Disclaimer: not mine

A/N: So yeah. I'd like to say this is three weeks late because I was determined for it to be perfect, but actually it's because I'm just coming out of final exams at uni so for the last few weeks I've been flat out with assessment and exams. As of Wednesday though I'm free to write every second of the day if I so choose (I may choose to laze around by the pool instead though.)

*Wonders if she should admit to doing NaNoWriMo, or if that would be considered a betrayal of Rose and Scorpius*

Scorpius eased open the door to the Time Chamber. No-one was in the office - though he'd heard some strange noises in the Brain Room - and he breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to concentrate if he was going to get anywhere on his project today.

The chamber looked exactly as it had appeared on Friday afternoon. In other words, his desk was still piled full of Muggle textbooks and strewn with long rolls of parchment and paper. He sighed. He'd better get into it.

But it was just so hard when he didn't have any idea what he was supposed to be doing. For the last month he'd been waiting for the 'pop' - that instant where everything falls into place, and the answer seems so obvious that you can't believe you haven't noticed it all this time - but until now? Nothing. And all the piles of textbooks told him was that he was still nowhere near the answer.

He walked over to his bench, his footsteps echoing in the long, empty chamber. The first of the textbooks was still open where he'd left it. A "Physics" one, from the library of one of London's Muggle universities. He'd had to take the train again - this time thankfully free of hair-related incidents...

"Relativity" read the chapter title. A simple enough word. He even knew what it meant now.

It would be nice if he could work out how it could stop Time.

Sighing again, he sat down, and began to read. Two weeks. In two weeks, he had to show the results of his research to Flint. Two weeks, after three years.

After - it must have been an hour, surely? - he still had no idea what was going on. There was a lot of talk of trains and trees and lightning and nothing at all about time stopping. Hang on - if it could slow down - in one reference frame - could it stop in another? He frantically paged through the book again, trying to find that equation again, the one he didn't understand but which explained how time was experienced -

Dammit, this was useless.

He sat back on his chair, leaning back until the front legs rocked off the ground, and he grinned as he realised what Bletchley would say if he could see it. Not that Bletchley ever came out of his office.

Not that Bletchley would be staying in his office for very much longer.

His expression sobered. No, Flint would be coming out of that office from now on, and Scorpius' fairly carefree days in the Time Chamber would be over. He realised how little he'd actually done over the last three years, and the thought suddenly angered him.

Dammit, Scorpius Malfoy, you useless bloody wanker of a prick!

Merlin, what a frigging waste of three years. If he was just going to make himself look busy, why hadn't he spent it looking busy on his own bloody project? At least then he'd have picked up the general idea of what the hell was going on. At least then he wouldn't have to spend his last two weeks just doing the basic introductory research!

He tried to imagine what life would be like without the Department. Without the Ministry, even, because he didn't think he could face coming here every day and watching that elevator go down to level nine without him.

It was more than just a job to him. He'd wanted to be an Unspeakable - had it at the back of his mind, at least - since third year, second even, when they'd chosen their subjects. And it was perfect. The last three years had been the best of his life. He might not have been working on his time project, but he hadn't wasted it. He'd helped the other Unspeakables with their research, where he was able and allowed, and every scrap of information they fed to him he'd treasured like he would a - a lock of Rose's hair, he thought, his cheeks flushing even though there was no-one to see.

What would Rose think of him if he lost his job? She didn't have any idea he was so close to losing it - well, until Finch's slip at dinner, she hadn't, but even now she thought it was just a passing phase, and he'd get through it, because somehow he always did.

But that was because somehow he always had 'pop' moments.

Edgar would be for nothing, he thought bitterly. The whole reason for Edgar's existence was to set Scorpius in a better light - but if Scorpius lost his job - was fired, he thought harshly, giving the bench a kick -

- Well, she might as well choose Edgar.

Maybe he shouldn't go tonight. It wasn't like there was much point, if Scorpius couldn't even hold down a frigging trainee job. Maybe he should cut Edgar loose. The whole idea had been stupid from the start.

But the memory of her lips against his stopped him. He breathed deeply, trying to recapture the scent of her and the evening. Damp cobblestone from the earlier rain, fires - could you smell flames? - burning in shops and pubs, her perfume mingling with what he'd realised with a grimace was Edgar's sweat. What would it smell like if she were kissing him instead?

Dammit, he'd never find out if he couldn't get his head around this stupid Muggle science!

