A/N:
Hey y'all!
Holy crap, it's been so long since I've updated this!
Shortly after my birthday celebration (which was very fun by the way), I got a new full-time job with early morning hours, and while I've been loving it, I do not have nearly as much time and energy for writing as I did before.
Nevertheless, I still have so many plans for this story and for these characters, and not a single day has gone by where I haven't thought about Rose and Scorpius.
So here is Chapter Nine! (Finally, after two long months haha)~~
This chapter turned out to be kind of a filler- but I promise that future chapters will be longer and far more in-depth.
Thank you to everybody that has taken the time to read and review this fic despite the more controversial feedback I have received. I really do appreciate you all, and it literally makes my day to see that someone has left a review or favorited/bookmarked this fic- even if I forget to respond to your feedback, just know that I've read it and am really grateful for it!
Love,
Everlasting Faerie Light
~~May 1st, 2023, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sixth Year~~
Rose couldn't concentrate.
While she knew that sitting outside by the black lake on a bright and beautiful day surrounded by hordes of sun-starved students would do little to help her finish her potions essay, she could not bear the idea of being alone and depressed inside the castle.
She was starting to regret that decision.
Her potions essay was due tomorrow, and she had only managed to complete two of the five feet of parchment required. It didn't help that she had to write about wiggentree bark.
She hadn't thought about wiggentree bark since she had to brew the wiggenweld potion during her second year.
How was she supposed to write a N.E.W.T.-level paper about something that had about as much personality as flobberworm mucus?
"C'mon, Rosie. Put that bloody paper away and relax a little, will you? You are sitting outside on this beautiful day, and potions is your last class tomorrow. Plus, you are in sore need of a tan."
Rose turned her head to glare at her (ridiculously obnoxious) friend, Estella MacDonald, who happened to be sprawled out on her back with arms crossed carelessly behind her head, wild locks of black hair strewn carelessly across her lithe shoulders. She wore an easy-going smile that Rose could never hope to achieve even in her dizziest daydreams.
Her fingers tightened around her quill as she turned her attention back to the blank piece of parchment propped up on her lap.
"I won't be able to enjoy anything unless I finish this fucking paper."
Wiggentree bark… wiggentree bark… what the fuck is interesting about wiggentree bark?
Estella couldn't help but snort at her friend's predictable response.
"Fine, suit yourself. Go ahead and fantasize about wiggentree bark while all of us sane folk fantasize about each other naked in this glorious sunlight."
Rose couldn't help but smile just a little bit.
There was something about Estella MacDonald's sassy demeanor that immediately put her at ease.
She also happened to be the only person at Hogwarts (outside of her massive family) that actually liked Rose- which was a unique feat in itself.
"Who says I can't do both? I'm an excellent multitasker."
Estella repositioned herself so that her entire body faced Rose, her chin resting on the surface of her palm as she shot the stubborn redhead a look that was both flat and incredulous.
"Bullshit. You cannot write a N.E.W.T. level essay AND enjoy the sun at the same time. Anybody that says they can is either bluffing or a serial killer."
Rose smirked. "Everybody already thinks I'm a serial killer."
The sound of Estella's laughter made the curly-haired Weasley wish that she could chuck her stupid potions paper into the black lake and take a long, blissful nap under the goddamn sun.
With a relenting sigh, Rose rolled up her unfinished essay and placed it carefully in her book bag.
Estella was right- she could afford to enjoy herself for a few moments.
For the first time since she stepped outside, Rose took in her surroundings.
The sun was bold and bright in the clear blue sky. It brought everything to life- from the shimmering surface of the black lake to the blooming whomping willow in the distance.
The pine-scented air was filled with vibrant chatter. Virtually everybody at Hogwarts, including some of the staff, had decided to take advantage of being outside today. After all, it wasn't very often that the grounds saw such a prominent sun- even during the summer months.
Most students lounged around on the lake's grassy shores, either basking in the sunlight or animatedly chatting with their friends.
Others were a bit more… disruptive.
Including the group of fifth year Gryffindor boys that made a show of stripping down to their boxer briefs (much to the excitement of their female counterparts) before jumping into the (frigid-as-all-fuck) black lake.
Or the group of third year Slytherins playing a very loud and messy game of 'pass-the-dungbomb.'
Or the bloodcurdling Slytherin couple sitting right in front of her, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together in a manner far too intimate for the general public.
