Hey everyone! I've been getting really busy at work, so updates may be a bit sporadic now :( I'll still try to post every fortnight, at least. Much love for the reviews and faves, they mean so much! Personal thank yous to Weasleyred91, ChanceToBeImmortal, hpdude-4life, TooManyShipsI'llSink, boricua333, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, Priyodorshini, rohzatg, Shipslover, Connected-by-a-Semicolon, Meowmeow, LilyJean630, JThawN, crushHP, Ray, curiositykills314, Mme bookworm, HPDWTWD, catwomannnnnn1, bright places, The Chirpy Bitch, knottedroses, Escapingthisworldwithfiction, LillyMay77, JC and all the lovely guests/anons for your reviews!

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Some of you talked about James... All I can say is sometimes depth of character simply takes a longer time to develop in some people, particularly if they were adored their whole lives. That said, I'm so very happy to see the love for Albus. Enjoy this one :D

Chapter 20: The Manor

"Well, my dear… it certainly looks like you've made a remarkable improvement."

Rose was so absorbed in her knitting that it took her a moment to register that she was being spoken to. When she finally looked up, Grandmum Granger was beaming back at her, chocolate-hued eyes crinkling.

"Gran!" Rose exclaimed, about to scramble to her feet. But her grandmother raised a stern finger to stop her from getting up from the sofa.

"Not yet, Rosie," she chided, mock sternly. "Remember what I taught you? Always finish a row of stitches first before putting it down—"

Rose giggled, holding her arms open anyway. "Oh gran—come here and give me a hug."

As if on cue, the sound of excited footsteps clambered down the stairwell. "Are they here?" Hugo hollered, his box of Gobstones clattering against his chest. "Happy Christmas, grandmum! Hey, granddad!"

All around them, the Burrow was bursting at the seams with visiting family. Walking about had become an obstacle course; you had to step over endless piles of unwrapped gifts to get anywhere. The hullabaloo of Christmas morning had snowballed into the approaching noontime, and privacy had officially become impossible in the cluttered Weasley household.

As a prelude to the impending Christmas lunch, most of Rose's cousins had taken to the backyard for a makeshift game of Quidditch, with Albus and Dominique fighting to captain their teams. Hugo, who much preferred staying indoors, had grabbed hold of Granddad Granger to play a round of Gobstones. Rose had to hide her raised eyebrows as Hugo explained to Ron—quite sheepishly—that his competitive Wizard's Chess set had gone mysteriously out of order.

For her part, Rose was dead set on spending every spare moment she could find knitting on the sofa. "Wait, why aren't you outside chasing garden gnomes?" Ron had demanded, when he finally spotted her with Grandmum Granger. "Who are you, and what have you done to my daughter?"

Rose had given her father no answers, save for a cheeky little grin.

At present, it thrilled her to see her Muggle grandparents. Unlike most of the Weasleys, they were much simpler folk. As semi-retired dentists making a modest living, they were perfectly content with quiet hobbies like reading and knitting. As the rest of the family traipsed in and out the Burrow, Grandmum Granger had happily joined Rose with her own knitting kit, and they spent a good deal of time discussing non-magical affairs, like the royal wedding and the latest episodes of The Graham Norton Show.

Those precious few hours with her grandmother reminded Rose of her childhood summers spent in front of the telly at the Grangers', fighting Hugo for the remote as they switched between cartoon channels. As Grandmum Granger leaned in once more to gently correct a stitch in her knitting, Rose promised herself that she would find more time for the Grangers once she was finished with school.

The true hero of Christmas turned out to be Uncle George, who kept the family entertained for hours with dramatic reveals of his newest Weasley Wizard Wheezes inventions. Despite promising herself she would head early to bed, Rose had been unwilling to go upstairs as the night wore on, spending most of it howling with laughter at her family's ridiculous insistence on testing the Wheezes. Fred and Roxanne, in particular, had ended the night still suffering the effects of Barnacle Burp Beans and Mad-Eyed Melts. Uncle Harry, too, fell victim to the reformulated Gaga Gobblers, spending a good part of the evening giggling like a besotted teenage girl at the tiniest provocation.

