A/N: Hey all, I'm alive! I apologize for the long hiatus, but life has been absolutely crazy! I'm juggling a full-time job, planning a wedding (I'm getting married in September!), and a whole lot of other extra curricular activities that I don't need to get into… so updates are going to take some time.
But I promise you all that I will NOT abandon this story. I have big plans for the plot and these characters, and I'm super excited to unveil it all to you when the time comes ;). So stay tuned.
WARNING! This chapter contains a lot of explicitly implied/non-explicit smut, particularly in the first part. If you're not into that type of thing… you've been warned.
Other triggers include topics relating to abuse, mental health, and infidelity.
As always, please read and review! Love you all!
Everlasting Faerie Light
XXX
"We will wear the lies we share
Forfeit future, truth or dare
So you slipped into the fire
I was watching it transpire"
-Tristania, "Amnesia"
—
~~May 28th, 2023
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sixth Year~~
Rose immediately froze.
The familiar sensation of a book-bag strap digging into her left shoulder blade was missing.
She suddenly felt rather naked.
Her sharp blue eyes widened in horror.
"Fuck!"
No wonder why the usually strenuous walk from the pitch back up to the castle felt suspiciously easy.
Goddammit, Rose, you stupid ponce.
Her best friend Estella MacDonald, who had been keeping pace with her the entire time, shot her a questioning look.
"I left all of my shit in the changing room," Rose grumbled darkly. "I have to go back."
"Oof. Tough one, Weasley," Estella replied in a quasi-sympathetic voice. "Slytherin's got the pitch right after us, and they won't take too kindly to seeing you down there. I'd watch my back if I were you."
Rose couldn't help but wince. Estella did have a fair point— stepping foot anywhere near the pitch while Slytherin had Quidditch practice was, indeed, grounds for a war proclamation.
"If Malfoy has an issue with me retrieving my fucking book bag, then he can suck my dick."
The words tumbled out of her lips naturally, successfully masking the turbulence that crept beneath the surface of her scowl.
Estella smirked as she readjusted the strap on her own book bag. "You know I would love to see that. But, seriously, Rose— try to be discreet. Even you can't outduel seven angry Slytherins."
"Discreet is my middle name," Rose replied with a sarcastic grimace. "I'll see you up in the common room. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, then-"
"Bitch, if you're not back in ten minutes, I will be out for snake blood," snapped Estella, her dark eyes flashing with a protective ferocity that Rose would only ever tolerate from her. "Now hurry the bloody hell up."
With a subtle smile on her lips, Rose turned on her heel and sprinted back down the corridor towards the entrance hall.
Rose had no intention of being seen by any member of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, but a small part of her gut fluttered at the idea of accidentally running into one person in particular.
She honestly did not know what to make of her feelings towards Scorpius Malfoy.
Nothing extraordinary or life-changing ever occurred between them, but their randomized, off-chance interactions—one-on-one interactions that nobody else was aware of— stuck to her psyche like an incessant, hypnotic song.
She was supposed to hate him.
She really thought that she did.
Up until recently.
It both bothered and intrigued her that having unintentionally deep conversations with Scorpius Malfoy was easy.
It was so easy, that they almost didn't feel real.
Rose often wondered if she was just experiencing oddly-realistic fever dreams as a side effect of her sessions with Healer O'Malley.
That would explain why these unfamiliar run-ins only occurred in the dead of night— in a strange plane of existence just beyond the reaches of the real world, a plane that only made itself known when the castle was shrouded in black.
But still.
Not even the most vivid of delusions could explain the warmth of his skin seeping through her thin pyjama top, nor could it account for the rich thump of his heart beat against her cheek as she held him against her.
"Why did you stay?"
Rose shook her head in agitation as she passed through large double doors leading out to the grounds.
"I don't think that you're a monster."
The air was heavy with the rich, musky scent of an oncoming storm. The roiling, gray clouds that were juxtaposed with the vibrant, mid-spring warmth hung ominously over the entirety of the school grounds.
It would start raining at any moment.
Rose kept her eyes on the sky as she hurriedly bounded down the rolling green hills towards the Quidditch pitch.
If she squinted her eyes, she could make out distant streaks of green flying through the air, accompanied by the incoherent voices of angry, passionate Slytherins as they practiced themselves to exhaustion.
She knew the type of Quidditch captain Scorpius Malfoy was.
And if she was being honest with herself, Rose had to admit that their captaining styles were eerily similar.
The rain started to pour the second she reached the cloaked entrance of the girls' changing room.
As she stepped over the threshold, Rose briefly wondered if Malfoy would end practice early due to the sudden shift in weather, but then remembered that this was Scorpius Malfoy she was dealing with, and that there was no chance in all seven layers of Dante's Hell that he would pull such a pussy-ass move.
The changing room was still and silent apart from the overhead pattering of raindrops hitting the tented ceiling.
