Ok, so after asking which you'd prefer to read first, I decided to split the difference and at least upload the first chapter of Scorpius' POV a little bit before the last chapter of Rose's story (which is only a matter of hours away so by the time some of you get this notification there will be one for the other too, so you'll get both at once – yay!). If you're reading this and have no idea what I'm talking about, check out my other piece 'Four Times Rose Weasley Woke Up In Places Other Than Her Bed' which is a companion piece all from Rose's ROV.
These are all direct companions to Rose's chapters, so this is what happened that lead to Rose waking up on Scorpius' floor. The next will be what happened to lead to Rose being on his roof, and so on and so forth. Still some bad words, and yes, eventual smut, but not till the end (because I'm one for making you wait for it haha).
Hope you enjoy. And if you do, or even if you don't, please drop me a review. I will be ever so thankful. I'll also do my best to reply to them in a somewhat timely manner.
Disclaimer: Like always, I don't own the characters, just the situations.
Declaration 1: Doorstep
Scorpius Malfoy is not unaccustomed to women telling him they love him.
His mother had been affectionate his entire life, attempting, he always assumed, to compensate for his father's total lack of intimacy or outward displays of love. She had told him daily how much she loved him. Despite his name and the reputation it carried, he had managed to catch the eye of several girls at Hogwarts who would whisper sweet nothings and pour out their hearts in the darkness of broom closets and secluded nooks when the threat of being found out after curfew only heightened one's emotions. And although he had not had a serious or lasting relationship in his adult life, being the Captain of an International Quidditch team (and leader of 'The Bad Boys' as it were) only intensified his sex appeal beyond his inherited beauty. Therefore having female fans pledge their everlasting devotion to him – or straight up propose marriage, because nothing says 'wife material' like a crying stranger wearing a wedding dress and screaming at you whilst faithfully reciting your season's stats at you as some sort of proof of authenticity – was not entirely uncommon. It was part of the job, part of his life. He had learnt very well how to deal with them – a smile here, a wink there, and, if he were feeling particularly punishing, an air kiss in their direction. It was all in a day's work really.
What he was completely unprepared for, however, was receiving such a declaration from Rose Weasley.
Rose Weasley. Fire cracker incarnate, life-long rival, one-time teammate, pain in his ass, and haunter of his dreams. The one woman he had never imagined would – or even could – love him, was standing on his doorstep (in a dress that hugged every damn curve so tightly that he found himself thinking it was damn unfortunate that he was only wearing thin pajama pants because they didn't hide a goddam thing) and professing to have the kind of feelings one only found in fairytales.
And she was angry.
And she was crying.
"This isn't fair!" she wailed with a stomp of her foot that very nearly put a hole in his porch.
"Rose," he said, edging cautiously towards his very drunk World Cup teammate and Captain where she swayed precariously, "I think you should step inside."
"I don't want to go inside!" she stomped her foot again and almost overbalanced, "I want to go to the party!"
The party to which she referred, he assumed, was the Hall of Fame after party, which Scorpius had elected not to attend. He had his niece Amelia's (well technically she was a second cousin on his mother's side, but she called him Uncle so it was all really just a case of semantics) birthday party tomorrow and really didn't feel the desire to be hungover when surrounded by an army of 3 year olds. Besides, he was trying to refrain from alcohol while the season was in progress – a rule Rose had obviously not set herself – and therefore wanted to avoid temptation, such as the aforementioned after party.
Scorpius watched her for a moment and tried to assess why, precisely, she seemed to be under the impression it was his fault that she wasn't there currently. All he got in response was a glazed-over stare with the odd hiccup thrown in for good measure.
"Well I shan't stop you…" he left it open-ended, which only seemed to infuriate her further.
