Chapter 13: Wanders Through London: Coffee and Scones

So it's been awhile.

I apologize, dear fans. I have been very bad, but I hope you take comfort in the fact that I am dying a very slow death with the absolute pile of Uni homework sitting on my desk. I'm also trying this new thing where I eat healthier, because—as most of you know, if you're in Uni—it's pretty bloody impossible.

Anyway this is all rambling about nothing, so before I continue, special thanks to:

SoccerChick2112, SimplyEcho, and JesusFreak917, and my anonymous fans for your reviews. I take them all to heart.

Just a recap on Chapter 12

Rose is going to visit her Muggle grandparents, Al and Carpathia go to a tattoo parlor, and Scorpius is at the wrong place at the wrong time, which just somehow ends up being right.

AAA.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR; I just tinker-tanker.

David and Moira Granger were the perfect picture of muggle dentists. If a person were to walk straight into their house, he or she would immediately spot the white lab coat hanging next to the door, a remnant of David Granger's working days that he was too reminiscent of to stow away. Their living room was an orderly, simply furnished space with as many health credentials plastered all over the walls as there were photos of family members. The photos comprised mainly of Rose and Hugo as rascally redheaded children with toothy smiles, though there were some colorful snapshots of Hermione and Ron's wedding. Oddly enough, there were no photos of Hermione as a child.

Rose had always loved entering this quiet, peaceful household that was such a contrast to the obnoxious disorder of the Weasleys. David and Moira were quiet and peaceful people; after all, they had only raised one child.

"I have to say, Rosie, this is such a marvelous surprise. We had no idea you were coming or we would have tidied up the place," said her grandmother with a happy clap of her hands. Mrs. Granger was a short woman who had grown slightly wider over the years, but her frizzy hair and petite nose had remained intact to display a striking resemblance between her and Hermione.

"Honestly, Gran, I doubt this place could be any neater. You've truly outdone yourselves." Rose sniffed the air, detecting the mouth-watering aroma of baked wheat. "What's that delicious smell?"

"Scones," declared her grandfather proudly, walking out of the kitchen. He was a tall, smiling man with strands of grey hair sticking out in all directions from his nearly bald scalp. He wore large spindly glasses that magnified his eyes to that of an owl's.

"David's been experimenting with all sorts of sugar-free snacks since retirement. He gets rather restless around the house," added her grandmother pointedly. "Which reminds me. Candy?" She held out a basket full of colorful wrappers with clear labels that read 'NO SUGAR'. "David made them himself."

"No thanks, gran."

"And you, dear?" her grandmother extended the basket towards Scorpius, who had settled himself quite comfortably in the couch next to Rose.

"Oh yes please. I'm starving," he said rather eagerly, reaching into the basket without so much as a thank you. He does have a knack for making himself at home when he's not supposed to, thought Rose irritably.

Far from looking appalled at the lack of manners, however, Rose's grandparents beamed.

"Rose, you never told us you were bringing a fellow. Is this the same gentleman from your letters? He's much more handsome than your words do him justice," remarked Mrs. Granger, eyeing Scorpius speculatively.

"Why, thank you," grinned Scorpius, pausing from his crunching to shoot Moira a charming smile. "That is too kind."

"No, we're not—Gran, we're not dating," Rose spluttered, trying desperately to revert the purpose of her visit back on track. "Carter's the bloke from the letters. We broke up."

"Oh," said Mrs. Granger with the grace to look abashed, "Well I never know with my memory. Wasn't he a blond as well?"

"Yes, it's a common affliction that's yielded only a few fruitful results," said Scorpius with a deadened look on his face that prompted her grandmother to chuckle. Rose wanted to punch him in the face.

"And what's your name, young man?"

"It's S-"

"Sven," interrupted Rose, kicking Scorpius under the table and causing him to clamp his mouth shut with a wince. "His name is Sven Mal—Melrose. Sven Melrose."

"God, yes. That's perfect," echoed Scorpius.

"He has the most wonderful personality," ground out Rose forcefully with another aimed kick under the table.

Mrs. Granger regarded her granddaughter with a puzzled look. "Right…well, those clothes look awfully wet, Sven. Perhaps we could change you into a couple things in David's drawers—though couldn't you just magic his clothes dry, Rose dear?"

"I can't, gran, sorry. I'm underage, remember?" sighed Rose.

"Ah, yes. I've forgotten that funny rule. Come along then, Sven. We'll see if we can get you sorted." Her grandmother waited as Scorpius got up a little awkwardly from his seat and stepped over small cramped spaces till he was next to the elderly woman. He flashed Rose a mischievous grin before trailing after Mrs. Granger's shuffling steps into the distance. Rose could hear her grandmother asking rather animatedly: "So, how do you and Rosie know each other?"

Rose flopped back down on the couch, trying not to exhale too loudly in frustration so that she wouldn't attract the attention of her grandfather. No doubt Scorpius would concoct another believable story for the two of them with that silver tongue of his. And at least, if her grandparents ever talked to her mum about this, they'd be mentioning a boy named Sven and not Scorpius Malfoy.

There was a ding from the kitchens. David Granger stood up from his armchair with a cocked head. "Ah! Those are probably the scones." He hobbled to the kitchen eagerly, leaving Rose alone in the living room to wait.

It wasn't long before Scorpius returned into the living room, dressed clad in her grandfather's clothes. Rose took one look at him and had to stifle her laughter with a hand, though it didn't stop her from blurting out a heavy snort.

Thank goodness her grandmother hadn't gone with farmer pants and suspenders, though the button-up she'd given Scorpius wasn't any less old-fashioned. It was a beige and red plaid shirt that made it clear all Scorpius was missing was a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow by his side. Scorpius' grimaced expression seemed to say it all.

Rose managed to muster a straight face and then flashed him a glare that read: Don't complain.

"Oh, doesn't he look dashing?" stated Mrs. Granger delightedly, cuffing the boy's cheeks. "These were David's old university clothes from Oxford. It's a miracle we still have them around in good shape."

"I feel so lucky," quipped Scorpius with a pained look. He was holding a Mark and Spencer's grocery back filled with the clothes he'd been wearing earlier.

"We were just talking about that school of yours, Rose. Sven did you know—oh but you must, you two are probably in the same classes—that our dear Rosie has managed to be top of the class for five years in a row now? We're ever so proud."

"Really?" echoed Scorpius with only a hint of a smirk. "I thought you were always tying first place with that—that other bloke—now what was his name again?"

Rose stared daggers at him. "Haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about, Sven. Are you sure somebody didn't knock your head too hard?"

"Oh no no, it's coming to me now," exclaimed Scorpius, snapping his fingers melodramatically. "Tall, young, ridiculously handsome…what was his name, ah, let me think…oh yes, Scorpius Malfoy! Now that's a bloke who's got the full package."

"Scorpius Malfoy? What an odd name," mused Mrs. Granger.

"They say he has a face carved by angels," stage-whispered Scorpius and Mrs. Granger's face twitched into a small smile. "Rose has her work cut out for her."

"Well, you've never mentioned him, dearie. Is he giving you a hard time at school?"

"Hardly," replied Rose, teeth still clenched.

"Oh, but he's very clever," continued Scorpius adamantly, "And popular. And did I mention handsome?"

"You forgot arrogant, pigheaded git," added Rose with a cheerful smile.

"Nah you must have that mixed up with somebody else."

"Oh no, I'm certain it's the same bloke. Perhaps you've seen him around with his gargantuan head? He also occasionally walks around with a foot up his arse."

"Jealousy is a fairly unattractive trait."

"Malfoy is a fairly unattractive trait."

"Scones are ready," announced Rose's grandfather happily, interrupting their heated exchange by trodding into the living room with oven mitts and a plate full of warm, moist pastries. "I hope everyone fancies raspberry."

