Special Delivery for nahimana, Part 2 Title: Dreams and Anguish Author/Artist: Recipient's LJ name:emerald_dragon8/nahimana Pairing(s): Rose/Scorpius, Ron/Hermione Rating: NC-17 Summary When a tragic attack makes Rose into a victim, will it be too familiar for Hermione and Ron to handle? Word Count: 16,500 Warnings/Content: Rough sex, torture (unrelated to the rough sex), some fluff, flangst, violence Disclaimer: Author's/Artist's notes: Hey there, Emerald Dragon! I agree with you on not liking to see Harry in Het, but to deviate from canon in such a canon story would take even more words than this already long fic! I’m also sorry that there isn’t more of your specific likes here. Lately, I’ve been a serious victim of the plot bunny, and once again this got away from me. I’m hoping there’s enough to this to make it enjoyable to you.
“Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.”
-Eugene Ionesco
"Well, she's all settled into her old room," Ron said, closing the door to their bedroom. They never slept with the door closed (Crookshanks Pas Deux would never allow that), and Hermione's heart began to race with anticipation both at the potential in his physical intimacy, and if he was going to broach a subject she wasn’t quite ready to put into words yet..
Ron didn't say a word, however, and just walked up behind her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. She was still attempting to wrangle the hair tie out of her hair that she had hastily tossed in there on her way to Rose, and tried to look as dignified as possible as she tugged at her messy brown locks. Ron smiled at her and took the stuck rubber band from her hair. His face screwed up in concentration, and Hermione smiled at how young…how like the Ron that she first fell in love with he looked. When he got the offending item out of her hair without pulling on it, he lifted it up triumphantly. Then, he unclasped the back of Hermione's necklace, taking it off and placing it in her jewellery box. His fingers slowly traced around her neck, meeting her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. He looked concerned; his head bend slightly in a questioning gesture. His finger ran along the thin scar on her neck and she shuddered.
Ron tried to catch her eye again in the mirror. Hermione couldn't look in his eyes or she would break down. She hid behind the ruse of pretending to be looking for something.
"Mhmmm," She said, beginning to take a comb to her hair. It was, of course, useless to even try…but desperate times call for desperate measures. She needed a distraction…something…anything. She couldn’t go down this road and she could not by any means open this wound again.
Ron stayed behind her, running his hands over her shoulders and up her neck, looking at her in the mirror as she determinedly avoided his eyes. He even looked far away and pained himself. He was obviously reliving what they went through, but then again, Ron was stronger than she was.
"I'm taking a bath," Hermione said abruptly, jumping up and bolting into the joining bathroom.
She got into the room, closed the door, and sighed. She couldn’t break down, not after all everyone has already been through. She would only make it worse. She would only put more pressure on Ron. She couldn't be weak; she would never let those memories take her over the way Bellatrix had taken her over that night. The woman had no power over her.
Hermione pulled her robe from the door and carefully hung it on the hook. She got out candles and bath salts to adorn her water. She added some lavender bubble bath and dimmed the lights. She turned the water on full blast and stepped into her deep tub.
Finally, she sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. She could barely hear herself think over the water, but soon the water would stop. She flicked her wand and started the CD player with some of her favourite Joni Mitchell songs, and pulled her legs up to her chest as the hot water got deeper and deeper, immersing her in bubbles.
Then, Hermione sobbed, harder than she had sobbed since that horrible night.
Moon in the mirror, Won't you stay a while tonight? All things of beauty Are too soon out of sight.
She cried for her daughter, thrown into the path of something that was supposed to have gone long ago. She cried for her husband, carrying the weight of the world on his jovial shoulders. She cried for her son, and the rage that coursed through him like fire on a line of kerosene that had never been lit before. And Hermione cried for herself, for that little piece of herself that was forever lost.
Moon in the mirror, look below you. Moon's looking back and they're loving And longing and telling no lies.
The last shred of her innocence died the night Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her. Even the day before, she had drawn her name and Ron's name in little hearts in the margin of her Beedle the Bard book. She had fought, had experienced loss, and had sacrificed her need for her parents just to keep them safe, but she still had something of that little girl who stubbornly read every book she found and was obsessed with wearing ribbons in her absurd hair. She never saw that girl again after Malfoy Manor.
