Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

DECEMBER/JANUARY – S

He came close to telling Stephano exactly fourteen times that New Years Eve. The worst moment was when, six Firewhiskeys in, Cillian had embraced him sloppily and shouted, "Why haven't you pulled a bird today?"

"Always the subtle and sophisticated one," Stephano had said, rolling his eyes at Cillian and pulling him away from Scorpius. Cillian pushed Stephano lightly, but his attention drifted immediately when Scarlet Rosier called him from afar. He mumbled a vague "See you, lads!" and ran off again.

"Good riddance. He has flied from the pleasantly drunk right to the bumbling idiot stage," Stephano noted drily. "Now - seriously, why haven't you pulled a bird?"

Because there's only one bird I want. "No one to my fancy really," Scorpius replied, haughtily.

"It almost seems as though you're no longer a free man, Scorpius," Stephano remarked cleverly.

Yes, Scorpius wanted to say, out loud. Remember Rose Weasley?

Would it be so bad to tell his best friend, really? Stephano liked Rose. Rose liked Stephano. But then he remembered Rose had been the one to request the secrecy in the first place, and it wasn't up to him to break his promise under the guise of drunkenness. Also, he trusted Stephano, but you never know - someone could hear them, it'd get out, his mother-in-law would get scolded for it, his family would throw a fit, the press would start following them… It'd just be one big shit show, in conclusion.

"Absolutely not," Scorpius lied. "If it is your heart's desire that I prove this to you, I will snog one of these girls tonight."

"Really," Stephano crossed his arms and looked at him shrewdly.

"What about Scarlet?"

"Sure," Stephano's expression remained.

"But," Scorpius patted Stephano's back, "only if this is your fondest wish."

"It's fine," Stephano smirked. "I will survive without you snogging Scarlet. Honestly."

Scorpius laughed, but it felt fake.

Whether he felt sick due to the abundance of drinks or due to his idiotic behaviour, he couldn't tell. What he could tell, though, is that he would've much preferred to be with Rose on this day and not with this lot. Much preferred. In fact, standing here, watching all the familiar faces around him, screwed into ugly expressions thanks to the booze, he'd give all his mountains of gold to eliminate them all from his line of vision, and to see her instead, dancing, laughing, saluting him, winking at him. He'd walk up to her, and he'd say, wearing his heart on his sleeve, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." She'd pretend to vomit, but she'd kiss him anyway, and he'd get that sensation he always gets when he's with her - the sensation of being completely and truly alive, with a thumping heart and uneven breathing.

Alas, when he pressed his eyes closed and opened them again, everyone was still there, as they were, as they always had been, and probably always would be.

JANUARY 2025 – R

It was a little creepy, but she couldn't seem to stop staring.

He was sitting at the other end of the breakfast table, completely immersed in the Daily Prophet, tsk-ing every once in a while at the opinions in the comment section, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. The tableau looked painstakingly banal. So like a regular Friday morning for a regular couple. So unlike them, basically.

But was it really?

What was it that was so unorthodox about them, all the secrecy aside?

There was a lot she loved about the bloke in front of her, after all.

She loved when Scorpius ranted about other people's stupidity, because she related to that. She loved when he proved her wrong, because aside from her mother and her supervisor, she knew very few people who managed that. She loved when she got to prove him wrong, because even though he never tried to show it, she knew she elicited the same admiration. She loved when he prodded her into thinking more creatively, because sometimes that was what she needed to get over a roadblock. She loved when she started quoting a famous historian and he quoted it right back.

She also loved that his eyes lit up when she helped him solve a complex question. She loved the way he smiled at her, fully, every once in a week. She loved how he gripped the back of her head when passion overruled him. She loved the care with which he made tea. She loved that he begrudgingly showed respect for her mother's politics. She loved the way he brushed his fingertips over her back, causing her to melt into the mattress. She loved the times when he talked like he had eaten a thesaurus. She loved how he could sometimes laugh like he wouldn't be able to stop no matter what, even though it was usually at her expense. She loved how human he seemed, those sleepy moments after shagging her through the cupboard, hair sticking out everywhere.

It would follow, then, that she just loved him. As in, Scorpius in total. Not merely the parts of him. That swooping realisation should have made her anxious, but it didn't. It really didn't. She swore to keep her painfully intense feelings to herself, but that was more for his benefit than hers.

