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Chapter 3: The Terms

A few days later, the cousins were huddled at a corner of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, reading the hilariously furious letters from the Granger-Weasley household.

Or rather, it was hilarious to the rest of them. Rose found it all quite appalling. She hated to worry her parents.

"I think dad's head exploded," Hugo confided with a straight face, as Albus snatched the letter from his hands. "He should have written the letters in the blood of his sworn enemy, Crookshanks the Second. Really would have drilled his point home, I think."

"Oh, Uncle Ron has the most awful handwriting," Lily said, her eyes alight with mirth. "I can't decide which letter is funnier? The one where he flipped out about Hedge's hand up her skirt, or the one that came right after—"

"Definitely the Malfoy one, dear sister," Albus said with a brilliant grin. "Says here, 'And after the hoohaa with that half-wit Hedge, now you've gone and willingly had a tryst with Malfoy's spawn? This is unacceptable, Rosie! I am fairly sure he's as insufferable as his cocky, bald-scalped, ferret-faced—'" Albus stopped, barely disguising his glee. "Oh, he goes on to describe Mr Malfoy in less flattering ways. I never knew Uncle Ron possessed any sort of vocabulary."

"Passion makes any man a poet," Hugo quipped, his oversized glasses glinting as he shot Rose a knowing grin. With his crinkling doe eyes and boyishly cherubic appearance, her brother resembled the most gentle-natured of lads… a part he played to a tee. Anyone who looked at Hugo would believe him to be the one good apple amongst the devilry of Potters and Weasleys.

How wrong the world was about him, Rose thought wryly. Intellectual, chess wizard, hormone-crazed, and undercover mischief-maker—that was Hugo, through and through. He could put Albus, James, and Fred to shame at a moment's notice… and not get caught for any of it.

Lily smiled kindly at Rose's troubled expression. "Oh, Rosie… It's not all bad. Uncle Ron can't stay mad forever. It's not like your relationship with Malfoy is for real, anyway." She paused. "I mean, if nothing else, he really is handsome."

"He is not," Albus said, the same time Hugo piped up, "I know right."

Albus shot Hugo a disturbed look. "My god, Hugo, I much prefer your taste in women. Who was it the last time? Nancy Gallagher, or something—"

"Who?"

"You have the attention span of a toothpick," Rose retorted affectionately, as Hugo cackled. "Well, Lily's right—this affair with Malfoy isn't permanent. It will keep me scandal-free until he dumps me at graduation."

Hugo and Lily stilled, the humour fading from their expressions. Rose blinked back at them, getting the distinct impression that she had said something very wrong indeed.

"Excuse me?" Hugo snapped, raising an indignant hand. "You never said anything about getting dumped—"

"Nobody's dumping you," Lily cried. "Was this Malfoy's suggestion? Oh, I just bet it was—"

Albus clamped a firm hand on Rose's shoulder. "You. Me. Walk."

Hugo and Lily were on their feet at once, their protests ringing in Rose's ears. But Albus glanced pointedly at them and said, "I need to talk to Rose. You two stay out of it."

"You're boring, Al!"

"The worst!"

Albus ignored them, making for the exit in long, decisive strides. Rose shrugged at her grumbling brother and cousin before following him, swinging her bookbag over her shoulder as she went.

Within the family, Lily, Hugo, Albus and Rose shared a special friendship, but it was Albus that Rose felt most comfortable confiding in. Albus bore a frightening resemblance to her uncle Harry, but their personalities couldn't be any more different. He was free with his smiles and light-hearted in manner, and Rose privately found him to be the more likeable Potter son. Unlike James, who was often carried away by his own cleverness and showmanship, Albus was an authentic soul, and had never let his love of mischief cloud his judgment or dictate his conduct. And while he allowed his siblings and cousins to make their own mistakes, he was often a dependable pillar for all of them when they had to face the consequences.

Which was exactly why Rose found it baffling when Albus scowled childishly at the appearance of Poppy Langdon, who was approaching the entrance of the Great Hall with the Head Boy, Tristan Shacklebolt. Rose beamed at them and waved, but Albus didn't bother to acknowledge either of them, earning him a puzzled glance from Shacklebolt. As the pair of them passed, Rose turned back to Albus with a raised eyebrow.

