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Thank you for sharing your thoughts! For better or for worse, I do love hearing what you think, as it does let me examine the fic from your perspective. I didn't intend for this to be a slow burn but I've read some of you perceiving it as such, so maybe it really is… (thinking emoji) That said I hope you guys trust me on where the plot is going. Please enjoy this one!
Chapter 16: The Hangover
It all began as a dream.
The first thing Rose noticed was that this dream was not like any of the others. Her favourite dreams usually involved bare feet in the grass, the wet spring breeze brushing against her cheeks. She would be running through the woods, chasing anything from spiders to centaurs, the pale sunlight glittering through the green canopy like morning stars. Since she was a child, her favourite dreamscapes always projected a sense of complete freedom.
But this dream.
She was bare foot still, yes. But instead of the grass between her toes, her feet were caught in the cocoon of silk sheets. Nor was she was running wild. Here, tucked snugly against a delicious warmth… there seemed no need to move at all.
She felt taken care of. Safe.
Which was—different, but hardly unpleasant.
And then, something completely new. The gentlest of kisses on her bare shoulder.
The first bout of wakefulness sighed through her then, a greenish daylight beckoning the back of her eyelids. Yet the drowsiness of sleep weighed her down like an anchor, and Rose was unwilling to stir. Until that constant warmth against her back shifted, ever so slightly… and that was when she felt it. A wandering hand that wasn't her own, travelling up the flat of her stomach and coming to rest there.
And then another kiss, once more, on the wing of her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open then, her head heavy and cloudish, and her heart oddly full. It occurred to her, after a few beats, that the silk sheets from her dream had transferred itself into reality. Which was—weird. Not to mention that sense of being held in that mildly possessive grasp—
A realisation was dawning upon her in slow motion. She felt his quiet breaths against her hair as he stirred faintly against her back, and then he was doting on her once more… open-mouthed kisses pressed now into the curve of her neck. As he tugged her against him, deeper into the cosy hold of his embrace, her befuddled brain begged to fall back asleep. But a mild trepidation had snuck up on her. She was in the Slytherin dormitories. The morning after the Yule Ball. In a strange bed. Flashes of the night before returned to her—too much crying, too much brandy, and…
"Scorpius," she whispered.
Devastating, gorgeous Scorpius.
There was a distracting throb in the back of her head—possibly from all that crying and brandy—but the memory of her somewhat boyfriend casually undressing in front of her made her instantly hot all over. Somehow, he had found her grieving after she had buried Trevor… brought her back here on his own accord… and never asked her to leave. As the evening had gone on, their amusing half-drunk conversations had swerved into nonsensical territories and devolved into some pretty terrible dancing.
He had found her, alone and heartbroken, and taken care of her.
She hadn't wanted the night to end.
And apparently, neither did Scorpius. His mouth was still on her skin. Her own promise from before returned to her…
I'll let you kiss me.
"'ve to get up," Rose murmured to herself, lifting her head ever so slightly. She had a pounding headache; the force of it dragged her head back to the pillow. "Oh, Merlin."
Scorpius hadn't heard her, his kisses now moving slow and deliberate across her throat. The sensation was so foreign, so alarming, that any hopes of a slow awakening was fading fast. Bleary eyed, Rose glanced up to spot Scorpius' tousled bedhead.
And her heart skipped a beat.
She might have regarded him as her safe place the night before, but the sight of him now, looking adorably soft with sleep, was setting off alarm bells in her head.
Had she gone blind from the crying? Surely it was always dangerous to share a bed with someone of his kind of sex appeal.
Hell, how had she ended up here in the first place?
"Scorpius," she whispered, squirming in his arms even as he drew her firmly against him once more.
"Hmm," he sighed, breathing into her hair. Rose had barely blinked away the sunlight before he released her briefly, and in one swift movement, shifted his body over hers. Her breath hitched at the unexpected pleasure of his weight pinning her against the sheets. Does he think it's a dream? Rose thought, as he snuggled hotly against her, nuzzling at her cheek. Oh, he was just—so warm.
This was no good. The closeness of him was clouding out her common sense.
"Scorpius," Rose repeated softly, her hands coming up to cradle his cheeks. "Wake up."
"No," he breathed, the gravel in his voice making her insides quiver. His petulance would be amusing if his hands weren't swiftly moving to clasp her hips against the hardness of his morning wood, the gesture so directly sexual that an irresistible, cloying heat was rising at the centre of her. This was—too much. Did he think she was one of his ex-girlfriends, or even worse—Georgia? The thought brought a fleeting panic to Rose.
