Thank you to daughter of apollon, FleaBlack, and sherbetgirl, and of course to Morzan's Elvish Daughter for reviewing! You are wonderful! …As for the rest of you, well, there's always this chapter!

If I had been just a little less angry, I probably would have talked to him. Maybe I should have.

Having said that, if he had been just a little bit less haughty and pureblooded and full of male pride, he probably would have talked to me. I saw him looking at me during class (part of me would want to say 'of course') and I couldn't tell if it looked like he wanted to cry or wanted to kill me. Or someone.

But there was only so much time I could spend on any boy, even Scorpius Malfoy, and so I planned to let homework eat my life. It would have been surprisingly easy—I had a lot of homework—but I got a letter from Mum that, in a very clichéd way, changed everything.

My letter had been sent on a whim, with Scorpius Malfoy and his blatant avoidance of the hospital wing containing Fritz, the Slytherin Beater, and…the fact that he didn't have many friends fresh in my mind. I'd asked about the Sorting. On a whim, remember.

It hadn't been answered on a whim. I swear, my mother memorized everything.

Dear Rose, my mother wrote,

What an odd question. To be frank, I was nearly delirious with fear the entire time—but then she went on to describe the entire thing, complete with the exact lyrics of the Sorting Hat's song. I skimmed through it until finally a name jumped out at me: Malfoy.

I swear, Rosie, the Hat had barely touched his head before it bellowed out 'SLYTHERIN!' (Your father wants me to tell you that he thinks it didn't want to be sitting on his slimy head anymore)…But why do you ask, Rose? I hope no one's giving you trouble?…

…Love,

Mum.

I didn't want to be thinking about Scorpius Malfoy, let alone about his father. But I'd written the letter for a bloody reason, and I didn't want to remember what it was, but I did. (Why I'd thought this was a reason, I didn't know…) The Sorting Hat had seemed to sit on Scorpius's head for a long, long time before it finally decided on Slytherin.

It was with these thoughts in my head that I made my slow way down the steps from the Owlrey. The school seemed deserted, the halls absolutely empty, so I was surprised when I heard voices I vaguely recognized floating through the hall. There was a bitter, angry edge to them, and I tiptoed closer, listening.

"…traitorous filth!" There was the sound of someone being kicked, followed by a grunt of pain.

"They shouldn't have let your worthless parents live," said another voice, low and silky and female. I could put a name to this one: Eleanor Goyle, and the other was probably her twin's. (Where Eleanor had gotten her lovely voice was anyone's guess, from what I had heard about her father from my parents.)

There was a mumble, too low and soft for me to hear, and I crept closer, straining my ears.

"You're a disgrace to the noble house of Slytherin, you and all your family. I wouldn't try to come into the dormitory tonight," Eleanor said again, and I barely had time to flatten myself against the wall as she swept past, her brother in tow.

Now that I was sure the coast was clear, I stepped out into the hallway. Someone lay on the floor, groaning faintly as he tried to get up. I caught sight of the pale golden hair, shining dully in the dim light, and half-turned to run away. But my feet wouldn't move, and so I stood there as he slowly got to his feet. As he turned, he saw me. "Weasley." His voice was dull, tired, and thick with pain. "What do you want?"

"I don't—nothing—I can help," I stammered, and clapped a hand over my mouth. Merlin's beard, what did I just say?

Malfoy laughed. "What makes you think I want your help, Weasley?" he demanded.

"Fine," I said, turning on my heel and stalking off. But before I could get more than fifty paces I turned, stomping quickly back towards him. "You," I said, drawing near to him, "are," planting my feet firmly, "a," I raised my hand, "git!" I slapped him with all my might.

I am not a strong person, physically. Malfoy didn't even have the good grace to look like he was in pain, damn him, as he caught my arm by the wrist and held it away from my face, his eyes blazing. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, and when he spoke his voice was terrifyingly calm and conversational. "Was that really, really necessary, Rose?"

He called me Rose—

"Yes," I said, just as calmly, "it was." We stood there, eye to eye, for what seemed like a long time. "I can still help you. If you want me to."

"What kind of help would you give? A kick to the gut?" he asked, laughing a little. He readjusted his grip a little so he held my hand; slowly he lowered that arm. I was very conscious of his hand holding mine and of his body so close. I laughed too, nervously.

"I'm still mad at you," I said.

"I can believe that."

"But you need to sleep somewhere—I don't suppose your parents ever knew about it, but mine did—and a place to do your homework…" I was babbling. I took a deep breath. "Come with me. Unless you'd rather sleep in the hall." We were still holding hands.

I apologize for the brevity of this chapter, as well as for the long delay in posting it. Apologies also for the 'mediocre romance novel scene,' I couldn't resist. Please review, and a special secret prize to the person who knows where Rose is taking him and tells me in her/his review.