My breath catches in my throat, and every coherent thought vanishes in the back of my mind. His soft, sensual kisses leave my skin tingling. I feel his hands moving from my shoulders, down towards my waist, and slowly, painfully slowly, his soft hands make their way up the bottom of my shirt.

My breath hitches, and my body tenses; every fiber of my being wanting his hand to move farther up. His lips move over my skin, marking me lightly with his teeth. I hear a strangled moan escape my lips as I tilt my head, giving him better access to my neckline.

"Rose Weasley!" My head snaps up, and I look towards the voice calling to me.

"What, Louis!?"

He shoots me a glare, as if it's obvious what he's getting at.

"You're supposed to be finding the Snitch, not daydreaming on your broom!"

I look around me, startled.

Oh, that's right. We're in the middle of a Quidditch game. Oops.

I scan my surroundings briefly, my eyes falling on the opposite team's Seeker, the object of my fantasies. I scan his features, something I do to the other Seekers as well. Even though, I admittedly don't enjoy it as much.

I see his eyes brighten, and I smirk. He's spotted the Snitch.

I float to the bottom of the playing field and stand in the center of it all. The wind rustles loudly, and I hear my team screaming towards me. I've thought of a trick, and I'm trying it out, you see. It may or may not work. And if God values my life, then he'll let it. If not, then my team will outright rip me to pieces.

I've learned in my studies, something I do fairly often, that 90 percent of all magical creatures will come to you if you learn their name and thus call them by it.

So, I'm standing at the bottom of the playing field, looking like a complete nutter, trying to spot the speck of gold before the others team's Seeker catches it.

I had asked the care keeper, the one who keeps hold of our equipment, if the Snitch did, in fact, have a name. He was rather proud to tell me that the Snitch did have a name; being a semi-living thing he thought it appropriate to give him one.

I whisper softly as my eyes land on the speck of gold, "Piff." I smile towards it lightly, "come to me, Piff, I promise you the scary boy chasing you will go away." I smile brightly at the Snitch, ignoring the discomfited expressions of my team and the crowd.

I whisper once more, "Piff, to be safe all you have to do is avoid the boy chasing you. Just come to me, as fast as you can."

I hold out my hand for the Snitch, feeling about as ridiculous as I must look. I glance up at the game again, watching both teams stare at me dumfounded. In what seems like an eternity, I feel a slight pressure in my palms. I look down to see the Snitch humming in my hands.

My eyes go wide as a little realization hits. It bloody worked.

Cheers erupt from the crowd, chanting "Ravenclaw" triumphantly.

"Rose!" Again Louis is yelling towards me. Yet this time he's a little less gruff as he was before. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"That, my dear cousin," I smile broadly at him, "is a secret."

"That was weird, Weasley."

I roll my eyes and try my hardest to keep reading. "What was weird, Malfoy?"

I hear him place himself near me. "Your scary little Snitch handlings."

I look up at him, an annoyed air plastered on my features. "I don't know what you're getting at."

He huffs, his voice getting louder, "You made the Snitch come to you, Rose! That has to be against some sort of rule."

I look at him, flabbergasted. "Since when did Slytherins care about rules?" I close my book soundly, "and keep your voice down, prat, this is a library."

I watch him roll his eyes at me. "Since when did Ravenclaws break rules?"

I heave a sigh. "I didn't break any rules, Malfoy, now would you sod off please."

I would kill him if he weren't so bloody gorgeous. The irony of me being so ruthlessly attracted to someone I consider a rival is rather perturbing. It vexes me endlessly.

"I'm not done with you, Weasley." Shit. That tone means trouble. I've heard it from him before. He's one of those little brats who've had their butts licked by their mother. The ones who have no idea what it's like to be told "no" or "sod off." He's quite the stubborn Slytherin.

"I beg to differ, Scorpius," I say, taking my book and grabbing my bag to leave.

I brush past him, breathing in his smell.

I stop, something hitting me rather hard in the chest. That's not his smell; I know his smell.

My heart sinks almost instantly. That smell isn't Scorpius Malfoy at all - it's blocking his smell, as if he's been rolling around with it.

I know the aroma; I just can't place it. I close my eyes, contemplating.

Think, think, think, think…

"Weasley? If you're trying to leave, you're doing a real crap job of it."

I tune him out, my eyes still closed. I know this; I just can't remember it. It's so familiar I smell it every day. Whose smell is it? Who the hell's he been fooling around with?