Rose felt her stomach clench at the sight of Scorpius Malfoy and Octavia Montague exchanging sweet nothings not even four meters away from where she and Estella sat.
How long have they been sitting there?
When the fuck did they get back together?
"Hello, ladies, mind if I join you?"
As if right on cue, Albus Potter announced his entrance by squeezing himself in between the two girls, a strikingly strained smile plastered on his face.
He looked unnatural.
And fucking mental.
Rose stared quizzically at her cousin and opened her mouth to voice those exact thoughts, but Estella beat her to it.
"What the fuck is wrong with your face, Potter?"
"I can't fucking stand her."
Albus's voice was made even more malicious by the nightmarish smile on his lips.
His emerald green eyes were fixated on the (tonsil-hockey-playing) couple a few meters in front of them with an intense hatred that made even Rose's blood run cold.
When it came to Scorpius Malfoy, Rose and Albus disagreed on virtually everything.
But they both agreed that Octavia Montague was a miserable, backstabbing cunt.
"I wish that he could just get rid of her," Albus complained in a low voice that only Rose and Estella could hear. "She is sucking the literal life out of him."
"Seems to me like she's sucking more than that," Estella responded with a snort, earning her a disgusted look from Albus.
Rose couldn't help herself. Her eyes fell on Malfoy and Montague of their own volition.
They were literally swapping spit.
How vile.
"He could get rid of her, but he obviously doesn't want to. Face it, Al. Your best friend is a self-destructive shithead."
Rose hoped that her voice betrayed nothing but cruel indifference.
Never mind the fact that there was a slight tremble to her tone, a significant tightening in her chest, and a hard lump forming in her throat.
Oblivious to his cousin's well-hidden heartache, Albus turned his head to glare at Rose. When he spoke, his voice was cold and solemn.
"Things aren't so simple when you're a pureblood."
Rose opened her mouth to say something condescending, but the serious look on her cousin's face stopped the words from exiting her mouth.
Estella scoffed.
"Aren't things supposed to be simpler when you're a pureblood? They've got all the money in the world to act like narcissistic brats whenever they please."
"Shows what you fucking know," deadpanned Albus, his flashing green eyes once again fixated on the doting couple.
"Have either of you two even bothered to consider the fact that behind the rich-kid facade, the majority of young purebloods actually lead miserable lives?"
A beat of silence hung heavily in the air as the word "lives" left Albus' lips.
Yes, Rose found herself thinking.
Images of a distraught Malfoy with bloodied arms and hands flooded her brain, and she suddenly felt as if someone was squeezing her heart with clenched fists.
I have actually considered it.
However, the curly-haired Weasley kept her lips pursed together tightly.
Estella, on the other hand, seemed to have a lot to say on the matter.
"Being miserable is a choice, Potter. And it sure as hell does not give anyone the right to be a complete shithead to whomever they please."
Albus's eyes narrowed dangerously as he rounded on Estella.
The two glared at each other for a few seconds before the young Potter smirked and shook his head in a manner that could only be described as condescending.
"You really don't understand, do you?"
"And what exactly is there to understand?"
Rose could tell by the blush in her dark cheeks and the fire in her chocolate-colored eyes that Estella was getting angry.
It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Albus Potter and Estella MacDonald to argue about shit that had absolutely nothing to do with them, so Rose wasn't surprised that the two were already bickering.
Albus closed his eyes for a split second to recollect himself before speaking in a very even voice.
"Pureblood kids don't get to choose anything for themselves. Their whole lives are carefully and strategically planned out from birth. Most pureblood families still determine their children's career path and whom they will marry before they can even walk. You know Marilyn Bulstrode?"
"You mean that crazy bitch that set my Quidditch robes on fire?" snapped Estella.
Albus ignored her.
"She's engaged to be married to some old, rich, forty-something-year-old bloke in Nepal as soon as she graduates. Her parents came up with this arrangement when she was only two years old in an attempt to enhance and enrich the Bulstrode name within the wizarding community. It's all about status. Not bad for business either. Meanwhile, Marilyn has absolutely no say in the matter."
A pregnant pause permeated the space between the three teens.
Though Rose was aware of the many pureblood traditions that existed, she never would have guessed that many of those traditions were still strictly enforced.
Marilyn Bulstrode's snarling face filled her thoughts, and what would have been contempt was replaced with— pity.
