A/N: Hey all! I know it's been a while! I've been a busy bee this past year, but I am finally at a place where I am ready to update this story at least somewhat consistently :). My goal is once a month for now. I have a clear idea of where I am going with the defelopment of this plot, and I am super excited to share it with all of you (chapter by chapter of course).
On another note, I seem to be having difficulty with . I've had to upload this chapter three different times, and for some reason it keeps disappearing and reappearing st random intervals. It seems like the people who have favorited this story can see the update, but in case this chapter disappears again, this story is also on AO3 (archive of our own).
Again thank you for the support and reviews. It really means a lot.
Love,
Everlasting Faerie Light
~~~
"If the sun begins to rise
without its colors in your eyes,
it matters not.
A heart of mine
prefers the darkness."
-"Hopscotch" by CocoRosie
~~Later July 2032 - Present Day~~
The undeniable mid-summer heat is subdued by towering oak trees, enchanted to remain invisible to anybody passing their flat on the public street.
Luscious branches twist across the blue sky like an intricate web, shielding Lily's garden from not only the intensity of the sun, but from the invasive eyes of the outside world.
"Wow."
Rose cannot blame Malfoy for being impressed.
The youngest Potter makes it her daily mission to maintain the oasis-like nature of their backyard. From the enchanted mini waterfall that flows into a crystalline pond littered with lily pads, to the circular pattern of stone archways covered in various types of vines, plants, and flowers, nothing embodies magical sanctuary like Lily's garden— even by wizarding world standards.
With a hammering heart, Rose keeps walking until she is far away enough from the house to avoid her housemates eavesdropping— and settles on the patch of grass beneath a willow tree with low-hanging branches.
She pauses and takes a deep breath through her nostrils, commanding the stampede of butterflies erupting in her stomach to cease and desist.
In one swift motion, she turns around and comes face to face with Malfoy, and is immediately taken aback by how close he is to her.
Before she can succumb to another flurry of nerves, Rose clenches her fists at her side and narrows her eyes at the so-called bane of her existence.
"I know you aren't here to talk about work, so let's just get this bullshit over with."
Her words come out in an aggressive growl, compensating for the anxiety churning in her gut.
Malfoy lifts a brow.
"Why do you immediately assume that I am not here on work-related business?"
Rose's stomach lurches unpleasantly.
"Don't you dare pull that shit on me, Malfoy. After everything that happened yesterday—"
"That's precisely why I'm here," he cuts her off smoothly. "And given the fact that everything occurred during a work-sanctioned gathering, it is indeed work-related."
Rose cannot tell if he's dead serious, or purposely being a smart-ass.
The absence of emotion on his face irks her to no end.
Why are you shutting me out?
"Are you here to tell me that I can't play in your stupid fake Quidditch game because your wife is a psychopath, and your mistress is a jealous twit?"
The words tumble from her lips before she can bite her tongue.
Typical.
Rose swears she sees a small smile flash across Malfoy's blank features, but it is gone before she can fully comprehend it.
"Let me start by returning your broom," he replies in a flat voice. "I didn't find the time to do so during business hours today."
"Oh, I'm sure that darling Olivia made sure of that," spits Rose, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Does she know that you're here with me at this very moment?"
Her heart rate spikes as soon as the accentuated 'with me' leaves her lips, but like the professional that she is, she ignores it.
"I don't answer to Olivia," replies Malfoy, his tone impassive, as he pulls a small green purse from the inner pocket of his robes. "Or anyone for that matter."
With one swift movement, he opens the purse with his wand, and plunges his arm deep into it before pulling out a pristine-looking, adult-sized broomstick.
In another swift movement, he stows his small green purse back into his robes and holds out her Firebolt 760 for her to take.
Rose rolls her eyes.
"I don't give a shit about who you do or don't answer to."
She snatches the broom out of his hands with as much aggression as she can muster before fixing him with a steely glare. "Let's just get this over with, yeah?"
Rose disregards Malfoy's questioning stare, and braces herself for her inevitable termination.
A lifelong ban from Quidditch and constant ridicule by the press should make being kicked off of a fake work-sanctioned team a piece of cake, right?
Right?
