A/N: Written for the 2011 'Can You Write A Rare Pair?' Competition at HPFC. My pair was Scorpius Malfoy/Victoire Weasley and I had the prompts star shine, heaven and rosemary. Thanks to mew (mew-tsubaki) for betareading!

Her Raging Quiet & His Silent Screams

He liked to watch her. He knew, even before he had his innocence (which he always claimed he had never had—but once he had been the blonde little angel his mother always said he was) corrupted by endless conversations with his best friends and their cousins at Hogwarts, that it sounded awfully creepy "liking to watch someone," but he did. It just was something about her silver blonde locks that seemed to go on forever, the way her eyes danced over everything, the way she moved, so gracefully and easy—like in a dance.

It took him a few years to understand he hadn't only liked to watch her, but that he liked her. As in liked. Very much. So, the summer he met her again, when she was staying at Rose's place as it was closer to her work and he was there with Albus for a week, he began to talk to her, about everything, just to become her friend. Because he knew how one was supposed to do those sorts of things. However, apparently she didn't. She didn't know that his courting, his lingering looks and hand brushings, meant something.

Therefore he told her what it meant, and that he had missed her at Hogwarts these two latest years. And she laughed in his face. "Scorpius, you're thirteen, for Merlin's sake, and I'm nineteen."

"But that doesn't matter," he said sternly, folding his arms. He wanted to show her that he was mature, that they together could conquer the world and everyone's opinion that there was too big of an age gap between them.

Her whole face changed. "You aren't kidding me?"

"Why would I?" he answered, not wanting to show how much it hurt him when she said that.

She sighed, got up from the chair and walked away. And he didn't move, because now he finally knew what it felt like when you got your heart broken.

It took him another few years to move on from her.

At first, she stubbornly refused to disappear from the back of his mind; she stayed there and always reminded him of the differences. That the hair he was pulling his fingers through was not silver blonde, that the eyes he was looking deeply into were not crystal blue, that the lips he was kissing so eagerly were not heart-shaped.

But then he realized he had only been silly, it had been nothing but a crush, an imagining of what love was. He met her sometimes, and he actually felt nothing. It was the average "How're you doing?"—casual conversations, the normal awkward silences after telling her that he was screwing around with her sister, the usual smirking when she blushed and dismissed herself.

And it felt rather good.

Not like revenge, because he had never wanted that. Why would he even want revenge when it had merely been a silly little whim that had gotten into him when he had been young and inexperienced? But good in the way that he knew that she no longer could affect him, that she no longer, unconsciously or not, controlled his life.

Instead he had his perfect life with her sister.

So perfect.

Until it wasn't perfect anymore.

"So, I've heard you've broken up with Dom?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Hard to please, eh?"

"You're talking about your sister," he answered, as coldly as he could manage, and prodded a bit of salmon with his fork. He couldn't believe his bad luck, that the business dinner where he was going to meet a "lovely, young woman," who (according to his boss, who—with waggling eyebrows and a hearty laughter—patted him on his back and said, "Son, you know how to take the ladies, don't make me disappointed now") was her.

"I know, but it's true, isn't it?" Her eyebrows were raised, and yet she looked so blasé.

"Guess it is," he answered and smirked. "No offense, but she's rather whiny, isn't she?" It felt so good saying that, not just because it was true and he had wanted to say it for so long, but because Victoire apparently did take offense to it.

"She is my sister, Scorpius."

"You asked," he answered and casually took a mouthful of mashed potatoes. She was still busy cutting her fish into pieces—soon they were going to be so small you couldn't see them. "You going to eat that?" he asked and took a tomato from her plate with his fork.

"I was," she said, but he had already swallowed and he wasn't even sorry.

"Sorry," he still said, knowing that she knew that he didn't mean it. "Well, how's Teddy? Haven't worn him out yet? Or is he still functioning? I mean, you've been doing him for a while. Because it can't possibly be the other way around, huh?"

"Could you please stop being so crass and rude?" she suddenly snapped. "Just because you're pissed off at Dom, it doesn't mean you can act like an asshole."

She rose from the chair and left, and Scorpius felt even better. The glares he got from the people around them didn't matter, the cold wind that blew in when she opened the door didn't matter, the final glance she cast him didn't matter; he felt invincible.

Not when he was trying to fall asleep some hours later, though, but that was another story.

Next time they met, everything was different, but still exactly the same. It was a haze of clothes being ripped off, hands moving so quickly it almost hurt them, skin that brushed against skin, hot against cold and it all soon blurred so both were warmer than before. But it was still the same nasty words, the glares and the Victoire that seemed to hate him as much as usual and him who felt as though he was still the king of the world.

But it was mostly different. And most of all, different from anything he had ever experienced. With Dominique, it had been emotions and star shine and glitter and glimmer. With Victoire it was darkness and consuming and rawness and spinning and aching and pain.

He could hardly remember how it had begun. Victoire had come to his apartment, looking like a wreck, and sometime during the night they had proceeded to the bedroom. He didn't even remember why she had looked like a disaster, just that that hadn't mattered when her eyes had been shooting daggers at him but at the same time her hands had been moving across his chest and making him shudder and shiver and almost, almost, almost groan.

"Hey, Vic, why did you come?" he whispered into the mass of hair next to him.

She grunted. "I'm sleeping, git."

"But now you aren't." He smirked and began pushing at her leg with his foot. "Answer now, will you?"

"Because I couldn't stand Teddy anymore, and he couldn't stand me and I sort of wanted to forget it all, is that an answer enough for you? Or are you going to kick me out of this freaking bed?"

"I think I will," he answered and didn't stop kicking her.

"Merlin, Scorpius, it's not funny!" She sat up in the bed, clutched the sheets around her, and got up from the bed, heading into the bathroom.

Scorpius smiled brightly and leaned back against the pillows. A few minutes later, he got up as well. "Hey, would you please mind not occupying my bathroom? I need to shower."

"You'll have to wait," she answered; streaming water could be heard in the background.

"It is my bathroom—get out of there!" He had just realized he was late for work and that it in fact was a Friday and not a Saturday, as he had thought.

"Wait!" she yelled.

"No! Open now!" He regretted it all now: letting her in to his apartment yesterday, stumbling into his bed, waking her up. He already had a headache thanks to her.

The door swung open and Victoire came out, looking furious. "You can't wait, can you?"

"No," he answered shortly and began walking in but then her hands grabbed his shoulders and she turned him around. And then her lips were on his and his hands were on her neck and in her hair and on her hips and it all was forgotten. Or not forgotten—more turned into the sparkle that again made them hungrily and silently kiss each other as though there would never be the opportunity again.

It was funny, Scorpius thought; he had no idea how this had all happened. But he liked it a lot, and it didn't matter that they always were so angry at each other because that was what made them want more all the time.

"We're never going to heaven or reaching nirvana or do any of those things, you know that?" he asked another day, when they sat in the garden outside Victoire's house out of which they just had moved all her things. "We're just too mean to each other and doing a lot of sinning."

"And that bothers you?" she asked with her eyebrows raised and laughter in her voice. "Well, at least we'll go to hell together."

She rose from the ground, pulling her fingers through a rosemary bush, lifting them to her nose and breathing in. "Yummy… Now you'll have to help me with the rest, you lazy sod."

He groaned but got up, sniffing the air when he was by the bush. He thought it smelled disgusting, but he didn't say anything.

When all of her things were moved into Scorpius' apartment, it took a week until they had to move them out again. Some things were never meant to work, especially not them. Some would say that it was their heated arguments that led to their downfall, but in fact they hadn't even argued the night it ended. They were just wrong.