Apologies for the late update. I had a really stressful month at work. So happy to finally move this story forward a little bit. I hope you guys are feeling well!
Thank you so so much to Lexi, hpdude-4life (wow you nailed so many points!), Lux, Helo, patatoid, Rhy, angelserpent, 5ilverReader, roseweasley394, Scorprosetvd, ThoseWhoLiveWithoutLove, deceptive-serenade, Hefty, veeRonniekins, ChanceToBeImmortal, icantthinkofaname11, HPDWTWD, Mochi, Chanel Forsk, DukeSilver420, jacqueline, glassycry, Weasleyred91, fearinourminds, Formeniel, CaptainScorose, Blood and Dark Chocolate, MakeMeProud, isamartinez28, Aryam, wotdidjasaymate, weasleykingrocks, SkiesOfStars, bashfullygrumpy, lyssabun, crushHP, AMBERJANUS, Priyodorshini, and the amazing guests/anons who reviewed! Honestly, I'm so touched by your kind notes and wonderful observations. I always love hearing your perspectives.
Helo, this fic will be 50+ chapters or more lol. We have some ways to go! I might also write a spin-off for it eventually (James S. Potter, maybe?)
Chapter 36: The Siren
Few people knew this, but back in his Hogwarts hey-day, Fabian Fawley had been part of the Slytherin Quidditch Team.
The few who did know Fawley associated him with ink-filled diaries and the great outdoors. Apart from his love for creatures, Fawley possessed an almost fanatical curiosity about life's many question marks, absorbing himself in the endless riddles presented by botany, runes and alchemy.
He didn't deign to live by the book, but instead reveled in the wildfire of his imagination. Fawley had a hypothesis for every knut in his pocket, and was wholly undeterred by what others deemed bizarre. It was hardly unusual to catch him whistling at sleeping flowers in the dead of night or mimicking the croaks of dawn crickets for some investigative purpose.
His eccentric nature troubled his father, who was as traditional a man as he was a wizard. Fawley Senior wanted his only son to play sport, and was not about to take no for an answer. So, after some sharp words and perhaps an ultimatum or two, Fabian had hauled himself to the Quidditch pitch at the start of his fourth year to try out for Keeper.
Unfortunately for him, hand-eye coordination was hardly his forte—and his half-hearted endeavor to dodge Bludgers and catch Quaffles far more resembled a spineless Twooble Worm attempting a ballet. Not to mention he was completely outclassed by a baby-faced Albus Potter at goal.
All quite humiliating, really.
Whatever hopes Fawley Senior harboured for his son, the universe had clearly signalled that Quidditch was not it.
It was a shock to all, then, when Captain Runcorn announced Fawley a part of Slytherin's third-string team. "Don't get your hopes up, though," Runcorn told Fawley, as the rest of the team snickered around him. "We've got a cracking first team and a savage bench. You might never step onto the pitch, Fawley."
It only occurred to Fawley much later that Runcorn might have felt obligated to somehow include him because their fathers were old friends. But it mattered little in the long run. He'd skipped the tryouts in the following year, where an astonishing performance from Scorpius Malfoy forced his spot on the first team. He didn't bother to turn up for practice either, which affected no one. He even missed the Quidditch Final, which Slytherin ultimately won against Ravenclaw.
All fine and well. For Fawley cared very little about Quidditch scores, house rivalries or social politics. The only thing that mattered to him—even now—was the excitement of learning the language of plants, locating a once-extinct beast, or picking apart some obscure mystery.
This very quality, ironically, was what led Fawley to this present moment back within Hogwarts' stone walls.
His clever mind hummed between his ears as he submerged in a sweet-scented foam bath, the cackles of Moaning Myrtle punctuating the pop of bubbles. Across from him, a stainglassed mermaid batted her eyelashes. Fawley closed his eyes, resting the back of his head against the cool stone ledge as the hot water worked its magic on his aching muscles. He had spent the past few days outfield, combing through the Crooked Forest in West Pomerania to document a new species of Skrewt.