It had all been rather amusing. Almost educational, really. Rose was sure a few of Uncle George's concoctions could be put to good use in no time. Specifically on Zabini.

The boys—Teddy, Albus, Louis and James—could be heard singing their drunk faces off from the kitchen as Rose finally stumbled into bed at four in the morning, her mountain of Christmas presents still piled high at her doorway.

The Malfoy lunch appointment loomed in the back of her mind as she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

And then—Boxing Day.

The late night, of course, accounted for Rose ignoring her alarm for a good hour that morning. When the mid-morning light from her sunroof warmed her face, Rose would have been content to fall right back asleep… until her bleary eyes opened to the sight of a deep maroon dress hanging conspicuously at the front of her wardrobe.

Beside her dresser, the cheerful faeries inside her clock giggled at her before shifting the hands to half past eleven.

And that was when Scorpius' face flashed into Rose's cottony brain.

"Bloody hell," she uttered. In a fit of panic, she half-tripped out of her sheets as she made for the adjoining bathroom.

At the sink, the mirror heaved a troubled sigh. "Looking rough, m'dear."

"Not helping, Clara," Rose returned through a mouthful of toothpaste. It was easy to ignore the mirror's barbs usually, but there was no denying the mild alarm that was rising in her chest. She had a little less than an hour to get decent, find her wits about her, and make her way to Malfoy Manor.

Hell—why was her stomach churning at the thought? She'd been looking forward to seeing Scorpius all Christmas.

Hadn't she?

Rose had barely pulled on Hermione's dress out of the shower when the familiar tempo of footsteps outside her door caught her ear. Was Hugo going somewhere? Blast—

"Hugo," Rose hissed, poking her head out the door. It was too late; Hugo had just disappeared around the corner.

"I'll see you at dinner, mum!" came Hugo's voice from the stairs.

"Hugo!" Rose skidded down the narrow corridor, Hermione's dress threatening to slip off her shoulders as she stumbled ungracefully towards the sound of Hugo's receding footsteps. "Hugo, wait—"

And then—propelled by desperation and a bout of klutz—Rose tripped on the hem of her dress on her way down the stairs. With a terrified squeak, she lost her footing and sprawled forward, grabbing wildly at Hugo's back to find purchase. Hugo released an undignified shriek as the pair of them collapsed into the wall of the winding stairwell, Hugo landing squarely with an armful of his sister.

"Bloody hell, Rosie, you could have gotten us both killed—!"

"Where are you going?" Rose demanded in a high-pitched whisper, as she fought for some semblance of composure. She took one glance at his outfit—vintage leather and classic flannel—and something clicked in her head. "Oh, Merlin's pants. You're wearing your sex god jacket. It's a boy, isn't it?"

Hugo looked like he was about to retort when he noticed the lush velvet fabric caught between them. "Wait a minute, Rosie. What are you wearing?"

"Is it—awful?" she asked in a small voice.

Hugo gave her a quick once over, tilting his head thoughtfully at her.

"No. It's a look," he conceded, seeming to forget he was on his way somewhere. He raised a critical eyebrow. "Are you really wearing your hair like that though?"

Rose uttered a choked laugh. "Oh, god. Before we talk about that—can you zip me up? Before I trip again and break my face—"

Somehow, Hugo spent the next half hour in Rose's room, teasing her hair into a sideswept dutch braid. It was a lot like the times they used to play dress-up as children… or, more specifically, Hugo would beg to dress Rose, and Rose would let him. Despite Rose's outdoorsy and unfussy nature, Hugo had always loved dolling her up. It was not a stretch by any means to think that Rose's personal style—casual but girlish, with a touch of whimsy—was somewhat influenced by their dress-up play dates through the years.

Though this dress was certainly—something else. It was not something Hugo would have envisioned for Rose, but Hermione had chosen well. The frock was restrained and conventional in its appeal, which provided an unexpected counterpoint to Rose's off-kilter personality. There was no doubt in Hugo's mind; his sister would hold up just fine in that dress.

