A/n: I'm not dead! :D
...
*insert acceptable apologies/unremitting groveling here*
Given the time lapse between this update and the last, you may want to re-familiarize yourself with the previous two chapters before attempting this one.
Further pleadings of forgiveness and mostly pathetic excuses can be found in the Author's Notes at the end of the chapter.
Note: This chapter was supposed to be out at least, oh, three months ago. Ergo, assume the setting is late February.
The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter
Chapter 25: The (Untold and Told) Tales of Takers
It had taken every favour ever owed to him, all the cunning strategy and spying ability he possessed, and every sycophantic and deceitful fiber of his being to reach this point in the Scabior investigation.
"Dad, it's freezing out here. Can't we hold a stakeout inside a cafe, please?"
"Dad, just a peek into Quality Quidditch Supplies. Look at that Moon Trimmer in the window; that thing has to be older than Granddad Weasley! It really should be in a museum."
And he was stuck babysitting.
"It is in a museum, Hugo—we saw it in the Museum of Quidditch two years ago."
"Well how am I supposed to remember that? I was six!"
"It doesn't matter; I'm willing to go too if it means we can get out of the cold. Please, Dad?"
"Yeah, please Dad?"
Ron shifted his balance from one numb foot to the other and stuffed his frozen fingers further into his coat. The morning would have been gorgeous, what with its bottomless blue sky and bright sunshine, if it weren't for the fact that any exposed body parts were experiencing something akin to freezer burn.
"I told you two to bundle up; it's your own faults for not listening to me."
"Yeah, but you didn't say we'd be spending an hour spying on an empty street. If that had been the case I would have brought a book."
"Or an extra three pairs of gloves."
Given the rather enormous size of his family, the fact that every single one of them (Hermione included) was unable to watch his children for an hour or two only added to Ron's frustrations.
He had finally gotten Nigel to slip that the father and son witnesses to Scabior's owl theft were common Saturday early-morning shoppers in Diagon Alley, Shacklebolt's subtle attempts to steer him clear of the shoplifting case all but shouted to Ron that he knew who these witnesses were, and Percy's utter supercilious attitude at knowing who the witnesses were, despite the fact that he was having difficulties cooperating with the father-son duo, gave Ron the motivation to seek the pair out as soon as possible to get them to talk.
And that was why, on the first free Saturday morning Ron had, he was waiting outside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, children in tow. His plan had been to drop off his kids with whoever was opening the shop (Ron was quite familiar with all the Wheezes' employees and knew his pull with the founder of the shop would make that task quite simple) and innocently question every father and son couple he came across that looked familiar.
That plan had been blown out of the water as soon as Ron remembered the fact that Wheezes did not open until 10 a.m. on the weekend, and, if the clock hanging outside Flourish and Blotts was indeed accurate, that meant he and his children would be out in the old for at least another forty-five minutes.
"Dad, I think my ears are frostbitten. My hat's the only thing keeping them on the sides of my head."
Ron sighed, glancing down at his two sleep- and heat-deprived children before nodding his head.
"All right, a five minute respite. Then it's back to hitting the streets."
"Five minutes? That's it?"
Rosie didn't seem to have any complaints, however, as she made a mad dash across the empty street and flung the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies open in her haste for warmth. Her brother quickly followed suit, Ron trailing behind to get in one last good glance down both sides of the empty street before seeking the blissful heat of the shop.
"Oh thank Merlin," Ron moaned, taking his hands out of his pockets as soon as he entered the store to rub feeling back into them.
"Dad, come look at this broom!" Hugo exclaimed with revered awe, pointing to the Moon Trimmer on display at the front window.
"Don't touch!" his sister chastised before turning back to browse through the dozens of Beater's Bats on display.
"Like I was gonna," Hugo scowled at her before returning his attention to his father and the broomstick. "1901! This thing really ought to be a pile of dust by now!"
