A/N : A quick oneshot for Rose and Scorpius. In all honestly, it could tie into the timeline of Dead of Night rather well, taking place about a month and a half before the events of the story of course. The idea ate away at me and I couldn't help myself. So, without further adieu, buckle up for some cliches, some heartbreak and some longing stares. As always, feedback/reviews in any way, shape or form is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer : As always, I don't own anything.

—

These Four Walls

He shifts, blankets remain askew against not only his bed, but the floor. It had never been uncommon to find Scorpius at the Weasley's home over the holidays. He was, in the most simplistic of ways, a mere extension of Rose. She herself had managed to spend the odd week in summer months soaking in the aristocratic tastes that came with Malfoy Manor. Never one without the other, it seemed odd that he lay restless against the summer heat in their spare bedroom. Silken sheets were traded in for light cotton, something in which he'd come to like. The feeling of the simple fabric against his blue-blooded skin was enough to cause shots of warmth to circuit through his veins. For, with the Malfoy name had come an elite title, with the Greengrass name had come a legacy to uphold. He, in all honesty, had little intention to succeed in either. To Scorpius, the world had been filled with a wonder that seemed unattainable to him, that of complete ignorant bliss. What he would give to rest his head easy against feather light pillows and fall into a dream swathed state. However, it had seemed to be the one luxury in which the boy had never been granted.

Groggily, the boy slides from atop pillow top mattress. His feet sink into the floor with ease, exposed chest gleaming from gentle drops of moonlight that cascade the window. Lazily, he manages to run a hair through tousled tresses, a gentle silver sheen evident in this light. Scorpius carries himself with the caution of the first child awake on Christmas morning, footsteps as light as a feather that glide against the hardwood floor as he exposes himself to the darkened hallway. It couldn't have been later than midnight, and as gaze adjusts he's proven right. Delicate hands upon the grandfather clock indicate 11:56, he'd always had a knack for the sleepless hours.

The Weasley's house was quaint, a two story victorian located on the outskirts of London. Far enough, he'd come to know, to catch flight with a broomstick in the midsummer's day without the fear of onlookers. Naturally, it was how he and Rose had spent their time together. Days soaking in the sun, Quidditch scores kept neatly upon chalkboard panel within the kitchen. As of right now, Rose held a 2 game lead, as she always had. A natural flyer, she was built for Quidditch. A certain grace in which she'd lacked whilst walking on her own two feet was something reserved for flight. Clad in blue Ravenclaw apparel, she'd always been a wonder. A prodigy, they'd called her. Yet, she had no interest in professional sporting, much to her aunts dismay. For, as brilliant as her skills had proven to be, it was her gentle heart that had led her to consider a career in Healing. This, perhaps, was one of her most guarded traits. Reserved for the likes of her cousin Albus, and her best mate, now wandering through hallways as his hand slides off the bannister.

—

She'd always been a night owl. Consumed by thoughts that she'd never fathom to dream of in the daylight, Rose found solace in the cold nights breeze. It was, as she would come to know and accept, where she did her best thinking. Her mother assured her that this was proof she was her father's daughter more so than anyone else. Rose preferred the quiet of a gentle evening, allowing the moonlight to soak her freckled skin. Tonight had been no exception. She'd wandered aimlessly around her room, pacing as feet glided against the floor before finally carrying her downstairs. Fresh water in the kettle, she was certain that there wasn't a damned thing that a cup o' tea couldn't fix, this much was certain thanks to her aunt Angelina. Subtle sigh falls from lips as the girl moseys around the kitchen, heavy lids flutter against tired eyes.

Once again, she had been found waiting. Perhaps, she'd wondered, fate had dealt her these cards in cruel taste. Perpetually awaiting something that would never come, someone that would never come. As fast as the thought had cropped in her mind, she dismisses it. Instantaneously, gaze averts towards the swinging doorway as heart falls into the depths of her stomach. Would it have made it any better? Any less painful? It was easier to deny what she'd felt, the ache in her heart at the sight of him. But now, in such close proximity, once again she'd found herself wondering. Longing was a dangerous thing, as she'd discovered in the depths of the Hogwarts library. Always a darkened corner, and always hushed words, heated skin against her skin that caused an uproar of blood to rush through her veins as if ichor from the gods themselves. He, himself, was her heart ; she, his very own soul. Yet, in the midst of daylight, there were some things that were never easy to say. This much, she'd come to realize. So, as he'd slept peacefully just doorways away from her, these four walls had proven to be nothing more than a frustration.