Maybe Muggle science wasn't the answer. It was fascinating, but they saw the world in a completely different way. The universe to them was something to be measured, observed, recorded - but wizards saw it as something to mould to their whims. Time wasn't an unchanging arrow, it was - the word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite reach it -

It was mud, he decided. Mud to be thrown around and built and rebuilt like sandcastles on the beach.

If you knew how.

She liked him. He knew she did.

Scorpius wasn't employed in the Department of Mysteries for nothing. He could put two and two together. He could even get the predicted theoretical value of four, within a tolerance of one percent.

(There was always the chance of human error. Especially when that human was Scorpius.)

But what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

He rolled his eyes as he watched himself get changed in the mirror. Muggle clothes this afternoon, for no particular reason, except perhaps that he didn't want to remind himself of the office.

Finch would tell him to just man up and tell her. No, that wasn't quite true. Finch had been telling him to man up and tell her for the last - he wasn't quite sure how long, but the time period would be measured in years.

It wasn't just that he didn't have the courage. Although that was definitely a factor, he thought ruefully, wriggling into his jeans as he sat on the bed. But he'd almost been able to, that time on Rose's couch - and back then he hadn't had a clue how Rose felt about him.

Now he did.

But she didn't.

But I have no idea - no, I do know, but I'm absolutely terrified of the consequences of taking risks in my personal life.

She had to like him to be nervous about him. Last night had been a 'pop' moment for him, hadn't it? If in a slightly different context. And now that he'd noticed, everything seemed to fall into place.

And as someone who'd spent a lot of time being nervous around girls, Scorpius certainly knew how to recognise the signs.

She wasn't nearly ready to admit her feelings to him in person. So he couldn't tell her Edgar was Scorpius. But in two weeks' time when he got kicked out of the Ministry maybe she wouldn't have those feelings any longer. So maybe he should tell her Edgar was Scorpius.

Screw it.

He pulled on his trainers roughly, tying the laces into something that more closely resembled a bird's nest than a knot.

He was overthinking this. He'd spent too much time in the lab today. Maybe he could take a leaf out of Rose's book - in a way - and just live in the moment tonight. He liked a girl. She liked him. Both of him, in fact. Why couldn't they spend an evening enjoying each other's company?

A coat, because it was cold - a bag of snacks, because he couldn't go empty-handed - oh, and he couldn't forget that, he thought, eyeing the scrap of parchment and small vial on his kitchen counter. That was all he needed, wasn't it? He could leave the stressing and worrying on the counter in its place.

Tonight was just him and Rose.

"Well, don't just stand there!"

Scorpius blinked as Rose threw open the door.

"I've been standing here for about three seconds!"

"So? I've been standing here for three seconds watching you be awkward. Come in."

He cocked his head. "Hello to you too," he said uncertainly.

She turned around to face him, and the odd expression on her face disappeared as her lips curled into a smile. "I'm sorry. I'll be nice. Which doesn't mean you shouldn't come in."

He laughed, and followed her into her flat, taking off his tattered coat as he did so. She took it from him and placed it carefully on the row of coat hooks next to the door. The third hook, he noticed. She always put Scorpius' coat on the second.

The gesture reminded him that he was Edgar again, not Scorpius. Which meant he shouldn't find it odd if she acted strangely around him. Just because Diagon Alley could almost have been between two best friends didn't mean Edgar and Rose weren't really strangers to each other.

And this was the first time she'd invited him to her flat.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked over her shoulder, moving to the kitchen. "I'm afraid I don't have much. I could get you some juice, if you like. Or cordial. We could go out if you want something stronger?"

He fingered the parchment in his pocket. "Juice is fine. I'm too thirsty to wait, I think," he added, trying to relieve the tension.

"Orange it is."

"How was your weekend?" he asked casually, taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter, and imagined her answer.

I had a wonderfully romantic dance with the man I'm madly in love with...

She shrugged. "Went out with some friends. Formal dinner thing. It was alright."

Astoria wouldn't like to hear that, he thought, raising a mental eyebrow. Merely alright? After all that effort she'd gone to in rallying the house-elves?

"You?" she asked, and he realised he wasn't going to hear about the dinner party again. She handed him his drink, and as she did her fingertips brushed his larger ones. He raised his glance, but she wasn't looking at him.

"Nothing much," he admitted. "No lead on the job search. Contact didn't turn up, so that hope's gone too."

She nodded, but her eyes seemed distant. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," she said vaguely. "You'll get there eventually."

Standing up, he shrugged as he picked up his glass. "Want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing towards the couches behind them.

