So, this is for Lowi, because she's amazing and wonderful, and her anniversary is on Dec 5. I can't imagine what would have happened if she hadn't clicked the button saying "sign up," and I'm so glad that we're friends now. :)


I turn the music up, I got my records on
from underneath the rubble sing a rebel song


"I think you're overreacting," Scorpius tells her, attempting to shout over the loud rock music that she's playing. He thinks it's a Muggle band, because most Wizarding music wouldn't say 'fuck' so blatantly, but then again he's never been well versed in muggle culture, so he doesn't know.

"What?" she shouts back, cupping her hand to her ear in the universal signal for 'I can't hear you, speak louder or shut up!'

"Oh, for shit's sake," he mutters and waves his wand at the speakers until they finally play at a volume that allows normal conversation. Then, as he's putting his wand away, he happens to look at her. Everything about her appearance implies that she does not want to be messed with, yet he knows that underneath the swearing, (which she has somehow turned him onto- he swears more in five minutes than he used to in a year) the ripped vintage tees and the edgy haircut, she's only pouting. "I said, 'I think you're overreacting,'" he explains tersely.

Already glaring at him for turning down her music, (he sort of thinks it's crap, though he'd never say it) her angry look only intensifies at his words. "What's that supposed to entail?" she asks, her voice as cold as ice.

But he's not fazed. He's dealt with attitudes like her's before, being best friends with Molly Weasley and having been over to Albus Potter's house a few times. "I mean that this-" he gestures to the loud music, the booze on the table and the fact that he of all people has been called to her aid, "-is going way too far. You're acting like a baby, Weasley."

For a few moments, despite his earlier nonchalance, he's worried that she's going to kill him, and for good reason too, because the look on her face could probably scare even Fred Weasley The Reckless. But then she rolls her eyes. "You're lucky I'm too lazy to get up and kill you, Malfoy," she says in a dry tone. "But, returning to your accusation, if I remember correctly, you did the exact same thing when Rose dumped you, so I hardly think you're one to talk."

He rolls his eyes and pretends that he doesn't feel a stab of pain at the mention of her name. He doesn't, really, because it's only a sharp point at this point. He supposes that's what happens when it's been over three years, but hey, he also isn't very well-versed in romantic culture, so he doesn't know. "You haven't been dumped," he points out, and she throws her half-empty cup of coffee at him and returns to grunge-pouting on the armrest of the couch.

"No, just been told by the love of my life that he's in love with my cousin," she mutters, chewing a fingernail and looking out the window from her perch. "That's not nearly as bad."

He, still busy attempting to evanesco the coffee, does not bother registering her sarcastic tone. "That was four years ago, though," he mutters, wondering how a weak cup of coffee could be so permanent, when all of the sudden a pillow flies out of nowhere and hits his head. Looking up at yet another glaring expression, he sighs. "I probably deserved that, didn't I?"

She nods, and it occurs to him then just how much of a disaster she looks like, sitting there glaring at him, her choppy red hair half-brushed and her makeup only half-applied. He debates the effects of telling her, but decides against it, as the probability of him getting another coffee cup to the chest is far more likely than her jumping up and starting a new life. So instead he asks, "Why am I here? Why me?"

She sighs and chews another fingernail. "Because you suck," is all she throws out before she returns to staring out the window to where a group of highly spirited muggles have started playing a game of football in the streets.

He sits and thinks about that for a few moments. Not the fact that he sucks, because he accepted that a long time ago. The fact that she wanted him because he sucked. "So you admire my cynical view on your situation?" he asks dryly, but she does not respond, seemingly engrossed in the wild game going on outside.

He returns to his deep thoughts with a slight smirk on his face, (Dominique Weasley, obsessed with a muggle sport? Interesting.) until suddenly they're broken by a loud shout of, "FUCK YES, TIMMY, KICK HIS ASS!"

He raises an eyebrow. "Timmy?" he asks curiously.

"One of the kids I tutor," she explains, and then returns to the window. "ARCHIBALD PETERS, I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, AND IF YOU DON'T PASS THE BALL RIGHT NOW, I'LL TELL YOUR MOTHER NOT TO GIVE YOU DESSERT TONIGHT."

