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Please enjoy this one! Let me know what you think happens next.
Chapter 29: The Match
In a typical game of Quidditch, Seekers could get away without participating in most of the dirty work. All they needed was a keen eye and cat-like reflexes. They had a simple task: observe the scoreboard, spot the Golden Snitch, then steal it at the opportune moment to win the game.
Good Seekers did all of the above.
Mad ones, however, played both Chaser and Beater whenever they got the chance.
A stubborn, damp fog had risen that late afternoon, limiting the players' visibility. Even so, the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game was in full swing, the bellowing cheers of all four houses peppering an otherwise grey day.
Across the arena, the resounding trill of Gryffindor announcer Everitt Kane boomed like thunder. "Malfoy dispossesses Fayed! Potter gets the Quaffle, passes to Prowse… Ugh. Slytherin scores again!"
"Keep your head in the game!" Kirkpatrick Vance hollered at Tamara Fayed, who looked properly chastened. She was an impressive player, but fairly famous for her rather helpless crush on Albus. "Potter's not even that good-looking!"
"Oy, up yours, Vance!" came Albus' irate quip through the fog. Scorpius and Derrick Prowse knocked fists as Harper-Flint cackled from her position at goal.
A Bludger whooshed past Scorpius' ear just then, and he whipped his head back to spot Hedge glaring at him from across the pitch. Bitter twat, Scorpius thought vengefully. It wouldn't be a game if he didn't at least smash Hedge's face in—
The buzz of the Snitch reached his ears. Scorpius' senses went on full alert, his sharp eyes zeroing in on the winged sphere flittering below him.
"What are you waiting for, you twit!" came Warnog's distant scream. "I saw that Snitch before you even—"
She cut herself off, shrieking when she was intercepted by two Hufflepuff players. The Quaffle in her hold dropped into a free fall; one of Hufflepuff's Chasers, Clyde Barker, fetched it swiftly beneath her. Albus shot Warnog a glare so toxic it would have wilted anyone else.
Leaving the Chasers to it, Scorpius sped into a dive, eyes fixed on the golden ball hurtling through the air. "Look at Malfoy go, he's spotted the Snitch!" Kane boomed. "Careful now, Hedge coming for blood—"
There was an audible gasp from the audience. Scorpius chanced a glance; Hedge was right on his tail, his bat at the ready. Oh, this was about to get personal. Scorpius put on a grim smile, turning his attention to the Snitch darting about a few feet from him—
"And now, Hufflepuff robbed of possession by Levantis! What were you doing, Barker?! Butter fingers if I've ever seen them… Warnog to Potter, and goal! Warnog's first assist of the season—shocking stat, but who's surprised, really?—120-40 Slytherin! Malfoy still on that Snitch's tail. Hufflepuff Seeker Laura Grimes on her way… Oh, no, wait, she's been smacked by Zabini. How's no one from Slytherin sent off yet, no good cheating scum—"
Headmistress McGonagall's sharp voice came on the speakers. "Kane! Opinions to yourself, please."
"Did I lie though, professor?"
At this, Tarquin had batted a Bludger right past Kane's nose—it swept upwards in the air and took out a Hufflepuff Chaser, who collapsed off his broom and onto the pitch below. Kane sputtered in outrage. "Morten down, Morten down! Medics, please! Pop quiz: who hurt Zabini as a child?"
There was a sharp, crackling interference on speaker as McGonagall wrestled for the microphone.
"Nooo, don't take it away from me, professor—"
Tarquin flashed Kane the finger as he streaked past the announcer's box.
The wind was beating Scorpius in the face, the fog whipping past his vision as he sped through the air. The Snitch continued to taunt him, skittering about like Arnold The Third scouring for food. Scorpius' mouth twisted in brief amusement. Get here, you piece of shit.