"What? Oh, yes, please sit down, make yourself at home. I'm just going to go to the loo, is that alright?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I give you my permission," he said drily, and she blushed.

Bit of a Scorpius thing to say, really.

But who cared? No overthinking this, he reminded himself. Just be yourself. Except, you know, be Edgar.

She returned after a minute, and he was pleased to see a real smile on her face, for the first time since he'd got here. She carried a box of - were those Exploding Snap cards? - and her drink, and when she sat down it wasn't on the other chair, as he'd expected, but next to him on the couch. He grinned.

"You any good?"

She set the cards down on the table, hands on her hips. "You look like you think you are."

He raised his eyebrows, for real this time. "Guess we'll see, won't we?"

She didn't reply, but he could see by the glint in her eye that she didn't intend to lose.

"No answer?" he teased. "Afraid of a little competition?"

"I don't need words to buck me up," she murmured, and Scorpius was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting on the couch. How this, a conversation they'd had in any number of forms since third year, was suddenly - something else, because he wasn't Scorpius, the kid from Arithmancy, her best friend.

He straightened, clearing his throat, as she leaned over to deal him his cards. She didn't wear tops like that when the kid from Arithmancy came over, either.

When Rose started something, she damn well carried through!

He set up the cards in silence, immediately breaking his rule of not overthinking things by -

"I know what you're thinking," she told him.

"The same way you knew I was standing at the door?"

Her eyes softened. "You're awkward. It's cute. And I know that right now you're trying to decide whether you should let me win, aren't you?"

Was he that transparent? Even through the bloody potion?

"Don't worry," she continued, laying down her first card. "After ten minutes you're not going to be in a position to make that decision."

Three minutes later Scorpius was inclined to agree with her. Scratching the burnt cardboard away from his nose, he held out a char-covered hand to her.

"Admitting defeat so soon?" she asked, not taking it.

He withdrew it, shrugging. "The way I'm going to tell this story, three minutes is definitely not long enough to win fair and square. Ergo, I must have let you win."

"A tramp who speaks Latin," Rose murmured. "I take it you won't want another game?"

Neither Scorpius nor Edgar - insults be damned - were the type to back away from a challenge. "Best of three?"

And five minutes and thirty-seven seconds later: "Best of five?"

Rose threw the remaining cards on the coffee table, laughing. "Enough! It's almost painful beating you so easily."

"No more painful than having the cushion on your lap burst into flames," Scorpius grumbled.

He leaned back on the couch, as Rose cleared away the last of the charred cardboard pieces. The top she was wearing tonight was very nice, he confirmed for himself. A dark red singlet, with spaghetti straps he could actually see for once since her hair was done up in a loose bun rather than loose around her shoulders. She must have done it especially for him, Scorpius thought, pleased, since in his experience she always wore her hair down on weekends.

"So aside from balls and parties, what else has been happening in the world of Rose Weasley?"

She sat back down next to him. Was he imagining it, or had she edged closer than last time? She didn't waste any time, did she?

"Work stuff," she said quickly, with a long glance at Scorpius. "I'd go on about it, but..."

He laughd. It wasn't as though Edgar actually didn't have a job. Or that Edgar himself even existed. He supposed he'd better put up a token reluctance - but after his earlier vow he decided that counted as overthinking things.

"Don't stress. You don't need to hold your tongue around me. We're just two people getting to know each other, right?"

"Yeah," Rose said, cocking her head. "Yeah, you're right. Living in the moment."

"You were the one who came up with that in the first place."

She threw a pillow at him, grinning. "I've been a bit out of it today, I'm sorry. You can't expect me to remember things I said more than three hours ago."

"Have you ever... read a romance novel?"

"Drinking games already, Edgar? We've barely started our first glasses."

"When has that ever stopped anyone?"

She lifted her glass, and took a sip. It wasn't like they were doing Firewhiskey shots, anyway. This was just - loosening up the mood. To chase away the overthinking.

Or something. He kicked his shoes off and put his knees up against the table, feeling a warm buzz wriggle through his head. He took a sip of his punch -

Then grimaced as he realised Rose was laughing at him. "You read romance novels?" she teased.

"What?"

"You know the rules. You drank, so 'fess up."

He'd never - well. He probably had read at least one in his life. He had to confess to a certain amount of curiosity about the opposite sex - and, well, Moira had seemed such a fan...

"There's no rule about having to elaborate!"

Rose giggled, and wriggled closer to him, pillow held in her other hand. "There's also no rule about getting the information out some other way..."

