WICKED GAME!

" Malfoy — of all people!
Honestly, what the hell had she
gotten herself into? "

𓆙

1 SEPTEMBER ; 10:45 AM

III.

When she first started Hogwarts, Rose Potter did not want to be there.

In all honesty, there was something a bit... wrong with her. A sad and commonly misunderstood fact: sometimes abused children will prefer their prison rather than freedom. They will prefer the chaos they know over the safety they don't. It's called a trauma bond.

And perhaps Rose had something a bit like that.

Small and shy, the eleven year old girl was fierce in her surprising anger. She glared at professors and she didn't talk to anyone but her brother and she stared out the window in lessons and she refused to leave her four poster bed for days at a time. No one seemed to understand her, no matter how many times she was forced to explain.

"No," little Rose would insist. "Because I don't want to be here." "I just don't." "No!" "No, I don't think being a witch is that great." "No, I am not!" "I said don't call him that." "I don't care what the newspapers say." "Well, what would you know?" "Don't you say that!"

Maybe it would've just been easier if people had left her brother alone. But they kept bothering him. He was not just Harry anymore; he was Harry Potter and The Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One. More than anything in the world, this was what Rose wanted: to go back to her cupboard, and to protect her brother.

But Harry wanted to be at Hogwarts, and so at Hogwarts Rose would stay.

That didn't mean she was happy about it, of course.

Rose Lily Potter had never ever started a fight with another human being until she started at Hogwarts.

And that human being had been none other than Draco Malfoy.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" Malfoy had loudly shouted during one of the First Year Quidditch games, all of them still so young and innocent. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains—,"

And that was when Rose pounced.

She started a full—out Muggle brawl in the audience tower, much to the horror of literally everyone.

"You're mental!" Eleven year old Malfoy had wailed, his voice muffled because he was busy clutching his bloody nose.

"And you're a stupid, annoying pointy—faced little git with an attitude problem!" Small for her age, squeaky—voiced Rose shrieked in reply, "Plus... Plus you're ugly!"

In Malfoy's opinion, this was much meaner than being punched in the face.

In any case, that wild, frightened anger passed by Christmas time.

After that, Rose loved Hogwarts with her whole heart — from the train to the dungeons to the lake. She was relieved to soon be seeing it all again, even if the problem of Draco Malfoy had never resolved itself. In fact, it had only led to another.

After The Order delivered them safely to 9¾, Rose had boarded the train with a soft sigh of relief. She could only hope that things would go back to normal — at least for a little while. Neville, the fifth member of their merry little hexad, was waiting for them with a shy but cheery smile.

"I found a compartment for us, just here—,"

"Thanks, Nev." Rose gratefully squeezed his shoulder and slid inside, smiling gratefully when Harry hefted their luggage in after.

"Hello, Rose Potter," spoke a familiar, rather ethereal voice.

Rose startled at finding none other than Luna Lovegood already sitting in their train cabin, reading her father's colourful magazine (upside down) and wearing her usual kind but rather vague smile. Brilliant red radishes hung from her ears, and she was sporting a bottle cap necklace that looked quite new. The odd and wonderful final member of their crew.

Rose became friends with Luna Lovegood in her Second Year, when they both accidentally wandered in the Forbidden Forest. As it happened, they both had horrible senses of direction, and every member of staff went half—mad trying to find them, assuming they had been the latest victims of petrification. Harry about had a heart attack. Dumbledore helpfully gave both girls a map.

They'd been fast friends ever since.

Rose smiled wide, dropping to the seat at her side. "Morning, Luna!"

"It is, isn't it?" The blonde girl hummed and glanced around as if just noticing the time of day. Then, "The sky is the most lovely shade of blue."

"Oh yea." Rose tried to nod appreciatively, "Have a nice summer?"

"Mm, yes. Daddy and I spent the whole summer planting dirigible plums out front; they're growing wonderfully. How was yours?"

Rose squirmed.

"It was..." Horrible, awful, miserable, hellish. "Fine, you know, nothing exciting."

At this, Luna cocked her head. "The Crumple—Horned Snorkacks say otherwise, Rose Potter."

Well, hell. Rose bit her lip, glanced to make sure the compartment door was closed, and then leant in to whisper her... news... when she heard Ron say, "And guess who's a Slytherin Prefect?"

"Malfoy," replied Harry at once, face twisted with disgust.

Rose's gut clenched.

"'Course," Ron muttered, stuffing his face with a chocolate frog or two.

"And that complete cow, Pansy Parkinson," Hermione added with genuine venom, shooting Rose a look of shared disdain. "How she got to be a Prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll, I'll never know..."

Malfoy and Parkinson. Their names put together like that made Rose rather uncomfortable in a way she did not like to think about. Against her will, her mind pictured Malfoy and Parkinson together — the way Rose and Malfoy had been together — and immediately it felt like her entire body was crawling.

"Yea, right, because Malfoy won't abuse his position at all," Ron was saying, snapping her back to the conversation.

Rose squirmed again.

"So you're going to sink to his level?"

Hermione already looked furious, which did not bode well for the rest of the year if they hadn't even made it to Hogwarts yet. Rose and Harry exchanged a miserable glance of their own.

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

Hermione threw up her hands, "For heaven's sake, Ron—!"

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," Ron explained gleefully before putting on the most grotesque imitation of Goyle writing midair, looking pained as he grunted out: "I... must... not... look... like... a... baboon's... backside..."

Everyone laughed, especially Luna who about lost her shite from cackling. Even after all their time of knowing Luna, she still managed to startle a few people, not to mention Philo and Hedwig and Crookshanks who immediately flipped, but Rose just smiled amusedly. Good ole Luna Lovegood.

Everyone immediately stopped laughing when the compartment door slid open.

Rose tensed immediately at the sight of Draco Malfoy — looking as impeccable and put together as ever — smirking from between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle.

"What?" Harry barked before Malfoy could open his mouth.

Rose flinched despite herself.

And unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to notice. His grey eyes lingered on Rose a moment before he swiftly looked away to sneer.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," the Slytherin boy drawled, spinning his hawthorn wand between his fingers elegantly, "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a Prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yea," Harry spat, rising to his feet, "But you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Even as the others laughed, Rose quickly got to her feet too to press a hand against her brother's chest; with his temper the way it was lately, she wasn't at all sure what he'd do.

"Oh, how daring, Rose Potter," Malfoy leant against the door, pink lips stretching into a smirk, "Willing to put yourself in the line of fire of such a dangerous criminal, are you?"

Harry strained against her hand.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped furiously, rising to stand as well until Hermione pulled him back into his seat.

"Leave it, Ron," Rose hissed, "It doesn't matter what he thinks."

"Really?" Malfoy chimed with false offence, "That's not what you said three months ago—,"

Rose blanched and felt faintly dizzy as Malfoy's smirk only widened.

"—Back on the train when you lot attacked us for simply suggesting you picked the losing side," he continued swiftly, as if he never was suggesting anything else.

A shaky (relieved) exhale slipped from between Rose's lips before she raised her wand and threatened levelly, "And we'll do it again if you don't shut the hell up."

Harry glanced at her with wide (but extremely approving) eyes. Rose was peaches and cream and f—cking gunpowder. Sometimes she was sugar and spice and everything—not—so—nice.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," Malfoy hummed before smirking at her brother. "Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" Hermione ordered finally, standing up.

Laughing, Malfoy gave Rose's brother one last sneering look before stalking away with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering in his wake.

Oh, Rose was in so much bloody trouble.

And unfortunately, it wasn't their last run—in with Malfoy of the evening. Once they hopped off the train at Hogsmeade Station, Rose saw him, followed by his usual gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, pushing some timid—looking Second Years out of the way so that they could get a coach to themselves. The four teens had just dropped off their luggage when his mocking voice rang out:

"I'm surprised the Ministry's still letting you walk around free, Potter. Better enjoy it while you can. I expect there's a cell in Azkaban with your name on it."

And then Harry fully lunged at Malfoy, making both Rose and Hermione flinch. As the Slytherin jerked away, Ron leapt to hold Harry back just before Malfoy got a well—deserved punch in the nose.

"What'd I tell you?" Malfoy sneered to his bodyguards, straightening his jacket. "Complete nutter!"

"Just stay away from me!" Harry shouted furiously after him.

In the ringing silence that followed, Ron murmured, "It's only Malfoy."

Only Malfoy.

Ugh. Rose couldn't stand it. The weight of the truth was heavy on her shoulders, and she couldn't bear to keep it a secret. As soon as they were alone, she blurted with absolutely no warning at all, "God, I just have to tell you."

Harry furrowed his brows, "Tell me—?"

"It's Malfoy," Rose blurted as quickly as possible.

Hermione gasped, but the boys still just looked confused.

Her brother blinked — once, twice, three times. Then: "What?"

"Malfoy. It was Malfoy, that's who I..."

"Ah, gross!" Harry had instantly shouted while Hermione, incredibly enough, looked shocked into bloody silence. Her brother demanded, "Why?!"

"Rose Potter!" Ron looked utterly aghast, even a little angry. "What the f—?!"

Desperately, Rose cried, "I'm so sorry—,"

"No!" Harry waved his hands and sharply shook his head back and forth, "No."

Rose let the silence linger between them for as long as she could before quietly, fearfully, asking, "Harry...?"

"It—It's... You can't expect me to be okay with this, but you don't have to apologise to me, not for anything." Harry dug his palms into his eyes and sighed hard, staying quiet for another ten heartbeats before he peeked out at her and said, "Still, that's so bloody gross, Rosie. Eck."

"Sorry." She said again, this time with a laugh — albeit a nervous one. "I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear. If it makes you feel any better, we were both, like, super drunk."

Her brother and friends considered this. And then they nodded and shrugged in agreement.

"Honestly," Harry grumbled, "I do feel a little better."

As they began a slow shuffle towards the waiting carriages, it was supremely awkward.

"But Rose," Hermione tugged on her sleeve, brow furrowed low, "I'm so confused. When—? And where—? And why—?"

"Stop!" Harry burst while Ron hurriedly covered his ears, "We want no details. Do you understand? No — details."

Hermione frowned and shot Rose a look that promised a very long discussion later.

Grand.

"No, sorry, I'm still horrified," Ron announced, face screwed up in genuine disgust, "In my opinion, Rosie, you could do so much better. Big mistake there."

"Well, good thing no one's asked your opinion, then," Hermione snapped back, wrapping her arm defensively around Rose's back, "And don't make her feel any worse. Poor Rosie's the one who — you know — did it with Malfoy."

"It's fine," Rose sighed and waved this off. "Besides, I don't even remember it so much."

Lie, lie, lie. She was an excellent liar.

As they reunited with their friends and climbed into a carriage (pulled by something invisible called a thestral, apparently?), Rose tried to enjoy the familiar journey to the castle and ignore the horrible feeling this year was going to be unlike any other.

𓆙

On the first day of classes, Rose had the very odd (and uncomfortable) experience of being confronted by nearly every professor she had. McGonagall who sat behind her desk with a strained smile. Hagrid, who tried and failed to pretend he'd found her just by chance. Of course Flitwick who also happened to be on the seventh floor where the Gryffindor Tower could be found — across the castle from Ravenclaw. Even bloody Snape, though he spoke to her as he usually did (if he addressed her at all) and gave the whole lecture looking over her head.

Pretty much every single one of Rose's professors, not including Binns who didn't know what year it was and Trelawney who also didn't seem to know what bloody planet she was on, made a point to speak to Rose Lily Potter.

Why?

