"Get your hands off of my son," he repeats, ghastly calm. But there's a flash in his eyes that belies his tone. And she's gone rigid— paralyzed with shock, unable to fathom the resemblance.
Malfoy had always been quite unique. No one else had hair such a peculiar shade of blonde, or a face with such sharp, aristocratic features. No one else had such an awfully pale skin tone, as though their blood defied its nature of circulation. But he did. It was like staring at an older version of Malfoy. But he has longer hair, tied neatly into a low ponytail. Faint wrinkles about his upper lip— blemishes she can only guess were due to years of sneering. He stands tall with a long black cloak over his matching robe, elf tailored and made with what couldn't be mistaken for anything but the finest of silk.
His patience is tested when she doesn't move. Gone is the cold, calm voice. "Now!" he thunders.
There's an incredulous look in his eyes when she only stares back at him with wide eyes. In an instant he's on the move, charging towards her. Doesn't give her enough time to do anything before he grabs her forearm with a bruising grip and yanks her away. Throws her aside, chest heaving as he vehemently wipes his hand off with the fabric of his cloak. His lips curl in aversion when he meets her eye once more.
"Draco, please." Pomfrey stands just before the curtains, hand hovering over the wand sitting in her pocket. Draws it back slowly when she sees that Draco has lost all interest in Rose, turning to stand over his son. For a long stretch of silence, he stays there, studying the boy lying nearly lifeless on the bed. And with only regard to the younger, unconscious Malfoy, he says in a low, half hearted murmur—
"I see you run this hospital as just incompetently as you had in my younger years."
Pomfrey seems not to heed to this blatant insult, instead turning a condemning eye to the flushed redhead standing in the very corner with her hands holding each other and her gaze casted to the floor in shame.
"I assure you, Draco, Miss. Weasley is never to revisit this room unauthorized."
McGonagall steps in and gives Draco a sharp warning of an eye. Then looks at Rose. "Miss. Weasley, whatever are you doing here?"
Two sets of eyes land on her. Draco seems to have forgotten everyone in that room but his son. "I-" She swallows the lump in her throat. She hates being the center of attention. "I, um...I came here to say thank you. To him. For carrying me to the Hospital Wing...' Her voice dies down into a murmur as she drops her eyes down again. "When I had fainted."
She shuffles her feet as the silence stretches.
"Get her out of here," he says at last.
Pomfrey holds out her hand like a mother would to her misbehaving child. Rose understands and walks towards the matron, muttering a small apology to Malfoy's father as she passes him. Pomfrey grabs her wrist when it's at reach and drags her to the other side of the curtain. Makes sure it's completely closed before turning sharply. And Rose has known Madam Pomfrey long enough to know the rebuke she was bound to receive. Flinches, preparing for it.
"My goodness, girl! Now what in Merlin's name is the matter with you? Running around and sneaking off to patients' rooms! And Mr. Malfoy's, at that!" she scolds in a hushed sort of yell.
"I wanted to say thank you?" It comes out more of a question than she meant it to. Realizes how stupid the excuse sounds as it comes out of her mouth.
"I'm afraid he is not in the proper state for 'thank you's' and what not," Pomfrey says with stern disapproval.
She shuffles her feet again. Pomfrey sighs, rubbing her forehead wearily. "That boy hasn't changed one bit," she mutters, seeming to have forgotten Rose. But when she feels the young girl's stare, she shoots a stern look at her. "And you are taking years off my life."
Rose only flashes a sheepish smile before following the matron's pointed finger, directing her towards the visitors waiting seats by the door. "Stay there. I will get you your medicine," Pomfrey demands, stepping to the other side of the curtains and hastily shutting it before Rose's curious eyes can backtrack.
She sits there for an awfully long time, unable to hear a word spoken from the other end of the room. Draco Malfoy. That's the man's name. She has long known that name, for it had been burned into her mind after several of her fathers dinner table rants. Terrible things, they were, she had heard associated with the name. He was a death eater. A dark wizard supporting the very man who wanted all of her mother's 'kind' killed ruthlessly. The nephew of the woman who tortured her mother near death. A boy who was sent to perform the execution of one the men her parents respected most. She doesn't hesitate over if that is the same man who she had just met. Not because of his rather obvious 'Malfoy' aura that practically radiated off him and not because he was so clearly the father of Malfoy. But because of what flared in his eyes. The coldness. Emptiness. Like everything he was ever capable of loving was torn away from him. It's the same as Malfoy's.
And lost in her thoughts as she is, Rose doesn't heed the long shadow that looms over her until the belonger of such shadow speaks.
"Miss. Weasley."
Speak of the devil.
She abruptly stands up, feeling too little under his tall figure. It doesn't make so much of a difference, she notices only after she stands.
He raises an eyebrow in regard to her absence of etiquette.
"Yes," she coughs. After several moments of completing just how to answer such a greeting, says, "That's me,"
"I know that is you," he says contemptuously, lip curling in irritation. "May we have a talk?"
She's not so sure it's a question, and judging by the narrowing of his eyes, she chooses not to test that. Instead nods obediently and follows him out the Hospital Wing. He walks down the corridors a few paces and she follows behind, halting only a stride away from him when he comes to a stop. And with his back towards her, he asks—
"What is it that you want with my son?"
She stutters. "I- I just wanted to offer him my gratitude."