"Ooh yes," said Mrs. Granger hastily, shooting the pair of teenagers extremely confused looks. "Tea or coffee, Mr. Melrose? I know Rose prefers coffee, though I do think scones go much better with tea myself."

"Would you have any hot chocolate, perhaps?" inquired Scorpius, and Rose glanced at him incredulously. Honestly, for a boy from an upper-class family, he really wasn't very well rehearsed in proper etiquette.

"Why, yes!" replied Mr. Granger delightedly as though Scorpius had just told him he'd won a million pounds. "Jolly good you asked. Made me own mix the other day using only dairy products instead of the usual sugary rubbish." He scurried back into the kitchen and came out with a steaming mug that was branded with the Arsenal football team logo. "I hope ye don't mind, but I took the liberty of adding some gluten-free marshmallows."

"Fantastic," replied Scorpius, looking genuinely appreciative when he rubbed his palms over the warm mug.

Mrs. Granger chuckled to herself and passed on a cup of coffee to Rose, who accepted it silently.

"So, Sven, whereabouts do you live?" her grandmother inquired, stirring her own cup of Earl Grey with a spoon.

"I, er…" To Rose's surprise, Scorpius actually looked momentarily flustered. "My Wizarding home isn't quite so easy to pinpoint, but I was told it was somewhere along St. James' and King's."

Mrs. Granger's eyes widened. "Why, that's a lovely neighborhood. Nearabouts St. James's Park, am I correct?"

"I think so, yes."

Mrs. Granger shared a fond glance with her husband. "How delightful. We've always had a very firm attachment to that place. St. James's Park was where David and I first met-"

"Gran," interrupted Rose embarrassedly, cringing at the idea of Scorpius retelling her grandmother's words in shrill mimicry to all his mates on the Hogwarts Express. "I don't think Malf—er—Sven needs to hear this."

"Nonsense, you love hearing this story, don't you?" Her grandmother turned to Scorpius with a conspiratory whisper. "Rosie's always been a bit of a romantic, even if she'll never admit it."

"Is that so?" said Scorpius with a tinge of amusement, turning towards Rose with a flat gaze. "Do continue."

Rose exhaled. "Gran-"

"Now, come on. Rosie. If he wants to hear it…" Rose grumbled to herself as her grandmother took up the air of someone who was about to divulge a very precious secret.

"Right before they started advertising the park for tourists, St. James's used to be a student haven, a place where boys and girls getting off from school used to go just to get away from their dreary books. When I was a girl, it was the loveliest place to be in London." Mrs. Granger always began the story the same way. Rose could have practically memorized the order of words, but she allowed herself to sit back and enjoy her grandmother's grainy voice, which always faded into smoother, dreamlike tones when she was retelling this particular bit. "It was St. James' Park where a friend of mine had arranged for me to meet her cousin for late-afternoon tea, convinced the two of us would make a lovely pair. I was studying Dentistry at St. Bart's at the time, and this particular cousin was an Oxford man."

She paused. "The cousin never made it to the teahouse. He'd had a last-minute engagement or perhaps he'd gotten the flu; I can't remember. Of course, I had no idea this was the case so there I was, sitting there and waiting for this impotent man to arrive. It was about three-quarters past an hour when I finally spotted a gent walk in carrying an Oxford briefcase."

Rose's grandfather smiled.

"Naturally, I marched up to him and scolded him- 'You're off to a bad start for keeping the girl waiting!' –and naturally he was utterly terrified. He must have apologized about a dozen times, and then we sat down and had what was probably the most maddening conversation I'd ever had in my life."

She grinned. "You see, this gent had had no intention in meeting a girl that day, and he was hardly the cousin of my companion. This gent had been scheduled for an interview with a University professor for a transfer into Oxford School of Commerce, and the professor happened to be a woman."

Rose watched Scorpius from the corner of her eyes. He was attuned to her grandmother's words, his eyes diligently captured.

"You can imagine the number of misunderstandings in our conversation. I'd ask him 'How do you know Callaghan?'—Callaghan was the name of my friend, you see—and he would reply with 'I regret to say that I don't. I haven't read any books written about this person.' It was awful! I thought either this man had the worst memory of any person alive, or he was so dull he might as well have thrown himself in the lake." Her grandmother chuckled to herself, and a smile flitted briefly across Scorpius' face. "I was right about to leave when I heard music coming from the courtyard below. There was a jazz quartet playing right outside and I thought to myself, 'If I've suffered this long, I might as well take some enjoyment out of it.' So then, I decided to give this poor chap one last breath of hope and asked him to dance."

"He must have thought he was about to take some part in an assessment because his first reaction was, 'I wasn't prepared for a dancing section.'" Mrs. Granger took a pause here to roll her eyes. "So I grabbed that silly man and pulled him down to the lawn and there we were, swaying on the grass to the most beautiful music in London's loveliest park. And then it all changed."

Mrs. Granger had never offered any further elaboration on this part but Rose had never really needed her to. As a young teenage girl, she'd always reconstructed that moment in her own mind, even if it was—as Mrs. Granger put it—humiliatingly and exaggeratingly romantic.

"We must have known right then and there of our horrid mix-up, because conversation naturally struck up again and everything simply fell in place, as though we had solved some secret universal puzzle that had just been waiting for us to pick up the right pieces…"

"And so we danced well into the evening until the jazz quartet had all packed up and left. We were so preoccupied that I had completely forgotten about the time and the gent—well, even if the professor had actually arrived to meet him, the gent was well past getting into Oxford."

"I never wanted to study commerce anyway," quipped Rose's grandfather solemnly.

"And that's when we realized we had to introduce ourselves. So I said, 'If you aren't Callaghan's cousin, then at least give me something to call you.' And that's when he said…" Mrs. Granger halted, turning her face towards her husband.

"David. David Granger," conceded Rose's grandfather in a soft voice.

"Moira. Moira Ackerley," replied Mrs. Granger with an affectionate pat of her arm. "And, of course, we met many times in that park after that."

There was a silence that trailed after her words. Rose's eyes darted towards Scorpius, whose face remained impassive except for a strange smile that wasn't quite a smile lingering on his lips.

"That is quite a nice story," he commented, "Perhaps I'll visit that park someday." He set down his mug of hot chocolate, already empty. "That was splendid chocolate, by the way." He gestured at his half-eaten scone. "Quite a tasty scone as well. Though might I make a suggestion?"

Rose opened her mouth to object, but her grandfather leaned forward in interest. "Of course."

"For such a heavy fruit base, you might want to consider a dash of cinnamon. It helps alleviate the sourness of the fruit."

There was a pause, and Mr. Granger nodded slowly as he processed this. "Yes, yes, that might do the trick. Would you like to accompany me to the kitchen, young man? I've got a fresh batch in the oven."

"Certainly," Scorpius stood up and followed Mr. Granger without another word. Rose stared after him, her mouth still open, only to be brought back by her grandmother's soft laugh next to her.

"What an eccentric. But then again, I suppose most boys in your world are." She set down her tea and slid closer to her granddaughter. "So, now that the men are busy in the kitchen…" She took a pause to comment: "Heavens, that's something I would have never said in my day. But, now that they're gone, we have this ample opportunity for just us women to talk." She paused again to regard Rose with serious, hazel eyes, eyes that were so like her own mother's. "So what's happened between you and this Carter chap?"

"I…" Rose was taken aback by the directness of her grandmother's question. They had, on several occasions, drifted to this area of conversation, but usually on Rose's terms. She had never once thought that Mrs. Granger was so invested in her granddaughter's love life. "We just sort of had different, erm, political views…." She hesitated, grimacing to herself. How to explain blood-prejudice to her grandmother? Better yet, how to define the term 'Death-Eater'?

