OMG. This took forever but it's because I've been so, so busy at work. That said, I'm really excited to move into the next series of chapters—there's a lot happening, I swear. I really appreciate the love shown for Albus and Poppy, and believe me when I say everyone will have their own stories unfold in good time.

Thank you so much for your responses to the previous chapter! Hugs to Helo (for your multiple comments encouraging me ;_;), Scorose-21, hpdude-4life, scoroseforlife, JThawn, 82, CharlieDL, Lamp Light Reader (love your song reccs!), misskangas, lllllllau, Penelope M. Jones, Formenial, HPWTWD, DukeSilver420, Hefty, LuvYouMom, PilarofDoom, as1hey, Acoiris, ChanceToBeImmortal, Sometypeofoldmag, fangirling2.0, Mochi, tenevris, JC, catwomannnnn1, yellow 14, titli ghosh, HPsea, veeRonniekins, AMBERJANUS, glassycry, LoreleiLorelei, ReticentReader, Therona, and all the amazing anons/guests! I'm really so heartened that I still have regular readers. Please do leave a name if you review. I do love catching up on your individual feels as the story progresses. Stay safe everyone.

Chapter 43: The Rag

Where there was ink, there should be drama.

What was the point of writing otherwise?

Or so believed the sleep-deprived, coffee-chugging editorial staff at the bustling Witch Weekly office. Apart from their standard churn of 20 under 20 lists, piss-poor dating advice and useless Who Wore What columns, they were constantly starved of exclusives featuring the magical elite. Readers lived vicariously through the lives of these young influencers, even as they secretly harboured their own hopes of one day entering that magical fray. Oh, to daydream of marrying into wizarding royalty like the Potter family, or stumble into scintillating affairs of darker repute with names like Malfoy…

As shit as the job was, surely Colette Creevey could be credited for giving the general public an occasional semblance of hope.

Creevey had worked at this cursed publication for a little less than two years. And it was… unstimulating, to say the least. The best part of her job: they didn't care to confirm the facts. The worst part of her job: they didn't care to confirm the facts. As something of an aspiring journalist, Creevey found this lack of accountability detestable. But a witch had bills to pay, and there was only so much news to go around. Sometimes you simply had to… garnish the facts a little bit to make end's meet.

Of course, Creevey wanted to be taken seriously, which was apparently a lot to ask for a fresh graduate of humble origins. Her uncle Colin—whom she was partially named after—had died a hero fighting with Dumbledore's Army, for which her father Dennis had been both devastated and proud. But little else in Colette's background wrought the kind of influence bestowed by a long and storied family history in wizarding society. As she soon found out, scoring a notable gig at the Prophet was hideously difficult, even if you had no qualms writing for the social section. Everyone who worked at that paper possessed blood connections of some sort. Witches like her, on the other hand, were often shut out of such glittering opportunities.

It seemed to matter nothing that she graduated salutatorian, or that she had recommendation letters from her internships that praised her resourcefulness. That still couldn't get her through the tedious selection process at the Prophet.

So here she was. Relegated to Witch Weekly.

It was one of those awfully slow weeks, too. If Creevey hated her job on a regular basis, well—recent days were threatening an existential crisis. There was only so much one could write about the local dating scene. In a show of desperation, Colette found herself sifting through her mail for scraps of anything that resembled a headline. Her keen eyes scanned through the pile, skimping through unopened Howlers from scorned socialites (avoid at all costs), invitations to dinners with social-climbers (reply as late as possible), letters from familiar "sources" that claimed to be close to celebrities (likely unreliable)…

And yet another letter from James Sirius Potter. God, would he ever stop? Creevey made a face as she unfolded the scrap, careful to keep it at arm's length. In case it contained a disease. Or something.

You've ruined my life, sweet Colette, with your terribly timed release of my little tête-à-tête with Alice Beery at Diagon Alley, James had written, with his signature flourish. I thought we had an understanding, you and I! Hertha is going to have my head! When they find my body in a ditch, where will your conscience be then?

"Charming," Creevey muttered, setting the note on fire without a second glance. If James Potter's life were truly in danger, his parents certainly had a direct line to her editors. Their wicked libertine of a son, on the other hand, was no threat to her already dire lack of career prospects.

