The reviews have been so incredibly detailed and kind—thank you for the Faves/Follows, as well! The plot is thickening, bit by bit… Do leave a note if you enjoyed this chapter :)

Chapter 5: The Game

Scorpius waited, half cloaked in darkness, until the sound of Rose's light footsteps faded away.

He didn't realise he'd been holding his breath. He allowed himself to exhale softly then. The heat on his skin prickled against the stinging chill of the owlery.

The owls seemed to sense the skitter in his chest, meeting its rhythm with insolent hoots. He glanced upward at Rose's owl, and the creature met his gaze with an unblinking arrogance. As though it could see through his very skin, read his intentions through its molten amber eyes.

"You should be worried," he murmured.

The owl cocked its head.

He returned its stare with a quirk of his lips.

He needed a moment; he felt quite light-headed. The intimate encounter with Rose had left Scorpius rather euphoric… the hum of his blood chasing the erratic beat of his heart.

Blast. All he merely wanted was to test the waters. See how she reacted to his advances, if she could truly remain unaffected by him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but surely Rose was moved, ever so slightly, by his closeness.

Scorpius had known his way around the fairer sex for a long time. And he could always, always tell when a girl reacted to him.

No, he decided. He didn't imagine it.

This was the problem with him. Girls undid him so easily, because he was obsessed with the chase. He could never resist a game of catch. And Scorpius always played to win. It was this exact quality that made him an excellent Seeker.

Rose Weasley. It was beginning to puzzle him how he'd never quite noticed her before… the girl who could hide nothing from her little freckled face. Who would sooner sprout the names of beasts than whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

Merlin, she was ridiculous. That too-red hair and swimming cornflower blue eyes. How could a girl be so clueless and yet so tempting? Scorpius had never once looked at a girl with a skirt that reached her knees. They weren't his sort. Too sweet, too much trouble. They always wanted more.

But Rose didn't want more. No matter how attracted she was to him, that much was fact. He wasn't sure what it was that emanated from her. She had seemed a shade terrified, looking somewhat like she was standing in the path of an impending Bludger that was hell-bent on taking her face off.

Him being the Bludger, obviously.

Was this how she was, when boys tried to kiss her? Stiff as a board, anxious as anything. No wonder kisses meant nothing to her. And yet she had declared, so earnestly—

I'll let you kiss me.

It was wrong, he knew. But a pleasant shudder was running up his chest at the thought of those words. All that sweet bravado. His hand came up to his mouth, a chuckle rising in his throat.

Why the devil was he laughing?

Her face when he'd leaned in. Bloody hell.

It was obvious. She couldn't stand to be teased. Had no idea how to handle it.

No clue how to handle him.

All the better.

Idly, he wondered how she would look like in a shorter skirt.

Rather fetching, he supposed, examining the mental picture with more interest than Albus would have allowed.

Oh, he was going to have fun with this one. Bugger the fact that she wasn't his type. It was an odd thing, this. Thinking of a girl and being quite unable to control the warm amusement filling his chest. Simply being with her awoke a primal thrill in him. Lighting up his insides, drawing life in the parts of him that laid dormant for a long time.

Scorpius headed out of the tower and through the hallways, his thoughts cloudish as he made for the Slytherin dungeons. He only paused when one of the stone doors ahead of him creaked open. A silver of light cut into his path.

Poppy Langdon appeared.

Scorpius stood still, thoughts of Rose diminishing as they came face-to-face in the dim hallway. Then, courteously, she nodded to him.

"Malfoy."

"Langdon," he returned.

Albus had always described Langdon in the most unflattering terms. Boring, stiff, straight-laced Poppy Langdon, he liked to say scornfully, who thinks she's above the rest of us mortals. And that was true, for most part. Poppy often wore her light hair in a tight bun, her attire impeccable. She had all the individual features of a girl who should have been classically pretty. The fine, angel-spun hair. Light blue eyes. A prim little mouth. And yet her features, when combined, were hardly distinctive on her. She was somewhat forgettable by Scorpius' standards.