Hermione promised herself, after she woke up in Shell Cottage with Ron sobbing on her chest, that she would never let someone take anything from her again. She would never let what Bellatrix did tear her apart. She couldn't be weak. Even after the war was won, Hermione knew never to give in to the fear, the lack of control that came from the minutes of hell she had burned through. Hermione filled herself with stone, and supported as much of the world as she could.
Sure, she had nightmares, but she would wake up and tell herself to stop being ridiculous. And of course, there were times when she found herself crying on Ron, but she could explain this in a momentary lapse, and not the crippling fear accidentally peaking through her skin. Hermione had made it, and she wasn't about to look back.
Oh, how my heart tried to fight him, Fight against mirrors of moonlight Or love light. You lost from the start, From the start
The water was high enough now, but Hermione couldn’t lift her head from her knees to turn it off. She felt like she was going to drown anyway, she might as well realize the metaphor. Her daughter, her first born, the angel she had sworn from the moment she met to protect was now feeling that same sense of loss and was now saying goodbye to innocence and security. Hermione couldn’t even fathom Rose's pain, but if it mirrored her own, Hermione worried that Rose may do as she did, and turn to stone. She wanted Rose to talk about it, to let it out, to face the demon and not live with it on her back for her entire life. The weight got too heavy, and sometimes Hermione couldn't breathe. She didn't want that for Rose.
But Hermione was a coward. She couldn’t explain to Rose what happened. She couldn't articulate how well she knew what was going through Rose's head. She didn't have the spine to reveal to her daughter how close she came to giving in to the madness, to death. Her little girl needed her right now, and she was, quivering in an overly-scented bath and fearing her own shadow.
She felt Ron's hand close over her shoulder, and she pulled away, ashamed at how weak she was. He persisted, running a hand down her back and leaning in slightly to press a kiss to her shoulder. She kept her head turned; she couldn’t face him, and let her secret out. She had never even told her own husband that the evening she was tortured still haunted her. She just couldn't let it all come out again. Hermione nearly shook with the effort to keep it in.
She felt the tingle of magic as Ron turned off the water. Hermione hadn't even realized that the water was still running, but at that moment found that the soapy lather at the top of the waterline had reached her shoulders. She kept her head turned to the side even as she heard a rustle of fabric. She was vaguely curious as to what her husband was doing, but she was also too gripped with the pain of memory to care much. She jumped lightly when she felt the flannel brush across her back.
"Shhhhh. S'alright, love. Just thought I'd help things along," Ron croaked, his voice so gentle that Hermione felt instant comfort and instant foolishness in one deep, shuddering breath.
She sat still as he slowly washed her back, soothing her clenching muscles and easing her headache slightly. She leaned back obediently when he waved his wand and set a stream of water over her hair, relishing in the feeling of his hands digging into her messy curls to lather the shampoo into it. She always loved it when he washed her hair, and she usually laughed and moaned when his large hands would massage her scalp. She stayed silent this time, as did he, the only sound their deep breathing. However, Hermione found herself despairing less and thinking a little more clearly. Ron always had the power to get her out of that room at Malfoy Manor before her mind trapped her in there yet again. When the warm water cascaded down her head and neck to get the soap out, Hermione could feel her neck arching into the heat.
He pushed her back against the back end of the tub, and Hermione looked up at him to see that he was shirtless and covered in sweat as a result of the steamy room. Even in her darkest emotional states, he was beautiful to look at. She always saw him as a metaphorical light. When she woke up in Bill and Fleur's home after that awful ordeal, seeing him there next to her had an instant effect on her physical state. She needed him more than she could ever even articulate…even after so many years of marriage. She closed her eyes again and he dragged the flannel over her bare legs and lingered at her chest.
He reached down toward her centre, and she couldn't help but spread her legs for him. His strong hand through the damp cloth sent electricity through Hermione's body, but she couldn't relent, couldn't moan to encourage him farther. With the lightning strikes of memory swiping across any calm that Ron was providing, she couldn't war with her two sides in this moment. She allowed him to continue, and then pull the stopper out of the claw footed tub. When the water was almost gone, he helped her up, and she steeped into the plush white towel that was waiting in his arms.
She walked into the towel and he wrapped it, and his arms around her. She burrowed her nose against his chest, and she felt his body shake slightly. She pulled back to see a tear going down his cheek, and Hermione lost control all over again. They stood there crying against each other for an indeterminable amount of time before Ron finally pulled back and ran a thumb down her cheek.
