A/N:
Hey, look! An update!
And a longer one too.
As promised, this chapter picks up directly where chapter nine left off.
What can you expect in this?
Lots of toxic ScoRose arguing, yay!
Well… NOT yay, but it's all part of the journey :).
As always, please Read and Review! I really do appreciate your reviews, even if I don't always respond to them. I've noticed a few consistent readers that will come back and leave review for every single chapter, and I cannot express to you how much that means to me. Seriously, y'all make my day brighter.
Trigger Warning(s): violent language, depictions of mental illness
Love,
Everlasting Faerie Light
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
~~Later July 2032, Malfoy Manor in Scotland, Present Day~~
Rose doesn't like side-along apparition.
If she's being completely honest, relying on another person to successfully and safely transport her physical body from one place to another terrifies the living shit out of her.
As a result, she always insists on being the initiator of the spell, rather than the passenger, and most people are more than happy to oblige her neurotic need for control.
Needless to say, Rose is petrified to find herself being stuffed into a galactic inner tube created by none other than Scorpius Malfoy.
Even when the earth beneath her feet flattens to a standstill, Rose keeps her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped firmly around the only thing grounding her to this dimension—
…that thing being Malfoy's arm.
A rush of cool, pine-scented air suddenly fills Rose's lungs, and her eyes flutter open to take in the bright blue sky above her for just a split second.
It's too bright. Too blue.
Even for a summer evening.
So she turns her head away from the sky and to the person standing so close to her that she can feel the warmth of his body heat seep through the fabric of her shirt.
Malfoy looks down at her with a pair of molten silver eyes, and Rose notes that due to their close proximity, she can see flecks of bright gold dance across his irises.
Her breath hitches.
For a heart-stopping moment, she forgets how to move.
Malfoy breaks eye contact with Rose to glance at their interlocked arms. A wicked smirk slowly makes its way onto his lips.
"Are you trying to give our coworkers the wrong impression, Weasley?" he inquires innocently.
Rose blinks a few times before dropping Malfoy's arm like a timed pipe bomb. She scrambles away from him with a feral snarl on her face.
But before she can scream a plethora of expletives at the infuriatingly handsome bane of her existence, Rose feels at least four or five other pairs of eyes on her.
Her heart almost stops.
And that's when she realizes that she and Malfoy have suddenly appeared in the middle of his fancy-ass Quidditch pitch together for the rest of the team to see, and now all attention is focused on them.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Careful to avoid all eye contact, Rose lowers her head and hurriedly stumbles off to the side of the pitch, and away from the glare of the spotlight that seems to illuminate Scorpius Malfoy in all of his fucked up glory.
With burning cheeks and an unexplainable pang of embarrassment, she attempts to blend in with the rest of her coworkers by nestling herself next to Harrison Lockridge, the bookkeeper for the Quidditch division.
Though she keeps her eyes on the green grass at her feet, she can feel Lockridge's calculating stare from behind his wide-rimmed spectacles.
She grits her teeth.
It takes everything in her not to hex the tosser right then and there.
Calm down, Rose. Nobody knows.
Exhaling through puckered lips, she chances a glance upwards, only to catch sight of a fuming Olivia Orford.
Jealousy does not suit the woman.
Her usually voluptuous lips are pressed tightly together to form a thin, sallow slit. Her wide green eyes have transformed into soulless, black chasms as they fixate on the redhead with intense dislike.
Rose quickly averts her gaze, her stomach roiling unpleasantly.
She understands that there is no valid reason to feel uncomfortable, let alone, guilty about apparating to the middle of the quidditch pitch clutching Malfoy's arm like some wanton damsel-in-distress.
After all, Olivia Orford is the one with the audacity to act like a jealous bitch over a man that isn't even hers.
Since she started working at the ministry, Rose has done absolutely nothing but maintain a barely passable, professional relationship with Scorpius Malfoy, aka her boss.
So then… why does the look of unadulterated jealousy on Olivia's face make her feel guilty?
And why does Olivia's possessiveness of Malfoy annoy the ever living fuck out of her?
Rose clenches her fists.
Her palms are clammy.
She can feel the gnawing heat of the sun scorch the back of her neck.
Not right now.
Not yet.
"Good evening, everybody." Malfoy's face betrays no emotion as he addresses the team. "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to see your lovely faces after so many dreadful eons apart."
Somebody to the far right lets out a derisive snort.
The corners of Malfoy's lips turn up into an amused smirk at his own wit.
Rose can't help but scoff.
What a fucking dickhead.