And perhaps steal a heart or two, while she was in it.

The hair was a perfect final touch, if Hugo said so himself. The braids resembled a delicate faery crown across her forehead… and made her small, heart-shaped face all the prettier. Hugo, ever the fashion maven, had always thought Rose should wear her unruly hair up more often. But like Hermione, Rose never bothered about these things.

"Someone's meeting his bloody maker today," Hugo muttered, unable to hide a smug smile as Rose got to her feet, the full velvet skirt falling neatly at her ankles.

Rose said nothing, merely taking a deep breath at her reflection. It was rather charming to see her so unsure of herself. His sister usually didn't care enough about boys to put in any sort of effort.

So. This was new.

Things were—getting interesting with Scorpius, to say the least.

In a poor attempt to change the subject, Rose had turned to Hugo, smiling briefly at him as she reached out to straighten his collar. "Where are you going, handsome?"

Hugo grinned at Rose's half-arsed effort to weasel information out of him. "Like you, dear sister, I have a date."

"Well—I figured that much. Er, anyone I should know about?"

"It's probably best if you don't know. We're not going to do anything too crazy, if that's what you're worried about. Maybe I'll take him to the arcade, watch the latest Star Wars movie…"

The concern in her eyes unnerved Hugo just a little. "You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you? If he dares hurt you, he'll have to answer to me, and…"

"I'll be careful, Rosie. I can handle myself, you know." Hugo patted the front of his jacket, lowering his voice as though divulging a secret. "I stole one of Uncle George's Mad-Eye Melts—got one right here. So if he tries anything…"

"Star Wars, though?" Rose gave him a hopeful look. "So—no one from school, then?"

"What, can't the Force be with magical folk, too?" Hugo rolled his eyes, clasping Rose's shoulders as he maneuvered her towards the door. "Bloody hell, worry about yourself, won't you? Have you got your purse?"

"Right here… Oh, don't push me, Hugo—"

"Best not to keep your man waiting, Rosie." Hugo wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm sure he's just dying to see you."

"Won't you play the piano for us, dear?"

Scorpius glanced away from the tall palladian windows to see his mother lingering by the doors of the drawing room, watching him with a hopeful smile.

"You want me to slave over a Debussy piece while you slow dance with father?" Scorpius said wryly, as Draco appeared behind Astoria. "As appealing as it sounds to play the third wheel, I'm afraid it's a hard pass, mother."

"Or," Astoria said, barely keeping a straight face, "how about I play Debussy, while you and your father slow dance?"

"No," said Scorpius and Draco in unison. Astoria chuckled behind her palm.

"Your grandparents will be late, of course," his mother continued good-naturedly, as her glass of wine materialised on a floating tray. "They don't take well to guests, Scorpius, so—"

"Be on your best behavior." Despite Draco's lack of expression, there was a soft steel in his tone. Scorpius could sense a trepidation in his demeanor even as he folded gracefully onto one of the sofas. "Weasleys rarely put your grandfather in a good mood."

"I can't imagine why. Aren't they one of the most respectable families in England?" Scorpius turned back to the garden view, fighting to keep his petulance in check. Of course he was no idiot—he was perfectly aware of his grandfather's old grudges with the Potter-Weasleys. The wizarding war may be over, but unforgotten humiliations and blood prejudices lingered among the old guard like an unpleasant stench, a constant hindrance to the younger, more progressive generation of Purebloods… like Scorpius and his mother. Draco, on his part, had grown fond of Albus over the years—they shared the same unhealthy passion for the Falmouth Falcons, and had even attended games together—but he still held a grave respect for his father, and lived in constant fear of Lucius' wrath behind closed doors.

It rankled at Scorpius to observe the kind of hold his grandfather still had over his parents.

"They had held out hopes that you would marry the Plumes girl," Draco was saying, as Astoria observed her husband and son carefully over the rim of her wineglass. "And they haven't quite forgiven you for the stunt you pulled a week back—"

Scorpius couldn't help a snort. "Excuse me, father, for exercising my right not to marry a gold-digger."