Truthfully, she didn't want to scare the fickle womaniser away.

"Rose. You're staring and you look like your brain is about to explode."

Also, there were times and places for revelations such as these.

"Scorpius," she replied. "My brain, as opposed to someone else's, is well-equipped to handle heavy activity. No danger for explosion here."

This was no such time or place.

FEBRUARY 2025

"So how'd you feel about the seventh chapter then?"

"Bathilda was clearly losing it around that time."

"What? Are you messing about? She's right on the nose, seeing as –"

"Save it, Rose. Whatever your logic is, it'll undoubtedly be flawed."

"Bathilda Bagshot was one of the most impressive historians we ever – "

"Doesn't mean she didn't go mental in the end."

"Now whose logic is fla – stop it – stop – mmmpffft – kissing won't get you – mmmppfttt – "

FEBRUARY 2025 – S

"And so I told him he was being a right wanker – "

Lysander Scamander was in for a particularly gruesome death. Something with limbs amputated, eyes torn out of their sockets, necks wrung by bare hands, torsos quartered and veins slowly drained. A clean and straightforward Avada would be wasted on the likes of him, after all.

"Which, as you can image, did not go over very well – "

Because where did the bastard get off thinking he could stand so bloody close to her? He was most decidedly invading her personal space, what with the mere distance of seventeen inches between them. Had he never learned such physical proximity makes people psychologically uncomfortable? Since the pair of them were not stuck in an elevator, train or Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon, social etiquette dictated they stand at least a good two feet away from each other.

"Poncy gits such as Goldstein usually don't fancy getting pushed off their self-polished pedestal – "

Then again, Lysander Scamander was the son of that crazy lady who attended Phoenix Day every year, Luna or something to that effect. She might've been a war heroine, but her socials skills did leave a lot to be desired. It was quite doubtful she'd manage to transfer any manners to her –

"Scorpius."

"What?"

"I have been dissing Goldstein for the last five minutes and you've yet to participate. What is up with you?"

"Perhaps I've outgrown such petty activities?"

"I haven't heard a worse lie in my life. And that's saying a lot, as I once dated a Gryffindor who was shagging a Hufflepuff on the sly."

"Word of friendly advice? Never, ever bring that up again. I considered severing our ties back then – I'm not unwilling to entertain those ideas once more. "

"Those threats would carry a little more weight if you had more than two or three friends."

"What a pathetic attempt to – "

That cretin! Did his hand just brush her shoulder? Did his smile just grow a yard too wide? Did he – did he just kiss her hand?

"Pardon me," Scorpius said abruptly. "I need to say hello to my gazillion other friends."

Marine Greengrass, his favourite niece, cocked her head in deep scepticism. "I think we just covered that you have no – "

"Farewell."

And with that final word, he stalked off to execute his perfectly planned murder. Scamander and Rose were on the other side of the ball room, and his feelings gained momentum by every step he took. Kissing her hand, indeed!

Though, he realised with great annoyance, he technically wasn't allowed to shame Scamander in public. He technically wasn't allowed to whisk Rose away from any suitor. He technically wasn't allowed to do shit. That frustrating thought lessened the determination in his stride, and when he finally got to the pair of them, he figured he looked more unsettled than furious. Something Scamander confirmed when his stance remained completely relaxed when he spotted Scorpius.

"Good evening, Malfoy. How are you?" he smiled, like there was not a single alarm bell going off in his head. He even held out his hand.

Scorpius shook it, with only a smidge too much force. So the git did have manners. He just chose not to use them while trying to get under Rose Weasley's – his girlfriend's – skirt. He should've just dated a less eligible Witch.

(Only he couldn't really mean that, because he was simply too addicted to the sight of her as she was. It was hindering, almost, how much awe her looks inspired in him. Especially when her hair was done up and her shoulders were bare, as they were tonight. Details like these had the power to actually physically nauseate him. A fact which, of course, only nauseated him further. Wasn't he supposed to be over this pathetic phase by now?)

"Scamander," he nodded, schooling his features in order and attempting to settle the idiotic feeling in his stomach. "Weasley. Do you mind if I steal five minutes of your time?" At noticing Scamander's ugly, questioning face, he added, "Ministry business."

