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Chapter 4: The Myth
No girl should ever utter words like that.
And, coming from someone like Rose, it sounded even more scandalous than usual.
At present, the girl in question was seated across the hall at the Gryffindor Table, engaged in a casual game of Wizard's Chess with her floofy-headed brother, Hugo. It was curious that she even bothered. Everyone knew Hugo was prodigious at the game, and was unbeatable on a national level.
Scorpius set down his fork, lowering his resentful gaze to his untouched dinner as the events from a few evenings ago returned to him.
After Rose had said the words, Scorpius had, for the first time since Georgia Plumes, been left speechless by a girl. It was incomprehensible to him, how she had merely smiled in that infuriatingly casual manner of hers… before donning her headphones and traipsing off.
Scorpius had remained stock still in his seat, his mind reeling as he let her nonsensical proposal sink in. On one hand, Albus was going to have words with him if he even thought of taking Rose up on her offer. On the other hand…
He did want her. The admission, when it eventually surfaced, felt like a Bludger to the head. Despite the fact that she wasn't his type particularly, she was still a girl. And quite an attractive one at that. Scorpius had always been weak for girls, for their cloudish scents and graceful curves, for the way they yielded against and under him… nothing caught his imagination more than the swish of a skirt, or the supple skin of a pale thigh.
Bloody hell, girls. They appealed to the most primal of instincts within him, undid his control and made him stupid. Even now, the thought of kissing Rose made Scorpius' blood rush to all the wrong places.
Yet, if she didn't place any sort of significance to a kiss, then why on earth should he?
You know why, came the warning voice in the back of his head. And Scorpius closed his eyes, uttering a low groan.
His tryst with Georgia Plumes had begun in almost the same way—as a meaningless physical affair, until she had, unwittingly, drawn out the worst of his passions. Before Georgia, Scorpius never thought he was capable of that kind of possessiveness. Perhaps, he thought bleakly, it was a mixture of their intense sexual chemistry and her lack of interest in him that had captured him completely. He had always wanted her more, and that alone was enough to catapult his feelings for her into a full-blown obsession.
Though, of course, it was just as likely that he would never feel a thing for Rose Weasley. The girl was taking what she needed from him without hesitation or apology.
Surely he deserved to be equally compensated for her ridiculous scheme.
Well, this was a bloody headache.
"You know what they say… There are two types of girls in this world."
Without hurry, Scorpius opened his eyes in narrow slits. Tarquin had arrived for dinner, wearing an irritating all-knowing expression as he sat himself down across from him. As though sensing Scorpius' vexation, Tarquin grinned, leaning forward in his chair.
"The kind you mess around with," he continued covertly, as though divulging a secret, "And the kind you marry."
"What's your point?" Scorpius said flatly, reflexively glancing back at Rose and Hugo.
"I can already tell," Tarquin continued, a disconcerting glee sneaking into his startling hazel-green eyes. "She's not even half as pretty as Plumes, but you're going to be doubly besotted. Men are always done in by the wholesome ones."
"Since you're the expert," Scorpius said, in an unnaturally calm tone, "then surely you can explain why I waited all these years to declare my love for one of my best friends' cousins."
Tarquin looked at Scorpius in half-disbelief. "Because you've always preferred the girls you can mess with, Scorpius. Especially those in very short skirts, may I add. Rose is sweet, but who's going to mess with her?"
Scorpius gave Tarquin a pointed stare. "Albus would kill them."
"Exactly." Tarquin glanced furtively around him, as though to make sure no one would overhear, then—"So. Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"You know what I mean. Have you kissed her?"
Scorpius scowled at his friend, who was now overcome with laughter.
"Come on, that's the least of what you've thought about, surely. I've thought about her—"
Hell, Rose wasn't even an actual girlfriend, but Scorpius found himself struggling to keep his temper in check. Tarquin must have recognised something dangerous in Scorpius' expression, because he seemed to get the message, bringing their conversation to a close with a sheepish grin. At times like this, it was stupefying to realise that most people considered Tarquin to be the decent one between the pair of them. Of course, Tarquin could effortlessly display the most refined of manners at a snap of his fingers—proof of his impeccable pureblooded upbringing—yet, he often concealed his motives with charm and wit, and seemed incapable of complete honesty with himself or others.
