Disclaimer - JKR owns the universe I speak of. I just like to dance merrily in it.
It's quite rare that I'm lost for words. With an extended family as big as mine you learn to have a retort for everything. Whether it be to stop Grandma Weasley from making you eat another helping of dessert or to defend yourself in an argument with half a dozen other cousins. In short, it was quite obvious that I at least had been caught red-handed; my silence is quite a clear admission of guilt. Something Patricia appears to have worked out. The knowing smirk she's giving us is unnerving.
I can't bring myself to look at Malfoy. In the few moments that had passed since we'd been stumbled upon, I don't think I'd even heard him breathe. I'm aware that my mouth is still hanging open so close it quickly, attempting to gain some composure. I honestly don't know what to say in this situation. It would be pathetic and patronising to even consider using the phrase "It's not what it looks like". What is not helping the situation is just the scale of how smug Patricia's face is. I'm trying to focus on not just slapping it right off her face. I can feel my nails digging into my fists hanging by my sides. I'm already unnecessarily angry at Patricia for ruining such a wonderful evening, just by her sheer presence alone. Patricia's eyes just move over Malfoy to me and back again, lingering on our wet hair.
"You're a little far from home this late at night aren't you Scorpius?" She uses his full name like she has ownership of it. Her tone sounds superior; she's painfully aware that Malfoy and I are indeed caught between a rock and a hard place. I see Malfoy tense beside me. He's quite clearly also trying to retain his composure, the grinding of his teeth I can now hear suggests he's arguably doing a worse job at it than me. She breaks eye contact when he doesn't answer, rounding on me.
"And you Rosie. I don't think I've ever seen you awake at this hour. What in the devil are you doing up? And around the corridors no less?" Her voice sounds self-satisfied with a dash of distain thrown in. I'm praying internally that Malfoy won't say something hostile and make matters worse; unfortunately our previous exchanges with Patricia suggest that it's highly likely. When he speaks from beside me I barely recognise his voice. It's one that sounds so threatening the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Is it really any of your business Trish?"
"Ah! He speaks!" exclaims Patricia with mock outrage, the smile still plastered sickly sweet across her face. She places one hand on her hip in what I can only imagine is supposed to be a threatening manoeuvre. It is. And it's working. I can feel my cheeks burning red hot under the light of the torches. Another idiosyncrasy of mine which does absolutely nothing to suggest we aren't guilty of something.
I chance a glance up at him to see his jaw is set and his brow is knotted between his eyes.
"I'd never have thought you'd go for my sloppy seconds Weasley." There it is. She's said it out loud. And that twists a knife in my gut, painfully clarifying something I was trying very hard not to think about. Realised insecurities of my relationship with Malfoy as a girl he'd previously never looked at. I try to remember those wonderful words he spoke to me in the bathroom, but right now they've shrunk to the outer edges of my mind to be replaced with swirling images of Patricia and Malfoy in compromising positions. Positions I'd found them in.
Malfoy take's a step towards her and I have to tug the bottom of his shirt to stop him going any further. I see her smile falter slightly but she holds her ground.
"Oh, touched a nerve have I, Scorpius?" I can hear him grind his teeth in response. He's breathing hard. I've still not uttered a single word. I must look completely dumb. I know I have to say something so naturally I put my big Weasley foot in it as usual.
"We got caught outside in the storm. Some second years were heading out into the grounds," I try, weakly. I would have even convinced myself had the last few words not sounded slightly slurred through the lasting effects of the Firewhiskey I've consumed tonight. Malfoy looks at me incredulously. Patricia actually laughs.
"I'm not completely stupid, Rose; although people seem to be under this misguided impression that I am. It often works to my advantage. But what you just said is the biggest load of Merlin's balls I've ever heard." She chuckles to herself again.
"If this is about patrols the other night-" I begin but am quickly interrupted by Patricia holding up her hand.
"Ah-ah! I couldn't care less about you catching me during patrols. I don't care about you being prefects. I care about people knowing the truth." So that's what she wants; self-gratification from the destruction of other people's private lives.
