I'm so overwhelmed by the reviews from last chapter. I'm so happy to know you liked the Scorose! Personal thank yous to scorpiusrose, hpdude-4life (your reaction, omg!), Priyodorshini, rohzatg, Ellen1983, wordvomitz, AMBERJANUS, CuteSecretsX, knottedroses (thank you for correcting my typos, dear), LilyJean630, Rae Ella, Sora Loves Rain, Seraphina, yeyeyee (I adore what you said about being 'awakened by love' – that's exactly it!), debo, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, isamartinez28, bright places, syranzra, Meowmeow, Najahika, Connected-by-a-Semicolon, eponines, Weasleyred91, angelserpent, Shipslover, Vanelore, Catwomannnnnn1, HPDWTWD, ScoroseTrash98, KiaMinaya, B Vi and all the wonderful anons/guests who took the time to review. I so appreciate your kindness.
Scorpius' POV will return in the next few chapters, hopefully. We're in the midst of investigating Rose a little bit. :) Also, just a question—how interested would you guys be in a Draco/Astoria one shot about how they met? Let me know!
*There are many versions of Erik Satie's "Je te veux", but this is one of my favourites – tiny . cc / jeteveux [remove spaces]
*Updated soundtrack - tiny . cc / ABoS [remove spaces]
Chapter 22: The Reverie
"Can we see Quigs later, you think?"
The two of them had just left Astoria's quarters, Rose's hand warmly clasped in Scorpius' as he led her down the winding stairs and back into the manor's arched hallways. It was, Rose thought guiltily, the wisest thing to do.
As wonderfully cosy and warm as it was in that room, she didn't think she could look Astoria in the eye now without recalling those breathtaking few minutes under Scorpius on the settee… with her slowly coming apart under the wicked heat of his mouth.
Just the memory of it was enough to make Rose blush for days.
Though this sort of fooling around was hardly new to Scorpius, surely. It had been obvious to her, even before they became friends of some sort, that his previous entanglements with other girls often ended up in his bed. For years, the knowledge of his infamous sexual appetite had always been a distant, irrelevant thing to Rose; merely a random Witch Weekly fact that other people discussed as casually as the weather.
Now, however.
Despite his restraint around her, the reality of the matter rather frightened Rose. She was far more comfortable with feelings of a simpler, more direct nature. Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the sort of hot-headed passion she had always found incomprehensible. As attracted as she was to him—as a friend, and perhaps a little more than that—it was plain to her that she was hardly qualified to return his intense physical affections the way he deserved.
How could she?
When not even someone like Georgia managed.
Rose hurried to shut down that train of thought. This was not worth fretting about, she chided herself. At least for now.
At present, Scorpius was surveying Rose with a mildly sceptical look, blissfully unaware of the haphazard turns her thoughts had taken. It gratified her somewhat to see that he didn't seem one bit surprised at her request about Quigs. "What business do you have with my House-elf, may I ask?"
"I want to thank him before I leave." Then, to further make her case, Rose added helpfully, "For bringing tea. And for dessert."
For a moment, she thought he might tease her for it. But then Scorpius merely nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked away.
It was still a mystery as to where they were headed. Scorpius had seemed mildly preoccupied when they left Astoria's, and the sudden reserve in his demeanor had kept Rose from prying. Not that it mattered, anyhow… for the manor itself served as the grandest of distractions. They had just entered an extensive, dimly-lit gallery that stretched endlessly before them, the paneled walls tastefully gilded in black and gold. Upon closer inspection, Rose realised the larger than life paintings contained silver-haired aristocrats from days past. It amused her that each one could still manage to look dignified even as they snored through their afternoon nap.
Malfoys indeed.
As they slowed to a stop in the middle of the gallery, Scorpius spoke. "That one's Lucius."
"What?" Rose glanced up in alarm, almost expecting to see Scorpius' grandfather at the end of the hall.
The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. Perhaps intent on not waking the sleeping portraits, Scorpius stepped deliberately behind her, his head lowered over her shoulder to whisper in her ear.
"Lucius the First," he clarified in a lowered tone, gesturing to one of the portraits before them as Rose breathed an inward sigh of relief. "One of our more controversial figures. Not that any Malfoy ever confirmed it… but apparently he tried to marry a Muggle."
The closeness of his husky voice to her ear sent a delicious shiver down her spine. "Tried?"
"Queen Elizabeth the First, to be more precise."
Well. This was too much, even for a Malfoy. Rose craned her neck to meet his eyes, unable to hide her disbelief. "You're joking."