"I would like to apologize for my tardiness. I did not plan for nosy, directionally-challenged employees barging into my quarters unannounced."
His silver eyes fixate on Rose as the word unannounced leaves his lips.
In fact, everybody is now staring at Rose.
And they're laughing at her.
Her stomach drops.
The bastard has once again successfully placed the unwanted, embarrassing attention on her.
For a few seconds, all she can do is gape at Malfoy like a goldfish as he stares back at her with an infuriatingly smug expression etched on his stupid face.
The sun is just so fucking hot. Her palms won't stop sweating as she clenches and unclenches her fists. Her shirt sticks mercilessly against her damp, freckled skin.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can make out Emery Davidson's smirk as he stares at her unashamedly— a look on his face similar to that of a snotty, spoiled child receiving an arseload of candy.
It's so fucking bright outside.
Too bright.
And there are too many people.
Fuck all of these people.
Rose throws her head back and laughs.
I'll give them something to laugh at.
While she understands that it is never a good idea to openly discuss compensation with or around one's coworkers, especially when it comes in the form of a secret bonus, OR publicly shame one's boss in front of said coworkers, Rose doesn't give a flying fuck.
Not when it's so fucking hot outside that she feels an overwhelming urge to take everybody's broomsticks, and shove them so far up all of their arses that they'll never be able to sit properly again.
Not when her palms are sweating, her heart is racing, and her stomach is gurgling in a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety.
Not when Emery Davidson has the audacity to stand there looking like a pompous prick after attempting to low-ball her, and leaving her all alone to be swallowed by the Manor.
Not when Scorpius Malfoy has once again thrown her under the bus for no other reason other than to make her look like an idiot— or as he so gracefully put it— the nosy, directionally-challenged employee.
"Y'know, Malfoy," she growls, her lips turning up into a malicious smile. "I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the fact that you sent Davidson over to bribe me with a forty galleon bonus to join your pathetic team today."
A part of her almost regrets it.
Keyword: almost.
The smug expression on Malfoy's face immediately disappears.
Her words create a ripple effect amongst the coworkers present in less than three seconds. Everybody starts to mutter amongst themselves. Glances are exchanged before they transform into accusatory glares directed at both Malfoy and Davidson.
"You paid her forty galleonsjust to play on the team?!"
The outraged voice of Olivia Orford grates against Rose's ears like a saw.
What a surprise.
The taller woman advances towards Malfoy with clenched fists, her flashing green eyes filled with a mixture of rage and betrayal.
"How could you do something so unprofessional, Scorpius?"
There are murmurs of agreement amongst the other coworkers.
Rose furiously rubs the back of her neck, her fingernails leaving prominent red marks along her sweat-covered skin.
Her chest starts to constrict dangerously.
She knows that she should count backwards from ten like her mum always told her, but she cannot bring herself to do it.
Instead, her glare zeroes in on the infuriatingly beautiful department recruiter.
"You know what else is fucking unprofessional, Olivia?" Rose word-vomits with relish. "Shagging your married superior during office hours."
A collective gasp erupts from the rest of the team.
"Oh shit!" exclaims Mildred O'Rourke, her buggy eyes popping out of her skull.
Davidson's mouth hangs open in shock.
Harrison Lockridge looks like he wants nothing more than for somebody to avada him on the spot.
Olivia's eyes widen in outraged disbelief as she repositions herself to face the younger, shorter Weasley.
"What did you just accuse me of, you stupid little bitch?" she hisses in a voice chalked with pure, unadulterated fury.
The simmering heat from the sun hangs stagnant in the summer air.
Rose's eyes follow Olivia's fingers as they graze across the handle of the wand sticking out of her pocket.
She can see that familiar fire in the older woman's eyes… a fire fed with an overwhelming desire to hex the ever living shit out of the persistently petulant Weasley.
"You heard what I said," deadpans Rose.
It appears that behind her professional, cool, and collected exterior, Olivia Orford houses a hot temper with a very short fuse.
So short a fuse, in fact, that Rose doesn't have time to register the flash of red light erupting from the end of the older woman's wand.
She does, however, register another blinding flash of light that deflects Olivia's hex in a rush of colors before dissipating, leaving behind a gaping crowd of onlookers, and an absolutely livid Scorpius Malfoy.
His charcoal gray eyes mercilessly slice into Rose's flesh like a knife.
She feels as if an iron fist is slamming mercilessly against the inside of her sternum, just itching to jump out.
"Orford," Malfoy barks in a cold tone, his eyes never once leaving Rose. "I have a zero tolerance policy for all non-Quidditch related violence on the pitch. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
What the actual fuck.
