Rated M for eventual smut on chapter 3. There's a nifty A/N telling you when to pretend it all got faded to black if you're not into that sort of stuff, don't worry. ❤️

Yell, bang door. Rinse, repeat.

Scorpius Malfoy stared at the door to his office, waiting for yet another aftershock of the Rose Weasley earthquake.

"And another thing," she cried, storming in for the fifth time in the same number of minutes, red hair wild, blue eyes blind with rage. "Next time you decide to belay my order for new quills... DON'T!"

Her 'and another thing' days were his least favourite thing in the whole wide world. It was like she kept a mental tally of petty accusations well at hand, only to air them all out the next time she exploded - except she didn't air them all at once like normal people, oh no. She had to do it in tiny spurts as they came to her foaming mind.

Hence the 'and another thing'.

At this point, the quill accusation was about two weeks old. Scorp had been waiting for it to come up and, when it hadn't, he'd been relieved. After three weeks with no Incidents, he'd let himself be lulled into a false sense of security. Perhaps this was what life was going to be like as of now. Peaceful. Quiet. No banging doors.

And yet here they were.

"Oh, and another thing!" The door slammed closed behind her once more and she stared back at him, eyes smouldering and Scorp carefully hid the corner of his twitching mouth against the palm of his hand.

"Yes?"

Not much of a point arguing, he'd found. Every word was a liability, just another thing for her to take offence. When she was in a strop, every sentence was like a condescending morsel that her umbrage would happily feast upon.

"Next time, close your sodding door before falling dick first into sodding Jenny from bloody Hocus Pocus."

With a huff and a final slam of the door, Rose was gone.

Scorp sighed. So now she wouldn't talk to him so much as snap at him for a whole day and then she'd spend maybe another two avoiding him and pretending nothing had happened.

Maybe Thursday she'd be back to her usual delightful self.

"I hope you don't choke on all that negativity," Rose scolded, scratching yet another story from her notes, lips pursing together with apprehension. "You really have a knack for ruining everything good in this world."

"I haven't ruined absolutely anything. It already was."

In fairness, he was right. She hadn't known 29 of the 30 adopted kittens had been returned as of this morning - though, to be fair, the litter cleaning alone would've been insane so she couldn't say she was surprised… more disappointed.

But Scorp did. It was his job to know. He was the Bearer of Bad News, just as she was the Bearer of Good News. Two sides of the same coin, positivity and negativity working in adjacent offices, separated by the flimsiest of walls.

"If you tell me the baby panda at the zoo died, I will hex you." She brushed a desperate hand through her curls, twisting them into a knot that needed no elastic band to hold itself together. When he stared blankly back at her, she hissed, "For the love of Merlin, please tell me he's fine."

He was the harbinger of literary death. His Bad News column was a mile long and every single time they sat down to cross their respective stories, her own list would get cut shorter and shorter and shorter.

Sometimes she wanted to cry. Sometimes she did cry.

"Far as I know, the panda's fine… for now."

The tone of unavoidable tragedy in his voice sent a shudder up her spine. She licked her lips thoughtfully and launched another attack. "New Dragon Pox vaccine -"

"Untested."

"Mysterious flowers arrived at every desk of the Ministry of Magic -"

"Two people had serious allergic reactions and are now recovering in St Mungo's." His tone was amused. "Plus one of the plants tried to strangle its recipient."

"Fortescue's employer saves child from choking?"

"That one's definitely mine." Scorp let out a snort, long fingers sorting through his notes with a deliberateness that made her breath hitch in her throat. "Here it is: choking... on a small animal bone. In her ice-cream ." He shook his head, amusement obvious. "Fortescue's is going to have a rough time of this."

Oh Merlin, why.

Rose's eyes were pleading and she worried at her lower lip. "Auror kneazle instated? Sniffs bags for contraband dragon blood?"