While Creevey did attend Hogwarts alongside James Potter, they'd only spoken the first time a year ago, when she had snuck into Teddy Lupin's art show. The papers were right about this one—he had been an incorrigible flirt, even to a nobody like her. Good thing she had no interest in dealing with his antics. Only in reporting them.

She also remembered Rose Weasley showing up late, her red hair loose over her shoulders and the colour high on her cheeks. For most people, seeing her up close was always a bit of a shock… because despite her rather flighty reputation, Rose possessed a wholesome, fresh-faced prettiness that just hit different in person. She was there for Teddy's art, or so she said—and yet paid more attention to the crowd of smitten wizards than she did any life-sized portrait.

By the end of the night, Creevey had spotted her in a darkened corner, caught in the passionate embrace of one of Lupin's artist friends.

Typical.

Naturally, Creevey had reported that sighting in the next issue of Witch Weekly.

She allowed her thoughts to dither then, to the strange coupling of Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy. Since their explosive get-together months ago, news of the two had dried up completely. Which was—unfortunate. Most had theorised the idea of a PR relationship… but why would the pair of them ever choose the other to improve their reputations, when neither of them had a stable one?

Creevey had expected Weasley to end up in the arms of yet another wizard, as she was wont to do… and for Malfoy to resort to something heinously newsworthy as a result. But nothing. The delicious narratives they'd all hoped for had gone to dust. Even Mullen and Wick, two of her best sources at Hogwarts, had remained mum on the matter. In fact, Mullen's recent response had been surprisingly curt:

I'll have you know they are getting along famously, she'd written furiously, without providing any evidence at all—they're just verily private as I'm sure you can appreciate!

No, Creevey did not appreciate. What use was a source that valued privacy?

Not to mention the fact that Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy hadn't exactly rejected Creevey's requests for an interview. So far, they had merely ignored them. Which was expected from Malfoy, who had stonewalled the wizarding media after the Plumes-Bolt scandal. But from the Weasley girl, who dated men like they were on a carousel? Hell, she used to be regular tabloid fodder—Creevey was fairly sure she lived off the attention of others, even if it was overwhelmingly negative.

If they were a PR relationship, then shouldn't they be grovelling for coverage?

So—no. Certainly there seemed something… authentic about this one. Which was refreshing, frankly. If they were serious about each other, then perhaps a wedding would be in the pipeline. The thought piqued Creevey's interest. If she could somehow land exclusive coverage on that somehow—perhaps probe her small circle of insiders early, get a foot in the door before the tossers at her sister zines see it coming…

Creevey frowned. Perhaps she could negotiate a deal with James Potter? After all, he was the only socialite who wrote her more than she wrote him.

She had reached the last letters in the bottom of the pile—one envelope with an elaborate wax seal, and the other with a neatly penned return address to Hogwarts. Creevey's heart leapt at the possibility.

Could there be a reply at last, to her many letters begging an interview?

She tore the envelopes open in a hurry.

But as the words of both letters came to focus, Creevey found her day getting just that little bit more dire. The first note was carefully written, in a loopy scrawl—

Thank you for your kind interest, but we would like to focus on the NEWTs :)
Yours, Rose Weasley

And the other, with elegant cursive and deliberate brevity—

No.
Regards,
Scorpius Malfoy

…Known for playing the field, Scorpius Malfoy had only ever gotten serious about ONE girl—and we all know how that turned out. As the dust settles, the renewed bachelorhood of magical society's most scandalous bad boy comes as good news to legions of fans. Mr Malfoy did not respond to our request for an interview, but lucky for us, none of his mad affairs have escaped the public eye. Buckle up, ladies and gents—it's a wild ride. Additional reporting by Colette Creevey.

Rose hummed under her breath as she contemplated the Witch Weekly article. She had never bothered with the rag—at least, not the way all her cousins seemed to do. Lily and Hugo had made a habit of cutting out any mention, most of which were positive; the Delacour-Weasleys were a staple in the fashion section; James, Fred, and even Albus would die if they were ever excluded from any lists touting society's most eligible bachelors.

Rose herself had made many of these silly lists for mostly the wrong reasons. Though she had never quite paid attention to what they said about Scorpius.

Lily, of course, was the one who slyly tucked this old Witch Weekly issue under Rose's pillow. Scorpius made a flattering cover, looking ridiculously gorgeous as he rolled his eyes beneath the screaming headlines. The cover story was written only weeks after the Plumes-Bolt scandal, documenting experiences of anonymous ex-girlfriends:

What a face to waste on that attitude.