Hedge had caught up now, plowing into Scorpius' side to force him off course. Not that he succeeded, of course. Irritation surged through Scorpius, and he gave a brutal foot to the head of Hedge's broomstick, causing Hedge to tumble downwards. Hedge, however, had all the persistence of a mosquito—
"You won't last with Rosie, Malfoy," Hedge bellowed from beneath Scorpius. "You'll fuck it up and drive her away, like you always do—"
Scorpius resisted the urge to howl with laughter. Salazar's balls, if Hedge gave Quidditch even half the attention he gave Rose, Hufflepuff wouldn't be lagging behind like the perpetual losers they were. "Oh, because you're doing so well with her," he snarled, not taking his eyes off the Snitch. Just a few inches now—
"When Rosie sees sense," Hedge panted, a genuine fury in his voice, "she'll come to me. It's only a matter of time."
This casual use of Rose's nickname by someone like Hedge was akin to listening to nails on a chalkboard. Scorpius glanced over at Hedge, an icy mockery hardening his stare. "Stop calling her that."
"She lets me," Hedge yelled through the air, and the delusion was frankly grating on Scorpius' every last nerve. "When will you ever get to call her that—"
"Whenever I kiss her. Now fuck off."
The venom in his words seemed to rattle Hedge. He visibly faltered on his broom, and Scorpius pulled ahead at full speed, no fucks given. The world around him had lost all sense and shape, transformed into soaring streaks of colour. It was madness to go this fast in this trajectory—he was going to either nail a Feint or end up an ugly splatter on the pitch. All or nothing now. His fingers were a breath away from the blasted Snitch—
It all happened in slow motion. He heard Warnog scoring another, Albus screaming instructions for the team to adopt the defensive, Kane in hysterics on the mic. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hedge pulled up abruptly beside him—
And, in a fit of anguish, whacked Scorpius clean in the face.
From below, Scorpius could hear a commotion arising from the audience. The world was going white, and he was free-falling, his broomstick disappearing above him as the cold rush of fog screamed in his ears. Did Hedge just fucking out-Slytherin him? Not that it mattered now—Scorpius struggled to regain his bearings against gravity, the blinding pain in his cheekbone chewing out his vision.
Fuck, the pitch must be disturbingly close now. Scorpius braced himself, ready to hit the ground—
A blurry figure sped past his periphery then, and Scorpius found himself dragged upwards abruptly by the arm. "Move yourself!" bellowed a voice. And somehow—through brute strength or sheer magic—Scorpius found himself hoisted onto the back of Tarquin's broom.
His friend glanced over his shoulder, a psychotic glint in his eye. "Get off my broom if you need your smelling salts," he called. "We can win this game without you if we snap their Seeker's neck."
Scorpius' head spun as he tried to find his equilibrium, his cracked cheek burning against the unforgiving blast of wind as they collectively ducked a Bludger. "Knew I could count on you, arsehole. Accio broomstick!"
From a distance, his broomstick shot out of the fog, stopping dead beside them. He mounted his broom, and Tarquin was off.
Albus came zooming over. "Did Hedge club you in the face?" he hollered. "How was he not sent off? I know Madam Hooch is blind, but—"
"Tarquin knocked out two of their Chasers," Scorpius reminded him.
There was a shit-eating grin on Albus' face now. "Brilliant play."
His cheekbone was killing him, but Scorpius only had eyes for a streak of gold across the pitch. Without another word, he was shooting through the air once more.
He would get that bloody Snitch.
Then he would murder Hedge.
It's on.
They won, of course: 360-90 to Slytherin. The stands were in absolute chaos, students chanting and jeering. The silver-green crowd were especially boisterous, singing Get stuffed, Hufflepuff! Three-quarter wins for Slytherin!
Back on the pitch, Scorpius was grinning ear-to-ear, an ice pack pressed over his pounding cheekbone. On the touchline, Madam Pomfrey's medics were fussing over Hedge, who was out cold on the levitating stretcher.
Ha. Served him right.
A few feet away, a half-blind Madam Hooch was caught in an argument between the two team captains. "How is it fair play for Levantis to kick one of my players in the face?" Vance was shouting. "Have you no shred of integrity?"
"I literally can't hear you over the cheers from my fans," Albus returned brightly, too high on the win to care. "Anyway. It's Quidditch, bitch. Suck it up and take the L, Vance."
