Final installment, woo-hoo.

Cheers for all the feedback.

Wrote everything in one go, so if it sucks...

Disclaimer: do not own blah blah blah.

Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest
Now, he takes off her dress
Now, letting me go

Killers – 'Mr. Brightside'

7. E N V Y

He'd slept with Mary Clearwater once.

He'd been fifteen, intoxicated from at least six full glasses of Firewhiskey – a completely incoherent jumbled mess. Slytherin had lost the House and Quidditch Cup to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively, and his father had been far from pleased – a disappointed letter to be thrown on the pile. He'd had the romantic notion that if only he drank enough, the unease would vanish, but instead he ended up with a naked Clearwater under his sheets and a pumping head the next morning. He'd felt a wild shot of panic (Mary Clearwater? Pause, rewind, play again, vomit), abandoned all Malfoy manners, and shook her awake roughly. After she'd collected her clothes, she looked at him.

"Scorpius," she said. "I liked you a lot, you know that?"

Disgusted face on his part – no worthy reply.

"One day," she continued after that, "you'll fall in love with someone who doesn't want you back."

He'd laughed at her. Clearwater was, after all, idiocy personified.

The moment he walked away from Rose in the library, however, the memory hit him square in the face.

"I need your help."

Stephano groaned loudly while pressing his hand palms against his closed eyelids. "Fuck you, man. I was sleeping."

Scorpius rolled his eyes, rapidly becoming annoyed. His best mate slept like a log, and if it weren't for his snoring, he would've thought the Italian wizard to be dead as a doornail. It'd taken him literally fifteen minutes (fifteen minutes of his oh so very valuable time gone to waste, he thought grimly) to wake Stephano up – pulling, yelling, punching and pinching included. In the end he'd resorted to drastic measures and cast a small blasting spell next to the other boy's ear.

That'd sorted him out good and proper.

Scorpius smirked.

"Don't be a lazy twat. You've got friendship obligations."

"To which friend?" Stephano muttered needlessly, his voice dimmed because of the pillow.

"Me, of course," said Scorpius mockingly. "Best friends forever, remember?"

Stephano slowly turned his way. The look he shot the blond wasn't Best Friends Forever material in the least, but Scorpius couldn't care less – he rewarded Stephano with a smile so blinding and huge that even a Hufflepuff would've noticed it was fake.

And that was saying something.

"You're such a girl."

Scorpius patted Stephano on the back when finally a slight grin began to form on his tanned face. "Only for you, Zabini."

Stephano frowned at him in distaste, pretending to crawl away carefully, but the growing grin gave him away. His eyes were now fully opened and clear – a sign he was fully awake.

"Do you need me to braid your hair or paint your nails?"

"Are we going to sing songs too?"

Stephano chuckled. "Yeah, The Weird Sisters. So many old hits, mate."

"God, I hate The Weird Sisters."

Stephano popped himself up his elbows and shook his head in pseudo disappointment. "I already knew you had issues... but this? This is just plain bad taste, if not worse." Then, when Scorpius opened his mouth to drill Stephano's feeble insult into the ground, he cut him off. "Anyway. What do you need me for?"

"I need to you to expand your lovely twosome to a foursome this afternoon," stated Scorpius matter-of-factly. "Tell Vanessa to bring a friend. A hot one, preferably." He arched an eyebrow in thought for a split second. "No, scratch that. Not preferably. Compulsory."

"And what if I want to be alone with Vanessa on our first date?" Stephano asked in a dry tone.

"Then I'll have her know that you happen to have warts on your family jewels."

Stephano's expression funnily morphed into one of sheer horror. He kicked Scorpius' back with his foot from under the covers and glared loopholes through his deadly smug face. "You're a fucking wanker, yeah? I don't have warts, anywhere."

As if that was the point.

Scorpius merely got off the bed in response, placidly straightening his robe. When he was done disposing himself of all the imaginary dirt, he sarcastically formed a heart with his two index fingers and thumbs, and walked away backwards – his back turned to the door. Stephano's lips were set into a thing line, but Scorpius knew he wasn't angry. Not really.

(They'd seen each other naked, remember?)

"I'll see you later," Scorpius saluted. "Don't forget – she needs to be hot. Because, you know, warts."

Stephano didn't even bother to respond.

Scorpius left with a feeling that could be classified as satisfaction, but wasn't really. It would've been if only it wasn't so uncharacteristically artificial, if it wasn't so obviously above the surface. The truth was that he really did need his best friend's help – not to find a date, but to entertain him, to amuse him, to distract him from the fact that he'd fucked everything up with the one girl who might've held his interest for longer than one week and that said girl was going out with her ex-boyfriend today.