"It was just a little familiar today, yeah?" Ron said, his voice hoarse.
"I thought we had fought so that our children would never have to feel that way," Hermione cried.
"All we can do is make sure she makes it through," Ron said. "I just, I can't stop thinking about that night. I couldn't get to you! You were screaming over and over again, and I couldn't find a way to even see you."
"Oh Ron! Make it go away…just make it disappear for a little while," Hermione cried.
Ron bent down and kissed her, moving his hands up to cup the back of her sodden head. She's made this request of him a few times before, when the ghost of pain…the memory became too much. She always needed him, but sometimes she needed him so much that he was the only person who could help her remember everything that they had gained during the war instead of everything she had lost. Every time she would melt into his touch and let him slowly take her, replacing whatever was invading her soul with his own.
The towel fell from her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to their high poster bed and laid her down carefully before covering her body with his own. On some occasions, he would throw her down on the bed, rip her clothes off, and take her roughly. Other times, she would be hungry and raving and needing him immediately and as hard as possible. But in moments like this, when she looked up at him with watery eyes and begged him to make it all okay, they were impossibly slow, feeling every inch of each other and sending it to their memories to replace whatever dark force had taken them over.
Ron's fingertips were hot as they travelled over her cooled skin. His large hands wrapped around her hips and his mouth was on hers with a simmering passion. She lifted a leg up, wrapping it around his hips as she moved her mouth to kiss along the shell of his ear and over the nape of his neck. She let her lips slide over the stubble that had grown on his chin after inattentive days at the hospital, and gloried in the prickly feeling. Hermione breathed in deeply. Of course, he smelled like lavender bath salts and her moisturizing shampoo, but there was always that smell of dirt and food that was uniquely Ron. The clean, cold smell of the hospital and the memory of that stagnant smell at Malfoy Manor began to disappear with each breath Hermione took.
She gasped when his warm mouth closed over one of her nipples, his tongue dancing languidly over the sensitive skin until she could feel them tighten into peaks. Her deep breaths were replaced with short ones as his lips began to travel down her abdomen, but as it always was in times like this, he moved very slowly. Her hands were gripping his thick shoulders tightly now, knowing that in a few more inches, his lips would brush against her centre. She wanted to cry out, she wanted to beg for it, but she was glowing in the silence...in the sound of his subtle moans and his lips smacking on her skin. One of his hands closed over hers on his shoulder before his tongue swiped across her folds.
Her knees bent then, as the muscles in her hips and legs tighten. He took his fingers and spread her open, so his mouth could glide over and over her. It was so tortuously slow, that Hermione thought she might die before she came. But the climax came so slowly, she wasn't even aware she was there until Ron's fingers were entering her and she was suddenly trembling. The orgasm rolled through her like it would never end, creating the perfect dissonance to the never-ending feeling of pain that she was once again trying to forget.
Ron's lips dragged back up her body, and when her eyes were finally able to meet his, they were so bright and intuitive that Hermione had to fight not to shrink away. He understood…he’d always understood. She reached down and slowly unzipped his jeans. She wrapped her hand around his throbbing erection. She forced herself not to close her eyes, but kept them trained on Ron's face. He threw his head back and bit his lip, the same way he had done on their first time in the frenzied hours after Harry had defeated Voldemort. Hermione's mouth watered at the pulse point throbbing against the skin of his neck. She moved her hand up and down as her lips connected with that specific spot.
Ron let out a needy groan and placed his large hand on the small of Hermione's back, pulling her tightly against him. Her naked flesh against his was a perfect solace, and she echoed his need with the vibrations of her own voice. He opened his eyes then, peering back into hers with a burning need. She slowly wound her hand around him, reaching down the back of his pants and beginning to slide them down his hips
Hermione loved Ron like this. She loved it when he relinquished his tenuous control and let her explore him the way he always explored her. She pulled his jeans and pants off, running her hands slowly up his thighs. Her own thighs rubbed together with need. She needed to feel him inside of her; she needed him to be the most powerful part of her right now, so that she didn't lose herself in doubt. Hermione flicked her tongue a few times around her husband's cock, but she couldn't be patient any longer, and she placed a knee on either side of his hips and lowered herself onto him quickly. He couldn't stay silent.
"Oh Hermione," he moaned, his long arms reaching up to wrap around her back and pulled her down to his chest. It wasn't the most fruitful position to be in, but on nights like these, Hermione just wanted to be close to him. He continued to thrust up as she undulated her hips.