"I wish. My ancestors were far more particular about wealth and status than they were about bloodlines. They used to mix freely with Muggle high-borns." Scorpius gazed up thoughtfully at Lucius the First as he fidgeted in his sleep, snorting quietly into his cravat before dozing off once more. "When the queen refused his proposal, he attempted to jinx her. The madness he resorted to afterwards to avoid a beheading…" There was a wry note in his voice now. "You can imagine the drama it caused."
"Absolute scenes," Rose murmured, staring up at the sleeping portrait with newfound wonder.
"A true scandal." She could feel the trace of his lips against the shell of her ear, the insistent heat of his body barely touching the back of hers… raising goosebumps across her skin as she fought not to blush.
The moment passed. And then Scorpius had moved away, leading her gently by the hand as they continued through the gallery, exiting into yet another adjoining hallway. A few minutes later, they arrived at an imposing set of ebony doors replete with complex floral carvings.
With the casual flick of Scorpius' wand, the heavy doors swung open to admit them.
The ballroom. Every part of the manor, of course, had been stunning in its own right… but this. Rose barely noticed as Scorpius placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her past the threshold. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling. She was too awestruck by the sheer magnificence of its design.
She had never seen anything quite like it.
Above them, the domed ceilings were filled with the smoke glow of deep amber and teal, set against a midnight canvas to convey the mist-like beauty of the eternal cosmos. Within that interstellar tapestry, age-old constellations orbited at leisure in mid-air, twinkling in and out like a sprawling web of crystal raindrops.
Scorpius raised his arm, and a single light shot upwards from the tip of his wand. Like a meteor, it collided into a single star… From there, a supernova brilliance erupted in the middle of the tapestry, igniting the fire within its surrounding constellations. As they watched, the blinding glow spread rapidly across the ceiling, filling to the brim with the life of a thousand winking stars.
It took Rose a few minutes to find the words.
"You live in a madhouse," she uttered at last, not bothering to hide her awe.
Scorpius pocketed his wand, stepping towards her as she gazed skywards. "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment."
"It's so beautiful," she said softly, unable to look away from the sparkling constellations.
"Do you think so?" There was a genuine curiosity in his question as he followed her gaze. Then, almost to himself—"Maybe I just see this too often."
"Maybe if you come visit mine," Rose said, shooting him an impish grin, "you'll appreciate your home a lot more."
"I might like yours better."
"It's cramped and full of people, you know. Not a moment's peace. No pretty ceilings, either. Just messy floors."
"Well, invite me next time," Scorpius murmured, as she dragged her gaze away from the starlit ceiling. "And I'll decide for myself."
The thought of Scorpius meeting Hermione and Ron made Rose smile. Her father would likely be standoffish at first, but Hermione would love him, surely? Like Astoria, he was certainly capable of beautiful manners. And perhaps Ron would like him better once they talked about Quidditch…
"What's your favourite team?" she asked.
"Holyhead Harpies. Why do you think Al's mother likes me so much?"
"Well, time to switch allegiances," Rose said solemnly. "My dad's for the Chudley Cannons, and your team stole the title on their grounds last season."
"I know. I was there." There was a terrible smugness in Scorpius' expression that tickled Rose. "But he'll hate me anyway, imp. He'll think I'm trying to steal you too."
He wasn't taking the conversation quite so seriously, but Rose couldn't help but let her imagination run away with her. In a mind's eye, she could already picture her father raising hell if she ever brought Scorpius home. Ron had the biggest of hearts and could turn a frown upside down in a hurry, but his emotional nature meant he often struggled to stay objective. Understandably, he had never quite forgiven the Malfoys for their part in the war, despite Hermione's willingness to put the past behind them. In a best case scenario, he would be glaring daggers at Scorpius from across the table throughout dinner, resembling Crookshanks the Second at his territorial best.
No doubt Ron would strangle them both if Scorpius ever stepped into the Burrow.
And yet… the very possibility filled Rose with a strange, unexpected longing.
Scorpius must have spotted the faraway look in her eyes, for he had tentatively closed the distance between them. "If you're not going to talk to me," he said mock gravely, "the least you can do is dance with me."
Rose felt the beginnings of smile. "I'll step on your foot."
"Don't worry. I have a poker face."
A giggle rose in her chest as Scorpius extended a hand to her. She placed her hand in his, letting him twirl her under his arm and catch her against him. They both knew he was supposed to let her go, but somehow he could only bear to hold her tighter still, making her laugh with a playful kiss that tickled her ear.
Barely a waltz, but surely an embrace.
Then, with obvious reluctance, he released her. Rose blinked at the loss of his warmth, a pinkness rising in her cheeks as he stepped away from her. His measured footsteps echoed across the vast space as he headed straight towards the antique Blüthner Grand in the middle of the ballroom.
