Happy Lunar New Year! I had a really intense weekend so this came a little late… I am so touched by the reviews from the last chapter—somehow really happy and relieved to know you guys liked it lol. Thank you to cokoa, Jele18, SkiesOfStars, Priyodorshini, knottedroses, raspberyrainx3, CuteSecretsX, Nina, mariarita, bright places, Violettsl, Isoldaa, LilyJean630, Ray, hpdude-4life, iced teabags, Weasleyred91, JC, catwomannnnnn1, Therona, HPDWTWD, crushHP, LizzyChance, AMBERJANUS, The Chirpy Bitch, NotsoSugarQueen, LillyMay77, Connected-by-a-Semicolon, Escaptingthisworldwithfiction, Shipslover, syranzra, Maxi OT and all the guests/anons who reviewed!

We're reaching a new arc in this story! :) Hope you enjoy this one.

Chapter 17: The Rumours

Of all the boys who loved Rose Weasley at Hogwarts, few would argue that Winston Hedge ranked amongst the most dogged of suitors.

Since he was a boy, his parents—important Ministry officials, they'll have you know—had paraded him around parties and events, introducing him to children of prominent wizarding families and ensuring he had sufficient playtime with them. Being around influential wizarding folk his whole life instilled in Winston a natural affinity for those with famous names… especially if they were Potter, and of course, by extension—Weasley.

As long as Hedge was being completely honest, it was Lily Potter who first caught his eye. From a young age, her outgoing personality made her popular in many a wizarding circle. This, of course, prompted the Hedges to put their son on display whenever they rubbed shoulders with the Potters.

However, Hedge's view completely changed in his sixth year at Hogwarts. By some magical twist of fate, Hagrid paired him with Rose Weasley in a Care of Magical Creatures class. Before that class, he had never thought to befriend her… much less pursue her. By the end of their project on the evolution of Jarvies, he had been completely won over. He found her enthusiasm quirky and endearing… and she never said no to his invitations to discuss Jarvies beyond the classroom. Every time they came together to work on Hagrid's project, she seemed to light up like a Christmas tree.

Surely it wasn't a long shot to think she liked spending time with him. She made him feel so—special.

Needless to say, Hedge held a torch for her ever since.

Even though she was, at the moment, caught up in some sort of strange affair with Malfoy.

At the time, their abrupt get-together had sent him into a bit of a tailspin. Hedge had been gobsmacked by her sudden, nonsensical decision to date the prat. Rose and Malfoy became national news just three weeks after Hedge finally managed to kiss her at Hogsmeade, over a delightful conversation involving Manticores. He had thought their… relationship, of sorts, had been making progress.

…A kiss had to mean something, no?

Surely Rose would wake up from the madness of dating someone as deranged as Scorpius Malfoy any day now.

Heck, apparently the heartless tosser didn't even bother asking her to the Yule Ball. Which was just bad form, in Hedge's opinion.

At present, Rose and Scorpius' mysterious no-show at the Ball had triggered the school's unforgiving rumour mill. Rumours, Hedge thought with a scoff, that were surely untrue. Post-ball, the grapevine was at its tattling finest—

Oh, the Slytherin second-years saw her come and go from Malfoy's…

Did you hear about the love bite? I definitely saw one that morning…

Yeah, those moans from the boys' dormitories? It was wild!

They totally banged. I mean, it's Malfoy! Who's taking bets?

Merlin's pants! Maybe she really is a hussy?

Hogwash. All of it.

And yet, Hedge couldn't find it in himself to dismiss the gossip.

It was in light of this terrible hearsay that Hedge ambushed Rose along the hallways three days after the Yule Ball. She was hugging her books to her chest, humming an obscure tune with a little spring in her step. As he approached behind her, her ears had perked, and she spun around… only to look oddly crestfallen when she realised who it was.

"Winston," she uttered, unable to hide her disappointment. "Um. Hello."

"Rosie," he said, relieved to have gotten to her without Malfoy in sight. It was becoming a rare thing these days. "Listen, do you have a minute?"

"I need to run to the Owlery, actually." Rose put on an overly cheerful smile. "So, maybe we can talk another time—"

"I'm afraid this can't wait." Winston had closed in on her, trying to ignore the fact that Rose had taken a few steps back to keep the distance between them. "Rosie, I didn't see you at the Yule Ball."

"Oh, er. I decided to visit Buckbeak instead—you know how it is."

"I don't, really." Hedge gave her an imploring look. "Don't you love parties? I'm sorry Malfoy didn't ask you to the ball. I would have if—"

"It's fine," Rose cut in quickly, a hand coming up awkwardly to clasp her scarf tighter around her neck. "Really, Winston, I didn't want to go anyway."