Even Estella looked forlorn, and she hated Marilyn Bulstrode more than anyone.
"That's— really sad," she remarked in a small voice.
Albus nodded solemnly.
"Pureblood families are notorious for disowning and publicly shaming disobedient children. The war may be over, but not a lot has changed in terms of progress. In fact, some of the more archaic practices are making a comeback within the pureblood community— such as the implementation of the Unbreakable Vow to prevent divorce amongst married couples."
"Wait… that's actually a thing? I thought those were just rumors!"
Estella was now sitting upright with a scandalized expression etched on her face. Rose felt rather grossed out by the information as well, though she remained uncharacteristically silent.
"It's a very real tradition," said Albus grimly.
"Of course, not all purebloods agree with it, but some of the more powerful families have been known to practice it for centuries- like the Montagues for example… and the Malfoys."
The two girls exchanged bewildered looks as Albus looked sadly at the seemingly happy couple in front of them.
Rose mimicked her cousin, unable to help herself as she studied both Scorpius Malfoy and Octavia Montague. They looked as they always did when they were together- like they were on top of the world. Like they were absolutely smitten with each other. Like there was no place they would rather be than in each other's arms.
But everybody knew better.
So why the fuck were they trying so hard?
"Are they engaged?"
Rose's voice was flat.
She expected Albus to dismiss her question with disdain- as he usually did whenever she asked him anything about Malfoy.
Instead, he just sighed, a defeated expression clouding his features.
"We don't talk much about his relationship. Or anything that has to do with his family or blood status. But I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if their families set up an arrangement for them to get married as soon as they graduate. A Malfoy-Montague union would be beneficial for both parties involved. It would also explain why they keep trying so hard to make it work."
It made sense. So much so, that Rose actually felt ill.
Estella glanced over at both Malfoy and Montague for a few seconds before turning back to Albus, another question etched upon her lips.
"You don't think they'll actually go through with it though, do you? The Unbreakable Vow I mean."
Rose felt slightly dizzy.
The words perpetually miserable held a whole new meaning for her. For him.
Albus looked down at his lap dejectedly. When he spoke, his voice was just loud enough for Rose and Estella to hear.
"I don't even know if they're actually engaged or not. But I just— have this horrible feeling in my gut. And if my instinct turns out to be correct, then—"
Malfoy finally looked away from his possible fiancée and turned his head, his poignant silver eyes immediately catching Rose's sharp gaze with an intensity that could rival the heat of the sun.
"—he won't have a choice."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
~~Later July 2032, Present Day ~~
Rose feels nervous as all hell.
She cannot help the knots in her stomach, nor the hammering of her heart against her ribcage.
But she also wants her forty five galleons.
And she wants to give Emery Davidson a piece of her mind for trying to lowball her with Malfoy's money.
And Malfoy wants you there.
For professional reasons only, of course.
Nothing more.
At about five before eight, Rose gathers her fiery mass of curls into a ponytail, and takes one last sip of the calming draught-infused tea that Lily had prepared for her the moment she returned home from work.
With her Firebolt 760 strapped to her back, she gathers a handful of floo powder, and tosses it into their oversized, soot-covered fireplace, effectively turning the flames emerald green.
You can do this, Rose. It's just a Quidditch game amongst coworkers.
The thought does little to help her anxiety.
With one final exhale, Rose steps into the fireplace, enunciates her destination ("Malfoy Manor in Scotland"), and finds herself spinning through a maelstrom of green flames and soot.
As she flies through the floo network, making sure to hold her arms close to her body so as not to bump into any passing chimneys, Rose almost hopes that she ends up anywhere other than Scorpius Malfoy's not-so-humble abode.
Key word: almost.
She really does want those forty five galleons.
The spinning finally stops, and Rose opens her eyes to see that she has landed in a relatively clean and spacious fireplace.
After dusting off the front of her shirt and readjusting her Firebolt 760, she steps out of the fireplace and into the Malfoy's ridiculously oversized living room.
Rose had never been to Malfoy manor before- let alone the Malfoy manor in Scotland (because of course the fucking rich sods owned two bloody gargantuan mansions), but apart from its sheer size and majesty, the inside of Scorpius Malfoy's living room does not meet her expectations.
