Personal thank yous to my reviewers – Lola, GumihoGold, Mme bookworm, Rae Ella, LyntD, B. Vi, LillyMay77, Blood and Dark Chocolate, hpdude-4life, vaaleee, habababa, baronnis, Ray, Moccalove, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, and Jele18! Some of you are regular reviewers and I just feel so appreciative, sobs.

Anyway, things are getting interesting, I hope! Some people have made predictions but you'll just have to read on and see if you can detect the scandals as they come ;)

Chapter 8: The Payback

Pygmy, Doxy, Imp, Sprite…

Fwooper, Serpent, Cockatrice…

"Scorpius," she whispered.

Scorpius raised his gaze to meet hers, ice grey darkened to pewter. Behind him, wand flashes and wizard cameras flickered and flared in slow motion, as though the world felt equally stunned by his closeness. A wild, coiling panic rolled in Rose's gut. Too near. Too much. Too long. For a moment, a shudder of repulsion tingled under her skin—one that often threatened to overwhelm her whenever she was caught in an ambush with a boy.

"Too close," she heard herself say, a quiet urgency in her voice. "Scorpius."

Scorpius must have heard her, but he didn't heed her in the least. Instead he closed his eyes and merely inched that little bit closer, his breath warm against her lips. The world, already slowing to a pause, seemed to fade away with the wicked tug in the corner of his lips. Oh, he was going to kiss her, Rose thought faintly, shutting her eyes.

This was it, then.

"Won't you make it quick?" she choked out, squirming against him.

"When I do kiss you," she heard Scorpius murmur, his hands clasping gently over her slight hipbones as if to calm her, "it's going to be anything but quick."

She would have taken the time to ponder the words, but there were too many physical distractions… and not all of them unpleasant. How could someone who looked so cold exude such a warm presence? The very closeness of him was a contradiction to her senses. Her mind screamed for him to step back and return her right to her personal space—yet every other part of her buzzed from an intoxicating mixture of elation and curiosity. Unconsciously, she sought the familiarity of his cologne… something woodsy and clean that reminded her of their afternoon in the Forbidden Forest, underlined by a warm, sun-soaked musk that was unmistakably masculine.

From a distance, she could hear the paparazzi call her name. Rose, Rose, look this way…! But she could barely remember where she was now, so fascinated she was with the living, breathing vitalness of the man before her. Scorpius' lips were now sweeping ever so lazily across the shell of her ear… yet she could detect the infinitesimal hitch in the rhythm of his breath, feel the pulsing heat course through his chest as he pressed gently against her.

He was anything but calm, and for some reason this pleased Rose.

At least she wasn't the only one reeling.

Boy, was she reeling.

"We'll be front page news tomorrow, you know," Scorpius said, and the gravel in his lowered voice caused the softest of tumbles in her stomach—"but Father will be pleased."

"That you're kissing a hussy?" Rose deadpanned.

"Oh, a reformed hussy," he corrected with a sly smile. "She's mad about only me."

The humour in his glance seemed to thaw the usual frost in his gaze; the aristocratic haughtiness that she was so used to now reduced to an oddly appealing boyishness. Before, he was merely handsome; now there was something in him that was almost endearing. There was the littlest of trembles under her lungs, not unlike the thrill she felt when she discovered her academic obsession with Grindylows… Suddenly, she found herself wanting to memorise this side of him, to examine and dissect later, in the petri dish of her pillow.

Afterwards, she would berate herself for acting out her inner Nora Mullen and Gwendolyn Wick, but for now—she could do nothing but stare at him in some sort of silly awe.

Then, as quickly as it all happened, Scorpius' hand found hers, and the late autumn air was once more stinging her cheeks. Briefly, she mourned the loss of his warmth. He tugged her wordlessly down High Street—past the clamouring paparazzi and maddening crowd of people gawking at them—before coming to stop by a narrow alcove hidden along Dervish & Banges. Rose had the distinct impression that he had taken refuge here before—perhaps with an ex-girlfriend.

As she joined him in the nook, catching her breath, she took a moment to absorb her surroundings. There was a tad more privacy at this end of Hogsmeade; people tended to stick to the west side of the village, where The Three Broomsticks was located.

Rose exhaled in relief before looking up at Scorpius. Even now, her hands were tingling from his touch. "You know, you could you warn a girl next time."