An array of wooden lockers lined the entirety of the circular space, apart from two different doorways that stood at opposite ends of the room— one leading to the showers and one leading out to the Quidditch pitch.
Fuck me. I forgot which locker I used.
Rose scowled as she stepped towards the left side of the room, wracking her brain to recall any detail that would help her remember which goddamn locker she hurriedly shoved her shit in before practice.
It has to be one of these.
Or was I on the other side?
Shit, I don't know.
Rose, you fucking idiot!
She whipped out her wand.
"Accio book bag!"
Nothing happened.
What a surprise.
It was during times like these when Rose found it hard to appreciate the strength of anti-theft charms.
With a frustrated exhale, she began to manually open and close each individual locker without an enchanted lock.
Every time she was met with either emptiness, or a bag that wasn't her own, she slammed the locker door shut with far more force than necessary.
Thievery wasn't a common theme amongst the Hogwarts Quidditch teams, but still…
Rose couldn't help the paranoia that seeped down her throat.
Her breathing grew shallow as she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the tenth most-likely unsuccessful locker.
She could feel the muscles around her neck tighten— an unwelcome flood of anxiety threatening to surge through her already twacked out psyche.
"Come on Rufus, we only have a few minutes!"
Rose felt all the air leave her lungs at the sound of that disgustingly sweet voice.
Fuck.
With her survival instincts kicking into immediate overdrive, Rose swung the locker door open and crammed herself into the semi-small space before closing the door as swiftly and as quietly as possible so as to avoid detection.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.
She did everything she could not to squirm. Her knees were pressed firmly against her sternum, and her neck was bent at an odd angle, effectively forcing her to stare at the two very unwelcome intruders through the thin slits on the surface of the locker door.
Octavia Montague came into Rose's line of sight oh-so-gracefully, her otherworldly beauty marred by the sinister malice behind her otherwise perfect smile.
There was something about the way she moved— it was in the way she flipped her rippling waves of maple-brown hair over her sleek shoulder. It was in the manner in which she licked her plump lips and blinked those long lashes; it lurked around the slender curve of her hips, as well as down the miniscule dip of her bare buttocks hanging just below the hem of her shortened skirt.
It was a certain something that would be described as dangerously seductive or outrageously sexy by most; but Rose could only feel a cold uneasiness flood her gut.
Everything about the young Slytherin was too deliberate. Too calculated.
There was something very wrong with Octavia Montague.
From her cramped position in the less-than-large locker she had forced herself into, Rose could make out Octavia's side profile as she turned to face someone else just outside her line of sight.
"I don't know about this. Are you absolutely sure that Malfoy won't mind?"
She immediately recognized the gravelly, baritone voice of Rufus Maverick, a dark-haired, rather bulky seventh-year who played beater on the Slytherin Quidditch Team.
Rose had knocked the poor tosser out with a bludger more times than she could count.
Octavia let out a raucous giggle as she tugged on Rufus's arm, forcing him into Rose's line of sight.
Despite the mild apprehension present on his strong features, Rufus looked like a love-struck puppy.
"I already told you," Octavia crooned as she pressed herself against the poor boy's torso. "We're in an open relationship. He can't tell me what to do."
Rose resisted the urge to snort out loud.
She knew for a fact that the dumb bitch was lying.
Rufus allowed his hands to dip below her hips, though a frown still resided on his face.
"But isn't this a little… inappropriate?" he inquired hesitantly. "I mean he's literally right outside. He's probably wondering why I followed you into the girl's changing room. Why can't we at least wait until after practice?"
Octavia scowled.
"What's the fun in that?"
Rufus opened his mouth to respond, but his expression suddenly went slack as a strangled gasp escaped his lips.
For a moment, Rose couldn't tell what had happened until her eyes fell on Octavia's right hand, which had swiftly and subtly dipped below the waistline of Rufus' trousers.
"If you want to fool around with me, Rufus, there is one thing you should know," she declared with one of the nastiest smiles Rose had ever seen. "I don't do boring. Either you fuck me right here, right now, or we don't fuck at all. Got it?"
Rufus, who looked like he was choking on his own spit as Octavia stroked him, could only nod wordlessly, his eyes clouded over with an all-consuming lust as he stared at her like she was the only thing that existed in this world.
"Good boy," the evil bitch crooned before abruptly removing her hand from his trousers, much to Rufus' obvious chagrin.
"Now take your trousers off, and touch yourself," she demanded while simultaneously taking a step backwards. "I want to watch you get hard for me."
Oh, no bloody fucking way.
Rose felt her stomach sink.
This CANNOT be happening.
But it was happening, and it was happening fast.
Rose squeezed her eyes shut once Maverick started unbuckling the belt of his trousers.