"Hey!" He lifted his hands in surrender, but Rose seemed to take it as an attack - "What is this, a third-year sleepover?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ravenclaws don't sneak out for sleepovers."

He raised his eyebrows, leaning closer in turn - and then smack! The cushion hit his thigh. Cheeky. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked. "Maybe if you'd spent more time sneaking into the boys' dorms you'd have better technique."

"Are you sure it was the boys' dorms you stayed in at Hogwarts? Because you seem to have spent the whole time reading romances and having pillow fights..."

He reached over her arm and picked up his drink again. "It's your turn," he said, refusing to answer the question.

"Turn?"

"To ask a question."

She sat back, thinking. He almost started feeling relieved that she was finally relaxing - they'd gotten off to an awkward start that night, why had that been? - and then he realised he wasn't allowed to have been worried in the first place. So he took another gulp of juice.

Hang on...

"This is alcoholic, isn't it?"

She bit her lip, and he was suddenly reminded of the Rose in the white dress at the Leaky Cauldron with Knightley, chewing her lip as she realised she'd upset him.

He didn't continue that thought, except to quietly reminisce on how excellent that dress had looked from behind.

"I may or may not have spiked the punch," she admitted, eyes looking anywhere but him - then darting back, so he could see the glint of amusement behind them.

He laughed. "Wanted your alcohol fix without the trip to the pub?"

"Maybe."

"Want more?" he said suddenly.

She frowned. "That was my last bottle, so if you want any more I was serious about having to go out."

He jumped up. "No Leaky Cauldrons required," he said, pulling the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket with a flourish. "Although a non-leaking one might be helpful. I've got all we need right here."

"Hate to tell you this, but that's a decidedly non-alcoholic scrap of parchment you're holding," she said, laughing, standing up so she was at the same height as him.

"It's my secret recipe," he told her. "You do have vanilla beans in your pantry, right?"

"Of course." She went to the kitchen and he followed her, quickly consulting the rest of the instructions while she wasn't looking. He'd mixed most of the rest of the ingredients already, but if he was going to pretend it was his secret recipe, he could hardly keep looking at it every ten seconds.

It wasn't anything of the sort, of course. He'd come across the recipe while researching some of the more obscure time-related spells. And since brewing butterbeer required very precise timing of the lunar kind, the authors had seen fit to include it in their book. Hey, if it meant impressing Rose with a new skill, he was only too happy to try it out.

And if Edgar Spore came across as a homeless drunk - well, all the better for Scorpius Malfoy.

"Here you go." Rose dropped the small packet in front of him, and he quickly checked its contents. "Now, tell me what's going on..."

"Have you ever brewed your own butterbeer?"

"Fred and James probably have. It'd certainly explain a lot of things..."

"But you're not Fred or James, are you?"

She glared at him, but he knew she was only teasing. Even disciplined Rose Weasley got curious sometimes. "Hey, I can live in the moment."

"Excellent. Now, you're going to have to wait until the precise moment the sun goes down -"

"It's already gone down."

"What?" He raced to the window, hoping to see at least a glimmer of sunlight, but he couldn't see any over the city. "Damn autumn sunsets," he muttered. "Never mind! Just do it now, it'll be fine. It can't have been that long since twilight, anyway. Okay, chop the beans into halves or so, then crush them with the side of the knife - don't be too fine about it, we're in a hurry -"

"Why don't you just do it if it's so urgent?"

"Because only a witch can do it," he said quickly. "Don't worry, just chop them up however you like, it's the timing that's the main thing..."

She winked. "I see why you've taken up with me, then. You need someone to brew your butterbeer for you."

"It's either that or get a job," he joked. "But until then I have the misfortune of having to spend time in your company. It's a horrible fate, isn't it?"

Laughing, she finished crushing the beans, and held the packet out for inspection. He couldn't help noticing the way her arms accentuated her -

"Ahh - right," he said distractedly, pulling a small vial from his pocket. "The rest of the potion. I took the liberty of preparing it before I got here..."

"How am I supposed to learn how to brew butterbeer if you won't even show me all the steps?"

"You were welcome to join me at dawn to pick the lily roots."

She rolled her eyes. "I get up early enough for work every morning, I think I'm fine."

"Then stop complaining. Okay, scrape those into here."

She eyed the small vial doubtfully. "You really think that's going to be enough for two?"