"You wouldn't know truth if it kicked you in the shins," ground out Scorpius.
"Tut tut Scorpius," She's purring at him again. This makes me feel sick. "Perhaps if you sounded like you had any respect for me I might respect the privacy of the scene I just stumbled upon." Her tone is suddenly serious and I find myself wishing we'd stayed in the Prefect's bathroom and felt the wrath of Filch instead.
"Trish, don't do something you might regret," I can hear the conviction in his voice slipping. Even he must know that it's going to be a lost cause to try to convince her that there is nothing going on between us. But the way he's talking to her is still completely unnerving. He really wasn't exaggerating when he mentioned his disgust at Patricia's past treachery.
"You don't get to threaten me in this Scorpius," the smile has disappeared off her face now and I'm dreading what's coming next, "we wouldn't want Ron Weasley finding out that the son of a Malfoy is afflicting himself upon his one and only daughter now. And what would your father think?" He inhales sharply at this, his face cracking from furious determination, to one of frustrated exhaustion. Her conviction tells me she's not lying.
I'd wanted to avoid my family for as long as humanly possible. I know they'll all have a bloody opinion on it, whatever it is between Malfoy and I. I can feel it slipping through my fingers for every second we're still stood before Patricia now. Frankly I wish I didn't care. Remember what I said about washing my dirty undies in public? Well I like to avoid that. And this thing between me and Malfoy, is something I wanted to avoid getting out for as long as possible. Before anything got serious, before it was really a big deal. And now it's unavoidable. The look Patricia is giving me tells me just that; my private life is in her hands. She quite clearly isn't above crushing it into a pulp.
"Gotta hand it to you Rosie. I didn't think you had it in you." And with that she saunters away down the corridor out of sight. Neither of us make an attempt to stop her. It takes for her footsteps to have faded entirely for Malfoy's shoulders to sag in defeat before he suddenly thrusts his fist into the stone wall so forcefully I wouldn't be surprised if he's drawn blood. He yelps in pain, cradling his bleeding hand in his other. I can't believe he looks so helpless. I go around to his other side and move to his hand. He flinches under my touch, which almost brings tears to my eyes. How has … well whatever Malfoy and I are to each other, already been tarnished with the words and implications of his ex-girlfriend, my roommate and I'm starting to think; devil's spawn.
Picking up his hand I see a few droplets of blood and some stone stuck in the side of his fist. He stares at the spot where Patricia was stood. I tap his fist wordlessly moulding the skin closed, the tiny stones dropping to the floor. I bring it gingerly up to my mouth and brush my lips against the skin where the cut was. I see his shoulders relax slightly as he turns to meet my eyes. We just look at each other. It's nothing like the glorious times we've stood grinning stupidly at each other, instead I feel hollow and helpless, keeping hold of his hand.
"Well that wasn't what I had in mind," I said, the only coherent thing I can think about is Malfoy's eyes boring into mine. They've lost their usual twinkle.
"Me neither. I was rather enjoying this." I take a second and try not to dwell too much on his flagrant use of the word this. I don't succeed.
"What do you mean this?" I say, trying desperately hard not to sound frustrated at him. Neither of us could have predicted in a thousand millennia that Patricia Greenwood would waltz through the portrait hole and ruin any chance that Scorpius Malfoy and I, Rose Weasley had of keeping any tom-foolery under our hats.
"Weasley-"
"Rose." I correct him. This time I know I sound stern. I sound like my mother.
"Rose," he begins, sounding unsure of himself, "you know she means what she said? She'll ruin us both somehow with this."
"You don't know that." I try, knowing my eyes look pleading. This cannot possibly be him throwing in the towel.
"I'd put a fair few galleons on it." He states darkly.
I stomp my foot lightly, "Does it really matter?" Sighing I turn to face the portrait that now houses the Fat Lady who is watching us keenly with great interest. I resist the urge to throw two fingers in her direction.
