This is a bit of an introspective chapter that's somewhat reminiscent of chapter 9. Can you guess where it's going from here? :) Sending love to CaptainScorose, meandering-bluebottle, hpdude-4life (check your PM!), ChanceToBeImmortal, zizzic797, whimsysun, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, Zaczytanasennamara, lllllllau, Formenial, fieryredhairedbeast, isamartinez28, Superwitch92, GoldenAeri, katiejeanrose, HPDWTWD, InfinitelyFanvergent, OrangeCupcakes, Syd, syranzra, Hefty, roseweasley394, Aryam, jacqueline, Mochi, Weasleyred91, catwomannnnnn1, PotionsWithProfessorG, Jele18, Rhy, mlcm and the lovely guests/anons! Thank you so much for every comment, fave and follow. It really keeps me going!

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Chapter 34: The Hunger

A new week arrived before Scorpius finally got a chance to see Rose again, at the Charms class shared by Gryffindors and Slytherins. She and Albus swept in the nick of time, just as Professor Flitwick began roll call. The cousins slipped into seats closest to the door, heads lowered as they murmured to each other.

It was a rather known thing by now that any sighting of a Potter and Weasley putting their heads together usually meant some type of plot was being hatched. Not that Scorpius had much time to dwell on this. Tarquin had conveniently chosen this particular class to suffer an existential crisis.

His friend was hardly prone to discussing personal matters, usually preferring to drown his sorrows in whiskey or women. But as winter began to wane, the harsh reality of his eventual marriage was, perhaps, finally sinking in.

This, Scorpius thought sardonically, must be what cold feet looked like.

"I keep having these freaky dreams about Emery," Tarquin muttered beside him, as Professor Flitwick scribbled on the blackboard. "In fact, I just dreamt about our wedding night—"

Scorpius heaved a sigh that went ignored.

"And right in the middle of it, blood started gushing everywhere. I'm talking rivers of Godric red. So I looked down, right… and what do you know? She'd taken my dick clean off. And then she smiled up at me with these monstrous, razor-like teeth—"

"Mate. It's Emery we're talking about."

"That's my damn point, Scorpius. It's bloody Emery." Tarquin pinched the spot between his eyebrows, clearly disturbed. "Just the thought of shagging her is making me limp. We'll have to do it blindfolded."

This unlikely outburst was cause for some concern, to say the least. Scorpius glanced in the direction of Tarquin's betrothed.

Emery looked completely unbothered where she sat, her quill scratching quickly on parchment as Flitwick spoke. As always, every detail about her was as precise as a Healer's scalpel. Her ebony hair was immaculately coiffed, her intelligent amber gaze further sharpened by the decisive feline slant of her features. While most wizards in their circle would certainly find much to like about her… they didn't grow up with Emery.

Scorpius supposed he did feel a bit sorry for his friend.

"Did you two get into a fight again?" he asked at length.

"When do we not?" Tarquin griped. "The Notts have me by the balls, in case you've forgotten. Sometimes she winds me up for no good reason because she can."

"You know she never means any of it."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one marrying her."

"If you're so pressed about it, break the engagement," Scorpius said, giving his friend a pointed look. "Get a damn job. Play Quidditch or something. There are benefits to a pay cheque, you know. Freedom—"

"Poverty."

"Independence—"

"Disownment."

"Love—"

"Illusion," Tarquin finished flatly. "Come off it, we both know it makes more sense to marry into money than work for it. Imagine what mother would say if I wanted a career."

Scorpius had to concede that point to Tarquin, even if he did not particularly agree with the sentiment. Tarquin's mother was especially protective of the perceived privileges of their bloodline—she was a descendent of an ancient wizarding nobility from the Arabian Peninsula, and had no concept of what it meant to work for money. Despite the Zabinis' dire financial straits, the prospect of their only son lifting a finger for a galleon would be inconceivable to her.

"Which is why," Tarquin went on, "I should just marry you."

"I'll always pick up the tab, my friend," Scorpius drawled. "But if it's a ring you fancy—"

"We can have an affair if you insist on a wife. You're inheriting from both sides of the family, you can afford a mistress. You're my last chance."

"Piss off, your grandfather would rather drop dead than accept donations. What's crawled up your arse?"

"Ah, I have it now. I'll court your aunt Daphne."

"Gold-digging? That's your strategy?"

"I'm good with older women," Tarquin continued, ignoring Scorpius. "I'll move to Paris to see her. Sweep her right off her feet. Give her the best years of her life before she calls it a day—"

"Looking quite the bundle of energy over there, Mr Zabini," came Professor Flitwick's reproachful voice from the front of the classroom. "Do you have an opinion you absolutely must share with the class?"

