A/N: Thanks to all those who are reading and reviewing this story. Sorry I haven't gotten back to all you reviewers personally yet for the last few chapters. I've been on vacation with limited internet access so I haven't really had a chance, and I wanted to use the little time I've had to post chapters. I also just want to say the more reviews I get, the shorter Rose and Scorp will be apart... Just saying! So keep 'em coming if you want our lovebirds back together! I also want to give a special thanks to boundtobite: you always leave great reviews but I can never thank you in a PM. So thanks for being such a loyal reader!

Chapter rated T for language and suggestive themes.

I used to be the sensitive sort
I caught my lovers for more than just sport
And now I know all the rules
'Cause our love was so cruel that I learned

Well I miss you but not that much
It's not like I carry your photo
I'm just thinking of you and such

-Joy Kills Sorrow

Chapter 22: You'll Find Someone Else

"Rose?"

I was snapped out my reverie—thinking about Malfoy and how I was going to get him to talk to me long enough to just say sorry once again like McGonagall had ordered—by a voice and a shadow in front of me in the Great Hall.

"Hey, Lysander," I said, looking up briefly and then looking back down. He sat across from me, and I resisted the urge to get up and walk away. Albus was moving on. It was okay for me to like Lysander again.

"Do you know you're at the Hufflepuff table?" he asked with a smirk.

I smiled weakly and looked around. "Oh. Yeah, Lucy and Nate were here earlier, but they just left."

"Oh," he said, piling food on his plate. "Cool."

My eyes drifted to the faculty table as I propped my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand. Malfoy was there. I could swear it was the first time I'd seen him there in three days. He was talking to Professor Loodle, the Transfiguration professor—easily three decades older than Scorpius, but one of the closest people on the staff to his age—and Loodle was talking animatedly while Scorpius listened politely. He hadn't looked at me the entire time I'd been sitting here, but I'm sure he could see me. I was sitting off to Loodle's right, putting me in perfect eyesight of Scorpius, who was sitting on Loodle's left and looking over at him.

I just wanted him to look up. If he could just give me one glance, I felt like everything could change. Everything would—

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Hmm? Sorry, what?"

"I said I wanted to ask you about Albus and Fergus Bossenen."

I was temporarily distracted from Malfoy. "Oh," I said. Don't snap at him. Just listen. "What about them?"

Lysander was staring at his plate, pushing around food with his fork. "Are they… like…" He shoved some eggs in his mouth. "Together?" he said with a full mouth.

I regarded him for a moment. "I'm not sure," I said truthfully.

"But there's potential there?" He looked up at me with hopeful eyes—hoping I'd say no.

"Yeah, I think so."

His face fell and he nodded. "Look, Rose," he said to his plate. "I know you hate me and Al together, but I still love him—"

"Ly—"

"Just—I do," he said. "I know sometimes it got bad, but you have to see that even though things get bad, we just—we really want each other. Rose, I think he's my soul mate."

I closed my eyes. I wasn't going to get angry. I wasn't going to bite Lysander's head off. I wasn't even going to tell him what I thought. How could what I thought about his and Albus's terrible relationship matter when he had just told me that he and Albus were soul mates? What could I counter with? No you're not? So I could only say what had been on my own mind about my own problems for the last three days.

"You'll find someone else," I said.

He looked up at me. "What if there is no one else?"

I sighed as Lysander voiced my own fears. "There has to be."

We looked at each other for a few moments before Lysander looked down at his plate again and ate the food in front of him.

"I know you and I haven't always gotten along," Lysander said quietly.

"Ly—"

"But I want to fix that," he said. "I want you to know that I like you and I want to be a better friend to you."

"Okay."

He took a deep breath. "I put the telescope in Malfoy's desk."

My breath caught in my chest and a look of horror came over my face—I could feel that I looked as horrified as I felt.

"Why—?"

"I heard you and Al talking about doing some kind of prank, so I thought we'd, you know… have a good laugh over the telescope."

"Lysander—"

"I know, Rose, I know… I should have told him it was me. It was completely fucking selfish for me not to."