Whenever Rose thinks about Malfoy Manor, her mother's recollection of being brutally tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange comes to mind. Her parents describe it as a dark and dreadful place- a place where innocent lives were mercilessly taken without a single shred of remorse. Even though the events in her parents' stories occurred at the other Malfoy manor, she initially assumed that both estates would resemble each other at least somewhat.
So naturally, Rose expected nothing short of a medieval torture dungeon.
What she steps into instead is an absolutely lovely, circular space enveloped by large glass windows that reveal a stunning view of the Scottish countryside.
Rose's first thought is that Lily would definitely approve. There are plants everywhere— hanging from the ceiling, creeping over the windows, or propped up in the various corners of the gargantuan space.
If it weren't for the ornate coffee table surrounded by an array of light green squashy armchairs facing the fireplace, Rose would have thought that she had accidentally flooed herself into someone's greenhouse.
She never pegged Malfoy to be much of a plant enthusiast, but she gets the feeling that most plants shrivel up in Octavia Montague's presence, so the decor must be his doing.
The other thing she notices is that the living room is full of people. Not just random people, but a number of her coworkers from the Quidditch division, all out of their work attire and in casual every-day wear.
It's honestly a bit jarring.
"Oi, Weasley!"
Emery Davidson waves her over with that flirtatious smirk etched on his face. He seems to have initially been in conversation with Olivia Orford, whose smile immediately vanishes the second her green eyes land on Rose.
Pfft. Dumb, entitled bitch.
For a split second, Rose feels extremely awkward standing right by the fireplace in Malfoy's living room, with a number of her fellow coworkers looking in her direction.
But then she remembers that she has a score to settle with Emery Davidson.
The low-balling prat.
After blowing a few loose curls out of her face, Rose makes her way over to Davidson and Orford with a slightly strained smile plastered on her lips.
"Hello Davidson. Orford."
Instead of uttering a simple 'hello' in response, Olivia just rolls her pretty green eyes in the most condescending manner possible.
And everyone calls me an immature cunt.
"Glad to see you here," says Davidson with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
"Yes, speaking of— I need a word with you," Rose says in the most neutral voice that she can manage. "In private."
"Why of course, m'lady. I know just the place."
Davidson holds out his right hand, his amber eyes beckoning her to take it.
Rose almost snorts with laughter at his oh-so-obvious attempts at flirting with her, but the sight of an even more pissed off Olivia Orford sparks something devious within her gut, and she instead takes the older man's hand with a soft giggle, allowing Emery Davidson to lead her out of the enormous living room.
Once they exit the living room through the large ornate archway, Davidson turns a sharp left and leads her down a long corridor with ragged stone walls, a plethora of ivy branches snaking haphazardly across their multiple crevices.
After walking a few more feet in silence, he comes to a sudden halt and turns around to face Rose, that flirtatious smile still plastered on his lips.
"So, I reckon you'd like those forty five galleons right about now, yeah?"
Rose holds out her hand, her lips pressed together in a straight line.
"Hand it over. And no funny business," she snaps.
"Your wish is my command."
With one last suggestive wink, Davidson flicks his wand and a sack full of what Rose assumes to be her forty five galleons comes flying out of the back pocket of his robes.
Rose's quick reflexes enable her to catch it midair.
Judging by the weight in her hand, she deems that Davidson stayed true to his word.
But he did try to low-ball you. Don't forget that.
She pockets the bag, making a mental note to count it later.
Davidson smirks, his eyes following Rose's every movement.
"By the way, you have a little soot on your face— just there…"
He reaches out a finger toward Rose's cheek in what most would deem a tender manner.
Her eyes narrow dangerously.
Fuck you.
Rose's quick reflexes come into play once again as she snatches his hand before it can make contact with her cheek, and squeezes it with every intention to crack bones.
Davidson's face transforms from one of flirtatious smugness to one full of bewildered pain in less than two seconds.
"Er, Rosie, love… you are squeezing my hand just a tad too hard," he utters in a small voice that makes Rose want to smash his face in.
Spineless bitch.
She squeezes his hand even harder.
A whimper escapes his lips and Rose cannot help it— she is exhilarated.
"Now listen to me, very carefully, Emery," she spits venomously.
"I want you to admit to me right now that you attempted to low-ball me with Malfoy's money, and that you are a smarmy, broke git with only five galleons to spare."
An alarmed look flashes across Davidson's face.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers, his voice taking on a hard edge. "I suggest that you let me go, Weasley."
