wow it's been so long. Truly, I had such a hard time with this chapter. It's such a turning point in the story and these two characters say so much without words, so it took a careful time to write.

I hope you like! Can't wait to get back on track with this story!

xoxo

—-

In her adulthood, it wasn't often that Rose Weasley felt out of control. Her early adolescence and genetic predisposition often gave way to fits of wild behavior and unpredictable malice. She would scream until her throat was hoarse and when she could no longer shout her intangible grief into the void, she would strike. She would ball up her fists and hit with all her might whatever surface was the closest; be it a wall…the ground…a fellow student.

Anything could set her off. Her unregulated rage was the cause of many a broken toy, broken arm, broken heart. Her earliest memory was a red burning fury at a lost game of tag that manifested, unintentionally, in James's jumper being set on fire. When her father died, the anger pitted and sank deep, deep within her. She could feel nothing but an expansive, unending loneliness that threatened to crack at the slightest look, or inconsequential word.

When she got older, and her wounds had the space and consequence to harden and heal, she found an immense sense of strength in the ability to manage her temper. She, for the first time in a long time, had control. She channeled the frenetic misery into being good at her job, being reliable to her family, being charismatic, being charming, turning an uncomfortable silence into a laughable moment, knowing what was happening at any and every moment. She learned to breath. She learned to count to ten. She learned to recite mantra's. She now had the capacity to dealign herself with her nature and that understanding alone, was intoxicating.

The anger was still there. Tiny, effervescent molecules she could feel at times creeping in the ends of her fingertips or rushing along the base of her skull. The anger was there, but it could be managed by a drink, a run…a shag. It rarely took hold of her.

Which is why her present state was inexplicably out of character.

"I'm your manager, Malfoy. I'm managing you."

This was not how she intended the conversation to go…

—-

It was raining. Again. How they had managed to come to Paris, during the wettest week in recent memory, was beyond her. Perhaps there was some cosmic malcontent feeding off her melancholy and forcing the heavens to open up and unleash the somber downpour. Although, truth be told, she did not think so high of herself as to believe her emotional stirrings had anything to do with the weather.

She always liked Bugsy & Sautrelle's studio. It had a warm and ancient feeling akin to most structures with potent magical history. The boys had played a small session years back and she had instantly taken a liking to the place. She liked the deep, burgundy carpeting and the faded posters of old-timey musical acts. She liked the vague smell of cigar smoke and entomological etchings on the dark wood. She especially liked the roof. A large bricked structure, populated by tiny patches of flowers and other growing things. Usually you could find an employee or two on a lunch break up there or a PA having a solitary cigarette. However, due to the rain, there was but one lonely red-head, looking out over the washed city, not even attempting to shield herself from the drizzle.

"Not going to throw yourself off, I hope…" a voice drawled out behind her.

She sighed, turning around to face the boy she was unwilling to admit was a solid source of her current despondency, "I've been feeling rather dramatic lately- Don't you'd think it'd make a good headline?"

"Fancy catching a cold?" he laughed, raising a brow at the drenched nature of her personage. "You know you could always just lick a train turnstile?"

"I told you, I've been feeling dramatic. I'm imagining I'm standing on the edge of a moor, or something, and I'm about to drink arsenic because my betrothed has died in the war…" she sighed again, lifting her face up to the sky.

"Which war?" he teased, casting a small drying spell above him. Scorpius did not love the rain.

"Any war. How did the interview go?" she said turning back to him. He nodded up at his patch of dry air looking at her as if to say; if you'd like to stop being silly for a moment, I've managed to use a delightful little thing called 'magic' to keep myself dry. Care to join me?

"Scintillating as always…", he smirked. Rose shuffled over to where his spell was cast, careful so as the action would not be deemed as intimate. "Al was on very good behavior. But he likes both of the bug duo, so that's to be expected…"

Rose laughed, "Bug duo…Love that. And the set went okay? No technical difficulties?". She was being nervous and evasive and she could tell Scorpius knew it.

He narrowed his eyes, but teased, "Yes…except for this one strange part where all our instruments caught on fire and Mart transfigured into a falcon…"

She pursed her lips, locking eyes with him for the first time since he had joined her roof-top musings. "Peregrine or Orange-Breasted..?" she mocked, lightly.

"Definitely Orange-Breasted." he said, wiggling his brows. "Next time, don't run up to the roof during our set, and we won't have these types of problems…"

"Sorry…" she muttered, looking down at her shoes, "I've got a bit on my mind right now. Just needed a little fresh air, is all."

Rose cast a small smile at him. She was hoping he would be willing to toe around the issue in the way they usually dealt with uncomfortable happenings.

"Well…" he said, his brow furrowing softly. "Would you like to share with the class?"