Insufferable unless he's kissing you. Big hands.

He made me see Merlin, Circe and Jesus—in that order.

"Goodness," Rose murmured. Certainly Creevey had to have taken some creative license in this article. It all sounded terribly one-sided.

Though there was no denying that Scorpius fairly thrived on physical affection, and masterful at giving it. He was certainly far more ready than she was to take things further. And, in the back of her mind, Rose was beginning to wonder what it would be like to let him. To give into the feel of him in more private places. Under her skirt, over her breasts, between her thighs…

Rose exhaled quietly, trying to curb the soft flare of desire rising inside of her.

She forced her attention back to the article, and continued walking.

It had been an exhausting week of tests for the seventh years. Many had spent every bit of spare time revising like their lives depended on it. Incidentally, Rose only had one more test on her list—Care of Magical Creatures, luckily enough. So she had begged off her final study session with Poppy that evening, arranging through a series of passed notes to meet Scorpius in a corner classroom located in one of Hogwarts' forbidden wings. This was where he went to study after the library went dark, he'd explained, when he needed to focus away from the bustle of the common room.

There was no firelight in this part of the castle; Rose had to light her wand to continue reading Witch Weekly. She was so engrossed in the magazine that she entirely missed the classroom. She only paused to check her bearings a minute later, taking several steps back when she spotted a faint flicker of light from under one of the doors.

Tucking the magazine under her arm, she tentatively pushed the door open and poked her head into the classroom.

Scorpius was standing by the blackboard, arms braced against the teacher's desk as he perused the scrolls laid out before him in the candlelight. From what little Rose could gather, the scrolls contained strings of numbers that looked terribly intimidating. Arithmancy, most likely. Scorpius was one of the few students in their year who had special electives, an added burden to their already punishing NEWTs workload.

Though he was, of course, intense in everything he did. It showed in the keen focus of his pale eyes as he devoured the work. Some part of Rose knew it was silly to be mesmerised by the sight of him immersed in his calculations; the graceful manner in which he turned back to the blackboard; the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up, the sinewy muscles of his forearm tensing as he detailed another line of numerals in chalk. And yet, she was. Rose found herself glued to the spot, fixated on how the broadness of his shoulders flexed beneath his crisp white shirt… every subtle move illuminated by candlelight and shadows.

Rose shook herself out of her stupor, her cheeks starting to burn.

Oh, hell. That Witch Weekly article had definitely done a number on her.

Despite their agreement to meet—and her hopes of spending a little time with him—it was probably wiser not to break his concentration. Rose knew how difficult it could be to get into the groove of hours-long studying. But just as she was tip-toeing out the door, Scorpius glanced over his shoulder. A slow smile stole into his mouth as he caught sight of her.

"Imp. Where do you think you're going?"

Rose stopped in her tracks, clutching the magazine to her chest as though it could keep her heart from leaping out. She cleared her throat, putting on her most innocent expression. "You looked busy."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And?"

"It seems like you have a lot to revise, so I figured I'd leave you to it."

To her surprise, Scorpius nodded. He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced back at the blackboard. For the briefest of moments, he looked oddly overwhelmed. Not that Rose blamed him. They all were.

"You're probably right," he said at last, a sigh in his words. "But all this studying is a chore without you."

Rose gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm already studying with Poppy."

"I know." Scorpius shot her a comically reproachful look. He had attempted to get Rose into studying sessions with him, only to be coolly shut down by Poppy, who casually reminded Rose of their study pact from the beginning of term. "I do like your friend, but she's monopolising your time."

His familiar dramatics tickled her. "She's hardly monopolising my time—"

"Then why do I see you so little?" Scorpius had moved away from the blackboard, now resting casually against the front of the desk as he regarded her.

"Scorpius. You just saw me this morning."

"We were in class. It's not counted if half of Hogwarts are present."

Merlin, he made it hard to keep a straight face. "We can always meet in the weekend, once the tests are over. It's not a big deal."

He made a derisive sound. "I do have five more chapters to revise on this blasted subject. But spending time with you is a big deal." He glanced warily back at his scrolls. "I suppose I have no choice."

"There's always a choice," Rose returned, pretending to be sensible.