"It does though doesn't it? She's right. It could do more than ruffle a few feathers."
"You know I don't care, right? You're a good guy! The world deserves to bloody know that."
"I like you Rose." He says this as if confirming it to himself as well as me.
"And I like you Scorpius." I suddenly feel rather vulnerable. I'm shivering and just want to go to bed, and wake up thinking it was all a dream and the Ravenclaw and Slytherin match is yet to be played. Hindsight is a cruel mistress.
"But –"
"Why does there have to be a 'but'?" I know I'm frustrated now; the tiredness in my voice makes it sound waspish. "I already said to you we aren't like our parents."
"That doesn't mean we won't have to explain ourselves to every god damn gossip monger in this school. And just FYI that's a significant majority." I'm worried he'll never smile jovially at me again. It sure as hell feels that way. I'm far too tired to argue about this. And I really don't want to argue about this. I want more snogging sessions and talks about Quidditch and maybe a visit to a secluded spot behind the greenhouses in the future with him.
"I'm exhausted. Also, I don't want to argue with you. About this, or about anything. Not right now." I admit. I look at him expectantly, praying for a similar response. When he doesn't say anything I just continue my trail of thought out loud. "We should both get some rest. You never know, we might be both having the same bad dream. Wake up on the Prefect's bathroom floor." I see his mouth twitch. He leans down and kisses the top of my wet hair. I want nothing more than to invite him up to my bedroom, trick staircase be damned. Fall asleep in the warmth of one another. But alas, the words left unspoken suggest this is it for tonight. I'm resisting every urge to kiss him right now. Assuming tonight won't be the last time we indulge in one another. Christ Weasley, stop being so dramatic.
"You're right," he finally manages. He tousles his hair in an attempt to dry it. I nod and smile weakly at him before admitting defeat and turning to the Fat Lady, waving goodnight with the heaviest of hearts.
"I meant everything I said tonight, Rose." I stop to look back but he's already turning the corner, out of sight. If I wasn't so mentally and physically exhausted (again Weasley, a swim will do that to you), I'd reply. Run after him; anything. I can't bring myself too. Enough has been said to fill in the cracks for the moment. Only the cold light of day tomorrow will tell us exactly what Patricia has planned. My stomach would be tied in knots with dread if I wasn't so exhausted. I force my eyes closed and replay the scene of Malfoy's darkened eyes before he dragged me under the water. Some heat rises in my chest and I fight to hold that feeling for a moment before opening my eyes again.
I'm grateful that the Fat Lady hasn't said anything. I don't even consider that as a magical painting, whatever she's heard might be passed around the castle by morning, regardless of Patricia's actions. I make my way through the common room, now lit only by the embers in the grate. When I make it up to the sixth year girls dormitory, I don't even get changed, but crawl into bed, makeup and all. I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow.
XXXXX
Thankfully, I'm fortunate to have a dreamless sleep. When I finally manage to get out of bed, the storm has subsided and the sun is shining high in the sky. For November this must mean I've either slept until lunch or I've just missed it. I take a deep breath, inhaling the heavy fragrance the bathwater has left on my skin. I had so much work to finish this weekend and I've wasted the morning in an unconscious stupor. I don't know what I'm more frustrated at; lack of working hours left in the day, Patricia for catching us last night or myself for just how much I do in fact care whether she's told anyone.
I throw off the covers in a huff, sitting up and wincing in pain. So it turns out, in an event where you've been drinking, even if you're so shocked by something that you feel sober, you don't in fact become sober and avoid the after effects of alcohol. Damn. Knowing just how much I need to write today I take a hot shower in an attempt to heal my cursed headache and head down to the common room. My book bag is extremely heavy; I consider this part of my added punishment for lack of alcohol awareness.
