Ahhhh thank you to weasleyxmalfoy, syranzra, BackToMack, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, WeasleyRed91, Chanel Forsk, TooManyShipsI'llSink, Rae Ella, rohzat, icantthinkofaname11, Meowmeow, AMBERJANUS, Connected-by-a-Semicolon, momopushoso, B Vi, NotsoSugarQueen, tatapb, isamartinez28, JC, LilyJean630, LillyMay77, hpdude-4life, mariarita, Isoldaa, knottedroses, HPDWTWD, catwomannnnnn1, and the lovely guests who took the time to let me know your thoughts! I was floored by your reactions. I'm excited about the Scorose too. Legit. :)
This chapter was a struggle to write—but it's a worthwhile one as we move forward… Enjoy!
Chapter 19: The Burrow
In no time at all, the holidays had arrived. Suitcases were packed and stacked, pet owls were returned to their cages, and all of Hogwarts bid each other goodbye as everyone made their return home for Christmas.
Rose was always thrilled to return to the wide open fields of Ottery St. Catchpole, back into the creature comforts of the Burrow. The Burrow was a haphazard, wonky little establishment that boasted a mishmash of architectural styles, thanks to additional wings that were hammered together throughout the years to house their ever-expanding family. From afar, the Burrow was a perilous sight, and constantly looked to be on the verge of falling apart. Nevertheless, it was held in place by an almost comical number of charms and spells, and—most certainly—an abundance of love.
Rose lived with her family at the topmost wing, where she had a bedroom with a sunroof. It was a blessing of sorts, for Rose had loved the great outdoors since a toddler; Hermione herself once conceded that it would be impossible to keep Rose indoors if she kept any other room. Hugo, on the other hand, occupied a windowless attic bedroom with low, slanted ceilings. His room was laden with warm rugs, countless books and chess sets, and was very cosy indeed, but Rose could only be in there a few minutes before claustrophobia set in.
As she set her suitcase down in her room, Arnold The Third tittered excitedly, making a beeline for her bed. Rose giggled as he snuggled under her flannel sheets, and she had barely kicked off her shoes before joining him there, facedown in her slightly stale pillow, a sigh of contentment escaping her.
No bloody homework, no stalkers in hiding, nothing to bother her—
"Rosie! Hugo! Get down here and talk to your family!"
"Yeah, Rosie! Come pay your respects to Uncle George!"
"George, don't be rude."
"Mum, that's what she always does before saying hello, hole herself away—"
"Go bully your own children, George," came Ron's voice.
"But I have so much fun terrorising yours!"
As George and Ron got into a bicker with Grandmum Molly talking over them, Rose couldn't resist a smile into her pillow. She would soon be overwhelmed by the boisterous, too-loud atmosphere of the Burrow. But for now, in this very moment, she was more than happy to be home.
"So it's true, then? You're dating Malfoy?"
With some reluctance, Rose looked up from the delightful peach tart Grandmum Molly had set before her, only to see James taking a seat across from her at the dining table.
Well—she couldn't deny she'd been expecting the question from somebody within the family at some point. But to start off with James?
Just her luck, really.
Around them, the Weasley kitchen had long descended into a familiar state of bustle and chaos. Already, Fleur and Molly were arguing over the recipes by the sink, Fred was stealing spoonfuls from every pan on the stove, Roxanne had accidentally set fire to Uncle Charlie's Norberta-inspired cupcakes, and Hugo and Granddad Arthur were causing a ruckus trying to tune in to a Muggle radio station. In other words—business as usual at the Burrow.
None of it quite bothered Rose, though. She had long learned that she could easily tune out the numerous dramas of the household if she had something delicious in front of her.
Except now James was interrupting her tart time by staring at her as though she was the most fascinating creature to walk the earth. Her cousin was one of the many family members who didn't know of the bargain she had with Scorpius, and Rose didn't intend on changing that fact. Knowing James, who fancied himself some sort of brilliant conversationalist, he would have no qualms blabbing the truth to the first person who deigned to listen.
"Hey, James," she said at length, as she steeled herself for the conversation. "Um, yeah—Scorpius and I have been together for awhile."
James' brown eyes widened in interest, which set off alarm bells in Rose's head. It was startling to notice, not for the first time, how unlike Albus he was in every aspect. Albus, of course, bore a striking resemblance to Harry himself. James took after his mother—the intelligent honey-toned brown eyes, and a full head of glorious copper hair that he was now keeping long. His expressive features, paired with his outspoken and feckless nature, often had the girls at school falling for him like a ton of bricks.