Everyone craned their necks to look at them. Scorpius glanced away from Tarquin, his gaze locking onto a pair of startling blue eyes.

Rose was watching him from over her shoulder, the tip of her quill caught absently between her lips. A curious smile stole into her impish face then. Scorpius stared dumbly back at her, slowly mesmerised by the damp pinkness of her pretty mouth.

Albus gave Rose a rough nudge. Startled, she turned back to the blackboard.

Scorpius found himself fixated on the back of her head, a telling warmth creeping up his cheeks. His mind was suddenly empty of anything to do with Charms, every incantation in his memory now replaced by sensory flashes of fevered kisses in the moonlight. The gentle caress of her fingertips across his skin, the soft hitch of her breath beside his ear, the hardness of him cradled hot between her thighs…

Well, fuck. Maybe he should focus on Tarquin's problems.

As Professor Flitwick briefed the class on their upcoming revision plan, it became harder for Scorpius to ignore the dark, persistent lurch growing at the bottom of his stomach. Over the course of the past few months, he had become aware of Rose's particular… influence on his moods. In turn, her absence was beginning to have a less than desirable effect on him.

Since leaving her side at the Hospital Wing, he'd found himself especially restless and irritable. Not that he already wasn't, usually—but perhaps even more so now than he was used to.

Which was why he made several attempts to visit Rose.

Madam Pomfrey, of course, would have none of it.

"No, no… you must leave at once," the old hag had insisted the other evening, shooing him from the entrance before he could even steal a glimpse of red—"She needs her rest, and she gets far too worked up in your presence, Mr Malfoy."

Whatever the hell that meant.

Unwittingly, his thoughts drifted back to the events over the past few days. Despite the near-death fright they'd experienced at the Great Lake, something in Scorpius had willed him to curb his demands. Perhaps it was the shock of almost losing her, or the way she curled beside him then, so sleepy and sweet, that crumbled the last of his resistance. Against all common sense, he had decided to trust that Rose would eventually come to him with the full story; that she would respect her own safety, for his sake if not her own; that the whole thing would somehow make sense when the time was right.

Even if this all felt like pressure on a raw wound—

He would try, for Rose. She deserved that, at the very least.

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the bell. Around him, students rose to their feet, their excitable voices echoing within the stone walls. Just as quickly as they'd slipped in, Rose and Albus had departed from the classroom.

As Tarquin dragged his feet, Scorpius made for the door. He strode out into the hallway, weaving swiftly through the moving crowd until he finally glimpsed Rose's red hair some distance away. Albus was a few steps ahead of her, chattering on as Rose listened intently.

In a few long strides, Scorpius had caught up to the pair of them, slowing his pace as he timed his approach.

Just as Albus turned the corner, Scorpius caught Rose's elbow and tugged her against him.

With a surprised squeak, Rose stumbled backwards. "Wha—Scorpius?"

He shot her a sly smile, taking her hand and pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Hold on, hold on—" Rose glanced frantically over her shoulder. "Al was just telling me something—"

"Rose?" came Albus' distant voice from behind them.

Scorpius drew Rose close, slipping them both into a curved nook behind a towering stone guard. "Scorpius," Rose protested. "I was discussing something with Al—"

Scorpius had shoved their book bags off their shoulders, barely noticing as her scrolls tumbled out of her arms. Rose's breaths shallowed as he caged her against the wall, his name on her lips when his mouth finally found hers.

"Oy, Rose!" Albus' voice closed in briefly before his footsteps faded down the hallway. "Blast, where'd she go?"

But neither Rose or Scorpius heard him this time. Scorpius' fingers had curled into Rose's red hair as they kissed, her surprise soon overwhelmed by his reckless affection. Her hands came to rest on his broad chest; his heart leapt beneath her fingertips. Dying, like the rest of him, to get closer to her.

The recent image of her with a quill between her lips appeared unbidden in his mind. A gruff sound rose in his throat, and he gave in to the delicious urge to nibble gently into her lush bottom lip. She tasted like berries and everything he'd ever craved... Rose whimpered as he hushed her between kisses, his hands cradling her face, caressing her blushing cheeks… his tongue working to soothe the soft sting of his bite.

When Scorpius could finally bear to pull away, Rose's eyes were still closed, her face soft and hair rumpled under his fingers.

She was just so damn lovely.

"Hello," he murmured, his voice husky under her ear.