Scorp, on the other hand, was wearing his most phlegmatic expression yet. She supposed this was his own way of settling the score after her little outburst two days ago, a petty little vendetta that he was intent on paying back in full by making her miserable. She'd lost it completely to the point where she'd seen absolutely nothing but white, hot anger. It happened sometimes: her therapist blamed repression and denial as the likely cause.

Repression? What repression? There was no repression here.

"Auror Kneazle has done nothing wrong... yet," Scorp said, jotting a small note on the corner of his parchment. "You can keep that one."

Rose shuddered. Those notes always came back to bite her on the arse. Any day now the wanker would walk in and present her with a particularly nasty piece of news on how the Auror kneazle had to be put down after eating someone's face off.

"What, you don't want to spin it into 'Auror jobs being stolen by kneazle'?"

His knee brushed against hers under the table for a second and their eyes locked, apprehension lingering in hers, indifference patent in his own. Grey eyes that were too serious, too sharp and infinitely more dangerous when the occasional laughter set them ablaze.

He stared hard at her for a few seconds before shaking his head, leg stiffly shifting away. "No, I'm good."

"I come bearing Bad News," he said, opening the door and slanting her a smirk. "It seems Auror Kneazle attacked one of his fellow Aurors. Shredded one of his legs, really." He tutted, shaking his head with merry sympathy. "Gruesome sight."

"Oh, that."

Rose sighed with relief and Scorp's eyebrows furrowed - that wasn't the reaction he'd been batting for. Quite the opposite really.

"It seems there was a reason for it," she continued, her blue eyes laughing, seemingly impervious to the blue devils he'd herded into her office. "Though I can't exactly say it's Good News either."

He let himself fall on the chair on the opposite side of her desk and made himself comfortable - in spite of being the exact same make and model, the chairs in her office were somehow much better than the ones in his. Everything about her office was, really, undoubtedly a reflection of the sunny personality that inhabited it.

She levitated a mug to him and filled it to the brim with coffee. Two sugars and a splash of milk followed shortly, just the way he liked it. He'd never actually told her and she'd never actually asked - somehow she just knew. He'd chatted about it with one or two people and had been somewhat disappointed when he'd found out that it was a widespread phenomenon.

On top of her shoulder-chip collection, Rose also kept a very in-depth mental file on people's coffee proclivities, the thoroughness of which the Auror Department could only dream of.

"What then?"

"Seems the bloke was harassing one of his female coworkers," she continued, taking a sip of her own mug with a small smile. "Kneazle took a fancy to her and the rest -"

"- is News." Scorp sighed. "The headline almost writes itself. 'Harassment in the Auror Force'?"

"I was thinking maybe 'Auror Kneazle Fights For Safer Workplace Environment'?"

She sent him one of her looks, the 'please don't be a dick' ones.

Rose Weasley herself was bad news, mostly for him. She had absolutely no idea of how wrapped around her little finger she had him - she just kept accidentally tugging at the string, pulling him along like a helpless, flailing puppet. Her coffee, her chairs, her smile, all of them loosening hell inside him without giving the slightest hint as to whether or not she knew she was doing so.

"Sure." He took a sip of his coffee and nodded, biting down a scowl. "Have at it."

"What else do you got?"

"Magical Storm Ravages Dundee."

Scorp rolled his neck, trying to relieve the stress that had been building in his shoulders. Somehow, just being there was making the knots on his back loosen, like misery knew it wasn't welcome in her cosy office and was running away for dear life lest Miss Positivity decided to have a go at it.

"Can't argue with that one." Rose winced slightly. "Are you sure it's yours and not a Tragedies' affair? Or Forecast's?"

"While it is technically weather," Scorp said, rolling his eyes, "it doesn't fall under the Prophet's Forecast's purview until it's incoming weather - The Edinborough Piper's all over it. And I'm not sure about Tragedies, I'll have to ask Fletcher."