What a con, really, Rose thought with an inward sigh. When he had all the personality of a salesman peddling overused broomsticks.
"That's it? You can't tell me more?" James wheedled, leaning forward on his elbows. "Rosie, I was there where the bloke went loco at the Yule Ball—"
"You and everyone else," Rose said, unmoved.
"Yeah, I mean… I'm impressed. I didn't know you hankered after the psychotic ones. But then again, you've always had a thing for monsters, haven't you?"
"He's not a—" But Rose stopped herself then, feeling herself redden as James watched her with a sort of growing glee. It rankled at her that people like James and Winston would still have that mistaken impression of Scorpius as some sort of madman, when he so clearly—wasn't.
Even just the thought of Scorpius now brought a longing flutter into Rose's insides.
If she were being candid with herself, the one thing she dreaded about the holidays was the fact that she wouldn't be able to see Scorpius. In the three days after the Yule Ball, during which Scorpius had mysteriously vanished, Rose had found herself missing his company, and not just because she was afraid of getting ambushed. Somehow, despite the fact that their relationship had been cobbled together for show, the affectionate camaraderie they shared privately was far from a lie.
To Rose, anyway. She had no idea what Scorpius thought of the matter.
Though going by the way he behaved with her lately, she supposed it had to be at least a little bit true for him, too.
At least—she hoped so.
Of course, James didn't need to know any of that.
"He's sweet to me," Rose managed finally, keeping her tone even as she regarded James. "So maybe do me a favour and quit following the media's narrative on the matter, will you?"
"Touche." James popped a biscuit in his mouth, watching Rose with a calculating glint in his eye. "I must say, though—going by your track record, he must be something else in the sack if he's kept you this long. Isn't he your thirteenth boyfriend or something?"
Merlin, this was tedious. All this conversation was doing was proving that James knew absolutely nothing about Rose that he didn't read from the papers. But, once again, Rose kept from making that biting comment. It was the kind of thing that would only enflame James' teasing, in which he would probably bring up the last fifty scandals she'd been involved in on The Daily Prophet… none of which Rose had any defense for. Because who had any defenses for getting ambushed?
In the back of her mind, she was glad neither she or Albus invited Scorpius to visit; this place would be a snake pit for someone like him.
She took another aggressive bite of her peach tart, wishing fervently James would take a hint and leave.
Which, of course, he didn't. Instead, James switched topics, as casually as talk about the weather. "How's your friend Poppy doing then? Head Girl, I heard? It suits her, I must say—"
Oh, the gall of him. Rose shot James a look of disbelief. "James. You don't have a bloody right to be talking about Poppy."
"Why not? I stay friends with almost all my exes—"
"Even the ones you cheat on?"
James' jaw went slack, but she could tell he was hardly offended by the statement. If anything, he seemed more pleased about getting a rise out of Rose, which—said a lot about the kind of person he was, really. "Look, Rosie. I know you're bitter that she and I never worked out, but it's not like I didn't try—"
"If you didn't care for her in the first place," Rose shot back, unable to hold her temper, "you didn't have to string her along—"
"But we were obviously incompatible. I mean, let's look at the facts. She's a stickler for rules, I'm not... She wanted to take it slow, and I'm—well, me. I admit we didn't have a lot in common but I certainly never cheated—"
"Oh," came a wry voice, "but you definitely did."
James and Rose looked up from their tiff to see Albus leaning casually by the kitchen counter, downing a carton of orange juice as he observed them with slightly raised eyebrows. James returned his brother's inquisitive stare with an injured expression of his own. Dramatic as usual. "Bloody hell. What happened to bros before hoes, Al?"
"I never made any promises," Albus said with a shrug. To Rose, "Wanna go outside?"
"Yeah, go on and abandon your brother like you always do, Al!"
Glad for any reason to escape James' prattling, Rose got to her feet—peach tart in tow—and the two of them made for the backyard, leaving James behind in the kitchen. Outside, Teddy and Victoire were putting a snowman together in the distance, their lovey-dovey laughter floating over to them. Rose finished the last of her tart, watching as Teddy ducked a snowball and caught Victoire in his arms, her giggles buried in his neck as he kissed her ear. Their intimacy was not out of the ordinary by any means, yet the sight of them so obviously in love made Rose feel hot under the collar.
Which was strange. It had never happened to her before.
Albus looked oddly melancholic himself as he stared at the pair of them. Then, he glanced at Rose, the tip of his nose turning pink from the chill. "Do you know who James cheated with?"