"Hi," Rose returned in an undertone, eyes fluttering open. "That wasn't nice."

"What, the kiss?"

She looked like she was trying not to laugh. "No. What we did to Albus."

"So the kiss was alright," he teased, drawing her tighter against him. "How are you?"

"Much better." Her voice was muffled into his shoulder as she peered up with him. "You didn't visit me after you left the Hospital Wing."

"Madam Pomfrey banned me from visiting. But of course she didn't tell you that."

Rose nodded solemnly. "She warned me about you. Told me you're a bad influence, and that Witch Weekly agrees."

His hands curled firmly over her slender wrists. "They're not wrong."

Amusement lit up on Rose's face, an adorable crinkle appearing in the corners of her eyes. Carefully, she extracted her wrists from his tight grasp and slipped her hands into his.

"They might be," she said, glancing up at him with a little smile.

And just like that, Scorpius felt suddenly breathless for no reason at all.

"Got something for you," he said. "Come with me."

According to Tarquin, one of the benefits of being a Malfoy was the ability to ask for things. Most people sat on their hands and hoped for things to happen, but a Malfoy didn't care to waste that kind of time.

They merely decided on what they wanted, then asked until they got it.

So the first thing Scorpius did upon his release from the Hospital Wing was to head to the kitchens to ask Pitts and his band of House-elves for ice-cream.

Sugared violet ice-cream, to be exact.

It hadn't been easy to convince the elves, for the flavour was bespoke to Madam Puddifoot's, and required certain inconveniences to replicate. But Scorpius was persuasive at the best of times, and dead stubborn when he needed to be.

Frankly, he'd done way more for girls he'd felt far less for. So Scorpius almost couldn't understand why Rose was looking quite as though he'd gifted her with a whole roomful of fragrant floral bouquets.

"How?" she was saying, as she gazed reverently at the pink tub of ice-cream in her hands. "How?"

"Called a favour," he said casually, trying not to sound too smug.

"But… where's yours?"

"We're sharing, imp."

Rose shook her head. "No," she breathed. "It's all mine."

He would have made a grab for it, but Rose had already wandered away, hugging the ice-cream tub. Scorpius rolled his eyes and followed her.

They ended up sitting on the stone steps of a spiralling stairwell some distance from the kitchens. Scorpius couldn't help but stare as Rose tore off the lid, an irresistible delight filling her expression. Just before she had her first spoonful, she paused.

"Something wrong?" he said.

Rose held out the spoonful of ice-cream to him. "Have some."

"Thought you weren't sharing," he deadpanned.

"I wasn't. But you really liked it the last time—"

"I told you. I didn't like it that much."

Rose's eyes crinkled mischievously back at him. "So that's why you stole my cone."

A smile quirked the corners of his lips. "If you're not going to eat it, imp… I'll gladly take it off your hands."

Rose shot him a comically warning glance and turned back to the ice-cream. Scorpius rested his cheek on his palm, watching in half-amusement as she hummed happily at her first spoonful. This was something he wanted to do more of, he realised.

Spoil her with sweet things.

Expensive things.

All sorts of things, really.

A familiar heat gathered under his collar as he watched Rose lick a spot of cream from her lips. Scorpius didn't want the damn ice-cream, per se… but he wasn't exactly against dessert in other forms. To his surprise, Rose set down the half-eaten tub on the stone step, her shoulder pressing against his arm.

"Thank you," she said, nudging him gently. "I didn't know I needed this."

Despite the cheery way she said it, Scorpius could sense a quiet despondence in her words. "Something bothering you?"

Rose didn't answer at once, her small hands fidgeting in her lap. Scorpius reached out to clasp them in his, forcing her to look at him.

"Unless it's another thing you can't tell me," he said, raising a slow eyebrow.

Rose studied him for a long moment, considering her options. Then, unexpectedly, she tucked herself warmly beside him, slipping an arm into his. Her soft cheek came to rest on his shoulder.

"I've been wondering if I'm a terrible friend," she admitted, absently threading their fingers together. "Poppy's avoiding me."

Scorpius frowned, suddenly reminded of Langdon's absence. "I didn't see her at Charms today."

"She said she's feeling ill. I tried to speak to her this morning, but she made it clear she didn't want to talk."

That felt oddly out of character for Langdon. She wasn't the most expressive of girls, but it was apparent to anyone that she cared deeply for Rose. "What happened?"

"I haven't been paying attention." Rose faltered then, guilt crossing her features. "I'd just assumed all this time she was fine. She's never told me anything, and I didn't ask. Not enough. I should have. Because now I know she isn't alright… and I'm afraid I'm too late to help her."