If there was anything Scorpius couldn't tolerate, it was any sort of deceit—a quality that happened to define Tarquin's modus operandi. He was like a brother to Scorpius, but if they hadn't known each other since their diaper days, Scorpius wasn't sure they would be friends.
"Pointless chess contest, though," Tarquin said casually, as he followed Scorpius' gaze over his shoulder. "What do they call Hugo Weasley… The Pride of England, or something like that?"
Hugo looked up from his chess board then, the mild boredom in his chocolate-hued eyes momentarily blinked away when he spotted Scorpius and Tarquin watching them.
Tarquin smiled at him. Hugo reddened and upset a few of his chess pieces.
Albus swept into the Great Hall just then, resembling something like a provoked hurricane. His wild black hair stuck out more than usual, and neither Scorpius or Tarquin missed the tension in his jawline or the heated flush of his cheeks. Albus dropped his Quidditch gloves and broomstick unceremoniously on the bench as he sat down, a manic glint in his bright green eyes as he began to fill his plate with food.
Several moments passed in silence as he stuffed himself, before Scorpius elbowed him none too kindly at the side.
Albus choked on his mouthfuls, giving his friends a puzzled stare as he coughed into his fist.
"Whot," he uttered, his mouth still full of chicken drumstick.
"What the hell happened to you?" Scorpius said bluntly.
Albus swallowed, impatiently wiping his mouth with a napkin. He looked reluctant to discuss the issue, whatever it was, even though it was apparent he was more than affected by it. When Scorpius and Tarquin continued to stare expectantly at him, Albus rolled his eyes and relented. "I think I saw her."
"Who?"
"The Siren of the Great Lake." Albus returned Tarquin and Scorpius' bemused expressions. "I just knew you'd react this way—look, it sounds mad even to me. Roxanne was just telling me about it the other day, about this bloody Mergirl that turns up on the bank on warmer nights. Tonight I happened to see her while I was in the air."
"Maybe someone was skinny-dipping," Tarquin suggested coyly. "It wouldn't be the first time it happened."
"No—I'm pretty sure I saw a tail, glittering green and gold…" Albus seemed transfixed by the memory. "She was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"If it's a Merperson, Albus," Scorpius said wryly, rather disturbed by Albus' dreamy expression, "you should ask Rose about it. She may know something you don't."
"What do I know that you don't?" came Rose's voice.
The boys raised their heads to see Rose approaching the table. She flashed Scorpius a brief smile before glancing back at Albus' awestruck expression.
"Albus thinks he saw the Siren of the Great Lake," Tarquin said helpfully. "Please kindly educate him before he falls in love with a bloody shark."
Rose's lips parted, her breezy demeanor giving way to the knot between her eyebrows. She seemed aghast a moment, then—"Wait, the what of the Great Lake?"
"The Siren." Scorpius watched her intently, intrigued by the minute changes in Rose's countenance. "Your cousin Roxanne told Albus about it."
"The myth's been spreading," Albus explained, reaching for another drumstick. "Roxy told me she's spotted one lying on the bank before. I didn't believe her until it happened to me—"
"Everyone knows Merpeople don't thrive in shallow depths," Rose interrupted. "The nearer they get to the surface, the more likely they are to suffocate. And, most damning of all to your account, Albus… Merpeople are hideous."
"They are not," Albus said stubbornly. "How do you explain the lovely creature I saw just half an hour ago?"
"They're scaly, grey-skinned beings with thick, gilly necks—"
"Rose, I'm telling you—"
"I don't know what you saw," Rose said decisively, "but it wasn't a Siren… or any sort of Merperson. It was probably a skinny dipper."
"That's my theory," Tarquin agreed, as Albus frowned in protest.
"I'm going to the Owlery," Rose continued brightly, turning her gaze back to Scorpius. "Won't you come with me, Scorpius?"
Her open invitation was sufficient enough to distract Albus from the topic of the Siren, and he narrowed his eyes as Scorpius got to his feet to follow her.
"Don't get too friendly, ay," he called, as Tarquin hid a smile behind his goblet.