He might've been joking around with Stephano, but he felt like shit.

He'd felt like shit the entire week.

He wanted to screw her over. It was just that he very pathetically ached for a mental support while doing so – even if that mental support came from someone who hardly knew what Scorpius was up to. Stephano would never approve of anything that would deliberately hurt Rose... but wasn't he entitled to? Didn't he have the right after she'd so stupidly gone back to the whipped Scamander pansy while they were clearly in the middle of some... he shuddered at the term, but... blossoming liaison? He wasn't ready to give it up yet – he wasn't done with her, with them. He was fascinated by her and had remained so after getting to know her, and fuck that, because those things didn't happen to him. He was always in control – but then she had to go and ruin his whole strategy, using him and teasing him and Jesus, going back to her ex, prompting him to suddenly miss things.

He was an apathetic person. He didn't do nostalgia or melancholy by definition.

Except now he kind of did.

He was now the fish on dry land. The fucking drowning cat.

But maybe that wasn't the worst thing – that rather empty gut feeling when he thought about her (and he thought about her more than he cared to admit). The worst thing was the fact that she made him doubt himself. Sometimes he stared at her, at him, at the sickening two of them, and wondered what the hell Lysander Scamander had that he didn't have. He wondered if he wasn't good enough, if it really was essentially him, if she just thought he wasn't worth it. And when they weren't in his eyesight and classes were over, paranoia overthrew him – what are they doing? When he left her in the library – what did she do afterwards? And when sometimes she cast him a casual glance – does she think about me?

It was so depreciating it made him want to gauge his eyes out.

And for that reason, that specific reason, he wanted to screw her over.

She was blonde and had a big rack.

That was the only thing that occurred to Scorpius when Stephano introduced him to Charlotte Ackerley, a fifth year Ravenclaw, when they'd entered the Three Broomsticks. He'd seen her around the castle – after six years you do recognise people's faces, after all – but never talked to her, and had never intended to. He asked himself why that was, but then came to the conclusion that he'd never had the chance to do so while drunk. He tended to dislike people when his mind functioned decently – it was a sad thing, but he needed alcohol to get along with the rest of the world; to compromise. And, in all honestly, this girl looked like she could need some compromising.

Too bad Vanessa Boot was already taken.

"Hello, Charlotte," he said suavely, taking the chair next to her. "I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

"I know who you are," she said neutrally.

While her mouth moved he noticed her lips were thin. This inexplicably irritated him, but when he realised he was comparing them to Rose's, he quickly shrugged it off. "And is that a good or a bad thing?"

Stephano snorted. "Could that ever be a good thing?"

Apparently the events of this morning weren't too far behind him.

"You tell me," Charlotte responded, cocking her head slightly.

She was conventionally pretty, but he guessed that was because of her hair and her typical blue eyes. Her cheeks were slightly plumb and he thought she looked reasonably boring. He didn't like her voice either – it was rather high-pitched, whereas...

Of course.

Just when the sound of Rose's hoarse voice entered his head, the girl herself came in, Scamander in her wake. Her face was red (how convenient, he couldn't help but think evilly), her hair in a disarray, her Ravenclaw scarf draped around her neck carelessly, and her hand entwined with his.

The other boy.

One day, Clearwater repeated in the back of his head, pestering him, one day you'll fall in love with someone who doesn't want you back.

He wanted to turn away. He wanted to focus back on whatever Charlotte or Vanessa or Stephano was saying – that would probably be better for his sanity – but he couldn't, and his gaze remained plastered on the interaction that occurred between her and Scamander. Perhaps it was a serious case of sadomasochism, but he couldn't do anything about it, in spite of the grip that was tightening firmer and firmer around his throat.

He said something, she nodded.

He pulled out a chair for her, she smiled.

The waiter came, she ordered for both of them.

He told a joke, she laughed.

He touched her cheek, she looked at –

"... So yeah, what do you think about that? Branstone scores only half my grades and she still gets appointed prefect! I'm smart, aren't I? I'm basically a model student! Isn't that what the prefect status requires?"

Scorpius.

Rose had finally seen him.

"Scorpius," Charlotte said loudly, snapping her fingers next to his ear. "Did you hear what I just told you?"

"That Branstone made prefect and you didn't," he mumbled, instantly reverting his attention back to her. He couldn't let Rose in on anything concerning his current misery. She didn't deserve to know what effect she had on him. "I'm sorry," he said smoothly. "I'm listening. You're right. You're smart."

"You can't know that. We just met," she remarked primly.

He literally had to keep his eyeballs down to refrain them from flying upwards. "Well, you're a Ravenclaw, for one. And you wouldn't have said that if you were a dumb bimbo."