Because if that was the case, she certainly would disappoint him.
Physical intimacy never meant much to Rose before. It was something to do, something to get over as quickly as possible. Something to avoid, really. Boys kissed her all the time; they more or less clamoured to. It wasn't like Scorpius had never teased her, either.
But this morning felt like something else altogether.
Only a few days ago, she had wanted Scorpius to kiss her and be done with it. Just the way she had kissed him the first time in Hogsmeade.
Now, however, the idea of Scorpius kissing her put a swoop in her stomach, and made her heart go off like a… a…
When I do kiss you, it's going to be anything but quick.
A Flitterby. That's it.
He was all over her. There was no escaping the heated length of his body, his masculine sleep musk mixed with the scent of fresh laundry and faded cologne. Rose's heart was in her throat, the insistent heat of his mouth weakening her in the knees. This felt like an ambush… And yet, at the same time, felt not a single thing like it. For one thing, unlike most boys, it certainly looked like Scorpius was not going to be quick about it. In this state of half-sleep, he was rather behaving like he had all the time in the world.
"You taste so damn sweet," Scorpius mumbled dreamily, now sucking languidly against her neck, fingers coming to push the thin straps her dress off her shoulders. "Let me, sweetheart, please…"
As he lavished attention on a particularly tender spot, and Rose forgot herself for one blissful second, a soft sigh escaping her as she relaxed against him. He lifted his half-opened eyes to hers, a dazed hunger filling his expression as one hand went beneath her dress to caress her thigh.
He's still asleep, Rose reminded herself blearily, blindly reaching a hand out for a wand somewhere—his or hers, really. She supposed she could always hex him awake.
Before she could, however, someone moaned from across the dorm.
Loudly.
Scorpius froze above Rose, his lips still pressed against her jawline.
"Oh, yes," trilled a distinctly feminine voice, "Oh, right there…"
And Rose saw the moment Scorpius truly woke up, the hazy quality slowly leaving his expression. For a long moment, he merely blinked back at her, as though waiting for her to disappear with the rest of his dreams… and then comprehension dawned in the pale grey of his eyes. "Oh, fuck—Rose—"
And he had toppled off her like he was on fire, almost tumbling off the four poster bed in the process. Rose sat up in a hurry, pulling up her straps of her slip dress as her cheeks flushed scarlet. On the other side of the bed, Scorpius looked stunned, raking his fingers through the madness of his bed hair as he looked anywhere but her.
Oh. This was—probably going to be awkward.
Rose found that she couldn't quite look at him, either.
Now that she was sitting up, she could survey the party damage from the night before. Albus was nowhere to be seen, which… was probably for the best. It was clear that the boys had returned completely sloshed. Tarquin was still in full Ball attire, draped facedown on his bed like a starfish. Across from him, Ezra Quirke was in an equally bad state, half undressed as he lay in a heap at the foot of his bed.
And Darius Yaxley… had returned with a guest, from the looks of it.
Their inebriation was probably how she went unnoticed in Scorpius' arms.
The two of them sat on either side of the bed, unable to look at each other, and yet momentarily helpless at the sight of Yaxley's bed rocking, the moans getting progressively more heated. The girl, whoever she was, was squealing now. The curtains were drawn, at least—but they obviously forgot a Silencing Charm.
In a mortified rush, Rose scrambled past Scorpius' lap for her wand, tossing the spell in their direction.
The moans closed off into a blessed silence. Beyond the glass, the lake sighed. From their beds, Tarquin and Quirke kept snoring, none the wiser.
"Fucking Yaxley," Scorpius hissed, glaring venomously the still-rocking bed. "I'm going to bloody hex his dick off. I don't care if he needs a shag but they probably woke half of Slytherin—"
"It's probably a good thing," Rose interjected. "For us, I mean."
As though reminded she was still there, Scorpius tore his gaze away from Yaxley's bed, his pale stare lingering on her face... Like he was seeing her for the first time. Then, he blinked and shook his head, as though to clear it, looking down at his lap with an inward groan. "Rose. I'll get you out of here," he said in a low tone, turning away from her and rubbing his face in his hands, as though to sober himself up. "I just—need a few minutes. If you don't mind."
Rose was about to ask why, when she noticed the rather obvious hard-on tented in his trousers. Oh, hell. She nodded, at a loss for words, forcing her attention towards the window where a school of fish had glided past.
"Gotta think about hags and trolls," he muttered behind her, with a low growl of frustration. And, despite everything, Rose had to bite back the beginnings of a smile.