"This is what I mean. You'd do well to mind your manners later, Scorpius." An icy warning flashed across Draco's pale eyes as he regarded his son. "You reject the Plumes proposal, and now you bring Rose Weasley to a family lunch? Surely you can see how your grandparents will assume you want to marry her. I'd appreciate it if you hold your tongue today, lest he gives the girl a hard time. She doesn't deserve a lashing just because you think this is all a bit of fun."

Scorpius opened his mouth, ready to retort, when Astoria's uncharacteristically stern glance made the words catch in his throat. He was well-aware that his parents took his side on things—they always had his best interests at heart. It was obvious that they had stressed themselves out about the upcoming lunch.

Even so. Talk of Lucius always riled him up. Scorpius closed his eyes, willing himself to keep his composure. Well, if nothing good came out of today, he thought grimly, at least he would get to see Rose.

And he did want to see her.

For—reasons.

As much as Scorpius liked coming home, Christmas itself was often a dull, chilly affair for the Malfoys. Every year, a well-regarded Pureblood family in Europe was elected to host a ball—one that Scorpius would be forced to attend in order to rub shoulders with other European Purebloods who held themselves in comically high esteem. These things were, of course, merely an excuse for old conservatives to reassure themselves of their relevance within the upper crust of wizarding society. Most of Scorpius' time there was spent ducking the attentions of marriage-seeking witches hoping for an invitation to a waltz, or extracting himself from pompous, layered conversations with elder wizards eyeing his fortune for their daughters or businesses.

It was a lost cause, really. Scorpius had been happier to get Tarquin drunk at the bar. Not that he had any luck on that end, either. His friend had remained stubbornly mum on the issue of Hugo even after Scorpius plied him with an exorbitant amount of Cheval Mallet Brand Whiskey.

Hardly the most productive of Christmases, to say the least. The only positive was Scorpius was surely less hungover than Tarquin today.

The soft creak of the drawing room doors drew his attention back to the present. Scorpius craned his neck as their House-elf, Quigs, emerged.

"Presenting Miss Rose Weasley," he squeaked, in his high staccato voice.

Scorpius only got a glimpse of velvet before Astoria—ever the gracious hostess—crossed the drawing room to take Rose in her arms like an old friend, greeting her with perfectly punctuated air-kisses. Draco followed, waiting warily behind his wife as she bestowed her welcome.

"My dear girl," she was saying warmly, "It's so nice to finally meet you. Scorpius couldn't stop talking about you, of course—"

"Happy Christmas, Mr and Mrs Malfoy! Thank you so much for having me."

Just hearing Rose's chirpy voice again made Scorpius' poor mood lift… even if his parents couldn't stop fawning over her. They also seemed to insist on hogging all her attention, which was annoying.

"I trust your parents are well," said Draco, keeping his tone neutral as he shook Rose's hand.

"They're doing wonderful, Mr Malfoy. Though I always feel mum can afford to work a little less in the holidays."

"Well, that's Granger for you." There was a wryness to his father's voice now. "Nice to know nothing's changed."

When Draco and Astoria finally parted to let Rose through to the drawing room, Scorpius stepped forward to say hello, only—he couldn't come unstuck from where he stood. Rose had looked away from his parents, still smiling from something Astoria said… her startling cornflower blue gaze coming to meet his.

Oh.

Despite the frigidity of the drawing room, just the sight of her had melted the winter right from the heart of him. As though she had brought the springtime with her through those doors.

Scorpius could only stare wordlessly at her, unable to move and somehow—forgetting how to breathe.

Like a complete fool.

She was still unquestionably Rose. But somehow, he had never quite pictured her like this. A slow amusement rose in his chest as the details emerged in his study of her. Was that—really a Cornish Pixie pin in her hair?

And then there was the matter of that dress.

The colour of the fabric seemed to glimmer whenever she moved, a lush velvet in the deepest of maroons… the rich depth of colour providing a heavenly contrast to the pale alabaster of her skin. The dress was hardly revealing, and was in fact sparing in detail, but its generous, open-shoulder cut showed off Rose's petite frame to great effect. It perfectly highlighted the loveliest parts of her; the dainty slopes of her shoulders, the elegant length of her neck, the delicate structure of her collarbones…

Scorpius found his eyes travelling downwards to meet the tapered smallness of her waist, trailing past the full skirt to catch an indecent glimpse of her pale ankles.