Well, because Dumbledore let them know her "condition" before the year started, and thus they all gave her more or less the same confounding message:

"Rose, dear—,"
"Potter—,"
"Rose—,"

"In your delicate condition, you must be very careful as—,"

"Your new Defense professor—,"
"That Ministry woman—,"
"Professor Umbridge—,"

"May decide to focus her unkind attentions upon you and your unborn child. So, please—,"

"Be on your very best behaviour because—,"

"For the love of all that is good and magical, none of us can even begin to guess at what that—,"

"Mad woman—,"
"Old hag—,"
"Miserable pink toad—,"

"Has planned for you and your brother."

Thinking about how she was able to stay at Hogwarts made her mostly anxious and partway afraid. She reminded herself, she was inside and warm and she could do anything if it meant she got to stay. That was what mattered right now.

Following the rules so she could stay here.

McGonagall kept her a moment longer, face grim and serious, looking older than ever before. "Use caution, always, Potter. Do not mess with Dolores Umbridge, she is dangerous. For now, The Order's hands are tied at Hogwarts, and if you and your brother get too deep into trouble, we may not be able to get you out... Do you understand?"

Rose, who understood trouble more than most, nodded. "Yes, Professor."

And yet none of these warnings completely prepared her for what she actually faced.

The classroom looked the same as it always did, really, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Rose took her usual seat beside Hermione, and it was only now that she realised that Draco Malfoy had sat in the seat behind her for the past five years. The boy caught her eye, and even when she quickly looked away, she felt him still staring.

It felt like a brand on her skin, a weight on the back of her head.

It was almost a relief when Professor Umbridge finally appeared in the doorway of the classroom. At least her presence promised to distract her from Malfoy. And there were loads to be distracted by. Their new professor dressed in a horrible fluffy pink cardigan and wearing a black velvet bow on top of her head. It made her look particularly toad—y. Rose wondered how many points she would lose if she informed the Ministry woman of this.

"Well, good afternoon!" Her high—pitched voice echoed in the classroom, and though a few people mumbled a reply, it was apparently not good enough, because: "Tut, tut, that won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," the voices of forty fifteen year olds echoed in reply.

Harry's lips stayed firmly closed. Rose giggled at him out of the corner of her eye.

"There, now," Umbridge chimed sickly—sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

The twins exchanged a miserable glance. The order to put their wands away was always followed by a completely unimpressive lesson. Grand. Rose slouched in her chair with a sigh, pulling out her quill, ink, and parchment. Umbridge's heels click—clacked down the narrow aisle between desks, and then, suddenly, a sharp tapping on her shoulder:

"Ah, ah. Sit up straight, Petal."

Petal.

Saliva was triggered. Rose had the urge to vomit right there on her desk.

There was a horde of things about Dolores Umbridge that Rose would dislike by the end of this class period. Number one: her completely undeserved smugness. Number two: her utterly patronising simpering. Number three: the fact that she wanted to restrict their access to magic. Number four: she had it out for Harry. Number five: she insisted Voldemort wasn't back. Number six: she had called Rose 'Petal'.

It...

It...

"Your Defense Against the Dark Arts education has been rather fragmented and disjointed in your past classes, hasn't it?"

Rose's brain started to circle, circle, even as Umbridge began her lecture. There were many bad things happening around her, but it wasn't enough to distract her from the bad things happening inside her, things she didn't want to think about — not now, not ever. Words were spilling all over the place, like 'sorry' and 'cupboard' and 'hurting me'.

God, she wished she had her music — her music always brought her back to earth.

Far, far away, just beside her, Hermione was saying, "—They say nothing about actually doing spells...?"

Umbridge laughed as if this was the single silliest thing she had ever heard. "I can imagine no circumstance in class where you would need to use spells, my dear!"

"But surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is practical application—?"

Around her, the sounds of voices were fading away. Her palms were sweating. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Don't float," Harry used to whisper in her ear when they were little, when she started to struggle breathing, when her mind started to take her away. "Don't you float, Rosie. Please stay with me."

Harry's voice fought to bring her back again, "What good's theory in the real world?"

"This is school, Mister Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there to get you."

She was wrong about that. She was so, so wrong.

Rose sucked in a harsh breath even before Harry responded in a mock thoughtful tone, "Hmm, let's think... maybe Lord Voldemort?"

The whole class flinched at the very sound of his name.

Breathe, Rosie. Breathe, just like Harry always said, breathe and pay attention — something bad was happening. She slid her fingers underneath the desk and pinched her thighs, hoping the pain would snap her back into place. It didn't. No matter what she did, he came back to her.

No one had been home — no one but them.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley were on a shopping trip. Uncle Vernon had forced Harry to the grocery store — to get Rose medicine. It had been so very cold outside. March had dropped a surprise snow that turned into freezing sleet. Her throat was clogged and her body steamed with fever; she had been sick ever since they'd been forced to sleep outside after they accidentally burnt the Sunday roast. Years later, she realised she'd had pneumonia. She had laid woozily in the cupboard, bundled in the blanket they were once found in, trying to sleep.

The first thing she felt was his hand on her leg.

"Be a good girl now, Petal, no one has to know—,"

Here, now, someone tugged hard on her braid.

And just like that, Rose jolted back to reality to find Harry now standing, knocking his books to the ground, a look of livid rage on his face. The girl watched her brother move stiffly around his desk, practically trembling with rage, his green eyes fierce and dangerous on Umbridge's face.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord? Or are you calling me a murderer?!"

"That boy's death was a tragic accident," the woman simpered.

"It was murder!" Harry shouted furiously, practically face—to—face with the Ministry woman now, glaring at her. "I saw it happen with my own two eyes! Voldemort killed him and you know it—!"

"Enough!" Umbridge suddenly shrieked, making everyone in the classroom jump — everyone but Harry. "Enough. See me later, Mister Potter. My office."

What. A. B—tch.

Well, she was going to be a problem this year, wasn't she?

In the stifling silent aftermath, everyone awkwardly got to work. For Rose, the cupboard had left, the hand drifted away, the memory disappeared; someone had saved her from her spiral. Someone had brought her back. Someone sitting behind her. And unfortunately, she didn't even have to turn around to know just who it was.