She would rather eat a bowl of doxy shit than see Rufus Maverick rub one out for Octavia Montague in the middle of the girls' changing room.
Unfortunately, from her inconveniently cramped position in the locker, Rose could still hear everything.
She could hear the subtle sound of Maverick's trousers hitting the floor.
She could hear a repetitive squelching noise that left little to the imagination, accompanied by labored breathing that grew increasingly tense and shallow with each passing second.
She could hear Octavia's sickening coos and purrs, followed by a wicked giggle, and a string of taunting words that made her inside curdle: "You need to go faster than that if you want to fuck me. Scorpius can get it up in less than a minute."
The desperation that reeked from Maverick's string of grunts was palpable.
Rose felt nauseous.
Her face grew increasingly warm, and the already claustrophobic space she had forced herself into seemed to close in on her entire being.
Through the cacophony of thoughts bouncing haphazardly around against her brain, Rose could only formulate one that was cohesive.
Octavia Montague is once again cheating on Scorpius Malfoy, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
It was a strange thought to have.
Despite their off-the-grid conversations, she wouldn't necessarily consider her relationship with Malfoy to be friendly. Not even close.
But she also didn't want to listen to another smarmy bloke "prepare" himself to have shameless sex with his lying, piece-of-shit girlfriend.
Rose was thrown off by the rather unfounded, yet intense surge of sympathy she suddenly felt for him.
No, it was more than that.
She was angry.
There was no mistaking the constricting of her chest and the tightening in her throat.
She was absolutely disgusted with both Maverick and Montague.
She wanted them both to be held accountable for their carelessness and cruelty.
Especially Montague.
That evil, conniving bitch knew exactly what she was doing.
Malfoy doesn't deserve this.
"Mmmmm… good boy," came Octavia's salacious purr. Then her tone took a switch so dramatic, that Rose felt the whiplash in her gut.
"Now get your lazy bum over here and fuck me."
She heard Maverick utter a small pathetic whimper of assent, followed by another rustle of movement.
Rose's heart hammered ruthlessly against her ribcage.
She kept her eyes squeezed shut as if her life depended on it.
Beads of sweat formed along her hairline.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could stay in this suffocating position.
Another harsh cackle desecrated her ear drums.
Then another rustle of movement.
"You're so gullible, it's almost cute," Octavia chided in a sickening, mock-baby voice. "Only Scorpy is allowed to touch me there. He is my boyfriend after all. You're going to have to use the backdoor like all of the other boys."
Rose's stomach turned.
Rufus Maverick, however, didn't seem to understand what Montague was getting at.
Fucking dipshit.
"Er… s-sorry," he stuttered out in a clearly puzzled voice. "I don't understand."
"Fuck. My. Arsehole. Maverick."
The way in which Octavia callously enunciated her words caused another bout of nausea to slam through Rose's cramped body.
A deafening silence hung heavily in the air that flowed through the changing room.
Then came Maverick's feeble voice, so small and meek in comparison:
"B-but I…I've never— won't that hurt youif I don't at least… y'know… warm you up first?"
Another hair-raising cackle.
"You're almost too innocent for me, Rufus," Montague simpered. "Everybody knows that I take measures to stay consistently prepared."
"I don't make assumptions," replied Maverick, his voice taking on a sharp edge that was absent less than twenty seconds prior. "And I'm not gonna lie… asking a random bloke to fuck you in the arse while your boyfriend is right outside is some really depraved shit."
Rose could see Montague's pretty blue eyes roll without even opening her own.
"Honestly, Maverick," snapped Octavia, clearly growing more and more hostile by the second. "If you're not going to do it, then I will just go find somebody else who will. You have until the count of three to—oooaahhhhh!"
Though she knew it was coming, Rose was not prepared for the lewd, guttural sound of Octavia's moan.
It sent something akin to a shockwave down the length of her spine.
"Merlin… it's so tight!" came Maverick's strained, breathless grunt.
Another dramatic rustle of movement, accompanied by another gut-wrenching whine from Octavia…
"Nnnnghhh— oh YESSS!"
With her head spinning uncontrollably, and a vile taste in her mouth, Rose forced herself to hold still as the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh accompanied by a cacophony of horrendous moaning flooded her ears.
And with each passing second spent listening to Octavia Montague get fucked in the arse, Rose felt a violent mixture of both fury and disgust slam through her body.
An image of a half-smiling, half-smirking Malfoy with his face covered in blood flashed across her brain.
The sky was flooded with stars that night.
"I don't think that you're a monster."
Rose clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her sweaty palms. Her face and ears were on fire. With each pant and whine emitted by the two treasonous Slytherins, her already festering claustrophobia intensified.
This is so fucked up.
She knew that if she wanted to, she could simply take a tumble out of the locker right now and ruin their backdoor fuck-fest.
Rose Weasley was no stranger to aggressive confrontation, even in the most repulsive of circumstances.