Better question, my eyes shoot open, why do I care? So I'm prone to having the occasional sex fantasy about the boy, but I don't actually care about him. I don't actually want him in reality, so why should I care who actually gets him in it?

I turn around again, facing the insufferable Malfoy. "You…" I pause trying to find the words "…smell different today."

Oh, great Rose. That wasn't creepy at all.

"You know how I smell?" I watch him smirk up at me, a ridiculing look burning in his eyes.

"I know your cologne. It's hard to miss, Malfoy."

His smirk falters. "I don't wear cologne."

I eye him suspiciously, and his wretched smirk plays on his features again. "What you smell, Weasley, are new clothes. I guess you wouldn't get that, seeing as all you can afford are those ragged hand-me-downs."

Stupid cad. Something must hurt him soon. A giant karma monster needs to burst through the windows and swallow him whole. That would be more than sufficient.

"You are a miserable little person," I say, willing myself to forget the entire ordeal. I'm not really in the mood to play Agatha Christie on whose smell he's sporting. Not to any further extent, anyway.

His smirk broadens into a freakish little sneer as he stands to his feet again. I never thought his height would play against me this way. Part of my attraction to Malfoy is his towering over me - his soft, silky hair brushing against my face.

"In what ways am I little, Weasley?"

A thought crosses my mind and I reciprocate his smirk. I tear my eyes from his, casting them downwards towards... you know… the crotch of his pants.

He notices my gesture and huffs at me. "Very mature of you, Rose!"

I chortle, rather happy with myself. "So says the epitome of class and acting one's age."

He rolls his eyes for the millionth time. "You're an impossible bint; did you know that?"

"I've been told enough." I cross my arms, looking away from him.

He lets out a humorless laugh and leans his frame against the table. "Glad I'm not the only one who noticed."

The truth to this is startling, really. Just the other day Ambrosia Chang, moaning cow extraordinaire, spent the entire Potions class convincing Henry Smith - a rather attractive Hufflepuff - that I was, in fact, a God-awful bint.

Wait! Ambrosia's named after a flower. I know the smell! My favorite female cousin, so lovingly named after a flower as well. Her perfume is a light cherry-blossom/lilac scent. And it's all over Malfoy.

A fit of anger rushes over me, making me dizzy. I stumble backwards slightly, my head advising me to just shut up and walk away from this wretched excuse for a living being.

"Lily?" I look up at him again, ignoring the screams from my brain.

"What about her?" I watch him carefully; his collected self fidgets slightly at the mention of her.

"You smell like her perfume."

"Yes, and? We've been hanging around together lately."

"What do you mean?" I ask dumbly, already knowing the answer.

"Don't be daft, Rose, you know perfectly well what I mean."

"But… Lily? What would you possibly want with her?"

I watch the smirk find its place back on his face, and he lifts his eyebrow suggestively. I know exactly what he meant by the gesture and the same fit of rage bubbles over again, and I stumble forward - seeing red.

I hit his chest harder than I've ever hit anything, an audible snap emitting from my wrist. He stumbles backwards letting out a startled whelp.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

Tears have begun to well in my eyes as I hastily make my way out of the library.

I whisper the password to my common room with a broken voice.

"Is something wrong, dear?" asks one of the men in the painting.

"Yes," I say. "Could you do me a dishonorable favor?"

"Of course, darling, whatever you'd like." He looks at me, intrigued, and smiles.

"Could you not let the Head Boy in please?"

His smile slips. "I can't do that, bird…" He smiles again. "Unless you change the password."

"Don't I need his consent to change the password?"

"All you have to do is say you've gotten his consent."

I sigh, a slight relief flooding over me. "Thank you, sir."

He winks down at me, and straightens his back. "Password!" He bellows humorously, trying to make me feel better, I bet.

I smile, "Crookshanks."

The portrait swings aside, and I walk into the Heads common room. I hear it close softly behind me as I make my way over to the lounger by the fire.

I stare into the blaze, thousands of things tickling at my mind.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to will away the steady flow of tears streaming down my face. I feel a familiar heaviness weighing down my head as I drift off to sleep.

"WEASLEY!"

I'm startled awake, but I don't dare open my eyes.

"You stupid bint, wake up!"

I flinch, hugging my legs tighter to myself. I recognize the voice; of course - it's Scorpius. The reason I'm here curled up in a miserable ball. His voice isn't muffled, which means he's in the common room with me now.

"How'd you get the password?" I ask, shakily.

"You're not as bright as you think you are, Rose." His tone is haughty, and it makes me shrink.