Both their noses wrinkled at the thought of Fletcher. Nasty wanker, ran Tragedies from his corner office with far too much glee. The man had never met a murder or a natural catastrophe he didn't like.

"How bad was it?" she asked softly. "Any casualties?"

"Nope." Scorp shook his head, a small smile curling his mouth at the relief on her face. "None whatsoever."

"Good," she said, shaking her head and letting out a huff. "It's just Bad News then. Fletcher can die in a ditch."

"And another thing!"

This time, her anger wasn't directed at him. It had become a joke of sorts at the office, seeing who she'd lash out at next. There was even a betting pool, started by, well, him. Honestly, so far, he still hadn't found any method to her madness. She'd be fine one moment and the next she'd bust a fuse at something completely innocuous.

This time the crazy girl from Astro News had left a cup of coffee next to Rose's new coat and it had spilled all over it. Nevermind that any other day Rose would've laughed and Scourgified the damned thing - today, she intended to tear the girl apart.

"- it was vile and insidious and it makes you an indefensible toerag - no, not an indefensible toerag, an indefensible toerag stain to our profession!"

Scorp leaned against the doorframe of his office, hands in his pockets and to watch the Fury in action. She now was laying it out on Astro Girl for something she'd printed the previous week.

"You give Seers a bad name! How dare you print that Taurus girls need to lose the extra flab? Do all Taurus girls need to lose extra flab? What about the anorexic Tauri, do those need to lose the extra flab?! How about you take one good look inside and wonder why it is you think -"

Ironic, really. Maybe if Rose took one good look inside herself she wouldn't be screaming at random people every three weeks to a month.

Fletcher brushed past him and slid him a slippery smile that made his insides curl with knee-jerk annoyance. As if that weren't enough, the words that tumbled out of his mouth were, "Control your wife, Malfoy."

"Bugger off before I take a page off her book," Scorp hissed back.

His eyes narrowed as Fletcher threw him a mortified 'oh what did I do to merit such an uncivil treatment' look over his shoulder and Scorp wondered whether it would be too juvenile to place a tripping spell smack dab on the door to his office.

His eyes were diverted to his work-wife, who, if nothing else, was absolutely magnificent when she was angry. He shook his head as she brushed past him, slamming the door to her office behind her. Scorp took a few languid steps into his own, fixed himself a cup of coffee, stirred it and was right back on time for the encore.

"And another thing! You keep heating your stupid fish in the kitchen and it stenches up the whole building!"

He couldn't argue with that. If Astro Girl was the one stenching up the Prophet with fishiness, he was glad Rose was seeing to it. Tearing her a new one was a public service.

And tear she did. "I swear to Merlin, next time I will throw your damned lunch out the window -"

He then saw something that he never thought he'd witness.

Astro Girl got up to her feet and gave the yelling, sputtering, flaming termagant a hug. And, Rose, who a second prior had been about to tear Astro Girl's insecurities to shreds, was crying instead of yelling and Astro Girl was patting her back and cooing soothing nonsense - something about 'baby pandas'.

His heart pounded as he slowly backed away into his office, quietly closing the door behind him, eyes still wide as his horrified brain tried to process the image of Rose Weasley - sunny, gorgeous, positive Rose Weasley - coming undone in Astro Girl's arms. More disturbing still was the terrifying realisation that he wanted nothing more than to shove the poor excuse of a Sybil Trelawney aside and take the crying girl into his own arms.

Which was, of course, ludicrous and just a little short of stark, raving madness because generally speaking there was nothing that annoyed him more than a sobbing girl.

"I bring Excellent News," Rose said, a wide grin on her face as she waltzed into Scorp's office, a little spring in her step that all but died as she took him in. "This one you can't ruin, it's just perfection."

"I'll bet you a fiver I can."

He leaned back against his chair and waved dismissively for her to sit. He looked tired, violet circles under his eyes and everything inside her ached to make it better, to somehow smack away the dark, cheerless clouds hanging over his head.