"Yeah, it was."

He looked up at me. "I'm really sorry."

He should have been sorry. He put that telescope in Malfoy's desk hoping to impress a guy who was trying to move on from him and his bullshit, and then when I got detention for it on the night of our concert—a fucking life-changing concert—he chose not to come forward because he didn't want to risk missing the concert himself. I wanted to kill him—I wanted to fucking curse him or hex him or fucking choke him until he couldn't breathe. Did he think this was the way for us to get on better terms? Him confessing that he thinks Al is his soul mate and that he ruined my fucking life?

If it weren't for missing that concert, I never would have been with Malfoy. He would have never held me and kissed me—I would have never gone back. He would have never kissed me again. I would have never gotten pissed and written that dumb letter to McGonagall. I wouldn't be feeling the pain I felt right now. I would still have my fucking virginity.

But… I deflated… I was glad I had given it to Malfoy. And I was glad he had kissed me again and again, and I was glad that he held me, and I was glad for the things he and I had shared. Even if now it seemed like it was only causing me misery, at the time I had been so insanely, ridiculously, unbelievably happy, and I wouldn't change that. I wished more than anything that I could be with Malfoy—that he would hold me and love me and be my boyfriend—or whatever. But if I couldn't have him, the memory was still there. And for now, that was enough.

"It's all right," I said.

Lysander's head snapped up at me. "What?" He looked confused and wary. "You aren't mad?"

I shrugged. "What's the point?" A month ago, I would have gotten revenge so badly against Lysander for this that he probably would have had to leave the school, but it wasn't worth it. My need for revenge was what had gotten me in this mess, not Lysander. I was trying to be different. I was trying to go back to who I used to be because being the girl I had become had gotten me absolutely nothing and nowhere. I was trying to be the person I really was, not the person Malfoy and everyone else thought I was.

"What—"

"Being pissed at you isn't going to let me relive the concert. It's not going to change anything."

"I should have told Malfoy."

"Yeah," I agreed. That was certainly true. "But what does it matter now?"

Lysander stared at me, dumbfounded, but I didn't care. I just wanted Malfoy. I didn't care about what had happened a month ago because it wasn't going to get me what I really wanted.

"I'm gonna go to class," I said, standing up and swinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Rose—"

"It's fine," I said. "Really." I turned to go. "Ly?"

He looked up like he was waiting for me to start screaming.

"You really will find someone else," I said. Then I shrugged. "I'll even help you."

"You will?"

"Yeah," I said, making a resolution in that moment. "That's what friends do, right?"

Lysander beamed.

I tried to talk to Malfoy twice more that day. I ran into the Potions classroom as soon as he let the first years out, but as soon as he saw me, he walked quickly into his office and shut the door, ignoring my knocks and pleas outside the door.

At dinner, I tried to corner him as he was leaving the Great Hall with Flitwick. He had said he was busy and for me to see him after class on Friday if I needed something. I knew he was only saying that for Flitwick's benefit and that if I tried on Friday, he would just ignore me. Again.

But in that second exchange, I felt like I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something like regret and a little something else… I thought it might have been desire, but I had convinced myself that it was just my imagination running away with me since as soon as I got within a foot of him, heat pooled in my stomach and my heart started pounding, and I had to clench my legs together to stop the dull ache that had settled there as a reminder that Malfoy would never be there again.

Now, I was sitting in the library with a quill in my hand and a blank parchment in front of me. I'd been staring at this parchment for at least three quarters of an hour, wondering what I would say.

I had decided after dinner that the only way I was going to get Malfoy to listen would be to write him a note. That way he wouldn't have to be afraid of what else might happen—that way he wouldn't have to go through the apparent hell of just listening to me talk for two minutes.

I just had so much I wanted to say—so much that I wanted him to know and understand—and I was so afraid I was going to fuck it up. I wanted him to know both that I was sorry and what I felt about him. I didn't want him to think I was begging him because I wasn't. Not anymore. I knew now that Malfoy and I were not going to be together again. He had made that clear, and it was time I accepted it and started to move on with my life and take my own advice.