"Not even a hello now, Al?"

"I'll say hello to whoever I want."

It was incredibly strange, how hostile Albus was towards Rose's best friend. Poppy had long learned to ignore Albus herself, but the mutual dislike had always been a mystery to Rose. Not for the first time, she wondered aloud, "Why don't you like her?"

"For the life of me, I can't understand why you and Lily tolerate her." Albus' usually carefree expression was spoilt by the sulky purse of his lips. "Face it, Rosie. She thinks she's better than everyone else, and the only reason she's nice to you is because you're a Weasley."

Rose huffed in disbelief as the pair of them stepped out into the pale morning sunshine, the grass crushing under their feet. "That's completely untrue!"

"Then explain to me why every single one of her friends and boyfriends have famous last names." He snorted. "On to Shacklebolt now, isn't she? She's an utter social parasite."

"Shacklebolt is Head Boy. What do you expect her to do, ignore him when they're on Head duties?" Rose tucked her arm into her cousin's, stubbornly steering him to match her pace. "And we had a truce over Poppy. Third year, remember? I won't have you being mean to her. She's my most loyal friend."

"Loyal to your fame," Albus muttered.

"Well, I don't deny that she probably was attracted to it when we were younger. She's Muggle-born, what do you expect? It would only help her to have our folk as friends. Well, Lily and me, anyway." She smiled in relief as Albus finally slowed down, his untidy jet black hair curling wildly in the breeze. "And she's still much kinder than your best friend."

"Who also happens to be your boyfriend."

"Who, I'm beginning to discover, is an awfully mean person."

"What, the headlines didn't make it clear enough for you?" Albus glanced at Rose, an amused grin lighting up his formerly cross features. "Mind you, he may have the temper of a madman, but he's certainly not mean."

"He was laughing at Winston Hedge." Just the memory of it was infuriating to Rose. "My god, Albus. If you were there to see it. Hedge had just poured his heart out to me—"

Albus feigned shock, placing a hand delicately on his chest. "Did he now."

"—and Scorpius just laughed about it! Like it all meant as little as a pile of Doxy shit!"

"Well, if we're going to be that specific…"

"You would think that after Georgia rejected him the way she did, he would have a little more compassion." Rose dropped her bookbag to the grass, folding her arms and trying not to fume. "How can someone who looks the way he does be so rotten on the inside?"

"To be fair, it was compassion that got you in trouble, dear cousin." Albus patted her arm, raising his eyes to the shimmering surface of the Great Lake. "Scorpius managed to stay out of trouble for a whole year after that scandal with Plumes, you know. You, on the other hand… how many was it? Seventeen or some great number, and that was just last year."

"Fifteen," Rose corrected sullenly.

"Yes, well, all I'm saying is maybe he knows a thing or two about damage control that you don't. Which is why you picked him, didn't you? Not just because he's supposedly rather dashing?"

"I knew he'd scare off the boys," Rose conceded with a heavy sigh. "I suppose he merely did what I asked him to… even if he wasn't nice about it."

"He's not nice, but he's no dark lord, either." Albus turned to Rose with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Scorpius told me everything. How you said you'd let him redeem his reputation by allowing him to publicly break up with you."

Rose shrugged, kicking a pebble sitting in the grass. "It wouldn't be a bigger deal than getting ambushed in Hogsmeade." She paused, blowing out her cheeks thoughtfully. "I don't know, Al. People still talk about that night, you know… that humiliation with Georgia. I felt really bad for him when it happened. No one deserves to be treated that way."

"And you do?"

"Well, I don't have feelings for Scorpius, so I doubt it'd hurt. And, as far as scandals go… I've never been dumped." She grinned, nudging Albus. "I'm sure he'd prefer to be remembered as the only guy in Hogwarts who managed to dump Rose Weasley."

"It's a better title than He Who Almost Unleashed An Unforgiveable."

Despite herself, Rose felt a twinge of sympathy for Scorpius. "Georgia must have meant a lot to him."

"Oh, don't pity him, you compassionate little fool," Albus said wryly, throwing an arm over Rose's shoulder. "He's better off for it. Plumes was no good for him… if she hadn't cheated on him then, they would have killed each other eventually."