But she couldn't bring herself to move a muscle.
So with a churning stomach, she sheltered in place, mortified, eardrums tortured by Octavia Montague's incessant wails, which seemed to increase in volume with each exerted breath.
Rose was still a virgin (on both ends), so she didn't have personal experience to go off of... but she knew from talking to Estella (and Dominique) that unless there is ample preparation, foreplay, and/or expertly cast lubrication charms, anal sex is messy and painful.
"Yes that's right baby, keep fucking that arsehole— don't you dare stop. Yes, right there… ohhh yes, Yes, YESSSS!"
But judging by Montague's exaggerated wails, Rose could only assume that the vile bitch did this a lot, and was more than prepared.
"Why am I not surprised?"
Even though the words were spoken coolly, casually, and none-too-loudly, Scorpius Malfoy's voice still managed to breach the ear-splitting cacophony of moans.
Rose's eyes flew open at the exact same second that both Montague and Maverick fell into a dead silence.
The first thing her brain registered was the wicked arch of Octavia's lower back. Her eyes unwillingly traced the curve up to her bare ass, the too-short skirt dramatically hiked all the way up to her hips.
The evil vixen was bent over and pressed up against the wall, her slender fingers devoid of circulation as they gripped two locker handles for leverage.
A trouserless Rufus Maverick buried deep in Montague's bare arse, fingers digging into her slender hips was a jarring sight indeed—
But not as jarring as Octavia's wide smile at the sight of her boyfriend catching her in the act.
Rose felt sick all over again.
Her eyes fell on Malfoy.
His blonde locks were damp and windswept. His Quidditch robes stuck to his lean frame, wet and muddied from flying around in the rain. He held himself in an almost blasé manner as his eyes fixated on both Rufus and Octavia, hands tucked away in his pockets.
She had to admit that she was impressed with his ability to keep his composure in the face of such a diabolical scene.
But that was just it.
He seemed too composed.
Almost unbothered.
Keyword: almost.
Despite the smirk playing on his lips, Malfoy's usually silver eyes were darkened to an unsettling, pitch black.
"Ten minutes means ten minutes, Maverick," said Malfoy in a cool, even tone. "Not a seventeen minute romp in the girl's changing room. Your time management skills are subpar."
Rufus Maverick's face was the color of a tomato. He opened and closed his mouth stupidly as he quickly scrambled out of his indecent position, his fingers shakily and none-too-gracefully pulling his trousers back up his bare legs.
Octavia, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted.
She made a deliberate show of readjusting her skirt before standing up straight, and turning to face her alleged boyfriend.
She took one look at Malfoy's quasi-nonchalant facial expression, and her wicked smile intensified.
And that confirmed Rose's long-held suspicion that Octavia Montague took pleasure in purposefully hurting Scorpius Malfoy.
She wanted to get caught, and she had succeeded.
"It's just a tad rude to come barging into the girl's changing room unannounced, Scorpy," crooned the crazy bitch, her voice teetering on the edge of devilish laughter.
Despite her somewhat limited vision, Rose could still see Malfoy's already deadened eyes narrow dangerously at the sound of Octavia's voice.
However, he still had his steely attention fixated on Rufus Maverick, who looked painfully awkward and out of place as he stood there wringing his hands, his eyes downcast in shame.
"Abuse your ten minute break again, and Nott is taking your place on the team," he said in an eerily even voice. "If you don't want that to happen, then I suggest you get your sorry arse out on the pitch and give me eight ground laps. Now."
Maverick, knowing better than to argue with his Quidditch captain, immediately made a run for the exit leading out to the pitch.
The beat of silence that followed his departure weighed the atmosphere down like a wet blanket.
Even the steady pitter-patter of raindrops against the tented ceiling did little to alleviate the tension.
And then the crazy bitch giggled.
It was one of the worst sounds that Rose had ever heard.
"You must be feeling generous today, Scorp," mused Octavia.
She started to slowly close the distance between them with sauntering steps.
"You didn't even hex him." She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. The sound of her soft footsteps blended in with the echoing raindrops. "You really are no fun."
Malfoy remained stock still, his face cold and expressionless as his oh-so-lovely girlfriend got closer and closer to him. He couldn't even look at her.
Her devilish smile widened at his lack of response. She stopped her sauntering once she was only a foot away from him.
"Awww, are you upset, Scorpy?" She crooned, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. "Don't worry, baby. He was nowhere near as good as you are…"
But before she could make contact with his skin, Malfoy's hand came out of nowhere and smacked her fingers away. A startled breath escaped Octavia's lips at the unexpected motion. Malfoy's eyes were as dark as a starless night.
"Don't fucking touch me," he hissed. "Don't ever touch me again."
Rose watched as Octavia blinked a few times in shock before her expression shifted back to that of a malicious vixen. She crossed her arms and giggled.
