As the weeks went by, Rose and Sam's witty banter gathered itself in full swing, yet something else was blossoming too.
They teased and laughed, and filled their days with muggle television and Indian food and carryings on - Sam took full advantage of being able to order anything he wanted into quarantine and introduced Rose to his favourite dishes.
They ripped into steaming hot dosas with curry and raita, and Sam also had his fill of food he'd been homesick for, which he could never find in India; good fish and chips, a home roast, shepherd's pie.
All the while, the more time Sam and Rose spent together, the more the tension between them was building.
A look here, a moment there, a hand held too long and a breath quickened.
But it was usually covered with disagreements and sarcasm, it was quite the achievement that although their values and ideas about the world were very similar, they still somehow found so many things to disagree on.
.
A stranger might think they were constantly fighting, but it was really a deep rapport they had slipped into as easily as finding the right wand.
It just felt natural.
And it was getting harder and harder to deny the connection between them, which had really always been there.
Except this time, Rose wasn't fifteen.
She wasn't afraid of her feelings, she was more aware and attuned to them than ever before, and she found herself enjoying the romantic tension.
.
Flirting with Sam had never been something that she fully allowed herself to lean into, but being constantly surrounded by him without anyone else to break their perfect bubble eased many of the social pressures that might otherwise have got in the way.
Since agreeing that they should make new memories together, Sam had taken this to heart and tried to move past their teenage trauma and childhood reminiscing that had defined their first two weeks together.
Rather bravely, Sam brought up current hot-button issues (on which Rose was sure to have an opinion) like the disbandment of Azkaban as prison abolition movements had begun to roll out across the magical world (they both agreed the prison was utterly barbaric in its origins and past use of Dementors as guards), or the introduction of house-elf, centaur and goblin representation on the Wizengamot (about bloody time!).
He was proud he was in the loop enough with British magical politics enough to keep up with Rose, whose voracious appetite for knowledge had not slowed with age.
Sam also took the opportunity to revel in his time with Rose in quarantine, where her guard was so much lower than usual - he bodaciously flirted with her… when they weren't busy discussing literally every topic under the sun.
.
This wasn't too often though, they barely ever stopped talking, when Sam was awake that was.
He was still weak, unable to recover to Rose's satisfaction, despite her best efforts.
Sam often slept the afternoons away in exhaustion, and sometimes, as Rose tried to read alone in the living room without Sam to distract her, she ended up staring at the stark white walls of the quarantine quarters, feeling an overwhelming sense of hopelessness come over her.
With every passing week that he wasn't healing, the Scrofungulus could be growing, taking hold deeper and deeper in his body, unable to be rooted out.
.
It was easy to be distracted when he was awake, he was so full of life, all biting comments and razor sharp wit, yet kind and sweet in the most thoughtful ways.
Alone, listening to his wheezing breaths, Rose stared and stared at the blank whiteness, and eventually she got so cross with those walls, she set about ordering in some paints and customising them some.
Sam got right on board, painting and magically enlivening their creations to move in subtle ways.
While neither of them were particularly good artists, their witchcraft and wizardry was competent enough to enchant the images with interesting personality and storytelling qualities, just like the paintings that filled Hogwarts.
Soon the walls were covered in flowers, gently swaying the breeze, a Re'em gently crashing through over-inflated cups, saucers, plates and cutlery, a cartoon Al whizzing across the walls on a Firebolt 3.0 and all a manner of magical creatures.
Animated stick figures also featured heavily, in an homage to their previous communications, Sam still represented by a grossly oversized silver and green tie and Rose with two extremely large red plaits.
.
That particular day, of course, ended up with Sam and Rose brandishing pain brushes at each other in a paint-day turned paint-war.
While Rose had the upper hand physically, Sam's wand was raised too, controlling a range of brushes - sky blue, magenta, vermillion and fern green.
Rose feinted with her left hand to distract Sam and moved in close under his outstretched right arm to lick paint cleanly along his right cheek.
"Ughhhhh" Sam groaned loudly in disgust, he quickly wrapped both his arms around Rose's waist and swung her around laughing raucously.
He moved his face close to hers attempting to wipe the pastel pink paint covering his cheek onto Rose's forehead.
Instead of struggling away Rose giggled, reciprocating Sam's bear-hug by snaking her arms, paint brush and all, around Sam's neck - careful not to disturb the bandages covering his Scrofungulus.
.
Suddenly, their harsh breathing from running after each other with brushes and too much laughter was all that could be heard, and the paint-war fell away as the absolute proximity of their faces to one another filled their consciousness.
Their smiles dropped as they came into the awareness of exactly where each arm was flush against the body of the other, the contact almost burning with intensity.
The tension that had been building was reaching breaking point and Rose could barely see anything outside Sam's piercing grey eyes and unreadable expression.
As they breathed together, Sam whispered "I like breathing the same air as you, it's invigorating."
Rose's lip corners tugged upwards and she leaned even closer, just millimetres away from his lips, breathing consciously out as he breathed in, and breathing in as he breathed out.
A few more lungfuls of air was all she could manage before she lifted her lips to his and finally succumbed to the sweet release of passion.
.
His lips were full and moved strongly against hers, drawing her in with teasing bites then pushing her back with long sweet kisses.
Her hand dropped the brushes as she forgot of the existence of mere objects, all-consumed by the fulfilment of a kiss; weeks, months, years in the making.
A light-headedness overtook Sam as Rose's sweet lips moved so effortlessly to pull his heart right out of his chest and send his stomach yo-yoing through his being, like falling slowly.
He pulled away to survey the sight of Rose, so keenly pressed against him, her body so perfectly interlocked with his own.
.
"Rose?" he whispered.
"Yes?" she breathed out, almost in exaltation.
Pulling out the vermillion-dipped paint brush from behind her back, he licked the brush clean across the bridge of her nose and finished with a dab on the tip.
Her mouth dropped open in gaping surprise and she squeezed out a cry of indignation.
"Scorpius Malfoy I am going to kill you!"
And just like that the chase was back on, paint splattering everywhere and across their clothes and bodies until they crashed down into a heap onto the sofa, laughing and moving straight through the moment of the kiss - both unsure of where they were heading, except that it deeply involved the other.