Chapter 1 : Concupiscence
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Dedicated to Gubby who I wrote this crazy thing for, Annie for the dramatic backstory and Draco = Pansy, and Julia for the rhinestones. And all y'all other crazies out there.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single girl in her seventh year, must be in want of a bloke.
Rose Weasley was two months into her seventh year, and very, very single. Plain looking, too, with dewy skin, curly red locks, and a slim physique, nothing like the other beautiful girls of Ravenclaw. And worse yet, her affinity for reading made her dreadfully invisible to the only relevant people in school—fit blokes.
The time to find a boyfriend was ticking by. It was acceptable for girls to enter the year without attachment, but they always left Hogwarts with a man on the arm, no exception. Except those bints who snagged the hottest pick early during sixth year when their seductiveness peaked, but they invariably lost the boyfriend by seventh year when their bitchiness peaked.
(Case in point: Darcy Green. Her tone was bitchy, her walk was bitchy, her eyebrows were bitchy. Naturally, she was exceedingly popular. She dated Albus for a six months—Rose dubbed this the Dark Ages—before getting replaced by Anastasia. Anastasia was all sorts of quirky, bubbly, and lovable, but in all honestly, Rose wanted to stab a wand in her face even more than she did Darcy.)
Rose knew exactly what she was wanted: concupiscence. Lust of the wildest, fieriest, and most-consuming kind. That was the proper route for a goody two shoes, and as a goody two shoes, Rose always went the proper route.
Not knowing how to begin her search, she decided to first consult Albus. He was on the Quidditch pitch with Anastasia who, despite her lack of hand-anything coordination, was also on the team.
"I need a boyfriend," said Rose. "Have you got any suggestions?"
"Ooooooh!" squealed Anastasia in a pitch that nearly sent Rose into an epileptic fit. "I love matchmaking! I know how it feels. I thought my life was over when Albus here didn't notice me, but then he did and now my previously-over life is complete and—"
Rose immediately put a Silencing charm on her. She turned from her gesticulating victim and toward Albus. "Does she ever shut up?" she asked.
Albus thought about it for a moment. "No."
Anastasia's cheeks began reddening at a dangerous pace and Rose hoped that perhaps incapacitating her voice long enough would make her explode.
"I've got an idea of who I want," she continued, "but first I have to figure out who is our year's trio. You know, the one with the jokester comic relief, the dreadfully shy and smart one, and the dark, brooding one with character depth. Like the Marauders."
"The Marauders weren't a trio," Albus corrected. "There were four of them."
"I think I can count, Al." Rose rolled her eyes. "Look, every generation has a trio of available men. What's ours?"
Albus shrugged. "I dunno. The blokes this year don't really fit into categories like that. We're all really fit."
She let out a pained sigh. "I suppose I'll have to manage."
"You could try asking Scorpius."
Rose wrinkled her nose. "I hate Scorpius." She said that every time his name was mentioned.
"I know. You say that every time his name is mentioned." Albus shrugged again. "I don't know how else to help. But good luck."
Sighing, Rose left the pitch. Behind her, she heard a loud POP like a small explosion and Albus groaned.
"Ugh! Anastasia! You're everywhere!"
Rose finally caved in to soliciting Scorpius' aid after a week of boyfriend-searching brought up only Hufflepuffs, which was as good as finding no one. Pride packed away, she headed to the Astronomy Tower.
At the base of the tower was a plaque that read 'Tower of Love, Scorpius Malfoy, M.D.' (the M.D. stood for Master Dater). As she ascended the spiral staircase, her senses were increasingly assaulted by incense.
The very top had been completely redecorated. As the site of Dumbledore's death, there was some bad mojo hanging around; feng shui was a priority.
Flanked by gaudy Oriental room dividers, the receptionist sitting on the mahogany paneled desk, fourth year Susie Perkins, greeted Rose in a nasally monotone. "Hello, welcome to Tower of Love, hot shot date spot. You are Miss..."
Susie gave her a pointed look over her glasses. "Well, that narrows it down to half the school."
"Rose Weasley. I'm looking for Scorpius."