𓆙

Rose shared a dorm with three other girls: Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown. It was odd to live with girls when she had only lived with Harry in a bloody cupboard for ten years, but Rose liked living with them, mostly. They liked to talk, and much of the time, they liked to talk to her and more than that — get her to talk back. They'd been trying since Day One. They wanted to know her story, her history, her little quirks and her dearest secrets.

It was... a lot... for Rose.

Rose would hear their stories every day in their dorm, in the Great Hall, in the corridor, on and on. These words spilled from them so easily, good and bad memories; they never seemed to stop. Their stories were eating them alive, turning them inside out. Most of the time, they could not stop talking.

Personally, Rose buried all her words down. Her heart was too full of them.

As they settled into their dorm over the following days and weeks, the girls talked about their summers — resorts and boyfriends and aunts and uncles, but Rose shut herself off for that; she turned up her inside music.

I'll drown my beliefs
To have your babies

Parvati was tiny and soft. Her skin was like rich caramel, shining bronze. Stunning in the sunlight. Her eyes were enormous, round, and very dark. She was welcoming and clever and took absolutely no shite, and yet there were no jagged edges to Parvati.

Lavender was eclectic and colourful with a loud laugh that came straight from her belly. Her lips were full, and her eyes were cattish, and she put curlers in her hair every single night because she hoped it would distract from ears she fretted were too big. No boy can love a girl with big ears, Rose.

Hermione was more than just smart; of course she was naturally brilliant, but she worked hard at it, too. She fought for what she believed, and she loudly announced being smart was better than being pretty, even if she would've liked to be both, as if she didn't realise she already was — with her chocolate eyes and freckled nose.

They were good girls and good friends and they came from good families.

I'm not living
I'm just killing time

Rose heard stories about their parents, their mums — she saw pictures.

Parvati's mum was beautiful, and in the magical moving photos, she had both arms wrapped around her twin daughters, black eyes were ponds of warmth. Lavender groaned about her ridiculous mum who named her after her dead grandmother and she sighed fondly when she spoke of the presents her mum always had waiting on her bed after school ended. Hermione gushed and beamed from ear—to—ear on the days when enormous boxes of books from her mum arrived, insisting Rose help sort through the endless paperbacks, fretting she wouldn't have time to read them all. Oh, really, what was Mum thinking?

The girls could complain all they wanted, but they still loved their homes: their comfy beds and ice cream and mums who liked to brush out their hair with her fingers.

Rose laid in her four—poster bed. Knees curled up, arms wrapped tight around her stomach, she hummed to herself, a self—soothing technique, like a lullaby she sang to herself.

And true love waits in haunted attics
And true love lives on lollipops and crisps

In her imagination, Lily smelled nice — like vanilla or lemongrass, her colourful clothes rustling softly. She was always clean but wonderfully disorganised, their home a beautiful disaster. She liked debating with friends and reading by the fire and standing outside in the pouring rain, even when James stood in the doorway and fondly insisted his wife was a bloody maniac. She never raised her voice, or her hand.

Just don't leave
Don't leave

Rose ached. Her eyes felt fierce with water, and she buried her head in her pillow so no one could see them. She felt so, so sick, and she felt so, so tired. Her inside music died slow.

Rose wanted Lily, the Lily who would rub her back and listen to music and ask her about her day. She wanted the Lily who would take care of her. Because when you were hurting, and someone loved you, they were supposed to help you, right? When you were hurting, and someone loved you, they kissed your forehead tenderly, they cradled you against their chest, they stroked your hair with their fingers, right?

And perhaps that was Rose's greatest fault.

She always wanted the ones she couldn't have, the ones who were never coming back.

𓆙

The weeks that followed were beyond suck—ish.

Remus and Sirius couldn't write much since they were so occupied with Order business, and even when they did, it was stilted and awkward. Not that Rose herself had much opportunity to write, being so busy herself. It being the year of their OWLs meant that they got OWL amounts of schoolwork, and so they were constantly swamped in essays and research and tests.

And of course all the professors had been right in their warnings. Umbridge definitely had an axe to grind with the Potters — specifically her brother, literally grinding a blade into his hand night after night, and he refused help no matter how many times they tried to insist. Harry was the most stubborn person she'd ever known, and so Rose knew there would be no changing his mind. Rose did what she could — helping Hermione with solutions of Murtlap Essence to relieve the pain.

None of these terrible things even mentioned the fact that Malfoy had been avoiding Rose. More than usual. Now, he pretended like she simply didn't exist, like she was a ghost or an empty space amongst her friends. It hurt more than it should. In any case, it made it much more difficult to tell him about the... baby.

Speaking of the... baby, her morning sickness was at its all time worst. All the vomit was getting hard to explain to her other dormmates, and even Hermione (a genuine bloody genius) was running out of excuses to give her. And if people were getting suspicious now, she could only imagine how bad it was going to get when she actually started showing.

The one bright side in all this mess was that she got to be with her friends again.

She tried to spend every spare minute she had with them.

Telling Neville about her — situation — was surprisingly easy (he was very supportive)... until she mentioned who the father was, and then Neville nearly died, cracking his head on the floor when he fell off the Gryffindor bench. Once the boys managed to peel him off the concrete, she decided to keep that little tidbit of information secret from now on. He kept shooting her nervous glances throughout lunch, like he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue but no idea how to ask any of them.

He managed only this: "So Malfoy— he doesn't know, does he?"

"No, and he's not to find out." Rose rushed to order the group, "Not until I'm ready to tell him."

"Which will be when?" Harry frowned.

"Who the hell knows," she grumbled.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a slightly worried glance.

"Ro, what are you going to do when everyone sees you're—?" Ron whispered, making a general hand motion around his stomach that made it clear what he was talking about, even if it was not at all subtle, "You know, huge and stuff?"