Scorpius was leaning back in a sofa at the library, soaking in the mid-afternoon silence. The impending NEWTs had assured the seventh years of plenty of personal study time, which was what Scorpius preferred. He glanced out the window, spotting a group of younger students having a round of Quidditch on the pitch.

Almost instantly, he longed to join them. Quidditch always took his mind off things.

But for now, this letter.

His mother was the one who wrote him; he could only assume Draco would follow suit next week, after he had exhausted his frustration. Scorpius was close to both his parents—they were a team, he liked to think, and Lucius was the overbearing villain in their story—but he knew it would be difficult for his father to accept that his only son was somehow dating a Weasley.

His mother was, as always, cordial and kind in her correspondence, even if he could sense the trepidation in her questions. Tell us more about this girl, Scorpius. What do you like about her?

Scorpius tapped the quill to his chin.

What did he like about Rose Weasley?

He supposed he could come clean with his parents and simply tell them the truth—that the only thing he had going for him here was the fact that he would get to dump Rose Weasley. It was utterly perplexing, how little importance Rose gave to a kiss and—apparently—to breakups.

Perhaps, he thought irritably, it was this careless, laissez-faire attitude she had towards relationships that contributed to her shocking image in the media.

Hell… maybe even his parents thought the same of her. Scorpius cringed inwardly at the realisation.

"Is this seat taken?"

He raised his eyes to meet Rose's. She didn't look remotely mad at him anymore, just solemn and blue-eyed. The afternoon light poured in through the grey windows, illuminating her red hair and painting her a warm, golden hue. Her headphones were askew at her collar, the faint sounds of a classical symphony cutting through the silence of the library.

Scorpius rested his cheek on his knuckles, gesturing at the empty chairs around him. Oddly enough, she chose to share his seat.

He rested an arm along the edge of the sofa, his limbs spread out like a lazy house cat. Rose, on the other hand, was politely contained, her slight frame taking up a third of the space that he did. Scorpius raised an eyebrow at her.

"I just wanted to say thanks," she said awkwardly.

Well. That wasn't exactly what he expected. Then again, he wasn't sure what one could expect with a girl like Rose Weasley. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought her to be extending an olive branch of sorts.

"For doing what you did with Hedge, I mean," Rose continued, her gaze steely. "I was just a little annoyed that you laughed at him. That was hurtful."

"Someone else had already hurt him," Scorpius said matter-of-factly.

Rose twiddled her thumbs, guilt crossing her features, before finally sighing and leaning back on the sofa. The back of her head rested gently on his outstretched arm, but she didn't seem to notice. Laissez-faire, Scorpius thought sardonically.

"Men are so difficult," she mumbled.

"Tsk. Women are just as difficult."

"Like me?"

"And my mother." That caught her attention. Rose turned her face to him, prompting Scorpius to lift the parchment from the book he had on his lap that was serving as a writing pad.

"She wants to know more about my new girlfriend," he drawled, "and I was just trying to explain to her that she isn't the hussy the media's portrayed her to be—"

"I can help." Rose shifted closer to him, looking more energised than the moment before. "What have you got so far?"

"My girlfriend likes Grindylows. Which isn't helping your case."

"True. But you can't mention Grindylows without also telling her I have a Pygmy Puff."

Scorpius snorted, glancing at her in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I do. Arnold the Third. My Aunt Ginny gave him to me when I was younger. He's pink, and very friendly. Would you like to meet him?"

"No," Scorpius said flatly, but began scribbling onto the parchment.

"Tell her I have great knowledge of creatures."

"I really don't think that will impress my father. He finds creatures of all kinds detestable. Hippogriffs, ferrets…"

"Well, you're besotted with a girl who loves them, so he'll have to deal with it," Rose said indignantly. "And I love Hippogriffs—Buckbeak is a family friend."

Scorpius sighed. "That's sure to win him over… What else?"

"You can tell them you're my first boyfriend ever."

Scorpius paused, looking back at Rose with unmasked surprise. Rose was leaning back on his arm again, her red hair spilling over his sleeve.

"But you've kissed," he said without thinking. The memory of her lips pressed on his had returned to him at full force… he was convinced her sensual confidence had to come from experience, no matter how limited.