Susie whipped out a calendar and a quill. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, sorry. Was I supposed to—"
"Mr. Malfoy manages the most exclusive club in Hogwarts," she said with a vigorous shake of her head. "One does not simply walk into the Tower of Love—"
"You can make an exception for her," said a smooth voice. Scorpius peeked out from the dragon-print curtains behind Susie and gave a wink to Rose. "Can't say no to a redhead."
Rose balled up her fists, the urge to enter a violent rampage rising at the sight of him. "I hate you."
"I know." He disappeared behind the curtains leaving only a beckoning finger behind him. "Now step in, darling."
Rose had never been inside before, though her cousins and roommates told her stories about it. When she entered, it was pitch black but a spotlight snapped on, revealing Scorpius in a rhinestone suit reclined on a piano and her cousin Louis at the keys.
"Hit it, Lou."
With a dance of his fingers, the piano pumped out a ragtime tune, followed by the ensemble of trumpets and drums. Scantily-clad girls hit the floor with high kicks (did they even go here?). Rose stood agape until her feet were knocked off the ground from behind and she landed onto a levitating loveseat, complete with imitation velvet throw pillows.
The dozen dancers in tail-feathers lifted Scorpius off the piano and set him down beside her. "I like to welcome newcomers with a bang."
He winked. She recoiled.
The club was too much for Rose to take in at once. Her eyes darted around at the double-length bar, dark booths, and writhing dance floor. "What is this?"
"Ah, I forget. You're one of those who never stop reading or studying or teacher's petting." A soft chuckle thrummed through his chest. One arm snaked around her shoulders and the other swept across the room. "This is the Tower of Love, darling, where singles come to mingle and your morals disappear faster than your galleons."
The light bouncing off Scorpius's bedazzled sleeve nearly blinded Rose. "And where taste goes down the loo, too?" she said, shielding her eyes.
Scorpius suddenly turned somber, his eyes full of every possible emotion that a bodily organ could hold. "Don't talk about the rhinestones. You'll never understand."
Rose might have been taken aback, but she was more concerned about the sudden atmospheric music and why Scorpius staring off into the distance meaningfully.
"It was the summer of '19. I was still a wide-eyed innocent. I saw father talking in his room to his mirror. I told myself it wasn't possible but then I heard—" He choked back a sob. "I heard 'Draco, I love you...forget Astoria... she could never be as dazzlingly blond or dashing as you.' An affair... with himself. All these years, he only ever loved himself. I couldn't take it."
He turned to her, face half covered in shadow and every muscle pained with this memory. "...so that's why I wear my rhinestone suit."
Rose, as much as she felt for him after this sudden reveal of a closely guarded secret, couldn't help but think she missed something somewhere. "Could you... explain that again?"
"Why?" said Scorpius, reverting to his earlier tone. "It's the Tower of Love. Romance, sex, me, that's what's important. No one cares about backstory."
He had a point.
"So Miss Rose Weasley here at the Tower of Love. I can make a guess as to why." He looped a strand of her hair around a finger, pulling it to his lips. "You're seventeen. Your biological clock is ticking. I bet you're one of those people who never play truth or dare. Never black out while drinking." He leaned in, eyes trained on hers. "I bet you even go to classes."
Her quickened breathing gave her scandalous goody-two-shoesness away and she snatched her hair back. "Just tell me where I can find a date."
Scorpius didn't respond with anything but a smugger smirk and clapped his hands. The sofa lurched forward toward the bar and a few gazes flitted toward Rose. A tall, dark-haired stud chatting to the bartender immediately caught her eye.
Scorpius followed her gaze. "Another Wood fangirl, I see. I don't understand the appeal, personally."
"I'm related to half the school. Anyone I'm not cousins with is already twice as attractive."
"Be pureblood. It's easier." Scorpius snapped his fingers and the sofa swiveled around toward the opposite end of the room. "Now, Wood draws quite the crowd but ah—you know how he is. Tries not to be like his dad, so he's absolutely against Ravenclaws. But!"
He pointed toward Lorcan and Lysander, who had a girl on either side of them as they walked to the private back rooms of the club. "Perhaps the Scamander twins? They frisk up a needy seventh year every week. They know what they're doing."