Rose is absolutely gobsmacked. And judging by the look on all their faces, so is everybody else.
For a harrowing few seconds, all is still and silent apart from the crickets' summer evening hymn.
Olivia blinks a few times, her mouth open in disbelief as a frightening array of emotions ranging from rage to grief flash across her pretty face.
"You can't be serious," she finally chokes out.
"You heard what I said," he quips back coldly.
Mildred O'Rourke lets out another incredulous gasp.
Though his cold words are directed at Olivia, Malfoy's penetrating stare is fixated on Rose, and she cannot bring herself to look away.
Everybody is watching you.
Her breath hitches as a familiar heat travels up the length of her spine.
"B-But… that's not fair! She started it, Scorpius! She's a psychotic attention-whore, and everybody knows it!"
Olivia looks on the verge of tears, her usually beautiful face crumpled up in a manner reminiscent of Rose's mum's late cat Crookshanks. Her usually sharp and clear voice shakes and warbles with a mixture of disgust and hurt as she gesticulates wildly with her clenched fists.
The stark contrast between the usually austere Olivia Orford and this shell-shocked, distraught version makes Rose's insides squirm unpleasantly.
Everybody is watching you.
Malfoy finally breaks his gaze with Rose to look at the older woman, an impassive expression on his face.
"Words are merely words. You raised your wand with the intention to use magic to harm another player. You know the rules, Orford. You're off the team."
"Scorpius, please…" she tries again.
"Davidson," Malfoy mercilessly cuts her off.
A visibly uncomfortable Emery Davidson turns his head from a stricken Orford to look at an emotionless Malfoy before responding with an awkward, and barely audible, "Yes?"
"Please ensure that Miss Orford makes it back to the floo safely. The manor is especially restless during the early evenings and I don't need anybody else being swallowed up by it."
Olivia looks as if she has just been slapped in the face. Her face is pale with shock, and her eyes glisten with the threat of unshed tears.
Everybody remains silent.
Davidson awkwardly motions for Olivia to follow him before he starts walking towards the exit located at the other end of the pitch.
But Olivia doesn't budge.
Instead she glares daggers at none other than Scorpius Malfoy, who has the audacity to look very unperturbed by his surroundings.
"I am reporting you to the wizengamot for gross and unprofessional favoritism, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy lets out a dark chuckle, his lips curling up into that characteristic smirk of his. "It is well within my rights as head of the department to issue bonuses or additional compensationto whomever I please, as long as the reason resides within the boundaries of departmental affairs. I can assure you that your report will go unprocessed; but go right ahead if you feel the inclination to do so."
Another flash of hurt crosses Olivia's stricken features at his words, but she doesn't humor him with a response. After a final death glare reserved only for Rose, she turns on her heel and stomps after Emery Davidson through the exit.
Rose almost feels sorry for her.
After another beat of silence in which the world holds its breath, Malfoy finally addresses the rest of the team with that dark smirk still etched on his stupidly handsome face.
"Since we have wasted so much time already, let's get right to it. I want everybody to mount their brooms and give me a five lap warm-up around the pitch. And you-"
Rose freezes as Malfoy's long, slender finger lands on her. Something flashes behind the darkness of those charcoal gray eyes as he beholds her, his stare halfway between an icy glare and a gentle gaze.
She swallows the nervous lump in her throat.
"I need to talk to you. Outside."
Despite the almost mocking smile on his lips, his voice suggests that he is the opposite of happy, and it is all Rose's fault.
But then why did he protect me?
Did he actually protect her though?
He blocked Orford's spell.
Because of his zero tolerance policy for violence on the pitch. He said it himself.
Don't kid yourself, Rose.
In a rustle of movement, the other team members start mounting their brooms. She can feel their wandering, curious eyes flit between her and Malfoy, and she doesn't like it one bit.
Nevertheless, Rose readjusts the broom on her shoulder and wordlessly follows Malfoy out through the exit of the pitch, her eyes trained on the back of his neck.
Never mind the nervous squirming in her stomach.
And the fluttering anticipation surging up her dry throat.
She refuses to let Scorpius Malfoy intimidate her.
Even if he is her boss.
…and she did just purposefully out him in front of his employees out of sheer spite for paying her, and only her, an extra forty galleons.
Shit.
As soon as they pass through the exit, Malfoy veers to the immediate left and turns to face Rose, a dark expression clouding his aristocratic features.
Despite her racing heart and squirming stomach, Rose cannot help but note the majestic nature of the distant mountains marking the horizon, which are speckled with a mixture of lively green and sun-soaked gray- both hues of color that seem to highlight the visceral intensity swarming within Malfoy's eyes.