It was a relief to finally get away from the warmth and bustle of the Great Hall. Outside, the hallways were empty of people, the evening crisp and quiet—perfect conditions for mischief-making or the random rendezvous. Wordlessly, Scorpius had fallen into step beside Rose, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes.
As the sounds of dinnertime faded behind them, replaced by the tap of their shoes and the swish of their cloaks, Rose stole a look at Scorpius. There were hints of a long day in his usually impeccable appearance—his blond hair was rumpled, strands falling over his forehead, and his tie had been carelessly loosened at his unbuttoned collar. He retained a certain elegance about him, but Rose was surprised to find the little imperfections oddly charming on him.
"What's this about?" Scorpius said at length. "Do you really have a letter to send?"
Rose wondered, not for the first time, if Scorpius could ever accept anything at face value. She assumed a straight face. "Why else would I go to the Owlery?"
His tone was sceptical. "You really need my company just to post a letter?"
"You didn't have to come with me."
Scorpius rolled his eyes. "And listen to Al drone on about an imaginary Mermaid?"
"Good point," Rose conceded, grinning up at him. "Although with me you may end up hearing about Murtlaps instead… anyway. I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?"
He didn't miss a beat. "Bad news."
Rose removed her headphones from her collar, hanging them on the strap of her bookbag. "Well, I was playing Gobstones with Blaine Warrington today… and she asked me if we've broken up."
At this, Scorpius arched an elegant eyebrow. "Why?"
"No idea. Maybe because we haven't been seen talking for the last three days." Rose had been amused at Blaine's undisguised interest in her relationship with Scorpius, but she didn't hold it against the girl—she had long accepted that her life would always be a source of entertainment for others. "Time flies for those who gossip, you know. But I suppose we can correct their impression with walks like this one."
They arrived at the foot of West Tower, following the spiralling stairs upward to the Owlery. "And the good news?"
Rose brightened considerably, reaching into her bookbag to retrieve her roll of The Daily Prophet. She straightened out the pages, flipping to the social section before passing it to Scorpius.
Scorpius gave the social page a onceover as they passed one of the tower's windows. "James Potter seen leaving model Hertha Rowle's London apartment," he read, before looking back at Rose, who could barely contain her glee. "Why is this good news?"
"Because for once, it isn't about me. Or you, for that matter." Her laughter echoed across the walls as they stepped into a circular stone room, setting off a series of hoots from the owls nestled in the perches around them. "Oh, they haven't reported on us since that headline a week ago—how brilliant is that? I'm usually mentioned in some unflattering way every other day…" She paused. "Although it's about time James got into trouble. He deserves it."
Scorpius stopped by a patch of moonlight to peruse the article, glancing inquisitively at Rose. "And here I was, thinking you don't have a mean bone in you."
Rose made a face but said nothing more, instead turning away from Scorpius to face the wall of cooing owls. It was, in her mind, pointless to discuss James Potter. Her cousin had always been remarkably self-centred, and had gotten even more so after graduation. It disturbed Rose that girls seemed to find his selfishness attractive… even Poppy, for all her cleverness, had not been immune to his charms, whatever they were.
If there was something Rose couldn't wrap her head around, it was the way certain boys treated girls. As though they were meant to be used, and then disposed of. Perhaps, Rose reflected with a frown, this was another reason relationships could never be appealing to her.
A dragon had more integrity than some men.
"There's nothing worse than a skirt-chaser," Rose thought aloud, distracted by her train of thought as she summoned her owl, Francis. The spotted owl fluttered onto the perch beside her, nipping impatiently at her finger and demanding a treat.
If Scorpius was surprised by her outburst, he didn't show it. "There's nothing wrong with appreciating a woman."
"So you think it's okay to play around with someone's feelings?"
"I never said that." She could hear his footsteps crunch into the straw on the ground as he approached. Rose sensed that her words had rankled him, somehow. "…Although, of course, you will agree with me that it's possible to be physical with someone without ever falling in love with them."
"Like Georgia Plumes," Rose said absently, as Francis nuzzled the back of her hand.
"Exactly." His voice was dangerously soft, and closer than she expected it to be. Without warning, he had lowered his head over her shoulder, the length of his body barely a breath away from her back. Rose felt her breath hitch at his sudden closeness, for a moment forgetting the letter in her hand. Francis hooted suspiciously, surveying them with globular, golden eyes.