"Sod off, would you?" I peep, well aware of how helpless I look.

"Not until you explain why you went mental on me in the library."

I sit up, looking at everything but him. But it doesn't matter if I don't look at him. He's playing against my senses, and I can smell her on him. I can hear his breathing - shallow, and angered - meaning he's itching for a fight.

"Because you're fooling around with my baby cousin."

He shakes his head and looks me over. "Why are you crying, then?"

"Because," I say, leaning my fist against my chest and cupping it with my other hand. "I hurt my wrist. I think I broke it, actually."

This isn't a lie. I really do think I broke my wrist. But being a Quidditch player, I've grown well accustomed to the horrid sting of broken or shattered bones.

I steal a glance his way and notice his expression's still set on a fight. I take in a breath and stand up from the lounger.

"I'm going to hospital."

"Why didn't you do that right after you broke your wrist on my chest?" I can hear the decadence etched into his tone.

I didn't answer. I just kept walking towards the door. Truth be told, I have no idea why I didn't just go to the hospital wing in the first place.

"Rose! My favorite cousin!" I roll my eyes at the loud, pitchy voice interrupting my reading.

"What do you want, Al?"

"For you to convince me that Malfoy the magical dragon isn't shagging my baby sister."

I look up at him, an exasperated look that, alas, is completely lost on the middle Potter, and nod. I'm a little upset about his mentioning Scorpius and Lily. I almost went thirty seconds without thinking of the two of them together.

"I know nothing about Malfoy's sex life. Or Lily's, hopefully, lack thereof."

He eyes me curiously and decides to sit across from me. The smell of sausage and eggs mingles with the bittersweet smells of the coffee and Al finds himself rather keen on filling his plate with as much food as he can possibly manage.

"That's not helpful, Rose." He nods at me. "I heard you broke your arm slapping Malfoy."

"Who told you that?" I ask, slightly perturbed.

"It's all around Slytherin, Rosie." He smiles. "And I have girls in Slytherin. They wouldn't shut up about it. Not to mention Malfoy being my best mate and all."

I cringe at the thought of Albus Severus, my closest of kin, having girls - especially the scaled, grimy little mingers that inhabit the Slytherin house. It's scary. I may have nightmares now. I choose to ignore the excruciating "best mates" bit. I do believe I'm shuddering in my mind.

"I broke my wrist pushing him." I feign a serious look. "This may be an indication of the end of the world. Slytherins actually told the truth."

"Better you hitting him than me, I suppose." Al rolls his eyes at me and tries changing the subject. "Cheers on the win, by the way."

"Thanks," I say, glad to be reminded of more contented times.

Our talk seems to be over since Al now has his face dove into his plate. I shake my head and continue on reading.

"Oh, well, that's just nasty," Al says, eyes landing on the Slytherin table some ten minutes later. I jump, not expecting him to talk with me anymore this breakfast.

I turn towards his gaze and cringe. Hayden Zabini - a tall, dark and handsome type - is sitting scowling at the Dailey Prophet while some fourth year student is proving his "superb prowess in legerdemain" - so he keeps saying - with a soiled-looking pair of briefs. Cute little hand tricks would be impressive if this weren't a magical school and all.

I look back over at Zabini, startled to find him staring holes through me. I eye him, curiously, as he smirks a rather Slytherin smirk and raises an eyebrow. I turn back to Albus, returning his eye-roll, but not directed at Al - directed at the Slytherins.

"So, Al, what's new with you?"

"He's coming over here, Rose."

"What?" I ask, turning around to see what he means.

Sure enough there he is, Hayden Zabini, walking our way. What in the name of Merlin could he possibly want?

"Weasley, you are henceforth the Seeker Queen. What you pulled last Saturday was abso-bloody-lutely the most amazing Quidditch trick I've ever seen," said Zabini, parking himself beside of me.

"Thank you." I smile inwardly; a compliment from the Slytherin team's Captain/Beater was not something I expected. I rather enjoy the attention that little stunt got me.

"I'm rather furious with you though." He smiles at me - yes I know! A Slytherin actually able to smile without bursting into flames! "You only won because our Seeker's utter crap."

I chuckle, remembering that any insult to the insufferable Malfoy is well worth my time.

"Zabini, what is it you want from us?" Al asks, sounding rather bored.

"To ask about the upcoming dance." There it is. The smirk these boys are born with.

"There's a dance?" Al perks up; Zabini must have a key to his intrigue.