"We had our differences, and we grew apart," she hedged finally.

"Oh I see," said Mrs. Granger with a knowing glance. "Difficult to explain, then?"

"Sorry, gran. I wish I could."

"No, that's quite alright." Mrs. Granger fell silent for several moments, then: "I used to get the same response from your mother."

The subject of Hermione instantly prodded a sensitive spot in Rose's heart. "I'm not like mum, Gran." She could picture Hermione as a young girl, sitting at the breakfast table while simultaneously poring over her summer homework from Hogwarts, too occupied to chatter and yet not occupied enough to be able to wave off her parents as she had done to her children so many times.

Mrs. Granger was surprised by the edge in her voice. "Goodness, Rose. You make it sound like the most dreadful thing in the world."

"It is the most-"Rose took a deep breath before her irritation could boil over and fuel her words in her direction she'd regret later. "Everyone sees mum as a hero, and I know what she's done has been utterly extraordinary and she is probably the cleverest witch of our age like everyone says she is. I just wish…" She paused. "I wished she'd be someone I could look at and simply admire without listening to someone rattle off her achievements on the telly or in the papers. When she's always off protecting the free people and writing up laws and—really—just upholding the whole bloody world on her shoulders, it's hard to see her as just a—a—person, which given all the shit I've had to go through at home, she's got enough faults to be just a regular sodding person. I wish she'd…" She blinked quite rapidly before proceeding to say the next few words, "She'd want to be my mother first before everything else."

At her granddaughter's final words, Mrs. Granger gave Rose a deep, harrowing stare and sucked in a breath.

"Oh Rosie, do you know why there are no pictures of Hermione as a girl in this house?"

It was a startling change of subject, and even more intiguigingly, a chance to procure the solution to a question that Rose had had nagging in the back of her mind. The girl stayed silent and waited for her grandmother to continue.

"Because years ago, on a day when your grandfather and I were watching the telly right where you were sitting, your mother walked into this living room and took away all our memories."

Mrs. Granger smiled wanly as Rose convulsed slightly. "Oh yes, shocking, I know. Not only was it our memories, but everything that came with it as well. She magicked the walls and photographs, even sent us packing to Sydney, until not a trace of her existed in our minds. When the war ended and she came to us in our small, lovely flat, only then did our memories flood back."

"I was furious. Your grandfather forgave her instantly, but I could not be her mother again so readily. I would not speak to her for months; I was so angry that she had taken the liberty to destroy all that we had given her. Then, of course, I realized." Mrs. Granger stopped, and Rose realized her grandmother's hands were shaking a little.

"I realized it must have taken that poor, brave girl all that she had to protect us because she had become a solider in a war neither your grandfather or I could understand. She loved us so much she would have preferred to be an orphan and see us safe than to spend her possible last moments as our daughter. And the anger I felt…it was not for her, but for myself…for feeling so useless, for forcing her to grow up so quickly and dwell in such horrors on her own." Mrs. Granger placed a hand on Rose's arm. "Your mother is your mother above all else, Rose. Whether she tells you or not, she does all she can to uphold this world for you, not for herself. Those are reasons to admire her."

It was quiet. Rose could hear the grandfather clock ticking behind her, reminding her softly of the time, but she could not think of that now. All she could think about were those bare walls, those forgotten blank photographs, and what oblivion her mother's childhood portraits had faded into.

"Well, I'm parched from all this talking," declared Mrs. Granger, suddenly cheerful. "Who wants more tea?"

Rose nodded slowly, her mind still somewhat numb from all the information she'd been given, and followed her grandmother towards the kitchen. Her grandfather was hunched over the oven with a cinnamon dispenser in one hand, and Scorpius was nowhere to be seen. Rose presumed he had headed for the restroom, but when she stepped out into the hallway, she saw the unmistakable blond glimmer and the familiar outline of his wiry figure halted outside the bedroom of her grandparents. She was about to call out his name, but then she realized his eyes were trained on something on the wall and his face had cracked into a laughing smile as though he had discovered a particularly amusing artefact.

Rose knew what hung on that wall. It was a photograph of her when she was three, taken on some arbitrary day that she and her parents had decided to go to the beach. The day had been crisp and wintry, but despite the unfriendliness of the English coast, she could still remember the flash of exhilaration when she'd placed her feet into the cold water, the childish shriek that had followed, and the sound of her mother's voice guiding her to run into her arms.

Rosie dear, she could still hear Hermione saying with a tired laugh, look this way. Look at mummy. Mummy's taking a picture.

She'd been born with natural ringlets, a trait that had passed on from Moira Granger. At that age they had spilled over the sides of her head in sweet-looking auburn curls. They were a stark contrast to the bright blue bathing suit her mother had forcefully shoved on her, creating quite a comical (and hideous, Rose often liked to remark privately to herself) image. But the most striking feature of the picture was not her hair nor her suit, but the fact that she'd been pointing directly at the camera with one outstretched finger, as though she were trying to cast a spell on her onlookers. It was a charming picture; Hermione had proudly given it to the Grangers to have it framed.

She did not know why, but just remembering that that photograph existed made her heart tighten. Those ringlets no longer existed; she had charmed her hair so that they would never produce the same effects again. But what about that little girl who was so trusting and so dearly adoring of her mother? Was she gone too?

Scorpius was still chuckling to himself, and for a moment, Rose thought he might have been the only person in the world to understand why things had changed so much.

AAA.

Al must have been lulled off to sleep because in his next conscious moment he registered two things: one was Carpathia's amused face hovering above his and the second was that her clothes were back on.

"You've got a habit of falling unconscious at the wrong times," she remarked dryly. "I did bring you here to watch, after all."

"Did I? Well, I saw enough…and it was…so…peaceful in there," yawned Al, stretching out his arms. "So how'd it go? Got what you wanted?"

"Silky's an artist," Carpathia replied simply. "C'mon. I've already paid."

He followed Carpathia out of the store, wondering where the brown-skinned woman with a partiality for redheads had disappeared off to but Silky made no sighting. When they were back out on the busy street, it was late-afternoon and the sun was blurred, orange blot against the clouds.

"So can I see the tattoo?" said Al with a grin, prodding her side.

Carpathia tugged her top further downward in defiance. "Serves you right for sleeping through it."

"Oh. Maybe next time then," shrugged Al, feeling a slight stab of disappointment.

"Next time what?" When the words left Carpathia's mouth in a slow, incredulous inquiry, Al realized the implications of his previous statement.
Yes, Al, next time what? Next time she takes off her top in front of you?

"Erm, I meant…" His could feel his damn cheeks heating up again. Why was he such a bloody open book? "I meant…you…when…if you want."

He waited for that cool, collected smile to appear and alleviate the situation that he had so stupidly wrangled himself in, but it never did. Her grey eyes were filled with doubt, and she was biting her lip as though a perturbing thought had suddenly occurred to her.

"Maybe this was a bad idea." It slipped out quietly.

"Why would you say that?" asked Al with a prick of annoyance. Not what I had expected, at all. "We're friends. It's not—it's not a massive deal if we don't make it out to be."

"It's not fair to Isabel."

Since when has she given a damn about Isabel? "Izzie would understand. I thought this was about 'body art', after all, not about the whole ordeal of being, er, topless. And it's not as if I saw anything, just your bare—bare back."

"True." Carpathia paused, and to his relief, that smile finally appeared. "Well, look at that! You're more comfortable with something than I am for once."

"I am a bloke," shrugged Al with a grin. "Nudity's not something I could complain about, especially since it's been a whole summer of failed attempts in trying to get at a bit more nudity…but that's not erm, relevant," he amended himself hastily when Carpathia's eyebrows raised, "This hasn't got anything to do with nudity…this is completely nonsexual, sort of like watching a Quidditch match…"

Her eyebrows raised ever higher.