She seemed slightly appeased after that, and even smiled at him. He took this opportunity to scoot somewhat closed and silently wished Rose was looking and would keep doing so just like he had before. The smell of Charlotte's perfume washed over him, and it wasn't even so bad. Not intoxicating – but not bad either. Somewhere in the middle.

"Well, I'm not dumb," she said again, "just so you know."

"Why are you so keen on telling me that?"

"Because you're Scorpius Malfoy. Your grades would be the best if it weren't for, well, Rose Weasley, but she hardly counts anyway."

He was fairly flattered, he had to admit. "Why doesn't she count?"

"Because the girl's a machine," she stated simply. When she saw his blank face, she elaborated, "She looks amazing, her grades are amazing, her boyfriend is amazing – need I go on? There's something weird about that level of perfection."

Yeah, it needs to be mutilated, he thought. "She's probably not that perfect."

"Well, no. There's always that rumour about you and her..."

He almost started crying in terror (...figuratively speaking, duh) at her oh so unsubtle attempt to get inside gossip, but one glance back at Rose and Scamander's nauseating love fest, and he decided to humour her. "Which rumour exactly?"

"The one from the Ravenclaw party, you know?"

"Oh, that one," Vanessa suddenly butted in. "Yeah, I want to know that too, Scorpius."

It was only because she was Stephano's date that he didn't strangle her. Fortunately, Stephano tugged at Vanessa sleeve and whispered something in her ear – something Scorpius deciphered as 'give them some privacy', but he could've been wrong.

"Everyone knows that's true, Charlotte," he said quietly, keeping his voice down unlike the last time. Of course he only did that now because it caused Charlotte lean in closer and thus, made the scene look a lot cosier and intimate than it really was.

"Must be a real tramp then," she half-whispered back. "Seeing as she's snogging Lysander again."

He jerked upright.

She was right. The damned twat was right. There he was – trying to semi-seduce the girl next to him for the sole reason of exasperating the real object of his affections, only to find her exchanging salvia with... with that loser! With that total, complete, unadultered loser!

His stomach turned. He felt physically sick.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, attempting to hide the obvious aversion. "Good luck to him. She was a horrible kisser."

Too fucking bad she wasn't.

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up and he could tell she was more than interested. "Oh, was she?"

Good for him he was such a skilled liar.

"Yes. Absolutely terrible."

They were still kissing.

And now Scamander actually cupping her face.

"Excuse me," he said quickly, bitter taste on his tongue. "I need to use the loo. Be right back."

He didn't wait for her reaction. He just bolted. Dignified and sophisticated, he bolted.

He pushed the bathroom door open with unusual force, the smack against the wall loud and dangerous. He checked the room if there was anyone to be seen – even went as far as roaming his hands around in the air to make sure there were no Invisibility Cloaks present (you never knew with that stupid Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shop) – and was relieved to find no one. He swiftly flicked his wand in front of the tap and then splashed water on his hands – running it over his forehead, cheekbones and chin afterward, letting the drips glide down his neck onto his clothes. He needed refreshment. He needed to wash the picture of Rose Weasley off him. Off his mind. Off his everything. Because every time he saw her with Scamander he felt something he'd never felt before – like someone had ripped his heart out and squeezed all the life out of it.

He stared in the mirror.

He was lovesick. He was literally lovesick.

That subsequently meant that he was in love with her.

That thought in itself made him want to throw up. He wasn't a fool – he wasn't weak. A coward, yeah, maybe, but not stupid. He wasn't programmed to really love. Sure, he loved Stephano to some extent, and probably his family too (even though they were total dicks half of the time), but this was different. This was much more consuming and acute and Jesus fucking Christ, he wasn't the type to go a read a girl poetry, or always hold her hand, or carry her books, or listen to her nagging, or –

"Malfoy?"

Luckily he managed to cover up his distress.

"Scamander," he drawled, as normally as possibly, while turning around. "What a lovely surprise."

"Why are you so wet?" Scamander asked.

What does Rose see in this banal idiot?

"I think I'm coming down with a fever," answered Scorpius seriously.

A strange glint flashed in Scamander's eyes, like he somehow knew Scorpius was lying. Of course he immediately discarded that illusion, since no one, except for Stephano every now and then, saw through him when he acted a certain part, let alone Lysander Scamander whom he didn't even know well.

"You should probably go see Madame Pomfrey then."

"Probably," Scorpius agreed.

He just wanted him to fuck off, preferably forever.

Scamander then faced the wall to use the toilet – he didn't come for a little chitchat with the lad who shagged his girlfriend, after all. Scorpius unconsciously stared at the back of his head, still with that same question spooking in his brain – why him?