I step through the portrait hole and almost slip on the floor. There appears to be a small puddle where I was stood last night outside the portrait hole, and what with the castle being freezing at this time of year it just didn't dry up overnight. If anyone saw me they'd probably find the situation amusing, but I assure you that I see no humour in the situation. Recalling last night properly when stood out here once again is making that horrid anxiety come back again. Gnawing at my thoughts and pressing on my heart. My chest feels tight. The idea of walking into the Great Hall and everyone's eyes turning to me, leaving people whispering truths that hit a little close to home. The potential of this puts me in a foul mood.
Some younger students, I'm not even sure what year they're in come scurrying past me and through the portrait giving me curious glances. It appears I've just been staring at that tiny body of water, which I think is rather analogous to my dignity. I don't blame them, I must look absurd. I let out a strangled groan of frustration and head down to the Great Hall.
I pause just outside, watching students milling around in the entrance hall my gaze straying towards the dungeons. I shake my head and turn away. I have a lot to do today, and if the conclusion of last night was to see how the gobstones fall today then I really don't want to be dwelling on it. That involves longingly looking towards the route to Malfoy's common room. I try not to picture a bed like mine but with emerald green drapes. Instead I focus on the smell of roasted ham and buttered carrots; quite a good sigh that I've not missed lunch.
The hall is about half full and only one or two students look up to see me enter, quickly going back to whatever they were doing. There seems to be the usual Sunday lunchtime buzz in the Great Hall, most students using this time as an opportunity for an excursion from the library. Perhaps I'm being rather narcissistic when I think people will actually care about what Malfoy and I get up to?
Sitting down next to Albus I take a cursory peek at the Slytherin table and don't see him sat there. After last night it's a relief to not lock eyes with him. Inside my head I must sound bloody obsessed. You don't say? Perhaps Malfoy's got under my skin a little more than I'd care to admit. This epiphany does nothing to enhance my mood. I realised I just rudely grunted in greeting to Albus. I hope grabbing a polka dot tea pot and pouring myself a tea in large a silver tankard will be enough of an instance, that Albus has a little empathy for me in my hungover state.
"Little late for breakfast isn't it?" Albus quips, turning a page of the Sunday Prophet. I only grunt in response again. My headache is definitely getting worse.
"Sleep in?" Albus is really pushing his luck right now. Knowing him, he's just doing it out of general curiosity and not to push my buttons. I have to remind myself that he isn't in fact his pig-headed brother James.
"Something like that." I manage, cradling my tea in my hands and letting the scolding hot liquid burn my lips. Looking across to his paper I'm thrilled to see that the headline of the Prophet is something to do with International Wand Lore. Normally I'd take more of an interest in international relations but as you can probably tell by now, that's not exactly where my head is at the moment. Albus merely looks at me a little pityingly.
"You look tired Rose." It's not the probing question I expected, but rather a slightly pointed statement. My headache means he's unlikely to get a response. After a while however, I notice his gaze isn't wavering and is rather transfixed on me as if trying to see right through me. I'm a little unnerved at this. It's a rather similar look to one Uncle Harry gave me before a telling off when we were far younger, with even fewer worries.
"Thanks Al. There was a party last night y'know?" I say, letting out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.
"I didn't see you all night though. Alice was also looking for you later on. She said something about vicarious living and that the Ravenclaw actually had straw for brains, and some other insults. You know Alice, she's often rather choice with her words," said Albus, flicking another page of The Prophet not even pretending to read it.
"I was tired," a quite blatant lie from me, "so I left early." I can't justify lying to Albus in any way, shape or form. I'm fully aware that my grumpiness doesn't make my lying to my cousin acceptable. I feel a pang of conscience in my gut. He'll see right through me. After all this business of wanting to keep things between Malfoy and I under wraps, it'll probably help my case, not to lie to my closest and most favoured family member.
"You're a terrible liar." These words, an echo from the previous night only tighten the knot of guilt. My eyes finally snap back up to meet Albus'. He looks inquisitive beneath the poorly hidden veil of pity. He's caught me. Just as I suspected.