And yet the disturbing rumour of Crossley's rogue experimentations had refused to leave him. Fawley simply couldn't resist a riddle, and he wasn't going away until he found the answers…
Without warning, a sharp creak cut into his thoughts, and the door to the Prefects' Bathroom swung unceremoniously open. Fawley blinked up from the bubble bath to see—
Two girls screaming by the entrance, their hands flying over their eyes.
Well, three girls, if you included Moaning Myrtle shrieking in the background.
Fawley hugged his hairy chest and screamed back.
Much to his chagrin, Fawley had only gotten to know Rose Weasley closer to his graduation. He'd always known of her, of course, in the casual way you would any celebrity character—but it was hard to take her too seriously until he found her on the edge of the Forbidden Forest one evening, singing to a group of teeth-baring Fwoopers. After he left Hogwarts, their friendship had taken off in a flurry of entertaining back-and-forth letters.
So, really, it was only a logical conclusion that the two of them would partner up one day, in that charming us-against-the-world kind of way.
Though judging from the scandalised look on her face, he had the sinking feeling she was quite a long way from accepting his proposal.
"When I asked you to meet us here," Rose was screeching, her eyes still covered by her palms, "it wasn't an invitation to take a bath!"
"Well, I needed one," Fawley said defensively, as he hurried to knot a towel at his hip. "I was raising quite a stink, as you know—"
"Are you decent yet?"
"—I had to look like a shit pit in order to attract the Skrewts. Integration and camouflage, you know."
"He's still putting on his tighty-whities," sang Myrtle.
"Oh my god," came the muffled voice of the girl beside Rose.
"Our bodies are powerful manifestations of nature," Fawley went on, trying not to sound too indignant as he wiggled into his robes. "Nothing to be ashamed of! Honestly, nobody bat a damn lid at the mud bath party I held in Kavala—"
It was a good ten minutes before Rose had calmed down enough to make introductions. To Fawley's delight, Poppy Langdon turned out to be the long-rumoured Siren of the Great Lake… and the subject of Crossley's supposed presentation at the Potioneer Conference in a few days.
He was right, then. The pretentious twat Crossley was a creep and a criminal.
Fawley knew there was a reason they'd never gotten on.
"Crossley's refined Poppy's original brew over the last year," Rose finished, giving him a meaningful look. "Poppy still has a few samples with her, but I think we'll need more than that to take Crossley down."
"The documentations are in his chambers," Poppy confirmed in a small voice.
"So Miss Langdon's the one who invented the draft?" Fawley tilted a head at Poppy, somewhat impressed. "How brilliant you are. But it was also very wrong of you to try it." He paused. "This confirms my theory, actually."
"Which one?"
"That Crossley isn't particularly smart himself."
This made Rose crack a grin, but Poppy shot Fawley an imploring glance. "Would it really be so terrible for him to present the findings? I just wanted to see how far I could push an ancient study. Nobody would be terrible enough to want to replicate it, surely—"
"Then you have more faith in wizardkind than I do," Fabian said kindly. "Why do you defend Professor Crossley so fervently, Miss Langdon? He's the one who understands fully the implications of what you've done, but here he is, taking advantage of your cleverness for his own use. If your brewing method becomes public knowledge, I can assure you the law will not be enough to stop those who take interest… even at the detriment of the ecosystems we try to protect."
Poppy reddened, looking down at her shoes. After a long moment, she spoke. "I never had any intention of going public. If what you say is true, then—maybe this is for the best."
"What is?"
"Putting a stop to this." Her voice faltered ever so briefly. "To everything."
She reached into her robes' pocket, pulling out a skinny vial. Fawley received it from her, observing the wine-coloured substance under the candlelight.
"Well then," he said. "Show me what this can do."
"Will this be enough to take him down, Fabian?" Rose asked, glancing nervously between Poppy and Fawley.