"Admit it or I'll break your fucking hand."
To reiterate her point, she gives his hand a merciless squeeze, and his fingers crack under the sheer pressure of her grip.
Davidson utters another whimper of pain, and he can see by the look in her cold, soulless blue eyes that Rose is dead serious about breaking his fingers.
With his free hand, he quickly whips out his wand and points it at the deadly redhead, all playfulness long gone.
"If you don't let me go, Weasley, you'll sorely regret it," he spits out through gritted teeth.
Rose snorts, whips out her own wand, and points it where the sun doesn't shine. She gives his already crushed hand another petulant jerk.
He curses out loud.
"Fuck!"
"Correction. I will break your fucking hand and hex your bollocks off simultaneously. I am a very talented girl, Emery. You have one more chance. Admit it."
"You are a psychopath, Weasley."
"Tell me something I don't already know," she snaps.
Her waning patience is marked by the red sparks erupting from the tip of her wand.
"Fine!" Davidson relents with exasperation. "I may have attempted to keep a few galleons for myself. Forty galleons is a lot of money! I didn't though, because you drove a hard bargain! So no harm done, right?!"
Rose glares at him silently, her python-like grip unrelenting on the poor bloke's hand.
"C'moonnn, Weasley!" pleads Davidson, the little fight he had in him now completely gone. "I even gave you five extra galleons! I would have given you more if I could!"
"So you admit it then. You're a broke fucking bitch," she taunts, the relish creeping into her voice.
"Yes! Yes I am! Now please let go of my hand," he all but cries, his amber eyes now watering from the pain.
"I want to hear you say it."
"I-I'm a broke bitch!"
The sadistic Weasley can't help the coy smile that appears on her lips, her grip on his hand unrelenting.
"One more thing," she hisses. "A word of this interaction to anyone at the ministry, and I will tell Malfoy that you tried to pocket his money. I'm sure he'll love that. Are we fucking clear?"
Davidson glares at her, his face red with both pain and humiliation.
Just how I like it.
"Crystal," he snaps begrudgingly.
After one last jarring squeeze, Rose releases his fingers, much to Davidson's obvious relief.
As he cradles his now bruised hand, he fixes Rose with a look that is both horrified and suspicious.
When he speaks, his voice is flat with anger.
"You are sick, Weasley. I don't know what I ever saw in you. No wonder why the Holyhead Harpies threw you the sack."
Rose throws her head back and laughs out loud.
"You're just now figuring this out?" she chokes out in between giggles. "You're as fucking stupid as you are handsome. I mean, have you read the Prophet?"
Davidson starts to walk backwards, his eyes glued to Rose with a mixture of fear and disgust as he cradles his injured hand.
His intention to create as much distance as possible between himself and Rose is obvious.
It's quite hilarious, actually.
"Better start running now, Davidson," she taunts him, rotating her wand skillfully with one hand before pointing it once again where the sun doesn't shine.
"I can still hex your bollocks off from here. But I'll be nice and give you a head start. Move along, now."
With one last glare, Davidson wordlessly turns on his heel and starts stalking off, looking over his shoulder every so often— presumably to make sure he isn't being chased by a certain curly-haired Weasley.
Rose cannot help but grin.
She knows that Healer Jones would probably be disappointed in the way she handled this particular situation, but to be completely honest— she doesn't give a flying fuck.
At least not this time.
"Faster, Emery," she barks in a sing-song voice.
To her complete delight, Davidson breaks out into a full-on sprint. She watches him silently until he turns a sharp corner a ways down, and disappears from her line of vision.
Chuckling to herself, Rose starts to make her way back down the long, ivy-ridden corridor. She figures she's given Davidson enough time to scamper back to the safety of the Malfoy living room.
It takes her about two solid minutes of walking to realize that something is…off.
Where is the sharp turn that Davidson took mere moments ago?
Where is the living room?
Where is anything?
Rose stops walking and spins around on the spot, her sharp blue eyes taking in nothing but stone and ivy as far as the eye can see.
The corridor is endless.
So the Malfoy manor has a mind of its own, eh?
Fucking fantastic.
Muttering a boatload of curses under her breath, Rose continues her trek down the corridor, her heart rate quickening along with her pace.
She makes it about another monotonous minute before coming to an abrupt halt, cheeks red and fists clenched in utter frustration.