"Protected by some old, powerful spells, she is," the frail witch behind the counter piped up, coming forward to grip the roping blocking customers from reaching the broomstick. "Boothby really knew what she was doing. They don't make 'em like they used to."
"Gladys Boothby? The Gladys Boothby?"
Ron, obviously no longer a part of the conversation, kept his eyes peeled outside the display window on the pedestrian-less streets outside.
"A boy who knows his antique Quidditch supplies! Yessir, this particular Moon Trimmer was said to have been stolen by Boothby's very own grandson. He flew it to Paris and back and when Gladys found out she nearly beat him to death with it."
Both Hugo and the shop owner sighed wistfully, the former gazing at the broom with obvious thoughts of Quidditch grandeur, the latter gliding her wizened hand over the roping separating her from the revered piece of Quidditch history.
"But I heard most of the Trimmers were lost in a fire during the first Wizarding War?"
"Ah, now that's an interesting story…"
Ron grumbled incoherently to himself, not bothering to voice his thoughts of Hugo wanting to hear a stranger prattle on about a broom as old as herself. Laughing at the small joke, Ron focused his attention instead outside the window as someone finally came into view from down the street.
Squinting through the morning rays pouring through the glass, Ron made out the forms of a man and child making their way down the cobbled road, their breaths misting in the air as they talked and pointed at some of the shops they passed by.
His eyes grew larger after catching an unhindered glimpse of the man's face.
Ron swallowed air and a painful knot settled into his chest as the memory of the last time he had seen that face surfaced to the forefront of his mind with all of the clarity the bright cold morning could reflect and all of the intensity of a Bludger to the stomach.
You have fought valiantly.
Why Percy had his arm around Ron's shoulders Ron didn't know. Why he continued to squeeze his shoulder in a sadly foreign, brotherly gesture and continued to apologize for anything and everything Ron didn't specifically care.
If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one.
Bill and Fleur were having a rapid French-laden conversation with someone Ron didn't recognize; Hermione, Ginny, and his father had left to heal the wounded outside the castle; and his mother and Lee Jordan were half-heartedly trying to persuade an adamant George to abandon his post at his twin's side.
Fred's eyes remained mercilessly closed.
I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me.
It all felt wrong to Ron, somehow. Everyone here, this huge fight, all his friends, family, and enemies gathered in one place. The past year had been made up of small-scaled skirmishes he, Harry, and Hermione had barely managed to escape from. Such a massive effort to end Voldemort in one shot felt flawed, somehow.
We've taken what you'll sorely miss.
Percy squeezed his shoulder again and Ron suppressed the urge to throw him off with a shudder. It wasn't the time nor the place for bitterness towards his brother or claustrophobia or…whatever it was he was feeling. This wasn't the time to grieve for the dead or deal with personal issues.
It was a time to treat injuries and steel oneself for the fight.
An hour long you'll have to look.
Because there wasn't any doubt that the fight would be picking up again soon. Ron had seen Harry catch a glimpse at the corpses belonging to Remus and Tonks. He watched silently as Harry's eyes glazed over, thoughts floating to another plane beyond this realm of grief and depression. He had left the Great Hall and Ron let him, letting his friend do what he himself wanted to do as soon as Percy had embraced him.
Yet Percy would not, could not, let go of his brother, and Ron didn't try to push him away. They had eventually maneuvered to the far edge of the room, able to keep most of its occupants in view while remaining inconspicuous themselves.
And to recover what we took.
"I'm sorry," Percy repeated himself for the umpteenth time, tears leaking from behind his cracked horn-rimmed glasses.
"It's fine."
"…Why do you keep saying that, Ron? How is this fine? How is any of this fine?"
Because it wasn't over yet. When it was all over, it was allowed to be ruined, awful, despicable, wrong.
He only wished Harry was here, hugging him like he had back in the Forest of Dean a lifetime ago. He wanted Hermione embracing him fiercely, holding him back from committing sins he would never repent.