That was hard to believe, considering how popular Rose was at parties, but Hedge pressed on. "Well, then—have you heard the rumours going around now because of it?"

A charming knot formed between her eyebrows, confusion coming over her expression. "But I wasn't even there."

"It's dire. Gossip is just gossip, but the claims they're making! Can you believe people are saying you spent the night at Malfoy's?"

Rose blinked back at him. "Er—"

"And that he's bedded you, apparently?" Hedge let out a too-loud laugh. "Really, it's just ridiculous—"

"Actually," began Rose, the redness growing on her cheeks, "it's not exactly untrue."

Hedge clamped his mouth shut, staring at Rose in disbelief. She cleared her throat and glanced furtively over her shoulder, as though to perceive some sort of escape route. But Hedge was far from done.

"Rosie. I don't know what to say. I had higher hopes of you."

She looked back at him, puzzled. "I'm not sure what you m—"

"Rose." It was important, this time, that she understood the consequences of what she was getting into. "There's no going back with Malfoy. His family aren't even socially accepted in our circle."

"Our… circle?"

"Legendary wizarding families. Respectable names." Hedge felt a vague sense of relief as comprehension dawned on Rose's face. Were his words finally hitting home? "You're a Weasley, Rose—second only to the Potters in your role in wizarding history—"

"My parents did most of the work there, I have to say," Rose interjected under her breath.

"The Malfoys come nowhere close to your social standing, and you know it. If not for their blood and money, they would have no standing to speak of. Yet, here you are dallying with him—"

"Winston." There was a genuine vexation in Rose's voice that betrayed her usual good humour. Hedge fell into a stutter as Rose returned his urgent stare, her lips parted as though to placate him… but then she seemed to change her mind, exhaling quietly and lowering her eyes.

Her lack of candid response worried Hedge. She seemed almost to be struggling with what she wanted to say.

"Rose," Hedge began, but Rose interrupted him.

"I have no idea what… circles you're talking about..." Hedge huffed at her words, finding it ludicrous that a famed Weasley would have no idea of their importance—"But I'm not—dallying with Scorpius. And I'm certainly not dating him because of what his parents have or haven't done." She paused, tapping her chin as she stared thoughtfully into space. "I'm quite sure family history doesn't factor in who he sleeps with, either."

Hedge uttered a choked, woeful sound. "Who he sleeps with, Rosie? So—the rumours are true?"

Rose caught herself then. Hedge turned away from her, reining in his emotional turmoil with a hand to his heaving chest.

"You—you mean to tell me you woke up one morning and fell in love with Malfoy, of all people? Do you know how impossible that sounds? I heard that he's blackmailed you into this, and listening to you now, I'm inclined to believe it."

"I suppose you heard I'm a hussy, too?"

Hedge reeled back as though slapped. Rose returned his gaping expression with a slow, wry smile. A few students had shuffled past them, throwing curious glances their way. Rose watched them go before returning Hedge's teary-eyed gaze.

"You think I don't know what people say about him?" she said, her tone unnaturally measured. "About me?"

"He's a madman, Rosie!"

"If Scorpius is a madman, then I must be a hussy." There was a soft finality in Rose's voice, so completely uncharacteristic of her that it brought a jolt to Hedge's heart. "And when it comes to gossip, Winston—you believe all of it, or none at all."

Hedge gaped at her, mouthing like a fish out of water. "How could you be so—so—"

"Someone once told me that to be kind… sometimes I have to be a little cruel."

At this point, Hedge was sure he was red from the neck-up from agitation. Whoever this… this imposter was, she sounded nothing like the Rose Weasley he loved. "I knew it," he hissed. "He's going to take everything good about you and ruin it—"

"Enough." Rose's voice had gone quiet. "Winston, you can't be saying this to me. He's… he's my boyfriend."

And then, as though the universe was having a laugh, a pair of footsteps sounded in the distance.

Hedge turned to look, and felt his mouth go dry.

Speak of the devil.

Malfoy's cloak billowed behind him, his unfairly angelic countenance at odds with the signature broodiness that followed him like a raincloud. Just the sight of him was enough to make Hedge physically recoil.

Even before the Bolt and Plumes debacle two years ago, he had never liked Scorpius Malfoy.

He found the other man obstinate, arrogant and—ultimately—unhinged in both personal and sport matters. On the Quidditch pitch, he was one hell of a Seeker; the best of the four houses without a doubt, just going by the track record. Slytherins were notoriously hard to play—cheating scumbags that they were—but Malfoy especially so, because his game bordered on obsessive. His relationship with the Snitch seemed to mirror his private life; he was famously vicious in his pursuit of the win. He would scale any height and stoop to any low—breaking rules, defying gravity, and wiping the grass with the blood of his opponents even after a victory. Just for the damn fun of it.