Her body began to tense up again; she could feel the heat coiling around her middle. Ron could feel it too, because he bit his lip again and flipped them over. Now he was on his hands, hovering over her, his long, broad body covering hers like a protective blanket. He reached down and grabbed her thigh, lifting up her leg so he could thrust more quickly, more deeply into her. She could feel every inch of him, going in and out at a slow pace, as though they were committing everything to memory.
Ron dipped his head down and pressed it to the small scar on her neck, the final act in this exchange, and the one that always sent her over the edge. She came hard, clenching around him, and he began to pulse inside of her. She felt like she was no longer her own anymore, and the release gave her more freedom than any of her quiet moments alone.
Ron's lips finally moved slightly off of her scar as they rode out the last of their climax.
"Mine," He whispered, his voice gentle, but his intent clear. That scar against his lips, the whisper in her ear wasn't a reminder of her pain; it wasn't a reminder of the time she almost gave up. It's a reminder of what was always waiting for her on the other side.
Hours later, Hermione was still lying awake. Her soul was at rest, but her mind and her heart were racing. She'd been staring at the moon through the billowy white curtains of their room, and she knew that she couldn't hide any longer. Her daughter needed her, her daughter needed to know that someone understood. The threads of pain Hermione had been holding on to needed to be thrown against the wind before it threatened to crush her daughter as well.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Ron said, placing a hand on her leg. She didn't need to explain where she's going, he already knew.
Hermione tied her fluffy purple bathrobe around her waist and tossed on some knickers and the ridiculous bunny slippers Ron got her for Christmas some years ago. She shuffled down to Rose's childhood bedroom and paused at the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of her adult child's night-time breathing. When she started to flail around in an inevitable nightmare, Hermione would be at her side with a cup of tea and a story that she prayed would help her daughter to move on…to keep control.
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Scorpius stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, tracing the faint lines of the scars and bruises on his face and neck. The marks were already beginning to fade, and Scorpius was more than pleased at the work the healers had done at St. Mungo's. His recovery was swift and he was back at home within a day of the attack.
It took Rose longer, and Scorpius went and saw her every day. The sound of her screams invaded his nightmares and the memory of it ripped at his chest and threatened to tear him apart. Azkaban wasn't good enough for these men, and Scorpius made a point to talk to his father about using his money and influence to get the harshest punishment imaginable. The thought didn't come anywhere near satisfying Scorpius, however, and he just wished he could have been awake to help Hugo Weasley fuck up the wizard who had so cowardly tortured Rose. Not one usually prone to fits of rage, Scorpius couldn't help but slam his fist into the wall suddenly, remembering the way Rose clung to him after her nightmare. He thought back to the gigantic wizard grabbing her beautiful hair roughly in his fist and dragging her around the room, and Scorpius’ own fist rose against the tiled wall. Blow after blow punctuated each echo of a scream in his mind until Scorpius couldn't handle the sting on his hands any longer. By the time he had finished barraging the walls with his fists, he had five holes to fix, and two broken knuckles to heal. He wiped the sweat from his face and finished dressing.
His father would have reprimanded him for losing so much control over his emotions.
"Malfoys do not let their impulses overpower them," he would say, but Scorpius had never been as much of a Malfoy as his father would have liked. Sure, he looked like a Malfoy, with his bright hair and pointed features, but it stopped there. Scorpius was built much broader, looking like a sturdier Greengrass than a Malfoy, though he was still quite thin by comparison to blokes like Hugo Weasley. Feeling slightly eased by his impromptu exercise, Scorpius closed his eyes and thought of Rose.
He couldn’t wait for the day he could call her "His Rose." He imagined the way her face looked when she let herself go and gave over to him, those beautiful red lips pressing in a hard line as she lost control. He could feel her arms wrap around him, and her long legs do the same around his waist. His hands flexed at the memory of her narrow hips and smooth, milky skin. Scorpius felt a blush rising to his cheeks when he remembered demanding that she call him by his name. He always asked that of her, forcing her into an intimacy that separated the Rose he knew from the one he encountered outside of their interludes.
Scorpius' heart sank a little at the thought that it would likely take her a long time to feel safe, to feel content enough to give in again. But Scorpius was nothing if not patient, and if the light of the end of the tunnel shone on Rose, he was sure he could handle any darkness. He met his eyes in the mirror again, willing himself not to go too soft, or he's sure his father will notice that he looks like a love struck little girl.