"You're a shite captain, Potter. If Winston goes out due to injury, I'm going to fucking hold you responsible—"
"Technically that was all Scorpius, but go off."
"Malfoy caught him in a fake Feint! Winston could have died!"
"That's nothing, mate. Hedge clubbed him in the face. Eye for an eye, aye?" Albus turned to wave at the feverish Slytherin crowd, inciting renewed screams.
Vance stormed off, disgusted. He collided into Tarquin, who merely smiled slyly at him. "Eat my dick, Vance," he said cheerfully.
Vance glanced up sharply, catching sight of Hugo Weasley waving in their direction.
He turned back to Tarquin in realisation, a startled fury overcoming his expression. "You, Zabini?"
He grabbed Tarquin by the collar, looking like he was about to deck him; Harper-Flint pushed him off, a snarl in her face. A minor scuffle occurred, Hufflepuffs and Slytherins shoving and shouting, the school roaring its approval at the proceedings.
Scorpius stood away from the commotion and glanced back to the stands. From a distance, he spotted a familiar spot of red—
And there she was among the Slytherin crowd with her brother Hugo, looking soft and windswept and so damn pretty. She was clutching at his scarf, watching him with wide eyes. Scorpius felt a warmth rush to his face at the sight.
He jerked his head, ever so slightly, towards the back of the stands. Rose nodded at once, stumbling past a confused Hugo as she made for the side stairs.
Who cares about the fight? Scorpius thought, striding away from the escalating brawl behind him.
He'd already won, anyway.
Quidditch was made for savages.
Rose had experienced some action herself in the Forbidden Forest, but this was something else. She'd sat in the box, her nails bitten to the quick, anxious and amazed the entire game. She'd been to Quidditch matches as a child, of course—Ron had been keen for her and Hugo to pick up the sport, only to be sorely disappointed by their disinterest in playing—but few games had given her palpitations like this one.
Hugo was beaming like a maniac. "That was bloody brilliant," he crowed. Rose couldn't be sure, but did he just wave at Tarquin? She glanced warily at her brother. Surely they weren't still a thing.
"My man of the match," Hugo mumbled, with a dreamy little sigh.
"Zabini?" Rose said carefully, raising an eyebrow. She had somehow convinced herself that her fickle brother would have moved on to someone else by now.
Wishful thinking, perhaps.
"Albus, of course," Hugo said smoothly, turning to Rose with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did you not see that last goal? Oh, not to say Scorpius didn't do a fine job himself with that Snitch. He's looking like a real snack, isn't he?"
"Hugo," Rose exclaimed, laughing. Her brother winked at her, nudging her side.
"He's looking right at us, you know. Maybe you should head out there and say hello." Hugo squinted at the pitch, jaw dropping. "Hey, did Kirk just try to punch Tarquin?"
Rose glanced back to the pitch, where a clash of sorts was unfolding. Yet Scorpius was standing apart from the racket… his eyes searching the crowd. For her. She moved closer to the bannister, spotting the terrible bruise on his cheek. Oh, she thought anxiously. She hoped he was alright.
Scorpius' face lit up when he saw her. As soon as he tilted his head towards the back of the stands, Rose jumped to her feet.
Hugo started, giving her a surprised look. "Hey, Rosie, where are you—"
"Later!" she called. She hurried past the celebrating groups of students, clambering down the side stairwells that led to the back of the stands. Above her, the sounds of students cheering continued to echo through the arena.
Arnold The Third bounced away from her then, eager to explore their surroundings. Rose waited by one of the columns, feeling somewhat jittery and unsure. Was there some sort of—girlfriend protocol to this? Should she have gone to congratulate him openly on the pitch, or waited at the touchline instead—?
Her thoughts were interrupted by his approaching footsteps. She looked up, feeling warm all over as Scorpius appeared, holding an ice pack to his cheek. The rest of his team were still on the pitch, fighting it out with Hufflepuff…
But here he was behind the stands.
With her.