Rose shook her head, leaning hesitantly the doorframe, unwilling to step into what suddenly felt like a very unwelcoming room. "I bet you tell small children Santa isn't real."

His quill was working furiously on something and she shuddered just thinking about the sort of negative wickedness that was coming out of it.

"It's my go-to ice-breaker for any child under the age of seven, yes."

"Can't you be the least bit happy for once? Not everything's doom and gloom."

"Doom and Gloom has a nice ring to it." Scorp rolled his eyes and scoffed, before his eyes flickered back to the notes in front of him. "Might change the name of the column to it. Coffee?"

Rose snorted. His coffee was as sad as the news he printed. "Mine's better."

"True," he said with a small, mirthless smile. "The grass really is greener on the other side."

He gave the white wall separating their offices a half-hearted rap with his knuckles and sighed.

Rose, who had been planning on dropping her bomb of endorphins all over his sullen little head and leaving, instead found herself asking, "You want one?"

She'd expected him to refuse. Instead, he blinked at her once and then got up to his feet. "Can I bring the Bad News? I'm late for my deadline as is."

"Depends." She glared at the quill. "What'cha writing there, Negative Nancy?"

"Cauldron explosion kills family of five," he said, mouth pressing into a thin line. "Doesn't get any worse than that."

"Not tragic enough for Fletcher?"

Cue in the morose smile. "Fletcher is a wanker. He's too busy gloating over the fact that the storm's now made twenty casualties in Manchester and is fast approaching London. He'll probably get a spread on the first page. I, on the other hand, got… everything else."

Bad News were relative. Sometimes, they were a nasty spin on Good News. Other times, they were just... nasty.

Compared to the storm, everything else was just Bad News.

Rose nodded. "Bring them over and I'll tell you all about the dragons. It might brighten up your day."

"Dragons?"

He perked up a little at her words and grabbed hold of his quill and parchment, following her into the far happier domain that was her own office.

"Chameleon Dragons, thought to be extinct for over a hundred years," Rose said, casting a quick soothing spell on the chair before he sat on it. "Turns out they were just really good at hiding."

He let out a peal of caustic laughter. "That is terribly good."

Rose smiled, floating a mug over to him. "Still think you can ruin it?"

"Incompetent dragonologists misplace entire breed for over a century?"

She shook her head. "Hasn't the same effect. The incompetent dragonologists are best left as a funny footnote. I don't even need to write it, people will just think it and feel awfully pleased with themselves - like you just did."

"Of course you'd think that," he said, taking a sip of his coffee and leaning back against his chair before taking a deep breath. "I bet you tell people their dead grandmother is in a better place."

In spite of the words and the tone, he was visibly less harried than he'd been before the news. Or it might just be the chair and the coffee.

It wasn't the chair or the coffee or even the Good News. The halo of red hair was currently framing a delighted smile as she perused over her notes, her own fluffy blue quill writing at the speed of light, no doubt about dragons, sunshine and rainbows.

Scorp read over what his quill had written so far and sighed.

Orphaned children, woe and misery, et cetera et cetera, and then it went on to wax lyrical about blue eyes and red curls for over four paragraphs.

He blotted the words over and glared at his quill.

Rose snorted at something and looked over at him. "Guess what?"

He stared blankly back at her. "Hmm?"

"Auror Kneazle got a commendation for bravery."

Scorp brushed a hand through his hair and sighed. "You don't say. What for?"

"Gallantry in action." Her mouth curled into a grin. "Helped her partner detain three dangerous perps while waiting for reinforcements."

"Did it shred their legs?"

"First of all, Auror Kneazle is a she, have some journalistic integrity," Rose said, letting out a dainty sniff. "Secondly, yes, she did, and we're all very proud."

"We are? I think I missed the memo."

"This is the memo," she said, twirling her chair around. "We're proud."

When she stopped to grin at him, Scorp almost fell off his own chair.