He lets out a dark chuckle, before pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration, his eyes fluttering shut as he shakes his head in distaste.
"You just love to test my patience, don't you Weasley?"
The sound of his condescending, authoritative voice ignites something familiar within Rose- that something being a special brand of petulance that she only ever displays at full-force when interacting with Scorpius Malfoy.
"You fucking deserve it," she snaps venomously. "You always do."
At that, he throws his head back and laughs even louder, his voice taking on a borderline hysterical tone.
When he recovers, he fixates Rose with one of those spine-chilling Malfoy glares, his lips curling into a sneer.
"I gave you, and only you, a forty galleon bonus, expecting absolutely nothing in return but your peaceful cooperation," he spits through gritted teeth. "What, in Merlin's name, justifies you to publicly embarrass me AND our department recruiter for no reason?"
"For no reason?" she shrieks in response, taking an impulsive step towards the bane of her existence. "That's fucking rich, coming from the dipshit that couldn't even go one full minute without humiliating me in front of the rest of the team."
Malfoy mimics her, taking a step forward and further closing the space between their bodies.
"What the bloody hell are you even talking about?" he hisses.
Rose refuses to break eye contact with him despite her erratically beating heart.
An all-too-familiar heat prickles the back of her neck, and she's finding it increasingly difficult to control her breathing.
"Why don't you figure it out by yourself? I'm sure that it would kill you to ask for any help from the 'nosy, directionally-challenged employee.'"
The words tumble out of her mouth in a heated, overstimulated frenzy of building rage, which is further fueled by their close proximity.
A look of flat disbelief engulfs Malfoy's face as he beholds the blotchy-faced, overly freckled Weasley, her fiery hair growing frizzier by the second.
"Are you serious?" he deadpans, a chilling undertone lurking beneath the surface of his voice. "You attempted to tarnish my professional reputation over a bloody joke?!"
It's Rose's turn to emit a borderline hysterical laugh.
"Oh, don't give me that crock of bullshit, Malfoy. You just love to take the Mickey out of me, don't you?" she yells, her voice surprisingly sharp and solid despite the wild warbling in her bosom.
Along with the steadily building rage creeping along the edges of Rose's psyche comes a sick feeling of being punched in the gut.
"You know that I hate side-along apparition, and you know that I hate being the center of unwanted attention." Her voice almost shakes, her cold blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "So why the fuck would you apparate us to the bloody middle of the pitch, so that everyone and their MUM can cook up an arseload of ridiculous assumptions about us…"
"Assumptions?" Malfoy tries to cut in, but Rose relentlessly plows on despite the unbearable way her shirt sticks to the back of her neck.
"…and then embarrass me in front of everyone? If you said that I'm an angry cunt, or a bitch with serious mental health issues, then at least you'd be right. You called me nosy and directionally challenged. You fucking know that both of those things are NOT true!" With tense fingers, she grabs fistfuls of her curly hair, pulling it out of the tight ponytail she had styled it in. Another hysterical laugh erupts from her lips.
The jarring sound cuts unevenly through the peaceful hymn of evening crickets.
Malfoy is frozen as he observes the girl unraveling before him, an unreadable expression on his face.
Her breathing grows shallower by the second.
"You knew. You fucking knew all of these things about me, and you still had the audacity to make me look like some pathetic, half-brained idiot in front of everyone. It's like Hogwarts all over again!" Rose damn near wails, the heat in her chest building to a climax as she gesticulates wildly with her hands.
Fresh beads of sweat form along her hairline, causing stray curls to stick to her forehead.
She hates that Malfoy can just stand there with that deplorably blank expression on his face. Like he doesn't know what the hell she is talking about.
"You sure did a great job of making me feel like the bloody scum of the earth back then. You just can't get enough, can you, Malfoy?" she growls viciously, reaching out to jab his chest with her index finger. "You just love to hate me. You fucking HATE me, dont you?! I wanna hear you say i-"
Her hysterical rambling and borderline violent gesticulating is cut short by the swift, and graceful movement of Malfoy grabbing her wrist with all the skills of a professionally trained seeker.
Rose stiffens. For a split second, she completely forgets how to breathe.
Her eyes fixate on the long, slender fingers wrapped firmly around her right wrist. His grip is tight enough to where she's almost losing circulation in her hand, but not quite.
The bright blue sky starts to look a little less bright.
The merciless, but magnificent sun finally makes its way down toward the horizon.
"I don't hate you."