"Boys always kiss me," she confirmed, her eyes closed as she recalled the years of ambush. There was a detached perplexity in her tone, as though she couldn't fathom the reason why.

"Didn't you like any of it?"

"Kissing? Well…" Rose slitted her eyes open to look at Scorpius. "I don't know. I've never really cared for it."

That confirmed his suspicions, at least. "So a kiss means nothing to you."

Rose shrugged. "It's just not very interesting, is it?"

Scorpius regarded her carefully, feeling rather taken aback at her indifference. Most people his age would have much to say about this topic, but Rose treated it with all the enthusiasm of an exam question. His eyes fell to the rosebud shape of her lips, so casually planted on his own back in Hogsmeade.

Perhaps if he kissed her again, she would change her mind. This time they would kiss as slowly as he wanted, exploring and probing… He would plunder her mouth, seek out her secrets, tease her with his tongue as she sighed against his mouth…

Maybe she wouldn't be indifferent to that sort of kiss.

Just the thought made the heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Scorpius recognised the signs; he used to live for that sort of passion, used to let it drive him mad with want. It was a divine torment, to long for someone you desired with your whole body—and desire had always come easy to Scorpius.

Hell. He was obviously more sexually deprived than he thought if he was fantasising about Rose while she was just beside him.

Scorpius dragged his gaze away from her mouth, forcing himself to focus on the letter at hand.

"I'm sure my parents will be delighted with this," he said, keeping his voice even. "Let me write it down—Kissing is not very interesting to Rose…"

Rose caught his wrist, the familiar twinkle returning to her eyes. It was the same humour he recognised from that late afternoon in Hogsmeade, just before she kissed him. Her knee rested warmly against his thigh as she shifted his wrist from his lap to her own.

"May I?" Rose said, with a gentle earnesty.

Scorpius wasn't sure what she meant, but she had placed his hand face up in hers, observing the lines and markings in the heart of his palm. She lowered her head, absently tracing the coarse surface with her fingertips, the feather lightness of her touch following the faint branches that led away from the trident lines ingrained in his skin. He had the impression she was studying him the way she probably would an odd creature, her ministrations careful and curious.

"I knew it," she murmured.

"What?" he asked tersely, feeling somewhat hot under the collar, and irritated to notice he was short on breath. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a girl, and the way Rose was doing it, so reverent and tender, brought an unwelcome warmth to his face.

"Your heart line. It's utterly straight." Rose glanced up at him with faint amusement.

"What does that mean?"

"That you're more than a little bit jealous."

Scorpius made a derisive sound, but for some reason made no move to pull his hand from hers. "Any person in Hogwarts can tell you that."

"Oh, but I made this assessment based on Lily's Palmistry textbook. Nothing to do with gossip." Rose held up her own palm. "Mine looks like mountain ridges."

"Does that mean you'll catch the heart of a Sasquatch?"

She was smiling now. "A girl can hope."

Without realising, Scorpius had relaxed into the sofa, her ease of manner chipping away the defensiveness he usually felt around girls. Her nearness stirred something primal within him, cracking through the numbness of feeling he had grown used to over the past year. Scorpius almost felt compelled to close the distance between them so he could take a closer look at her freckles, so generously scattered across her porcelain cheeks. As Rose thumbed lightly along his knuckles, diligently studying the rise of bones and veins under his skin, he suddenly understood why she was so sought after.

It was the utter lack of flirtation that made her curiosity look so delectably innocent.

And if this was the way Rose Weasley was with boys, it was no wonder she was always in a whole lot of trouble.

"No dates," he heard himself say, breaking the silence.

Rose looked up from his hand.

"No bloody love letters. No flowers. No silly gifts."

She recognised the terms. "Right."

"Then," Scorpius said bluntly, "what separates me from a bodyguard, pray tell?"

Rose gently let go of his hand as she considered the question. The loss of contact allowed Scorpius to exhale quietly, though he wasn't sure if it was out of relief… or disappointment. Her headphones were playing another track now, the muffled sounds of a piano concerto filling the stifled silence between them.

Then Rose returned his gaze, a decisive sureness reflected in her blue eyes.

"Well… I'll let you kiss me."