"Oooh, feeling extra pissy today, aren't we?" she hummed. "Sounds to me like you need a good shag to release some of that rage. I can help you out with that."
"No. I'm fucking done with you, Octavia. We're through. I mean it."
His voice was sharp and steady, with just the right amount of cruelty to chill any normal human being to the bone.
But Octavia Montague wasn't a normal human being.
Her devilish smile disappeared, only to be replaced by a dark scowl that distorted her elegant features.
"You're full of shit," she snapped viciously. "You will come crawling back to me in less than a week. You always do."
"Let me make this very clear for you," Malfoy responded firmly, his voice unwavering and harsh.
"You disgust me. You are a vile human being, and I wish that you'd disappear. It would honestly bring me great pleasure to see you suffer, but it wouldn't even be worth it because I want absolutely nothing to do with you. I fucking hate you, and I am done."
Apart from the venom swimming in his eyes, his face was expressionless.
The finality that marked his words filled the crevices of the space around them.
Rose held her breath.
Octavia allowed herself to look bewildered for just a few seconds before her lips twisted back into its cruel smile.
She nonchalantly flipped her silky brown hair over her shoulder.
"You can't just be done, Scorpius," she chimed smugly. "You would die without me."
Malfoy stiffened at her words.
An unexplainable pit formed in Rose's stomach.
"I don't give a fuck," he spat, some of that pent up venom finally spilling into his voice. "Now get away from me."
Rose could tell that he was mere moments away from losing his composure. She didn't know Scorpius Malfoy all that well despite their many years of coexistence, but she had seen him unravel before, and she knew the telltale signs.
Octavia seemed to pick up on it as well.
After a beat of scrutinizing him with beady, unkind eyes, she shrugged her shoulders in a blasé fashion.
"You know where to find me," she stated simply, before turning on her heel, and making her way towards the exit of the changing room.
Malfoy held absolutely still, his glowering eyes fixated on Octavia's retreating form. Once she was out of sight, his shoulders sagged.
Rose watched as his face fell. It was a subtle motion, not marked by a crumpled expression or bitter tears.
She watched what little life there was in his eyes disappear like vapor.
For just a moment, a shadow of the utterly broken Scorpius Malfoy she saw in the bathroom that one winter night made an appearance.
But in the most subtle of ways.
The hurt present on his face was shrouded in an iciness that made Rose's stomach hurt.
As he ran a wary hand over his face, the sky continued to weep unashamedly.
She had never seen him look so tired in her life.
And then with a sharp exhalation of breath, he dropped his hand back to his side. The statuesque stoicism returned to his form. The wariness and sadness disappeared from his features, only to be replaced with a stone cold professionalism that suggested he was used to this bullshit.
The transformation was so abrupt that it was shocking.
And without another beat, Scorpius Malfoy brushed the front of his robes with his fingers, turned on his heel, and walked back out onto the pitch— presumably to continue on with practice as if nothing happened.
And with a heavy heart slamming aggressively against her ribcage, Rose wondered if he would wait until the dead of night to scream bloody murder.
~~Later July 2032, Malfoy Manor in Scotland, Present Day ~~
Rose can barely breathe.
All she can see is the warping blue sky above her as her vision fades in and out.
She thinks that she can hear people yelling, but the sounds are so muffled and distorted that she isn't sure if she's imagining them.
Where am I?
She attempts to sit back up, but a combination of nausea and an intense sharp pain in her right arm causes her to collapse backwards.
She realizes that she is lying on grass.
Outside.
On a quidditch pitch.
Why am I on a quidditch pitch?
Oh yeah.
It's Malfoy's quidditch pitch.
Rose blinks a few times, and she can suddenly make out a handful of familiar, yet unrecognizable faces looming over her.
"Is she alright?"
"What the hell even happened?"
"Holy shite, look at her arm. It's fucked!"
As if on cue, another nauseating jolt of pain surges through her right arm, and she cannot prevent a whimper from escaping her lips.
She squeezes her eyes shut once again, willing everything and everyone to just disappear.
"Weasley."
She will always recognize his voice.
Her eyes fly open.
Despite her disorientation, Rose can see Malfoy's face more clearly than anything else around her.
His silver eyes pierce through her like a knife. Though his face remains stoic, Rose can still make out the tightness of his jaw.
He's angry.
But why?
She attempts to sit up once again, but she is once again met with intense nausea.
"Hold still," he directs in a sharp voice before whipping his wand out of his pocket.
"Fuck off," Rose spits at him venomously, though the very action of speaking sends another intense jolt of pain from her arm to her chest.
Malfoy looks less than amused.
"I need to straighten your arm out," he replies in a flat voice, wand now pointed at her very broken arm. "And it's going to hurt a lot more if you keep squirming. So stop."
