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Recipe for Disaster by Heaven_of_Hell
Chapter 1 : The Beginning
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 3

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A/n: Yes, another fic.



Rose Wealsey: Loud, studious, redhead. Mix with chocolate frogs if your intent is to create a love potion. DO NOT mix with Scorpius Malfoy under ANY circumstances. Highly explosive.

Scorpius Malfoy: Arrogant, egotistical, Head Boy. DO NOT mix with Rose Weasley under ANY circumstances.

Sexual tension: Poisonous gas released in nargle farts.

The Half-Blood Prince’s potion book: The fail-safe way to earn an O in Advanced Potions.

The seventh annual European Potion’s Exhibition (EPH): 500 galleons in prize money and a scholarship to the European University of Potions and Brewing in Paris.

The five ingredients to a recipe for disaster.

My feet slam harshly against the stone floor, the short heels on my shoes clicking as I run. At the top of the moving staircase I had been climbing I stop to remove them.

‘Weasley!’ Malfoy’s voice calls from a floor below. I lean over the railing to smile at him.

'Why hello there Malfoy,’ I say as coyly as I can manage. ‘How are you this fine afternoon?'

‘I’m feeling quite murderous, actually.’ He retorts, glaring up at me. ‘Just wait until I catch you! Stealing from the Head Boy is worth a hundred house points – not to mention as many detentions as I see fit.’

‘Me? Steal from you? Preposterous.’ I laugh as I finger the metal badge in my pocket. Well, maybe it isn’t quite so preposterous. ‘See you around, love.’

‘Weasley!’ I hear him call after me as I run off down the seventh floor corridor. I know that he will follow – Malfoy never lets me down – and I want to put as much distance between us as possible.

I need somewhere to hide, I think to myself. Somewhere to hide, somewhere to hide...

As if Hogwarts has heard my prayer, a large, ornate, stone door appears on my left. I stop for a moment to stare at it before hearing to steady sound of someone running echoes around the corner. My hand hits the handle and I wrench it open and step inside. I slam it closed and search for a way to lock it. There is none, so I withdraw my wand. Before I can cast a spell though, the scorch marks on the walls call my attention.

I spin to examine the contents of the room and find myself in awe.

I’ve heard of this room before, from my parents and in History of Magic. They say it was used to help the Death Eaters into the school near the end of the war and that my uncle Harry found a lost horcrux here, before a Death Eater released fiendfyre in it.

The room of requirement.

I’ve been in the room before, but never this part of it. In fact, the room of hidden things hasn’t been accessed since the fiendfyre incident.

Most of the things are quite burnt, but here and there I identify an object: an old birdcage, a wardrobe, a suit of armour. I slowly make my way through the maze of carnage, fingers eagerly touching all that they can, gaining a heavy level of soot on the pads. I hear the door click open and quickly duck behind a metal desk, the top covered with a heap of burnt books.

‘Weasley?’ I know you’re in here. Give up my badge and I’ll only give you a dozen detentions.’

I peer around the legs of the desk and spot Malfoy at the entrance. He’s looking away from me, with his bag slung loosely over his shoulder. Grinning, I withdraw the metal badge, fingers skimming the large HB. I tap it with my wand once before banishing it to his bag.

After a moment of silent prayer, he leaves cursing my name under his breath. When the door closes again, I jump to my feet and shuffle through the burnt books, curiosity peaked. I, though a rabid rule-breaker, love to learn and will read anything I can get my hands on.

There has to be something that survived...

But the pages turn to dust in my hands. I open the drawers too, finding broken quills, water stained parchment, untouched by fire, and finally an old Advanced Potions book.

I straighten and flip open the book to the inside cover. In an untidy scrawl the property of the Half-Blood Prince is written. I wrack my brain for any information pertaining to this Half-Blood Prince, deciding that it was probably just some silly nickname. Flipping further, I see that the Prince’s tiny black writing dominates the pages, replacing ingredients and rewriting instructions in the margarines of the pages.

I tuck the book in my bag, intrigued. After a glance at my watch I realize that dinner is about to begin and I rush out of the room. I’m not one to miss a meal.