Rose rolled her eyes while Neville frowned.

"Nice, Ronald," Hermione snapped.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?!" Ron threw his hands up, "She can't hide that forever. Eventually, people are gonna start to notice."

"Yea, but there's nothing I can do about that. I'm just gonna have to deal with it." Rose mumbled, not exactly liking the idea either. "Hermione and I looked into Concealment Charms and glamours, but apparently that kind of spellwork can be harmful to the— you know."

"Besides, those types of spells are illegal." Neville chimed in quietly, their secret wealth of Pureblood knowledge. "Loads of woman tried to cast them in the Middle Ages to hide from their parents or villages, and eventually the Ministry had to outlaw it because it was damaging so many... you knows."

"What are you going to do once its born, Rosie?" Hermione was, as always, worried about the academic side of things, "Will you bring the — you know — to class?"

"We have got to think of a better code word than 'you know'," Harry disapproved.

Rose winced in agreement but moved on. "I guess I'll have to, right? I can't just leave the — you know — on its own all day. Remus said that the staff would help me figure it out."

Hermione scrunched her nose, apparently not looking forward to having her class time interrupted by a screaming baby for the next two years.

And fair enough, really.

"Well, they've gotta make some allowances, haven't they?" Harry folded his arms on top of the table, pushing away his plate. "Hogwarts has been around forever, I'm sure there's some sort of procedure for when students had, erm— you knows."

Rose arched a knowing, mostly teasing brow, "The code names aren't so easy now, are they?"

"Not at all," Harry grumbled irritatedly.

"Actually, there aren't any procedures. In fact, there's hardly any precedent for this at all." Hermione confessed with a worried line forming between her brows. "I was searching in the library through old newspapers and school registers, but I haven't seen anything about students who are pregnant—,"

"Sh!"

"Sorry— students who are you know — within the past century at least."

Rose sighed and propped her cheek on her fist, "Brilliant."

Harry rubbed her shoulder and then pointedly pushed her now fully loaded plate closer, merrily ignoring her scowl. Suddenly he gagged, "Oh my God. I just realised, I'm gonna be related to Malfoy — ugh." He shot his sister a miserable glance, looking genuinely a bit green. "I'm with you, Rosie, no matter what — but I seriously hope they look like you, and not that pinched—faced Pureblood little prat."

And across the Great Hall, that pinched—faced Pureblood little prat was staring straight at Rose.

None of them noticed.

Life continued on as normal.

Classes, studying, Flitwick's choir, Quidditch, and yet Rose still hadn't thought of a single way to tell Malfoy the truth.

In the middle of September, Hermione insisted she was far too busy to waste time at Quidditch practises, so it was just Rose, Luna, and Neville watching Harry and Ron from the stands. Going to practises wasn't really something they usually did, but since Ron had finally made the team, they were all trying hard to be extra supportive. Harry was doing well as usual, working his level best to make up for lost time since he spent so many practises in detention nowadays, and Ron was— well, he was a terrible Keeper. Just... completely terrible.

It was a bit hard to watch.

Thankfully, Neville had brought along one of his countless Herbology books and was entertaining them with really weird facts about magical plants like — did you know Angel's Trumpet actually sounded like a trumpet? and snarfalumps were actually capable of locomotion? and while flutterbies were really pretty, they could turn your skin purple? And while Rose appreciated the subject objectively, she had whatever was the opposite of a green thumb. It had really made life with Aunt Petunia difficult as a child.

Out of the blue, Luna announced, "Ronald isn't very good, is he?"

Neville snorted into the pages of his book.

"He really, really isn't." Rose's nose scrunched, "Think he knows?"

Just then, from his place in front of the big hoops, Ron looked their way.

All three gave him big thumbs—up.

Ron smiled — or grimaced — or something — in response.

"Do you think we're making it better or worse by being here?" Neville pondered. "Like, is he feeling supported or is he feeling pressured?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Rose bit her lip, shot Neville a look. "Maybe we should leg it?"

"If only to spare my eyes," Luna chimed happily and hopped to her feet, leading the charge of their trio out of the stands. "We shouldn't tell Ronald how bad he is, it'll make him feel sad."

"I just hope he gets better in time for the matches or he's going to feel a whole lot worse," Rose mumbled, pulling her jumper tighter around her with a dramatic shiver.

After such a hot summer, the days had been getting colder and colder since they arrived at Hogwarts, and she could bet that autumn was going to go quick this year. When they reached the Greenhouses, Neville begged off the rest of their journey to go check on his pot of Chinese Chomping Cabbages. The two girls had barely made it to the staircases when Rose realised:

"Oh, Luna, you're out here with no shoes!"

"Hm?" Luna blinked at her and then at her feet, "Oh yes, those. They went missing ages ago."

Rose scowled, seriously annoyed. "Are people stealing your things again, Lu?"

"It's not really stealing since they don't keep it; they just hide it somewhere I don't expect. I always find everything in the end."

"Still."

"It's all right, there are worse problems."

Since that perfectly opened the door for her news, well, Rose took a moment to tell her the worst problem. And unlike the rest of her friends, Luna was thrilled by the news of her — you know — situation.

"Oh, a baby, I love babies!" Rose jumped at Luna's loud voice, quickly looking around to make sure no one else was on the path towards the castle. The blonde girl continued merrily, "How exciting! But— why don't you seem happier about it, Rosie?"

Rose, who had until this moment thought the answers were rather obvious, fought hard to actually put it all into words. "I'm just, erm, a bit young, you see? I didn't plan on it, and it's kind of bad timing with You Know Who being back and all."

Not to mention the whole disaster that was Draco Malfoy, but now she wasn't about to mention that.

Not after what happened with Neville.

"Oh, I see." The sparkle in her big eyes dimmed slightly, and she nodded solemnly. "I think it'd be a good idea to keep it secret, Rosie, for at least a while. It would be bad if You Know Who tried to steal the baby."