Thank Merlin Scamander worked for that idiotic magazine – The Quizzer? The Quitter? Ah, yes, The Quibbler – and not the institute every bloody Wizard in the country seemed to work for.

"Sure," Rose said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Lysander, I'll see you later. I simply must hear the rest of that fascinating anecdote."

"Of course, Thorn," Scamander winked.

He tried, but there was not enough strength in the universe to keep his eyebrow from rising upwards at that. Thorn? Thorn?

Rose, instantly catching up on his disbelief, gestured for him to follow her out the room. The second Scamander was out of earshot – which was pretty fast, considering Scorpius had taken it upon himself to cast a wandless Muffliato – she copied his expression and said, very clearly, "Don't."

"Thorn?" He nonetheless couldn't help but snicker. "As in: roses have thorns, you're a cutting person, and based on that info Scamander decided to grant you a highly original, metaphorical and witty nickname?"

"You're asking questions you already know the answers to," she responded snootily, nose in the air.

"It was a rhetorical choice, Rose, and one that should drive home my point perfectly," he drawled, "which is, of course, that you ought to get yourself checked if you're willingly conversing with people who call you Thorn."

"His lacking creativity doesn't constitute his entire being, Scorpius. It's one flaw in a sea of virtues."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. They had just crossed into a small powdering room and he was sure nobody had followed them, which was good, because he was about to get really annoyed. And judging from Rose's little quip, she already knew what it was about.

"Jeaslousy – Colloportus! – doesn't become you."

The door clicked shut.

"Now I know you ought to get yourself checked," he tried for dry sarcasm, "because everything becomes me."

Her eyes hit the roof.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, crossing her arms. "Stay away from the other sex completely?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"It's not like I can spend the evening with you instead!" Then, quickly, "Lysander is a friend."

"Rose, he's not even trying to hide how much he wants to shag you."

She looked at him like he was a particularly easy Arithmancy exercise. Like she had him all figured out before even blinking. It was a look she reserved for people she deemed stupid, like their ex-classmates at Hogwarts or some of her co-workers today. It was a look he took great offense to.

"Lysander's completely unattractive to me," she sighed, leaning against the wall. Her voice was not raised, her expressions were only mildly irritated, but he still wondered whether he was sucking her already rather small pool of patience dry with his commentary. Her tone, though reasonable, suggested she had better things to do with her time than convince him of such trifle matters as Lysander's level of attractiveness. Like this type of discussion was beneath her. Like his insecurities were beneath her.

"I know," he muttered, failing to feel relieved at her dig at Lysander and instead swallowing down bile of discomfort. "He's just all over you and everyone in the room can think you belong to him."

"First of all, I don't belong to anyone. The phrase 'I belong to you' lost its romantic sparkle somewhere circa 1880."

"That's not the – "

"Second of all, let them think that! What's it to you?"

"Nothing."

Well, it was everything. But he wasn't going to point out his wounds and hand her the salt shaker. These days he was barely holding on to his pride as it was. Exhibit A: this very moment.

"That's what I thought," she nodded, with an air of great finality.

He didn't respond well to that, however. A renewed vexation surged through him when he thought of the reason he was in this in the first place. "He still doesn't get to just fucking touch you, Rose. Why do you let him? I don't want to see his dirty pawns all over your body from across the room!"

"Malfoy," she deadpanned, like a teacher nonchalantly slapping a student on the wrist, "don't be a baby."

And then she proceeded to close the door behind her and spend the rest of the night cheerfully chatting up both Lysander Scamander and his brother.

MARCH 2025 – R

It might not have been the best idea, but she decided to bring up the topic at the very last moment. She had been fidgety and anxious to talk to him all evening, but he had been so tired and distracted that she had procrastinated.

"So," she declared, when he stood in front of her fireplace with Floo powder in his hand, one foot forward, "I have an internship of five months."

"You already have an internship of a year," he said, somewhat impatiently. He threw a look at the fireplace to drive the point home.

"It's abroad," she said quickly, to get it over with. She felt inexplicably nervous. "It's in Bordeaux."

That made him pause. He turned back to her and dropped the Floo powder back in vase on the mantelpiece. Crossing his arms, he drawled, "Five months. In France. Huh."