His voice is low—sharp enough to where she cannot misunderstand him, but soft enough to suggest… sincerity?
Surely not.
He remains expressionless to the naked eye, but Rose catches the subtle flicker of something else flash across his face.
But it's gone in less than a second— a mere blip in their sallow coexistence.
She rips her wrist out of Malfoy's grip, a snide look on her face.
"I don't believe you."
Her voice is barely above a whisper- a subtle murmur vibrating in the electric space between them.
It is once again silent apart from a piercing, but distant bird song cutting through the lazy summer hum.
After a tense few seconds in which the two unblinkingly stare at each other with hard expressions, Malfoy sighs.
He looks defeated.
"Weasley…it really wasn't my intention to publicly humiliate you. I made a joke in bad taste, and apologize for the miscommunication. I mean that sincerely."
Unable to help herself, Rose emits a derisive snort.
She's still angry. Really fucking angry.
"Oh, don't even try," she sneers, crossing her arms. "I'm the only one who's actually good at Quidditch here. You're just trying to butter me up so that I won't walk out on your stupid fucking ego trip. Apology not accepte-"
"FUCK!"
Rose jumps in shock at Malfoy's unexpected, and volatile outburst.
He suddenly looks like a man possessed, his silver-gray eyes morphing into dark slits of rage as he grabs fistfuls of his own tousled blonde hair in agitation.
"What in Merlin's fucking name do you WANT from me?!" he roars, dropping his hands from his head and fixing his attention on the object of his anger— aka: her. "I mean, what the fuck was I even thinking?! I don't even know if I can do this with you. You're absolutely insufferable!"
Rose cannot move. Her limbs are weighted down with lead. Her lips are glued shut, pressed firmly together— a wall for the onslaught of words her brain cannot seem to coherently string together.
Just like her, he is unraveling.
And all she can do is silently observe.
And listen.
"I know that I handled things badly on your first day," he rants, words tumbling swiftly and uncontrollably out of his mouth. "Even though you said and did everything under the sun to piss me off, my behavior was absolutely unacceptable as your supervisor, and I take full responsibility for that."
Rose watches intently as he lifts his left hand and rakes his fingers through his platinum blonde locks in agitation.
His eyes are fixated on something fascinating just above her left shoulder— or maybe he just cannot bear to look at her right now.
"I even felt guilty about it for the next few weeks. So, I decided to discreetly recruit you to this team under the guise of a bribe to make you feel more welcome in the department. You're one of the greatest beaters in modern history, and what better way to break the ice than a riveting game of Quidditch with your bloody coworkers?"
Malfoy finally decides to make eye contact with her again, and takes another daring step forward, a venomous look on his (regrettably handsome) face.
They are within mere inches of each other, and Rose's brain starts short-circuiting at the distinct smell of his cologne.
But she refuses to move a single step backwards.
And he is just as relentless as she is.
"So why the bloody fuck can't you just accept my fucking apology, Weasley? Huh? I'll tell you why. It's because you-" he points an aggressive index finger at her- "get off on being a miserable bitch, and you just have to bring everybody else down with you. You need to stop turning benign situations into malignant shitstorms, and GROW THE FUCK UP!"
Rose blinks.
Once. Twice.
Her brain struggles to process so many factors— from Malfoy's cutting words, to his close proximity and the smell of his cologne— that it initially draws a blank.
The earth stops spinning, and the air around them becomes still— stagnant. Hot.
And then everything, all at once, slams against Rose like a brick wall.
Her face crumples up in fury, and her merciless blue eyes narrow in on her target, who still refuses to back the fuck up out of her personal space.
"I'm the one who gets off on being miserable?! HA!"
She throws her head back to emit a cruel laugh.
"It really is fucking hysterical that you see me that way, especially when YOU-" she once again jabs her finger into Malfoy's sturdy chest with as much ferocity as she can muster. "-are having sex with Olivia Orford in your bloody office just to get back at your disgusting whore wife. The least you could do is be nice to the woman you're using as your latest cum rag, but you treated her like dogshit in front of everybody."
Rose swears she sees remorse flash across Malfoy's face… but in less than a second, it vanishes, and she's forced to chalk it up to her imagination.
"I really do have a strict zero-tolerance policy for non-Quidditch related violence on my pitch," he deadpans. "I didn't kick her off the team just to be an asshole. She knew the rules, and she deliberately broke them."
"Save it," Rose cuts him off brutally, his frigid input somehow angering her even more. "You're always making excuses. You are the most emotionally-stunted, self-deprecating piece of shit I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and you'll NEVER fucking change."