Soft sigh releases itself unto the night as, now accompanied with the steaming tea in hand, Rose leans her bodice against counter top. Had it always been this hard, living in the shadows that he'd casted upon her? Breath hitching, gleaming gaze, every bit as sure of her feelings as she'd ever been. Moments pass, silence louder than any day at the Burrow she'd ever experienced, her own heart beating rapidly against its cage. Silence, palms grip teacup tighter in an attempt to burn, to scorch, to feel anything more vividly than he'd ever been able to cause. It isn't until careful footfalls approaching catch her off guard that her gaze, a glistened hue of russet gold, flickers towards the doorway.

—

"Let me guess, trouble sleeping?" His voice is something of the sweetest hymns, even sleep clogged and murmured, Rose had been sure of it. He doesn't hesitate to cross the room, fetching himself a mug of his own. Gaze, settled upon her ever lengthening legs for a moment too long, avert into the resident abyss.

"Guess you could say that." Slender shoulders shrug, lips parting slightly if only to allow a moments breath before a quick swig pours down her now tightened throat. He perches himself against countertop beside her, slender figure relaxed. What she would give to be able to act as nonchalant as he. Yet, where Scorpius was seemingly elegant in his height, able to carry himself with a brisk ease. Rose, for lack of better words, was not. Gangly, lanky, and clumsy. All words in which the girl could embody with perfection. Lengthly deep red tresses fall against silken soft robe, hiding beneath was a galaxy of freckles in which he'd once traced with delicate digits. Summers spent laying in the sun, winters passing by with the exchange of careful glances and quiet pleasantries. Hadn't they suffered enough? Temptation ate away at her stomach, and all she could ever manage was this.

"Galleon for your thoughts then?" Arched brow falls prey to his features, side swept gaze lingers upon her tightly pressed lips. A natural wonder, he'd considered her to be.

" 'm afraid even you couldn't afford what's going on up here." Free finger now pressed against her temple, causing light laughter to bellow throughout the night.

"Makes two of us then" Swiftly, he counters his words with a sip of hot tea.

It goes noticed. The interruption, however, doesn't seem worth it. Instead, her play on words once again tip toes around the rarity of an unshackled heart. She'd remembered once how easily Scorpius could get the words to simply fall from her clumsy lips, how she'd always felt free talking to him. Now, however, it seems as if that feeling is lost forever. The knowing feeling of the months prior when her eyes had caught his against the room, roaring victorious screams as Ravenclaw had won the Quidditch Cup. Hands flew, grasping her jersey as smile remained prominent upon her glossed lips, all eyes were on the girl of the hour. The Captain. Yet, her eyes could only ever land on him. Chiseled jaw, crooked in symmetry, with a grin that stopped her dead, heart worn upon her sleeve as if this was it. As if he was it. Together, they were the only two in the room. It's how it had always been, the pair of them against the world. He could be in the same room as her for hours, standing a mere breath away, and still it would tug at her heartstrings — the way she missed him. Liquid courage had never been needed, confessions of the heart were made sloppily in the way she'd brush her fingers against the back of his palm. The way the pad of his thumb would ghost against her blush tinged cheek, brushing away flyaway curls. Confessions, secrets whispered in moments of temptation, in weakness.

He'd been her weakness as much as she was his. Scorpius, however, had never hesitated. He'd never questioned, had never grown confused about the feeling that coursed through his veins. He was patient, she'd never know the definition of the word if it had smacked her against the face.

"I —" She starts, tongue grazing against loosened lips, a lapse of judgement as she waves away the stray thought. Placing her now empty mug atop the counter before catching another breath, hitched within her throat.

"A storyteller for the times, you are Red." Inkling of sarcasm is evident in his words, playful jest accompanied with a gentle jab to her side with his elbow. Rose stifles a scoff, swallowing the lump within her throat before she shakes her head. Turning upon his heels, Scorpius faces her fully. Their eyes, now contradictory, catch sight of one another and he cannot help but feel as though it's for the first time. In their many years, they'd stared at one another as if they knew the deepest parts of their very souls, and perhaps they did. But now, in the dimly lit, confined space, he was sure the feeling within the pit of his stomach was entirely new.