Rose returned to her senses then, finding her voice as Scorpius took a seat at the piano with the nonchalant ease of someone who played one for years. "Scorpius—what are you doing?"
"Giving you your Christmas present."
"What? Wait, you don't have to—"
In response, experimental notes from the piano filled the ballroom. Then… the sound of the scales. Scorpius was warming up on the keys. Rose stood there with wide eyes, unmoving as she stared at him from where she was. For no rhyme or reason at all, she found herself completely mesmerised by the sight of Scorpius at the piano.
It wasn't as though this was a secret. He'd told her before, hadn't he? During their date on that chilly, sunlit afternoon at Hogsmeade. Rose felt her breath hitch at the memory. He had spoken so poorly of his musical education then, treated it like a hindrance he had to deal with throughout his childhood.
And yet—
"Really, you don't have to," Rose repeated faintly. "Scorpius, you don't even like the piano."
Scorpius broke out of concentration for a beat, glancing up at her as though he just remembered she was there, watching him. The sight of his pretty smile, slow and deliberate, made her insides go soft.
"I don't," he agreed. "But you do."
With a wave of his hand, the music sheets before him fluttered swiftly to rearrange themselves. Then, without preamble—Scorpius began on a fresh piece, the series of familiar notes filling the ballroom, sweet and playful. Oh, Rose thought with a childlike wonder—she knew the song. It brought her right back to girlhood memories of postcard summer visits to Shell Cottage, where Fleur gave a sulking Victoire piano lessons in the late afternoon; of a younger Louis dancing with Rose in the kitchen, pretending they were buskers on the streets of Paris; of Hugo and Lily comparing sea shells after a full morning by the beach, their bickering offering a comical staccato against the gorgeous lilt of the melody.
There was a hint of a smile touching Scorpius' lips as their eyes met ever so briefly; Rose was sure she could not hide the rising delight in her expression. She could hardly miss the way her smile brought a pinkness to the tip of his ears. An oddly charming sight.
Music had always been her escape from the malicious untruths spoken about and around her. She'd sought the safety of her headphones for years. And now, Scorpius was at the centre of that wonderful, quiet place. His head studiously lowered to the piano as he absorbed himself in the piece… his tapered fingers deft and light across the keys as the music sheets flipped once more.
With the initial shock wearing off, the infectious glee of the Erik Satie waltz now filled Rose like a delicious shot of happiness. There was something compulsively romantic about this melody… An impossible a ray of sunshine wrought into the joyful notes that drew the ear. And yet, within its soaring elation, there was a terrible, heartfelt longing that could only be discerned by lovers. Rose's feet had taken her closer to the piano, her fingers now tracing the smooth mahogany wood of the handsome Blüthner Grand… as though to reassure herself that this was not a dream.
Her trembling fingers came to rest over her lips.
For she could not stop smiling.
Too soon, the song came to an end with a lovely flourish, the last notes echoing off the walls of the ballroom… the sensation somehow akin to awakening from a deep, happy slumber. For a long moment, Rose and Scorpius merely stayed still, neither of them quite daring to break the silence.
"Je te veux," Rose whispered at last, naming the Erik Satie piece as their gazes met from across the piano.
I want you.
"Je te veux aussi," Scorpius replied, with a wicked glint in his eye.
I want you too.
"Teasing me again," she murmured. As though hypnotised, Rose found herself approaching the bench, moving around it to sit down next to Scorpius at the piano. He stilled beside her, hardly breathing, as she took a moment to adjust her skirt. The radiant heat of him now pressing up against her side. There was an exquisite weight in the air that seemed to take aim at her chest, making it hard to breathe. Was it strange that her eyes were damp, that the happiness she felt was verging on heartache?
"Do you not like it?" Scorpius asked quietly, studying her conflicted expression.
"Sorry," Rose said, unable to help the faint crack of emotion in her voice as she smiled back at him. "Of course I love it, Scorpius. Thank you. I was just thinking—that I'll never receive anything like this again."
Yes, she realised wistfully. That was it. Perhaps that was what she was doing from the very first note. Memorising each moment the best she could, writing it into her very heart. Somehow, she was terribly desperate not to forget the feeling.
What he just did was so precious to her.
His gentle thumb had come up to stroke circles at the nape of her neck. As though he was the one soothing her now. "That's not true," Scorpius retorted in an undertone, his familiar waspishness dissolving the lump in her throat. "I'll play for you. Whenever you want."
It made Rose warm to her toes. Of what he meant by that. Without thinking, she rested her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes lowered to take in the sight of their hands side-by-side. His resting casually on his lap. Her fingers curled into the velvet of her dress.