But still, through it all, they were fine.
Harry was just missing.
"It'll be fine, Perce."
But past an hour—the prospect's black.
Bill and Fleur's conversation had been interrupted by a teary-eyed Cormac McLaggen, who was desperately seeking out a lost friend; Lavender Brown gave a loud cry as Madam Pomfrey treated the deep lacerations on her face; Draco Malfoy shouted harsh words at a bawling Gregory Goyle; and his mother gave up and collapsed, sobbing, into George's shoulder as Lee Jordan watched on helplessly.
Percy gripped his shoulder hard and held his breath; Ron's had been stolen away.
One hour.
The entire hall had gone mute.
Voldemort's high, cold voice reverberated off every reflectable surface; his words licked the back of Ron's neck, making him feel like he were a dead weight sinking to the bottom of the Black Lake.
"Harry Potter is dead."
He wasn't missing, then; he had been taken.
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
Ron's old and nigh-forgotten thoughts clashed painfully with the present-day as the bell above the shop door tinkled and a young blonde boy rushed past him as fast as a Snitch. He made his way to stand beside Hugo and the shopkeeper, only interested in one piece of merchandise.
His attention momentarily diverted at the new youth, hardly older than ten years of age, Ron did not get the chance to preview the boy's father, who stole into the shop behind him, the bell above the door jingling at his entry.
"Oh, Scorpius! You're running late today, I see!" the shopkeeper gave a patient smile down at the blond child staring with a hungry kind of desire at the broomstick hanging in the window. Seeing that her remark would go unnoticed, the old witch turned to address the other newcomer into the store. "A fine morning we have for ourselves, eh, Mr. Malfoy?"
Ron blanched, turning his head to stare wide-eyed as Draco Malfoy threw the shopkeeper a smile that reflected the bitter weather outside.
"As fine a February morning in London can offer."
"Ha! So it would seem, Mr. Malfoy, so it would seem!"
The shopkeeper abandoned her post beside the broomstick to approach the elder Malfoy. Scorpius, immediately sensing the witch's attention had been diverted off of himself, stepped around the roping and grasped the handle of the Moon Trimmer.
Ron and Rosie's jaws hit the floor and Hugo watched on in amazement, but the store owner seemed not to have noticed; she instead reached a surprisingly solid hand out to shake Malfoy's hand, who accepted with a bored look on his face.
The handshake was ended abruptly and the tedium at it all washed off Malfoy's face the second he got a glimpse of the astonished Weasley standing at his side.
"What…" Malfoy only seemed to need a word and a few seconds before reaching some unspoken conclusion; he swept past the still-staring Ron to grasp the neck of Scorpius' coat and began to drag him out of the shop.
"Father!" Scorpius shrieked as the broomstick fumbled out of his grip.
The shopkeeper, only just realizing the situation, looked nearly ready to fall into a dead faint as the ancient Moon Trimmer looked just as ready to fall to its belated death. Hugo, still with that look of wonder on his face, slid on his knees under the roping to catch the broomstick just before it hit the ground.
"Oh my God!" the young Weasley's wide brown eyes stared up at his father, the surprised smile quickly slipping from his face to be replaced with panic.
Ron felt his response freeze in his throat as soon as he heard what Malfoy said just before the door slammed shut behind him and his son.
"Damn Aurors, can't mind their own business…"
The bell tinkled behind the pair of them and Ron turned to his two children. Hugo seemed to be fighting off an anxiety attack, clearly afraid a treasured piece of Quidditch lore would turn into dust right in his hands, while Rosie was attempting to calm down the unnerved shopkeeper by patting her arm sympathetically.
"Oh my God! Dad, what do I do?" Hugo pleaded, unmoving from his spot on the floor.
"Dad?" Rosie reiterated, recognizing her father's calculating look and readily resigned into doing whatever he told her to do.
"We're leaving," Ron said shortly in response, stepping forward to grab his son by the upper arm and hoist him to his feet.