"You'll find someone else."

With a deep sigh and a racing heart, I dipped my quill in the inkpot and began to write.

Scorpius,

I just wanted to apologize again for any pain or hardship I may have caused you as a result of the letter I sent to Professor McGonagall. The damage done to me in the past caused me to put up some walls and some defense mechanisms so that I could protect myself from pain. As a result, I retaliated against you when you hurt me the night of the concert. You rejected me, and I felt stupid. I didn't realize that by guarding myself from pain, I would cause pain for others. Actually, no, I did realize that. At the time, I just didn't care. I'm not trying to justify it or excuse myself. I just want you to understand.

And I want you to know that you've changed me. I don't want to be that girl anymore. I care that I caused you pain, and I care that I put you at risk, and I'm so sorry because I really care about you. I'll never forget the time we spent together. I'll never forget the things you said and the things you made me feel. You've made me different.

You're in my bones, in my soul, and I'll always cherish what we had… even if it was only for a moment.

Hoping one day you'll forgive me,

Rose

It seemed a bit formal, but I wanted it that way. I didn't want it to be a love letter or a plea—I just wanted him to know I was sorry and that I cared for him.

As soon as I folded it up, I looked up and watched as Albus sat down across from me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi."

"How're you doing?"

I shrugged. "I'll be fine."

He regarded me. "You sure?"

I nodded with a small smile.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, so I just waited.

"I saw you talking to Lysander today," he said after several moments.

"Yeah." I started arranging a few papers, and I bent down to shove them into my bag when Albus spoke next.

"He told you about the telescope, didn't he?"

I jerked up and looked at him. "You knew?"

He shook his head. "He told me a few days ago. I told him he had to tell you." Al shifted a bit. "He said he was going to anyway. I could tell he felt guilty."

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna… you know?"

I frowned. "I'm not doing that stuff anymore," I said. "I can't."

"Because of Malfoy?"

"Partly," I said. "But mostly because it's isolating and exhausting—being the biggest bitch in school."

Albus chuckled. "I can't even imagine." Then he watched me as I started gathering my things and putting them away. "You going to bed?"

I shook my head. "It's early. No, I'm gonna go try to see Malfoy."

Albus looked like he wanted to protest but he didn't say anything. He just kept watching me with concern etched all over his face.

"I told McGonagall that I wrote the letter."

Albus gaped. "What? Rose! Are you—?"

"I only got detention for a few weeks, and…" I sighed. "She's making me apologize to Malfoy."

"Haven't you been trying to do that since Sunday?"

"My thoughts exactly."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I wrote this letter." I held up the folded parchment. "Ironic right?" Albus smiled. "I'm gonna try to get it to him, but if he won't take it from me, I'll just send him an owl or something."

Albus nodded. "Do you want—?"

"It's just an apology," I said, knowing he was going to ask if I wanted to talk about it. "And a thank you."

Albus gave me a look. "Thanks for taking my v-card and ditching me as soon as the going got rough?"

"Albus…"

"Sorry," he said. "It's true, though."

It was. But I wasn't going to blame Malfoy for my blunders. Malfoy was right to run from me as soon as he could—better sooner rather than later.

"I gotta go," I said, standing up and grabbing my things.

"Good luck, Cheeks," he said. I smiled at him and turned to go. But then I thought better of it. I'd only gotten a few steps away when I turned back and rushed to Albus—who had stood up after me—to embrace him.

"Whoa," he said with a laugh, stumbling a bit as he wrapped his arms around me.

"Albus," I said into his chest. He held me tight.

"You love me, I know," he said. I held him even tighter.

"Do you want me to go with you?" he asked.

I pulled away, shaking my head. "I got this," I said.

Albus kissed my forehead and pushed me away. "Go get 'em," he said. I sighed and smiled. "If you need me later, you know where to find me."

I nodded, and with one last look of encouragement from him, I headed from the library and down to the dungeons.

I didn't have high hopes for this journey. I had a feeling Scorpius was locked in his office and he wouldn't let me in. It wasn't very late—only a little after 8 o'clock—so he would definitely still be up, but if the last few days were any indication, he wanted nothing to do with me.