"If it does everything you say it does, bloody likely."
Poppy nodded, coming to a decision. She retrieved the vial from him, stepping back with a wave of her wand. The golden taps groaned in unison before filling the bathroom with echoes of water hitting the tiles.
"Is it okay if you—look away, Mr Fawley?" she said. "Just for a minute."
Fawley obliged, politely studying the hairline cracks in the wall. He heard Poppy disrobe behind him, followed by the sounds of water sluicing around her as she lowered herself into the bathing pool. And then—
A sharp exhale from Rose.
Unable to resist, Fawley turned to look.
Poppy had completely gone under, a rapid transformation elongating her body beneath the swirl of water. Her legs had merged—a fascinating but grotesque sight—before the most glorious of tails stretched out behind her. She moved like green-gold silk in the distortion of water, fins glimmering proudly in the low light. Her head rose above the surface then, the pale blue of her irises flooding her eyes as she gazed unblinkingly at them. This close, Fawley could see the gills flutter in her neck, the viscuous sheen of her skin giving her a sinister glow.
His blood was starting to pound loud in his ears.
Forgetting himself, Fawley stumbled to the edge of the bath pool, utterly riveted.
Nothing to be done about it. He was in love.
Beside him, Rose appeared to be in a state herself. "Poppy," she breathed, reaching out to the water surface. An elegant hand, scaly and webbed between the fingers, rose from the water surface to curl gently into hers.
Fawley leaned forward, trance-like, fingertips grazing the textured scales of a passing tail. Despite his knowledge of the ethical consequences, the likeness of this girl to a real Mercreature was just extraordinary. He had only seen them from afar, merely able to observe the minute details of their physique in books and drawings.
But to come this close to such living, breathing imitation…
What some wizards would give for a brew like that—the power of serving imposters among other intelligent species. Perhaps he was a pessimist, but already Fawley's mind had unfolded a thousand cruel possibilities, seeing in each one the surveillance of complex systems and upending of treasures within the private worlds of Goblins, Mercreatures and Centaurs…
"Bloody fucking hell."
Rose and Fawley jerked out of their stupor, gazing over their shoulders to see a familiar figure emerge from the shadows. Baby-faced Albus Potter. He towered over them, his expression slack from shock as he watched the Mergirl gliding within the bathing pool.
Fawley stared wordlessly at him for a long moment before turning to Rose with raised eyebrows.
"You didn't tell me you were inviting him."
As far as Rose was concerned, Albus wasn't in this part of the plan.
And now he was nowhere to be found.
Well, this was a mess.
Rose slumped against the brick wall, trying to catch her breath. After his sudden appearance in the Prefects' Bathroom, he had left as abruptly as he came. Before Rose could catch up to him, he'd donned his Invisibility Cloak and disappeared into thin air.
She didn't blame him, of course, for needing a moment to process what he saw. But this was not the way she wanted him to find out. She couldn't possibly know how much he'd seen in the Prefects' Bathroom, or if he even knew the true identity of his beloved Mergirl.
But Rose had walked on eggshells of too many a scenario to know he would not take this well without sufficient explanation. The question now, then, was whether he fancied the Mergirl more than he disliked Poppy… though she had a terrible feeling Albus was likelier to resent her for this subtefuge.
And yet, it was hard to forget his rather obvious concern when he revealed Poppy's affair with Crossley. Surely he would understand once he knew the full story.
Friendship might be out of reach for Albus and Poppy, but a mutual understanding of sorts—
That wasn't too much to hope for, was it?
Rose paused in the hallway then, listening for her cousin's hurried footsteps or a swish of his cloak. Nothing. As she considered her options, a distant shout through the windows caught her attention. She heard the knock of Bludgers; the swoosh of broomsticks in the air.
Quidditch, Rose realised with a jolt. If Albus wasn't in the castle… then maybe he was on the pitch.