Hugo's eyes widened so far his eyeballs were in danger of popping out of their sockets as he stumbled after his father, still carrying the broomstick in his arms.
"You too," Ron continued, clearly possessed with a plan of action, as he grabbed his daughter with his free arm and steered both of his children to the front door.
"But Da—"
"I'm sorry, we won't be purchasing this," Ron snatched the broom from Hugo's fingertips, silencing both his son's and the shopkeeper's protests as Ron returned the Moon Trimmer in her slack grip.
"Please don't come again," the store owner muttered faintly after them.
"What are we doing, Dad?" Rosie asked as the trio left the shop, the bell tinkling in their wake.
"Cornering our prey," Ron gave a rather maniacal smile in reply. "But I can't believe your Uncle Percy kept this from me! I'm only his brother after all…"
Hugo and Rosie shared an understanding glance, clearly coming to some agreement about not interrupting their father when he was in such a mood, and thus the two children followed behind their angrily muttering father. Luckily it didn't take them long to find the fair-haired father and son, hiding out in Flourish and Blotts. The three didn't hesitate as they barged into the shop, nearly knocking an elderly woman into a table stacked with books.
"Why don't you two go have a look around," Ron said seriously, oblivious to the old witch he had accosted while his eyes shifted around in search of a hint of Malfoy.
"Er, sure Dad," Rosie looked warily behind her father at the woman glaring dangerously at the three of them, as if expecting them to turn right back around for round two.
"Watch your back," Hugo grinned crookedly and pointed not-so-subtly at her before disappearing down an aisle.
At his son's suggestion, Ron turned to take in the scene. He entered a staring contest with some old hag who seemed bent on murdering him with a glare but, having had plenty of competitions with Ginny over the years, the woman was hardly any match at all. Ron shrugged and headed down the first aisle he came to as the woman left, head bowed in defeat.
With a sea of dark leather-bound books as a contrast to his light hair, finding Malfoy was a relatively easy feat, and with his nose in a book, sneaking up on him was even simpler.
"Well, well, well—Draco Malfoy."
Malfoy didn't so much as bat an eyelash despite Ron's stealth; he merely glanced over the top of his page to throw him a sneer.
"Weasley."
"Fancy finding you here," Ron continued, unperturbed at this expectantly cold reception.
"I'd fancy avoiding this conversation, actually," the ex-Slytherin returned, equally unfazed as his eyes fell back to the pages of his book.
"Ha, funny. Speaking of funny, wouldn't it be odd if you and, say, your son were to, I don't know, run into Travis Scabior in the Magical Menagerie a few weeks ago—"
"How many times do I have to tell you and the rest of your Auror cronies to leave me and my family alone?" Malfoy attempted nonchalance as he turned the page, but the effect was lost when the paper was ripped from the spine.
"You know I'm an Auror?" Ron asked bemusedly, momentarily sidetracked. He, after all, had absolutely no idea what Draco Malfoy (nor any Malfoy, for that matter) had been up to since the war had ended.
"Please. Like it was any surprise to find that you would follow in Potter's footsteps," Malfoy closed the book with a snap and replaced it on the shelf with its more-intact fellows. "What would he do without his loyal dog at his side?"
Ron eyed a rather thick encyclopedia on toadstools sitting on the shelf right beside Malfoy but immediately amended his initial violent thoughts with a raised eyebrow. "So how am I supposed to take that? Because I feel mostly insulted, but also very disturbed to hear you've been keeping tabs on me, Malfoy."
Draco threw him an icy glare that had obviously been perfected over years of practice; the outside weather couldn't even begin to compete with it.
"Now don't start with that attitude," Ron warned, "I bet we can end up helping each other. You give me what I want, I get the Ministry off your arse."
Draco surveyed him a moment before inclining his head.
"I'm listening."
"That's my job. You talk. Tell me what happened with Scabior."