With fiendfyre roaring in her eyes, and a rabid beast clawing at her chest, Rose gets on her tiptoes and leans up so that she is almost nose to nose with Malfoy, whose head is bent at an angle so that those cruel, molten eyes can devour her overly-freckled face.
"You disgust me," she sneers, her voice barely above a whisper.
The swirling air in the few centimeters of space between their bodies crackles aggressively.
"Go fuck yourself," he hisses back, the tone of his voice matching hers.
"Errrr… am I interrupting something?"
Rose immediately jumps backwards at the sound of Emery Davidson's voice only a few feet away from them.
Fuck.
She feels the heat pool in her cheeks as Davidson surveys them with suspicious eyes.
"Not at all," Malfoy responds without so much as a quiver in his stone cold, aristocratic voice. He's still glaring unashamedly at her. "Miss Weasley and I were just finishing up our little chat. I trust that you safely and successfully accompanied Miss Orford back to the floo?"
"Yeah. She didn't go quietly though. I reckon you'll have a rough day tomorrow," Davidson replies awkwardly. His attention fixates on Rose.
She clenches her fists.
Just don't look at him.
"I'll deal with her in the morning," says Malfoy in a self-assured voice that makes Rose want to kick him. "So, shall we return to the pitch? The lot should be done with their five laps by now."
"Right…yeah, sure," Davidson agrees, still looking far more suspicious than he needs to be looking.
Rose wants to sock him in the face.
Prat.
She trails begrudgingly behind Davidson, who's walking closely behind Malfoy— the three of them in a straight line as they re-enter the pitch.
Rose's eyes trail around the idiot in front of her, and fixate on the white-blonde locks of hair that brush the top of Malfoy's neck.
Her heart hammers against her chest.
Why is it that when she and Malfoy fight, they usually end up within mere centimeters of each other?
You know why.
Rose shakes her head.
Not now.
Not yet.
On the other end of the gargantuan pitch, the three other players hover on their broomsticks near the goalposts, all chatting amongst themselves animatedly.
At least they all seem comfortable enough to fly a broom. No one is trembling, whimpering, or sliding off the end.
Once they reach the middle of the pitch, Malfoy points his wand at his throat, and mutters a quick "Sonorous!"
"I want everybody front and center," he calls out in a magically amplified voice, immediately capturing the attention of everybody present.
Mildred O'Rourke, Harrison Lockridge, and the seemingly silent Tessa Adamson (who manages the 'Wizarding Human Resources' sector for the Quidditch Division) exchange looks before flying their brooms to the center of the pitch at varying speeds.
Despite her reeling mind, Rose cannot help but scowl as she looks at Mildred's shitty posture. She can only hope that she isn't one of the beaters. Or Merlin forbid a keeper.
Not with those scrawny arms.
Malfoy de-amplifies his voice with a swift flick of his wand, and addresses the whole team (minus one player thanks to Olivia's termination) now gathered at the center of the pitch.
"So we are going to play a mock game of Quidditch with three players to a team. Of course, we won't have enough people to cover all of the basic positions, so we will eliminate the snitch as a factor for today, and focus only on scoring, defending, and dodging. Weasley-"
Rose's eye twitches at the sound Malfoy barking out her last name. She bites her bottom lip to prevent something inappropriate from tumbling out of her mouth, and silently addresses him with a grudging nod.
He smirks.
Bastard.
"-you'll be a beater, Davidson will be a keeper, and O'Rourke will play as chaser. That is Team One."
"Um… excuse me? Do I have to be a chaser? I'd really prefer to be a beater," Mildred cuts in with a sour look on her face.
Rose cannot help but scoff loudly at this.
Mildred O'Rourke? A beater?
She barely has enough girth to be a fucking seeker, and seekers are generally pretty small.
Malfoy seems to share Rose's sentiment. He fixes Mildred with a flat look.
"Absolutely not," he deadpans.
Mildred's cheeks redden as she attempts to argue with him: "But that's not-"
"No."
Malfoy says the word with such frigid finality, that nobody else can pluck up the courage to speak up in Mildred's defense.
Maybe it's because they all agree with Malfoy that O'Rourke would make a rubbish beater.
Or, maybe it's because everybody is too intimidated to challenge him.
After another beat of stony silence, Malfoy continues on his spiel as if hadn't just ruthlessly shut down one of his employees.
"Team Two will have me as a beater, Lockridge as Keeper, and Adamson as chaser. When we merge as a team for the actual game on Friday, we will keep these positions, except for Davidson, who will also play as chaser. I will recruit a new seeker first thing tomorrow morning."