"Yes." Because she couldn't read him, she started babbling. "It's really exciting. Relations between France and Great-Britain have been quite tumultuous lately, as you know, and I would be part of a delegation to improve the situation. We have already prepared some commercial treaties to help intertwine our economies, and some of my most senior colleagues will be joining as well."

Snapping out of his surprise, he nodded. "That sounds like an opportunity you should definitely take."

Come with me, she said, in her head. She had spoken the words a thousand times in preparation of this conversation. Out loud, to herself, in her bed. If he showed that he cared, that he did not want to be away from her, she'd say it to him too. Come with me, Scorpius. Again, and again. The thought of not seeing you for weeks in a row makes me profoundly unhappy. Let's be real. Fuck everybody else. I want to be with you, here and in France.

But Scorpius did not appear to be upset. He seemed pretty okay with the idea, actually. Or at least, he put his hand back into the vase to retrieve the Floo powder, and reiterated in a neutral tone, with a neutral expression, "Really, sounds good for your career. Is it okay if we talk about it later, though? My mother is waiting for me."

"Sure, no problem." She smiled so brightly her cheeks hurt. Then, because she had no idea what in Merlin's name she was even saying, she exclaimed, "It's nice that you are being so supportive!"

"Of course. I'll Owl you later." He kissed her forehead in goodbye. "Congratulations, Rose. You deserve it."

He disappeared into the flames.

You are being irrational, she told herself while pressing her palms against her closed eyes. You will not cry.

And she complied. Doing what any reasonable person would do, she took out the bottle of Bordeaux wine out of her refrigerator she had impulsively bought to celebrate in case he would have said yes. Then she Owled Louis, determined to salvage the unsalvageable.

Damn her non-relationship. Damn it to hell.

MARCH 2025 – S

It had been a shit day, and it was not getting any better.

He had this colleague – her name was Marion Jones – and she was not improving the quality of his life. In fact, what she was a hiccup to his life's master plan. An obstruction, a roadblock.

Though Scorpius had always had the general idea that he wanted to work in law enforcement, he had only recently begun to see what exactly it was he wanted to do there. Under Mrs Granger's rule, the Wizengamot had become fairer, and more elaborate. The practice of having a spokesperson with legal knowledge present to defend the accused was becoming more and more common. Scorpius had found that this job of being a spokesperson was what appealed to him most: carefully constructing the argument, anticipating the counterarguments, using rhetoric to persuade – it was right up his alley. It was the ideal intellectual pursuit.

However, despite the increased usage, the positions were rather scarce. Therefore, he had slowly wormed his way into the right network of colleagues. He had put in endless hours and hours of extra work. He had helped built and save other colleagues' cases. He had even gone as far as make other people's coffee for them.

Unfortunately, there was Roadblock Marion. Marion was a few years older than him, and a few levels less intelligent. She too had her eye on the prize, and was competing with him every step of the way – she had been a Slytherin as well, back in the day. She too put in the hours. She too provided people with their coffee. She, more so than him, knew the right people.

She, more so than him, was shagging her direct superior.

The fact that it was a monstrous cliché did not make it less dangerous. His first reaction had been a naïve and insufficient one: he had snorted. To be complete, he had snorted, he then had raised an eyebrow, and after that he had uttered the words "How declassé". The news had travelled to him via the classic ways of Ministry gossip at the coffee café, and while it had alarmed him to some degree, he clearly had not thought enough of it. If everyone was aware, surely she could not be promoted without her inamorato losing face. He did not hesitate to recount the story to everyone he knew.

The error in this judgement became crystal clear to him when Marion was handed a vitally important, challenging and interesting assignment, and he was not.

Instead, he had filed papers all day.

To get some solace, he had Apparated straight to Rose's after work. While it would have been better not to see any person with his current mood, he had wanted to talk strategy with her. He'd cocked up one he was pleased enough with on his walk through the corridors, and he had been sure she would agree.

That had been another miscalculation.

"You don't know if she really got what she got because she's shagging McLaggen," Rose said.

He rolled his eyes. "Why else would you suggest she got it?"

"Competence?"

"She's a dumb cow, Rose," Scorpius snapped, throwing all nuance and diplomacy overboard.