There was no doubt in Hedge's mind that the man was some sort of lunatic.

But whatever he thought of Malfoy, it was too late to avoid him. Hedge puffed his chest, readying himself for the inevitable clash—

But nothing.

For Malfoy did not even acknowledge him. Instead, his grey eyes were fixed intently on Rose.

"Hey," he said, slowing to a stop before her.

"Hello," Rose returned, with slightly widened eyes. And was that the sound of her breath catching? Like she wasn't expecting to see him, but was somehow glad to.

Malfoy was watching Rose with the most peculiar of expressions… the scowl he was so famous for dissolving into the barest hint of a smile. And Rose—his Rose, thought Hedge angrily—was looking at him like she'd caught sight of one of those strange beasts she loved to go on about. A feral creature, to be sure, but one that she wanted more than anything to get close to.

Hedge had never felt more invisible in his life.

The whole scene was—unbearable. And, frankly, quite catastrophic.

Something in Hedge's chest threatened to crack then.

How can this be? he thought desperately. Nobody in Hogwarts expected them to last a bloody week. Rose was famously poor at anything to do with boys, and Malfoy drove girls away as quickly as he attracted them. Hedge himself had harboured hopes that Rose would come to her senses a few days into this wretched relationship, running to Hedge and begging to be rescued from Malfoy's clutches.

But now, inexplicably… it looked almost like they were somehow… fond of each other.

What the hell did Rose see in Malfoy that completely eluded everyone else?

The private moment they shared, with Hedge shafted to the periphery, was broken when Malfoy finally remembered they weren't alone. With obvious reluctance, his storm-like gaze dragged over to Hedge's… and Hedge felt all the hairs on his neck stand on end. Trained on him, the previously warm expression in Malfoy's eyes had turned nothing short of arctic.

"Hedge," was all he said. It wasn't a greeting or a question. But there was something in his tone that demanded an answer all the same.

"Malfoy," Hedge uttered, aware that Rose was looking between them with a rising concern. "Rosie and I… we were just—you know, catching up on things…"

Malfoy raised a mocking eyebrow. "Really. Well… if it concerns Rosie, I'm sure it concerns me."

Although he hadn't moved an inch, there was a distinct prowl in the way he regarded Hedge. As though he was a predator circling a small defenseless thing, giving it a few minutes of play to sate his boredom before killing it. Hedge swallowed, his throat tightening from growing terror.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that this was the guy who almost murdered Wallace Bolt.

Who knew what else he was capable of?

But then—Rose. She had tugged gently at Malfoy's sleeve, her beseeching cornflower gaze catching his. The simple gesture was enough to direct all of Malfoy's attention towards her.

And, even before Rose had spoken a word…

Malfoy's peevishness faltered.

"It's alright," Rose was saying, looking up at him with a little smile. "He just wanted to know where I was during the Yule Ball." She glanced over at Hedge with some hesitation, before deciding that leaving was perhaps the best option. "…We should go. See you, Winston."

And then Rose was on her way, pulling Malfoy along with her in the opposite direction… and leaving Hedge watching after them in disbelief. Her fingers had curled along Malfoy's wrist, her shoulder pressed gently into his arm; Malfoy had lowered his head, leaning into her as he listened to what she was saying.

This was unfathomable. But there was no mistaking the distinct feeling that Hedge's own chances with Rose had been further diminished by that exchange.

Helplessly, he watched the girl he declared his heart to disappear with someone else.

Scorpius was absolutely, most definitely not avoiding Rose.

Sure, he hadn't seen her for a grand total of three days since the Yule Ball. School was one week from closing for the holidays, and seventh year classes had once again given in to private study sessions. Since then, Scorpius had found himself rejecting Tarquin's invitations for meals at the Great Hall and thwarting Albus' attempts to draw him out, instead stubbornly catching up on his studies in the safety of the Slytherin common room.

That was all it meant, really. The NEWTs were important, weren't they? He was a hardworking bloke. He would see Rose after the holidays—it wasn't a big deal.

It certainly didn't mean he was feeling awkward about anything that happened the morning after the Yule Ball. It had all been an accident, was all. After all, he had been celibate for well over a year; he was a hot-blooded young man with uncontrollable hormones; and Rose was—well, she was the first warm body in his bed for the first time in a long time.

Most of all, it meant nothing that he'd woken up again today with a throbbing hard-on… all because of yet another dream revolving around an imaginary, sweet-faced imp with arresting cornflower blue eyes.