"You didn't warn me the first time. Consider this payback."

"Well, now we're even."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement crinkling in the corners of his eyes. "We're even when I say we are, Weasley."

Rose chewed her bottom lip, frowning slightly. "I think Winston got the message."

"I think the whole of Hogsmeade got the message."

"What do you think the headlines will be? Weasley-Malfoy PDA stuns village?"

"Ron Weasley dies of heart attack."

"Merlin, you're right… my dad's going to lose it. What about 'Teenage dream, public nightmare'?"

"Or they could go with something more conversational. 'What would their parents think?', perhaps?"

"I'm betting on sensational. 'Caught! Hussy and the Unhinged!'"

They looked at each other for moment before bursting out laughing, so hard that they had to find purchase against the brick wall on either side of them. Rose wiped a tear from her eye, gasping for breath.

Scorpius was watching her, the mirth fading from his face. Then, he reached forward, fingers curling in her hair. Rose blinked as he lifted a long lock of red to his nose.

"What shampoo do you use?" he mumbled, his eyes falling close.

"O'Keafe's," Rose said automatically. She had used the same brand of shampoo since she was eleven. O'Keafe's or nothing, she had once declared, as pedestrian and unwomanly as Lily claimed lemon scents to be. A pause, then—"Um, do you like it?"

The lock of hair slipped from his fingers. Rose combed her own digits through the strands, an awkward sense of self-awareness returning to her.

How odd. She didn't care if Scorpius liked her shampoo.

Buckbeak did—he told her so, in that lovely cawing voice of his. And Arnold The Third, who loved to sit in her hair during bedtime, had yet to issue a complaint.

That was all that mattered, really.

Yet there was that odd jump in her insides when Scorpius turned away from her with a sideways smile.

"It's different," he said.

What a kerfuffle.

Even from where Tarquin was standing by the shops, the drama was beyond ridiculous.

Just across the street, he could recognise the familiar silver gold of his best friend's hair, glinting like moonshine against the camera and flashes. Hogsmeade was no stranger to the paparazzi—it was, after all, big money to feature updates on the lives of famous names, especially to fans of the wizarding socialites.

And kissing Rose Weasley always made front page. Even if Tarquin couldn't really see if Scorpius was really snogging her from this angle.

He squinted.

Well, it sure as hell looked legit.

Inwardly, he thanked his lucky stars that Albus was still stuck inside Zonko's stocking up on criminal supplies.

Albus might be in on this wayward plot, but seeing Scorpius intimate with his favourite cousin was sure to trigger his gag reflex, at the very least.

As Scorpius pulled away from Rose, she looked flushed into the roots of her hair. Adorably thunderstruck as she gazed up at Scorpius, whose expression Tarquin couldn't catch.

The scores of pedestrians crowding around the couple blocked Tarquin's view for the next few moments, before he spotted Scorpius and Rose hand-in-hand, dodging shouting paps and starstruck students.

Huh. They looked exactly like a harried young couple in the thick of things, dying from the lack of privacy. Surely that was a moment that required a little acting, to rile up the press' thirst for the mystery that lay behind their get-together.

Fine acting indeed.

A smile played lightly across Tarquin's lips as he watched them go—Scorpius' fingers curled into Rose's, his cloak billowing behind him as Rose ambled forward to catch up to his lengthy strides, their heads turned towards each other in an oddly private manner… the sight of them was fascinating to Tarquin, who only remembered girls of a more statuesque height accompanying his friend.

How incompatible they looked, he thought sardonically.

His friend would do well to be careful. Scorpius might have a type—the Plumes type, as Albus liked to say with a roll of his eyes—but Rose Weasley was something else.

After all, she had a reputation for a reason.

Before Rose, Scorpius had never bothered to look at girls that didn't fit a certain… mold, to say the least. And neither had Tarquin, to be quite frank. The pair of them had always shared a preference for the leggy and lean. Women that oozed a certain sensuality and feminine mystery. Perhaps it was their brutal upbringing within the Pureblooded aristocracy that had instilled a preference for heels over sneakers.

His thoughts took a pleasant turn to flings of the past as he observed the media circus drift away from the scene. It was, therefore, a surprise of sorts when he was jolted out of his reverie by a small "oof!"—and a shock of familiar red hair.

Tarquin instinctively reached out—he was raised a gentleman, mind—and found himself face-to-face with a harried, bespectacled Hugo Weasley.