The last couple of weeks had really taken a toll on him. There was no banter anymore, no giving fundamentally good stories a negative twist. As the storm approached and every single Tragedy kept falling on his plate, he sank further and further into himself. He was starting to look frankly haggard.

Scorp was drowning in Bad News and all Rose wanted to do was hold out a hand and pull him out.

Rose glanced at the clock. It was late and the light was still on next door. Occasional swearing could be heard from the other side of the wall - not that it was unusual, writers were a foul-mouthed bunch when under the yoke of a deadline.

She brewed a final mug of coffee and walked over to his office, opening the door and coming face to face with - well, not face to face, face to bare, naked arse, pants hanging around his thighs as he shagged Fiona from Arts and Warts against his desk. Rose's blood froze in her veins along with the rest of her body, eyes wide as she blinked, all breath leaving her body in a single sharp exhale that threatened to break her.

Bugger.

He threw her a glance over his shoulder and blue eyes locked with grey for a fraction of a second before Rose quietly backed away and closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it for a second, legs shaking and closed her eyes.

Voices sounded behind the door, a protest, a curse. She took a single deep breath and, just as steps approached the door, she finally regained her senses and ran.

When she tumbled out of the Floo and into her flat, Rose realised she was still holding the bloody mug in her shaking hand.

The image of him touching her, his dark eyes as they met hers, first with indifference then with shock kept replaying over and over and over in her mind until she thought her heart might just shatter… just as the mug she'd been holding a few seconds earlier, the remainders of which were now dribbling down a nearby wall.

Scorp had been bracing himself for an earth-shaking strop the next morning. Instead, the bearer of Good News had pulled a sickie for the first time since she'd started working there.

She was replaced with Marnie, one of the Junior Editors. Marnie, while a good egg, didn't exactly have the flair for positivity that Rose did.

In her absence, the Prophet pickled in unhappiness.

Fine, he pickled in unhappiness.

"As of Wednesday, we'll be closed," Eddie, the Prophet's editor-in-chief said. "It's candles only, no-magic, statute of calamity until the storm has passed. Whoever has an alternative place to stay outside of London is free to relocate in the interim."

All around her in the Prophet's lobby, heads nodded dutifully and all the while, Rose was aware of the grey eyes boring holes on the back of her head.

"Fletcher's written a fine piece on the specifics," Eddie continued, "with all the relevant instructions from the Ministry. I suggest those of you who haven't yet take the time to read it."

The second the announcement was over and done, Scorp caught up with her, trailing after her like a lost, apologetic puppy. An apologetic lost puppy who was far too close for comfort, far too warm, far too himself. Far too tall, too blonde, too handsome, unfamiliar concern written all over his face.

"Are you feeling better?"

Familiar discomfort lodged itself in her throat and Rose forced the corners of her mouth upwards. "Yep."

It had taken her a week to attain some semblance of normalcy again. She'd sputtered at the walls, torn one of her favourite books to shreds and cried on just about every single piece of furniture she owned.

And now she was fine… she just couldn't bring herself to look at his face.

"Are you going anywhere for the storm?"

He was making small talk of all things.

"Something like that."

She was planning on moving to her kitchen and baking approximately thirty batches of apple crumble and eating them by herself until she either died of an apple crumble overdose or just got over it.

Whatever it was.

Who was she kidding, she knew exactly what it was. Great time for her therapist to go on holiday.

The cow.

He'd massively screwed up. The pessimist in him had spent the entire week telling him just that and he'd ignored it in favour of the most sensible explanation - that Rose had, in fact, been ill.

The sensible explanation was starting to look very optimistic right about now.

He knocked at her door before opening it.

"Yes?" She looked blankly over at him for a second before her eyes got back to the stacks of paper on her desk. "I'm busy catching up and figuring out what to take home so if you don't mind -"

She waved a hand, the implied 'Leave Me The Hell Alone' loud and clear.

"I come bearing Good News."