His hand was moving down the length of her arm, coming to rest over the back of her own. He wasn't touching her… not quite.
Then, his fingers curled over hers, seizing the letter gently between the digits.
"Scorpius," she uttered at last, unsure of how to react. It felt like an ambush… except it wasn't. Ambushes, as Rose knew them, were abrupt and quick.
In contrast, there seemed something terribly deliberate about what Scorpius was doing.
"Who's this for?" he said softly, his breath warm against her ear.
"Fabian Fawley." The name slipped out before Rose could notice; she was too distracted by the feathery brush of his cheek against her temple.
"He was on our Quidditch team before he graduated. Why are you writing him?"
"He wrote me first, actually." Rose turned abruptly to face him, determined to put some distance between them. "He's in the magizoologist programme that I'm interested in, so…"
There was a mirthless tug in the corner of his lips. "So you two have been bonding over magical creatures."
"I wouldn't call it that."
"Then what do you call it?"
She met his eyes, a defensive reply ready on her tongue… but the words failed her at the pale intensity of his gaze. Not that it mattered; Scorpius wasn't waiting for an answer. Something seemed to click within him then, revealed only by the trace of resigned curiosity in his eyes... Then his hand had come up to cup the side of her head, his forefinger tracing down her jawline before his thumb came to rest in the dip of her chin. The whole moment felt strangely surreal to Rose. It would have been unfathomable to her just a week ago, that she would be standing in a moonlit Owlery with her boyfriend.
And he wouldn't stop touching her.
He shifted closer then, the muted heat of his body filling the arches of space between them. Rose felt the letter crumple under her grip… Yet Scorpius refused to let up, his fingers now running leisurely into the feathery nape of her neck, nestling within the strands of her red hair, taking his time as he explored her... Rose could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin even as he drew her to him, his head angling towards hers ever so slightly.
"Pygmy, Doxy, Imp, and Sprite," she whispered, a sudden panic filling her chest.
A slow, knowing smile curved into Scorpius' lips.
"Fwooper, Serpent, Cockatrice…"
"Nervous?" he murmured.
"Very."
"So you recite the names of beasts every time a boy tries to kiss you?"
"No," Rose said, frozen still despite a telling redness rising up her cheeks. Something about Scorpius' closeness was making her warm under the collar, and it was unsettling her. "Only with you."
"Why's that?" he asked, a gentle thumb running down the column on her throat.
"Because none of them ever take so long to kiss me." Rose squeezed her eyes shut. "If you're going to do it, I'd prefer if you make it quick."
"Why? I prefer to take my time."
He was teasing her, and it was unbearable. Rose couldn't identify with this situation, couldn't remember ever flirting with anyone or being this affected by their presence. In face of Scorpius' obvious sensuality, she felt overwhelmed by a frightening awareness of what she was in her own skin... a young woman, standing before a very attractive man.
She had always been approached by boys who clamoured for her, each one begging for her attention with brief, desperate kisses.
Scorpius Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed absolutely sure of his effect on her. And here she was, completely mesmerised... It was absurd, and utterly unlike her. Rose shook her head, as though to shake off the spell.
Then, as suddenly as he started it, he stepped away from her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but he looked rather short on breath himself. Rose inhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down as the crisp air reached her expired lungs.
"I'm not going to kiss you," Scorpius said at last, his gaze intent on hers. "Unless you want me to."
"I already said I'd let you."
"It's not the same thing."
Rose let out a shallow laugh, and suddenly she felt unable to meet his eyes. All she wanted was to put some distance between them, to forget this strange night ever happened. And, most of all, she longed to return to the safety of being her studious, oblivious self... the one who preferred Gnomes to boys.
Behind her, Francis cooed in confusion.
"Thanks for walking me here," Rose said lightly, trying to sound as though nothing had occurred between them at all. "I can make it back to the common room myself."
She hurried out of the Owlery before he could reply, her steps sounding urgently against the walls as she hightailed down the tower. It was only when she arrived at the Gryffindor common room that she realised she had forgotten to mail out the letter to Fabian Fawley.