This insidious thought led Scorpius to finally slam his Defense textbook shut in a fit of frustration, startling the Slytherins seated around the common room. After that, he'd spent a good part of an hour trying to talk himself out of heading out the common room to look for Rose… And, of course, his traitorous dick—well, his sentimental heart was just as culpable—had won out over all logical arguments from his brain.

And that was how Scorpius now found himself being led down the hallways by Rose, her fingers warm over his wrist as she rattled on about Hedge's untimely ambush—something about the rumour mill and Hedge being a general twat. Scorpius wasn't surprised by any of it. Hedge had always been an immense whiner on the Quidditch pitch; why would he be any different when it came to the way he dealt with girls?

Hedge's frightened face when he spotted Scorpius, though. He couldn't help a satisfied smirk at the memory. They had already left the idiot well behind, probably to drown in his sorrows.

Frankly, Scorpius didn't give a damn about Hedge's feelings. Then again, he didn't for a lot of people.

The imp before him, on the other hand…

Bloody hell, it felt like a relief to be with her again. It was as though the thunderclouds over his head had parted the moment their eyes met across the hallway... Hedge notwithstanding. Despite the strange awkwardness that had settled in between them the morning of the Yule Ball, he could tell Rose was somehow pleased to see him.

For one, she wouldn't stop talking.

Maybe she was nervous, too.

It really was quite adorable.

"…and then," Rose was saying animatedly, traipsing a few steps ahead of him, "I had to explain I didn't want to go to the Yule Ball anyway—"

Scorpius deliberately slowed his strides, pulling Rose to a stop before him. A gentle tug backwards, and she was brought back to his side, his hand slipping so casually into hers… the briefest of touches before she pulled away from his warm grasp.

Even that was enough to tease his heart into an overdrive.

Oh, hell. Now Scorpius could only think about the fact that the very neck he had ravished in his bed three days ago was safely tucked beneath her red-gold scarf.

This was—trouble.

"Rosie," Scorpius said, trying to keep the mockery out of his tone. "How come Hedge gets to call you Rosie?"

Amusement filled Rose's expression as their gazes locked. There had always been something about her undivided attention that put a soft ringing in his ears… like the world was rushing to hollow out, leaving only the two of them in it. Then, she took a small step towards him, that familiar earnesty entering her eyes. But she didn't answer the question; she seemed to be bothered by something else altogether.

"Where did you go?" she asked, an odd shyness in her voice. "I haven't seen you around."

Oh. So she had noticed.

"I was—studying." Well, that wasn't far from the truth. Scorpius' eyes searched her freckled face, and maybe it was magic or gravity at work, but he could no longer resist closing the miniscule distance between them. Rose stayed stock still, merely lifting her chin to him as he drew near to her. "…Did you miss me?"

Rose tried not to smile, once again ducking the question. "Did you hear the rumours, then?"

"The one where you spent the night? We both know that isn't a rumour, imp."

"Well, there's also the one about the hickey." Rose put on a comical grimace. "Now that one was hard to explain to Poppy. She couldn't stop laughing. She wouldn't believe Arnold The Third was behind it this time—"

Scorpius frowned down at her. "What were you explaining to Langdon?"

At his puzzled expression, Rose stopped short, looking quite like she was caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. She backed away from Scorpius, a fetching pinkness rising beneath her freckles. "Oh," she breathed. "You don't—remember—"

He caught her arm, pulling her close. "What don't I remember?"

Alarm crossed Rose's face. Then, a bulb went off in Scorpius' head… Without waiting for her answer, he had reached out to tug her red and gold scarf loose.

And there it was, in a tender part of her neck. The very spot he had dreamed about, over and over. A now-pink bruise on the verge of fading. Rose was watching him, a mild panic coming over her expression. He couldn't figure out why.

The sight had knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Did I—give this to you?" Scorpius said, unable to look away.

Rose was tugging her arm from his grasp. "It's—okay, Scorpius. I know it was a mistake, and—"

But Scorpius had only tightened his grip on her, drawing her against him so he could observe the love bite at leisure. He felt an almost feverish fascination as he studied the hickey… his thumb running reverently past the tender spot. "Why were you hiding it?" he mumbled, completely enamoured by the thought of having marked her somehow. "It looks fucking hot on you."

At the intensity of his stare, Rose had gone scarlet. "Scorpius," was all she said, but he didn't heed her. Instead, he eyed her neck in a sort of hungry daze, a damning desire coiling in all the wrong places… a formerly dormant heat pooling insistently in the pit of his stomach.