Close enough to touch with the littlest of movements.
She wanted to know him, she realised, with a tender jolt in her heart.
Anything and everything about him.
"When did you learn this one?" she asked softly.
"It's one of the first songs I had to learn when I was old enough to entertain at gatherings. So—thirteen?" Scorpius exhaled quietly against her hair, as though exhausted by the memory. "I'm rusty, though. I'm supposed to practice at school, but I don't. Not as much as I should."
"It's gorgeous."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Finally getting a hold of her emotions, Rose looked up at him, putting on a hopeful expression. "Won't you teach me? I promise to be terrible at it."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Like he had expected for her to say that of herself. "Of course."
"I'll take years," Rose warned, a twinkle in her eye. "This is a serious commitment."
A beat, followed by the most miniscule of moves… starting with his knuckle brushing her little finger. Then, like petals of a blooming flower, her fingers spread open to rest over the warmth of his upturned palm. So carefully, his slender digits came to occupy the spaces between her own, curling warmly into the back of her smaller hand.
Holding her. Holding them together.
Scorpius' gaze lingered at their joined hands before dragging back up to meet her own. Then, his voice low and hoarse—"We better start now, then." His fingers slipped upwards to clasp at her wrist, before placing her hand delicately on the keys. "This is a Middle C, see it? We usually start by learning the scales…"
Rose beamed up at him. And, despite her earlier fears, she found herself wondering, not for the first time, what it was about the man beside her that was starting to take her breath away.
Since a child, Rose had always remembered her night visions with absolute clarity, reciting them scene-by-scene to Ron and Hermione with amusing sureness in the morning. In recent days, it had become a constant thing to glimpse Scorpius while asleep. As he became a fixture in her daydreams, it was only a given that he would emerge in her nighttime reveries, each silken dreamscape tightly wound into the fabric of half-forgotten memories.
This dream, however, was found in the pocket beside the stuff of nightmares; a particular event that Rose had kept locked away in the corners of her mind… only coming to the fore when she was no longer awake to guard her secrets.
Ironically, it always began pleasantly—sun rays twinkling through the spaces between leaves, patches of light at her feet, and a creature of some sort seeking her attention. And then—a tap on her shoulder, and there he would be. Jamie Wilkins, the bright-eyed Ravenclaw she had become friends with by sheer chance. He had picked up her Murtlap bookmark on the way to Great Hall and struck up a conversation with her… then simply began being around her. He was adorable, even then—the warmest of brown eyes, with wild, tawny curls that matched his often ruddy cheeks. Apart from Poppy and her family, he was the only other person who asked Rose to lunch with him.
As something of a social recluse, this development in fourth year was encouraging for her. She had been thrilled to make a new friend. Jamie didn't care that the others still looked at her strange; didn't mind at all that her trainers were often stinking of mud from her visits to the Forbidden Forest. She had thought him kind for offering to carry her books, and admired his patience as he waited for her to be finished with feeding Buckbeak.
What were friends for, after all?
So—when that evening happened, Rose was completely blindsided. She still remembered the taste of that particular February… the dying sting of winter that clung to the air wherever they went, as the first blooms peeked out from beneath the grey of snow. Jamie had caught her against him as he walked her back to the Gryffindor common room. For a moment, Rose thought they were in some kind of trouble. But then—he'd kissed her.
It was her first, and it was—horrible. Too close. Too sudden. She was as inexperienced as he was eager, the combination providing the sloppiest of outcomes. He was too much on her senses; too much at once. His lips moved wetly over her own, without any sort of rhythm, her open-mouthed gasp giving him something work with. Yet she did not want him, not this way. She was a simple girl, and as much as she liked him, this sort of thing had never crossed her mind.
In a wild panic, her hands rose quickly to his chest to push Jamie off of her. Perhaps it was some sort of game to him, for he had simply covered her mouth with his own once more—and that was when Rose shoved him away with greater force, her eyes brimming with tears as her wand trembled at his throat.
An indignant fury had crossed his expression then. She would never forget it. At that point in time, she could barely comprehend his disappointment in her. Rather, she was too overwhelmed by the shock of the whole thing, the sheer unfairness of it. Later on, she would be paralysed by the possibility that she had done something wrong by rejecting him so thoroughly. As she ran from Jamie, her rational mind kicked into gear, shutting down the part of her that yearned to cry: his advances had meant nothing. As such, she should feel nothing.
And yet, the way he had looked at her—like she had let him down, somehow—
She barely noticed where she was running to until she collided into a warm body—"Rosie," came a familiar voice, and there was Albus, his firm hands clasping on her arms as her bookbag collapsed onto the stone floor beside her. "What happened? Are you alright?"