Zabini looks at him like he's grown an extra head. After all, Al is a prefect along with his baby sister. His cousin (me) is Head Girl, and his - dare I say it – "best mate," Scorpius, is Head Boy. Albus not knowing of the dance is just plain thick.

"Al, you've helped plan the damn thing," I say, blinking dumbly at the dense raven-haired cousin of mine.

"Oh, you mean that? That's no dance. That's just the little love-bug 'muggle's Valentine's day' bullocks." Al scoffs at the idea of the event, but then smirks a rather Gryffindor smirk. "Are you trying to ask me to the crappy dance, Zabini?"

I choke on a laugh, trying not to sound rude by actually laughing at this. "Al! Watch your manners!" I snap, with the slightest hint of humor.

"Actually," Zabini says, sounding more like the Slytherin he is, "I wanted to ask Rose."

"He's using you, Rose." I sigh, infuriated. What gives him the right to act like he is? He doesn't give a little rat's ass about anyone but himself.

"Listen, Malfoy, just because a boy likes me doesn't mean he's using me."

"You don't know him like I do! I deal with the cad every day."

"That's rich!" I butt ahead, "You having the nerve to call anyone a cad!"

"I'm just trying to warn you, Weasley. I don't want to hear you moping around our common room about your broken heart and hymen."

My cheeks flush and I turn from Malfoy. Arrays of memories play in my head. I look back towards him again, my eyes flashing dangerously, a mischievous feeling rising in my chest. "My hymen's already been broken, Scorpius."

He looks completely taken aback by this; his eyes are wide and his perfect, pale skin whitens even further. "Y-you and Zabini have -?"

"No! Of course not!" I scoff, "I've only just met him!"

"Then who? Do I know him?" I detect something in his tone, something I'm not really sure of.

"You wouldn't know him per say. You may have heard of him." I nod my head, inwardly slapping myself for even contemplating telling him whom I lost my virginity too. "Not that I'm telling you!"

His color, or what little color he has, returned to him, along with that trademark smirk of his. "Please, Weasley! I thought you were serious there! You had me going for a bit, alas, you lost it on the 'not telling you!' rubbish."

I cross my arms, and put on my most deviant smile, "Mitch." I say unfaltering, "I slept with Mitch Collins fifth year after we won the Championship against Slytherin. We had been flirting with each other the entire season, and I had fallen for him, I suppose. We were both ridiculously drunk with Fire Whisky after the match and somehow ended up in the showers together."

"Mitch was dating that Chang girl then," Malfoy says, dispassionately.

My defense falls as I remember the dreadful boy. "He started dating her after we… I asked why he didn't want me, and he said I wasn't old enough for a relationship like the one he wanted. Even though Chang's actually younger than me…" A sick feeling takes control of me. I feel rancid and cheap.

I watch Scorpius come closer to me. "So he used you then?"

"I try not to think of it." I shrug, "I can't undo it, there's no need bother myself about it."

"Hayden'll only do you the same way that sodden Collins had, Rosie, and you're worth more than that."

I steal a glance towards Hayden and notice his eyes on me. Every time I look at him he's looking back at me. Every time I look at Malfoy, on the other hand, he's staring off at some beautiful, perfect girl. Something tells me to trust Malfoy's judgment, while a different something tells me to go with Hayden just to irk the albino.

I take a step away, turning myself towards Hayden. "This is a dance, Malfoy, why not mind your own business and scurry along back to your date." I sigh, trying my hardest to look as blasé as I sound. I motion towards the punch bowl. "Lily's waiting."

"Rose, are you alright?"

I look over at Louis and shrug. I'm exhausted. I've spent the past few days avoiding the Head Boy. I really don't need one of his haughty little "I told you so's." Hayden ditched me. He asked to shag and I refused him. He got livid, ditched me, hit me, and then left. I acted the same way any girl would have, I suppose. Except the part where I cursed his broom, almost killing him during practice. "Serves him right for hitting a girl" is what Moaning Myrtle said. I had to spew after his crash, and her bathroom was the closest I could find. After that I just cried. Like a normal teenage girl would. The one thing in life I've learned: never trust boys who may think of you in naughty ways.

I haven't told Louis and Al yet. They'd probably go all Gryffindor and whatnot. You know, all JUSTICE TO MY COUSIN or some overly dramatic, heroic bullocks Gryffindor boys do. Even though Louis isn't Gryffindor, he often acts the part. I don't want them charging after Zabini. All they know is the two of us broke up after only two rocky months of dating.

"Rosie, are you still hung up on that Zabini bloke?"

I feel my face turn to a sneer.

