Rose scoffed aloud. "Oh, yes. So special, in fact, that you felt the need to re-enact it with Helen from the secretarial pool!"

He winced, uncomfortably. "I didn't know you knew her name…"

Rose rolled her eyes, viciously. As if that was the important bit.

"Look," Niall rallied himself, "maybe this isn't about us. But, whatever the Hell is going on between you and that prick, it's about time someone stepped up and intervened."

"And you've decided that should be you, I take it?" Rose muttered, derisively. She was beginning to see why Scorpius chose to be so snotty with certain people, it was immensely gratifying.

Niall simply shrugged, his lip curling churlishly. "Maybe it has to be… Godric only knows why your family haven't said something by now. I can't imagine he's been welcomed with open arms there. Tell me I'm wrong?"

Rose thought about the way her dad, Hugo and Albus had been so suspicious at first, plotting in the kitchen. Then she thought about their trip to the Burrow, and Scorpius' one-man charm offensive that had won over even the unlikeliest of candidates. Finally, she remembered Scorpius trouncing Hugo at chess, Hugo's grimace of reluctant respect, and felt something warm bloom behind her ribcage. It made her stand a little taller.

"Malfoy isn't even deserving of your time," Niall was still talking, aggressively close to her face now. "He's an arrogant git, Rosie, just like you always said he was. And I don't know how he's managed to slither his way into your life, but he's still the same treacherous little twat —"

"That is enough!" Rose bellowed over him. Niall blinked, startled, mouth hanging open like a fish on a hook.

Rose stared at him, her cheeks popping with spots of colour as her temper flared. She felt like she was seeing him for the first time – this man that she'd been so convinced she was in love with, once upon a very long time ago. This man, who behaved so beguilingly when it suited him, words of affection rolling off his tongue and into her open ears for years. Whose actions never quite lived up to those words, and whose loyalty was questionable at best and something of an abstract concept at worst. A child, really, who had the gall to tell her what should make her happy and who deserved her trust, when he hadn't managed to achieve either in all of the time she'd wasted on him.

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw a hard line. "In case you were in any danger of asking my opinion, Finnigan —" He frowned at the rather hostile use of his last name. "— let me save you the trouble. Scorpius Malfoy happens to be one of the mostdecent wizards I have ever had the privilege to know. Yes, he can be… a little cold sometimes, and grumpy, and snotty, and superior… but he doesn't put on airs like some people I could name. He doesn't try to pretend to be anything or anyone that he isn't."

Niall's jaw clenched, unhappily, his frown darkening with every word.

"Scorpius cares about the people in his life – he doesn't just pretend to out of convenience or to serve his own purposes. He can own up to his mistakes, take responsibility for his actions —"

"Come on, Rosie, you're not fooling anyone —"

"He's so much better than you!" she shouted, somewhat childishly, almost blind with the rage and emotion that she could feel bubbling up like bile in her throat. "He's kind and decent, and clever and funny. He doesn't deserve any of this, and he certainly doesn't deserve criticism from the likes of you!"

She turned away from him then, ignoring his startled, stupid face, as she grimaced at the hot sting of tears that were very inconveniently threatening to flood her vision. A fresh wave of exhaustion winded her like a rogue Bludger. She was just so tired of… everything.

She was tired of worrying about the oath, and their never-ending failure to find Benedict Nott's diary. She was tired of worrying about Scorpius, and then fretting over the strange little aches in her chest and flips of her stomach when she thought of him. Scorpius had propositioned her with the promise that things wouldn't get messy and emotional. Well, she was very sorry to disappoint but here she was, already knee-deep in a mucky puddle of feelings and frustration.

And she was sure it wasn't meant to be this complicated… when you felt how she felt about someone… It was all getting too much for her. Too much pressure and too much potential for hurt.

The air in the office felt suddenly heavy and thick, like she was breathing in cauldron fumes. She needed to leave. Now.

Rose snatched up the last of her files, fingers landing on a random assortment of parchment and stuffing it inside her already over-full satchel. She barged past Niall, door in her sights, when a harsh grip snagged her by the elbow and held her back.

"Let go of me, Finnigan —" Her voice sounded unnaturally high pitched, even to her own ears.

"I'm not just going to let this happen, Rosie. Malfoy is a conniving bastard, and you won't convince me that you're in love with him even if you start popping out his pasty, little, white-haired brats —"

Rose didn't even think about it. She coiled her arm back and punched Niall straight in the mouth. She felt his jaw crack against her knuckles.

"Fuck!" Finnigan stumbled backwards, a hand clamped over his face as he slumped against the bookshelf. Blood spurted from his lip and his nose.