I seat myself at my usual spot at the Ravenclaw table, reaching for a roll.

‘Hey Rose,’ Albus says, slipping into the seat across from me. A few of my house members look at his green and silver tie disdainfully, but no one objects.

‘Did you have a good day, cousin?’ I ask politely.

'Good enough.’ He says. ‘But I know that Scorpius’s was pretty shitty.’

‘Oh?’ I ask, feinting curiosity. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, at breakfast some first year Gyrffindor vomited on his shoes, he had to take points away from our house at lunch, and then someone stole his badge and charmed it to flash I’m an arrogant prat and McGonagall, I’m going to shag you senseless repeatedly.’

‘Poor bloke.’ I say, voice lacking pity. ‘Where is Malfoy anyways.’

‘McGonagall’s office.’

I choke on my pumpkin juice. ‘Please don’t say he’s shagging her senseless. I don’t think I could handle it.’

‘No, he’s ratting you out for the badge.’ Albus sighs. ‘Why can’t you two just get along?’

‘Because he’s a pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed prat!’ I cry. ‘And he’s a Malfoy, my dad would have a heart attack!’

‘My parents are okay with him… really, Scorpius is a great bloke. I think that you two could be really good friends if you just made and effort.’ He takes a pork chop and some potatoes with a shrug.

‘Let me repeat,’ I say, shocked that he can even entertain the idea of Malfoy and me being friends. ‘Pompous. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. Prat.’

‘Finally realized your finer qualities, Weasley?’ A sneering voice asks from behind me. I turn to find Malfoy standing there, his Head Boy badge returned to normal. ‘You forgot as hideous as a troll. Come on Al. Let’s go to our table.’

‘Why don’t we sit here tonight?’ Albus asks, nodding towards the empty seat next to me. We both scowl at him, then each other. I raise an eyebrow, daring him to sit. He has the nerve to look me in the eye as he slowly plants his arse on the seat. I scoot as far to my right as possible, pushing a first year further down the bench. Malfoy does the same and Albus watches, seeming thoroughly entertained.

Albus looks from me to Malfoy, and back again, then makes a sign with his hand that I should talk.

‘Did you get all of that first year puke off your shoes, Malfoy?’ I ask, gritting my teeth.

‘Yes. Are you prepared to fess up to paying him to puke on me?’ He bites back. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘Oh please, I would like to think that I’m above such immature jokes.’ I glare sideways at him.

‘I would beg to differ.’ Some of the potatoes he’s spooning find their way into my lap, and it isn’t an accident.

My fingers reach for his throat, but Albus speaks up. ‘So, Rose, how is Potions going for you? I’m finding it quite hard.’

I purse my lips at the thought of Potions class and remain silent. Malfoy though, does not.

‘Ah, yes. I had forgotten – little miss perfection is rather shoddy when it comes to brewing. How did daddy take that Troll you handed him last year?’ He says, leaning towards me, spitting words with the intention of hurting me. And they do.

‘It was a Poor, thank you very much.’ I return, my throat closing up and tears threatening to spill. My inability to properly produce a potion is a touchy subject, and he knows it well. ‘I’m not hungry, I’m going to bed.’

‘Rosie– ’Albus says, trying to coax me into staying with them.

I kick away from the table, snatching up my bag and hurrying up the aisle, away from that foul creature my cousin calls a friend.

Up in the Ravenclaw tower, I throw myself down on my four-poster angrily, screaming loudly into my pillow. The empty room does nothing to comfort me, as my three dorm mates are all at dinner.

‘That horrible, conceited prick.’ I roar. ‘How dare he bring my potions mark into things!’

I pick up my bag and launch it as far as I can – which is not very far at all. It hits the ground with a loud thud and I try to recall what exactly is in it. I slip out of bed and open my bag, finding the Half-blood Prince’s potions book there. I pull it out and fall back on my pillow, book open to the first chapter.

I’ll show that prat of a Malfoy. With the help of this Prince, I’ll be the one on top this year, flaunting my O’s.

Just you wait and see.

A/n: Brought to you by the girl who is ignoring the fact that she has two other stories to update.

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