And perhaps—Scorpius, too.
The mere reminder of her boyfriend made Rose's breath hitch. She should return to the Prefects' Bathroom, but she found herself stalled in the middle of the hallway, paralysed by the weight of the events over the past two days.
Keeping her focus on Poppy was the right thing to do. But now that she was thinking of Scorpius again, she couldn't stop herself from recalling his parting words.
Do whatever you want, Rose.
Scorpius was all sorts of things, but the vacant stare he'd given her before he left, like she was someone else entirely…
They hadn't spoken since their fight outside the Great Hall the day before. And she was afraid, a little bit, that she'd messed up without realising why.
Rose swallowed the lump in her throat; it tasted vaguely of guilt. She was not used to dealing with these emotional complexities, of being caught in an intricate web that only wound tighter with every move she made. One would think that the older they got, the wiser they became about people—and yet Rose was only beginning to realise that she understood very little at all.
How did her simple intentions to help Poppy give her so much to be uncertain about?
The more she considered Scorpius' behavior, the less sense it made. She had never done a thing to violate his trust. Despite her exhaustion at the time, it seemed so obvious to her that Fabian's appearance was far more important than dealing with Scorpius' moody outburst.
Even so, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she must have missed something bigger.
She had to find Albus, at least. That was a start.
Rose fumbled for her headphones and put on a bit of Beethoven, hoping for a reprieve from her racing mind. She ambled down the stairwells, through a maze of blissfully empty hallways, before finding the edge of the grounds. The pitch was some distance away, but Rose could use the walk.
The wet spring breeze brought a relief to her warm cheeks. The sky overhead was flooded with orange ribbons, the approaching sunset infusing the sprawling land with an inviting glow. As she neared the pitch, Rose inhaled deeply, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in—
"Look out!"
And just like that, Rose was knocked off her feet and pushed back onto the damp ground. She was gasping now, winded by the sudden force against her back. The impact threw out her headphones, the sonatas now replaced by the sound of a familiar voice shouting in her ears.
Once she regained her senses, she spotted a figure some distance away… the Slytherin Beater, Hector Levantis. He was staring at her in growing horror, a shivering ball of iron now caught in his arms.
Oh. Did she almost get mauled by a Bludger?
"Levantis, you fucking idiot," boomed Scorpius' voice. Rose blinked, taking a moment to find her bearings. Scorpius was sprawled above her, his weight supported on his elbows so she could breathe. "I'm going bloody end you, you useless shithouse—"
The fear on Levantis' face kicked Rose's instincts into gear. She reached out to grab the front of Scorpius' jumper before he could lift himself away, pulling him back down over her.
"Wait!" she exclaimed. "I—I'm hurt."
"What?" Scorpius turned back to her, fury filling his expression as he cupped her cheek, tilting her head gently to a side to assess her. "Where? Do we need to get you to the Hospital Wing?"
Behind him, Levantis had taken the hint and scrambled away in record speed, hugging the trembling Bludger to his chest as it squeaked in protest. Scorpius glanced over his shoulder, jolting up in a temper. "Levantis, you fucking get back here!"
"Leave him alone," Rose insisted, as Scorpius whipped back to face her. "He didn't mean it."
"With you, they never do," Scorpius snapped. "Some idiot would put a knife through you and you'd be sorry for bleeding out."
"I'm not that nice."
"You are, and it's fucking annoying." Scorpius closed his eyes briefly, as though to curb his temper, before focusing his pale gaze back on hers. Rose was finding it hard to breathe, though she was no longer sure if it was because of the fall or—
Something else.
"Where does it hurt?" he asked, his voice softening.
Rose was suddenly all too aware of his body still wrapped over hers, the mere presence of him deliciously vibrant and strong. A slow heat crept up her face, and she felt a terrible swoop in the bottom of her stomach as he traced the hollow of her nape.