Oh, hell. He was obsessed.

Wear something pretty.

If that wasn't an act of complete self-sabotage.

"Scorpius dear," came Astoria's mildly amused voice, "aren't you going to say hello?"

Scorpius nodded stiffly, though not really hearing his mother. As though in a dream, he found himself moving forward, each step heavier than the last as he neared Rose. A mortifying heat was gathering under his collar.

If she was a showstopper from afar, she certainly looked even more charming up close.

"Hello," he managed, his breaths coming short as he came to a stop before her.

"Hi," Rose said, leaning over to him with an impish smile. "I hope I'm not late."

"No. You're just on time." That—sounded hoarser than he intended.

He must look like a total novice to his parents at the moment, because Draco and Astoria merely exchanged shrewd glances… before linking arms and leading the way to the adjoining dining room.

Before Scorpius, Rose fidgeted awkwardly for a brief moment before turning to follow his parents—only to have him catch her deftly by the elbow, bringing her back to his side. He glanced up to make sure his parents hadn't noticed, then his palm came to rest on the small of her back, the gentle pressure drawing her close to him.

Rose made a small sound of surprise as Scorpius lowered his head to press a hot, lingering kiss on her cheek, his fingers resting firm against the back of her hair to hold her there. Their noses brushed, faces so close he could feel her eyelashes tickle his skin.

This stolen intimacy only served to bring back the recent memory of her soft and warm under him... a tender love bite hidden in her neck, his kisses sweeping across her soap-sweet skin. All Scorpius wanted to do was toss her over his shoulder and whisk her away to his room for a little privacy—family lunch be damned. But Rose, bless her, had not forgotten the purpose of their meeting. Like a warning, her hand had come up to rest against his chest. She stepped back to put some measure of distance between them, a telling pinkness filling her cheeks as someone cleared their throat by the doors.

Scorpius closed his eyes in irritation—how had he not heard his grandparents come in? Lucius and Narcissa were standing across the room from them, mild looks of disapproval on their faces.

"I hope you still have an appetite, dear," Lucius said to Narcissa, as he and his wife swept past the pair of them without so much as a hello.

As some sort of universal birthright, every Malfoy possessed a commanding presence that dominated any room they walked into. This was true even of Astoria, whose obsidian beauty was a point of intimidation for others until they learned of her naturally warm disposition. But this bout of Malfoy frostiness particularly applied to Lucius and Narcissa, who were at their taciturn best as they regarded Rose for the first time.

Of course, Narcissa doted on Scorpius his whole life, in the same fanatical way she did on Draco. Scorpius was always confident of eventually winning his grandmother's favour; it was Lucius who would prove to be a problem. Apart from the barest of nods, he had hardly acknowledged Rose's presence since they sat down at the dining table.

Not that Rose seemed to mind too much, once the food was served. Her eyes had lit up the moment the food and wine materialised before them.

Which really was endearing as hell, if Scorpius was being quite honest.

"Well, a toast for our guest today," Astoria said, raising her glass to Rose. "Such a pleasure for you to join us, Rose. I must say I've always wanted to meet you. Scorpius writes often about you—"

"Nice things, I hope," Rose said, as Scorpius shot his mother a warning glance.

"—and Hermione, of course, is a joy to work with."

"Is she," Lucius said coolly. His distinct grey eyes, so much like Draco's and Scorpius' own, rested on Astoria with none of the warmth she was accustomed to from her husband and son. "And what business would you have with her, of all people?"

"I'm a board member for a newly founded Muggle-Pureblood foundation." Scorpius had to admire his mother's casual aplomb. "Hermione is chairwoman, of course—"

"Did she harass you into it, Astoria?" Narcissa queried, a hopeful note in her voice.

"No," said Astoria. "I asked to be nominated."