"What the FUCK?!"
The anger in Rose's voice falls flat against the sheer emptiness of the corridor.
Trying to ignore the rising panic in the back of her throat, she whips out her wand.
"Revelio!"
A black, arch-shaped door suddenly appears on the wall to Rose's right, and without a single beat of hesitation she reaches out to turn its silver, circular knob.
She would rather lose herself within the chaotic labyrinth known as the Malfoy Manor than deal with the claustrophobia of walking down that endless corridor for even thirty more seconds.
The door behind her slams shut with a notable bang.
The first thing that Rose notices is a sea of green silk curtains dancing gracefully with the breeze flowing through the open space of an enormous arched window.
The very sight takes her breath away.
The second thing she notices is the row of well-kept bookcases that line the stone walls. From there, her eyes take in the perfectly symmetrical display of Puddlemere United gear hanging on the opposite wall, to the freakishly organized (and outrageously expensive) liquor cabinet, and then finally to the pristine, king-sized bed tucked against the far left corner of the spacious room.
Her initial awe is replaced with throat-crushing horror.
Fuck.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!
Though she doesn't know for sure, something in her gut tells her that she is in Scorpius Malfoy's bedroom, and that she should probably get her arse out of there as quickly as possible, because the man himself may make an entrance at any moment.
Imagining the potential awkwardness that would come with such a scenario makes Rose feel nauseous.
However, just as she turns around to go back the way she came, the door swings open.
Rose's stomach drops down to her crotch as she finds herself face to face with Scorpius Malfoy adorned in what can only be his old Puddlemere United quidditch robes.
Malfoy freezes as his piercing silver eyes land on Rose, a brief expression of shock ghosting over his otherwise stoic features.
Of course.
This is exactly what I did NOT want to happen.
How hilarious.
"Weasley."
His voice is sharp and damn near emotionless.
It's intimidating.
Rose doesn't like feeling intimidated.
She gulps a few times, attempting to create some sort of saliva in the desert she calls her mouth.
"I think we both know the obvious question here, but forgive me for asking it anyways," Malfoy says as he saunters over to his Puddlemere United display on the opposite wall. His eyes never once leave Rose.
"What in Merlin's beard are you doing in my quarters?"
She cannot tell if he is angry or not.
To be fair, he usually is whenever Rose 'fuck-your-shit-up' Weasley is involved.
So she's going to assume that he is… displeased at the very least.
Rose's heart pounds violently against her chest, while her stomach performs an array of exotic backflips.
But despite the intense physical reaction to being in Scorpius Malfoy's presence, she refuses to break eye contact with him.
She refuses to allow him to establish dominance.
"This house has a fucking attitude problem. Just like its owner," Rose snaps coldly, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive manner.
The ghost of a possible smile flashes across Malfoy's face, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.
He looks away from Rose for a moment to survey the two older generation Firebolt 45s hanging side by side just to the left of the Puddlemere United display. After a few seconds of deliberation, Malfoy grabs the broom to his right before turning his head to look at the scandalized Weasley once again.
His silver eyes flash dangerously, and the corner of his lips turn up into an unmistakable smirk.
"I merely asked you a question, and you responded with a mediocre insult. Clearly, I am not the one with an attitude problem here, Weasel-bee. "
Rose uncrosses her arms, both fists clenched so hard that her nails break the skin of her palms.
"Oh how inconsiderate of me," she spits with venomous sarcasm. "How dare I have an attitude after your fucking monster of a house chewed me up and spat me back out into your sodding quarters of all places. It's not like I'd rather be literally anywhere else right now."
With his chosen broom now slung over his shoulder, Malfoy takes a few calculating steps towards Rose. He stops once he is standing about five feet away from her.
She stays rooted to the spot, hyper-aware of his every movement.
Malfoy tilts his head to the side almost innocently.
There's an unhealthy amount of smugness etched into his cold features.
"My house has a tendency to purposely play games with anybody it deems an intruder. If you would have stayed and waited in the living room as per my request, you would not have gotten swallowed whole by the main corridor. So I'm just a tad curious as to why you decided to go wandering about my house unsupervised."
He's suddenly only three feet away from Rose.
When did he get so close?
She can feel the air between them crackle dangerously.
"A bit rude, don't you think?" Malfoy sneers with cold relish, his silver eyes penetrating her skin like a pair of sharp daggers.