The anxious grip that had haunted her all day was slowly unraveling inside of her, like a tightly coiled rope given relief. No matter how unreasonable Scorpius was being at the moment—
He always managed to have that effect on her.
"There," she managed, as he grazed a spot at the back of her head.
"Here?" he mumbled, an eyebrow raising slightly. He cradled the back of her neck as he applied a gentle pressure with his thumb, the unexpected pleasure of it making Rose's eyes fall close.
He had such warm hands.
"Levantis should've seen you before hitting the damn thing," he muttered under his breath. "Didn't even bloody apologise."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you going to apologise for hurting me, too?"
Above her, Scorpius paused. Rose opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his stormy expression inscrutable once more. When he said nothing, Rose tried again. "We should talk about it."
Abruptly, he moved to sit up. "I need to clear the practice kit."
"Scorpius, wait—"
"Get off the grounds."
"But—"
"It's not safe at this time, and you almost got your head Bludgered in—"
Oh, this stubborn oaf. With a small cry of frustration, Rose threw her arms around his neck before he could get to his feet, her weight throwing him back to the cold ground. She scrambled atop of him to pin him down, trying to ignore the flush in her cheeks at their awkward position. "I said wait."
Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by her ambush. "We both know you're as light as a damn bird," he drawled, a venomous glint in his eye. "It'll take nothing to throw you off."
"So do it," Rose shot back, catching hold of his forearms to keep him still. "I've wrestled with stronger animals."
A humourless smile. "You were the one who said I hurt you."
"Pssh. I can guarantee you have nothing on Buckbeak when he's excited to see me after the summer—oof!"
For Scorpius had flipped them over so swiftly that Rose felt the ground beneath her before she could make her point. With offensively little effort, he'd pulled away from her grip, his hands coming to rest on either side of her face as he leaned over her. Rose wiggled briefly, but Scorpius merely shifted once more, easily trapping her between his muscled thighs.
He was so often gentle with her that it was easy to forget how physically strong he was. The realisation made Rose falter. She slumped against him, trying to hold on to some shred of dignity, even as she fought to ignore the traitorous heat rising where his hips pressed firmly into hers.
Scorpius lowered his head to hers, a strand of silver-gold falling over his eyes and tickling her cheek.
"And this is the problem with you, imp," he said, his silken voice dangerously low. "You overestimate your abilities, take worthless risks, and before you know it you're dancing with snakes."
"Are you talking about Fabian?" she said, refusing to back away from his arrogant stare even as her heart went into overdrive. "Because I'm talking about you. And I'm not going to lay here and take it just because you have trust issues."
"And I suppose you're doing so well in that department," he snarked. "Going on about how I'm not trusting you enough when you can't even trust me to keep your damn secrets!"
"Because it's not my secret to tell! You said you'd wait for me to figure it out!"
"If you think I'm going let you mess around with Fabian Fawley while I sit back and watch," Scorpius cut in coldly, "you're bloody mistaken."
"I don't like him like that."
"Heard that one before, too."
Oh, he was infuriating. Rose didn't come here to fight. But what was it about him that made her want to?
"I'm going to leave if all you're going to do is make me defend myself," she said, trying to keep her composure intact. "What's the point of me trying if you insist on being completely unreasonable—"
"Me—unreasonable!" Scorpius let out a bark of laughter. "When you're the one keeping secrets and risking both our lives! You're such a fucking hypocrite."
Oh, that was it. Her temper flared, and Rose saw red. "Good thing I'm not your type, then, and you can be rid of me at graduation," she cried. "You jealous prick!"
She expected him to lash back at her, but there was an unexpected flicker in Scorpius' hard expression. He was staring fixedly at her now, as though hypnotised… his breaths now skittering short and hot against her skin. Rose's senses went on high alert, the way they always did when she could feel a beast lock in on her before an attack… Her eyes flitted up his face in askance, her fingers curling into his sleeve.