The younger boy seemed completely bewildered by their collision. Clearly, he wasn't watching where he was going. As Tarquin gripped his arm to steady him, Hugo merely spluttered, "OhmygodImsosorry."

"It's fine," Tarquin said graciously, ignoring the mugglespeak that his mother so often complained was a stain to wizarding vocabulary. "Are you looking for Albus?"

"Albus?" Hugo looked completely baffled by this, at least until Tarquin gestured to the shop window, where Albus could be spotted paying at the counter. "Oh! No, I…" he straightened out his cloak, trailing off as the redness splotched ungracefully across his cheeks.

When Hugo failed to answer the question, Tarquin followed his unfocused gaze, humming in comprehension as he spotted Kirkpatrick Vance just a few feet away, talking animatedly with a girl. Tarquin knew Vance—their parents ran in the same social circles, and they often met each other on the Quidditch pitch.

Tarquin's inquisitive eyes found Hugo then, who only continued to look at Vance with an unmasked misery.

Ah. So it was Vance that Hugo was fooling around with the other night.

Even while Langdon was chiding Tarquin for staying out late for the very same reason—he had been out with fifth-year knockout named Julienne Taft—the pair of them had stumbled on Hugo kissing a boy in the shadows. Tarquin hadn't been able to see who it was, and he was honestly rather disinterested at the time. But now the puzzle was complete in his mind.

A well-built, heavyset figure slightly taller than twig-like Hugo Weasley.

Kirkpatrick Vance. Of course.

The mental image of the two young men making out stirred something in Tarquin then… a disturbing sensation that should feel like disgust, yet instead rooted itself in pity, at least for Hugo. The young Weasley boy was still pressed against his arm, long lashes fanning damp brown eyes behind his wireframe glasses. He was wearing the face of a jilted lover in some grotesque Shakespearean play. How sweet, Tarquin thought with a mocking glint in his eye.

And how terribly naïve.

"He has a girlfriend, you know," he murmured. Hugo tensed beside him, turning so quickly that he almost gave Tarquin a whiplash—as though he had just noticed Tarquin's presence. Tarquin coolly returned his panicked stare, momentarily curious about Albus' overachieving cousin.

He had never paid attention to Hugo. Oh, he was famously intelligent, that much was true. Despite his status as a media darling, Hugo was not the type of person Tarquin sought as a friend, or even an acquaintance. There was an irreproachability about him that annoyed Tarquin… in those cherubic features and wildly freckled cheeks, with pillowy lips that he was now biting red. Charming laughter lines accented those keen brown eyes, rising at the ends to meet the unruly curls of his red hair.

Tarquin didn't like any of it one bit.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hugo stuttered then, drawing away abruptly from Tarquin's side. Tarquin held up his hands, as though in surrender, taking a gallant step back. Hugo shot him a dirty look—as dirty as his angelic countenance allowed, anyway—and hurried off, his red hair catching the wind as he went.

Funny how Albus never mentioned Hugo played for the same team.

Funny how Tarquin never noticed until now. He had always prided himself on being a good observer.

"Hey, wasn't that Hugo?"

He snapped out of his reverie as Albus threw an arm over his shoulder, holding a huge purple bag with ZONKO'S emblazoned in the front. "Yeah," Tarquin said, hoping he sounded casual. "Said hey, is all."

"Shocked he didn't take your ear off," Albus said. "He usually has more to say."

Tarquin shrugged. He was not interested in pursuing the subject any longer. "Got everything?"

Albus guffawed. The bag rustled beside him. "Crossley's going to kill us."

"Here we are," Scorpius said.

Before they knew it, curfew had arrived, and Rose found herself back at the foot of Gryffindor Tower. Somehow, she and Scorpius had spent the day together without a moment to spare.

And it had been… unexpectedly nice.

"I'm glad you're now enlightened on the wonders of sugared violet ice-cream," Rose said brightly.

"I didn't like it that much."

Rose raised an amused eyebrow. "And yet you stole all of mine."

"I was hungry, imp."

"Bloody hell. It's alright for a bloke to like something from Madam Puddifoot's, you know."

Scorpius said nothing, merely returning her smile. Rose met his eyes, transfixed. The hallway was drenched with a sunset glow, and served only to highlight his lovely, fine-boned features. For the first time that day, she noticed the expensive cut of his jumper, and how perfectly tailored it was to his tall, broad frame. And, unlike most boys, Scorpius seemed to reject denim, instead donning a pair of impeccably pressed trousers.