She hurried over to him, the anxiety she'd felt throughout the match finally showing itself. "Scorpius," she burst out, "are you alright? You were falling out of the sky—I was freaking out! If Tarquin hadn't gotten to you in time—"
Scorpius dropped his broomstick and ice pack onto the ground. Without preamble, he'd pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her up against him with ease. She squeaked, arms folding around his neck for purchase.
Their noses brushed. Their way of saying hello now, Rose realised, with a happy little jolt in her chest.
"Are you alright?" she managed, suddenly feeling somewhat dazed and breathless.
"Yeah." There was a hint of smugness in his voice. "I got the prize."
"The prize?" She blinked back at him, puzzled. "But the Cup is a few weeks away."
Scorpius' eyes were alight with mirth, but he didn't elaborate further. Rose felt a slow smile tug into her lips as they looked at each other. So close to him, she could detect the dreamy cologne she loved—that clean pine scent with sensual notes of sandalwood, now punctuated with the musky heat of male sweat. It made her world tilt a little on its axis, how viciously irresistible Scorpius looked… from the wild, windswept rumple of his hair, the feral glint of his pale eyes, to the riot of colour spreading across his cheekbones.
Really, it was—rather disconcerting to realise how attractive he had become to her.
"Is Winston dead?" she asked earnestly, hoping she wasn't blushing.
"You're going to talk to me about another man now?" he murmured, a mild warning in his eyes as he squeezed her tighter within his arms.
"He did take a beating up there—"
His eyes darkened. "So did I."
The threat of his jealousy didn't bother Rose. She returned his gaze, her eyes crinkling. "Scorpius. Put me down."
"Make me," he returned in an undertone, as she knocked his leg with the tip of her foot. He huffed with laughter at her attempt, finally setting her down before him.
Even so, he'd refused to let her go, keeping her locked in his arms as she observed the damage on his cheekbone. Carefully, Rose brushed the purpling bruise with her fingertips. "Does it hurt?" she asked, worry knotting her eyebrows.
"Like the devil." He stepped into her space, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of her. "Are you going to kiss it better, imp?"
His usual petulance amused her. Rose bit back a grin, clasping at the cross stitch of his Quidditch robes, going on her tiptoes to press her lips gently on his aching cheek. She felt him exhale harshly against her skin… and then his fingers had wound gently into her hair as he angled his mouth to hers, stealing an urgent kiss of his own. Rose squirmed against him, making a small sound in the back of her throat in protest.
"That's cheating," she chided, as Scorpius smirked back at her.
"It's the only honest thing I've done all day." He licked his lips to taste the flavoured gloss there; Rose felt her heart flutter at the sight. "Apple?" he murmured, before leaning in again.
She turned her head ever so slightly to avoid a kiss, holding back a giggle at the obvious affront in his face. "You, sir, need a shower."
"Just one more," he coaxed. "I'm a wounded man."
Rose tried to look stern. "Then you need a medic."
"I feel completely fine now." An amused exasperation flickered past his features as she turned her face away from his once more. His silken voice dropped an octave, making her insides quiver slightly. "Rose. Kiss me."
"I will," she promised, with an impish smile. "Later."
Scorpius stared intently at her, fondness softening his gaze. Then, no longer able to hold back, he closed in and pressed her up against the wall, every inch of his hard body firmly encasing hers. He was so tall, so physically imposing… This close, he was impossible to escape. Every muscle on him thrummed on adrenaline, still radiating an animal heat from the aggression of the game. There was a reckless, sexual pitch to his energy that made Rose's blood pulse hot in her veins.
Her eyes fluttered shut as Scorpius nuzzled the shell of her ear, her heart skipping as his hands roamed up from her hips, fingers caging over her waist to keep her still against him. "Let's skip the party," he whispered huskily.
"The party was your idea," Rose reminded him, her breath hitching as Scorpius pressed an insistent kiss against her throat.
"A bad idea," he breathed. Another kiss, hot and hidden beneath her scarf. His scarf, she remembered dimly. "Let's go somewhere private."
She sighed against his shoulder as his hungry mouth sucked a wet trail down her neck… the sensation of it stroking a delicious fever beneath her skin. Merlin—they would be in trouble if he didn't stop. Certainly there had to be something about men and sport, Rose thought hazily, that made them even more hot-blooded than usual.