"Not that you're not unattractive, Thia…" he plowed on, wondering if there was a switch in his brain that he could somehow trigger so that his mouth stayed shut. "You are…you've got really lovely skin, and when you've been sitting around in a dry spell all summer and you suddenly get to see a girl's bare back it can be a bit of a shock, believe me…but since this isn't about that…y'know…I suppose that doesn't matter…" his blathering trailed to a stop, and he stared at Carpathia with a resigned expression. "Help me?"

"No more talking, Potter," intoned Carpathia firmly, but she looked as though she was struggling not to laugh. She steered him forwards and they continued walking down the street.

"Sorry if that was a tad bit awkward-"

"Shut up."

It was only after they reached Camden Town Station again that she permitted him to speak, and by then, his embarrassment had abated. The crowd had noticeably thickened and muggles in office-wear jostled past the two of them, barely taking note of the teenagers as they preoccupied themselves with yelling loudly into their cell-phones.

"Blimey," commented Al.

"Rush-hour," answered Carpathia, gracefully side-stepping a portly-looking banker who was roaring loudly into his mouthpiece. "Where are you headed now?"

"Leicester Square. I'm meeting Rose for some birthday present shopping."

"Oh, that's nice. If you take the tube now, you ought to be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Would you like to come?" inquired Al. The thought of this being their parting and not seeing Carpathia again until term started was rather discomforting. "I'm sure Rose wouldn't mind."

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't. But my parents…" Carpathia shook her head, and he could sense that ever-hanging cloak of filial duty descending upon her. It was such a trademark among children from old pureblood families; Al had been around Lucas and Scorpius long enough to know that nothing could keep them far away from their parents' leashes for too long.

"You've been in the house all summer. Stay for a bit longer?" prodded Al quietly, and he took her arm with his hand before she could say anything else. "It'll only be for another hour or so."

"Well I suppose if I don't come, the next time I see you will be Christmas," jibed Carpathia with a smile, pulling away from him.

"You're exaggerating," remarked Al a matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps." She tugged her arm away from his grip and turned towards the blustering stream of people with a knowing smile. "Al?"

"What?"

"Keep up." Before he could protest, she had dissolved into the crowd and against the darkening streets and the stream of faces, he could barely make her out except for the bright magenta-and-blue streak in her hair.

AAA.

"You want to see Al?" asked Rose dubiously as they boarded the bus at the station they had previously disembarked at.

"Want is a pretty strong word," replied Scorpius airily, tugging on the sleeve of the grandfather button-up shirt he was still wearing. "I meant that I would not mind if, say, the opportunity fell in my lap to check and see how that poor sod is doing."

"So write him," said Rose with a roll of her eyes, inching into a seat and feeling a strange thrill through her chest as Scorpius' shoulder brushed against hers while he was settling into the seat beside her.

"And deny him the chance to look at this face?" said Scorpius dramatically, flashing her an incredulous look. "Your own grandmother said words don't do me justice."

Rose hid her smile. "She didn't have her glasses on."

"Good thing, too, otherwise she might've had a heart attack." He nudged her side gently. "C'mon, Weasley. Admit it. Your grandparents liked me."

Yes. They do. And that makes my life really bloody complicated. "Did you come along with me just to gloat?"

"That would be awfully petty of me, wouldn't it?"

"So what, then?" she glanced sideways at him. "Just…avoiding home?"

His eyes glinted with triumph. "Something like that."

"You know, I had no idea you had such an opinion about scones," stated Rose offhandedly. "Someone must have been overweight as a child."

"On the contrary, I've been flawless since my moment of birth."

"Clearly."

His mouth twitched. "Actually, Weasley, I just spent a lot of time in the kitchens. House-elves taught me a thing or two." House-elves, repeated Rose in her head wryly. Oh, her mum would throw a fit knowing that house-elves were still working as staff for old pureblood families.

"Hungry child?"

Scorpius' fingers tapped the seat in front of them in an obscure rhythmic pattern.

"No, not really, just a lonely one," he replied without betraying a hint of emotion.

She opened her mouth to cut in, but before she could say anything, he continued on quite smoothly. "You had curly hair when you were little."

It was an odd statement to make at that particular moment in time. "Yes, I did."

"So why the alteration?"

Rose looked at him sideways, wondering what was it that prompted his curiosity. "You really think ringlets would have suited me?"

"I think it would be a shame if I never got to see you with them," grinned Scorpius.

"God, I hope never-"

"Excuse me." A girl who had been standing on the bus barely three meters away chose the moment to slide into their proximity. Rose felt her fingers tighten over her lap when she registered the fact that she'd been interrupted by a complete stranger, something she absolutely detested, and more so when she registered the girl's smooth brown ringlets and pretty, oval face.

Oh, silly Rose. It was odd, really, how easily she felt threatened when she didn't have to be. Because other girls could stare at Malfoy. Other girls could also realize that even in grandfather clothes, even when he was holding a plastic bag full of sopping wet clothes, he did look quite smashing.

"Hi, so sorry to interrupt," the girl said, her eyes fixed on the blond boy and her face splitting into a coy smile. "Would you happen to know the time?" With a cock of her head, her brown ringlets cascaded to one side and the soft white skin of her neck was exposed. It was a subtle move to imply that she was interested.

And it worked. Scorpius' sat a little straighter, and his undisclosed, content expression morphed into one Rose easily recognized from school; a mingling of poise, confidence, and amusement.

"I'm not wearing a watch," he pointed out. "Which leaves us in a bit of an awkward situation."

"Oops," grinned the girl, putting a hand on her hip. "My mistake."

It was a move so obvious and callous and corny that Rose could have stuck her finger down her throat. Just pull out your cellphone, you twit.

"So are you dressed for a play or something?" the girl went on. "You look like my great-uncle."

"And if I wasn't?" inquired Scorpius with a raised eyebrow.

The girl smiled in a way that clearly suggested she didn't believe him. "Good thing I find older gents attractive, then."

"You're awfully forward," mused Scorpius without batting an eyelash. The girl's eyes darted towards Rose briefly, as if she were privately assessing what her relation to Scorpius was. But Scorpius-then again—was evidently responding to her flirtations so Rose must have been no consequence, and the girl relaxed.

"Couldn't help myself," she said slyly.

"So what now? Do I give you my address or are you just going to get off the bus with nothing but lingering thoughts of me?" replied Scorpius quite bluntly.

The girl wrinkled her nose, a little taken aback with how much ease he was handling the situation. "Maybe I could just slip you my number, and you could call me." She handed him a slip of paper (a slip of paper she had already prepared, Rose noted with derision). "Cheers," she said with another confident grin and then flounced off.

Scorpius stared after her for several seconds and then his eyes darted down to the slip of paper in his hand. "Christ, are muggle girls really so frank all the time?"

Rose said nothing, and he continued with a chuckle. " 'Call me. Brianna.'" He shoved the slip of paper into his pocket. "What an utterly mundane name." Then, after a beat: "She was quite cute though."

"Are you going to take her up on that offer?" Rose heard herself ask as if from a distance, not knowing why her heart was suddenly pounding so hard and the blood in her veins had turned to heat.

"Can't. Don't own a muggle mobile phone. Pity…" he paused thoughtfully, and his face dissolved into a cheeky grin, "She did have a nice pair of-"

"You're a pig," the words came out more forcefully than intended; Rose tried to remedy the situation immediately, but realized (with a pang of satisfaction) that she just couldn't be bothered to care.

He stared at her incredulously. "Merlin, Weasley."

"It's just…such typical Malfoy behavior. I don't know why I expected anything out of…" her voice trailed off into an angry vibrato: "You have a girlfriend."

"Chantal's not-" Scorpius began, and then cut himself off sharply with a brief shake of his head. "My personal life is none of your business, Weasley."