Malfoy pursed his lips and glanced both ways down the aisle empty of people besides them before telling his now well-rehearsed story.
"Touch nothing, Scorpius."
The boy nodded numbly before immediately dashing off for the more ominous-looking cages at the back of the Magical Menagery. Draco's eyes followed him with a twinge of disappointment. After all, when his own father had given him strict warnings prior to entering a store, he had made sure to obey them all to the letter. Scorpius, on the other hand….
The loud, unfamiliar-sounding shriek of something sounding frightfully large filled the store, but Draco didn't so much as blink while sidling over to the spacious cages holding some of the more expensive owls.
"Mr. Malfoy!" the stooping shopkeeper limped over, a wooden clunk sounding every alternate footstep. "Welcome, welcome! Anything I can assist you with?"
"Can't we get this one, Dad?" Scorpius shouted from the opposite end of the store, waving excitedly at a three-tailed python that was eying the young Malfoy's fingers with obvious interest. "I think he likes me!"
"I think ol' Aramis is just hoping you'll feed him, young sir," the employee answered before giving a crooked smile and his attention to the elder Malfoy. "Probably not the best pet for someone wanting to keep a hold of all their appendages."
"Definitely not," Draco sniffed, turning to the owls blinking at him from behind the bars of the cages. "Actually, Mr. Sparrowwood, we were in need of an owl—"
"We," Scorpius muttered dejectedly to his new snake friend, "don't have any idea what we're talking about. Aramis probably eats owls for breakfast, don't you boy?"
"There are a few time-sensitive materials I need to send out," Draco carried on over Aramis' hissed response. "Which would you recommend for speed?"
"A hawk owl would probably be the best way to go," Sparrowwood nodded his head to one of the cages housing a handsome medium-sized owl with large yellow eyes. "Won't find anything faster 'round these parts."
The bell above the shop door jingled in another customer as Draco approached the cage and peered inside at the hawk owl, who ruffled its feathers in agitation at the sudden intrusion.
"Very well," Draco nodded his head in approval, "this will do. Scorpius, come, we're leaving."
Sparrowwood beamed in approval before stumping his way to the counter. Draco made to follow, glimpsing under the hood of the cloaked customer he passed along the way.
He stopped in his tracks as the sight registered in his mind's eye; unruly hair, a pair of haunted, bloodshot eyes, the left twitching habitually—
"Dad?"
The wrenching of metal made it feel as though Aramis had constricted itself around Draco's chest, squeezing the feeling out of him. He instinctively pulled his wand and moved himself between Scorpius and the man who had just ripped the door off one of the cages and tossed it to the floor as though it were made of paper.
"OI!" Sparrowwood pulled out his wand as the cloaked man shoved the shrieking, struggling hawk owl into a sack. "Don't move!"
Draco took a cautious step backwards closer to his son while the shopkeeper advanced threateningly, but the thief didn't seem to acknowledge either of them; he breezed toward the entrance as if owl-napping were a part of his regular routine.
"Expelliarmus!"
The thief merely stuck out his left hand to block the spell; the Disarming Hex ricocheted off his hand and left a scorch mark where it instead hit the floor of the shop.
"The hell…?" Sparrowwood stumped forward but it was no use; the cloaked man had already made it to the door and nearly tore the hinges off in his haste to escape.
"I doubt you'll catch him," Draco muttered dryly as the shopkeeper limped across the store after the perpetrator.
"We've got Anti-Theft Hexes at the entrance," he huffed in response, obviously not bothered by the lack of help. "He's not getting away that easily."
Draco peeked outside the window to discover his words were true; the man had his feet magically burrowed into the cobbled road beneath him, rendering him unable to move.
The cloaked wizard, realizing his predicament, didn't even hesitate before slamming his left hand into the solid ground, digging his oddly shining fingers through the rock to pull his feet out. Sparrowwood froze in horror at finding him able to free himself so easily.