"You mean, when he was with Poppy?"
Albus nodded, his green eyes flickering back to Teddy and Victoire.
"No. I just knew he cheated." Rose shoved her hands into her coat pockets, giving Albus an appraising look. "Do you know?"
"Yeah," Albus said. "I saw it happen."
"What? You did? Who was it? You never told me."
"Because it doesn't matter who he cheated with. Just that he cheated." It didn't seem like all Albus wanted to say, so Rose took care not to interrupt while he gathered his thoughts. "I—told Langdon about it, you know. The moment I found out."
"Did you?" Rose stared at Albus, somewhat bewildered at this new information. "Then—why did you ask me to tell her?"
"Because she wouldn't believe me." Albus gave Rose a humourless smile. "I suppose it was easier for her to assume I was lying than believe James was a piece of shit. But, you know, Langdon and I were never friends—"
"She tried with you, Al," Rose said, trying to keep from sounding reproachful. "You know she did."
Albus snorted softly, his gaze focused on some distant point on the grounds. "Only because she liked James."
Rose opened her mouth to retort, but something in Albus' expression prompted the words to die on her tongue. Albus, for all of his wonderful qualities, had never taken well to being compared to James—who, for most of his life, demanded the lion's share of attention from the family. By contrast, Albus had grown up reticent and shy, and only managed to come into his own when he was sorted into Slytherin—separate from James, who ruled the social sphere in Gryffindor. While James had given Albus a hard time for being put in Slytherin, Rose could tell Albus had thrived in an environment free of his domineering brother's presence. And, for all their dubious influence, Albus' confidence and popularity seemed to flourish in the company of Tarquin and Scorpius.
Still, none of it really explained his irrational dislike for Poppy. But Rose knew better than to pursue the subject now—it wasn't as though she hadn't tried over the years. As much as it pained her, she was beginning to accept that some people were simply not meant to be friends.
Perhaps Poppy and Albus were that very example.
Shaking off that train of thought, Rose linked arms with Albus, flashing him an impish smile to lighten the mood. "Well, between you and me," she said conspiratorially, "you're still my favourite Potter cousin."
The words seemed to cheer Albus up considerably, and he grinned back at Rose. "Lily's gonna kill you when I tell her that."
"Oh no you won't!"
The first snowball hit Albus unceremoniously in the face, and Rose found herself screaming for Teddy's aid as Albus rammed Victoire's snowman into the ground trying to get to her.
Outraged, Victoire declared war.
And the rest, as they say, was mayhem.
In light of what Rose was about to tell Hermione, finding the right moment to approach her mother felt just as nerve-wracking as an expedition to see the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest.
The alternative, however, was telling Ron instead. Which would unquestionably be a more dangerous experience than dealing with oversized spiders.
She finally found Hermione tucked away in her room that evening, far from the crowded living space that was rife with Weasleys in the midst of their merrymaking. Her mother was seated on the edge of her bed, going through some important-looking documents with a careful eye. Even during the holidays, it was far more likely to find Hermione working than socialising with family members by the Christmas tree.
Of course, Rose had grown up with this familiar sight. Seeing Hermione like this, relaxed in her loose knits with her hair undone and unruly, gave Rose a surge of child-like affection towards her mother. She slipped in through the door, for a moment basking in the familiar magnolia scent her mother loved to wear—before wordlessly curling beside Hermione as she worked, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.
"Well, well, well. What did I do to deserve this?" Hermione murmured, as she clasped shut one of her binders. Despite her mother's no-nonsense tone, Rose could tell she was pleased by this sudden bout of affection.
"No reason," Rose said lightly. "Can't I cuddle up to my mum at Christmas?"
"Darling, the last time you cuddled up to me, you were hiding a garden gnome in your room and hoping to keep him." Hermione waved her wand, and her binders moved to arrange themselves neatly in the bookshelf across the room. "…Out with it."
Rose squirmed for a moment, wringing her hands before saying in a rush, "I just wanted to let you know that I accepted an invitation to lunch with the Malfoys on the twenty-sixth."
"So you're telling me," Hermione said sharply, "not asking?"
"I'm not asking," Rose said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, mum. But—it was a part of my bargain with Scorpius. He's not very low-maintenance. So…"
Her mother made a show of rolling her eyes. "Malfoys generally aren't."
"Scorpius hasn't made it clear to his family yet that we're just for show. Maybe he will when they meet me. I should hope so, anyway." Rose looked nervously at Hermione. "He said to wear something pretty."