Rose blanched slightly, stomach lurching at the very thought. Of course that had been a possibility since the second she saw the strip turned pink, but she hadn't left herself actually consider— she hadn't wanted to actually think about—

Luna softened and reached to take her closest hand, "Don't worry, Rosie. I think it'll be wonderful, you'll see."

"I—I hope so."

"And you know, if you ever need a babysitter, I'm always happy to help!"

Rose was just about to grin before she realised, "Wait, what if someone decides to hide the baby along with your shoes, Luna?"

"Oh, then it'll just be a fun game of hide and seek, won't it?" Luna replied airily.

Rose laughed nervously, one hand quickly finding her still flat belly, as if someone was already plotting.

Luna chattered on, not seeming to notice her sudden panic. "Soon, I think everyone will be quite happy that you're having a— well, a You Know What. We need a bit of good news amongst all the bad that Daddy's been printing. And bab— You Know Whats always bring people together, and that's exactly what our world needs right now."

Rose smiled softly. For some reason, that actually really cheered her up. She could only hope Luna was right. "Thanks, Lu."

"You're welcome. And you know who else will be happy about the You Know What?"

"Who?"

"The House Elves!"

And because she was a big supporter of House Elf rights, Rose was glad that at least they were happy — because she was suffering.

Three days later, Rose could be found running out of History of Magic like a firedrake out of a snowstorm, or a bat out of hell as the Muggles would say. She sprinted through the hallways until she reached the second floor girl's bathroom where she slammed into the nearest stall to puke her guts out.

It was vile.

In her stomach stirred a hot stew of ickiness as saliva rushed to her mouth, proving that another bout of vomit was upcoming. Ugh. Her back muscles convulsed and her fingers curled tight into the edges of her skirt as she sicked up for a second time. A familiar hiccuping giggle set her teeth on edge as it echoed from above. Rose groaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

As if her luck couldn't possibly get any worse.

Moaning Myrtle floated close, her ghostly face all screwed up with a manic grin, "That's the sixth time you've sicked up this month, Rosie Potty. Seems a little suspicious if you ask me..."

"Nobody's asking you anything," Rose grumbled back before deciding to ignore her.

The ghost girl giggled uproariously as she sat on the tank of the toilet. "I do so love a good gossip!" squealed Myrtle brightly, "Tell me, who's the baby daddy?"

Rose wiped hard at her mouth and shot a fierce glance up at her.

She was so not in the mood.

"Oh! Oh! Is he tall? Is he handsome?" Myrtle swelled importantly, her transparent face looking utterly thrilled, "Is he anyone I might be able to steal from you?"

"Just shut up, Myrtle," Rose grumbled before trying to concentrate on not sicking up again.

As the ghost giggled and mercifully flew away, she heard the bathroom door creak open and the shuffle of footsteps carrying someone closer. Rose tensed and held her breath, hoping — praying — whoever it was would just pass her by. That was why she chose this bloody bathroom, besides being the most convenient it was also the most abandoned.

But for all that worrying, it was thankfully only Hermione, knocking lightly on the door and asking, "Rosie? Rosie, are you all right?"

"Yea." The girl grumbled, pushing to her feet and waving her wand to flush the toilet. "All right."

When she shakily pushed open the stall, Rose found that it wasn't just Hermione on the other side but Harry and Ron too.

Her voice was slippery and small, yet roughened by stomach acid. "Hi."

"Wow, Rosie." Ron made a face. "You look like shite."

Harry backhanded him across the chest and quickly moved forward to take Rose's arm as if she needed to support across the bathroom to the sinks where she could wash her hands and rinse her mouth. It wasn't exactly necessary, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

"If my calculations are right," said Hermione encouragingly, "The morning sickness should be done soon...?"

"Grand," Rose grumbled, shaking out her now clean but thoroughly wet hands until Harry cast a drying charm. "Thanks."

"But hey, Binns didn't even seem to notice any of us leaving," Ron announced happily, "So thanks for the excuse to skivv off."

"Glad my misery is helpful to you, Ronald."

Hermione shot Ron a furious glance that had him turning red and cringing apologetically.

She waved it off and then winced.

"Did anyone else notice us leaving?" Rose asked warily, peeking at Harry in the mirror.

Her brother hesitated briefly. "Er, I don't know for sure. A few of the Gryffindors did, maybe... You wondering about Malfoy?"

Rose winced and wished she had lied even while she confirmed, "Yea."

Harry pursed his lips but didn't make any further comment.

"He should be here to help you, Rosie," Hermione decided sternly, "And the fact that he's not is just... despicable." Rose winced again and looked away from her reflection in the mirror. "When you told him, what did Draco say?"

"Draco?" Ron spat at the familiarity, shooting Hermione a disgusted look. "Since when are we calling him 'Draco'?"

The wild—haired girl rolled her eyes and ignored him, instead focusing solely on Rose.

Sighing, the Potter girl turned around and leant against the sinks so she could face them head on to answer, "Well, he said nothing because—,"

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Hermione gaped. "You mean he didn't even respond?"

"B—stard." Harry seethed, fists tightening at his sides. "I knew he'd be just like this, just abandoning you alone to shift for yourself and the baby—,"

"No, I mean, he said nothing because I haven't told him!"

Her words echoed far too loudly in the bathroom. It was embarrassing.

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "But— why not, Rosie?"

"Well." Rose said again, twisting her fingers through her tangled hair as she shrugged a bit helplessly, "It's not exactly something easy to tell a bloke, is it?"

"She's got a good point," Ron said with a scrunched face before Harry added, "Especially a bloke like Malfoy."

God knew that was true. Malfoy — of all people! Honestly, what the hell had she gotten herself into?

"When are you planning on telling him?" Harry asked then, very, very quietly.

Rose dropped her eyes to her shoes, scuffing one on the other. "I—I dunno yet..."

Hermione just sighed and pecked a kiss to her cheek, "Come on, then. History of Magic will be over by now and it's nearly time for Transfiguration. You can worry about all that later."