Unlike Rose, he found himself thinking. Whose pretty, lush lips were about to haunt him for nights to come.

Many thought Poppy to be an odd choice of friend for Rose. They were polar opposites. Where Rose was expressive, Poppy was restrained. Even so… there was something different about her tonight. Her hair was soft and loose on her small shoulders. Her robes were slightly askew, as though she had hurried to put them on.

She looked… vulnerable, somehow. More human. And less like the stoic straight-O student the school knew her to be.

Perhaps Albus would have less to say if Langdon looked like this more often.

"You should hurry back," Poppy said, as though it was completely normal for a Head Girl to step out of the Potions Professor's chambers at this time of the night. "It's almost curfew."

"I could say the same for you."

Poppy's eyebrows knotted, ever so slightly. Scorpius didn't know her very well, but she came across as the kind of girl whose expressions rarely gave in to emotion.

"I had to discuss something with Professor Crossley," she said lightly.

"I see," he drawled. "What about?"

"It's not for you to know, is it." Poppy flashed him a polite smile. "You may be Rosie's boyfriend now, but we're hardly friends."

She turned to leave, and that should have been the end of it.

"Wait," Scorpius heard himself say. He couldn't resist the question, sitting at the tip of his tongue since Rose left him at the owlery. "What's Fabian Fawley to Rose?"

Poppy glanced over her shoulder.

"It's rather complicated," she said. "Maybe you should ask her."

"Why is she writing him?"

"Because he has information that we need for our… Grindylow research."

"What's the complicated part?"

"If you're so interested," Poppy said coolly, "you should talk to her instead of me, don't you think?"

Scorpius shot her a mocking smile. "Does she know what you're doing with Professor Crossley?"

The subject seemed to rankle at Poppy. This time, she didn't deign to reply, merely turning on her heel and walking away.

Albus was right about Langdon, Scorpius thought sardonically.

There certainly wasn't much to like about her.

Rose found herself mercilessly occupied the rest of the week. Homework was piling up now, getting in the way of her personal hobbies once more. Of late, she had barely found time to go on her secret walks in the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid had always cautioned her, of course, of the dangers of these mini-expeditions. But Rose hadn't been able to resist the thought of glimpsing odd beasts in the process. In her walks, she had observed from afar the movements of the Acromantula colony, the migration of Aethonan winged horses, and the amusing lives of many a Bowtruckle.

The wilderness was delightful. Since a child, she had considered it her natural habitat.

Within the black and green canopy of towering trees, social politics ceased to exist.

Heaven, really.

Quidditch season was once again in full swing, which meant Scorpius spent most of his time training on the pitch after classes. She had glimpsed him once or twice, effortlessly gliding through the air on his broomstick, screaming instructions to the other players. There was no doubt that Scorpius was influential on the team, even though it was Albus who made Captain. It was plain, to her at least, that he planned to make a career out of the sport.

Busy as they were, they remained on surprisingly friendly terms. She said hello whenever they saw each other, making an effort to speak to him in front of people. It seemed to work. Boys now nipped less at her heels, giving her a freedom that she reveled in.

So it was all going according to plan. Strangely enough. Rose had expected Scorpius to make the whole thing just a little difficult for her. She had been wholly prepared to counter his arguments, to win him over with a list of benefits. But so far, Scorpius hadn't bothered to rock the boat.

In fact, he hadn't been alone with her since the night at the owlery.

Rose blinked at the memory. He wasn't mad at her, was he?

Surely not. It would be petty.

Even though she wasn't sure why he'd be mad at her for anything.

Crikey. Even now, thinking of his closeness sent her cheeks mildly aflame. Not that the encounter changed her opinion of him. After all, this was what was expected of Scorpius Malfoy, whom every girl seemed to take a guilty fancy to. He was a rake. A playboy of sorts. The gossip columns had always maintained the narrative, so it wasn't like she wasn't warned.

Hell, Blaine Warrington had told her as much over their many games of Gobstones.

A panty-dropper, she had called him, much to Rose's amusement.