I made it to the dungeons quickly, and when I pushed into the Potions classroom, I saw that the door to his office was cracked open and light was coming from it. I walked up slowly, frowning and listening when I heard voices coming out. From what I could tell, he was explaining something to a student—a girl. A stupid, simpering, flirtatious girl who kept laughing at everything he was saying even when it wasn't funny.

Jealousy flared through me. Didn't take long for him to replace me, I thought angrily. I had half a mind to burst through the door and tell Malfoy to go fuck himself, but I fisted my hands and dug my nails into my palms in an attempt to calm myself.

"Well, thank you so much, Professor," I heard the girl say. "You've been a big help."

"Anytime, Ms. Apple," Scorpius's smooth, sexy voice said. The sound of it made my heart ache. "Just let me know if you need additional help on this."

"Sure will!" I could hear the happy smile in her voice.

Then the door was opening and I was suddenly flooded with light. Both Scorpius and the girl looked startled.

"Rose!" the girl exclaimed.

"Remy," I said coldly. She was a fifth year Gryffindor that Hugo had made out with a few times at Quidditch match after parties.

"Sorry if I went over time," she said to me. "I just had so many questions."

"Ms. Weasley—"

"Just a moment of your time, Professor," I said to Malfoy with an arched eyebrow, ignoring Remy. He studied me for a moment before turning to Remy.

"Thank you, Ms. Apple, I'll see you in class."

"Thanks!" she said brightly before practically skipping away.

As soon as the door to the classroom was shut behind her, I rounded on him.

"Rose—"

"I guess that explains why you weren't worried about dropping me so quickly," I spat out, unable to hold it in, feeling the anger and resentment and bitterness from the last few days building up and spilling over inside me. "It must be a lot easier for you to move on when you know you've got something else in your back fucking pocket."

"Dammit," Scorpius hissed, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me into his office.

"You won't fucking talk to me," I said as he closed the door and I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "You won't even look at me. And why would you when you've got leggy blondes with huge tits fawning all over you?"

"Stop," he snapped.

"No! I—Scorpius, I can't move on. And god, I'm trying to, but you make it so hard because of course you're fucking sexy and perfect!" I yelled, gesturing wildly at him.

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't fucking roll your eyes!" I screeched. "You don't even care! I cried outside your office and you just fucking walked away, you bastard. I hate you—"

"Enough," he said sternly, grabbing my upper arms and shaking me a bit. "That's enough, Rose."

I seethed, but I fell silent. He stared at me for several long moments. I could feel my neck and chest heating under his gaze, in his grasp. Desire—white hot and heavenly and so fucking familiar—shot through me and landed right in between my legs. I tried not to squirm.

"I can't talk to you or look at you because then I'll want you," Scorpius said angrily, giving me small shakes as he spoke. My heart thudded. "And I can't want you, so I can't look at you, and I can't…"

He pushed away and took several steps back.

"Yes, you can," I said desperately, taking a step forward. He stepped back. "I said I was sorry—"

"It's not just that, Rose," he said. "I mean—look at us—really, I mean, what future did we have? I'm your teacher."

"I don't care."

He regarded me and then sighed. "I know."

"Can't we just—"

"No," Scorpius said, shaking his head. "We can't. I…" He looked at me and ran a hand through his hair. "You have to go."

"Why?"

"Because I can't fucking look at you because when I see you standing there looking fucking incredible, I just see you under me, and I want you so goddamn badly that it hurts, and I can't, and you—you just have to go."

He wanted me. I tried not to do a happy dance right there in front of him. He wanted me so goddamn badly that it hurt, actually. I knew the feeling. And there was hope. I bit back a smile, not wanting to betray the hope I felt coursing through me. I didn't want to press my luck. So I would just do what I came here to do. And then I would wait. He wanted me, and if he kept wanting me enough, he would come back to me. He had to.

I stepped forward, holding out the folded parchment.

"What is that?"