Malfoy is expressionless apart from a raised eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Do NOT play dumb with me," she growls, her blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm not a dewy eyed schoolgirl anymore. We both know you're here to kick me off of your stupid little made up Quidditch team, so for the love of Merlin, just get it over w—"
The sound of Malfoy's bitter laugh interrupts her angry tirade.
"Your instinct to assume the worst of people is incredible."
"What?"
"On the contrary," he continues, completely unfazed by the fact that Rose looks ready to explode into a million pieces. "I came here to apologize for yesterday."
Rose's chest leaps high into her throat.
She studies him carefully.
If a contest for stoicism existed, Scorpius Malfoy would win by a landslide.
Not a single speck of emotion penetrates the cool lines of his features.
But she can still see it in those ever stormy eyes of his— an indicator that the motherfucker is at least somewhat human.
Her fingernails dig into the wooden handle of her broom.
"Apologize for what exactly?"
Her voice is even, but her heart continues to slam ruthlessly against her ribcage. She holds her breath in anticipation.
The consistent hum of the cicadas cuts through the thickened air like a knife.
"I failed you multiple times yesterday. Both as your boss and your acquaintance. I couldn't in good conscience finish out the day without…"
His voice falters.
And for the first time in what seems like a millennia, Scorpius Malfoy looks nervous.
His usually piercing grey eyes flit to his feet in apprehension as he runs his fingers through his mess of blonde hair.
Definitely nervous.
"I'm sorry," he finally utters, his hand dropping to his side. The soft inflection of his voice startles her more than she cares to admit. "For making you uncomfortable in front of our coworkers, for singling you out and using my position as head of the department against you, for losing my temper with you multiple times, and…"
He dares to make eye contact with her again.
And Rose immediately feels her throat close up.
"…and for not taking the necessary steps to ensure your safety on my property."
He exhales softly, the whistle of his breath melding seamlessly with the cicada's song.
Rose cannot stop her eyes from scouring every inch of his angelic face. The sudden urge to reach out and caress his arm causes the beast in her chest to snarl and recoil.
She digs her fingernails even deeper into the wooden handle of her broomstick, the splintering pain grounding her to the earth beneath her feet.
"My safety is not your responsibility."
As the words leave her lips, an overwhelming wave of nostalgia sweeps her off of her feet and carries her to the icy shores of a winter-swept, star dotted black lake.
When have you ever given a fuck about my safety?
She is suddenly seventeen again.
I never expected you to return the favor, Malfoy.
He tilts his head over so slightly as he looks down at her with a knowing expression— as if he too can recall their dream-like interaction, a surreal memory tucked away in that hidden dimension only accessed by the two of them.
She can feel pinpricks of heat bouncing violently in the small breadth of space between them.
When did he get so close?
"Maybe not," he replies, his voice still uncharacteristically tender. "But I should have known better."
Known better?!?? Ha fucking HA!
Despite his soft-spoken approach to this conversation, Rose cannot quell the wave of contempt swelling in her abdomen.
Contempt mixed with a surprising amount of hurt.
"You should have known better about a lot of fucking things, Malfoy."
Without warning, her voice breaks as his name leaves her lips.
The fire in her chest is suddenly replaced with lead, the heaviness of it crushing her windpipe and threatening to suffocate her.
And her eyes… they're burning.
Don't you dare fucking cry, Rose.
Not now.
Not yet.
She lowers her head so that Malfoy cannot see her misty eyes. With a sharp breath, she digs her fingers even harder into the handle of her broom.
She doesn't stop until the splinters of wood pierce the calloused skin beneath her fingernails, blood pooling into a web of cracks and crevices.
If she can just focus on the pain, then she can prevent herself from bursting into unprovoked tears in front of Scorpius Malfoy.
The pain will help her forget the grief, the trauma, the torment, the heartbreak that she was subjected to so many years ago.
Nevermind that the source of her strife happens to be standing in front of her, eyes glued to her shaking form as she attempts to keep her shit together.
After an elongated beat of silence, Rose feels the featherlight brush of his palm against the skin of her knuckles.
She doesn't release her grip on the broom handle.
She cannot afford to.
Even though the pain is poignant.
Even though her blood is now dripping down the length of the broom.
She just… can't.
Her vision blurs from the steady build up of unshed tears. She blinks rapidly, causing small streams to travel down her freckled cheeks.
"Rose—"
She inhales sharply at the sound of her first name leaving Malfoy's lips.