It was a long while before Scorpius had calmed down enough to leave the room. It had been somewhat mortifying for Rose to wait it out, but she tried her best to stay distracted by the friendly creatures floating by the glass windows. Yaxley's bed, too, stopped rocking after a few minutes, which helped… matters for Scorpius.
Lucky for them both, it didn't take much effort to walk Rose out of the Slytherin dormitories. For one thing, it seemed a majority of the house had slept in due to the Yule Ball. Some of the young ones were up, of course, looking scandalised as Rose and Scorpius descended from the stairs, hair rumpled and clothes disheveled from sleep.
Scorpius had insisted that Rose borrowed his cashmere jumper to wear over her slip dress. The moment it went over her head, she could tell it was more luxurious than anything she owned. She couldn't help running her fingers past the hem, marvelling over how snug and warm it was, despite it being too big for her. Better yet, the jumper smelled like Scorpius… fresh pine with a hint of a clean, woodsy cologne.
Which Rose found she didn't quite mind. The scent made her feel safe, somehow.
They walked in silence, keeping a distance between them. The awkwardness was palpable, but Rose had no idea what to say to return them to the wonderful camaraderie from the night before.
Already, she missed it.
Their fingers brushed then—both of them drew back abruptly, as though electrified. Startled, Rose glanced up at Scorpius. There was a faint pinkness to his cheeks even as he stubbornly stared straight ahead.
This was—a lot. Rose wasn't sure what to do with any of it. Including the rather embarrassing heat that was rising in her stomach at the memory of him on top of her.
Bloody hell.
They slowed as they approached the top of the stairs of Gryffindor Tower. It was still early in the morning, but oddly enough, there seemed to be some sort of commotion happening in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.
Rose and Scorpius came to a stop some distance away, the tension between them briefly forgotten as they surveyed the rather strange scene unfolding before them.
It was Albus, looking like he had a hell of a night. His messy black hair was worse than usual, sticking out wildly in parts... as though he or someone else had pulled at his hair. His usually crinkling green eyes, however, were hard and blazing. The subject of his ire stood across from him, colour rising in her usually impassive face… Poppy. Unlike Albus—and, Rose supposed wryly, herself and Scorpius—she looked completely untouched from the aftermath of the Yule Ball. Her hair was pulled tightly back in a neat bun as always, her morning attire immaculate.
Between them, looking rather neglected, was Madison Bard—the sixth year Prefect who was Albus' date to the Yule Ball. Unfortunately for her, she rather looked like she was caught in the middle of a standoff.
"Well, that explains where he was last night," Scorpius muttered beside Rose.
"Fifty points from Slytherin—"
"You're just a stick-in-the-mud, Langdon. People like a shag after a party sometimes. Do you even know what that means? Oh—I forgot, nobody wants to shag you!"
"Enjoy your one week's detention," Poppy said frostily.
Albus gaped at her, looked outraged. "You can't do that!"
"I just did. Count yourself lucky I didn't give you the same for that ridiculous prank you pulled on Professor Crossley last week. Did you think I wouldn't know it was you and Zabini who slipped those magicked feathers in all of his cauldrons—"
"That was Albus?" Rose mumbled in awe, recalling that particularly disastrous Potions class. Professor Crossley had been beside himself, almost driven to conniptions by an entire NEWTs class failing a simple brewing exercise. "…So that's why none of our brews worked."
"Always Crossley this, Crossley that! Bloody teacher's pet! You think you're queen of Hogwarts, don't you? Just because you're hanging out with Shacklebolt doesn't make you the future Minister for Magic—"
"Well, actually, I think—" began Madison Bard, before Albus interrupted her as though she hadn't spoken at all.
"Always going around with your nose stuck up in the air, Langdon! Is there anyone quite as tiresome as you?"
"If you're going to sneak into a girls' dormitory overnight and not have the decency to be discreet about it, then I'm sure you can take the consequences like a man." To Rose, it was obvious Poppy's usually cool composure was beginning to chip away at the corners. "Did you think I'll let you off easy just because you're Rose's cousin? Or do you expect special treatment for being a Potter?"
For one terrifying moment, Albus looked like he might slap her. Beside him, it seemed Bard had given up on getting involved. She'd thrown up her hands and retreated to the common room, leaving Poppy and Albus to their quarrel. Neither of them noticed her leave.