Though a part of her acknowledges the fact that he is actually trying to help her, Rose cannot stop herself from lashing out at Scorpius Malfoy like a rabid animal.
Even when she's at his mercy.
"Who are you to tell me what to fucking do?" she snarls at him as she attempts to lift her head up off the ground (which only makes her dizzier). "You're not a healer; you're just a filthy fucking— GAHHHHHHHHOOOOWWW!"
The other onlookers (who Rose finally realizes are her coworkers) erupt into gasps at the sight and sound of her oddly bent arm being snapped back into place.
For a split second, Rose feels her soul leave her body as she screams like a banshee, and she's once again on the brink of losing consciousness.
However, the sound of Malfoy's voice grounds her to the physical world.
"I told you not to move," he deadpans. If she isn't mistaken, she can detect a hint of smugness behind his words. "Your arm doesn't look like a snapped twig anymore, but it's still broken. Can you sit up on your own?"
"Of course I can sit the fuck up on my own," she snaps as she uses her good arm to push herself up off the ground. Though the pain is still intense, she no longer collapses backwards from sensory-induced nausea. "I'm not a stranger to broken limbs."
"I am well aware," he responds, a ghost of a smile flashing over his lips for a split second before disappearing. He then extends his hand out to her. "Come with me."
Rose snorts. "And why should I do that?"
He responds without missing a beat.
"Because you were injured on my property, and as your employer, it is my obligation to remedy the situation so as to avoid any legal liability."
Rose opens her mouth to fire back with the utmost disdain, but somebody else beats her to it.
"Oh is that why you want her to go with you, Scorpy?"
It's another voice that Rose can immediately recognize— a sickeningly sweet voice that has haunted her nightmares and psychotic episodes for years.
Rose feels her stomach turn as Octavia Montague stands not even a few feet away from them with a twisted smile on her face, her malignant blue eyes dead-set on Malfoy.
Her other coworkers, who have remained faceless until now, exchange looks as Mrs. Malfoy joins the party.
So Rose didn't imagine her presence on the pitch right before that bludger slammed into her arm.
The realization forms a writhing pit in her gut.
It's all because of her.
And yet… she cannot bring herself to speak up.
Malfoy immediately stiffens and drops his hand to his side. His silver eyes cloud over so that they resemble the color of stone. He doesn't even turn to look at his wife.
"I thought you said you'd be out tonight," he replies dryly.
"I changed my mind," Octavia chimes in a sing-song voice.
She takes another few steps forward, her form gliding almost inhumanly past the other very confused employees.
"Why would you not want me here, baby? Have you got other plans that don't involve me?"
As she speaks, her eyes shift from her husband to Rose, who immediately looks away, her heart beating violently against her chest.
She cannot help it.
She's scared.
And Octavia Malfoy can sense it.
The vixen's smile widens even more.
Malfoy turns his head halfway over his shoulder, though he still refuses to look directly at his wife.
"I already informed you that I would be having my employees over for quidditch practice," he says in a tense voice. "I know that you don't care for quidditch, so I assumed that you would be out and about."
Octavia giggles and flips her silky hair over her shoulder.
"Funny. I don't actually remember you telling me that. Are you gaslighting me now?"
She refocuses her glare on Malfoy, whose eyes narrow dramatically at her words.
Yet, with his stare off to the distance and his body turned in the opposite direction, he refuses to humor her with the explosive reaction she seeks.
The tension around the entire quidditch pitch is heavy. The other coworkers, who are merely innocent bystanders at this point, stay rooted in place, shuffling their feet awkwardly as the disaster unfolds before them.
"I talked about it with you twice yesterday, and then I reminded you again today," comes Malfoy's short, no-nonsense reply. "I cannot be held responsible for your poor memory."
Rose wants nothing more than to disappear. She does not want to be in the presence of someone as unpredictable as Octavia Malfoy while she sits on her arse, defenseless, with a broken arm. Nor does she want all of her bloody coworkers gawking at the spectacle and coming up with an arseload of assumptions.
Rose isn't stupid. She knows that the evil bitch confunded her. She knows that if this were any other person, she would strike back four times as hard.
Yet she still can't look Octavia Malfoy in the eye and she hates herself for it.
"You didn't inform me that certain people would be here, Scorpius," she presses mercilessly, her twisted smile on the brink of becoming a grimace.
Without looking directly at her, Rose can feel Octavia's eyes once again fixate on her.
"You know how I feel about certain people."
Rose can feel everybody staring at her, and that, coupled with the intense heat of the sun, makes her broken arm pulsate painfully at her side. Her head starts to spin, and she can already tell that her arm is swelling up at an alarming rate.
She needs to remove herself from this situation. And quickly.
"We will talk about this later," replies Malfoy evenly, though his eyes once again fall on Rose. She gulps as she makes eye contact with him.
He can sense her increasing discomfort.