Rose watched the giggling girls with Lorcan enter the room marked 'broom closet' and Lysander's girls enter the one marked 'Heads' Common Room'. They certainly walked a big walk, but they didn't have the spark Rose was looking for.
"I'm looking for something a little more... concupiscent."
Scorpius quirked a brow. "Concupiscent?"
"Only you, Rose," he said with a shake of his head. "Only you can make lust sound so dull. But I've got the perfect one for you." He cupped her cheek, his voice low. "Forbidden, devilishly handsome, and already in love with you."
She stared blankly at him.
"Me." He drew her so close that they were barely a whisper apart.
Rose gasped, her breath hitching. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but he was too strong and part of her didn't want to leave his embrace. She hated him but her heart was pounding. Confused, she did what any sensible girl would do.
She slapped him and ran away.
As the evening drew to a close in the Great Hall, Rose sat knees tucked to her chin, swirling a spoon around her now-cold soup.
"I HATE HIM!" she shrieked, and then looked up to see Albus staring at her. "Sorry. What was that?"
"Are you okay?" He set down his bowl and sat next to her.
"No," she grumbled. "It's Scorpius. I hate him. But... I saw him today. He says he's in love with me. And now there's this feeling in my heart I can't explain."
Albus tilted his head and tapped his spoon against his chin. "Maybe you're in love with him."
"That makes perfect"—Rose conferred with her logic, which was clinging by a thread—"ly no sense." She sighed. "There's only one way to figure this out. I have to confront him again."
She shoved her soup away, stood up with renewed vigor, and bolted out of the hall.
Upon reaching the tower, Rose stomped up the steps and threw aside the curtains leading into the dark club.
It was utterly trashed.
"Malfoy!" she cried, stumbling over the overturned chairs.
A faint light appeared and Scorpius appeared from the shadows, his clothes ripped to frame the toned muscles of his bare torso. "Rose. You came back."
The glow revealed extent of the massacre. No furnishing was left alive. Red velvet dripped from the slashed carpets and stuffing was gutted out and strewn across the floor as if someone had a vendetta against bad feng shui.
A hand flew to her mouth. "Wha—what happened?"
Scorpius swallowed hard and paced tenatively toward her. "When you left today... I just... snapped. I couldn't look at this place anymore. This lifestyle, I'm done with it. I thought I'd be happy with a Weasley girl for every night, but no... I want the only one I can't have."
She stepped toward him as well, her voice a hushed whisper. "You mean all this destruction... for me?"
"Whether you love me or not, you're the only redhead in my heart."
Scorpius cupped her cheek, but this time Rose didn't run away. He dipped his head down, lips meeting hers in a hungry passion, devouring the very breath from her body until she remembered she could breathe through her nose.
"Bloody hell," Rose murmured when they broke apart. Screw logic. This was concupiscence—intense, blazing, amorous, sensual, and a dozen other adjectives. She pulled him in for another kiss, moaning, "Take me now."
Scorpius scooped her up and she wrapped her legs around him. He charged over to the row of private rooms, bypassing 'broom closet' and kicking open the crimson door marked 'Dumbledore's Office'. He paused in the doorway to stare deeply in her eyes.
"I love you, Rose Weasley."
She stripped her shirt off. "Let's get to the fucking already."
With that, he carried her in and slammed her down on the replica of the deceased Headmaster's desk, and the door swung shut behind them.
The first line, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single girl in her seventh year, must be in want of a bloke" is adapted from the first line to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
A/N This crack fic arose from a random lovely conversation in which I found out what concupiscence meant. It is probably the least sexy word ever and it means lust, in which I quipped that by that measure, there must be some sort of fic that comes out with that as a title, what with fandom's propensity for 'lust' and 'desire' and all sorts of fancy words in their titles.
Of course, that meant I had to write it.
There's a couple inside jokes littered throughout (The existence of this fic is kind of a joke) and sometimes I'm just really really plain vague, so I'm the only person giggling. Woe. There's lots of things that never made it in, like Scorpius bursting out in a musical number, but I put him in a rhinestone suit as reparations for that.
Hope you enjoyed! And still have all your mental bits intact.
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