Rose felt her cheeks heat up suddenly. Had he dressed up for their date?

…How was it that she only noticed it now?

Maybe she really should be paying more attention.

It was then that Rose noticed Hugo over Scorpius' shoulder, standing alone in the empty hallway and surveying them with the strangest of expressions. He looked startled at the sight of them.

As though he'd just been slapped.

"Hugo?" Rose said tentatively, stepping away from Scorpius.

But Scorpius caught her wrist and tugged her to him. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said in an undertone.

For some reason, this move only made Hugo redden further. Rose nodded at Scorpius, who turned away and made for the hallway in lengthy strides. As Scorpius passed, Hugo exhaled shakily, looking close to some sort of hysteria.

"Hugo," Rose said urgently, taking his arm. "What happened?"

Hugo stared back at her with glazed eyes. It scared her to see him this way; Hugo was usually so full of joy. She tightened her hold on him. "Hugo," she pleaded softly. "Please talk to me."

Wordlessly, Hugo burst into tears.

"You're not even real," he blurted, through his muffled sobs.

"What are you talking about? Hugo…"

"You and Scorpius—aren't even in a real relationship. And yet you can go on dates like it's normal, like it's allowed, whereas I—"

At Hugo's tears, all the heady, pleasant feelings she felt by Scorpius' side seemed to evaporate. Instinctively, Rose threw her arms around her brother. His aches was just as good as her own; it tore at her to see him heartbroken. "Hugo," she whispered in a hush. "Oh, Hugo."

"I'm sick of hiding," Hugo mumbled into her shoulder, breaths skittering. "Rosie, I'm so sick of boys."

"Is it Vance?" she asked softly. Although she had known in her gut Vance would never acknowledge what he had with Hugo, she knew Hugo's heartbreak was necessary. He had always been flamboyant about his relationships with ex-girlfriends—the same simply wasn't acceptable for his attraction to boys.

Unfortunately, Vance had to be the one to show him. Briefly, Rose was filled with murderous contempt for the Hufflepuff Beater. How could anyone bear to hurt someone as sweet as Hugo? It was beyond her.

"He didn't look at me once," Hugo continued blearily, as Rose rocked him in her arms. "All he did was snog his stupid girlfriend. The same girlfriend he says has funky breath and a snout nose!"

"He's awful," Rose murmured, unable to resist a smile at Hugo's spite.

"I can't bear it," he hissed thickly. "I should just stick with girls."

"Lucky you. I don't have that choice."

Hugo sniffed as Rose wiped up his snot with her sleeve. "Lucky you, with all those boys throwing themselves at your feet, only to die of heartbreak when you reject them…"

Rose linked arms with Hugo as they started up the steps of Gryffindor Tower. "Not anymore. Thank Merlin."

"The Scorpius Effect, I suppose." Hugo raised a critical eyebrow, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. "Though I must say, you two look cosy for a fake relationship."

"Not so loud. And we absolutely do not."

"Do too. I almost threw up back there at the way you were looking at each other. The only other time I saw you look at someone like that was when a Wrackspurt flew into Teddy's ear and smacked his brains about for an hour."

Rose grinned at the memory before ducking her head. "Scorpius is… very handsome," she admitted haltingly. "You said so yourself."

"He made Witch Weekly's 20 Wizards Under 20 list. Of course he's handsome. The very least he can do, really." Hugo sighed heavily, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. "God and Merlin combined, I want my very own bachelor already."

Rose tugged Hugo close, leaning her forehead against her brother's cheek. "I'll be sure to have some Slug Solution in Vance's tea tomorrow morning."

"Or a Belly Balloon Potion. He'll sob like a baby if he can't attend Quidditch."

"What about Uncle George's Zealous Zits Special?" She thought about it for a moment. "Maybe all three?"

Hugo let out a watery laugh, squeezing Rose's hand. "I can't have a bloody boyfriend," he said, voice quaking slightly, "but I suppose I'd rather have you." He smiled mistily at Rose. "If Scorpius hurts you, he's dead."

I don't like him enough to get hurt, Rose wanted to say, but somehow the words got caught on her tongue.

Shaking away the thought, she took Hugo's hand and led him away to the common room.