"Oh, that's right. And I suppose giving a smidgen of consideration to other people's feelings is none of your business."

He gazed at her flatly. "If it makes you feel any better, it's not as if I was ever seriously considering it."

"Why? Because she's a muggle?" Rose shot back.

"You're impossible to please, you know that?"

"I just wouldn't put it past you to think your time wasn't worth a person who had a lesser blood status."

Scorpius gnashed his teeth and threw up his hands in frustration. "Of course. Big, bad pureblood is back again, right on schedule. It's been, what, barely ten minutes since we left your grandparent's? Your muggle ones, I might add?"

"Yes, and merlin forbid I make the same lapse in judgment in again," snapped Rose with a glare. There was some part of her that knew this was terribly unfair to him, but all her frustration and anger at this horrible, brilliant boy was pouring out in one burst of energy. "I allowed myself one second to think you'd changed, but you're just the same, old Malfoy who walks around without a care in the world, playing around with people's lives as he pleases with no idea of how to take responsibility for his actions."

"And you're just the same old righteous bitch," retorted Scorpius, fury darkening his eyes to a storm. "You just see whatever fits in your world, doesn't it? It doesn't make sense for me to be a nice bloke, even though I damn well think a few of my actions deserve some recognition. Like socking that bastard Carter, for instance, or not turning your grandparents into teacups and the fact that even they—yes, suck it up—like me.

"But no. I'm just Scorpius fucking Malfoy, the egomaniac from the rich Death-Eater family who has an ice-pick for a heart, when in reality—oh brace yourself, Weasley, it's a shocker—I'm actually a decent person!"

His tirade ended with a deeply aggravated puff of air, and he was glaring so avidly at her that Rose thought his eyes were attempting to burn a hole through her skull. People around them were starting to whisper, and Rose deduced that they had probably caught on to a few terms they shouldn't have, but she really couldn't give two bushels of a shit.

"So throw her number away," she replied with quiet venom. "Don't sit around preaching about yourself when you're still chatting up stupid, desperate tarts."

Scorpius' lips curled into a sneer. "Now who sounds like the jealous girlfriend?"

The bus was halting to a stop in front of the Leicester road sign, but Rose found herself frozen to her seat at his words. She could have sworn, as her heart did a shameless somer-sault in her chest, that there was a flash of triumph in his eyes.

The hiss of the bus doors sliding open reminded her to leap out of her seat, and she quickly shoved through the crowd of passengers. Her feet landed with a smack on the pavement, and she blindly strode towards the bright flickering lights, hearing Scorpius disembark behind her and shouting: "Weasley!"

Stop following me.

"Weasley, can't you just tell me what this is about?"

She was not going to feel as helpless as she did that day on the train when she'd seen him with Chantal, Rose fiercely told herself. She halted in her tracks and closed her eyes, willing Scorpius to go away. Leave. Just leave.

"Weasley," he'd caught up to her now and she felt his hand reaching for her arm, but she yanked it out of reach. "What the hell did I do now?"

"Nothing," she shot back bitterly. "Absolutely nothing."

"You've been a headcase since you played hooky with my memories—which, you know, you never apologized for and I'm doing fine nowthank you very much—and I'm supposed to take that as 'nothing'?" replied Scorpius bitingly.

"It doesn't matter."

"What in Merlin's name happened that day?"
"I said, it doesn't matter."
"It matters! Of course it matters!" yelled Scorpius, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "You think I haven't noticed how your behavior's changed? You've gone all twitchy and sensitive. You barely speak to me, despite the fact you used to jump at the every ruddy chance to insult me with whatever pathetic name you could come up with. And now you-" he cut himself off, and an odd expression crossed over his features. "Find excuses to get away from me which, your hatred for me aside, is rather odd because the Weasley I remember liked having the opportunity to put me in my rightful place." His hands clenched into fists. "I might not remember anything, but that doesn't mean I'm blind. I need you to tell me what's going on."

There was silence between them.

"It doesn't matter," Rose repeated coldly. She held his incredulous blue-eyed stare with her own, not backing down.

There was a sudden cough behind them, prompting the two to shift towards the source of the noise simulatenously. To Rose's surprise, she found herself looking at both Al and Carpathia, who were staring at them with puzzled looks on their faces.

"Should we come back at another time?" inquired Al with a perturbed look on his face.

"I—ah, no," Rose clamped her mouth shut and pursed her lips. It occurred to Rose that her cousin's hair was so long that she could barely see his green eyes past the red tendrils that spilled down the front of his forehead. I ought to tell him to cut it, she thought distantly. "Hi Carpathia."

"Hi," responded Carpathia amusedly.

"Didn't realize you'd brought someone along," said Al confusedly, eyeing Scorpius. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Cheers, Potter."

"Malfoy was just leaving," cut in Rose curtly.

Scorpius cast Rose a withering look and retreated in the opposite direction. "I suppose I'll see you lot around then."

Al cleared his throat with an embarrassed expression. "Ah, hold on Malfoy, actually I-" Scorpius halted in his tracks, turning to regard Al with raised eyebrow. "…I was actually wondering if you'd like to stay-y'know, since we've got loads of time and assuming you haven't got a better place to be." Al's cheeks flushed as Scorpius' eyebrows rose higher. " I mean, to be honest, I haven't been around any blokes this summer 'cept for my own brother-"

"Al!" interrupted Rose sharply.

"What?" protested Al as she threw him an indignant glare. "Granted, Malfoy's not my favorite person and all-" He cast Scorpius a sheepish grin, and the blond boy's lips curled up into a smile. "But it's hard living in a family of Gryffindors when you're the only Slytherin around."

"Whatever," intoned Rose in clipped tones. "I suppose Malfoy wins. Malfoy always bloody wins."

"No, that's not it," said Al in exasperation. "I love you and all, Rosie, but I bloody hate shopping." His face lit up and he nudged Carpathia slightly forward. "And look! Now you've got a girl to go with."

Rose's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Thia and I will be in that watch shop over there. Feel free to join us if you can turn away from your boyfriend for one second." She turned on her heel and stalked into the distance without another word.

Al stared off at his cousin, his jaw hanging. Scorpius was still rooted in his original spot, his face deceptively impassive.

"Tea and scones, Potter?"

Al shook his head and grumbled: "Yeah, alright."

AAA.

Scorpius did not order any scones because the weight of David Granger's sugar-free snacks in his stomach had, frankly, turned him off from sweets for the rest of the day. Instead, he contented himself with watching the redheaded boy sitting across him scarf down a raspberry-filled puff with comical vigor. The two of them were seated at a cozy café with a clear view of Rose's watch shop across the street.

"Blimey, let me think on this for a moment," said Al, his voice slightly muffled from chewing. "You met the Grangers?"

"You saw Carpathia Nott topless?" mimicked Scorpius, enjoying how his words induced a wave of fresh blood to fill the boy's cheeks.

"Not topless," corrected Al with a mutter. "Just her back. It was for the art."

"Cor, even your excuses are sad, Potter."

"And you're backtracking," accused Al. "Bloody hell, I would have never thought Rose would let you near her grandparents. She loves them, you know."

"And Malfoy equals instant death, does it?"

"Sorry. You know that's not what I meant," conceded Al with a wave of his hand. Scorpius stopped short of his next sardonic reply, taken aback by Al's apology. It occurred to him that out of all the people he had met today, Al was the first one to have uttered those magic words.

"What?" he said, his mind momentarily fogged.

"Forget it, alright? Just forget what I said about Thia and I'll forget about the Grangers," grumbled Al with a sigh. "This day is mental enough as it is."

"Now hang on a minute. What was that about a topless girl?"

"I told you I didn't see anything, you git." There was a pause as Al took another bite into his scone.