"No, sweetheart." His voice had lowered, the rich warmth of it settling within her stomach. "I'm afraid there isn't."

Rose raised her eyes to his, no longer able to hide her smile. Scorpius stared back at her, an irresistible amusement warming his usually placid features. Funny how he didn't look any different from usual… yet seemed particularly dashing tonight. She was beginning to feel hot all over; her skin prickled just from being near him.

It truly wasn't like her at all to be breathless for nothing.

Maybe he was right. They really weren't seeing each other as much as they liked.

Rose made her decision then. She didn't miss the triumphant quirk in his mouth as she moved deftly towards him, coming to a stop between his feet to meet him in the warmest of hugs. Her arms closed tightly around him, her nose buried softly into his chest. She could feel the rumble of his laughter under her cheek as he drew her closer, his head dipping slightly so he could kiss her.

Oh, Rose thought, as her eyes fluttered shut.

She did miss him then.

His thumb came to stroke gently at her chin, coaxing her to open up to him, to let him kiss her deeper. Rose pulled away ever so briefly, but Scorpius didn't let up, chasing her tongue with his own, the mischief in his next kiss making her giggle. She glimpsed his fond smile as he lowered his head into her shoulder.

"You're so fucking adorable," he breathed, his gravelled words muffled against her skin. "No way I can study now."

Rose studied his face, concern filling her at the subtle weariness she found there. "Then don't. Take a break today and rest early."

Scorpius reached down to palm the growing bulge through his trousers, the gesture so casually erotic that an inexplicable ache flared deep inside of Rose. Her breaths shallowed as he leaned in to nip sweetly at her earlobe, his mouth lingering there. "I can't exactly rest in this condition, Rosie," he murmured. "You've already made me this way."

Oh, this was no good. They had to calm down. Rose drew back once more, and this time Scorpius let her. It befuddled her, how the sexual tension between them didn't seem to subside with time as it was supposed to do… If anything, the heat only seemed to grow more intense with every moment they spent in each other's company. Though if Scorpius noticed the same thing, he certainly said nothing of it. At present, he merely watched her with a devious glint in his eye.

As though he knew something she didn't.

"I see you've made good on your promise, not bringing Arnold for once," he said then, keeping his tone light. "I do hate being interrupted."

"He wanted to come," Rose said, unable to help a grin at Scorpius' grimace. "But I decided I can interrupt you by myself."

"That you did. Though I may listen to you and call it a day, actually." Scorpius stepped back behind the desk, raising his arms in a languid stretch. Once more, it was hard not to admire his gorgeous physique… and there it was again, that persistent flutter in the bottom of Rose's stomach. "Aren't you done with studying? I assume you don't need to revise for anything that has to do with creatures."

"Not exactly." Rose fiddled with her book bag. "Er—I've been doing other types of studying, actually."

Scorpius shot her a sceptical look as he rolled up his scrolls. "Like?"

"Hmm." Rose cleared her throat and held up the magazine. "Lily left me this. With a note informing me that I'm years behind your fangirls. So…"

Scorpius snorted in disbelief, providing a startling resemblance to his own Witch Weekly cover. He settled back against the edge of the desk and folded his arms, a sneer in his next words. "What the fuck does a tabloid know about me that you don't?"

His confidence in her was oddly touching, considering they hadn't actually known each other long. Rose flipped the magazine open. "Well. For one thing. They collected stories from ex-girlfriends talking about your… less than ideal behavior—"

Scorpius growled under his breath, attempting to swipe the magazine from her hands. Rose squeaked, deftly moving out of his reach. But Scorpius lunged forward again, managing to get a fistful of her jumper.

"Why are you reading this tripe?" he demanded, scowling as she stumbled back against him.

"It's not all terrible," Rose protested, clutching the magazine tightly in case he had the nefarious idea of destroying it. Merlin knew Lily would never forgive them—she'd been collecting Witch Weekly issues since she was nine. "They said some good things about you."

His tone was cotton dry now. "Somehow I highly doubt it."

"One of your ex-girlfriends said you kissed like a god," Rose pointed out. "So there's that."

Scorpius grunted, his arms wrapping loosely over her waist. "And?"

Rose glanced up at him, trying not to smile. "And?"

"Do you agree?"