Possibly the most pathetic olive branch ever offered, but still. Scorp walked into the familiar office and basked in the sunlight, immediately feeling his fraught nerves starting to recharge just by standing there close to her.

How was it that their offices stood side by side and yet hers was infinitely lighter? Were his windows dirty?

Before he could lay a hand on the excessively comfortable chair, it floated a few inches to the side, leaving him grasping nothing but air. He glanced over at Rose who had her wand on her hand and was giving him a strained affectation of a smile.

It lacked warmth.

"I'm busy," she said, "so don't make yourself comfortable."

There was a note of sharpness to her voice that made everything inside him ache. Stepping into her office usually felt like coming home, a home he didn't even know he had.

It now felt like Malfoy Manor.

"Three of Manchester's supposed casualties were found alive under the debris," he said finally, brow scrunched. "Whole family, mum, dad, kid, all alive and well."

He'd been sitting on it for two days now, a) because he had better things to do than help Marnie skewer what little good news she was given and b) because he'd hoped to give them to Rose direct.

Instead of the grin he'd hoped for - pretty much took for granted, really - he was met with a blank stare.

"Thanks," she said, one of her eyebrows quirking upwards. "I'll definitely look into it."

The second he left her office, he heard the very telling click of a lock.

Alright, no. He now knew for a fact that, even if she had been sick, she was also not particularly pleased with him at the moment.

Pissed was the word, really.

Rose glared at the articles Marnie had spent the last week writing. Most of them were in fact good news, but the way she phrased them was… lacking.

'Shropshire Bakery sells rainbow cakes - pot of gold not included'.

Why the disclaimer? Rose had tried the damned cakes, they were better than any pot of gold. Why ruin it with reality?

'Flourish and Blotts hosts a fundraiser for Dragon Pox victims.'

'Victims'? You never used the word 'victims' in Good News unless you were trying to be witty, you always used 'survivors' or something to that effect.

Merlin this was a trainwreck. She stared at the piles of letters and parchment on her desk. A corner with familiar tight, rounded, impeccable handwriting caught her eye and Rose gingerly pulled it from under the past week's shambles.

The thick envelope read 'Revolting Fluff You Missed, courtesy of Bad News'.

Peace offering perhaps. Trading fluff for forgiveness sounded like a long shot. Rose shook the envelope and her eyes grew wide as a series of pictures fell from it on her desk.

Kneazle sleeping with a baby dragon - the note on the back read 'self-explanatory'.

Cute kid riding a broom - 'Three-year-old breaks world record for tightest flying loop'.

Three young adults, arms around each others' shoulders, awkwardly grinning at the camera before bursting into laughter - 'Scottish Lads stumble on an antidote to complex poisons while high as a kite'. Additional commentary, 'ha'.

It just went on. And on. And on.

Girl crying with her arms wrapped around a large dog's neck. 'Ellie Harris reunites with the puppy her parents gave up for adoption after nine years when he recognises her voice across the street.' An additional note, 'Little wordy, but you'll work it'.

Each with further contacts. Each meticulously dated.

There was a rap at the door and Scorp braced himself. When the door didn't open, he cleared his throat and let out a raspy "Come in".

She hovered. "Hi."

"I'm assuming you found it," he said, smiling smugly at her as he sat on the very edge of his desk. "I could hear you squealing from across the wall."

There was a storm behind her blue eyes and, for a second, Scorp thought she was going to have at him.

Instead, she threw herself in his arms.

"Thanks," she croaked into his chest. "I needed that."

Holding her was like snorting sunshine for Merlin's sake. How was that fair?

His arms settled hesitantly on her shoulders and he gave her back an awkward tap. "There, there...?"

She snorted and let go of him. "You're rubbish at this."

"This maybe," he said, giving her a smirk, "but apparently not at compiling dangerously saccharine levels of fluff?"

"Not gonna lie, I cried a little at 'Dog's heart rate increases when the owner says I love you'."