"Miss Weasley's arm was broken on the premises, and it is my job as her employer to remedy the situation promptly so as to avoid any sort of liability due to neglect. So if you'll excuse me—"
He once again extends a pale hand for Rose to take.
She stares at it for a few seconds, her brain haphazardly weighing her options.
On one hand, taking it would enable her to get the fuck out of this awkward situation.
On the other hand, taking it would also enrage Malfoy's already sociopathic wife.
Nevertheless, the pain of her broken arm, coupled with her desire to be whisked away from this situation trumps her fear of Octavia.
Using her working arm, she grabs Malfoy's hand firmly and allows him to hoist her to her feet.
Due to her shaking legs and throbbing, dead limb, Rose's balance is less than subpar. So on instinct, she swings her good arm around his shoulder and leans against him for support.
And just like that, Rose Weasley once again finds herself pressed up against Scorpius Malfoy in front of everybody.
To be fair, she probably wouldn't even be able to walk away from this shitstorm without him— and nobody else seems too keen on helping her out.
Wankers.
Rose keeps her eyes on the ground as she allows Malfoy to lead her away from the crowd.
She's a bit too aware of his hand resting on the small of her back.
Octavia is staring at them unashamedly with an almost morbid fascination as they pass her. Rose still cannot bring herself to look directly at her.
"Only a month off the pitch, and you already don't know how to hit a fucking bludger," the evil bitch chimes with relish. "Maybe you're better off staying on the ground where you belong, Weasley."
Her voice cuts through the air like a knife.
Rose doesn't respond.
Not even the pain of her broken arm can distract her from the ice cold fear that slams through her like a torpedo.
"We will do a few more practice rounds once I am back," announces Malfoy over his shoulder to the rest of the team. "I shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes."
And as the world holds its breath, the unlikely pair makes their way across the pitch, towards the exit, holding on to one another in silence.
Each step farther away from Octavia Malfoy brings a new layer of calm to Rose's psyche.
And as they finally exit the pitch to meet the setting sun, all Rose can focus on is the intense pain of her mutilated arm.
"You better be taking me somewhere to get my fucking arm fixed, or I will chop your balls off and feed them to a pack of grindylows," she bursts out through gritted teeth.
She turns her head to shoot him a glare, and catches a small smile playing on his lips.
Her heart skips a beat.
"I brew and distribute skele-gro for St Mungo's on the weekends," he replies smoothly, veering off to the left and away from the direction of the manor. "Needless to say, I have a large supply stored away in the dungeons."
"Your fucking house has dungeons?" sneers Rose, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Don't tell me that's where we're going."
"As I've said, the skele-gro is in the dungeons," deadpansMalfoy. "And under an arse load of protective charms for quality control purposes. Hospital-grade quality and all that."
Rose snorts and rolls her eyes. "Stop bragging about your specially brewed hospital grade skele-gro, you bloody narcissist."
"I don't need to," comes Malfoy's simple reply. "You will soon see that the product speaks for itself."
He's smirking.
She wants to punch the living shit out of him.
But alas, she cannot.
"You spit a lot of game for somebody with subpar potion skills," she quips back instead.
Malfoy actually laughs at this. "That is your weakest comeback yet, Weasel-bee. Even you have to admit that my potion skills are more than subpar."
Rose grunts grudgingly in response.
"Here we are," Malfoy announces, falling to a dead stop in front of a large barren oak tree with a twisted trunk and sprawling branches.
It looks strangely out of place compared to the rest of the lush green scenery around it.
He whips out his wand and places the tip on the trunk of the tree for about three seconds before withdrawing it.
Rose blinks once, and a rectangular doorway appears in the bark of the tree, its chasm-like depths completely devoid of light.
Without missing another beat, Malfoy leads her through the doorway, and they are both engulfed in darkness as they descend what feels like a set of smooth stone steps.
The light from the outside world dissipates behind them.
"Lumos."
The tip of Malfoy's wand ignites, and a burst of golden light casts a warm glow on the narrow space around them.
Rose is suddenly very aware of just how close she is to Malfoy, and how his hand burns vibrantly on the small of her back.
With flushing cheeks, she instead chooses to refocus on her broken arm…
…which honestly looks quite ghastly at this point.
And really fucking hurts.
Rose grits her teeth to prevent herself from groaning in pain.
After a few long moments of silently descending down an array of stone steps, they finally enter a large, dimly lit circular space that looks like a cross between an underground fairy fortress and a disorganized classroom.
The juxtaposition throws Rose off as she takes in her surroundings.
The walls around her are made up of moss-covered stone, similar in texture to the walls of a cave.
Thick tree roots twist and turn along the walls, cutting around the space in odd, whimsical patterns. The ground is made up of lush green grass, and it feels soft against her feet.