Scorpius cast him a beatific smile. "Since we're on the subject, have you fondled Miss Marietto's tits yet?"

Al sighed, though the boy apparently seemed to have expected it. He aimed the bird in response. "None of your fucking business, Malfoy."

Far from being offended, Scorpius raised his head and hooted with laughter. "Oho. Now I know what that means. When a bloke uses foul vocabulary he's bound to be hiding something. Congratulations, Virgin Potter."

Al wore a peeved expression, although it looked rather half-hearted. "Speaking of hiding things, Malfoy, you want to tell me what on God's green earth you were doing with my cousin? Or what you two were bickering about?"

"What else? Weasley's jealous of my intellect and dashing looks."

"Yeah, yeah, you've got an ego the size of Antarctica, nothing new about that," waved Al dismissively. "But don't deny it, there's something funny going on."

"Haven't the faintest idea what you're going on about, Potter."

Al's brow furrowed and the redheaded boy crossed his arms, his eyes fixated on Malfoy in a much graver manner. "Bloody right you do. It's been happening since that memory malfunction. First, Rose acts like she's never known you, even though she's usually the first one to drop the Malfoy bomb whenever the family gathers to trash-talk people we absolutely hate-"

Scorpius grinned in amusement. "That's absolutely precious."

Al ignored him. "Second," he raised a finger. "She hardly said a word about receiving nine O.W.L's this year, even though it was made known that she'd beaten you in the ranks." Scorpius' mouth twitched. "And third, there's you. After you acting like a lovestruck idiot towards her during that whole—er—incident, you show up "out of the blue" at her muggle grandparents? Now I know that's not a coincidence."

"I've got a very poor sense of direction," said Scorpius solemnly.

"Christ. Why can't you ever-" Al shook his head, and his teeth gnashed in frustration. "I'm not fucking stupid, Malfoy. Something happened, and you're going to tell me what it is."

Scorpius' lip curled. "Well, if you're going to use your underdeveloped powers of deduction for once, maybe you'd like to remember that I was the amnesiac here and that perhaps the person you should be asking is your cousin."

Al's brilliant green eyes fixed on his with absolute focus. "I haven't ruled out the possibility that you're not as oblivious as you make out to be."

Scorpius gazed back calmly. "Ask yourself, Potter. What possible motive do I have for lying?"

Al held the boy's stare sternly for several long seconds. Then, slowly, he settled back into his chair, the rush of color in his cheeks fading. "Right…I suppose you'd…you'd rather be caught dead than trying anything on a Weasley. At any rate, I was the one that brewed your antidote, and I bloody well know it was flawless."

He exhaled and the tension in his hands and neck loosened, causing the boy to smile once more. "Ah, forget it, Malfoy. I'm being a prat. I was just…looking out for her."

"Fair enough." Scorpous paused, and twisted his hands in his lap. "So is this the reason you asked me to stay? An interrogation?"

"No," Al said sheepishly, "I meant everything else too. It's been great being with family and all, but there's a whole lot of them and they're all really loud and obnoxious and…" He made an inscrutable shape with his hands, as though he was trying to conjure up a definition beyond words. "Merlin, I never realized how Gryffindors could be so…"

"…Excruciatingly unbearable?" quipped Scorpius lazily. "Welcome to the dark side, Potter. I knew you'd come round."

Al made a face. "Yeah, well, it's nice being able to sit down and just chat for once, instead of competing for who's got the longest time in the spotlight, which usually just ends up being James."

"And how is the ass-hat?"

A brief smile flashed over Al's face at Scorpius not-so-subtle jab. "Spiffing, as usual. He got an invite from the Chudley Cannons for a tryout."

Scorpius swore with feeling. "Bastard."

"I know," nodded Al, who could empathize. "On the chummier side of things, he's named Richie Montgomery as his successor."

"Montgomery? Is he mad? He's got more twigs in his hair than his broom!"

"I'm definitely not complaining though."

"Well, yeah, I mean if you look at it strategically-" Scorpius stopped, and a real, genuine grin spread across his face. "With you as Captain, me as Seeker, and an idiot like Montgomery leading the Gryffindors, we'll win the Cup for Slytherin in our sleep."

The two boys regarded each other for a moment with silent looks of mischief. Good lord, thought Scorpius, is this another friendly conversation we're having?

"Anyway, uh," coughed Al, reaching out for his scone for another bite. "How's your summer been?"

"What do you think, Potter?" Scorpius replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Al had the grace to look embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."

Sorry. There was that word again. Why did it bother him so much?

"You apologize too much, Potter," replied Scorpius rather distantly, thinking that the irony of all this was that a year ago, he still would have contested that Al was the bane of all his problems and would have probably relished an apology for weeks on end. Now, it just made him uncomfortable.

"Has it been that bad?" asked Al quietly.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy. It's never that bad."

Al rolled his eyes and munched down on his snack without saying another word. Rather than feeling that surge of contentment that usually accompanied chasing Potter away, Scorpius felt an odd prick of desperation, knowing that the moment he successfully diverted Al's attention would be the moment he had forsaken the one person who had been remotely close to caring about his troubles.

All of a sudden, that notion was terribly frightening.

"I think my parents are splitting up," he blurted out, and he was instantly mortified and yet…

Relieved.

Al lowered his scone, eyes fixed on Scorpius warily.

"At least I think…I think my mother's planning on it. Father hasn't quite got a handle on things yet, but it's obvious," continued Scorpius in a detached manner. "If the Ministry confiscates anything more from the Manor, it'll be the final straw."

Why are you telling him this? You're a Malfoy. Malfoys don't whinge about their problems. But the words flowed out of his mouth mechanically, as though they could no longer be held back through sheer exhaustion. "The divorce would break Father. Mother's the one thing in his life he's got to show for, and he's a bit of an intense bloke. I'm…" he paused, and continued hesitantly, "Afraid of what's going to happen to him. More so than I'm afraid of what's going to happen to me."

"Malfoy-" Al began quietly, but the redheaded boy couldn't find any words to say.

Scorpius folded his fingers back into fists and set them on his lap. "It's not fair, to be honest. He loves her to death. But then, I suppose love is never really fair."

"That's shit," commented Al hoarsely, the scone still frozen to his fingers.

A smile flitted across Scorpius' face, despite himself. Eloquence had never been Potter's strong suit. "Putting it mildly."

Al nodded and, to his credit, went back to his scone as though nothing had trespassed between them. The only indication was the flickering of his green eyes, which bounced towards Scorpius every few moments as though he was still absorbing the blond boy's words.

Scorpius reflected on their conversation with bitter amusement. It was strange, really, how easy it was to talk about his home life with Potter. But then again, Potter had always possessed the tact of allowing Scorpius the dignity of not feeling pitied. A memory from four years earlier flashed back in brief episodes, a memory of the same boy who had shared a vial of Drinkable Warmth with him in consolation for a dreary Christmas day.

"So, how do you reckon we'll beat Ravenclaw this year? I hear Lexie's fixed up her arm and she's as right as rain now. Damn good seeker too," ventured Al.

Scorpius smiled.

AAA.

The watch shop that Rose had selected had been arbitrarily chosen, but to her pleasant surprise, she managed to find a suitable piece for Rowan within ten minutes. The watch was simple and yet practical, attached to a black, leather strap and lined with silver. The width of the clock itself was quite large, but Rose thought that the overall placement of the various instruments and the intricate gold timepieces would complement Rowan's skin color very adequately. She was glad she'd chosen a muggle watch rather than a Wizarding brand, for despite all the outrageous functions Wizarding watches were designed to perform (Time-Turner proof and whatnot), they lacked the elegance and vintage that muggles could so easily fashion.