"What do you mean?" I find myself saying, even though he's about to call me out on whatever bullshit I thought I could spin to him. I know the more I resist the truth, the worse I'm also going to make Albus feel. Lying to him is almost treacherous. My stomach chooses this moment to gurgle. I grab a roll and begin to butter it. Distracting myself from the inevitable; calling me out on my indiscretions. Albus, the middle child, sleuth extraordinaire. As I'm about to take a bite from my roll that is now caked in salted butter (which I'm pretty sure if what heaven smells like), he passes a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket across the bench to me.
A few members of the Slytherin Quidditch team enter the Great Hall to some whoops and cheers from their House mates. My mouth is instantly dry. He's not with them though. There is no platinum blonde in sight. I take a sip of tea and unfurl the note. Albus is eyeing the note warily, as if it may vanish in my hands. If it's possible for that knot to tighten further, it just did.
To whom it may concern,
It is with my greatest regret that I must inform you of the indecency in which I found the Gryffindor Prefect, Miss Rose Weasley the previous evening. It was to my surprise to observe a tryst between her and none other than the Slytherin Prefect, Scorpius Malfoy quite substantially after hours. (Naturally it is for this reason that I do not wish to divulge my identity, for fear of equal punishment.) It certainly surprised me that Rose Weasley should choose such a philanderer in which to engage in such elicit activities. I therefore thought it appropriate to inform the Potter and Weasley family of this indiscretion to allow them to prevent such occurrences in the future for the prosperity of their families. My understanding is that the public eye, would not take too kindly to this revelation. The Golden Weasley daughter in the throes of passion with the child of their previous enemy. A revelation that may not be taken to kindly. I provide this information as someone who has the interests of the Trio's families at heart and believed it was important that you, a close relation to the aforementioned Rose Weasley, should be made aware of it.
Sincerely,
An Honourable Student
I read the letter twice through before crushing it in my now shaking hand. Hot bubbling anger, was now again in a rather short space of time pooling in my stomach, the flames licking my insides in the most painful way. So this is what she decided to do. Embarrass me to my family and call me out on my indiscretion by discrediting Scorpius as a Lothario of women. I couldn't choose which part of this note was most incorrect. How Malfoy was some seducer of women or that Patricia herself thought she was an "honourable student". I exactly claim that her account is false. I consider again how much insistence she put on how terrible this situation is. I'm infuriated by the fact she believes she has any right to inform my family how to think.
"When did you get this?" my voice is shaking with rage. Albus is still giving me a pitying look which almost makes my anger boil over into tears. He seems to see this shift in my face and stands abruptly from the bench, beckoning me to follow him. In the entrance hall we bump into James, his arm around a tall willowy brunette.
"Ah, Rosie you look as bad as I feel! What a good party those Slytherin's throw eh?!" With those brief words he just struts past us into the hall. Albus tugs at my robe directing us towards the oak front doors. The sunlight hits me right between the eyes; I blink through the glare, following Albus gingerly down the steps and onto the wet grounds. Our direction veering drastically towards the Quidditch pitch. There are a few black dots hovering above the stands in the distance, set clearly against the cobalt sky.
"Someone pushed it under our door this morning," said Albus, breaking the suffocating silence, "thankfully I was the first one up this morning in our dorm."
"So no one else knows?" was my first question. This quite obvious admission loosening the knot an inch.
"You know James would have given you it in the neck if he'd also received such lovely reading material." I consider this. He's probably right. As I've mentioned before, I might be book smart but Albus is definitely people smart.
"You're probably right."
He doesn't skip a beat before asking, "how long?" I sigh, knowing how pathetic this situation has become in the blink of an eye.
"About 48 hours Al." He raises an eyebrow at me sceptically so I continue. "Since we became friends, maybe a week or so, and then Friday night things sort of…kicked off." With this, I kick a few stones angrily on the grass as we stroll into the shade of the stands. Albus stops for a moment, studying my face. So I plough on, embarrassment be damned, my mouth producing a torrent of hatred directed verbally at one Patricia Greenwood. It's a shame she's not present.