"Simply revolting." He nodded knowingly and hesitated before asking, "Are we good?"

Her eyes thundered for the briefest second… and then a smile pushed the clouds away. "Yeah. We're good, Malfoy."

She was clearly lying. Just like the quills, he knew this would still come back to bite him on the arse - it was only a matter of 'when'.

For now, however, he was fine with this.

The lights on the office flickered and Rose scolded, waving her wand and muttering a few incantations until they settled.

Alright, where was she? 'Baxter, a five-year-old barn-owl from Salisbury, received a commendation award for helping his owner raise the alarm when they took a very difficult tumble down the stairs. The Indomitable Baxter -'

The lights flickered again and Rose glared at them.

'The Indomitable Baxter -"

Flick. Flick. Flick.

"Malfoy," she yelled at the wall, "are your lights going wonky as well or do I need a new bulb?"

A muffled "Minute" resounded on the other side of the wall and Rose huffily got up to her feet. She met him just as he was stepping out of his office and they stared, first at each other and then at the lights that were flickering all over the empty office.

"Not just yours," he said matter-of-factly. "My best guess is the storm arrived a little early."

The pair of them walked quietly toward the window where, at a distance, dark clouds assembled. At its core a faint purple light fizzled with magical intent.

Rose's heart fell to her feet. "No."

"Weather isn't an exact science," he said quietly. "Is no one else around?"

They gave the building a final sweep and found themselves alone.

"This is what we get for going the extra mile," Rose grumbled.

Scorp stopped in his tracks and turned toward the Floo Room. "We might still have time to Floo."

"I can walk," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not getting into a fireplace with that thing knocking at the door."

One thing was misspeaking an address and ending up somewhere in Bath as a very confused - and very naked - couple gaped at you.

Another thing entirely was having the magical carpet pulled from under your feet while you traversed the Ley Lines. Merlin only knew what would happen if the storm decided to draw magic at that exact moment.

Weather, like Scorp had said, was temperamental.

He stubbornly lingered as she turned and she threw a glance over her shoulder at him. "Coming? We still have time -"

He snorted. "Are you suggesting I power-walk my way to Wiltshire?"

Rose, who had already been taking another few steps toward the door stopped and turned, shuffling alternatives in her mind. "You can go over to Al's. I'm sure him and Melissa -"

"Al, Melissa and the baby buggered off to The Burrow two days ago," Scorp snorted. "They couldn't risk being around with a child who can't control their magic."

She swallowed. "Yardley -"

"Yardley is working very, very hard to become the next Mr Alistair Fawcett. If I pop by and steal his thunder," and here he let out a small amused smirk, "he might just end me."

"Kate -"

"France."

"Gwen?"

"Italy, actually. Second honeymoon."

It felt familiar, much like when he was shooting down her Good News. Except she knew exactly where this was going.

"Hotel?"

"State of calamity, darling," he said, giving her a sardonic little smile. "Tourism's not exactly a priority."

Rose stared at him, mouth opening and closing.

"I'm just poking fun, don't worry." His voice was soft as he caught up with her and herded her toward the door. "Obviously, I have an alternative."

He smiled blithely and her heart sank. Obviously, he didn't, of course he didn't.

"Do you?" She planted her heels firmly on the floor and he nearly toppled them over. "Last I heard, you were going to Barcelona."

She'd heard him telling Daphne from Opinion all about his plans to go sightseeing, check out the Sagrada Familia, pop over to Casa Mila and overall just gawk at everything Gaudí.

He looked very pleased with himself, the wanker. "Eavesdropping?"

"Daphne's a loud laugher," Rose grumbled, gritting her teeth and pushing them forward. "Come on. I'm putting you up on the couch."

His arm tightened around her shoulder and he stopped them. "I don't want to -"

"Be a hassle?" Rose shrugged his arm away. "Then shut up about it."

