A huge thanks to all those who are reviewing and/or enjoying this story! This is a short chapter, but the next one will be up fairly quickly. Let me know what you think!

This chapter is rated T for language and mildly suggestive themes.

Chapter 7: The Magic

I stayed for the rest of the concert. It was incredible. Albus, Lysander, Nate, Lucy, and I all danced to the music together, swaying from side to side, rocking our heads, and enjoying each other's company. In the midst of the concert, I forgot about missing the set; I forgot about how mad at the world I was supposed to be—at Hadley, at Meg, at McGongall, at Malfoy. I was too swept up in everything—the music, the rush of being up there—if only for one song. I forgot about all my woes, but there was one thought that kept creeping up on me.

That kiss.

It had been absolutely fucking perfect. If he hadn't told me to come to the concert, I'm certain I would have launched myself at him, kissed him again, and never stopped.

It was with that thought that I snuck down to the dungeons after the concert. I hadn't really thought about it before I decided to do it, but I knew I had to. I wanted—needed—to see Malfoy again, if only to confirm that what had happened earlier had been real and not in my imagination.

I told Albus I had forgotten something in Malfoy's office, and he didn't question it—he was still giddy and riding the wave from the concert. I didn't blame him. I would probably be riding that wave for months. Years, even. We parted ways when he went to his dorm and I went toward the Potions classroom. I didn't know where the professors normally slept; I just hoped that Malfoy would still be in his office. I checked my watch.

10:47.

There was a chance. A slim one.

I opened the door to the Potions classroom slowly. It was dark and I couldn't see anything. My heart was pounding and of course, my fingertips were tingling. I was so incredibly nervous and I wasn't sure why. I didn't know what I expected to happen or what I expected Malfoy would do or say. I had no idea what I wanted or expected to happen. I was doing all of this without thinking, not wanting to let my thoughts or my nerves get the best of me.

I pulled my wand out of my back pocket.

"Lumos," I whispered. The cabinets were all closed—they'd been open when I left. The room looked immaculate. You'd never know that less than two hours ago something… unexpected—forbidden—had happened here.

I walked toward the back of the classroom where Malfoy's office was. If he was in his office, surely he would come out—the pounding of my heart was so loud that he had to hear it—he had to be suspicious. What's that noise? He would think. What's that pounding racket?

I got to the back, and to my—relief, terror?—a sliver of light was coming from under the door.

I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes. And before I could talk myself out of it, I reached forward. I paused when my fist was right by the door. Then—fuck it—I knocked.

I heard some rustling, and then the door was open.

And there he was. As always, he was looking beautiful. There was a crease of confusion in his beautiful brow that I wanted to run my thumb across, and his eyes were searching as he searched the darkness. Then he recognized me. I extinguished my wand light and looked up at him. Without saying anything, he reached out, put a hand on my wrist, and pulled me inside.

He closed the door to the office behind me. I leaned against it. He was standing so close—there was barely a foot between us. I could smell him. How did he smell so good? I expected him to kiss me. His eyes kept flickering between my mouth and my eyes. It felt like time was going by at a snail's pace, but surely not more than a few seconds had passed. He moved forward a bit, and I tilted my head up—expectant, waiting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

My breath hitched. I studied him. "I don't know," I confessed.

He took another small step forward. We were almost touching. "How was the concert?" he asked, his voice low.

"Wonderful," I said. I was frustrated at the quiver in my voice. "I made it for the last song of my band's set."

"I know," he said.

"You know?"

"I saw you." My long auburn hair was pulled to one side, and he reached forward and touched a lock of it.

"You saw?"

He nodded.

"Did you like it?" I breathed. He was so close—so dangerously close. When was he just going to fucking kiss me already?

"Yes," he said. He was twirling my hair around his fingers, glancing down at the hair he was fondling. "You wrote that song?"

"Yeah," I said. My voice so ridiculously breathy.

"Who was it about?"

I looked at him. He stared at my hair for a moment longer. Then he looked up and his eyes met mine. They were so intense. They looked like steel in the dim lighting of his office. All he had to do was move an inch—a fraction of an inch—and our bodies would be touching. I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand was so close, and for some irrational reason, I found myself jealous of my hair. I wished those fingers were touching me instead of my stupid fucking hair. Silence passed for what felt like an eternity.

"Who was it about?" he repeated.

"You know," I whispered. And then I gasped as his hand moved and cupped the back of my neck. His thumb was making small circles on the skin right below my ear. I felt like I might burst into flame.

"Who?" He said. His eyes were egging me on. They looked urgent, almost desperate in the dark office. "Just say it," they were saying, asking, begging.

I stared at him for several long seconds. I leaned into his touch.

"You."

And then his hand on the back of my neck was pulling me forward. I gripped his hips, trying to balance myself, but finding it so hard when my legs were trembling. He stopped me right before our lips touched. I could feel his breath on my face.

"Kiss me," I breathed.

And then his lips crashed against mine. He cupped my neck in between his strong hands, and I grabbed his hips, pulling him against me. His lips were nudging at mine, urging them open, and I obliged, more than willingly. His tongue was tentative at first—gentle, seeking, rolling lightly against mine. And then I whimpered.

With a growl, Malfoy's hands dropped from my neck and moved down to my thighs. They slipped around to the back of my thighs, and suddenly, I was lifted against the door, and I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. My arms snaked around his neck as I tried to pull him even closer. No kiss had ever made me feel like this. I was on fire from the very tips of my hair follicles to the very ends of my toes.

He moved his mouth from mine and down to my neck. He started sucking lightly on a sensitive spot right below my jaw. I could feel him—against me, hard, pressing into me. He bit at the spot he had just been sucking, and then he licked it with the very tip of his tongue. I moaned.

"Professor…"

He stiffened.

He pulled back and looked at me. I was sure I looked flushed and needy. That's how I felt at least.

A moment later, he was dropping my legs from around his waist and stepping away from me. He wiped his mouth and stared at the floor, a hand covering his mouth and another on his hip. He said something behind his hand.

"What—"

"You have to go."

"Why?" I took a step forward, and he took a step back.

I took a few steps forward and tried to reach out for him.

"You have to go," he snapped loudly. It was like he'd slapped me.

"Prof—Mal—Scorpius," I tried.

His head jerked up and he looked at me. His leg twitched as if he wanted to take a step forward, but he restrained himself.

"You have to go," he repeated. "Don't come back here."

"Scorpius—"

"I mean it, Ms. Weasley, go."

And with one final look at him, begging him with my eyes, I did as he asked.

Next chapter:

Rose takes her revenge for Malfoy's rejection.