"So obviously Patricia had to exaggerate things, as if we were going at it like animals and that Scorpius is some sort of Casanova. It's nothing bloody like that. I thought for a bit that we were getting on really well and he's actually nice compared to what I'd heard about him in the past. Obviously Patricia's way with men was kind of intimidating, and after my admission about her cheating I felt bad when I started to think about him as more than a friend. But for crying out loud Al, no matter whether I'm a prefect or not, they shouldn't allow you to be brewing potions late night in a small room and not expect things to happen sometimes. And I do like him. I'm about ninety-five percent sure he feels the same." I finish lamely, careful to avoid mentioning the prefect's bathroom. Taking a breath I lean my throbbing forehead against one of the damp wooden panels, closing my eyes and waiting for the inevitable.
"When you say it like that, combined with the letter, it does sound mildly scandalous."
I twist my head sharply to look at him, "Are you joking?"
"No. I mean, Patricia has a point. The papers probably would have a field day."
"It's not like it's my mum and his dad for crying out loud! That would be scandalous!" I throw my arms in the air, desperately trying to make Albus see sense. He only chuckles.
"Well when you put it like that, yeah, that would be a scandal. Possibly the biggest one since there were rumours about your mum and my dad," he continued chuckling as we walked along the sides of the stands to the spare broom shed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Albus asks quietly. There's the kicker. The question I was dreading the most. At least I know that Albus, having not flown off the handle already is very unlikely to do so. This quells my trepidation a little.
"I don't know. I spoke to Alice when I was worried the whole thing sounded a bit unusual," I said shrugging. Albus tapped the lock on the broom shed with his wand and the door popped open. "I just wanted some advice you know. None of us really knew him, and I just wanted a "non-family" opinion without the usual over protective bullshit that comes along with it," Albus frowned at this last comment. "Ok everyone accept you," I try to salvage that little mistake, "but I was worried about what you'd think Al. He's probably not going to be anyone's first choice for me to be romantically involved with or some other such nonsense."
"You could have said something," he started, but before I could apologise he held up his hand to stop me, "what makes you think he doesn't like you? Or at least where is this five percent coming from?"
I think for a moment. My thoughts playing out in reverse like scenes from a muggle movie. They halt at a dark night in early October when I'd pulled back a tapestry and seen dearest Patricia and Scorpius entwined tightly on the stairs, the light from the hall splashing the illicit scene with a heated glow. I swallowed. This all boils down to my god damn insecurities. How I know Patricia and know he picked her once in time. He'd pressed his lips to hers in hot, flushed scenes while I slept soundly in my dorm none the wiser. He'd once wanted to press her against stone walls in darkened corridors. And now, here I am longing for another kiss, another graze of his hand on the back of mine. My body amalgamated with his in searing passion, when he'd also been with her. I know these thoughts are torturous to myself. But I honestly can't help but feel this way. I like to blame it on being related to part Veelas.
Does he feel like this though? Does he feel this longing that he struggles to contain, but considers constantly when thinking about me, like I do with him?
The other girls I've seen while here at Hogwarts don't hold a thousand candles to you. His voice in my head is soothing and sultry. What reason would he have for saying that if he hadn't meant it? Albus' voice interrupts my thoughts at this crossroads.
"That smile on your face now, would suggest he might have filled that five percent. You're just being your usual self-deprecating self." He grabbed two brooms from the cupboard. I hadn't realised I'd been smiling. Just imagining that toothy grin is contagious.
"A fly might take your mind off it." He says, holding out the older broom for me. I hesitate.
"I'd love to Al. But I've got so much work to finish today."
"Not even half an hour?" he shakes the broom in front of my eyes and I swat it away.
"I don't think my headache will allow me to stay in the air that long either." I admit, closing my eyes again and breathing in deeply the cold, fresh scented air.
"You do know it's no one's business but yours right? I mean I wish you'd told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't." Albus puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. His scruffy hair tickles my ears. I squirm a little in his grasp and he chuckles pulling away.