"Just take it," I said. "McGonagall wants me to apologize, and you won't hear me out—"

"Apologize for what?" he asked, looking horrified.

"Writing that letter."

"What—you—what, you told her?"

I nodded.

"Why would you—?"

"Anyway," I said, not wanting to explain everything. "That's my apology." I had to get out of there. I felt like everything was hanging in the balance—everything was delicate. I just had to give him the note and get out, give him a chance to think. "So if you could just tell McGonagall—"

"Rose—"

"I… You want me to go, so I'll go." I turned and headed for the door, but my heart leapt when I felt his hand on my elbow. When I turned back he was standing so close. I looked up at him, and my fingers started to tingle. I ran the pad of my thumb across the tips of my fingers trying to get them to relax, and I saw him look down at my hand before looking back up at me.

I don't know how long we stood like that. It could have been ten seconds, it could have been ten hours—all I knew was that he was looking at me with stormy gray eyes, and I felt like he was trying to tell me something but he wouldn't just say it. And his hand was still on my elbow, making my entire arm feel numb, and I wanted so much to just reach out and touch him—to rub my hand along the stubble of his jaw and pull him down into a kiss. My feelings for him were so strong and so acute that I felt tears sting the back of my eyes—not even tears of joy or sorrow—just tears of pent up emotion.

I wanted him so badly. The heat between my legs and the desire in my gut were sending signals to my brain—leap, jump, kiss, touch—but I had to tell myself no. Wait.

Finally, he tore his eyes away and turned around, and without saying anything, I turned and left the room, feeling a torrent of insane emotions.

When I got back to Gryffindor, I was in a daze. I didn't know what had just happened, and I didn't know what was going to happen, but for the first time in days, I felt relief. The hard, cold weight that had fallen into my stomach seemed to lessen a bit. I didn't feel as nauseated or upset as I had just a few hours earlier. I felt better, and I didn't even know if I had a right to feel better. I just knew that something was different. Or it was going to be.

"Rose!"

I jumped when Lucy leapt up from the couch, and looked at me with her wide, brown eyes. Nate was sitting there with her, looking dazed. Obviously they had just been snogging.

"Hey," I said.

"McGonagall wants to see you," she said.

"What?"

"Yeah, I don't know," she said with a shrug.

"Oh—hey, Nate—okay."

As I walked to McGonagall's office, I felt ill. That relief I'd just felt a few moments ago was suddenly gone. She must have reconsidered. She must have decided that my punishment was too light, and now she was going to expel me.

What was I going to do? How was I going to tell Ron and Hermione? Hermione especially would be devastated. She would never be able to look at me, knowing the fucking monster she had raised—the fuck up that was the daughter of two of the most famous wizards of their generation.

I practically shouted McGonagall's password at the gargoyle when I got there. I was walking blindly—I don't even know how I got to her office. I ascended the spiral staircase that led to the head office, and I heard voices inside. I knocked and when I heard a sharp, "come in," I pushed in.

My biggest fears were confirmed when I saw my mother standing there with wide, sad eyes.

Hermione Granger-Weasley was an elegant woman, in my opinion. She wore her hair in loose buns at the back of her head and neck, while curly fly-aways whisped around her face. She always wore light colors—grays and beiges and whites—always making her look sophisticated in any setting. She was only a bit shorter than me, and significantly shorter than my father and Hugo, who towered over us all. People often told me I looked like her, but I didn't believe it. She was too pretty and too classy for us to look anything alike.

Right now, though, my mother looked distraught. I had broken her heart, and now I would have to look in her eyes and tell her all about it.

"Mum…"

She looked surprised. I'd been calling her Hermione since I was younger—thinking I was cool and unique using my parents' first names. They had never protested it, most likely assuming it was a phase, but I'd never grown out of it.

"Rose…"

Then I looked over and saw Hugo sitting in a chair in front of McGonagall's desk.

Wait. This couldn't be about Malfoy, could it? I was confused. Why was Hugo here to witness my shaming?

"What's—"

"It's your father," Hermione said. "He's in the hospital."

Next chapter:

Rose and her family head to St. Mungo's to check on her father.