SUMMARY:

At fifteen, Rose Weasley imploded, taking down her best friend and her cousins in as long as it took to write a letter to Rita Skeeter. Five years later, Rose is still living with the consequences; that is, she can barely get Albus Potter or his girlfriend Molly Gale to talk to her, and her circle of friends consists of a group that the tabloids call The Heirs Apparent-among them, Celia Goyle, Théo Zabini and Scorpius Malfoy. Her parents disapprove but say little of it; the rest of her family demands weekly what she is thinking. All the while, her relationships with the kids she was forbidden from during school-Goyle, Zabini, Malfoy, all names that targeted her parents during the war-grow. Rose knows she can't live between these two worlds forever, and, eventually, she has to make the choice that most children have decided for them at age eleven: Gryffindor, or Slytherin?

A/N: Hey you lot,

So this is short, and I apologize for that, but I like this format of just a little piece as sort of the introduction. Also, from this point on, it'll be in Rose's POV unless otherwise specified. The dress Rose is wearing is on my profile if you're the kind of fashion-inclined person who wants to go look at it.

Happy reading!
Carrie

Hot Mess

If you're dancing up on tables
You go you go, you got it girl
Say that you're unstable
You go, you go, you got it girl
Dancing up on tables
Say that you're unstable
You're a ha-ha ha-ha ha yeah you're a hot mess.

-Cobra Starship

This was not the way that Scorpius Malfoy planned on spending his night.

At a club, sure. With Théo Zabini whining as he followed him across the floor, Théo's Ferragamo shoes scraping against the floor with all the carelessness of someone who didn't pay for them, sure. His eyes on a girl on the bar—on the bar, by the way, not at the bar—in a dress that probably cost more than her flat and covered a whole lot less, sure. After all, the girl was his type—gorgeous, more than a little drunk, her already-short dress riding up her mile-long legs. She was unsteady in three-inch heels, the hand not holding some disgusting-looking silver-colored drink pressed to the hem of her skirt, keeping it down. She was the exact definition of hot mess. And Scorpius's job was to get this girl off the bar and home, tucked safe, and alone, into her bed.

Damn, Malfoy. He thought to himself as he came to a stop at the girl's feet, staring up at her, holding a hand out as if she were a lady and he were a gentleman. There was too much irony there for poor little Scorpius's brain to handle. Because as much as this girl was no lady, he was absolutely no gentleman.

You always get sucked into the worst jobs. The girl above him didn't even look down at him. "Get down." Scorpius said flatly, hoping that this direct approach would work; she did not hear him, or pretended not to, and he looked away, running the hand he'd extended up to her over his hair. He did not like this. But he still turned back to her, a moment later.

She pulled him back to her, every time.

Scorpius looked up at her tiredly, focusing away from where he could see up her dress. That was not the point of this exercise in self-restraint. In fact, that was exactly the opposite of this exercise. The entire point of this was Scorpius and Rose rescued each other and didn't sleep together because the value of this system was too high.

"Babe!" Scorpius shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. The girl looked down at him, and Scorpius raised an eyebrow at the girl who was standing above him in a gold dress that should have been illegal. Short, one-shouldered. It made Scorpius's head hurt, or spin, maybe; he'd had a couple drinks, too. Not as many as her. He thought defensively. "Love, I gotta get you down from there—" Scorpius said easily, and the girl raised her drink high above his head, toasting the room; a cheer went up, and Scorpius ducked his head for a moment. This girl made him tired, because if she wasn't her, then Scorpius would be among those who shouted when she toasted the room. She was the only girl he goaded off the bar; he was the only boy she paid the bartender to stop serving, after one AM.

"Scorp, baby." The girl on the bar slurred, and Scorpius winced, looking up to her. "You are just too funny."

"Yeah, hilarious." Théo muttered beside Scorpius, looking at him pointedly; Scorpius turned to look at his frenemy. "Can we leave?" The other boy asked irritatedly.

"Shut up." Scorpius muttered to Théo, looking back up the girl on the bar. "Babe, come on." He said, and she straightened up, then slipped; falling onto the bar, and Scorpius half caught her, his eyes dark as he kept an arm around her, his other hand rising to her face, pushing her hair back to look at her. "You alright?" He murmured; she nodded, her eyes hooded, frowning at him.

"I wanna stay." She said childishly; Scorpius exhaled, looking to Théo for help; his friend raised an eyebrow, and Scorpius looked back to the girl. "And don't call me love, Love." She laughed at her own joke, her head falling slightly to the side, her blue eyes sparkling. Scorpius smiled too; drunk was funny, on her. He refused to consider the fact that this was fourth night this week she'd been drunk off her ass; he had had five nights of his own, last week, too, so he supposed he shouldn't judge.

"Flower," The endearment was sarcastic, because they weren't dating; he wasn't even sure they were friends. He just…did this, sometimes, and sometimes she did it for him. They were the same person, he liked the think—the disappointing children. He and this girl had talked about it at Hogwarts once, slightly tipsy after their sixth-year Holiday Ball. But now he and she didn't talk about anything. He just picked her up at bars and she picked him up the morning after some girl had made his night. "We have to leave lest one of the dashing young men in here realize I've not got a chance with you and come to claim their new one-night stand—"

"We couldn't date, Scorpius!" The girl said, grinning at him now, but her eyes were still hooded, and she was fading, fast. Scorpius counted his blessings that he hadn't managed to get there an hour earlier, when the girl on the bar was still speeding through drinks and boys at a rate that would make even his head spin.

Okay, well, maybe not. But he liked to imagine himself better than this girl. That was the entire way they were them; each of them pulling the other up, each time assuring themselves that they were better than the other because they weren't the one falling that night.

"Besides," she continued, her voice dropping to that purr that Scorpius so detested; this girl knew what she did with him, and did it anyway. He did the same thing back, he remembered, as he stepped forward, between her legs, and she tilted her head to look up at his face. "Remember? I'm a danger with my tongue," the girl licked her lips and Scorpius heard Théo, beside him, bite out a disbelieving laugh. "My wand," she grinned, pulling the long wand from her purse and twilrling it delicately between her long fingers; she moved forward an inch, "And my heart." She whispered the last word, a secret as she leaned too close to Scorpius. Scorpius let her come this close. This girl was heartless, and she knew it. Scorpius sighed, pushing her hair back from her face again.

"Time to go." Scorpius insisted quietly, and the girl sighed, putting her drink down on the bar and sinking against him; Scorpius hesitated, then slipped an arm under her shoulders and back. He lifted her, and her arms slipped around his neck, her head falling onto his shoulder as her tired, inebriated lids drifted shut.

And Scorpius Malfoy carried Rose Weasley out of the club.