"Yeah, it's fine, it'll - wait, you're right, stop! I forgot to pour the water..." He rummaged around her cupboards, remembering just in time not to go directly to the bowls, and finally pulled out a large dessert bowl from one of the bottom shelves. "The tap - warm water or cold, depends on how you like your butterbeer -"

"Cold will do," she said quickly, grabbing the bowl from him and holding it under the tap.

He hurried next to her. "Okay, pour this in," he said, holding out the vial. "Then scrape the beans into the mixing bowl."

"Seems like a bit of an odd way to brew butterbeer, but if you're sure..."

Okay, so he'd picked the 'instant' method, the one that only required two days pre- and one hour post-mixing, but that wasn't any reason to hold it against him. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead, we don't have much time!"

She dropped the last bit of vanilla into the mixture. What had been a small solid blob at the bottom of the bowl now began to expand, colouring the water a dark brown and causing the edges to bubble and swirl...

"Quick, we've got to get it outside!"

Rose grabbed the bowl and ran to the living room. "Open the balcony door, it's just Alohomora," she instructed, and he was only too happy to oblige. The mixture was bubbling furiously now, and he didn't particularly want to be remembered as the guy who spilled seven litres of mouldy water all over her living room carpet.

"Alohomora!" he cried, pointing his wand at the door. Now wasn't the time for sophisticated non-verbals. The door handle slid smoothly down under his hand, and suddenly they were outside on the balcony - but the mixture still hadn't stopped bubbling -

"Ouch!" Rose cried out, and he spun around - she was about to drop the bowl - "That stung", she said after a second, sounding out of breath. "A bit jumped up and landed on my finger."

He wasn't about to admit he'd never done this before. But he had to think quickly. "The moonlight," he said suddenly, looking up. "Your balcony has a roof -"

"It's the balcony from upstairs -"

"Whatever, it's blocking the moonlight, I think that's what it needs to complete the brewing cycle -"

They looked at each other, then raced to the emergency stairs. They were still covered, to an extent, but the stairs above them were wrought iron slats, with plenty of room for moonlight to shine through.

The mixture stilled, and Scorpius breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a complete guess on his part.

"You know," Rose said with a small voice, "perhaps it would have been easier to go to the pub..."

"But not nearly as entertaining, right?"

She laughed, taking a seat on the stairs and carefully placing the bowl next to her. "Have a seat," she told him, patting the ground on the other side, and she winced. "Guess that burn was a bit worse than I thought," she said, examining her finger in the moonlight.

"Want me to get something for it?" he offered, not sitting down. He could always pretend he knew where all her medical supplies were kept by complete coincidence...

"Nah, it's alright." She muttered a spell which seemed to cause the swelling to go down a bit - oops, he thought guiltily. He hadn't intended this to be a high-risk activity!

"It'll take about an hour," Scorpius told her, gesturing towards the now-simmering bowl. "Or maybe less, I'm not really sure."

"I thought you said you did this all the time," she teased. Which wasn't true at all - he'd said it was his secret recipe, and all that implied was that he'd never shown it to anyone, which was completely true.

Considering he'd only found it three days ago, that hadn't been too difficult.

"I've never missed the sunset before, though," he admitted, which was also completely true. "I'm not sure if it's an hour past sunset, in which case it'd be, what?"

"Forty minutes from now."

"Something like that. But maybe it's an hour from putting in the crushed seeds. Dammit, this is a lot easier if you do it properly from the beginning."

She giggled. "Hey, if you'd just admitted you couldn't play Exploding Snap from the outset, we wouldn't be in this position."

"I didn't know I was going to be up against a master!" She never played that well with Scorpius Malfoy! Yet another thing she'd kept from him, yet was quite happy to reveal to a perfect stranger...

They sat in silence for a while. It wasn't a bad silence. It was rather comfortable, actually, Scorpius realised as he stared out over Muggle London's lights. But even if tonight was about relaxing and having a good time, well -

Exploding Snap and comfortable silences reminded him a bit too much of Scorpius' time with Rose. And he hadn't come up with this ridiculous scheme to repeat the experience with an extra dose of Polyjuice.

He turned his gaze to Rose, who was staring out into the distance as well. Her top didn't look so tight outside, but the moonlight cast very interesting shadows in a way the bright lamps of her apartment had no chance of replicating.

He cleared his throat. "I wonder what they're all doing," he said, to cover the silence. "What all those lights are on for."

"Having dinner? It can't be past seven or so, can it?"

"Too early to be going out, probably."

"But some of them could be getting ready." She giggled. "Trying on five different outfits, trying to tell which of them strikes that perfect balance between sexy and I'm not a whore, unlike your slutty ex-girlfriend I saw you with three nights ago."