Hermione leaned back slightly, looking Rose over with a critical eye. "And what's wrong with what you usually wear?"
"I think—it may have to do with the fact that he dressed up for me. And I… didn't quite bother to do the same for him." Rose cleared her throat, somewhat mortified to admit her inexperience. "During that one time we went on a date to Hogsmeade."
"Huh. So he wants to be worth a little effort on your part, is what you're saying?"
"I suppose." Rose gave Hermione an imploring look. "…Mum, I've no idea what I'm doing."
"Well—if there's one thing I've learned over the course of my girlhood, it's this: there are always two kinds of people worth dressing up for. Your lover, and your enemy." Hermione folded her arms, giving Rose a shrewd little smile. "So—which of the two are we talking about?"
Rose felt her mouth go dry at her mother's words. "Ah… about that…"
"You don't have to answer me now. Sometimes you only find out after you put on the dress."
"Was that what you learned when you were dating dad?"
"Yes. He was the enemy. Oh, he was livid." Rose blinked, surprised at the nostalgic amusement that filled Hermione's expression. "Ah, my dear girl. You don't know what a dress can do to a boy. It's night and day."
"Wait—how was dad the enemy?"
"Well, it took a pretty dress for him to realise I even existed."
Rose frowned. "Dad couldn't possibly be that daft."
Hermione threw her head back with a laugh. "Darling, I assure you—he absolutely can. Harry can attest. Poor man had a war to fight, and he still had to sit around and watch us dance around each other for years." She got to her feet, heading towards the closet on the other end of the room. "Hold on. I may have something for you."
Rose watched as Hermione magicked the closet open, dresses floating past her as she surveyed her options. "Mum… aren't you worried about me going to the Malfoys?"
Hermione paused, glancing back at Rose with an oddly impassive face. "No," she said decisively. "I would have been a few years ago. But I am now acquainted with Astoria—Scorpius' mother."
"Are you, really?"
"Yes. She sits on one of my councils. Specifically one put together to strengthen Muggle-Pureblood ties." Hermione returned to rifling through her closet. "She had asked me to nominate her for the seat, which was daring of her. Considering my history with her husband. But she's—different from most traditional witches, is what I'll say. I heard she isn't hugely popular with her father-in-law. So I've no doubt she raised her boy well." Hermione raised an eyebrow at Rose. "Has she?"
Rose felt the heat creeping up her cheeks, the naughty things Scorpius had done to her suddenly returning at full force. To Hermione, she merely squeaked, "Yes?"
"So he's no bigot, or anything like that?"
"No," Rose said truthfully, no longer able to hide the fond smile stealing across her face at the thought of Scorpius. "He's far from it, mum. He's… a little arrogant—"
"Well, then at least we can be sure Draco's the father—"
"But he's mostly kind to me. Well, most people don't see him that way but…" Rose trailed off, recalling Scorpius' private smile and hoping her mother couldn't hear her heart leaping in her chest, "I do."
Hermione turned to Rose, a dress clutched to her chest as she observed her daughter. "Well, for him to agree to a relationship just to get you out of trouble tells me a lot about him."
"Like—?"
"He's either as mad as they say, or he's in just as much trouble as you are." Hermione revealed the dress with flourish, the deep maroon velvet glowing a rich wine red under the candlelight. "Isn't this lovely for you, Rosie?"
Rose felt her breath hitch at the sight. She recognised the dress. She had only ever seen her mother wearing it in a photograph, taken before she or Hugo were born. As a child, she had always giggled at the way her father looked at Hermione in that picture. Like she was the most resplendent thing in the room. "I suppose," she managed at last, reaching out to touch the fabric with the tips of her fingers. "I don't know if—I can pull this off, mum. Do you have something a little more casual?"
"My dear. It's just a dress. You'll carry it off just fine." Hermione was already adjusting the seams with her wand as she held the dress up against Rose. "And this is a lunch with the Malfoys. You'll need to be armed."
"Armed?"
"You already have the brains. Let beauty be your other weapon." Hermione gave her daughter a sly, knowing smile. "I'm sure you're more than a match for them."
Rose winced as Hermione went to work, turning the wand at every seam to match it to her measurements. "I'm sure Scorpius won't let them have their way with me, mum. I trust him."
"Who said anything about them having their way with you?" Hermione said, giving her daughter a meaningful look. "They have the impression he chose you, don't they? Scorpius is the one who needs all the help he can get. Now—stay still and let me finish."