A terse silence fell over the table. Beside Astoria, Draco looked like he'd lost his appetite. Scorpius glanced between them, about to speak up for his mother, when Rose piped up unexpectedly.

"I think it's admirable work, Mrs Malfoy," she said earnestly. "Not enough magical folk have an interest in advancing our relations with Muggles. It's not a very glamorous cause. I always thought cultural exchange is important… it would be wonderful to have more Muggle influences in wizarding culture, wouldn't it?" A thoughtful pause. "More wizards should know Star Wars. Everyone loves Star Wars."

"And what exactly is a Star War?" Narcissa asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Ah, well, Mrs Malfoy, it's really a soap opera set in space—it's about a family called the Skywalkers, and they have this thing called the Force…"

Astoria raised an amused eyebrow at Scorpius, hiding her smile behind her wineglass. As reluctant as Narcissa was to engage at first, Rose's vivid description of Jedi lore was intriguing enough for her to forget they were talking about Muggles in the first place. Lucius, on the other hand, was far less charmed.

"How was the ball at the Verbekes', then?" he asked abruptly, before Narcissa could ask Rose any more questions. "It's a pity Narcissa and I couldn't attend, but we had a dinner appointment with the Marikovs."

"It was every bit as dull as I expected," Scorpius said flatly. "Not much to do in a Belgian countryside except get cockeyed."

"It's a ball, not a holiday." Lucius glanced sharply at Draco. "Surely you arranged for Scorpius to meet a few eligible ladies that evening?"

"Of course he waltzed with a few of them," Draco said, shooting Scorpius an admonishing look as Rose watched the exchange with cautious eyes. "Though I'm not sure it's the right time to speak of this now, father—"

"Now's a good time as any," Lucius said contemptuously. "It's not like Scorpius would give me the time of the day otherwise. One of the largest inheritances in Europe, and not a single worthy witch has left a calling card?"

It was unaccountably rude to talk about his prospects as though he and Rose were not in the room. Scorpius set down his fork with a clang, startling everyone at the table.

"Grandfather," he said, unable to keep the derision from his tone, "I'm dating a worthy witch as we speak—"

"You're telling me," Lucius cut in, still refusing to acknowledge Rose was at the table, "that you couldn't get the attention of the Parkinson girl?"

"She's bloody twelve—"

"Twelve is hardly too young for an engagement. She'll be the right age for marriage in six years, will she not?"

Scorpius made a show of rolling his eyes.

"Then there's the Vance daughter, Sophia—"

"You'll find I have a preference for freckles, grandfather," Scorpius said frostily.

"Or Claudette Severin—"

"I'm not interested if she doesn't have red hair."

Across the table, Draco was rubbing his face in agitation, looking rather like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. Beside him, Astoria merely studied the scene before her, a tired resignation crossing her features. It would not be the first time they sat through a row between Lucius and Scorpius.

"If it's red hair you seek in a wife, Scorpius," Lucius continued, a dangerously low snarl in his voice, "then go on and have a word with Iva Marikov the next time you see her."

Scorpius stared squarely at Lucius, taking a calm sip of his wine before setting his glass down with a deliberate clink.

"She doesn't have blue eyes," he said, leaning in with a sardonic smile. "Does she, grandfather?"

At this, Rose's eyes widened ever so slightly; Scorpius could feel her fingers curling over his wrist to keep him from losing his temper. But it was too late—Lucius had slammed a hand on the table, rattling the silverware.

"Astoria," he said coldly. "Will you be so kind as to show Miss Weasley around the manor, please? I'm sure she will enjoy a tour."

"Good idea," Scorpius said, pushing back his chair. "I can go with—"

"You sit down!" Lucius barked, before turning his furious expression on his daughter-in-law. "Astoria!"

With a curt nod, Astoria rose to her feet, going around the table to take Rose's arm and lead her out of the dining room. Scorpius' hand caught Rose's as she moved to leave her seat; the sight of this brief affection only served to enrage Lucius further, an ugly redness rising in his pale face.

Rose shot Scorpius an anxious look, and then Astoria had shut the door firmly behind them.