"But I can't go to the party!" she said much too loudly considering it was 1:30 in the morning. Although he had deliberately chosen a quiet neighbourhood in which to reside, his neighbours would notice this disturbance should it go on long enough. And the last thing he needed was a newspaper headline of him and Rose Weasley shouting at each other; he was gossip fodder as it was, he did not want to intensify the situation. He dragged a hand through his hair (and completely missed the way Rose followed the movement with her eyes whilst licking her lips).
"Well, why not?"
She suddenly looked incredibly sullen and grumpy (and goddam adorable, Merlin smite him) before answering softly, "Because you aren't there."
He tries his damnedest to process that sentence, to make any sense of it whatsoever, but he honestly comes up short. Scorpius has no idea what that means.
(Have no doubt, he could guess. He could guess a thousand wondrous things about star-crossed lovers, and forbidden desires, and dreams of being wrapped in nothing but bed sheets, but he won't. Because he resigned himself to his fate long ago when he first accidentally set her hair on fire in third year and she almost murdered him for it – Rose Weasley would only ever see him as a rival and nothing more. And if Scorpius were a smart man, he'd think of her in the same, purely platonic way. Turns out Scorpius wasn't very smart.)
"I…" for perhaps the first time in his life he is honestly at a loss for words, "I don't understand…"
"Oh by the crust of Merlin's saggy left bollock!"
She had an unmatched gift for exclamations and swears.
Before he can comprehend what's happening she's taken two very decisive steps towards him to stop only when they are practically nose-to-nose. Had he not had his fear response instinct practically beat out of him through Qudditch over the years, he may have stepped back at the intimidating gesture. As it stood, he merely held his ground and looked down into her bright blue eyes.
She takes a sturdy hold of his dressing gown, whether its to hold him near or simply steady herself he isn't sure, but she's holding his gaze with the same determination she does right before the snitch is released at the beginning of a Quidditch match.
It's fucking sexy.
Rose takes a breath and speaks the clearest she has since he opened his door to find her yelling up at his windows not 10 minutes ago.
"I only went to that damn party because I wanted you to see me in this ridiculously uncomfortable dress instead of my dirty Quidditch gear, and I wanted you to hurry up and realize you're in love with me," he sucks in a breath because he's quite sure now is time to brace for the apocalypse because surely hell is being unleashed on Earth. She continues without taking a breath, "Because I've loved you for too bloody long and I am sick of you not noticing and it's not fucking fair that I should have to put up with these stupid feelings while you get off scott free!"
Love? Love? No, no that wasn't possible.
He's not even sure if Rose is capable of love. He's not even sure he is. No, he's not in love. Yes, his stomach drops when he sees her. Yes, he holds his breath when she speaks to him, perhaps waiting for her to confess something not unlike she's doing now. Yes, he pays particular attention to the games of Quidditch she's involved in. Yes, he takes special pleasure in playing the Harpies. But that's because he wants to beat her, not because he loves her.
Ok, so he can't explain the stomach-dropping or the breath holding just yet, but that's because its 1:30 in the fucking morning. He's sure there is a perfectly reasonable, entirely platonic justification for this. That is absolutely not related to the dreams he has of her. Because that's just his brain malfunctioning, nothing more. Infatuation at most, but certainly not love.
Or at least he hopes not, because that would be fucking inconvenient.
Rose sways on her (ridiculous) heels but holds steady and rubs her nose against his and damn him to hell if he doesn't rub back just the tiniest fraction, and when the devil did his hands go to her hips?
He's just holding her to make sure she doesn't fall over. That's all. Honestly.
"So if I'm cursed with these bullshit feelings, then you should have to be too."
And then she does it.
Rose Weasley smacks her lips into his entirely too gracelessly to do their first kiss justice. Scorpius has dreamt of this happening entirely too many times for this to be how it finally happens. She's too eager, he's too stoic, and when she forces her tongue into his mouth with a grunt and literal physical force, it isn't anything like what it should be. Mostly because all that's running through Scorpius' brain right at that moment is WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK?! And he honestly can't stop from noticing the pungent smell and taste of Firewhiskey that practically marinates her. This isn't how it should happen. This isn't how he wants this to happen.