"Water-proof as well," added the shop-keeper, a portly moustached man who had noticed Rose eyeing that particular brand speculatively. "One of the few diver's watches that I have on discount. Cost me a pretty penny, I'll have you know."

"Mm, yes, thank you," said Rose, trying to keep the interest out of her voice but failing. "What do you think, Thia?"

Carpathia, who had been hunched over the window display examining a handful of golden pocketwatches, turned at the sound of Rose's voice, wearing a look of surprise. "Um…brilliant," she said blankly, clearly admitting that she couldn't care less, "Why ask me?"

"Because we're girls and we ask each other all the time for our mundane opinions even though we couldn't give less of a shit," remarked Rose dryly.

"Ah, I see," acknowledged Carpathia with a humorous smile. "Well for the sake of giving a mundane opinion, I say it looks fine."

"Of course," replied Rose knowingly. "I'll take it," she informed the shop-owner, who immediately brightened at her words.

"'course, Madam. Gift-wrapped, then?"

"Oh, yes please."

"Good timing too. My son's just arrived and he's the good one with the wrapping," the shop-owner continued, his eyes fixated on something beyond Rose's shoulder. The bell of the store rang slightly, followed by the thump of the door frame as it hit the wall. Out of curiosity, Rose followed the shop-owner's line of sight, and her belly seemed to hit the wall of her gut when she registered what stood before her.

Gift-Wrap, dubbed as he was now in her mind, was a tall, dark wonder of long, brown hair and leather-strapped muscles. He had a biker's helmet tucked his arm and a growing stubble that adorned his chiseled jaw. And smoky eyes. Eyes that reminded you of tattoos and leather and everything that was too bad and yet so good. When they fell on Rose briefly, she thought she might've melted into a small puddle.

Goodness, thought Rose without shame, knowing sub-consciously that her jaw was hanging slightly open as the boy, (who was every inch man, she reminded herself), brushed past her.

"Sorry I'm late, dad," Gift-Wrap told the shop-owner, who brushed off the apology with a wave of his hand. "Who needs gift-wrapping?"

You can gift-wrap my—

Naughty, Rose. Naughty.

Rose's eyes glanced over at Carpathia, who seemed equally taken aback by the boy's entrance, even more so because he seemed like the type to belong on the back of an old Harley with a cigarette in hand rather than behind the register of an old watch-store.

"I do," said Rose rather breathlessly, handing over the watch without daring to meet his eyes. She felt his gaze on her again, and then—hoping that her burning cheeks weren't giving too much of herself away—walked as casually as she could to the other side of the shop where Carpathia was standing as though she were browsing for another product.

When she stopped next to the raven-haired girl, she muttered: "Did you see-"

"I did," replied Carpathia in equally low tones, her face contorted as though she was struggling not to laugh. "My oh my."

"I wasn't too obvious, was I? You think he's our age?"

"Older, I reckon," said Carpathia with a playful smile on her lips.

Rose glanced at her and bit her lip. At any rate, he was a lot more fetching than Brianna, she thought to herself, and then wondered why the bloody hell she was fixating on Brianna if it hardly mattered—

"You should talk to him," she said abruptly.

Carpathia raised her eyebrows. "And why's that? He was clearly looking at you."

"Really?" said Rose a little too eagerly, and then blushed at her own candidness. "No, I doubt it."

"Why's that? Look, he's glanced at you again now."

"Is he? No—wait—don't tell me—" she turned her back towards the register, fixing her eyes determining on a set of Chopard watches. "I figured he'd been more into you."

Carpathia snorted and leaned against the glass, pretending to stare at a set of silver cufflinks. "Because we're both dark-haired?"

"Because you both—have—tattoos and piercings and—and whatnot-"

"Maybe he likes clear skin," she suggested with a roll of her eyes. "Us tattooed and pierced folk can't always inbreed."

Rose shot her a sideways look, but when Carpathia met her face with a teasing smile, she felt herself smiling as well. "Teach me what to say, then. I don't often do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Flirt with strangers. I mean, I've only gone out with one person and I usually tend to admire from afar. Rose Weasley isn't too good at being mysterious and sexy." Not like Malfoy, the thought coasted through her mind, and the memory of his ease with Brianna from the bus fueled her even more.

"Well," enunciated Carpathia slowly, her eyes flickering towards the window. "You generally never want to be too honest, and a couple of white lies don't really do any harm. So, for instance, you could ask him his bike and tell him how you've always been interested in bikes-" her mouth twitched slightly, and Rose snorted. "Then, he'll probably carry on the conversation from there, and you just have to laugh if he says something remotely funny or even if he pauses, really, and that's pretty much it." Carpathia shrugged, and her eyes sharpened on Rose's front. "And loosen the top button of your shirt."

"You can't be serious-" protested Rose, and then she started to laugh to herself when she remembered her own words to her father that morning: maybe I'll just wait for a muggle boy to pass by with a bitchen bike and hop on. "God. You're the only person I know who seems to have information like this."

"Hardly," said Carpathia amusedly. "I'm just someone who's spent a lot of time watching." And learning from my own mistakes was the silent statement behind her words, but Rose understood it was a touchy subject and didn't push on it. "Now you really should go and say something. We can't go and leave this store until you've tried."

"Right. Thanks," Rose took a deep breath and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, knowing that she could accentuate her cheekbones better that way. She was still finding the situation a little ridiculous. "Do I look alright?"

Carpathia grinned, flicking open the top button of Rose's deep blue blouse. "Mysterious and sexy enough."

Rose smiled at the girl with appreciation. "We ought to talk more at school, you know."

"Well, I am just two beds down," said Carpathia with just a hint of dryness.

Rose chuckled to herself as she departed the girl from their quiet corner. It occurred to her now that after five years of school with just a handful of girl friends and plenty of male ones, it was time she broadened her horizons beyond Rowan and Drew. I have to keep that in mind, she reminded herself, but now there were other issues at hand. She could practically hear Carpathia's laughter as she approached the register, feeling like she was standing at the edge of a cliff.

"Hi," she said.

Gift-Wrap looked up briefly from the maroon-colored box he was currently fitting her watch in. When his eyes registered her exposed neck and slightly open blouse, he set down the box and offered a smile that made her quite weak at the knees. "Oh. Hi there."

"So I, um…" Bike, Rose. Bike. Rose flashed Gift-Wrap what she hoped was a coy expression. "I noticed your ride earlier. I'm quite a…motorbike fan myself."

It worked like a charm. Gift-Wrap's eyes lit up and he leaned forward, causing several strands of his brown hair to fall rather effortlessly across his face.

"Really? Aw, it's nothing," he said with a broad smile, his chest puffing up slightly. "Me and my brothers got her together. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Rose allowed herself a glimpse at Carpathia, who was smiling pointedly at her. Well, if it's really all that simple, thought Rose, realizing that the formulaic approach Carpathia had given her would suffice, and that this was simply following another rule, and she was good at mastering the rules of a game. Her entire body relaxed, and she made a mental note to remind herself later on that whatever Malfoy could pull off, it hadn't been so impressive as she'd previously imagined.

She smiled at Gift-Wrap, eyes gleaming. "Oh yeah, never seen anything like it…"

They carried on their conversation even after he'd finished gift-wrapping her present for Rowan, but Rose learned quickly that even though Gift-Wrap was undoubtedly good-loooking, he was much better eye-candy than a conversationalist. The only relevant information she found she could put to use was that he'd just turned eighteen, that he had named his bike Chimera, and that his 'brothers' were actually the other members of his bike gang, of which he considered ardently as a serious pastime.

Other than that, Rose had no knowledge whatsoever of motorbikes, so when Gift-Wrap insisted on leading her outside to show her all the customized parts he had lovingly adorned his bike with, she simply winced and reluctantly followed him.