"Is she really? Or are you just being judgmental because she is sleeping with someone who happens to be her boss?"

"Are we really going to debate the ethical implications of this choice as if they are not incredibly obvious?"

"I'm not saying she's not doing something somewhat… dubious, but I have met Marion before, and she seems quite smart to me, honestly. Maybe they just gave her the assignment because they believe she'll do well with it?"

"She won't. She'll fuck it up within ten minutes. I could put my clock on it."

"Or maybe they want to give her an opportunity to prove critics wrong. She's been there for three years, hasn't she?"

"Sure, Rose. They give her this huge, important assignment to prove her critics wrong. This is not one of those fucking inspirational books your aunt reads –"

"I am just trying to find a less cynical and crude explanation as to why – "

"What bloody world do you – "

"Look, Scorpius," Rose sounded tired and irritable. "Regardless. Your idea to actively sabotage her is not the way to go about it."

Scorpius, who was utterly convinced that this was the only way to go about it, growled, "I tried it the other way – the honest way. I worked better than she did. And I still lost!"

"What I suggest you do," she pretended not to hear him, "is go talk to my mother and explain the situation to her."

He looked at her blankly. "Your mother."

"She is the Head of Department. Explain to her that you are worried about your chances, that you are not sure what else to do. Ask her how you can improve." Anticipating his resistance, she added, "I will tell her that Marion's sleeping with McLaggen. She already hates McLaggen, so if Marion gets a position and you don't, she will put a stop to it."

"That won't work, Rose. She probably already knows. I can't risk my future on your mother's – let's be frank – unpredictable actions."

Rose had always out-graded him in school. His father, upon hearing this news year after year, had simply drawled, "Of course." Scorpius had reacted defensively, wounded in this pride: "It's just that she cares much more." But in retrospect, he had known that to be a lie already back then: the girl was bloody smart, is what she was, and always would be. Her mind worked logically, smoothly, effortlessly. It was her tool; a weapon she could wield to turn a situation her way. He had always felt that he had that ability as well, but sometimes he could only look at her awe and ask himself if there was one thing in the world that she could not do well. Ask himself if he would ever reach half of what she could reach.

While that awe was inspiring, and was really the reason why he was so taken by her in the first place, it was… it was starting to wear him down, a little. So when she gave him a sceptical look and noted, "I maintain that your plan is an idiotic one and you should follow mine, Scorpius", he felt fatigue and annoyance seep into his bones, and mirrored her expression.

"This might be a strange idea for you to conceptualise," he bit out, "but I am capable of weighing several options against each other and then deciding on the one I consider to be the most advantageous. Surely my choice will not be as well considered as yours, but I can think things through ever so often."

Visibly taken aback by his cold tone, she seemed to dial back on her attitude. "I know, Scorpius – I don't doubt that." But then, when she continued, he realised he had read her wrong: "In general. But for this specific case, I don't think you did consider your options very well, to be honest."

Though he was very familiar with the feeling of irritation and was frequently on the verge of anger, he did not often get so far as to lash out. He considered it an ultimate form of self-control, a personal triumph whenever he managed to keep his temper under wraps. In fact, staying calm had proven to be more effective strategy in conflict on multiple occasions – the low and dark quality in his voice was usually enough for people to pick up where they stood. Raising it was seldom necessary to get his point across. The only thing it got across was that they had gotten under his skin, and that was the one message he never wanted to send.

But looking at Rose now, with her defiant stance and slightly tinged face and raised eyebrow, he couldn't help the incredible anger that surged through him, and he knew, he knew for sure, that if she would say just one other patronising word to him, he would lose it. He would start yelling, and yelling, and yelling, and she would realise, finally, that he was not as in control as he always seemed to be, and he might lose whichever edge he fancied himself to have over her: she would learn that she got to him more than anyone else on the planet. That he could not keep his cool with her even if he wanted to. That, basically, when it came down to it, he valued her opinion more than she valued his. And so, he did the only thing he could at that moment and headed for her fireplace.

"Cheers, Rose. I will take that assessment under advisement," he spat sarcastically, while grabbing a handful of the Floo powder. "But in this very moment I have better shit to do. See you later."

And with that, he was gone.

Thanks for reading!
Josephinee