Not that Scorpius' affections weren't already fervent before the game.
He was just so—intense.
It was hard to keep her mind clear when he was all over her like this. Her hands came up between them, a gentle pressure against his chest. "You promised a party, Scorpius," she murmured, keeping her voice steady. She did genuinely want to see what a victory party in Slytherin was like. "I want to see Greta." A shy glance up at him. "And I was hoping to dance. With you."
He snorted softly against her cheek. "Can't wait to step on my toes?"
"Oof." She hummed with laughter at the accusation. "You got me all figured out."
Scorpius exhaled sharply, his head now buried in her shoulder. After a few moments, he finally pulled away.
"Fine, we'll go to the damn party," he said heavily, sounding regretful he ever suggested it at all. When Rose beamed up at him, Scorpius fixed her with a long-suffering look. "Then we'll go somewhere private."
"Sounds like a trap."
"It's a compromise."
Arnold The Third was squeaking indignantly at their feet now. Scorpius gave the creature a steely glare, resembling something of a displeased father. Arnold merely tittered and rubbed meekly against his ankle.
Rose tried not to chortle at the exchange, suddenly feeling a surge of affection towards Scorpius. She reached up to kiss his jawline, relishing the surprise that came over his expression.
"Later," she said softly, a promise in her eyes.
"Don't be late," he murmured, thumbing gently at her cheek.
"I never am," Rose chirped cheekily.
"I'm serious, imp." Scorpius shot her a knowing half-smile as he retrieved his broom and ice pack. "I'll be waiting."
She watched him go, headed back down the tunnel towards the dressing rooms. Rose exhaled quietly, still feeling a little dizzy. Scorpius had that effect on her of late, it seemed. She pressed her cool palms over her flushed cheeks, willing herself back to her senses.
Arnold returned to her, scrambling under the flap of her bookbag. "Hush," she said, stroking Arnold's soft fur to soothe him. Arnold squeaked, his teeth clamping into an envelope jutting from one of the pockets. Rose paused, a jolt passing through her as Arnold began to chew through it. She made a grab for it, her heart quickening as she spotted the address.
IF FOUND, RETURN TO F. FAWLEY—
How did Fawley's letter get here? Had she left it here the whole time? Rose blinked at the envelope, her eyebrows knotting. No, that wasn't possible. She'd looked through her bag numerous times in search of the letter.
Who had she seen for breakfast this morning? Hugo, Lily and Albus—
Did one of them find it and leave it there for her?
Her fingers trembled as they scraped the edges. She inhaled sharply; the envelope had been opened. A wave of shock went through her.
Did someone else read the letter?
Why would anyone open something private to her?
Students were beginning to file past her now, their pitchy chatter drumming up to a chaotic echo in her ears. Rose pushed past the moving bodies, not really seeing or hearing her surroundings.
She clutched at the letter as she wove her way out of the stadium. All the thrill and exhilaration of Quidditch suddenly forgotten.
Once completely alone, she unfolded the letter.
Rose came to a stop in the middle of the deserted grounds, among patches of snow. The winter wind howled like a lost hound. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, her robes beating against the gusts. Trees empty of leaves shushed and shivered, like keepers of a secret.
Fawley's letter had been surprisingly brief. And yet, the very little he wrote had Rose's mind reeling.
Rose, I heard a thing or two down the grapevine.
Fawley's letter was now crumpled in her hand. Rose tightened Scorpius' scarf around her neck. God—it was cold. She was beginning to tremble.
I need you to help me confirm a few things.
Fawley needed an answer, but Rose—wanted one.
The possibility that Professor Crossley was experimenting within Hogwarts was mind-blowing.
Possibly experimenting on students.
A shudder went through her.
Not merely Transfiguration, Rose. We're talking total transformation. His work could deceive an entire species. You understand this could change ecosystems.
Remember the Mergirl you told me about?
Rose paused then, her eyes fixed on the lake in the distance. Could it be true, she asked herself, that the Mergirl was no myth after all?