"Shove off, Malfoy." Retort is much easier, it always had been. Eyes roll, breaking the stare they'd held after a moment of brevity. He does little to oblige to her half hearted request, instead Scorpius inches closer, allowing desire to over come him.

"Rose — " Her name, sickeningly sweet from his tongue, comes out as a mere whisper as familiarity hangs above the pair. She tries, as she's done before, to avoid this very moment. Head hanging slightly, unable to meet his stare. The bravery in which she'd once had now a distant memory as the agonizing pain of oft wanting what she could never seem to have washes over her. In an instant, his soft skin comes into contact with her freckled cheek, a gentle caress is all it takes for the girl to swallow air in anticipation. Inhale. A second needn't pass, for her chin already manages to lean up towards the boy as they seek refuge in one another's eyes. He finds nothing but a home in her golden flecked hues and she awaits to be carried away in the oceanic gaze that sparkles within the moonlight.

How many times had it come down to this? A moment where she swears she can feel his heartbeat against her chest, and he fears he can hear hers a mile away.

—

"I suppose I owe you a congratulations." His words cause a chill to run down spine, ghosting shiver overcoming skin as she turns swiftly against heels. "Quidditch Cup, second year and running."

"I suppose you'd be correct."

His lips press against her cheek, breath heavy against her ear. It lingers, if only a moment too long to be considered friendly. Hands grip her shoulders, a barely audible tune sings from his mouth after a moment of silence in which she's sure the world had stopped turning.

"Congratulations, Rose."

Her only tell was that of a thin lipped smile growing evermore against her delicate features. Broken and battered from the long winded match in which she'd just combated, yet delicate all the same. He'd refused to step back, and she did much the same. So, as the world continued to turn 'round as if nothing had happened, they'd stood there completely and utterly lovestruck.

"I —" She struggles to find the right words, catching thoughts against her tongue instead. "I need to go."

—

"Don't go —" His whispers break the tension. They'd always been as thick as thieves, served countless detentions together, had sought trouble out as much as their very own company. But, in the end, she'd always left. Always broke away from whatever courage laid within her and fled from a scene all too familiar.

"Where you can't follow?" She speaks with a gentle purr, hand raised to his chest before brows crease.

"I'd follow you anywhere."

"Seemingly so." It's her digits that curl against his chest, twisting a faint trace along his exposed skin.

"You doubt me?" Cocking a brow, his vocals raise slightly as if mannerisms grow haughty at the question of his character. It had been her tone, it had always been her tone. She, however, refuses to rebuttal. To give him the satisfaction of once again proving her wrong. They'd grown since then, had seen the world crumble beneath their feet and emerged victorious. For now. In the quiet that overcomes their small sanctuary, it's as if all could never truly be forgotten. His mistakes, her missteps. They clung to the thought of imperfection almost obsessively, as if they'd grown accustomed to heart ache. To the longing of it all.

No, she thinks, but she never vocalizes it. The thought never comes to fruition against her tongue. Instead, her back step once again puts distance in between them. Palm falls against her side and he himself breaks all contact. Fleeting moments, carefully poised accidents within the dimly lit evenings. Moments pass, the clock ticks and the space between them only grows. She's stubborn enough to believe in true love, to believe in the good in the world. He, however, has never given thought to the fates themselves. Where Rose knew fully well that her cards had been dealt, Scorpius had relied on sheer indomitable will. Forces of nature were nothing compared to the actions in which he'd so recklessly carried out, but to her, the forces of nature were the ones to decide exactly when the time was right. She feared, for a moment, that they'd never find the right time. That the world would come between them, that she would go somewhere he could not follow. That in itself was something that caused the space between them to grow more harrowing.

"Goodnight Scorpius." She swallows her pride, leans up gently in a moment of weakness to press a chaste kiss against his cold cheek. Before he has the chance to reach for her once more, her strides have taken her across the room to become a mere shadow self.

"G'night."

—

A/N : There you have it. Insight into Scorpius and Rose. Once again, reviews are loved and appreciated xx