Rose's chest heaved; she'd stunned herself into silence. Her hand throbbed at her side, where it was still clenched into a trembling fist, her assorted parchment gently floating into a mess at her feet.

The last time she could ever remember hitting someone she'd been seven and Albus had released her pet Pygmy Puff into the wild when she wasn't looking. She didn't know what she was supposed to do next. So, she did nothing. She just watched, dumbly, as Finnigan grappled around against her shelves, one hand clutching his nose and trying to stop the steady stream of scarlet that splattered down the front of his once white shirt.

And, sweet Helga, her hand really bloody hurt.

She thought about apologising, she really did. Or reaching for her wand, still tucked into her robe pocket, and offering a healing spell. But, in the end, she did neither.

After a minute, Finnigan managed to catch his breath long enough to properly look at her, and she was hit with the full force of the darkest, filthiest scowl she'd ever been on the receiving end of. And that was really saying something, considering she was currently living with an all-time-champion scowler, who she regularly managed to annoy with her general existence.

"I…I didn't… I mean, I'm sor—…" Rose forced herself not to finish that sentence. Because actually she did, and she really wasn't.

Niall staggered up to his full height. It was a gruesome picture – a busted lip which was already beginning to bruise and, if she wasn't mistaken, his nose looked a little more crooked than she remembered. He spat a blood clot out onto her office rug.

"I think it goes without saying," he eyed her, poisonously, "that you're fired, Weasley."

Scorpius had almost missed the polite voice announcing that the lift had arrived on Level Five. He had to stick his hand out to stop the doors closing again, rousing himself just at the last moment and wearily shouldering his dragon-hide satchel.

Fucking Hell, what a Merlin-awful day. He'd considered not getting out of bed that morning, staring up at the ceiling in Rose's spare room and thinking about all the places the diary was nowhere to be found. And, honestly, now he really wished he hadn't bothered. The news about Travers had left him feeling hollowed out and sick to his stomach. It was both a sharp reminder of the fate that awaited him, creeping ever closer, and a kick in the teeth that he hadn't managed to find a solution in time for yet another two of his peers.

He wasn't entirely sure when this whole endeavour had become about everyone else, rather than just saving his own skin, but somehow it had. He suspected that might have been Weasley's doing, though he didn't hold her accountable for his grim mood. She was right, of course, as she generally was about most things. This was so much bigger than just him, now.

Level Five was seemingly deserted. He'd dragged himself up here in search of Rose when she hadn't materialised in the Atrium at five on the dot as usual. Most of the desks were in darkness by now, though he spotted the strip of light shining from under her office door and headed towards it.

He stalled, a few metres shy, as his exhausted brain registered the raised voices coming from within.

"He's an arrogant git, Rosie, just like you always said he was. And I don't know how he's managed to slither his way into your life…"

Scorpius' lip curled at the irritatingly familiar accent. When would Finnigan learn to keep his annoyingly handsome nose out of their business, and his grubby mitts away from Weasley? The man was the human embodiment of an unfortunate rash – persistent and unpleasant.

"…happens to be one of the most decent wizards I have ever had the privilege to know…"

Scorpius frowned. Rose's voice sounded high and tight. It reminded him of the way she used to fight with him, back when she'd been a bossy, superior thorn in his side, and he'd been nothing short of a troll to her. He could recognise it now for what it was, a sign that something had upset her. It made his skin bristle and his jaw clench, uncomfortably.

"— cares about the people in his life… doesn't just pretend to out of convenience or to serve his own purposes. He can own up to his mistakes —"

Scorpius strained to catch the words, taking a hesitant step towards the closed office door.

"… He's kind and decent, and clever and funny. He doesn't deserve any of this, and he certainly doesn't deserve criticism from the likes of you!"

He caught the break in her voice at the end of her sentence and swallowed, thickly. The meaning of her words settled over him like a Warming Charm after a December Quidditch match. Earnest and coaxing. He didn't need to hear his name to know that they were speaking about him – he couldn't imagine Finnigan feeling the need to goad her about any of the other men in her life – and he'd be lying if he said that her reaction didn't stoke in him an almost giddy pleasure. Salazar, he'd take every insult the Layabout Leprechaun could throw at him, if it meant Rose jumping to defend his honour every time.

Things fell momentarily quiet on the other side of the office door and Scorpius was just wondering whether it would be considered uncouth to physically press his ear up against the woodwork when he heard Rose's shriek.

"Let go of me, Finnigan —"

Scorpius had his wand at the ready and was reaching for the door handle in seconds.

There was a sound, not dissimilar to the crack of a Beater's bat against a Bludger, and Scorpius froze, staring at the wood-grain. Moments later, Weasley came barrelling out of the room, satchel swinging wildly, and almost smacked straight in to him.