A not unfamiliar anger ran through him.

Why not me?

Because his clothes were nicer? Good heavens no. Because he was richer? Practically impossible. Because he had prettier skin?

Scorpius blinked.

That was it!

God, he was such an undeniable genius and even more undeniable, a prick. If he couldn't have her, he could still have his revenge, in whatever slight form. He smirked downright maliciously and murmured a non-verbal hexing spell between his teeth, so non-descript Scamander would've never, ever noticed. As he expected, Scamander did nothing but whistle momentarily, and unwittingly washed his hands next to Scorpius. Congratulating himself inwardly when the other blond was done, nodded at him and walked out the door, he felt better, albeit a little. Drying up hastily, he followed the boy's example and left the bathroom.

One look at their table, and he realised he couldn't stay.

Scanning his own company, he saw that the three of them were into what seemed an interesting conversation. He thought of what Stephano would say, Charlotte would say, hell, Vanessa would say if they knew, and it made him feel strangely suffocated. He sauntered out the Three Broomsticks as carefully as possible, not wanting one of them to see him and call him over. He didn't want to explain – didn't have the energy to explain.

When he stepped outisde, the icy wind whirled around him, his emotions a blended entity of envy, pride, wrath and a desire to drown himself in alcohol.

He couldn't stand seeing her any longer.

He had to let go.

It was hopeless. They would never work. He knew that, she knew that, they'd both always known that. There was no such thing as a Malfoy & Weasley agglomeration - it didn't exist, and it would never begin to do so, for it was simply... too hard, too farfetched.

So he had to let it, and her, go.

(That, and the fact that soon Scamander's skin would turn into fur and he was far too much of a likely suspect to stick around.)

He watched her from afar and she stopped acknowledging him altogether.

Several weeks had breezed by since the last time he'd spoken to her and hexed her boyfriend. Things had fallen back into place, more or less, as he'd reverted back to his old pattern – parties, girls, no challenge. Stephano had asked him how he was doing once, he was really coping, but Scorpius had reacted so annoyed he never bothered to inquire again, and that was exactly how Scorpius liked it. No questions, no difficulties. It reminded him of Rose and he only wanted to think about her when there was no Scamander involved. Unfortunately, he always was.

He tried to forget her - he really did. But life wasn't that friendly, and sure as hell hadn't granted him any happiness lately. The problem was that he couldn't just take his wand, utter a charm or spell or hex, and be rid of her immediately. The matter became less pressing, less intense after a while, but it lingered. She lingered on him. As did Clearwater's statement.

He'd fallen in love with someone who didn't want him back.

And now he was paying the price.

Thoughts about Rose also reminded him of what had happened with the locket. He knew she'd been devastated, and somehow the inkling suspicion that there was something more to the locket than just some scam never truly left him. He didn't know what precisely prompted him to do it, but one Friday night he came back to his dorm early after a secret party in the Gryffindor tower because of a headache, searched for a book in a drawer in his nightstand, found the locket instead, and in a wild, crazed haze, closed the drapes around him and opened it again. Despite his headache and therefore violated brains, he managed to solve the riddles without her help. It took him exactly an hour and thirty-six minutes, but he got there, on his own, and in a startling realisation, it came to him that he did learn something from her. He was so busy replaying that one evening in his mind that he almost forgot to actually look at the locket. It would've been a tragedy if he hadn't, because another text had sprung from the depth of the mirror.

'Time,' it read, 'is a dangerous thing to be fooled around with. In whichever circumstances it is not advised to alter it. Therefore it is absolutely impossible to see one's future unless it is completely sure that one has made peace with it and won't attempt to modify what is one's fate.'

Then, finally, Scorpius understood.

An image, so unlikely one would never have made peace with it instantly, did appear this time, unbeknownst to Rose Weasley. It was beautiful and exceptional and brilliant.

And Scorpius Malfoy?

He smiled.

Really, really smiled.

Will probably re-write a thing or two. Not the concept though.
This is a disguised happy ending. Either I'll write a sequel or you'll have to use your own imagination to know how they get together in the end.

Don't favourite without reviewing, please, thanks.

Cheerio

(In case you didn't get the end: I'll try to put it in simple terms. Rowena Ravenlcaw designed the locket to see the future. However, she realised a lot of people would want to change it and therefore mess with time. So she only let the people who wouldn't want to change their future see what it is.
Concrete: when Rose and Scorpius used it for the first time, nothing happened because they weren't ready for it. At the end, however, Scorpius knows he's in love with Rose and would like to be with her, so he does see his future. Thus... he sees them together.)