And then his pale fingers wrap gently around her clenched, bloody fist.
The delicate warmth of his grasp re-awakens something within Rose— something achingly intense and familiar.
She dares to look back up at the bane of her existence.
The frostiness that usually coats his deadpan stare is absent. Instead, his fair features are marred with a subtle, yet notable sorrow.
It is the same sorrow that Rose saw overtake him when Octavia Montague walked out of that changing room after ruthlessly cheating on him nine years ago.
The same sorrow that drew tears from those stormy grey eyes of his just yesterday evening right before he sent her home.
"I know."
His words are loaded— the downward inflection of his voice confirming the fact that there is much left unsaid.
And though Rose is in no mental state to crack open that can of worms, she feels validated by his two-worded admission.
It's enough.
For now.
She exhales, and loosens her damaging grip on the broom, the pain in her fingertips now reduced to a tingling hum.
After another beat of electric silence, Malfoy gently releases her loosened fist.
Rose uses her free hand to quickly wipe the tears from her eyes. With a grounding exhale, she clears her throat and once again matches the firm intensity of Malfoy's stare.
How can she forget just how close he is to her?
Just a finger's breadth away.
"I accept your apology," she replies, her voice firm, yet sincere. "I—"
I'm sorry too.
Why can't she just say it?
She feels the heat pool in her cheeks, the words caught on the tip of her tongue.
They just won't come out.
C'mon Rose. You've already apologized to him for being a nasty bint the other day. Why the fuck is it suddenly impossible?
"It seems that two apologies in such a short time frame is too much for you to handle, Weasley."
Rose feels an initial surge of rage at his smart-assed comment, but the uncharacteristically gentle grin on his face immediately douses the fire in her chest.
She opens her mouth again as if to say something.
And again, nothing comes out.
First you cry in front of him.
Now you're literally speechless.
This simply won't do, Rose.
"Who said that I was going to apologize?"
And there she goes.
Right back to the default callousness she cannot shake even if her life depended on it.
Funny how Malfoy seems unaffected by it.
"You're right," he replies smoothly, his lips still quirked in amusement. "Forgive me for assuming that you'd do the right thing."
Rose snorts out loud. "You're one to talk about doing the right thing. What the fuck does that even mean, anyways?"
"Before we go down a rabbit hole revolving around the intricacies of morality…" Malfoy replies evenly, though Rose can still detect the mirth coating his voice. "There was something else I wanted to ask you."
"Spit it out then," she snaps waspishly. "We're approaching our five minute time limit."
"Oh we're way past the five minute mark Weasel-Bee," he quips back, a true smirk breaking the stoicism of his features. "Time sure flies when you're having fun… don't you agree?"
And once again, Rose is suddenly hyper conscious of just how close they are standing to each other.
She hates that she doesn't want to create distance between them.
Her face grows unreasonably hot.
She grits her teeth.
"Spit it the fuck out then."
"Would you do me the honor of playing beater on my team at the game tomorrow?"
Rose blinks once… twice… her brain slowly registering his request.
She scours his face for any trace of insincerity, but finds none.
"You… still want me on your team?"
"Well I want to win the game," he replies, those steely grey eyes never once leaving her face. "I'm not one to give out unsolicited bonuses for no reason."
Yesterday's memory of Emery Davidson attempting to bribe her on his behalf suddenly flashes across her mind, and she does nothing to stop the smug smirk from creeping on her lips.
"If I recall correctly, Davidson did mention that you referred to me as one of the best beaters you have ever seen."
"Davidson is hardly a reliable source of information," he counters coolly.
But Rose doesn't miss the slight upturn of his lips.
Nor does she miss the sudden light that softens the steeliness of his grey eyes.
Her heart skips a beat.
"Tell that to everybody else in the department," she counters swiftly. "The ass-twat barged into my office and damn near interrogated me."
Malfoy raises an eyebrow at that piece of information.
"About?"
"Us."
Rose wills herself to focus on the soft, yet long breath pushing through her lips.
But she doesn't dare break eye contact with him, despite the fact that they remain standing within mere inches of each other.
He shrugs— the gesture a bit too noncommittal for the situation.
"Sounds to me like the poor chap is jealous," he suggests. "It's quite obvious that he holds a sweet spot for you."