Then, almost as though he was in a trance—"Can I give you another one?"

Rose blinked up at him, momentarily confused. "What?"

Without warning, her back was against the wall as he crowded her in. His mouth was on her neck before she had a chance to react. Rose started at the sudden closeness, a squeak in her throat. "Wait, wait—have you gone mad? Scorpius—" Her breath hitched as he ran a hot tongue over the bite. "Don't—it won't go away otherwise."

"Good. Then maybe Hedge will take a bloody hint." Another wet kiss in her neck, his voice low against her ear. "Does it hurt, imp?"

"No." The sweet way she sighed against him wasn't doing him any favours. Hell, he had to—pull back. This was Rose… he couldn't make it a habit of being so casual with her, whatever the promise she made a few weeks ago. In light of everything between them, he now understood she was more precious than that. Scorpius closed his eyes with an inward groan, resting his forehead against the stone wall behind her, trying to catch his breath. Yet, neither of them made a move to disengage from their embrace, her slight frame warmly dwarfed by his own.

"Do you hate Winston?" she asked after a beat, her voice muffled in his chest.

He snorted softly. "You don't come for my games, do you? He's insufferable on the pitch."

"Well," she said seriously, "were you playing dirty?"

"What makes you think I'm the one playing dirty?" He raised a mischievous eyebrow at her, unable to help the suggestiveness in his tone. "Do you want me to show you what playing dirty is really like… Rosie?"

The deliberate use of her nickname in this context made her blush to the roots of her hair. "Scorpius. Stop teasing me."

"So everyone else can call you Rosie… but I can't?"

Rose met his gaze, a playful reproachfulness in her expression. Even from the beginning, he had been charmed by the mesmerising quality of her cornflower blue eyes. Scorpius was beginning to find it impossible to stop looking at her. Her shyness was—irresistible to him somehow. Why was it becoming so hard to keep from kissing the same girl who already agreed to be kissed?

And he could kiss her, he realised.

She would let him.

And yet, something inexplicable held Scorpius back. He brushed away a strand of red hair that had caught against her lip gloss, trying to force himself under some semblance of control. This was—madness, he thought, his newfound elation at being close to Rose somehow tied to an all too familiar despair. Rose must have seen the warring of emotions flit across his face, because her own had softened, and then her fingers had come to stroke gently at his cheek… as though to soothe him.

"You can call me Rosie," she said at last, and Scorpius sensed this was her own way of teasing him. "But use it wisely."

They regarded each other, breaths quiet, noses close to touching… Until, suddenly, a cacophony of high-pitched voices filled the air. Startled, the both of them looked about for the source—only to find themselves staring at a group of irate chess pieces passing by at their feet.

Rose made a little sound of recognition. "They're Hugo's," she said in surprise.

"Debauchery!" cried the White Knight, waving his sword in their direction.

"This is how you lose a match," sobbed the White Queen. "How am I to face the Black Queen now? Why, I've lorded our victories over her for years!"

"On strike we go!" commanded the White King, as the pieces followed behind him. "Onward!"

Rose dislodged herself from Scorpius' hold, crouching down to regard the angry chess pieces in wonder. "Can chess pieces go on strike?"

"They can if their owner throws a match," the White Bishop shot back. "This is catastrophe! Unacceptable behavior!"

"Hugo threw a match?" Rose mumbled, frowning back at them. "That's not possible."

"You arguing with us, lady?" boomed the White Knight, as the White Tower shook vigorously in agreement. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Rose and Scorpius exchanged perplexed glances. A few feet from where they were, a heavy wooden door was left ajar; a single White Pawn had popped out from beneath the door, eagerly following the angry chess pieces hopping past Rose's feet.

Something was most definitely up.

Without hesitation, Rose sprang forward, Scorpius cautiously following behind her.

Careful not to make themselves heard, he and Rose approached warily, craning their necks to sneak a peek into the classroom. On one of the desks, the Black chess pieces were hopping about in joy, having some sort of victory party on the chess board. A Black Knight had kicked the last White Pawn off the board, howling with laughter as he did so.

It took more time to locate the players. Finally, they spotted Rose's floofy-headed brother in the far corner of the classroom—

Kissing Tarquin.

Wait. What the fuck?

The complete unexpectedness of the scene threw Scorpius for a loop. Not that he was surprised to see Tarquin having a rendezvous—his friend was fairly famous for that kind of thing. But with Hugo, of all people? At a loss for words, he turned to Rose for some sort of explanation. Surely she knew something about this? But Rose merely gaped at the sight, looking quite like she had just swallowed a Snitch.

If anything, she looked just as stunned as he felt.

Well—shit.