He shakes his head, having forgotten that the insane, swearing, rock-music-listening-to girl across from him tutors twelve year olds in pre-algebra. It just seems so out of character for her, yet somehow, listening to the way she shouts at the kids, he can see it. Underneath the swearing and loud voice, she really does care for them, and it amuses him slightly. "I hope you don't teach them with that mouth," he comments.

She looks at him disgustedly. "Trust me, Malfoy, I learn new swear words from these kids. They have the dirtiest mouths in Colorado." Turning back to the window, she sticks her finger up at one of them. "OI- BERTRAM ANDERSON, SEE THIS FINGER? IT'S FOR YOU IF YOU DON'T LET ALEX MATTHEWS PLAY. JUST BECAUSE SHE'S A GIRL DOESN'T MEAN SHE CAN'T KICK YOUR SCRAWNY ASS FROM HERE TO MIAMI." She turns back to him. "They actually respect me for it. Other teachers try to be nice to them, and they just walk all over them. One tried to be smart with me on the first day, and I challenged him to a shouting match. I won, and they never questioned me again."

Feeling slightly out of his league now that they're not talking about how depressed she is, and instead are talking about muggles, something he has no knowledge in, he picks up his coat and begins to walk out the door. "I'll just be going then-" he starts, before he's interrupted by her grabbing her own overly large jean jacket and stepping into heels that could probably break his own neck.

"Want to meet the kids?" she asks with an evil grin that completely contrasts what she's saying. "They'll love you."

A bit terrified of what would happen if he says no, (first a coffee cup, next a pillow, it doesn't escape his sight that the next throwable object near her is a butter knife) he nods and follows her out the door to the street below. "Hey Miss Weasley," they all greet, and he takes credit for only being a bit shocked when she says hi to them all by name, even ruffling one kid's hair. One turns to him and laughs. "This guy your boyfriend, Miss Weasley?" he asks with a grin.

"I hope not," the only girl in the group interrupts, eyeing him up and down in a way that makes him feel more than slightly uncomfortable. "He's mighty fine, Miss Weasley, can I have him?"

"You're twelve," he says bluntly to the girl, who he remembers Dominique called Alex Matthews. She's about five-eight, and has more piercings than he's seen on anyone in his life.

"He got you, Alex!" one boy crows, and she smacks him angrily.

"Shut up, Bertie," Alex shouts, then turns back to him, flipping her spilled milk hair and winking prettily. "I've been told that I look at least fifteen, though," she whispers.

"I'm twenty," he tells her bluntly, and she waves it off.

"Age is but a number."

"That's an eight year difference, kid, I'm not going anyway near you."

The girl opens her mouth to object, but Dominique steps in, her eyes sparkling merrily. "Alex, as your math tutor, I really hope you know how much eight years is. It's enough for Malfoy here to get charged with statutory rape, and I rather like having him around to bitch at, kay?"

"Yes, Miss Weasley," the girl says, sulking a bit and stepping back into the pack of kids.

"Wait, so Miss Weasley, is he your boyfriend or not?" a tall boy in the back asks, winking at her. Scorpius almost feels a bit sickened by it, but it's only because the kid's thirteen, it's not because she's winking back or anything.

"I don't know, Scorpius, are you my boyfriend?" she asks, grinning evilly and throwing a wink in his direction for good measure. He's a bit confused, because only twenty minutes ago she was sitting in her flat, angsting over Lysander Scamander, and here she is now, doing what just might possibly be called flirting? He supposes it might just be one of those girl things to do, and he's never really been well-versed in girl culture, so he doesn't know.

But then, it occurs to him that maybe in this dingy alleyway street in America, he can learn. "I don't know, Dominique, are you my girlfriend?"

"Does this answer that?" she asks with yet another evil grin, and reaches up and snogs him. Right in front of sixteen twelve year olds.

And amongst the chorus of "Ewwws," and "Awwwws," he decides to borrow her muggle records. He might not be very well-versed in muggle culture, but if he's going to date Dominique Weasley, he's sure as hell going to try.


but my heart is beating and my pulses start
cathedrals in my heart