A hoarse sound escaped Scorpius' throat as their noses brushed, ever so briefly. And then his mouth had crashed hotly into hers.
Not like this. We're in public. People will see. We should go somewhere private… Even as the excuses raced in the back of her mind, Rose knew there was utterly nothing on earth that could stop Scorpius from kissing her. From wanting her. She trembled beneath the sensual pressure of him, unable to help a soft whimper as he licked her mouth open, his clever tongue selfishly demanding hers… the sheer intensity of his affections melting every last objection inside of her.
His firm hand came up to clasp her jaw, lifting her face to his ever so slightly. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his mid-kiss, her heart skipping at the deranged quality of his half-lidded gaze.
"Yeah, I'm jealous," he breathed against her mouth. "So fucking jealous."
She never got to answer; Scorpius' eyes fell close, and he was kissing her again, possessive and unyielding. He had forgotten himself, desperate to touch her everywhere. A reckless hand had moved up her small hips, tracing a deliberate path up her ribcage. Briefly, he cupped the soft fullness of her breast… teasing the growing flame at her core into a full-blown fever.
"Scorpius," she whispered, dazed.
"It's not you I don't trust." There was a dark gravel in his voice, the words nuzzled into the delicate curve of her throat. As though this was a secret he wanted to bury. "I can't stop thinking about all the tossers who've kissed you before… I want to tear out the eyes of every boy who even looks at you. And I know they all do, because they want you the way I want you. If I had my way, I'd bed you every night… make you come over and over, until you beg me to stop. I wouldn't allow you out of my sight for a single minute." Scorpius dragged his mouth up her jawline, nipping gently at the shell of her ear before kissing her there. "Do you understand now, Rose? How mad you make me?"
Then, all too suddenly, he pushed himself away from her. Rose sat up, kiss-flushed and stunned. Scorpius had gotten to his feet, putting distance between them; this time she didn't stop him. Between them, the chilly air had gone taut and still. The sky still held echoes of a finished sunset, but the grounds around them was now shrouded in a blanket of the oncoming night.
"There's nothing between me and Fabian," she managed at length, her own voice slightly hoarse now. "I don't see him that way."
Scorpius said nothing, but Rose sensed now that few things she said could have moved him. He had his back to her as he raked his fingers through his silvery hair, lost to his own demons as he turned his face to the night sky. He had a tendency of visiting ghosts, she knew. But nothing of Rose lived in his dark place, and his insistence on returning to hell would only shut her out.
She got unsteadily to her feet, searching herself for the words to bring him back to the present… but Scorpius had spoken again, so quietly he might have been talking to himself.
"All I want is to lock you up somewhere where no one can touch you but me." He glanced over his shoulder to look at her then, a melancholic glimmer in his grey eyes. "But all I can think about is how happy you are in the sunshine."
Rose blinked back at him in confusion, the words sinking in and lodging themselves into her bones. Suddenly she was desperate to understand what he meant.
What was he saying?
Was he—breaking up with her, then?
"Rose? Is that you?"
It was Poppy. Rose froze where she was, spotting her friends approaching some distance away. Fabian waved excitedly at her with both arms, only stopping when he spotted Scorpius behind her. The two of them stopped in their tracks, whispering urgently between them before scurrying back in the direction of the castle.
"Don't let me stop you," came Scorpius' voice.
Rose turned back to him, reaching forward to take his hand. But he'd pulled away before she could touch him.
"Don't," he said, not looking at her.
"Don't what?" she asked softly.
Scorpius' eyes flicked briefly to Rose's mouth, before he clenched his jaw and looked away again. "I don't want to hurt you."
"A bit too late for that, don't you think?" Rose returned. "Considering all you've done is hold me to standards set by someone else."
She didn't wait to hear his response; she wasn't sure he even had one. It was silly to hope he would come after her. He didn't. Of course he didn't.
Why would he?
There were more important things that needed her attention, she told herself.
She tried to ignore the sting in her eyes.