So what now, thought Rose a little despairingly, shooting a furtive look at Carpathia, who was trailing after them with an expression that clearly demonstrated she was trying not to burst out into peals of laughter.

"…here, I replaced the engine with a double-kick, y'know, so she doesn't fall apart when we're trying to flip off the gang-plank…"

"Mm, sounds dangerous," replied Rose with a fervent nod, shooting him another sly smile and wondering how long she could keep up the charade without yawning. Honestly, why couldn't he just take the hint that she was interested and take her up for a snog?

But then again, things didn't work the way they did at Hogwarts. Bloody strangers.

"…anyway, would you like to go for a spin sometime?"

What was that he was saying? Rose blinked rapidly, quickly reaching out for her word bank before the pause extended too long for an awkward period of time and he'd think she was mentally handicapped or something.

Luckily, Carpathia cut in smoothly: "Yes, she'd love to. Sometime. Wouldn't you, Rose?"

Yes. She smiled at Carpathia gratefully. "Yeah, that sounds brilliant."

Gift-Wrap looked pleasantly surprised. He set his helmet on the seat of his bike with almost a blush on his cheeks and reached for a ballpoint pen (what sort of biker had a ballpoint pen just lying around on him, wondered Rose amusedly) stowed away on his front pocket.

"You don't mind then, Rose, if I could have you number?"

" 'course not." Rose took the pen and uncapped it, and then realized—with a jolt—that they had an audience.

She heard Scorpius' snort from behind her and found herself looking the boy's pale, angular face, which was glittering with wickedness. "Yes, she'd love to, wouldn't she?" She stared at him, mortified, knowing that the taunting expression in his face was clearly saying: "Is this because I took a muggle girl's phone number?"

But no. She swallowed, clenching her fists rather defiantly. He had to know it had nothing to do with him.

"Oh hi there," she responded, doing her best to remain casual. "Where's Al gone off to?"

"Taking a piss. He sent me down to check and see if you were ready to go," replied Scorpius, his eyes traveling between her and Gift-Wrap and his lips quivering with unspoken insults. "So you've gone and made a friend in such a short time, Weasley, ah…?" He raised his eyebrows at the muggle boy, indicating that he ought to introduce himself. It was unreasonable, really, how Scorpius could retain such haughtiness when he wanted to.

"Oh right. Forgot to introduce myself," said Gift-wrap with a silly grin. "I'm Ronald. You can call me Ronny though. All my mates do."

Oh god.

Of all the names in the whole bloody world.

Carpathia couldn't restrain herself anymore. A small burst of laughter slipped out of her lips, and much to Rose's chagrin, the girl muttered a faint goodbye and darted out of view, no doubt to go and chuckle somewhere on her own.

"That's nice," intoned Rose weakly, knowing that Scorpius' head was probably bursting with wise-cracks.

He seemed to be taking a great deal of time choosing which one. Finally, in impressively even tones, he replied: "So you're into bikes, Ronny?"

"Yeah, they're brilliant."

"Yeah, can't get Rose to shut up about them," stated Scorpius, shooting a smirk at the redheaded girl.

"Maybe you ought to shut up," snapped Rose. Merlin, she felt so absolutely humiliated.

"Oho, touchy," exclaimed Scorpius with innocently wide eyes. "I'm Sven, by the way," he added to Gift-Wrap (no, Ronald, Rose amended with an internal groan) "But you can call me Scorpius. All my mates do."

Poor, stupid Gift-Wrap was too obtuse to notice that Scorpius was so obviously taking the piss on him. "That's cool. Are you in a gang too?" he asked, his brow furrowing quizzically.

"Oh yeah," replied Scorpius with a straight face, "We're a bit new on the London scene, but we're getting there. But it's hard, y'know, with Libra changing bikes ever couple months and my mate Pisces getting a hip replacement. People really don't understand how stressful this business is."

"Yeah, yeah," agreed Gift-Wrap, still looking rather puzzled but nodding along nevertheless. Rose wanted to smack herself in the face. "I do like the Zodiac idea you lot have going though. It's really creative."

"Ah, well. Zodiac, Horoscope. Same thing, innit?" said Scorpius, not even bothering to attempt to disguise the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Rose had had enough.

"Alright, we're leaving," she said in icy, clipped tones, hooking her arm through Scorpius' and dragging him away from the poor, confused boy. "I'll call you!" she shouted over her shoulder, not attempting to dissuade his protests that he hadn't left her his number nor she his.

When they were a sizable distance away, she wrenched her arm away from his and shoved him with all her might. To her added fury, his face was still contorted with silent laughter.

"Do you like ruining things for me, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice quivering. He was still laughing, but his eyes flickered slightly over her expression when he registered the deadened coldness of her voice. "Well, guess what. You've won. You've bloody won. I know that's what you've always wanted so now you can have everything. I regret knowing you. I regret ever talking to you. From now on, we don't have to speak or look at each other. I hate you."

She finished the sentence with more vehemence than she'd ever known she possessed. To her shame, there were tears pooling at the edge of her eyes. The last few months had been nothing but a whirlwind mix of incensed emotions and disgraceful flutterings of her heart and now all these accumulated thoughts and feeling (the anger, the confusion, the godforsaken spurt of affection) had assembled together in one burst of heat.

He looked gobsmacked. His blue eyes wide and filled with a thousand unvoiced opinions, his mouth slightly ajar. His pale, perfect hands fell slack down his sides, curled halfway through as though he wanted to clench his fists but couldn't.

And then Rose couldn't look anymore. Couldn't bear the idea of trying to figure out what this horrible, beautiful boy was thinking anymore. So she simply did what she thought she should've done since the beginning of the day:

She turned and left him standing there.

AAA.

Rose had already left to go home. Al couldn't comprehend why she hadn't bothered waiting for him, but Scorpius had languidly informed him that she'd been feeling ill.

Accepting the explanation with cautiousness, Al resorted to observing Scorpius' changed behavior, which now seemed strangely subdued. Nevertheless, he said goodbye to Carpathia—who gave no mention of what had proceeded while he'd been away except to offer him a knowing smile and a promise to see him on the platform.

As Carpathia departed, Al found himself alone with Malfoy again, only this time the atmosphere had changed.

"So I'll see you around, then?" Al said hesitantly, wondering what was on the blond boy's mind that was making him so distracted.

Scorpius' head swiveled around and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Obviously. We live together, don't we?"

He was trying to be offhanded and aloof again, thought Al. Trying being the operative word, and Scorpius never tried anything unless he had a reason to.

"One more thing, Potter."

"Yeah?" Al inquired expectantly.

Scorpius was silent for a few moments, and then he said: "Do you think I could write to you?"

He had definitely not been expecting this. Al let several seconds pass before finding his tongue-"I, gah."

What was he supposed to say? No? Al didn't have the heart, especially after knowing what the boy was going through by himself this summer. He had a suspicion he'd been the only person Scorpius had confided in.

He replied with firmness. "Sure, Malfoy."

Scorpius gave him a solemn look in response. He looked the picture of nonchalance, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and every hair in place, but Al knew that he was grateful and that this was the closest he would get to a thank you. "See you next year then."

"Yeah. See you."

AAA.

Apologizing again for the delay. I've been crammed with midterms lately, and I decided to expand this chapter halfway through I was writing it, which made it a little more difficult to keep going along the original train of thought. So I decided to do a little more smatterings of bromance, and you got to see the Granger household (which is fairly not touched upon in most fanfics). Hope you enjoyed it!

THE NEXT CHAPTER will be coming up soon, though, because it'll be rather short.

Some other things to look forward to:

Sixth year (get ready for some drinking-hormonal-sexual-tension madness!)

Carpathia finding a bloke who might actually not be a complete arseface

AND…

Louis Weasley (dun dun dun)

As always, reviews are so very much appreciated.

Love,

~MissusWitch