She laughed, but she could feel a hardening in her gut.

"It's something that's…a big deal" she started, casting her eyes away from his. Seeking frantic solace in anything but his tranquil blues. "But also… it isn't. It's- I'm- I know I try to seem like I know- Well… Tom thinks it's a good idea. I just-" She was floundering.

Scorpius was giving her a quizzical stare. The slight tenderness contained made her heart clench.

"Sorry…", she breathed, pushing her hair behind her ear "So, I'm getting us to America, I told you that."

"Right…" he said, leaning slightly on one of the aforementioned plant stands.

"There's a…stipulation of sorts.", she stammered. "The tour's getting extended. We aren't ending next month in London…".

She looked up at him. His face was expectant.

She breathed again, unsure of how she would realistically get this out. "You've heard of Angele…correct?"

He nodded, "Who hasn't..?"

"We're going to be her opener.", she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the next "WSR is billing us as a double act, essentially."

His brow furrowed again. "That's an incredible opportunity… Are you worried about Al? Him…not wanting to be someone's opener?"

Rose shook her head.

"There-there's another factor…", she said.

He looked at her again, expectantly; his brow still furrowed.

"Angele is…looking, well- her management, is looking…for someone to attach to.."

"Come again?", he asked.

"They're looking to mature her image. They want her next public relationship to be with someone of a certain caliber…", her eyes were glued to a valerian shrub situated in a planter on the other side of the roof.

"I'm not follo-" he started.

"-This tour is contingent on the fact that a manufactured relationship arises from both parties…" she burst out, sighing and looking at him.

She could see the information register on his face. To her immense relief, the news seemed to settle rather unaffectedly. He cocked his head, with a small smile on his face.

"Al's going to fake date a french pop star?", he asked

Rose felt her stomach sink. No… he hadn't understood. She looked at him, unable to mask the pang of guilt that crossed her face. She didn't say anything. She couldn't.

She could see him reading her, slowly coming to the realization himself. He wasn't an idiot. He understood what her lack of a response meant .

"Weasley…you can't be serious…". The way he was looking at her right now, as the reality of the implication crossed his features, was almost too much for her to handle.

"They asked for you… Al is too valuable a commodity right now…" she said softly.

"And I'm not?", he asked, his tone suddenly shifting. He was angry.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it." she countered, looking back up at him.

"This is ridiculous, you can't expect me to be okay with this…" he said shaking his head.

"It's three months.", she said. Her voice now laced with an edge. She was not anticipating this level of anger from him.

"She's a child." he countered, throwing a hand in the air.

"She's nineteen, Malfoy. She's barely younger than us.", she snapped back. She could feel the tiny pricks of heat beneath her temples. Her hands began to sweat. Why was he acting like she had just asked him to shove his own mother off a balcony? Why was he so upset about this?

"So, you just agreed to this?" he stammered. His cheeks were now burning red. "To signing my soul away for the sake of-"

She had seen him angry before. He had a temper. Just like her. But they never fought with one another. He never lost his temper with her. They were a team. They were friends. They were-

"Malfoy this is the industry!" Rose shouted, her voice raising as the tiny pricks formed into taught, fiery chords, pulsing through her whole body. "I'm not asking the world of you I-"

"You're what?", he shouted back, taking steps away from her. He had a wild look in his eyes.

"I'm asking you to cooperate with me!" she too threw her hands in the air, gesturing wildly around. "For the sake of this band succeeding! For the sake of our futures!"

Her eyes were imploring. Please don't make this harder than it is. Please understand. Please don't be angry with me.

"Bullshit." His voice was filled with mirth.

She opened her mouth, too stunned to speak. He had never spoken to her like that. It felt like a slap in the face. She almost wanted to cry.

That's when she snapped.

"Oh boo-hoo, you get to go on dates with a perfectly lovely and very talented, I might add, girl.", She rounded on him, feeling the rage rising within her. "This is no different than the ongoing parade of girlfriends you've strung around for months at a time.", she advanced on him, a cruel smile painting over the pain she felt inside of her. "In fact- this may be a lovely opportunity for you to keep any relationship for longer than 2 weeks."

This time, he was stunned into silence.

"Fuck you." he said, icily.

"Fuck you!" she cried, moving forward. They were practically chest to chest. Neither one of them willing to back down. "This is the best possible thing for your career right now…Or is this all jut a game to you? Am I going to wake up one day and you're going to tell me you're done playing rock star and theres a position opening up at daddy's firm."

She was seeing red. She felt like something else was taking over her body. Like, she wasn't totally her own person. If her anger wasn't chaotically propelling her forward, now hellbent on destroying Scorpius Malfoy, she might have felt bad about that final comment.

"…I can't believe-", he said, shaking his head. His eyes were steel, looking at her as if he didn't recognize her.