Rose jumped, eyes wide and white-faced, visibly relaxing when she recognised him. Scorpius glanced over her head as the door swung shut behind her, catching a glimpse of a rather worse-for-wear Finnigan with blood all down his front, gingerly prodding his wand to his face.

"Did you —? Merlin, woman… " Scorpius managed, head spinning.

Weasley grabbed him by the front of his robes, dragging him away from the office and bundling him through another door further along the corridor. It took him a moment to realise they were back in their favourite fifth-floor bathroom.

"I think my hand might be broken," she muttered, rather matter-of-factly, running it under the cold tap in an effort to reduce some of the swelling. "I'll need you to take a look at it, if you don't mind? I'd rather not have to answer any awkward questions from some nosey Medi-witch."

She'd punched Finnigan, he realised. Scorpius felt an almost maniacal laugh bubble up within his chest. Just when he thought the woman couldn't delight him any more…

"And I don't think I'm going to be able to help you search the Archives at lunch tomorrow," she frowned at her own reflection above the sink.

Scorpius' brow furrowed, momentarily confused. "What? Why not?"

Rose grimaced then, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "I just got fired."

"…I… Fuck."

"Yes," she blinked, suddenly looking rather shell-shocked, "it is rather inconvenient timing."

Scorpius found he simply couldn't take his eyes off her. He stared at her in silent awe. His head spun with the possibilities of what it all might mean, what he might be able to read into this new development when he lay awake later, staring at the ceiling. Rose was still gnawing over her bottom lip as she reached up to tuck her curls back behind one ear. She was starting to pout, unhappily; it was spoiling his rather fanciful imaginings.

"Now seems like the perfect time to remind you that you actually hated this job…" Scorpius came up behind her, reaching around to cradle her damaged hand.

Rose wrinkled her nose. "I suppose…"

"And I heard the boss was an intolerable wanker, so…"

Her lips quirked up at one side and she glanced at him in the mirror with a glint to her eye that made his blood hum.

"Actually… I think I have a plan," she muttered, wincing slightly as he pressed over her tender knuckles.

"Oh, yes?" Scorpius tugged his wand out his pocket, muttering a few basic pain-relieving charms. "Does this plan involve me levitating any Finnigan sized corpses off of Tower Bridge later this evening? If so, I'll clear my schedule."

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes. "No. Sadly. I just… I just don't think we're going to find Nott's diary in the Archives."

Scorpius arched an eyebrow at the change in direction. "That's the spirit, Weasley. Never give up."

"I'm not giving up, I just… think we need to look somewhere else."

"Don't tell me. There's a secret Ministry library, only accessible by history boffins, and you're just sharing this with me now?"

He finally managed to coax an actual laugh out of her. She was still rather understandably upskittled, he could tell – her breathing wasn't quite even and her smile didn't fully reach her eyes – but it was a start.

"Hogwarts."

Scorpius blinked. Maybe he'd missed something whilst he'd been watching the way her plump lower lip kept disappearing between her teeth.

"I'm sorry? What about Hogwarts?"

She blinked back at him, her brow lightly furrowed. "That's what Jasper said, isn't it? The things they took from Nott Manor, they were either kept by the Ministry or donated to the Hogwarts Library. So, I think that's where we have to go next…"

Scorpius stared at her reflection. She was mad, he decided, utterly and stark raving bonkers. She'd just punched her boss, gotten herself fired, and yet still seemed more concerned with his plight and finding the blasted diary. Shoving the girl into this very bathroom all those months ago was either the best or most dangerous decision of his whole entire life.

"What do you think?" Rose turned suddenly, so her back was towards the sink, and stared up at him, earnestly; blue eyes shining with concern.

Honestly? He was wondering which circle of Hell he might wind up in, if he were to press her back against the porcelain and stake his claim on her mouth.

"Er…" he cleared his throat, inelegantly. "What about your mother? Wouldn't you have to go through her? I thought the two of you didn't get along?"

Rose scrunched up her face, glancing down at her shoes. "It's not that we don't get along, exactly…" she sighed. "Things are a little strained at the moment, that's all. Anyway, I suppose I should be grateful she is where she is, I can't imagine how we'd get access to the castle otherwise."

"Right…" Scorpius was suddenly feeling rather preoccupied. He didn't know what to do with his hands; they itched to reach out and touch her. Given her recent altercation with Finnigan, he supposed she might rather value her space for the moment, so he folded them behind his back to try and resist temptation.

"We could go after the Glenfinnan trip," Rose was still talking, mostly to herself, oblivious to his inattention. "That's only a week away and already half the distance. It wouldn't look suspicious, I shouldn't think."

He must have nodded something of an affirmative, because Rose squared her shoulders, determinedly.