"That's bullshit," Rose deadpans, her skin crawling at the idea that Emery Davidson may still hold a candle for her. "Not that I give a fuck about Davidson's feelings, but there's no reason for him to be jealous."
"Isn't there, though?"
His inquiry is so simple, so harmless… yet the weight of it almost knocks Rose right off of her feet.
But she doesn't move an inch. Instead she finds herself hungrily scoping out every inch of Scorpius Malfoy's face with transfixed eyes.
The minuscule amount of space between their two bodies breaks down into a blurry mess of electricity— the static from the interaction shooting arrows through every sensitive part of Rose's body.
Her mouth transforms into a sheet of sandpaper, and her throat closes up in an attempt to prevent her hammering heart from escaping its cage.
At Rose's lack of response, Malfoy's lips quirk back into that characteristic smirk that drives her absolutely bonkers.
The fucker knows that he has a notable effect on her.
He's always known.
"So back to my original question," he utters in a low voice that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end. "Will you play beater with me at the game tomorrow?"
Everything within Rose's psyche is screaming at her to put her foot down and refuse him.
But along the same vein, everything within Rose's physical being is begging her to submit fully to him.
To give him what he wants.
"What's in it for me?"
Though defiant, her voice is a mere whisper against the garden's summertime hum.
"I saw the way your face lit up when you got into the air yesterday, Weasley."
A subtle smile breaks through that devilish smirk of his. "You still love Quidditch; and you still love to fly."
Rose does her best to ignore the butterflies skittering about her stomach.
"So?" she snaps. "What's your point?"
Suddenly, his expression becomes solemn.
"It will be the closest you get to playing professional Quidditch for the rest of your life."
He then throws his head back and laughs out loud.
She's taken aback by how warm his real laugh is.
How could I have forgotten?
A reluctant smile forms on her lips.
"You are a straight fucking cunt for that one, Malfoy."
He raises his hands up in mock surrender, his usually steely eyes swimming with an indescribable light that Rose thought she'd never see again.
"Too soon, I know," he says, the laughter still coating his voice as he lowers his hands and fixes her with a look that makes her toes curl. "But in all seriousness… it truly is up to you. If you want to play Quidditch with us tomorrow, we would be lucky to have you."
It's an odd thing really…
That despite the fact that she was on the verge of angry tears mere moments ago, she cannot seem to stop herself from smiling now.
But she is Rose Weasley after all.
And she will never relent easily.
"Are there consequences for not playing tomorrow?"
"Just my poor broken heart."
The bastard is still smiling.
"How tragic," she deadpans.
Fucking hell, why is she also still smiling?
Wipe that stupid smile off of your fucking face, Rose!!!
"If it matters at all," he continues, that stupid smile finally slipping from his lips. "I've implemented an additional level of both internal and external security for the entirety of the pitch. Just for tomorrow."
"And that should matter to me because…?"
"Anybody who shouldn't be on the premises will not be on the premises."
Oh.
"You're referring to your wife, aren't you?"
Rose can't shake the feeling that Malfoy talks in riddles for the simple purpose of not wanting to bring up Octavia in any way, shape, or form.
When his eyes take on the texture of concrete, she realizes her feeling is correct.
"Yes," he replies in a clipped voice. "I cannot allow something like what happened yesterday to occur on ministry property."
A mental image of a livid Octavia Montague realizing that her own husband resorted to magical means to prevent her from entering ministry grounds suddenly flashes across Rose's mind.
An unpleasant chill runs down the length of her spine.
"Good to know my safety is more important to you than your liability to the ministry," Rose drawls, the sarcasm prominent in her tone.
Though to be quite honest, she cannot find it in herself to fault him for his reasoning.
The bitch is banned. That's all that matters.
The smirk returns to his lips.
"I thought you said that your safety isn't my responsibility," he counters easily.
Before she can reply with an undoubtedly scathing insult, he gestures to her hand still gripping her broomstick. "Y'know… there are things you can squeeze safely when you are in distress. A broomstick is not one of them."
Rose turns her head to look at her hand, expecting to see a carnage of damaged fingernails and blood.
But to her surprise… her hand looks completely normal. Undamaged.
Fingernails intact.
No blood running down the handle of the broom.
She blinks once, twice. She curls her fingers slightly against the wooden handle.