Louis laughs. "I guess that's a 'no' then."

I sigh and look around. I see girls laughing, twirling their hair, touching some boy's arm. And it makes me wonder if life is like this everywhere. It makes me wonder if muggles are this overly disgusting when it comes to attracting the opposite sex. Are they this obsessive of them?

A sudden heaviness weighs itself on my eyelids. "I'm bloody sleepy. I'm going to bed."

"It's 8:30 Rose. We had dinner not two hours ago."

I wave away his worry and clumsily get out of the burgundy lounger. "Night, Louis," I say grabbing my bag.

"Rose you left this…"

"Give it to me tomorrow," I say, waving my hand at him again.

I'm sitting in the Great Hall, ringing my finger over the mouth of my coffee cup. I'm just as tired as I had been yesterday. All these thoughts, notions, what-ifs and I should-haves running in one big circle, all at once, through my mind. It's the same crap muddling my head at night, keeping me from sleeping.

"Explain." I jump at the sheer pitch of Louis's tone, that and him slamming something onto the table. I look up to see two fuming seventeen-year-old boys. One being Louis, obviously, and the other one's Al.

"Explain what?" I say. "It's not even eight in the morning and you're already so abrasive."

"This, Rose." My fuming cousin pushes a piece of parchment my way. I freeze.

It hits me. The letter I'd written Lily. That must have been what fell out of my bag. Oh, this is just fantastic. Just wonderful. The best part about waking up is cousins on the gruff.

I read my letter to myself, checking to see if I worded it to maybe mean something other than what it really does.

Dear Beloved, cherished, esteemed, treasured- Lily,

I'm a little disappointed in the world. I can't believe my luck lately. I'm sure you've heard all about Zabini ditching me. I really wish boys like him would come out and say they're cads when you meet them. That way you're not wasting any time trying to convince yourself otherwise. But him ditching me has nothing to do with my disappointment in the world. I really didn't mind that. I refused him, and he unleashed the bloody little mongrel I knew he had in him. I've admitted to cursing his broom, but not for the reasons he spewed around campus. He hurt me, Lily, and I don't mean figuratively. I mean literally. He hit me. Full in the face, as hard as he could. It was… What's the word? Demeaning, horrifying, immoral? I'm unsure. So I retaliated. I had it coming, I suppose, I mean I was forewarned. I hope you're having better luck with life than I am.

Sincerely: Huffy, moody, grumpy, sleepy - Rose

Must I always be so upfront? Why not just allude to a situation? Maybe a metaphor here and there that means two different things. One being less horrible than the other.

"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Louis.

"Example A would be the way you're acting now," I say, trying to take control of the situation.

Albus crosses his arms, his eyes falling on the Slytherin's table. I've never seen him this angry, and to be honest, it's quite scary. I watch his eyes move from one side of the table to the other. He stops as his eyes catch his best mate's curious glance. I watch Al motion towards Scorpius with his head, asking him to come over to us. Which is the last thing I need right now.

"You are not telling Malfoy anything about this Albus Severus, or I will maim you," I hiss, my voice low and hopefully, dangerous sounding.

"You look riled, mate," says Malfoy to Al.

"I thought I might as well get both Heads to witness me murdering that worthless arse." Albus laughs gravely. "You know what they say - two heads are better than one."

"What's going on?" Malfoy looks over at Louis, who's also fuming.

"Al," I sigh out. "Please drop it. It's no big deal."

"I'm not dropping this, Rose," he says, not even looking at me. "And yes, it's a huge deal."

"If you don't, Al, I swear to Merlin I'll take thirty points from Gryffindor for every step you make going over there," I threaten. Even though it wouldn't really matter. Malfoy would only give them right back.

"Listen to your cousin; whatever happened can't be worth this." Scorpius puts a reassuring hand on Albus' shoulder. Me not being worth his aggravation seems to strike a familiar key. Then again, Malfoy's completely lost to what's going on.

"Just sit down, Al," Louis says, making me flinch. "All his stupid little friends are over there. We'll get him when he's alone."

"Okay." An exasperated Malfoy sighs, "What the flying fuck happened?"

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I'm leaving."

And I do, as fast as my legs will take me without making it look like I'm running away.

I enter the Heads common room, dragging my feet and rubbing my face. Exhausted isn't a strong enough word to describe how tired I am right now. I look over towards the settee, my plan being to crash there.

"Hey," the Almighty Head Boy greets in a voice I'm not used to from him. "Are you alright?"