She felt like a child poking a finger in an electrical socket. On the one hand, she knew she shouldn't, on the other…

Rose pushed it down. It didn't matter.

The second Scorp walked into the door of her Muggle flat - something about rent being cheaper - he was buffeted on the face with a wave of Rose-ness.

"Don't mind the mess." She dropped her keys on a bowl at the door and glared at him. "And if you poke fun at anything, anything at all... you'll be out on your arse."

He wouldn't. He couldn't.

Or fine, he could. At some point, he probably would. However, as of right now he was far too fascinated to say anything at all. It was all soft pastels, yellows and pinks and blues. Flowers strewn about in colourful pots - plastic flowers, not real ones, which somehow only added to the vibe that was so her. Books haphazardly scattered in small piles on every available flat surface, small mismatched bookcases against the wall - like she kept buying more but somehow kept running out of room anyway.

If going into her office felt like home, this was home.

Rose was busy striking matches and lighting a series of candles across the room and, for the most part, keeping a wary eye on him. The electrical was still holding, but in the throes of the magical storm, it'd feel the same as any nasty Muggle one, so he figured it was prudent.

The most fascinating thing was the wall behind her desk, which was covered with newspaper clippings. Not fully wallpapered, just an explosion of articles of all shapes and sizes, carefully stuck to it with colourful pins. Some of it Good News, some of it Bad, sentences highlighted with fluorescent markers.

She deliberately walked over until she was standing next to him, arms crossed over her chest. "Favourite articles," she offered tartly in lieu of an explanation. "Again, not a word."

Scorp nodded blankly, stepping closer to the wall until his hand was brushing the familiar paper. Witch Weekly, The Prophet, Quibbler, Economist, New York Times, Le Monde. A couple of New Yorker covers, minimal, colourful affairs.

Just then, he realised why she was so defensive: on that wall, among all the Greats, among carefully curated journalistic masterpieces… were two of his.

His heart hammered in his chest as he glanced over his shoulder at her and she bit down on her lower lip.

Time held its breath.

"Favourite?" he repeated conversationally, ignoring the way his mouth had suddenly gone as dry as the Saharan Desert and the vice grip in his chest.

"Hmmhmm." Rose's features were carefully schooled. "No accounting for taste."

His fingers gingerly traced the edges of his own articles. There were two or three sentences meticulously underlined in each one and Scorp's breath hitched in his throat as he read his own words.

An elegant turn of phrase that he'd been singularly proud of.

A literary side-eye that he'd laughed at for hours but figured would go largely unnoticed.

A delicate sentence that had him tearing his hair because he was trying to be as sensitive as humanly possible.

Like she somehow had sifted through the articles, found everything that was his and elected it as worthy of her fluorescent markers.

All of a sudden it had become a little hard to breathe in this room that was all her... but where he was also stripped naked for the whole world to see. Scorp opened and closed his mouth, feeling supremely uncomfortable.

There was no end to his relief when Rose snorted and said, "I hope you're into crumble."

Which, considering how she'd just hunted down his soul and plastered it on her wall like a trophy, sounded like the most insipid consideration in the entire world.

I know I was supposed to be writing either Witch Slap or Spectacularly Stupid but this sort of accidentally happened the other day and when I read it over it was far too good not to post/continue. Chapter two is almost done and will be up sooner rather than later. All in all, the whole thing's not meant to be more than maybe 3, at most 4 chapters long.

Also, the chameleon dragons story is real - not the dragon part, but everything else. Apparently, a breed of chameleon went MIA for a hundred years only to be found chilling in a Madagascar Hotel Garden. The news about dog's hearts is also real and there are countless stories of brave puppies and pets saving their owners' lives by entering action and of heroic K-9 deeds. I've been trolling goodnewsnetwork a lot lately for this and it's despicable how happy I felt writing most of this.

As usual, give me a shout, let me know what you like, love, hate et cetera so I can feast on external validation and use it to fuel further writing pursuits.

Love, Maria ❤️