"You all go on," Rose cleared her throat which felt a bit raw after all the sicking up she did. "I need another minute,"

"We can wait, if you want?"

Harry's offer came immediately, but she waved him off just the same, and soon her brother and friends left the bathroom and her in peace. In the echoing silence that remained, she groaned and dropped her head back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling so far away.

Rose honestly wasn't at all sure what to tell Malfoy, or even how to go about telling him. Sixteen years ago, how had Lily told James that she was pregnant? Had her mum made a big show of it? Had she just mentioned it casually over lunch? Did her dad leap up and swing her around and around? Did her dad put on a brave face, knowing there was a war on? Of course the situation was totally different — they'd been married and adults and actually in love.

Ever since she found out she was pregnant, her stomach always hurt whenever she thought of her parents.

With another rather pitiful groan, Rose dragged her hands over her face and scowled at her reflection. Suddenly she wished Malfoy was right: that she was a ghost, an empty space, a nobody. But unfortunately, she wasn't and she'd better just get on with it. She shoved through the bathroom door and pushed into the hallway, nearly running into someone in the—

Rose froze.

It was Malfoy, standing there, paler than ever, shocked grey eyes locked on hers. Without any prelude, the boy demanded, "Is it true?"

Oh. Shite.

"Malfoy—,"

"No!" He barked, making her jump before he demanded, "Tell me now and tell me quickly, Potter. What I heard, what you were saying, is it true? Are you..."

His grey eyes darted to her stomach, and instinctively she wrapped her arms around herself.

Softly, very softly, Rose demanded: "Say the word."

His face twisted like he had tasted something truly foul before he spat it out like acid:

"Pregnant."

"Yes."

The two teens regarded one another for a while, for what felt like hours but could have surely been no more than a minute.

"And it's mine?"

Rose's cheeks flushed with angry indignation, "Seeing as how you're the only one I let screw me against a wall, yea, it's f—cking yours!"

It was crass, far crasser than her usual speech, but she quite honestly couldn't give a d—mn at the moment. Though it seemed that her anger had only spurned his on as well because next thing she knew, he was snapping right on back at her.

"Would you have told me?!"

"Would you have wanted to know?!"

Rose softened when she saw Malfoy's face tighten and his cheeks flush pink even while his eyes avoided hers. Regret took the place of anger. She let out a weary sigh and ran trembling fingers through her loose red hair.

"Yes. I'm sorry, yes, I really was going to tell you. I only... hadn't figured out how, just yet."

Malfoy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly, and his lips moved silently for a moment while he searched for words. Then, very quietly, he asked, "Who else knows?"

"Enough people to be thoroughly pissed at me."

"I... you shouldn't have had to do that alone," Malfoy winced just slightly, "What are you going to do?"

Rose dropped her eyes back to her scuffed mary jane's. She had no answer to give him, and so she didn't bother trying. She wanted him to stop staring. To stop him expecting things. Mostly, she wanted to leave, to walk away from this, but she wasn't sure how — or even if she could get her legs to move if she tried. When ten full heartbeats had passed, Malfoy cut through the thickening silence between them.

"I would have wanted to know."

Breath catching, Rose's gaze darted back up and locked on Malfoy's.

Then there was just... something... that happened between them, like a jolt of electricity or the spark of a match that ignited the same passion it had ten weeks ago.

And so, just like ten weeks ago, Malfoy lunged forward in one fluid, shockingly impulsive motion to kiss her. Only this time, he didn't ask if he could touch, if he could kiss, if he could hold her. He didn't need to. This time, he was greedier, hungrier, from the very instant their lips touched. Rose, blood rushing in her ears, deafening her to the world, threw every bit of hesitation and caution and shame to the wind, and threw her arms around his shoulders to tug him that much closer.

She surrendered herself.

Against her, under her touch, it felt a lot like he was surrendering too.

It was over in a blink, in a simple moment of time, and suddenly Malfoy gasped (as if he was in pain) and jerked away from Rose. Both panting, lips swollen, they stared — wide—eyed and unseeing — at one another.

"Oh, Merlin," Malfoy — Draco? — murmured softly.

Rose stared, trembling fingers pressing her tingling lips.

"Merlin, f—ck," he said again with an added choice of swear, colour staining his face, "I don't know what I was— that wasn't— I shouldn't have—,"

She wasn't thinking clearly, obviously not, because against her will, she found herself whispering, "Just— don't stop—,"

Malfoy flinched at the sound of Rose's voice, no matter how soft it was, and stared at her with those same wide grey eyes. Then, as if he couldn't control himself, he was clutching at her again and once more pressing his lips to hers. Why he was kissing her, why she was kissing him back, it made no more sense that it did that first time on the night of the Leaving Feast, the night of Cedric Diggory's funeral, the night her entire life went to hell — again.

"I need to go," Draco whispered against her open mouth, cutting cold clarity into this horrible haze. "I must go."

What did it mean?

Did it, any of this, mean anything at all?

Rose withdrew from his arms and pressed herself against the wall, putting as much space between herself and him as she could manage.

"Go, then."

Draco — Malfoy? — stared silently at her for another stretch of eternity, and then he straightened himself up tall and turned in a swish of black. He was gone within a single blink. In the ensuing silence, she exhaled hard and jerked her head hard back against the wall, wishing she could bash her brains out against it, but instead used the pain to try to clear her mind.

Come on, Rose, her mind mocked cruelly, Surely you're not so desperate for love, you'll even take it from him?

𓆙

Hours later, Rose had just stepped into her dorm when she came upon the sound of crying. Parvati was hunched over on her four—poster bed with Lavender's arm wrapped tight around her shoulders, sobbing loud enough to shake their bloody tower. Her mascara had run horribly beneath her eyes, and her face was hovered in tears and snot and even spit. Rose recognised this instantly.

This was the very unique crying of a heartbroken girl.