So Olivia was supposed to be the seeker.
How interesting.
Though, even Rose has to admit that she has the ideal body type for a seeker.
Even if nothing else about Orford screams "Quidditch!"
With another swish of his wand, Malfoy summons a large wooden crate, which comes flying from the stands to the center of the field in front of them.
"I'm going to release all of the balls, except for the snitch," says Malfoy in a clear, pointed voice as he unlocks the crate with his wand, the cover flying open with a distinctive creeaakkk!
He almost sounds condescending.
Like he's talking to a group of toddlers.
Rose doesn't like it.
At all.
She is also still extremely heated from their less-than-friendly conversation only moments ago, and wants nothing more than to smash her knuckles into his face.
But for once, she decides to utilize the little self-control that she has.
Healer Jones would be proud.
With another wordless swish of his wand, the balls are released. Both bludgers immediately shoot upwards before haphazardly flying around the pitch at frightening speeds, just begging to be smacked with a beater's bat.
Rose's heart begins to speed up again.
Malfoy picks the quaffle up and tosses it to a non-suspecting Tessa Adamsom, who barely manages to prevent it from smacking her flat in the nose.
"Now we will take our respective positions, and I will begin the game on the count of three. Does everybody understand me, or do I have to repeat myself?" Malfoy inquires, his voice a languid, borderline sarcastic drawl.
Rose really does want to kick his bollocks for looking like such a pompous dickhead.
"Weasley!"
She barely has time to register the wooden beater's bat propelling straight at her, but she manages to grasp its handle with a firm hand just before it comes careening through her skull.
Malfoy smirks at her, his own beater's bat in hand.
"Good catch," he taunts with subtle relish.
And then he's off in a swift flurry of motion. He mounts his broom and soars upwards into the sky at an eighty degree angle before swooping to a halt several feet above them.
As she mounts her broom, Rose feels a sudden wave of nausea hit her like a sledgehammer.
She hasn't wielded a beater's bat since the grotesque incident with Athena Nott.
She isn't even sure if she is even legally allowed to hold one, given the very violent nature of her crime.
As everybody around her mounts their broom and flies up into the air with ease, Rose remains frozen, broom in between her thighs, beater's bat in hand, and a look of terror etched on her face.
Her fingers around the handle of the bat tighten, knuckles turning white from lack of circulation.
She dares to glance at the top of the bat.
It's covered in blood.
Athena Nott's blood.
Rose releases a strangled gasp before squeezing her eyes shut.
Her head starts to spin uncontrollably.
It's not real. It's not real. It's not re—
"Weasley?"
The sound of Malfoy's voice a mere foot away from her cuts through her psyche like a knife.
She opens her eyes to see him standing on his feet in front of her, his charcoal gray eyes cautious and guarded as he surveys her.
Rose's eyes immediately flit to the top of the beater's bat, her heart thrumming against her eardrums.
No blood.
She lets out a breath.
"I'm not trying to draw unwanted attention," Malfoy says in a voice loud enough for only her ears. "But we're all waiting on you."
Rose blinks once. Twice. Three times.
Her head isn't spinning any more.
The sudden pang of nausea that threatened to overcome her just seconds ago seems to have completely vanished.
But her other four teammates, plus Malfoy are all indeed staring at her with varying degrees of puzzlement, curiosity, and irritation on their faces.
With a sneer, Rose tightens her grip on the beater's bat.
"Then stop fucking staring at me!" she snaps before kicking hard off the ground and soaring up into the sky.
And as the wind rips through her wild mane of curly red hair, one hand gripping the handle of her broomstick, and the other gracefully wielding the beater's bat, Rose remembers exactly why she loves to fly.
Since her termination from the Harpies (and banishment from professional Quidditch in general), Rose had flown her broomstick only once— and that was only to shake off the remnants of a very inappropriate dream she had about a certain silver-eyed someone.
But now, with a real-life beater's bat in her hand, and flying on a real Quidditch pitch, with real players again… it's like she never stopped in the first place.
She wishes she never stopped.
After performing another series of stomach-tingling loops in the air, Rose takes her position on her side of the pitch with a giddy smile erupting on her freckled face, all grievances temporarily forgotten.
Malfoy takes his position back on the pitch.
She's filled with an overwhelming sense of deja-vu.
His eyes find hers, and she swears he sees the hint of a smile there.
But once again, she chalks it up to her imagination, because his expression quickly reforms itself to its default cold stoicism.
He holds up his hand, using his fingers to count down from three. Once he lowers his last finger, signaling zero, everybody is off in a flurry of rapid motion.