"I love that you believe that Al, but it's not like I can sleep soundly in the knowledge that people here at Hogwarts at least will keep their opinions to themselves."
"You said you like him?"
"Well, yeah."
"Then why does it matter?"
"I know." I say through gritted teeth, "just I think I may need to convince him of that."
"I can understand for an outsider it might be intimidating to consider dating one of us." Said Albus stroking his chin. I had to grin at the use of the word "we" considering that encapsulated about a quarter of the school. "Maybe just talk to him."
"I said we should both just sleep on it. There's nothing like your ex walking in on you to kill the mood," I can hear the light tone in my voice returning. Somehow Albus has managed to curb a potentially catastrophic situation. He really has a way of calming me down.
"Patrols tomorrow with him?"
"Yep."
"Patricia's not a patient person. Any damage will be done in one foul swoop. You'll know by dinner if she's gotten to anyone else."
"That's really reassuring Al, thanks. And there I was thinking you were named accurately as your name-sake; kind and wise. How wrong I was." I say smiling at him.
"He'd be mad not to be interested, Rose." Albus' change of subject takes me by surprise. I suddenly feel awkward. This mature, sensible Al is getting a bit too much for me. If you couldn't tell by now, my way of dealing with this quite lovely compliment from my cousin is to divert the subject and go all sarcastic at him.
"Aww Al, stop. You'll make me blush!" I slap his arm and we both laugh (thankfully). The sound of our laughter lightens the knots in my stomach, and my mind feels altogether lighter.
"Well if you're not coming, I'm still going for a fly." He makes to leave, but doubles back taking the parchment out of his pocket and putting it in my hand. I take one look at it before pulling out my wand.
"Incendio!" I mutter, more for emphasis than necessity. The parchment curls into flames that shoot from my wand and I drop the parchment as it turns to ash before it hits the ground. I stamp on it once for good measure.
"That more like it Rosie. Good luck up at the castle, ok? I'll catch you at dinner."
"Bye Al. And thanks!"
"Don't mention it Rosie, just never tell me the gory details," he yells over his shoulder disappearing through the archway in the stands.
"Don't call me that!" I yell after him before turning to head back up to the castle.
Well that was enlightening. I'm now going to take up root in my favourite secluded spot in the library and work till dinner. Which I'm already dreading. Albus speaks sense though, and I know I can't dwell on this situation if I'm a) not going to see Scorpius til tomorrow and b) if I'm to get any work done. By hiding in the library, I may be able to avoid anyone else whose been slipped a note or has been told of the corridor encounter Patricia had with Scorpius and I. Also I really don't have the energy in my hungover state to repeat the conversation I had with Albus, but in various ways with other family members.
Scorpius isn't going anywhere. Annoyingly, as much as most of me wants to search him out, he's probably hidden away in the Slytherin common room to avoid any rumours himself, I know I can't. Letting the dust settle does seem like the best option right now, and I will see him tomorrow night for patrols. I knew it all seemed a bit too good to be true. I cross my fingers in the pockets of my robes and pray to Albus Dumbledore himself that I can work in piece today and worry about all this tomorrow. There is as much a chance of Patricia having a change of heart as there is me failing Charms, but I'll take it all on the chin; best I can. After all I have so much bloody work to get done.
Hello all. I hope this wasn't disappointing. I think this was the hardest thing I've ever had to write. You can probably tell based upon the time it took to get this out then the previous, more fun chapters. Keeping the characters in character as well as progressing the story was really difficult. I couldn't have Rose lying to Albus anymore so that had to come out. Otherwise I know this is a weak chapter in terms of what's really happening, I just hope you'll all stick with the story. I had an epiphany of something to change in the last few chapters which I think there will only be two; both about as long as this one, if not longer. This said epiphany put a spanner in the works and meant I have changed how I'm going to conclude this story. This also fills me with dread as I want all you readers to enjoy it! Anyway, enough of my own self-deprecating!
Any thoughts and reviews are always welcome. Those who review every time (you know who you are) I really do appreciate it!