There's even a small stream that cuts a crevice in the earth and flows into a small pool of clear water residing on the other end of the "room."
A wooden desk similar to the one Malfoy has in his study at the ministry resides on the left side of the room. The desk is covered in an array of papers, vials, and books. There are also a number of large wooden bookcases pressed against the wall behind the desk, all lined with bottles of neatly labeled potion ingredients.
Immediately next to his desk is a pile of thick green cushions neatly positioned atop the soft grass.
He leads her to the cushions and gently disentangles himself from her.
"Sit," he demands in an even voice before making his way towards his desk.
"This is hardly a dungeon," scoffs Rose, though she does as he says and gently lowers herself onto the pile of cushions. "It's more like a cozy secret hide-out."
Malfoy doesn't respond as he manually opens the bottom drawer of his desk, pulls out an unopened vial of skele-gro, and twists the cap off.
With his other hand, he flicks his wand and the vial starts to float towards Rose.
"Drink the whole thing and wait for about eight minutes," he instructs before he closes his desk drawer and turns to look at her, his face expressionless. "Once your arm has mended, you will be safe to apparate back home."
"Oh so you're going to send me home just like that?" challenges Rose, who cannot help but feel affronted. "You think I don't have what it takes to be your beater because a bludger slammed into my bloody arm, is that it?"
She uses her good hand to grab the vial from middair and immediately puts it to her lips.
She isn't a stranger to skele-gro, but she can never prepare herself for just how awful it tastes.
She gags upon completion of the drink.
Malfoy takes a seat at his desk and starts to aimlessly shuffle through some papers. He doesn't look at her.
"It's not safe for you to be here," he states simply. "I should have known better than to invite you over tonight."
For some unknown reason, his words sting.
Rose understands that he isn't trying to insult her, but she cannot help the sinking feeling in her chest.
"So, you did see her confund me," she states in a flat voice.
Malfoy stops shuffling through his papers, his downcast eyes darkening at her words. His lips flatten into a hard line.
Rose starts to feel a warm, dull ache replace the sharp pain in her right arm.
The skele-gro is doing its job.
"And you did nothing about it," she presses on relentlessly.
The beat of silence following her statement is unbearable.
Malfoy closes his eyes and sighs. He suddenly looks both extremely exhausted and irritated.
"What would you have me do? Call her out in front of everybody?" he inquires in a condescending voice. "Because that would turn out so well."
Rose cannot stop herself from scowling at the utter absurdity of this situation.
"You are her fucking husband," she spits in a venomous voice. "You both live under the same roof and share the same last name. If you can't hold her accountable for trying to literally kill your employees, then who can?"
"Nobody," comes his clipped, bitter reply. "She will not take accountability for anything."
Rose isn't pleased with his response.
"So you just let her do whatever the fuck she wants?"
She watches Malfoy clench his fists.
"Marriage does not equate ownership," he replies. "We don't tell each other what to do."
A familiar burst of heat flares behind her ribcage.
"You really are a master of coming up with bullshit excuses," she growls. "If you get off on being treated llike shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe, then just save yourself the trouble and fucking say it."
As the last word leaves Rose's lips, Malfoy slams his fist down on the desk with surprising force. His eyes, which are still fixated on his desk, resemble a starless night, dark and endless.
"I hate her."
The words are spoken softly, but with enough venom to take down a hippogriff.
A tepid chill lingers in the air following the sentiment.
Rose cannot stop the question from rolling off of her tongue.
"Then why don't you just leave her?"
The corner of Malfoy's lips twitch up into a condescending smile that is somehow worse than his ice-cold anger.
"In another lifetime, maybe. But not in this one."
His answer leaves Rose feeling oddly empty.
And…sad.
The anger-fueled heat in her chest slowly dissipates with each passing second.
She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out.
"It's been eight minutes," Malfoy finally states in a short voice. His fists are still clenched atop his desk. "I temporarily lifted the apparition block in this room. You can apparate straight home from here. I will have your broom returned to you tomorrow morning."
Rose almost forgot that her arm was broken less than ten minutes ago.
She stretches out her newly healed limb, twists it from side to side, and curls her fingers for good measure. Good as new.
She gets to her feet and brushes off the front of her dirtied quidditch robes before fixing Malfoy with an expectant stare.
But he doesn't even look at her.
After shuffling her feet for a few seconds, she utters a "thank you" so soft that she isn't sure if Malfoy can hear her.
Judging by his lack of response, he can't.
Or maybe he's just ignoring her at this point.
Either way, Rose can tell that she is no longer wanted here.
So with a heavy heart and an abundance of other emotions she would rather not deal with right now, she looks away from him and focuses on safely apparating back to her flat in Diagon Alley.
But in the split nano-second before she's sucked into the all-too-familiar, intergalactic inner tube, she catches sight of Malfoy's face.
And his silver eyes are glistening with tears.
—