Rose pulls back with an obnoxious sounding 'smack' when their lips separate, looking entirely too pleased with herself for that horrid display of affection. They'll do better next time, he promises himself, if there's a next time.
No, not if - when. He may not love her (yet. But then again maybe he does), but he is sure they will lock lips at least once more and it will be a darn site better than that.
Scorpius watches in dazed confusion as Rose's face begins to descend from proud self-satisfaction into a horrifying mix of fear, disgust and anticipation. Her skin tone pales, suddenly tinged with green, and he knows what's coming only seconds before it arrives.
With an almighty, "HUUHGGGRH!", Rose lunges forward and vomits all over his feet.
And then she's crying again, and apologizing, and yelling at him, and vomiting, all while he is staring serenely at the stars and wondering if this is some kind of payback for his past lives. Trying desperately hard to ignore the squelching feeling of regurgitated food and alcohol between his toes, Scorpius puts on his gentlemen's pants and shepherds Rose inside.
"Come on Rosie," he coos softly, trying to direct her away from his more expensive items of furniture, "Let's get you to the bathroom."
They manage to just make it to his ensuite before she hurls again, and thankfully this time it lands in his (freshly cleaned) toilet bowl and not on his person like last time. Scorpius quite unceremoniously drops Rose on the floor beside the toilet and hurriedly sits on the edge of the bath, filling it half way as quickly as possible to rinse his feet.
There is a motherfucking chunk of carrot stuck between his big toe and his second toe. This is perhaps the most disgusting thing he has ever dealt with in his entire life, and he spends a large portion of his time in men's locker rooms.
His internal fury and disgust is interrupted by an echoed voice coming out of his toilet.
"Why does it burn so much?" she moans between hurls.
"The perils of drinking Firewhiskey, I'm afraid," he can't keep the bite out of his tone because excuse me but he is fishing fucking vomit-carrot-chunks out from between his toes.
Another moan. "Why does it taste so good going down but burn so bad coming up?"
He finds himself, somewhat reluctantly, unable to be truly angry with her. After all, he has been in a similar situation himself many times. He doesn't think he's ever vomited onto someone's bare feet before, but he's certainly had his head in a toilet or two in his time. But good lord she was pathetic. His heart swelled a little more at the sight behind him, Rose's dress hooked up over her bum, body completely covered in some of the most uncomfortable undergarments/body stocking he had ever seen (he thought they may be referred to rather elusively as shapewear), her head completely out of view from being burrowed into his toilet bowl, with nothing but the edges of curls visible out the top. Never before had something so revolting appeared so endearing.
Just another reason to l-
Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just back up a minute there buddy. We've had this conversation not two minutes ago, and we decided that was a bad plan.
Just because she started waxing lyrical about her undying love didn't mean his own head had any right jumping on that dangerous bandwagon. Scorpius Malfoy's heart was a fiercely protected beast; there was no telling what havoc it was capable of wreaking should it be freed from it's cage. So let's just put that line of thought to rest before we get too far ahead of ourselves, shall we?
He comes back to himself when the toilet bowl lets out a strangled whimper.
He sighed heavily, "You're not dying."
"Dying women don't speak."
"I'm not speaking, I'm wailing. And dying women wail all the time!" Well damn, she had him there.
Her spluttering and incoherent murmurs coax him away from soaking his feet (the last visible signs of vomit long washed away), and he pads softly towards her before dropping to sit beside the huddled mess of limbs clutching at the base of his toilet.
"Surely a few shots of Firewhiskey aren't enough to kill the indestructible Rose Weasley," he rubs the space between her shoulder blades and she sighs long and loud. He probably shouldn't do that again. It elicits a completely uncontrollable physical reaction down in his nether regions, which could only lead to dangerous situations.