Draco felt a chill run up his spine as the thief looked at him through the glass window, threw him a recognizable dirtied yellow smile before turning on the spot and Apparating away.
"Bloody hell! Guess that means we'll be getting the python then, Dad?"
Scorpius had made the short journey over to his father, gazing up at him in wonder. Draco glanced down at him, at a momentary loss for words, until his son's words penetrated through his current confusion.
"OW! Dad!"
Draco made sure to pinch his son's ear extra hard as he led him toward the entrance of the shop, stepping around the completely baffled shopkeeper.
"We were never here," Draco called to him over his shoulder, ignoring the wizard's half-hearted protestations. "We will be visiting next week to purchase a new owl and reimburse you for the stolen one, however. Do we have an agreement, Mr. Sparrowwood?"
Considering the stark paleness of Sparrowwood's face, it didn't seem as if he would be able to handle many more surprises, but he nodded his head numbly anyway.
"As for you," Draco glared fiercely at the wincing son he was towing by the ear, "where did you learn such atrocious language?"
Scorpius' response fell on deaf ears as they exited the Magical Menagerie, leaving the stupefied shopkeeper in their wake.
"You didn't even try to stop him?"
"I didn't want to get involved. You can see how well that turned out."
Ron gave an exasperated sigh, rubbing his neck wearily.
"Who else has heard this story?
"My original plan of avoiding the conflict went along quite well, up until a Jarvey ratted us out to the Minister of Magic of all wizards two weeks after the incident. Since then your brother, what's his name...Peter?"
"Percy," Ron automatically corrected with another sigh, shaking his head in clarity. So this was the information Percy kept holding over Ron's head like a bloody carcass to a starving Thestral.
Ron made a face at that mental image and Malfoy gave him a peculiar look before clearing his throat and continuing:
"Yes, well, he's the only other one I've told my story to. He still insisted on hearing Scorpius' view of the ordeal, but I flat-out refused, and things have only escalated from there. He has since started to have me and my family tailed by his Ministry minions whenever we leave our home, and I have been trying my damnedest to be as uncooperative and unwelcoming to him and his brood as possible."
"He's probably trying to annoy the story out of your boy," Ron nodded sympathetically, now understanding why Draco and Percy were having such a difficult time with each other. "I am quite familiar with this tactic."
Draco gave a snort of laughter before realizing exactly who he was laughing with and stopped, causing an awkward pause before clearing his throat and continuing. "He calls it witness protection," he clarified, grimacing all the same, "but if they really wanted to protect me they'd leave us alone. I'm this close to offing myself just to spite them."
Ron snickered, again to the surprise of both and he ceased immediately. They stood in silence a beat before Ron picked the conversation back up:
"Right, well, let me talk to Percy," Ron continued on, even as he felt his ears begin to heat up. "I'll see if he can't loosen the leash a little. Just try to stay out of trouble until then, eh?"
"You're going to tell him everything I told you, aren't you?"
"Of course not," Ron replied earnestly. It was a rather sad state of affairs when his anger at Shacklebolt and Percy for leaving him in the dark would cause him to team up with a Malfoy.
"I'll just have to take your word for it, however much that goes for these days," he finally replied, his eyes narrowed on something behind Ron. "And that reminds me: you did realize this is a bookstore and not a library when you followed me in, yes? You have to actually pay for the books here."
Ron glanced behind his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the tail of a cloak whip around the end of the aisle. He grimaced before addressing Malfoy once again, "And here I thought we would be beyond such petty insults."
Malfoy gave a half-hearted sneer before walking up to him, pausing at his side to whisper, "Well, we must keep up with old appearances, haven't we Weasley? Wouldn't want anyone to think I would team up with you."
He didn't hesitate any further as he walked down the aisle with his usual Malfoy strut.
"Yeah, well, you realize Scorpius is about as stupid as a name as Draco, don't you?" Ron hollered after him, grasping at straws. "Only the Malfoy fortune will spare him from bullying at Hogwarts."