"Fuck me, it's really no wonder James wouldn't have you," Albus sneered, stepping forward to tower over Poppy as she stood her ground. "You're quite possibly the most uptight broad on this side of the English Channel. I'm sure he prefers dating a string of supermodels to a little bitch with a superiority complex."
This was too much, especially for Albus. Her temper flaring, Rose moved forward to break the fight, only to have Scorpius tug her back towards him.
"As entertaining as this all is, I'm going," he said drily. "Before Al sees me and hexes off my balls."
Rose blinked up at him, not comprehending. "What?"
"Rose, if he sees us now, it'll be obvious you spent the night at mine." He glanced at Albus and Poppy to make sure they hadn't spotted them, then returned his gaze to hers. After a moment of indecision, he lifted his hand and ran a thumb affectionately past her cheek, his voice lowering. "You're—feeling alright, aren't you?"
He was talking about Trevor. The fact that he was concerned about her feelings, even now, made Rose want to smile. She nodded mutely, somehow distracted by the pretty colour of his eyes against the morning light.
Scorpius tugged gently at a lock of red hair as goodbye, and then retreated back down the stairs. Rose watched him go, her cheeks warm. Until Albus and Poppy's voices carried over to her once more.
"—not even sure what Rosie sees in you!"
"This is unproductive and frankly, boring," Poppy was saying now, with an almost frightful calm. "You're obviously still drunk—"
"I'm not—"
"But none of this is hard to understand, Potter. If you want me out of your way, break fewer rules."
Poppy's lack of reaction to his tirades only served to provoke Albus' temper further. Rose took this as her cue to step in. Behind Poppy, the Fat Lady gave a sigh of relief at her appearance.
"Rosie," Albus and Poppy said in unison, before glancing back at each other with dirty looks.
"Albus, this needs to stop," Rose said firmly, clutching at her cousin's arm. "And you have to leave."
A brief outrage crossed his expression as he met Rose's meaningful stare. Then, obviously deciding to spare her from his bad temper, he only looked away, nostrils flaring as he struggled to keep himself in check. "She's the fucking worst," he said in an undertone.
"You're no better," Poppy said quietly, but Rose didn't miss the hurt flashing past her light blue eyes.
Albus opened his mouth to retort, when he caught Rose's imploring look. Then, he seemed to remember the reluctant truce he made with her in their third year—to quit picking on Poppy, and to leave her alone. Albus had never cared for Poppy from day one, blatantly rejecting all her shy attempts to befriend him when they were younger. A gold-digging, fame-seeking bint, he'd always called her. And, when Poppy's budding crush on James became obvious in their third year, his mild distaste for her crossed over into a sort of vehement disgust. None of it ever made sense to Rose… especially since Albus was usually so level-headed and reasonable.
Though she had the feeling Albus had trouble understanding the whole thing, himself.
Albus clenched his jaw and held his tongue. Then he shrugged Rose off and stormed away, his heavy footsteps echoing off the Tower walls as he retreated down the stairs.
"Such an impassioned lad," the Fat Lady remarked with a tut. "Is it too much to ask for manners in men these days?"
Poppy said nothing, only staring down at her feet in a sort of empty shock. Tentatively, Rose took her friend's hand and squeezed it. Poppy glanced up at Rose and managed a small smile.
"I'm sorry," Rose said softly. "He had no right to say any of those things. I'll talk to him—"
"Don't. There's no point." The tired resignation in Poppy's voice made Rose's heart go out to her friend. "He broke the rules and I—did what I had to. He wasn't happy about it and… that's that." She breathed deeply, blinking hard. "It must be tough on you, Rosie. That we don't like each other."
"Not as tough as it is on you." Rose bit her lip, overcome with guilt over Albus' behavior. "Will you wait for me? I just need a shower and we can go for breakfast…"
Something occurred to Poppy then. Apparently, the matter was so intriguing that it seemed to completely knock the quarrel with Albus out of her head. With keen eyes, she gave Rose a once-over with renewed interest, then—"Hold on. Where were you last night? Did you stay out?"
Rose felt a telling heat rise up her cheeks. Poppy's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise, and she reached out to clasp Rose's arms, feeling up the delicate fabric there. "This isn't yours," she said slowly, the dots connecting in her head. "You don't wear cashmere."
"It's Scorpius'," Rose said in a rush, as the Fat Lady let out a breathless little 'ooh' behind them, sipping her tea with enthusiasm. "But a lot happened last night and—I can explain—"
But Poppy was no longer listening. Her eyes had widened as she stared at Rose, her hand flying to her mouth to hide her amazement.
"Rose—isn't that a hickey?"