"Suspiciously specific..."

"Oh, shut up. It was two years ago. Just because I didn't quite strike the balance that night doesn't mean I couldn't do it now, if I wanted to."

"Oh, really?" He turned his body around properly to face her, and his knee bumped hers in the moonlight. "Please, do tell. All their dates are probably wondering how exactly to interpret these subtle signals they're trying so desperately to send -"

"What, 'I wonder if that red top means she's going to put out tonight?'"

He held up his hands. "Hey, I'm trying to be the sensitive understanding one here."

"Are you wondering about mine?" she asked suddenly, and he took a sharp breath. He hadn't come here for that - but that didn't mean he was going to turn down whatever she was offering...

"I wouldn't dream of asking," he said, but his eyes begged to differ. She smiled and leaned closer, and his heart started beating faster and faster. Was she going to kiss him?

And then she looked down at the bowl between them. "Rather inconveniently placed, don't you think?" she whispered, moving it to the step above. "I wonder how long we have to babysit this?"

He started to answer, but she tipped a finger into the liquid - it must have cooled by now, he thought distractedly, but he couldn't seem to hold onto that thought when she placed her finger in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it as she contemplated the potion.

"Rose," he whispered, only he wasn't sure it was a whisper and not a groan.

"I think it's getting there," she announced, grinning. Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Dammit, where had Rose learnt to be so goddamn sexy?

And suddenly he was terrified. Scorpius - heck, even Edgar and Knightley - was thrilled at the merest brush against her knee. He'd always assumed Rose was about as experienced as he was - but maybe she wasn't, and maybe the only reason she was so interested in Edgar and Knightley was that she assumed they'd be able to meet her expectations -

But the look on her face on the ballroom floor last night told him otherwise. She liked him, Scorpius. And the look of terror had told him she was just as nervous about their relationship as he was.

So why was she here with Edgar? Why was she outside, in the moonlight, flirting - more than that - with a man who wasn't Scorpius?

He took a breath. He was overthinking things, again, and he'd come here to avoid that, dammit. Maybe she was doing the same thing he was. Practising.

The thought reassured him, but only because he decided not to think it all the way through. He was here, after all, in said moonlight and being flirted with by a beautiful woman. One he'd been in - one he'd liked for years, he thought quickly. And she seemed perfectly willing to go further than the bounds of friendship...

"What's wrong?" she asked, and he realised he'd turned away from her.

"Nothing," he said quickly, and the smile on her face - one that looked like it was aimed at Scorpius, not Edgar - calmed him down. "Absolutely nothing," he repeated, and he realised it was true. "I was just thinking of how lucky I am to be here."

She laughed, and her smile turned flirtatious again. "Are you going to sit there, or are you going to do something about it?"

"Shut up and come over here," he told her, and when she obliged he pulled her into a hug, one he probably would have given her as himself. Somehow it reminded him that underneath all the disguises he was still Scorpius, and this might be the only chance he had with Rose -

Dammit. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, and he swiftly shoved the thought to the back of his mind. She tasted like butterbeer, the flavour more intense on her lips than whatever the Leaky Cauldron sold. They were at an awkward angle, despite the free space between them, and he pulled her towards him to close the gap.

She withdrew for a second, but only to adjust her position, and then she was back, her lips brushing against his in a series of feather-light kisses until he groaned and kissed her properly, deeply. It wasn't enough, but he was painfully aware that they were outside, they were on the emergency stairs for Pete's sake, and they probably shouldn't even be going this far.

But there was no way he was stopping, not when he finally had her in his arms, the prospect of the rest of the night stretching ahead of them with no Freds to interrupt them...

He tried to pull her closer, but it was impossible. Her body was already flush against his, at least as much as it could be given their awkward angle, and he could feel every soft curve against his chest. Dammit, he needed more -

He wrenched himself away from her, and she used the opportunity to kiss his neck - starting at the corner of his mouth, down the side of his cheek, across his jaw... Her breath tickled his ear as she passed it, and he smiled and let her continue. He sighed as she reached the side of his neck, as her soft kisses teased his skin, taking the edge off for a brief moment.

"We're on the emergency stairs," he said suddenly. "We - we can't -"

She kissed his lips, the briefest of pecks, and he smiled up at her as she stood up. She paused, then moved the butterbeer bowl over to the corner of the balcony. It wasn't on the stairs, but it was still within reach of the moonlight.

She held out her hand to him. "Then why don't you come inside?"