No pain.
With a jolt in her stomach, she remembers how he had held her hand mere moments ago.
How the pain had numbed and melted away into a distant hum as his fingers brushed against her skin.
Her mouth becomes dry again.
Should I… thank him?
Thanking him seems almost as painful as apologizing to him.
But…
"Fine," she fixes him with another intense stare only reserved for him. "I'll play beater on your stupid little team tomorrow."
——
"So…." drawls Lily as she leans against the frame of Rose's bedroom door, arms crossed and a suspicious look on her face. "What did Malfoy want to talk about?"
"Work stuff."
Rose focuses a little too hard on the pile of clean laundry on her bed, swishing her wand to and fro to fold each individual article of clothing in a precise and efficient manner.
"Uh-huh," Lily replies, sounding completely unconvinced by Rose's lackluster reply. "You two were looking awfully cozy out there. Is it really necessary to stand that close to your boss when discussing work stuff?"
"He just wanted to return my broom," she snaps, an impatient edge coating her otherwise stiff tone.
"You're not telling me something."
The absolution in Lily's voice irritates Rose to no end.
She shoots her younger cousin a withering look. "Why the fuck are you spying on me anyways? Can't an adult have some privacy around here?"
Lily returns Rose's withering look with a dangerous look of her own. She pushes her round glasses up the bridge of her nose before going in for the attack.
"Scorpius Malfoy, your self-declared worst enemy and now boss, shows up to the flat unannounced and asks to speak to you privately," she states flatly, her brown eyes narrowing behind her spectacles.
"Do you think I'm daft enough to believe that you two were talking about work stuff? You were standing so close to him for nearly fifteen minutes. Honestly, I am convinced that you two are secretly dating or shagging or something."
With an overly aggressive jolt of her wand, Rose sends her neatly folded stack of laundry tumbling into a disorganized heap on her bed. With a growl, she tosses her wand on top of the pile and rounds on her insufferably nosy cousin.
"There is nothing going on between me and Malfoy, so shut the ever living FUCK up and learn to mind your own goddamn business for once in your life."
To Rose's chagrin, her aggression only seems to fuel Lily's determination to question her.
The youngest Potter snorts out loud, a smirk forming on her lips. "Your reaction says it all, Rosie. You are definitely hiding something."
Rose immediately starts to count backwards from ten.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…
With a shuddering exhale, she fixes Lily with a hard, but subdued glare.
"Believe what you want, Lily. I really don't give a shit. All I'm asking for right now is for you to respect me enough to leave me the fuck alone."
…Five, four, three, two, one.
The two redheads stare each other down, each daring the other to say something incriminating or stupid.
After about fifteen seconds of tense silence, Lily relaxes her shoulders and huffs a little bit.
"Fine," she relents begrudgingly. "But can I just ask one more thing before I drop it entirely?"
Rose grabs her wand from the heap of fallen laundry, and with an upward flick of, the pile of clothing rights itself into a neat, folded stack once more.
No.
She wants to say no so badly, but the imploring look on her cousin's face softens her hardened heart.
No matter how volatile the interaction, Rose can never stay mad at Lily.
"Ask now before I change my mind," she grumbles.
"Right before Malfoy showed up and interrupted us, you said something kind of funny."
Lily pauses for a just a beat, but it's enough to cause Rose to squirm.
"Get on it with it, Potter."
The younger redhead rolls her eyes at being referred to by her last name, but continues with her inquiry without comment.
"You said that you don't 'necessarily hate' Malfoy. I didn't think you were capable of saying those words together in a single coherent sentence. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but—"
"I don't."
Rose inwardly curses at herself for expressing any semblance of vulnerability to Lily of all people.
She should've known that her cousin would catch onto her strange behavior.
Although Rose is good at keeping secrets, Lily Potter knows her better than most people. Apart from Estella, of course. And now Healer Jones.
The youngest Potter falls silent and the two challenge each other to another intense glare off.
But Rose will not give in.
Not this time.
And when Lily beholds the unrelenting stoniness in her cousin's stance, she sighs, her tense shoulders sagging in defeat.
"Okay, I'll leave you to it then."
Rose doesn't break eye contact until Lily pushes herself from the doorframe to make her exit.
"Have a good day at work tomorrow, Rosie."
—-