A Quidditch game with only three players per team and no seeker can only work so well. Especially for the chasers. With no other teammates to help them out, both Tessa Adamsom and Mildred O'Rourke run themselves ragged trying to constantly steal possession of the quaffle from each other.
Rose quickly realizes that while both girls are very good fliers, they aren't very good chasers. Neither Mildred nor Tessa manage to toss the quaffle through a hoop even once, leaving both teams in a consistent deadlock.
The keepers on each team, Emery Davidson and Harrison Lockridge both look quite bored as they hover in front of the rather neglected goalposts. Davidson attempts to half-heartedly coach Tessa from the sidelines, but his suggestions fall on stubborn, deaf ears.
"Fuck OFF, Davidson. I know how to play Quidditch!" she snaps over her shoulder at him.
"Not that well, obviously," he retorts hotly. "You can't even score a single goal."
Meanwhile, Rose is on fire.
She feels like a freshly-born phoenix as she soars through the air at gravity-defying angles, dodging well-aimed bludger after bludger that Malfoy chucks ruthlessly at her.
Both beaters are locked in their own game, and they only have eyes for each other.
And it's always been like that.
Even on the pitch back at Hogwarts.
Both Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy were made Quidditch Captain of their respective houses during their sixth years. The two also played as beaters from their first through seventh years- making them both the youngest students to be recruited on a Hogwarts Quidditch team since Harry Potter back in 1991.
So whenever Gryffindor and Slytherin were pitted against each other on the pitch, it was a wild, brutal, and strangely cathartic warzone.
After cheekily dodging yet another well-aimed bludger from Malfoy, Rose smirks and flashes him her middle finger.
A dangerous look flashes across Malfoy's sneering face.
"Are you going to dance and dodge all night, Weasley? I thought you were supposed to be good at this."
He is hovering about two meters away from her.
Rose smirks.
She likes that she can still rile him up on the Quidditch pitch.
It's almost like they never left Hogwarts
"Last I checked, you need to fucking aim to be a good beater. You seem entirely incapable of that, Malfoy."
Out of the corner of her eye, Rose sees one of the bludgers careening back towards her at a ferocious speed.
Her fingers tighten around the handle of the bat.
Malfoy's eyes narrow.
"Last I checked, a good beater also needs to actually hit bludgers," he deadpans.
The bludger is closing in on her left hand side.
And Malfoy doesn't even seem to notice.
She was and is the better beater of the two, after all.
Even Madam Hooch admitted it.
"Ooohhh, you mean like this?!" she exclaims with sinister enthusiasm.
With a well-angled, hefty swing of her bat, Rose hits the bludger with an ear-splitting CRACK, and it goes flying upwards and right through the front of Malfoy's broom.
Bingo.
The deafening sound of the wood splintering from the impact immediately grabs the attention of everybody else on the pitch. Malfoy holds on to his broomstick for dear life as he flies down towards the ground in a mess of backflips.
Rose can only watch Malfoy struggle to regain control of his broken broomstick for a few seconds, because out of the corner of her eye, she sees the other bludger hurling itself towards her from the right of the pitch.
She jerks the handle of her broom so that she can face it head on.
Determined to hit the bugger with all of the strength her body can muster, Rose raises her bat and subtly positions it at the perfect angle so that it would go soaring across the pitch. Maybe even knock Lockridge off of his broom if she's lucky.
The bludger is three meters away.
Now two.
Now one.
Rose braces for impact.
She's got this.
Or…at least she does until she sees Octavia Malfoy enter the pitch, her venomous blue eyes fixated on Rose with a look so jarring that she feels her stomach plummet down to the ground.
Why the fuck is she out here?
Everything seems to go in slow motion.
Rose cannot seem to look away from Scorpius Malfoy's sociopathic bitch wife, who seems to be…
… smiling directly at her.
It suddenly hits Rose like a train.
The ear-splitting ringing in her ears, the fog, the confusion…
Her vision melts and swarms before her in a blur of motion.
She can't feel anything.
She can't see anything.
She can't remember anything.
Where am I? Why am I here? Am I supposed to be here? Who am I?
But as suddenly as this bout of disorientation comes, it vanishes, and Rose can see and feel and remember everything again.
But not in time for her to study her surroundings and dodge the bludger currently snapping her outstretched arm in half.
*CRACK*
The sickening sound of the impact echoes throughout the entire pitch.
People start to react. Gasp. Cry. Yell. Scream.
And Octavia Malfoy releases a satisfied breath before discreetly tucking her wand back into the pocket of her robes.