Rose bristles, feeling that all-too-familiar heat flood her freckled cheeks.
"For your information, I wasn't unsupervised. I pulled Davidson aside so that he could privately pay me for being in this fucking death trap."
Another smirk makes its way onto Malfoy's lips.
"Ah yes. Your precious boyfriend and his five galleons. Such a catch, that Davidson."
"He is NOT my fucking boyfriend!"
"Right. Because I care so much," Malfoy deadpans before relentlessly continuing his interrogation. "If you were supervised by Davidson the entire time, then the house shouldn't have tried to swallow you. So what were you really doing, Weasley?"
Rose freezes.
Damn, he's good.
Motherfucker.
While she still wants to smash Davidson's fingers to smithereens and tell Malfoy all about his attempt to scam her, Rose also doesn't want to lose the leverage she has over Davidson.
At least not yet.
"I got lost trying to find the washroom," she grumbles.
Malfoy glares at her suspiciously.
He doesn't believe her.
She can tell.
Pfft. Big surprise there.
"You were trying to find the washroom?" he repeats in a flat voice.
"Yes. The fucking washroom," Rose sneers through gritted teeth. "Or do you not have one of those in this hellhole you call a house?"
Malfoy gives her one last condescending look before glancing down at the silver, snake-adorned watch on his wrist.
"Won't you look at that. Looks like you have officially wasted a good five minutes of my time, Weasley."
Another flash of white-hot anger slams through Rose's chest.
The fucking nerve of this good-for-nothing-prick.
"Go FUCK yourself, Malfoy! I'm just trying to get back to the goddamn living room, and you're the one interrogating me for getting lost in your fucking LABYRINTH!" she all but screeches.
And there it is again.
That almost smile.
It ghosts across Malfoy's face like a poignant, but long forgotten memory.
Once again, it vanishes as quickly as it appears.
But it was there.
It was definitely there.
For a split second, Rose is breathless.
"It's no use going all the way back to the living room. My quarters are six floors above it- and the corridors are endlessly shifting. If we go back out through that door, we may end up in my wife's quarters, and there would be real hell to pay," Malfoy states succinctly, his handsome face once again taking on that impressive stoicism that Rose secretly envies him for.
"I reckon your boyfriend has led them all out to the pitch by now. Davidson is the only one down there that knows his way around the place," he continues in a tone that is almost a little too professional. "I told him to start without me if I happened to fall behind schedule for any random reason…"
"He is NOT my boyfr-" Rose starts angrily.
"Again, I don't care," Malfoy cuts her off dryly. "But we definitely shouldn't keep them waiting any longer. I guaranteed everybody that they'd be out of here by ten sharp. Be a doll for once in your pitiful existence and grab my arm. We're apparating to the pitch."
Rose glares at him motionlessly as he holds his arm out to her.
Malfoy glares right back at her with an intensity to rival her own.
"Weasley… if you don't take my bloody arm right now, I will take that forty five galleons out of your next paycheck."
"Fuck you," she spits before begrudgingly looping her arm through his.
She tries (and fails) to ignore the violent eruption of butterflies in her stomach.
Rose braces herself, expecting to feel that familiar, but unpleasant sensation that comes with apparating from one place to another, but it doesn't come.
Unable to help herself, she turns her head to look up at Malfoy, who is staring straight at her face with an unnatural amount of focus.
Before Rose can yell at him for being a fucking creep- or something along those lines, he reaches out with his free hand, and gently rubs the soft spot between Rose's nose and cheek.
The motion is swift and firm, but it's also tender- almost like a loving caress.
Rose's brain short-circuits.
Another overwhelming wave of deja-vu crashes through her.
What the fuck is happening right now?
Malfoy's fingers linger for just a few heart-stopping seconds before he withdraws them, that familiar ghost of a smile flashing briefly across his lips once again.
"You had some soot on your face, and I couldn't stand to look at it any longer. You're welcome."
Her freckled face reddens.
She can feel the area between her nose and cheek tingle incessantly.
His arm, which is still intertwined with hers, feels snug and warm tucked against her own.
"Go fuck yourself," Rose snaps half-heartedly, unable to hear her own voice over the sound of her heartbeat against her eardrums.
She does not see Malfoy's brief, but triumphant smile.
And with a loud crack, Rose Weasley feels that familiar, but unpleasant sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube.