Rose hadn't properly hung out with Lily since Monday, but there was no room to discuss the most recent Scorpius incident, because Ava was there. The three girls got off together at Rose's stop, and tripped up the winding entry road over which the Weasley's mansion loomed.

This was it. Friday. Party time.

In all honestly, Rose felt like such a third wheel today — more so than usual. Ava and Lily had spent ninety-seven percent of the bus trip making out (they usually only spent around ninety percent) while Rose had awkwardly immersed herself in Instagram and trolled through stacks of anticipation for the Weasley's party. On impulse, she'd snapped a photo of her friends and publicized it with the caption Looks like these two'll be busy tonight... OTP!!!!!

Because they would be. Very busy. Very illegally drunk. Very gay.

Then she'd made her exit, barely escaping the hail of instantaneous likes, haters, and admirers.

Now, as they entered the cool, bustling atmosphere within the mansion, Rose sucked in a deep breath and relaxed into the familiar atmosphere. There were servants everywhere, hurrying back and forth like ants, and the whole place was undergoing transformation: it smelled amazing, certain lights were lit at certain angles, everything was tidied away perfectly, and the whole scene generally screamed money!

"Rose, you rich bitch," Ava teased, tossing her auburn hair. "Don't you know it's illegal to serve alcohol to minors?"

"We don't serve alcohol to minors," Rose retorted, playing along. "The minors show up uninvited and take it."

"Well, it's just there," Lily put in. "Why shouldn't we take it?"

Ava smirked, punching her shoulder playfully. "You're just here. Why shouldn't I take you?"

"Been there..." Lily began cheekily.

"...done that," Ava finished, cheekier still.

"You're such a ho," Lily laughed.

"I know, right? We totally match, baby." Ava pulled Lily into a kiss. Except that neither of them were actual hoes, because both of them were stupidly in love.

Rose groaned. "Jesus Christ, get a room!"

"Get a room later," said a new voice. Ava and Lily jumped apart as Mrs. Weasley strode towards them across the foyer, eyes twinkling. "For now, why don't you girls come and taste-test the brownies for me?" (Rose's mother worked magic with brownies).

"Sure thing, Aunt Hermione," Lily grinned, and grabbed one of Ava's hands and one of Rose's hands, and dragged them expertly through a maze of hallways and down a flight of stairs to the kitchen, which was steamy and spicy and noisy and full of servants. Rose knew every single one of them and all their life stories. They weren't so much servants as extended family members who took care of everything the Weasleys didn't have time to take care of themselves.

Mrs. Weasley entered after them a minute later. "Wait up for the old lady, girls." Mock-condescendingly.

"You're not even an old lady," Rose pointed out. "You're forty-one."

"She's an old lady up 'ere," remarked Helen, the cook, tapping a forefinger against her wrinkled temple.

Which was true — Rose's mother had degrees in just about everything, or at least that's what it seemed like. She'd successfully graduated university two times over and had been valedictorian on more than one occasion. Everyone had expected she'd go into philosophy, but instead she'd spent her first few post-university years travelling as a human rights activist, before unexpectedly ascending to become one of the most prominent names in the entertainment industry. (Because she was just spontaneous like that). Mr. Weasley, by contrast, had always displayed a talent for acting and had pursued it wholeheartedly right from the minute he could walk and talk.

"Philosophy studies the fundamental nature of knowledge and existence," Mrs. Weasley had once said. "Acting is the study of emotion, of expression and transformation, of humanity in its truest form. They are two different paths and my heart chose to take me down the showier one."

Scorpius Malfoy was an actor. A very, very talented actor. Yet he hadn't taken part in any productions since seventh grade, as far as Rose knew. Seventh grade...

"Brownies," Lily said, demandingly, shaking Rose from the branches of thought.

Mrs. Weasley laughed, regathering her bushy hair into a bun of sorts. "Right this way."

*'*'*

The first arrival was, of course, DJ Cecil; a shortish, emoish guy whose brown hair swept over his eyes and rested atop his glasses. He was, Rose had to admit, awfully cute, and he'd had this thing with Lily since last year where he'd make eyes at her and then pretend to cry into his launchpad when she flipped him off and kissed Ava.

Next came the respectable ones; the well-dressed high-horse ones, the older ones with no children and the ones that didn't let their children tag along (although such unfortunates would show up eventually, against all odds). Trickling in amongst this wave of aristocracy sauntered the alumni, the university students; melding in and speaking politely and shaking hands and accepting punch, and full of wild plans for the darker hours.

Not less than half an hour into this, the doorbell emitted another series of chimes, and things began to speed up as the younger households flocked in from all corners. Laughing, wealthy, beautiful couples who coaxed out the beer, and rowdy groups of teenagers. The mood heightened; DJ Cecil picked up the rhythm and volume in response to the growing noise.

He was still building up. Everyone was still building up. It was not yet dark out; within the next couple hours most of the older company would have departed, and that's when the volume would really go up.

"Remember, girls!" Mrs. Weasley was at Rose's elbow, glass of wine in hand. "No alcohol!"

"None." Mr. Weasley, snaking his arms around his wife's waist.

"Don't get drunk and do stupid things. It's illegal." She gave them a hard stare. "I mean it."