The question somehow surprised Rose. It occurred to her, suddenly, that the things she took for granted about Scorpius were not necessarily obvious to him. How do you not know? she wanted to say. But when she didn't reply immediately, Scorpius dropped the subject. Instead, he rested his chin on her shoulder, his eyes trained on the magazine in her hands.

"You don't have to read any of this tosh to get to know me," he said at length, turning his head slightly to look at her. "You can just ask me."

Rose nodded thoughtfully, lowering the magazine. "I want to find out a little more about you," she admitted. "But I realise now that Witch Weekly doesn't actually have the answer to any of my questions."

He chuckled beside her ear, the husky sound making her cheeks warm. "What do you want to know?"

"What you want to do. After graduation. Or maybe you have dreams you want to pursue." Her eyes lowered to her feet, suddenly unsure if Scorpius was keen to share any of these things; he was such a private person, after all. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. I just… wondered."

Scorpius was so quiet that Rose craned her neck to check if he'd heard her. His chin was still rested in her shoulder, his slender fingers now playing with the frayed bit of her jumper as he considered her question.

"Scor?" she said softly.

She didn't miss the way he smiled when she said his nickname. "There's nothing complex about my future," he said. She had the impression he was choosing his words carefully. "I don't have dreams. I have responsibilities."

Rose's brows knotted in question.

"I can do as I damn well please for a few years after graduation," he continued haltingly. "Quidditch, further studies, whatever. But the moment I'm twenty-five, I'll be expected to join my father in running the enterprise."

"Enterprise?"

"All the components that make up my inheritance. Managing the land and estates, not to mention father's ventures. Mother, too, will need me to help chair her causes and run her charities. We always tell her she does too much." Scorpius frowned, as though remembering something unpleasant. "My aunt Daphne has a ridiculous art collection that needs constant upkeep, too. It's a bloody nightmare."

The magnitude of this information was hard to grapple with. Rose couldn't imagine growing up with these burdens. Her parents, despite their prolific careers in public service, had never pushed her to follow in their footsteps. For this reason, it had always been easy for her and Hugo to dream up their own lives.

Not so for Scorpius, it seemed.

"Is that… what you want?" she asked quietly.

"It's a matter of duty. It doesn't matter what I want." Scorpius' mouth twitched at her crestfallen expression. "Don't look like that, imp. I'm not bothered by it. I've never been encouraged to have dreams, so this is simply a matter of course for me." He brushed away a few stray strands from her cheek. "People don't always understand that wealth comes with obligation. I sure as hell didn't until recently. I've only just come to realise that we have so many people we're responsible for. Thousands of livelihoods that depend on our family keeping it together."

"That's rather noble, when you put it that way."

"A blessing and a curse."

Rose turned to face him, earnestness entering her expression. "It doesn't mean you can't start dreaming now, Scorpius. Maybe you'll eventually find the time to pursue what you love, in the future. You never know."

"I suppose there's always the possibility of buying out the Harpies when father isn't looking." Scorpius cocked his head, a twinkle in his eye. "What would you do? If you had an inheritance."

"Me?" Rose blinked back at him, startled. "I wouldn't know how to handle that kind of money."

"If you had to. A wildlife foundation, perhaps?"

"Oh." Her face brightened. "Am I allowed?"

"Of course. You're allowed to do whatever you want."

"Then yes. I suppose I'd start a wildlife foundation." Rose beamed at the idea, getting into the swing of it. "We'll have a team specially dedicated to studying Sasquatches."

"Mmhmm. And?"

She could hear the amusement in Scorpius' voice, but Rose didn't let it deter her. "More lobbying against the abandonment of Pygmy Puffs as pets."

Scorpius made an undignified sound that turned into a cough. Rose ignored him, taking another moment to think about it before asking, half-seriously: "Would it cost too much to open a Hippogriff sanctuary?"

Scorpius lost his composure then, throwing back his head and howling with laughter. Rose pulled him down by the collar and pressed her hand over his mouth, her eyes wide. "We're in the forbidden wing," she whispered in a rush. "Not so loud, we'll be heard—"

As if on cue, a distant meow cut through in the distance.

Scorpius and Rose stared at each other, alarmed. With a quick flick of his wand, Scorpius had put out all the candles in the room. He gathered his Arithmancy scrolls before tugging Rose to the darkest corner of the classroom, a narrow space behind a dusty wooden cabinet.