Her fretting was an uncomfortable reminder of Albus' own gripes. You never tell me or Tarquin a damn thing.

"She can't possibly fault you for trying," Scorpius said at last. "You might think it's too late, but if you're finding a way to make things right, you will. It's only doomed when neither of you give a damn. Fuck knows I've been worse with Al and Tarquin, and they've forgiven me for it." He couldn't help a grimace. "Well, I should bloody hope so, anyway."

Rose nodded, worrying her bottom lip. "Al told me, you know. About the row you two had."

"Did he get to the part where he thinks we're a bad idea?"

"Yeah." Rose must have sensed his deflating mood, because she brought his hand to her lips and brushed the lightest of kisses across his knuckles. The gesture, so soft and sincere, doused Scorpius' flaring temper… a warm flutter replacing the ire churning in his stomach.

Oh hell. This girl.

"He should mind his own bloody business," he muttered, glancing away from her to hide the rising colour in his cheekbones.

A knowing smile touched Rose's lips. "I agree. But I can't blame him. It's not in us Potter-Weasleys to mind our own business, you know. Nosiness is practically genetic at this point."

Scorpius snorted. "What did you tell him, then?"

"That one cannot chase a wild creature and also think about dying."

"Honoured to know I'm on the same pedestal as Trolls."

"Trolls are brilliant matchmakers, I'll have you know. My dad saved my mum from one in their first year. That's how it all started for them."

Scorpius made a sound between a groan and a laugh, but his arm had gone around her shoulder to pull her flush against his chest. Rose had taken another spoonful of ice-cream, the tip of a pink tongue flicking out to reach the excess cream in the corner of her lips. "Are you sure you don't want any?"

No longer able to resist, Scorpius leaned in and pressed his mouth over hers.

"Scorpius," she protested, drawing back. "We should finish the ice-cream—"

"Kiss me first."

"It'll melt if we don't—Scorpius..." Her breathless words were caught in his open-mouthed kisses now, the ice-cream tub forgotten between their feet. Scorpius knew he was coming on strong, but he couldn't help himself. Rose was so cute, so delectable… He could detect the fragrant flavours of sugared violet from her tongue, rounded out by the sensual hint of berry from her lip gloss. His arm circled tightly around her waist, a hand tilting her head back so he could taste more of her.

"Fuck, I could eat you," he breathed. Rose blushed to the roots of her hair, her own fingers sifting through his silver-gold strands as he dragged his mouth across her jawline.

They were so lost in each other that they completely missed the approaching footsteps above them. At the sight of Rose and Scorpius, the group of Hufflepuffs stopped dead in their tracks, the echoes of their bubbly chatter hanging in mid-air.

"Helga and all things holy—" whispered one of the girls.

"We don't actually need a common room," squeaked another.

Vigorous nods all around. "We'll sleep outside tonight, if that's what it takes—"

"P-Please carry on," one boy stammered. "Take all the time you need."

And the group retreated as quickly as they came, scrambling up the steps as they went.

Rose's face was buried in Scorpius' shoulder, a hand over her mouth to hide her mirth. "Oh my god," she whispered. "We should leave."

"Why? They're gone now."

"The Hufflepuffs need to use this staircase."

Scorpius smirked down at her. "I'm not stopping them, sweetheart. Are you?"

The endearment put a pretty flush in her cheeks. "Everyone's going to see us."

"So let them."

"Are you an exhibitionist?" Rose asked seriously, and he exploded in a fit of laughter.

"Sometimes." Scorpius drew her close then, the humour fading from his face as a terrible affection swelled painfully in his chest. There was a quiet gravel in his next words. "…Rose. Don't leave me yet."

He didn't know why he expected Rose to laugh, or tease him for his neediness, or somehow insist on her way… but there was only a gentle question in her cornflower blue eyes. What was it about her, Scorpius wondered, that made words feel completely unnecessary? As though she'd come to a decision, she inched forward ever so slightly. Her dreamy gaze met his briefly as her fingertips brushed against his jawline… and then she kissed him. Soft and sweet at first. Until Scorpius was kissing her back, no longer holding back from taking more, more, more—

This wasn't enough, he realised, a certain desperation filling him. Surely she could tell, just from the way he touched her, hungry and wanting—this wasn't enough. They kissed until the ice-cream turned to sludge in the tub; until the faint gold of the afternoon faded above them; until he was half-mad from lust and utterly lost. And even then, for Scorpius… this was not enough.