Because having sex with your Captain – who is Rose fucking Weasley – is most certainly not what you want to be doing right now.
Ok, so maybe it's what you want to be doing, but absolutely no one can know that. So pipe down Junior! You will only makes things difficult.
"There may have been more than a few," comes the voice from the bowels of the bowl. He chuckles lightly at that, continuing to rub her bare back a bit more to help ease the hacking she is overcome with every few moments. And absolutely not because her skin feels so nice beneath his fingers. No, definitely not because of that.
Scorpius ties her hair back with a sparkly hair elastic Amelia left on the floor last time she decided to come thrashing through his apartment like a hurricane. Rose lifts her head with what is apparently all the strength she has left, and rests it against the rim of the toilet bowl, sighing at its coolness before she burps loudly and rather grotesquely. The sigh turns into a groan and were he not concerned she may truly be dying, Scorpius might actually laugh at her misfortune, at his own misfortune, at this whole utterly ridiculous situation they found themselves in. As it stands he's just kind of praying she keeps breathing, and trying really hard not to focus on those three little words she proclaimed so angrily at him earlier.
He glances down at her and sees one bloodshot eye peak out at him through a few stray curls Amelia's one sparkly hair tie could never dream of capturing and taming.
"I really do love you, you know, you insidious prat," she croaks, her throat coarse from vomiting and if he were not physically repulsed by the sheer thought of coming into contact with her breath he would be dearly tempted to kiss her. Again, but this time properly, taking their time and learning each others' taste and savouring.
But if there is one thing he does not want to savour right now, it's the taste of Rose's mouth.
He mulls over what she's just said and it elicits a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes for sure now, her head practically dangling in his toilet bowl, just how far from her normal self she is presently.
"You're incredibly drunk Rosie," his voice sounds sad, even to his own ears. He's too tired to pretend to be smug right now.
"And irresistible – tell me something I don't know!"
Scorpius cracks a smile despite himself but it doesn't reach his eyes. He suddenly finds this whole silly situation much too depressing to deal with. Especially at 1:30 in the fucking morning.
What sort of people are they that the only time they can be honest with one another is when one of them is so blind drunk they barely remember their own name?
"I'll believe you when you're sober."
"So in the morning then."
He can't suppress the snort that escapes him, "I doubt you'll be sober by then."
He gives her a faint smile and concedes defeat for now, "Ok Rosie, I'll believe you in the morning."
His surrender earns him a smile that mirrors his own. Which quickly descends into a look of 'Oh God not again' that he recognizes all too well. Rose's head disappears into the confines of his toilet bowl and she releases another torrent of past nourishment from the confines of her stomach.
Scorpius had sat on that floor for close to an hour, rubbing her back and soothing her as she cried and wailed at her self-induced misfortune. He had tried to coax her off the floor multiple times, but she simply growled at him (literally growled. Like an animal) and curled around the bowl whimpering. He decided he wasn't as much of a gentleman as he thought and returned to bed, determined to at least hold up the pretense of sleep, contemplating how, exactly, the following morning is going to play out.
It's 6:45am when he finally gets out of bed at the sound of Rose stirring on his ensuite floor. He accios his pre-made coffee and meanders towards the doorway, hoping he's successfully adopted the air of indifference he tries to keep up whenever he's in her presence.
And Scorpius knows, at the first scowl she shoots him when she hears his voice that the words spoken last night could not be further from her mind. His gentle interrogation only confirms as such. He tells himself not to be disappointed; it wasn't the first kiss with Rose he wanted to have anyway. And surely she didn't honestly love him. And it wasn't like he loved her either.
Not really. Not that much.
Scorpius finds himself envying his Captain/rival where she lies on his floor, for he would give anything to forget her words. It would surely prevent the damned sleepless nights that follow for much longer then anyone would consider healthy.
Ta da! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next chapter will be at least a week away I daresay as it's barely written, but we'll get there eventually.
All my love!