This was the part of the dream that was new to her. For the first time since dreaming this memory, Tarquin and Scorpius came to focus over Albus' shoulder.
Scorpius.
She had barely known him then. They were nobody to each other. There was a polite curiosity in his eyes as she struggled to regain her breath against Albus' shoulder, trying her damndest not to cry.
She couldn't imagine how she must look to them.
"Did something happen?" Albus asked, his voice hardening. "Hey, Rosie—talk to me—"
Scorpius had gone to pick up her bookbag, wordlessly offering it to Rose. She was in no state to explain things, especially to boys—so she merely grabbed her bag from Scorpius and pushed past Albus and Tarquin, leaving them confused behind her as she made for the common room to look for Poppy.
Then, like an ebbing tide, the dream receded.
The squeal of wheels on the railway track cut abruptly into her awareness. Rose opened her eyes blearily, her head resting on Poppy's shoulder. Her friend was watching the scenery go by, a quiet hum under her breath. Across from them, Lily was discussing tarot cards with Lorcan Scamander, who had probably arrived in their compartment while Rose was asleep.
They were on the Hogwart's Express, headed back to school from the Christmas holidays. And the whole thing was—
Just a dream, Rose thought with a sigh of relief.
Poppy noticed her stir, and reached out to pat her arm gently. "You were twitching a little," she said in an undertone. "Bad nap?"
"Bad memories." Rose shot her friend a grateful smile. "Thanks for the shoulder."
"It's alright." Poppy got to her feet, stretching out as she clambered over their legs towards the door. "I'm headed to the Prefect's compartment—see you guys at dinner?"
Rose nodded as Lily and Lorcan chirped their goodbyes.
In good time, the train came to a screeching halt. Around them, students hurried to grab their luggages and owl cages, decibels reaching an all time high as everyone knocked shoulders to disembark. Rose followed behind Lily, eventually losing her cousin to the crowd as she stepped onto the platform.
Then, without quite noticing where she was going, she bumped straight into someone's back. Perhaps the dream hadn't quite left her, but the sudden body contact raised her heckles at once… and then she had come face-to-face with Wilkins. Instantly, she was desperate to put the distance between them, stumbling backwards as the colour rose on her cheeks. Wilkins merely stared back at her, a familiar irritation in his eyes, reminiscent of his furious disappointment so long ago. From nowhere, she recalled his unkind words from Hogsmeade—
I've never met any girl more daft.
Wilkins turned away from her and stalked off, his owl squawking back in her direction.
She came to a pause, cheeks burning, an old wound reopening in the very heart of her. Those girlish fears of her inadequacy had returned with a vengeance; that despite her intelligence, her natural tendency to optimism, she was still not enough somehow. Rose had never chased the approval of others—Hermione had seen to that. But she had liked Wilkins. And wanted him to like her.
A kiss had ruined all of that.
As she stood there, held hostage by her own memories, Tarquin's voice carried across the platform and caught her ear.
"So what is it? Look at that finishing… obviously it's not a Finisterre knit. Is it from that Muggle brand you like—Saint Laurent? Are rustic touches in season now?"
"It's a gift," Scorpius said emphatically. The sound of him made Rose's heart skip a beat. "Don't you know what a gift is?"
"Oy, I know what a bloody gift is—"
"Well, I bet you never got one that's hand-made for you—"
"With all due respect, my friend, what person in your family knows how to do anything with their hands except Quigs?"
Scorpius shot Tarquin an irritated look… and then his eyes had caught Rose's over Tarquin's shoulder. Rose clutched tightly at the handle of her suitcase as Tarquin followed after Albus, who was yakking away with Quirke and Yaxley as they joined the receding crowd. Scorpius watched his friends go before turning his gaze back to her.
Then, flashing her a secretive smile, he held out his hand.
The anxieties that had tugged at her heart all afternoon seemed to quieten at last. Rose released the softest of breaths, barely able to hide the little grin that had stolen into her face as she neared him. Her hand found his, his fingers intertwining warmly with hers… And there was no hello, only a quirk of his eyebrow when she leaned into him.
"You could have just told him it's a Saint Laurent," she said, her eyes flitting to the scarf around his neck as she looked up at him with an impish smile. "I won't be offended."
"He wishes it were so he can buy it," Scorpius said matter-of-factly. "But it's one of a kind."
His usual brand of snobbery made Rose want to laugh. He hid a smile behind the scarf as she squeezed his hand, her cheek pressing briefly against his sleeve. They trailed behind the rest of the crowd, but Rose found she didn't quite mind.