"He's a right prat, Parvati," Lavender was murmuring in a shaky voice, stroking her best friend's hair, "A no—good, ugly—faced, undeserving b—stard."

Rose's golden eyes darted, finding Hermione standing awkwardly by, clutching a book to her chest like a shield, though even her eyes were looking a little teary.

"What's going on?" She whispered hurriedly.

Hermione swallowed hard, "Parvati—well, she's had a crush on Michael Corner from Ravenclaw, you know?"

Rose did know, nodding quickly.

"Apparently, Michael had been so nice to her lately, talking to her after class, complimenting her, he even gave her gifts. She thought he liked her, too. He asked to spend time with her—,"

"One—on—one time," Lavender chimed in, lips pursed, face furious. "Get it?"

"Oh." She got that, too.

Parvati sobbed harder. Rose's chest clenched.

"Yes," Hermione agreed very, very softly, sniffing hard. "And after... that, he stopped talking to her, completely ignored her for a week, and then today, she saw him hanging around Cho Chang."

Oh. Heart plummeting, Rose tentatively said, "Maybe it's just a misunderstanding? Maybe... he still really likes Parvati."

He could, couldn't he?

Parvati was so pretty and funny and sweet. She was exactly the sort of girl Rose wanted to be like, not damaged or odd or freaky. Rose always thought she could get any boy she wanted.

"No," this time it was Parvati speaking up, shaking her head over and over. "I made him talk to me. I demanded a—an explanation. He chose me because he thought I'd be easy," her breath hitched on another sob, tears dripping down her cheeks to her neck, "A couple of pretty words, some pretty flowers, and I fell straight into his arms. Us girls, we're so easy— to trick, aren't we? I just wanted him to love me."

Rose suddenly couldn't swallow.

Love.

Rose remembered, back before she knew any better, she had tried to hug Aunt Petunia once. She couldn't have been more than four or five years old. She had barely even reached the woman's hip at that time, and she wrapped her arms tight around her knees — like she'd seen Dudley and other kids at school do to their mums all the time. Her aunt had shoved her away with zero hesitation, a look of utmost disgust on her face. Humiliated, eyes full of tears, Rose had tried to run, but Aunt Petunia's hand snaked between them, groping the air, until she got a good hold on her arm — bruising it without care.

"I should tell you right now, you little freak, that is never happening. What you are, no one will love you. Not in any normal way."

Didn't they all so badly want to be loved?

"Back home," Lavender choked out, her own eyes welled up, "I let this boy — I thought he was so beautiful, and kind — I let him take pictures of me. Then he turned around and gave them to his friends, and I—,"

Was Lavender crying now too? Rose bit her lip. Parvati was really sobbing and Hermione had covered her face with her hands, starting up too — a soft, whimpering sound. This whole place was a world of sobbing girls. Lavender was definitely crying. The whole bloody dorm was crying, except Rose, because she was all cried out.

Tears made people exhausted, and everyone but Rose drifted off early, and so while she laid curled in bed in silence, her trembling fingers pressed to her lips, still tingling from where they fitted with Malfoy's. She remembered what it had felt like ten weeks ago, held in his arms, skin on skin on skin, safe and warm and secret, making her feel something— good.

"Rosie?" Hermione's tremulous voice reached across the silence that separated their beds. "Are you awake?"

Rose hummed her answer, out of words.

"After we went to class, were you okay? We didn't see you for a while..."

When she blinked, her sticky damp eyelashes brushed against the blankets.

"I'm okay."

A lingering pause, and then: "Is that how it is for you? With Malfoy, I mean?"

The truth was this: Draco Malfoy wasn't the sort of boy who would love Rose Potter.

He just wasn't.

If Aunt Petunia was to be believed, the only sort of boys who would love her were those who smelt like burnt glass and anger. Dirt streaked their skin, and tattoos, and they would have wolf teeth. And when the wolves were done with her, they would lick their paws and prowl away; they would leave her gaunt, taking all her light.

Nobody normal would ever stay for her.

Nobody would ever love her, not in any normal way.

Thinking about bodies fitting together left Rose sad and aching for something. She rolled over and pressed her face into the softness of the pillow, trying to make her mind go blank, ignoring the aching of her heart.

Across the room, Parvati sighed restlessly in her sleep.

Apparently accepting that she wasn't going to receive an answer, Hermione sighed, "Poor Parvati."

Rose didn't want to believe Aunt Petunia was right.

Hermione whispered, "Poor, poor Parvati."

Bodies fit together. And sometimes they didn't.

ANNIE SPEAKS

𓆙

ahhh so this one is heartbreaking, yay, lol. malfoy has finally arrived on scene and IT IS TENSE. poor rose. ahopefully draco gets his act together soon... lol, they're both huge disasters and still lowkey not super mature. yikes. that's going to change. also, poor harry, though he took the news pretty well. he loves rose a lot... and the drunk thing helps, kind of. but oooo boy, how is harry gonna deal when — if — draco gets more involved in the future? .... i love angst :)

oh, and in case you haven't noticed, a real big theme in this story is girlhood, and so it was important for me to write that last scene with the gryffindor girls — i.e. the female experience. it sucks, needless to say.

also, i hope i'm not rushing any of the plot or anything but there is so much to unpack and i'm so eager to get to it. does it feel like things are happening too fast? pls leave ur thoughts and feels about this chapter! i'm so eager to talk about it

𓆙

NEXT TIME IN WICKED GAME!

Rose cut in, already exhausted and she hadn't even seen the bloody mediwitch yet. "You all just go to class. I'll be fine on my own."

"What? No way, someone should go with you," Harry insisted quickly, ignoring everyone else for now.

"Yes, and that someone should be..." Malfoy stopped and cleared his throat, clearing fighting a flush when he finished with, "Someone who actually contributed to the situation."

Rose's cheeks flared red, almost as red as her hair.

Neville looked halfway faint.

Harry glared genuine daggers at him, "Don't think I need reminding of that, Malfoy."