No. The night at the owlery had only shaken her opinion of herself.

Until he had touched her, Rose had not truly understood what it meant to be intimate. Boys kissed her, yes. And then they let her go. In her mind, it was simply how kisses worked. And that was as far as she allowed it to go.

But with Scorpius, she had an inkling this version of events would not be enough to satisfy him. He was… different, in that he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He carried the air of a man whose desire would not wane with just a chaste meeting of lips. Which, she reasoned, was exactly why he dated Georgia Plumes. Plumes, despite her carefree disposition, was all woman—flowing, silky black tresses, framing a pretty face that was accentuated with a hint of makeup. She was carefully put together, sensuality and refinement in a lovely, long-legged package.

And she matched Scorpius physically, in every way that Rose didn't… or even desire to.

But here he was, stuck with her, whether he liked it or not. For the first time since she hatched the plan, Rose had no clue what this could possibly mean. Or what it was, exactly, that he wanted from her.

If not a kiss, then what?

How befuddling. Perhaps she should have chosen someone else. Someone predictable. And yet, she could think of no one who could intimidate the rest of the school as Scorpius did.

What she did was selfish, yes. But Rose was glad every single day that she'd chosen him.

Guilty as it made her, it was nice to sit in the common room and daydream in front of the fire without the threat of an ambush hanging over her head.

She wondered if he still thought of Georgia Plumes. Whether he was still mad enough to cast a killing curse in her direction. He had, after all, loved her enough to attempt the Unforgiveable.

Love, she mused, is a dangerous thing indeed.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as someone fell unceremoniously into the seat beside her, deftly pulling off her headphones. Strands of music filled the air. "Tchaikovsky?" came Hugo's voice. "Seriously?"

Rose shifted in her seat as Hugo made himself comfortable on the couch. "And what's wrong with Tchaikovsky?"

"Dunno. What's wrong with The Vexed Fairies?"

Rose made a face at the mention of Hugo's favourite indie band. "You know I prefer music without the distraction of badly written lyrics—"

"Nothing sounds purer than the strings. I know, I know." Hugo rolled his eyes good-naturedly, leaning heavily against his sister. "By Dumbledore. Are you really studying? How… unlike you."

"I do want to pass the NEWTs, mind you." Rose looked glumly at her stack of essays. "Magizoology does require a few credits. Besides, can you imagine if I flunked the NEWTs? The papers would have a field day. Mum would never live it down."

"Dad and Uncle Harry would take your side," Hugo said slyly. "They never returned to school for the NEWTs."

"It's different for us, Hugo. You know everyone holds us to impossible standards." She hesitated. "I don't want to let mum down."

"You're incapable of that, I assure you. She loves you more than anything. Quite possibly more than she loves me."

"How can she possibly love her scandal-ridden daughter more than her chess champion of a baby boy?" Rose laughed as Hugo scowled, a red lock of hair falling in his eyes. "You're the perfect son, Hugo. Of course you're her favourite."

"I won't be her favourite once she knows I've got a boyfriend."

Rose blinked at her brother. Hugo burst out laughing at her owlish expression. "Dear Merlin, your face. For a moment you looked just like dad—"

"A boyfriend, Hugo? Since when?" Hugo had always been open about his attraction to both genders, but he had only ever gone public with girls. "And more importantly—who?"

Hugo leaned back on couch, casting a cursory glance across the almost-empty common room. He considered his words carefully, tapping his slender fingers on his thigh in an impatient rhythm.

"I been hooking up with Kirk Vance," he said casually. "Since last month."

"Kirkpatrick Vance?" Rose could hardly wrap her head around the idea of the boisterous Hufflepuff Beater getting it on with Hugo. He was a sixth-year, stocky and broad, and undoubtedly pleasing on the eye. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes wide in wonder as she absorbed this bit of information. "…Bloody hell. I was pretty sure he liked girls."

"That's what they all say." Hugo shot Rose a smug smile. "Then they meet me."

Rose snorted, amused at his arrogance. "Well—does he like you, then?"