"The Malfoy fortune can do just about anything," Draco called over his shoulder with a jaunty wave, which made Ron nearly grind his teeth in frustration.
"'Cause it's so disgustingly...wealthy...." Ron fumbled a moment, searching for a suitable comeback. And when none found him, he grumbled in defeat, turning to stomp off the opposite way of his old nemesis. "Dammit. Rosie! Hugo! We're leaving!"
"Aw, Dad!"
"Now, Hugo!"
Ron turned the corner and nearly gagged at the horror he beheld. His own son—his living flesh and blood—was standing face-to-face and laughing—laughing!— with none other than Scorpius Malfoy.
"What are you doing?" Ron demanded, towering over the pair.
"C'mon, Dad," Hugo giggled, smiling far too innocently for such a dastardly deed, "just let me have a few more minutes with Scorpius!"
"Oh…oh Godric…" Ron tried to suppress the gag reflex at hearing a Malfoy's first name spoken aloud by a Weasley. The smarmy smile that was plastered on the young Malfoy's face did not help him at all. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"I mean, a Firebolt's all good and fine for your first few years at Hogwarts," Scorpius continued the conversation as if no interruption had occurred, "but if you aren't comfortable on a Spritely 100 before you graduate, you really can't get anywhere in the League."
"And he's talking..." Ron stumbled by them, heading further down the aisle, away from the indecency.
"The 100 model? By the time we're out of Hogwarts they'll be making Spritely 200s!"
"That's even assuming Spritelies will still be manufactured. I hear the Nimbuses are trying to stage a comeback."
"No way!"
Ron's escape was blocked by his daughter, nose stuck so deep in a book he feared she'd drown in it if he didn't get her out of it soon.
"Rosie, thank Merlin…" he sighed, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Dad!" she shrieked in surprise, jumping out of his grip.
Scorpius and Hugo laughed suddenly and loudly, and Rosie looked over at them in bewilderment, hitherto unaware of their presence, so immersed was she in her book.
"We're leaving. Please go and collect your brother…I can't bear the sight…."
A spark of fatherly pride leapt in Ron's chest as Rose's eyes narrowed dangerously at the pair of them, no doubt recalling the blond boy's actions in the Quality Quidditch Supplies store earlier that morning.
Without hesitation she placed the book in her father's hands and stomped down the aisle, not bothering to say one word to either boy before glaring severely at the young Malfoy and grabbing her brother by the collar.
"Oi! Rosie! You're choking me!" Hugo gasped as she dragged him along behind her.
"Dad says we're leaving," she replied shortly, unwilling to so much as address her brother's complaints nor Scorpius Malfoy's existence. Scorpius, for his part, blinked at the pair of siblings in confusion before shrugging his shoulders and turning to leave the opposite way.
Ron beamed at the one child he was willing to claim as his own before walking out of the aisle, fully intent on hunting down an employee to buy the book his daughter had been so wrapped up in, price and Malfoys be damned.
A/n: So…it's…been awhile? Aaaawkwaaaaaaaaaaard…. My apologies; life sort of caught up with me. But I gotsa job now! YAY!
And (FINALLY!) nothing like a Malfoy/Weasley reunion! I know many of you were hoping for this meeting between Scorpius and Rosie to happen (FINALLY!)…not sure it went as expected for anyone. Haha, and I bet all you Scorpius/Rosie shippers didn't know your biggest competition would be Scorpius/Hugo shippers! Mwuahahaha!
And please don't fret; the next chapter is planned and just needs to be written. No months-long wait for the next chapter, with any luck. Not saying updates will be regular by any means, but it's not like I'm going on hiatus or anything (HURRAY!).
A monstrously big and warm THANK YOU! to all of my lovely reviewers who have stuck out the wait (maybe not so patiently...), and I hope this chapter lived up to and effectively murdered your expectations. I love you all!
Until next time then! ;)
~dieselwriter