He looks angry, scared and miserable. His hair's ruffled out of place and his tie's loose, his shirt in disarray. His slacks are wrinkled and his hands…

"Al showed me the letter you wrote to Lily." He looks away from me. "I told Al to let it lie. I told Louis I'd handle it."

I stagger closer to him. "What did you do?"

"Something I'm sure McGonagall will take my badge for."

The thought of anyone else being Head Boy makes me sick. "Malfoy, tell me what you did."

"I hit Zabini." He runs a bloody hand through his hair. "About four times in the face and twice in the stomach."

A flutter went through my chest. He defended me. "Why would you do that, Malfoy?"

"I… You're…" He looks back down, shaking his head. "I don't know, Rose. I've never been that angry before."

"I bet you'd be even worse off if it were Lily," I say, sitting beside of him on the divan.

He looks over at me and smiles. "I have a confession, Weasley."

"What now?" I smile, nudging him on the shoulder.

"I'm not with Lily. Technically, I've never been with Lily. She asked me if I could teach her how to dance if she gave pointers on how to flatter a girl I like."

"So I broke my wrist on you for nothing?" I look down.

"No, I deserved that. I was being a complete arse."

I look back up, catching his eye. "Opposed to all of the other times you were an arse?"

"Rosie…"

"Mr. Malfoy." A shiver ran down my spine and the color drained from Scorpius' face.

"Hello, Headmistress." His tone is forlorn.

"I've been informed of your attack on Hayden Zabini." McGonagall's heels tick off the slabs on the floor, ricocheting off the walls. "Please tell me this isn't true."

"I'm sorry, ma'am." He sputters, lowering his head again.

"You know this can't go unpunished. As Head Boy this is ground for demotion."

"I know, Headmistress," he croaks. I feel tears stinging my eyes as I look at him, his posture leaking an ashamed air.

"What overcame you to lash out at Zabini in such a reckless way?"

Scorpius looks up at Headmistress McGonagall, a broken smile drawn across his perfect, heartbreakingly beautiful visage. "He hit his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, actually. And I don't know if you agree, but no man should lay a hand on a woman."

I watch McGonagall carefully, hoping to see something - anything - resembling a flicker of sympathy. "I'm not buying it Mr. Malfoy. If anything you're not a nobleman. There's more to this story, and if you value your badge then you'll speak it."

"I…" He runs his hands through his hair again and stands up. "I'm in love with the girl he hit."

My heart stops for a moment. In love? I didn't know Malfoys knew such words. He doesn't actually mean this, of course. He's only worming his way out of trouble.

"Hmm. I believe I can justify that. You'll still receive a sufficient amount of detention, but your position still stands. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for your honesty and cooperation." McGonagall bows, the click of her heels echoing off the walls once again.

The door closes behind her, and I breathe a sigh. "Nice save, Malfoy."

Scorpius turns to me again, relief oozing off his posture, showing in his smile. "Why thank you, Weasley."

"Kudos, Scorp; you've outwitted one of the most influential witches of all time."

"What do you mean?"

"You lied to save yourself from getting the boot."

Scorpius saunters to me, a shy smile gracing his lips. He grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him. "Who said I lied?"

I can't find words. After all these years of reading, knowing, insulting - I haven't a clue of what I should say. All I do is smile back, gaze back into the blue-gray eyes I've known so long. I feel his breath on my face, a familiar heat rising in my chest. "Malfoy, are you really in love with me?"

His eyes sparkle and darken and his voice softens and deepens. "Yes, Rosie. Emphatically so."

I wind my hands around his neck, forcing his face towards mine. Our lips collide, fitting perfectly together. He breaks away from me, his breathing hindered.

I smile, my eyes still closed, my chest rising and falling, trying to get oxygen. "I am in love with you, Malfoy. Honestly, do the lot of you get everything you want?"

He laughs lightly. "Yes, Rose, we do."

I yelp as Scorpius picks me up, laying me on the settee. I shudder as he lies on top of me, smiling slyly, his hair tickling my face. He kisses me again, his hand reaching for the bottom of my shirt. My breath hitches, and my body tenses; every fiber of my being wishing his hand would move farther up. Every stitching of myself wanting him to dig deeper in, to mingle the two of us together. And with a moan, he does exactly what I wish for.

AN: I know SO many words that mean 'couch'. I just hate the word 'couch' is all. That's why I used words like settee and divan. Lol. I like them better. I fixed the grammar and spelling and what not. Thanks for giving me 'demotion' I couldn't think of anything to put there.