He sighs. "Ah, yes. Minerva did mention Scorpius's rather...heroic settlement. Despite scarcely being able to hold himself up, half dead and ripped open-" Draco pauses, turning his head a fraction and meeting her eyes from the corner. "He resolved to help you along the way." Then he laughs a very unfriendly laugh. "But it wasn't so much 'helping' as it was a strive for your attention, I can only assume. I mean, you really only blacked out, correct?"
"Yes. It was very considerate of him, considering his, er...condition."
"Considerate?" he echoes, following it with a huff of a laugh— disbelief. "Oh, do not be deceived," Draco says quietly. She watches the back of his head shake. "Now, I will ask you once more. What is it that you want with my son?"
Her brows draw together in confusion. Doesn't understand how to answer that question if her first and only response wasn't sufficient enough for him. Ends up voicing out the only thing she can think. "Why, I don't want anything from your son," she answers in possibly the nicest way one could. There's a few seconds between them and she adds "-Sir," for good measure.
He laughs. A low, cold laugh that was far from amusement. "Do you reckon me a fool, Miss. Weasley?"
"I don't understand what you're asking of me," she states quietly.
"Let us not play these silly games anymore." She can't see his face but can hear the ugly sneer he possesses through his voice. "I want for you only to be truthful when you're spoken to. I hope that isn't too much to ask for in a Weasley."
A jab at her family is a jab straight to her heart. She feels the resentment her father has long possessed to the man before her. "And with all due respect sir, I am being completely honest. You ask a silly question, you receive a silly answer."
This, he turns around at. Narrows his eyes at the indignant girl crossing her arms over her chest in false confidence of her assertion. "You think you are so clever, do you not?" he retorts in a low, dangerous voice. She opens her mouth to answer but soon closes it, oblivious of what to say. "You think that everyone in this life is blessed at birth with the Weasley-Granger name, yes? That in this world, you and my son are alike, progenies of war heroes?" He takes a small step forward, tilting his head for an answer. Continues, when she can only open and close her mouth wordlessly like a fish out of water. "If so, then you most clearly aren't the brightest witch of your year."
"I never said that-"
"Don't interrupt me," he hisses. His eyes flash with bitter animosity and he speaks with pure enmity in the same carefully low and cold voice when she is effectively silenced. "Perhaps I should enlighten you, Miss. Weasley. Ask yourself, what is it like to be shamed for? To be seen as nothing but a stain— a disgrace to the Wizarding World? To be burdened with guilt, tormented by memories? What is it like, Miss. Weasley, to be a Malfoy?"
She doesn't know.
His voice grows into a growl. "My son had been cursed the day he was born into this bloodline. And I have done everything in my power to clear our name— to free Scorpius of manacles society has chained him to."
"And I respect that, Mr. Malfoy, I do. I just don't understand what any of this has to do with me."
"I need you to stay away from Scorpius. You are not to utter a word to him, stand so much as a mile by him, dare you even think to," he demands vehemently. "Nothing good will come from this."
A blush flares her face as she begins to understand the point of all his talk. The way she had touched him— as though she was worried for him. It was very much possible that Mr. Malfoy had taken them for lovers or something of the sort. She waves her hands frantically to clear up the miscommunication as she speaks. "Oh- no, sir, I'm afraid you have mistaken your son and I's relationship— I assure you, there is absolutely nothing going on between us!"
There only comes silence after that. Cold, thoughtful silence. Then, quietly, he recommences, "My son always has been quite fond of the things he could never have. And while someone such as yourself may not spare a care into this world of Scorpius's longings, I can only promise his silly little desires will lead to no good."
She swallows a shaky breath. Can only stare up at the gentleman and listen with guilty fascination.
"And the very last thing I need is you to be seducing him-"
Her temper flares at the accusation. She snaps. "I never did such a thing!"
"Mind your tone when you are speaking to me. I am warning you: he is not a nice boy and he will not play nice games. And I will not ask you once more, so rather I tell you— keep away from my son." He pronounces each syllable of five worded demand with cold vehemence. "Do you understand me?"
She doesn't. Not one bit. But there is a deafening stillness between them and his sharp, cold eyes are a warning themselves.
"Yes," she says meekly,
He gives her a nod. "Very well. I wish you a goodnight, Miss. Weasley." And he has already begun walking away when he stops, not turning back to add—
"And do give my best to your mother and father, yes?" before making his departure without waiting for an answer.
She nods stupidly, aware that Draco was longer there to see, nor would he even care to. And sure of the last part of his statement being anything but sincere, she's only left with fragments of his words repeating themselves over and over again, trying to make sense out of them.
Cursed the day he was born into this bloodline—fond of the things he could never have—desires—not a nice boy—Cursed the day he was born into this bloodline—fond of the things he could never have—desires—not a nice boy.
"Fond of the things he could never have..." she whispers under her breath, watching the black of his cloak as it grows smaller and smaller before disappearing behind a corner. "Fond of the things he could never have— that's- surely he doesn't mean-"
Her. He can't mean her. Malfoy tried to kill her. Lured her into the forest and tried to- no, he can't mean her.
But a tiny part of Rose, deep, deep down relishes the idea, for only a moment. And for only a moment, she allows herself the guilty pleasure that runs chills down her spine and rushes blood to her cheeks. She bites down on her bottom lip lightly and closes her eyes, allowing forbidden thoughts to intoxicate her mind.
Because as pure as her heart is, there's something sinfully enticing about the concept of being one of Malfoy's desires.
____________________
Okay okay so this is a very short chapter and I'm sorry but it had to be. It just did and later you'll see why. But I hope you liked it! Don't forget to comment down any feedback or opinions regarding this chapter and how the books going so far!
word count: 2,342