That Albus had not seen a vision—
But some terrible experiment from Crossley?
The thought made Rose sick. It was one thing to use a spell to assume the physicality of a Merperson… But even modern charms and potions could not deceive Merpeople—or any creature, for that matter.
Creatures operated from a different frequency. They could always recognise an imposter. By smell, sight or instinct—
Surely, surely Crossley could not be capable of something so heinous. The thought of a mere wizard or witch assuming such convincing form of any creature had repurcussions that Rose did not even want to comprehend.
The more she ruminated, the more compelled she became to unravel the mystery. Not just on Fawley's behalf, but her own.
Caught under some sort of trance, Rose found herself stepping in the direction of the Great Lake.
She had to know.
She had to—
A little voice whispered to Rose then. Turn back. So she did, looking back at the looming Hogwarts castle in the distance, the proud stone fortress sitting on the sprawl of greying snow, its magnificent towers tickling the belly of storm clouds. In the approaching gloom of the evening, the school resembled a gothic fairytale with a prince in hiding.
Her heart clutched fondly at the thought of Scorpius.
In the same spot, she glanced at the Great Lake, ominously still and quiet before her.
Scorpius was waiting for her, she reminded herself.
She had a party to go to.
They were supposed to dance.
And yet, without thinking… her feet were once more guiding her towards the lake, away from the castle.
Just a little while, perhaps—
There was no harm in looking, was there?
Just a look.
That's all.
The skies seemed to groan under its own weight, the soft grey of the late afternoon dulling with the fading light. Rose's eyes were fixed at the Great Lake. Now studying it with unusual interest. As though she'd never seen it before.
As she closed in on the bank, her heart sank.
A set of robes, neatly folded. And a pair of strangely familiar mary-jane shoes.
"No," she whispered, awed and afraid. She craned her neck, staring at the sleet of thickened ice over the black lake. Within the expanse of white was a single patch of water in the very centre.
Did she go into the water, then? It had to be freezing.
Rose was seized by a fleeting panic.
I know Professor Crossley. He couldn't have done this alone.
Who's helping him, Rose?
It couldn't be possible. Rose swallowed, approaching the edge of the frozen lake. How could it possibly be—?
Arnold The Third squeaked insistently at her, his beady eyes flitting between Rose and the lake before them. Rose didn't hear him, instead dropping her bookbag on the greying snow. She pulled Scorpius' scarf from her neck, dropping it along with her headphones.
Then—she stepped onto the hardened ice. Behind her, Arnold scratched around unhappily in her bookbag.
She heard the quiet crush of ice flakes with every step. She went slow, as tentatively as she could. The ice seemed to creak beneath her feet as she moved towards the water hole in the middle of the lake.
And then she was standing on the very edge.
Rose's knees found the ice. The cold didn't even register through her leggings as she peered into the black water. Come on, she thought urgently, her stomach in knots. Where are you?
Show yourself.
Like an answered prayer, a circular ripple appeared in the middle of the water hole—and a face with a demon's eyes appeared from the depths. Rose reeled back in shock as a set of spindly fingers reached out to grab her wrist.
A Grindylow.
Rose stumbled backwards, her entire weight landing on the icy surface. The Grindylow screeched at her before slipping back into the black, disappearing under the ice. How did a Grindylow come so close to the surface? They were creatures of the deep. Unless, of course, they were lured here by a Merperson…
Her own thoughts from before returned to her. Merpeople rarely came to the surface. They were too proud, too territorial to risk a confrontation with wizarding kind.
If so—
Who lured the Grindylow?
Before Rose could give it any thought, a sickening crack met her ears.
Her breath hitched, and she got to her feet in a panic. Behind her, more sounds of splintering ice. Rose turned on the spot, suddenly frightened, every instinct begging for her to flee—
A jagged line had formed in the ice, the moaning breakage headed right towards her. There was no time to scream. Rose made a dash for it, lost in a cacophony of breaking ice over still water. But it was too late. The slab she was standing on tilted beneath her feet—
The glacial floor collapsed, swallowing her into the icy deep.