𝐀𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬: A Scorose Story

𝐂 𝐡 𝐚 𝐩 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫 𝟎 𝟑

"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."