"That's settled, then," she said, firmly, "I'll send my mum an owl this evening."

She made to step away then, to head back out the bathroom door, but Scorpius' disobedient hand reached out, fingertips brushing along her arm. She arched an eyebrow at him, questioningly.

His eyes darted about her face, dangerous words on the tip of his tongue. "…You're incredible, do you know that?"

Rose's lips quirked into a gentle smile of surprise. "Incredibly… annoying? Or perhaps you meant… of incredibly unsound mind?"

He shook his head slowly – "You know what I mean." – revelling in the spots of pink that appeared high on each of her cheeks. "Listen," he frowned, "I don't want you to worry about the job, or money, even. I have plenty enough of that, and the Ministry has plenty of unfilled roles —"

She laughed, lightly. It made something swirl behind his navel. "I think it's safe to say my political career – if that's even what you would call it – has come to a rather abrupt end." She sighed up at the ceiling, "Lest I remind you, I just physically assaulted my direct superior, on Ministry property, no less."

"I can't believe you punched him…" he breathed in amazement.

Perhaps misreading his meaning, Rose glanced down at her shoes, abashed. "He was very deserving of it, if that makes any difference?"

"Oh, I know."

She looked up again, sharply. "How much did you hear, by the way, before I came out of the office?"

It was Scorpius' turn to blush. "Nothing at all…" he said, quickly. "Well, not very much, anyway." Rose arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him and he broke into a sheepish grin. "I might've caught something about it being a privilege to know me…"

Rose immediately flushed scarlet. "Oh, Merlin! Avada me now…" she groaned, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

Scorpius chuckled, reaching for her non-injured hand and lacing their fingers together. "Relax, Weasley. You're absolutely right, of course. It's both a privilege and an honour to make my acquaintance. You're really very fortunate."

She glowered up at him – the only effect being that his grin widened even further.

"Be careful," she muttered, darkly, "or I might start to regret punching Finnigan for you."

"Oh, you punched him for me?" Scorpius teased her, tugging her towards him, under the guise of inspecting her injuries again.

"Well, yes! He really was saying the most awful things about you…"

Scorpius tipped his head to one side, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Things you also used to think about me, I suspect?"

Rose blinked, her blue eyes catching on his grey. "…Yes. I suppose so."

"But not anymore?" he asked, softly.

"…No…" she swallowed, thickly, "not anymore."

Gently, and without dropping her gaze, Scorpius lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over the swollen and bruised knuckles. Rose watched the motion, seemingly transfixed, her breath catching in her throat, pupils dilating.

"Good," he said, at last, "because I don't feel the same way about you, anymore, either."

They stared at each other for a pregnant moment, the only sounds coming from the rapid beat of each of their pulses, and the leaky tap of the far corner sink that evidently no one had bothered to fix in the last three months. Scorpius' gaze roved between the rather delightful blush she was now sporting, to the quick dart of her tongue as it swept out, nervously, to wet her lips. He groaned, internally, and tried to keep his mind from straying to the one thing he wanted to do more than anything; the same thing he always found himself imagining in the quiet darkness of his sleepless nights…

He was barely a breath away from caving in, throwing caution to the wind, messy and emotional be damned, when the damp ring of her eyelashes gave him pause.

When he kissed her – it didn't quite register that his own subconscious had decided that was a foregone conclusion – he didn't want Finnigan living in a far-off corner of her mind. He didn't want even the remnant of tears clinging to her lashes, no matter how bright they might make her eyes shine. He wanted her all for himself, fiery and sure-footed, and ideally without being badly in need of medical attention.

Stepping back – his fingertips still tingling from the warmth of her palm – he offered her a rueful grin, and tried not to get too pre-occupied with the little crest-fallen sigh she gave in return.

"We'd better get you home before Finnigan puts some sort of warrant out for your arrest," he muttered, smile creeping up one side of his face.

"Not funny," Rose griped, though she failed miserably against the twitch of her own lips.

Scorpius scooped up her abandoned satchel, shouldering it alongside his own, and led her back towards the lifts with her hand firmly ensconced within his. As the golden grills shut on them and yet another tumultuous day, Scorpius wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Rose curled herself into his side.

They clung to one another like that, as they descended down to the Atrium, each of them hiding their smile as they stared off into opposite corners.

Scorpius mentally added another item to his ever-growing to-do list: find the diary, break the oath, avoid being implicated in the mysterious disappearance of one Niall Finnigan, and then find a way to tell Weasley he was almost certainly in love with her, ideally without having to admit that he might have been a bit of an idiot, once upon a time.

.

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Next time: Rose & Scorpius learn a thing or two about Health & Safety, and certain sleeping arrangements prove problematic.

ET