Rose herself had never actually been drunk.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her friends with the raging homosexual hormones.

"We'd never do anything stupid, Hermione," Ava assured the woman.

Rose's mother didn't even bother to point out that they hadn't promised not to get drunk. With a resigned sigh, she left them to their own devices.

"I'd better go meet and greet," said Rose, grabbing her punch and rising from the couch.

"Let's get this party started," Lily agreed, and she and Ava disappeared, hand-in-hand, into the crowds.

Someone tackled Rose from behind. "Rosie! There you are!"

"Hey, Drew," Rose laughed. Punch splashed onto her wrist from the impact. "You're squeezing me to death."

"Sorry, sorry." Drew Hunter linked her arm through Rose's instead.

"Hiya, Rose." Caitlyn McKenzie, at her other elbow.

"O em gee, your dress!" Rose exclaimed, taking in her simple yet stunning attire. "Rock it, girl!"

"Thank you! I got it just for this party! So cheap too. The whole store was on sale. It cost, like, a hundred dollars less than it would've normally!"

"So jel right now."

Caitlyn beamed as if Rose's admiration was of more worth than a store full of on-sale dresses. God, these girls. So clingy and shallow and desperate yet so undeniably sweet. They just grew on Rose.

The three of them chattered their way over to the largest group of high schoolers, who were occupying the couch. Caitlyn and Drew bounced right onto the couch and picked up a flirty conversation with a couple guys, and Rose, feeling antisocial, lingered a moment to accept the greetings and compliments before wandering off in search of Luke.

She found him with a group of his jock friends, next to the punch. Rose slunk up behind him and snaked her arms around his waist to announce her presence, and got a kiss for it. One of Luke's friends wiggled his eyebrows at Rose and winked.

"Hey!" Luke laughed, wrapping a protective arm around Rose's shoulders. "Eyes off my girl. Come on, Rose, let's ditch these losers."

They ditched those losers.

On the patio out back, it was a little less crowded and a little less noisy. Warm breezes ruffled through Rose's hair and music trickled through the open sliding doors. Respectable neighbours approached them with pleasantries.

Rose rested her head on Luke's shoulder when they had a moment to themselves, and didn't voice her tired, wrung-out feelings. She just felt them in silence, and he didn't need to know.

"You gonna get drunk tonight?" Luke inquired, bluntly.

"No," said Rose. "You know I could never get away with something like that, Luke. It would botch our name all over the media for months. I'd rather not deal with that."

"Fair enough," he nodded. "You're also too young."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"If you weren't too young?"

"Still no. My life is too public."

"If your life wasn't public?"

Rose paused, considered. "Hell yes."

He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Stop kissing me," Rose scolded. "There'll be pictures all over by tomorrow morning of us snogging. I bet you the reporters have infiltrated by now."

Luke frowned. "Why can't you install some sort of anti-press thing on your door? I like kissing you."

"I'd gladly install that. If only someone would invent it."

"I just did."

"Shut up."

"Never."

"Shut up."

"Define shut up."

Rose put a finger to his lips and ran a teasing hand up his thigh.

The noise from the door swelled for a moment, as a group of scantily-clad girls moved past it, headed for the dance floor. Someone let out a peel of laughter that echoed in the sudden silence in the music, and was drowned out when the music began again, a little louder than before.

Luke took Rose's now-empty cup. "I'll get us more drinks. Be right back."

She slumped back on the bench in his absence, feeling drained. The first week was always exhausting, but thanks to Hugo this one had been... exceptional. For lack of a better word.

Everyone knew now, too. Nobody at school talked, which Rose was exceedingly grateful for, but she could see it in eyes and voices and gestures. And then there was the hate. The hate level on her Instagram and shot up like a rocket after this latest piece of huge gossip.

Rose had this terrible habit of sometimes actually going through her feed. There was so much of it and it was all the same, all her ten million followers gushing and critiquing and hating, and sometimes she'd just read through all the comments and only pay attention to the hateful ones. It probably wasn't too healthy. It probably counted as some sort of masochism. She couldn't find it in herself to care either way.

It momentarily occurred to Rose that perhaps she ought to delete Instagram and get away for a bit, but the idea was almost immediately erased, because it was through Instagram that she could directly communicate with her fans in regards to publication dates and bonus features. And they could cheer her up — they had such faith in her and her work and even those repetitive little "I love you"s still managed to make her grin sometimes.

It couldn't possibly take this long to get punch — Rose dragged herself up and went after Luke, back into the rhythmic atmosphere within. He wasn't by the punch. He wasn't by the food. Dance floor... eh, probably. Rose made a beeline for that.

There was a group of residential supermodels obstructing her passage, so she slipped away before they could notice her and took a detour across the foyer. People were coming through the door at that moment.

There, right there. Oh no.

Scorpius Malfoy. And an unfamiliar black-haired dude. Putting their heads together over something and glancing around appraisingly.

Rose stopped mid-step and her heart leapt into her throat when Scorpius caught her gaze.

*'*'*'*

A/N: important fact: life is a revolution. Fucking kill it while you can okay you gorgeous little piece of shit thank you goodbye

~<3