"You can't believe what?", she snapped, again.

"I thought you were different- I thought-", the incredulous judgement in his tone was too much for Rose to bear.

She hated him in that moment. Hated the rage that had quickly taken hold of her. How years and years of managing her destructive temper had crumbled upon a few short words from someone she considered a deeply safe sea. She hated how fast her heart was beating. Hated how short of breath she was. Hated how she could feel the heat radiating from him.

But most of all, she hated how she knew this anger; this fiery depth, was different to anything she had felt before and she knew there was something deeper and more threatening beneath the words they were shouting at one another.

"You thought what?!", her voice was a knife, "I'm your manager, Malfoy. I'm managing you."

Aside from the light patter of rain, there was a deafening silence between the two. They stared each other down. Rose now noticed the drying spell cast earlier had been long forgone. Scorpius was now just as drenched as she was. They were so close to one another, she could see the tiny droplets of water caught in his eyelashes.

Scorpius opened his mouth to speak.

"This isn't how we were going to do this…When we started this band…Me, you and Al…" his voice was low, and hollow "This isn't how it was supposed to go. Our success wasn't supposed to be because of…lies…and-"

"-This is how it works…", she pleaded, hugging her arms tightly to her chest.

"How what works?", he implored, his voice breaking slightly.

"This! All of this! All we've been working on for years, Malfo-", now the debilitating anger had subsided, Rose felt an emptiness expanding within her. She felt herself withdrawing and retreating. She broke the gaze they had held, staring at the grey, wet cement below.

His tone changed suddenly, "Is this what you want?"

Surprised by the question, she looked back at him. The intensity in his gaze caused her breath to hitch.

"I want what's best for the band.", she breathed, unable to break the pleading, imploring questions his eyes were asking.

"But. Is this what you want?", he asked again, taking a final step towards her. They had never, in all their years, been in this close of a physical proximity. They hadn't dared. Rose now understood why… The world was slowly beginning to melt away. She was no longer on a rooftop, no longer in Paris. She was suspended in a softly orbiting expanse, the only thing tying her to solid ground being the sharp curve of a jaw and a deeply sweet scent. Had he always smelled like this? Was he always this tall?

"It's not about what I want…", she found herself saying, her voice barely above a whisper. Suddenly, she realized they were no longer talking about the band, or the arrangement, or music…

His eyes were searching hers; begging almost. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and his breath was heavy.

"I haven't seen anyone in over a year…You know that.", his hand flinched a his side for a moment, as if he was about move, but thought better of it. "I know you know that…Rose."

Rose. He said the name as if he was tasting it for the first time. Rose… Such a simple word threw her back into a bittersweet reality. He was telling her too much. This formality they had shared between themselves, was the unspoken agreement. This-this thing between them- could never happen.

There was too much to be lost. Too much to ruin. She wasn't right for him- right for anyone. Why did he have to do this now? Why did he have to break the spell?

"I don- I-", Her voice was breaking.

"Look at me. Is this what you want?", His voice was desperate.

She needed to put an end to this. As she took her gaze away from his, she felt a delicate and poignant ripping in her chest; as if she was destroying something truly beautiful. The wonderful, slow-orbiting plane the two were floating in came to a devastating halt and they were both thrown back down to earth.

She shivered as the empty, black expanse inside of her grew until she was numb. She could feel nothing, hear nothing, say nothing…

"What do you want me to tell Tom…?", she asked, a hollow lump formed in her throat. She cemented her gaze to the floor, keeping the acute fear of remorse at bay.

She heard the scrape of his shoes on the pavement as he turned his back to her. He was silent for a time. When he spoke, Rose winced at the voided civility.

"Tell him I'll do it…and you deserve a raise.", he said quietly and almost cruelly. Without another word, he walked away from her. The slowly fading sound of his footsteps, a mirrored deadening of her own heart.

When she heard the door slam, the reality of everything that happened came crashing down around her. She let out a frustrated and heartbroken scream. She hated him. She hated him.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him; she recited over and over in her head. She knew it was a lie. She knew she didn't hate him; couldn't hate him. She repeated the deception to herself to keep away the tears that threatened to fall, to keep away the voice inside her screaming to run after him, to keep the fear of her quickly disintegrating reality at a safe distance.

But most of all, she repeated the blatant lie over and over to herself because the person she hated most…was herself.

—

eeeeeee! What a wild ride. Things are going to pick up like crazy from here on out. Hope you guys liked!

Here's some muuuuuusic:

Piano Concerto No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 11: II. Romance - Chopin

No Fun - Novo Amor & Gia Margaret

Sugar Tastes Like Salt - The Orioles

Saint - Cairobi

I'm Not In Love - Kelsey Lu