"I know so. Men can never hide their attraction to someone, I can tell you that much." He tried not to smile when Rose's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Surely you felt that with Scorpius?"

"Felt what with Scorpius?"

"Sparks. Heat. Tension. The sort you can cut through with a knife. Hanging heavy in the air, like an anchor on your chest… Can't breathe, can't move. Both of you, just standing there and quivering. Like a leaf. Until—"

"Oh, don't keep me in suspense, now."

"Until the kiss. Oh. The kiss. And the weight lifts." Hugo's eyes were dancing now, his shoulders moving to a rhythm only he could hear. "Voila. Bliss."

Rose tried to suppress her grin at Hugo's attempt at poetry. "It sounds utterly unbearable."

"It is. Love is the most wonderfully unbearable thing. Any day now, he's going break up with his girlfriend, and—"

"He has a girlfriend? Oh, Hugo."

Hugo returned her gaze, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. "You don't... you don't think he's lying about it, do you?"

"Well, I…" Rose took his arm, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You never know with these things." She paused, trying to find the right words. "James said the same to Poppy, and he didn't—"

"Kirk isn't James," Hugo cut in, suddenly irritable. "You don't even know him, Rosie."

Rose winced. "Of course. I just—you know what I meant."

A silence fell between them. Rose swallowed, feeling sorry. And yet, not quite able to shake off the feeling that Hugo was in for a crushing disappointment. When it came to any sort of equality rights, the wizarding world had more strides to make than their muggle counterpart—especially the conservative, pureblooded lot.

Vance's lot.

Vance may dally with the boys, but she couldn't see him coming out and declaring his affections for her darling brother.

It would be scandal.

"Come for a walk with me," she said impulsively, getting to her feet. "It's good weather today."

"It's bloody freezing out there, Rosie."

"Perfect, then. Bring your scarf."

"I'm bringing nothing." Hugo's earlier cheer was clearly doused. "I'll just stay here and sulk, if you don't mind."

"Hugo…"

Hugo smiled up at her, the familiar warmth returning to his chocolate-hued eyes. "I'm not mad, I promise. I know you're just looking out for me. You go find a creature. Or something." He considered it for a moment. "…Hopefully or something."

The air was crisp and cold, a light fog wrapping the grounds like an icy blanket. Grey skies lumbered overhead, low and threatening. Rose inhaled, finding her peace with the sprawling land and sky.

The Forbidden Forest loomed ahead. Rose made sure never to wander too deeply into the woods, though once or twice she had done so for special reasons. The winged horses had been so very worth it.

She reached the edge of the forest, her fingers skimming past the rough bark of century-old trees, with trunks so thick they could form the circumference of a dining table wide enough to host every Weasley and Potter. Rose smiled absently at the thought of her boisterous family.

Her gaze wandered towards the Great Lake in the distance. A Siren, Albus has insisted. Rose studied the glacial calm of the lake surface, broken only by the occasional tentacle of the Giant Squid. How odd that her cousins insisted on the myth. Rose had studied Merpeople and Grindylows for years. The more she considered Albus and Roxanne's stories, the more ridiculous they sounded to her.

Disney got it all wrong, Rose thought wryly. Merpeople didn't breathe above water. Nor did they have the inclination to explore the world above them. Merpeople were prideful creatures… Curious as they were, they would never choose death in a realm beyond theirs. They were fiercely territorial.

Unless, of course, what Albus and Roxanne saw wasn't a Merperson. But merely a witch that looked like one.

Rose made a soft sound at the theory. That sounded more likely.

Perhaps she would do well to investigate.

Rose was so deep in thought that the sudden crunch of dead leaves was enough to startle her. Her breath hitched, her senses suddenly on alert. A creature, perhaps? She should have been paying attention. Even at the edge of the forest, it wasn't safe for her concentration to drift.

She turned abruptly, expecting to catch sight of a Doxy or Ferret. A Jarvey, if she was so lucky—

"Is that a wand," came the low drawl of an all too familiar voice, "or are you just glad to see me?"