They held their breaths for a moment. Beyond the walls, the sound of dragged footsteps echoing in the halls. And then—

Silence.

Rose exhaled softly, trying to stop her heart from pounding into overdrive. And yet it wasn't just the panic of Filch being near that made the blood rush in her ears. Scorpius was pressed up against her now, the sensual warmth of his body engulfing her smaller frame… this sudden closeness rekindling a tender ache between her thighs. That feeling again… Rose fought back a shudder as she rested her forehead on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart beside her cheek.

This was happening so often now.

Against him, her body no longer felt like her own.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in, momentarily calmed by his familiar scent, so masculine and clean. Safe. And yet, safe seemed to be the furthest thing on Scorpius' mind. For he had tipped her chin up, his mouth coming down hot over hers.

The pitch-black darkness amplified the sensation of him a hundred fold. There was hardly a breath of space between them, but Rose found she didn't mind at all. She felt overwhelmed even as she strained on her tiptoes, trying to match his passion with her own. He had licked into her mouth, his tongue seeking hers in a slow, silken dance… a roughened sound rising in his throat as he crushed her against him. His fingers curling in her hair; her own tracing the hardened muscle of his back.

There were footsteps again. Yet another scratchy meow. But Scorpius refused to let up, abruptly drawing her upwards against him. This sudden shift caused Rose to stumble backward from her aching tiptoes, her palms finding purchase against the stone wall behind her. Scorpius hummed with laughter as he chased their kiss, only to find air. "Rose."

"My feet hurt," Rose said, trying desperately not to laugh. "You're too tall."

She could sense his amused exasperation in the darkness. Then, without warning, he had placed his hands over her hips and lifted her up. Rose made a sound of surprise as Scorpius hushed her.

"Wrap your legs around me," he whispered, dropping a kiss under her ear.

She was pinned against him now, his hands supporting her thighs over his hips as her legs clamped around him. Her arms went over his shoulders as his insistent mouth found hers again. This time there was no mistaking the shape of his swollen length thrusting up into the thin fabric of her knickers, or the way he squeezed and caressed the smooth flesh of her bum beneath her skirt. This would have mortified her only a few weeks ago… but now all Rose could think about, through this growing fog of desire, was how much she wanted Scorpius in kind.

Circe. Even without realising it—she had wanted him this way for awhile.

"Who is it?" came a snarl from beyond the classrooms. "Who's out here breakin' rules?"

Rose's breath hitched at the sound of Filch. But Scorpius seemed unaffected as he rocked his hips against her, the rhythm of it drawing delicious pulses from her core. The possibility of being caught like this brought hot flashes all over her… And yet there was too much sensory overload for her to see sense. The sinful rustle of their clothing in the darkness, his languid, biting kisses over her skin, and the artful pleasure he was building between their hips…

Scorpius was kissing hotly up her throat now, reaching up the back of her jumper to unclasp her bra. Rose cupped his face, catching the flash of drunken lust in his grey eyes as their gazes met in the dark. "We're going to get caught."

"Then tell me to stop," he whispered. Rose's breaths grew short as her bra loosened, his calloused thumb slipping beneath to trace slow circles around her nipple. Her knees went weak. "Rose. Tell me to stop. And I will."

Perhaps this was what madness felt like, Rose thought, as she leaned in to kiss Scorpius instead. He uttered a moan against her mouth, the sound so full of desire and heat that it made her toes curl. Scorpius' warm hand caressed the soft curve of her breast as they kissed, teasing her nipple to pertness, the pressure of his arousal stoking her own… and there it was again, that growing swell of sensation that seemed to urge Rose higher and higher, into some sort of unknown oblivion. The most divine, unbearable feeling.

"Scor," she breathed, gripping the back of his shirt. Anything to anchor her. Anything to keep her within her senses. Surely she was going to fall apart from the pleasure of it and never recover. As though he understood, Scorpius leaned in to nuzzle her cheek. The way he did it, so soft and fond, soothed the vague panic rising in her chest.

"Come for me," he murmured. "Don't fight it, sweetheart."

It hardly mattered that Filch might still be hovering outside. Or that they were in the darkness with no bearings but each other. Or that all she had of Scorpius was the musky heat of his skin. The soft gravel of his voice. The searing warmth of his kisses. Even that felt like too much. They kissed again, urgent and wanting. And as Scorpius asked, Rose did not fight.