The faint ping of a charm signalled Scorpius that someone had come through the wards. He went downstairs to greet the visitor, as it was likely his Grandmother checking up on him. When Scorpius opened the door, he was shocked to find Rose standing there. She was in a nightshirt and a pair of Wellingtons, a cloak thrown hastily around her shoulders. Her hair was a wild mess around her head, and her face was paler than he had ever seen it. Scorpius couldn't help but gasp faintly.
"Rose! What's going on? Are you okay?" Scorpius said, reaching out to her as he opened the door farther.
Rose ignored him and walked into the main hall, standing under the silver chandelier, directly in the centre of the intricately designed Oriental rug. She stood stock-still and silent, looking at the ceiling as though something was about to fall on her at any moment. Her body was trembling and her knees kept looking like they were going to give out. Scorpius called her name softly, walking toward her carefully.
"Scorpius, who came through the wards?" He father came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.
At the sound of his voice, Rose's head snapped, and her wide, wild eyes locked onto Draco. Scorpius could see her jaw muscles fluttering as Draco made his way toward them.
"Hello Miss Weasley, I trust you are well?" Draco said, giving no indication that he even noticed Rose's odd appearance.
"What? Do you think I'd be half crazy by now! Thought I'd never leave St. Mungo's, did you? Bet you wish I would have stayed there," Rose was screeching at Draco, her arms flailing wildly.
"That's preposterous, I…" Draco said, he had dropped his towel in shock, and his normally cool demeanour had been replaced with intense apprehension.
"You should have known I would make it! My mother did, didn't she?" Rose said, moving close to Draco and drawing her wand. Scorpius was shocked to see understanding fall over his father's face. "Is this where it happened? Are there still blood stains?"
"Rose, what's going on?" Scorpius said, attempting to put a hand on her shoulder.
"What, Scorpius? Did you get off on watching me get tortured? Is that why you kissed me the way you did? Are you a sick bastard like your father? It's in your blood, after all!" Rose's face was wet with tears and her mouth was completely contorted with rage. She looked at Scorpius with unadulterated hate, and a pain that rivalled what he saw that night in the Artefacts department.
"Asteria, honey, I need you to send a Patronus to Mr. And Mrs. Weasley right now," Draco said, fearful.
Scorpius barely registered his father's words. He was too busy searching Rose's eyes, trying to understand the raw anger he saw there. He could feel himself falling apart just watching her.
"Rose, why are you doing this? I would never want to see you hurt. How could you think that?" Scorpius reached for her
"Don't touch me!" Rose screamed, falling to the floor and curling up in a ball. She was shaking violently and murmuring something under her breath. Her shirt rode up and her blue knickers were exposed, but she didn’t appear to care.
The front door slammed open and Rose's family came rushing into the room. Mr. Weasley immediately took off his cloak and laid it over her daughter, who screamed louder at the contact. Hugo handed his father a potion that Scorpius recognized as calming draught, and Mr. Weasley fed it to his daughter slowly, trying to soothe her. Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley was looking panicked at his father.
"I'm so sorry Mal…Draco. I thought telling her might make her cope better, make her feel less alone," she said very quietly, seeming afraid to meet Draco's eyes. His father just sighed and hung his head.
"It's okay. I understand. I've just got to find the words to explain what is going on to my son now," Draco croaked. Scorpius jumped at the realization that he would soon find out what had Rose on the floor rocking and crying.
"Would you like me to stay behind for a moment?" Rose's mum said gently as Hugo came up behind her, looking just as curious as Scorpius felt.
"No, look after your daughter…I'm…I'm sorry," Scorpius' father said, looking genuinely ashamed. It was an emotion he had never seen on his father's face. Mrs. Weasley just nodded and joined her husband at the Floo. Hugo remained standing just behind Scorpius.
"If it's not so much trouble, Mr. Malfoy, I'd like to know what's going on as well," Hugo said. Draco nodded slightly and gestured for them to take their seats in the small sitting area off to the side of the main foyer.
When Draco had finished telling the story of how Ron, Hermione and Harry were caught and Hermione subsequently tortured, he looked exhausted. Scorpius knew that his father was a Death Eater, albeit coerced, and that this very house had been used as headquarters to The Dark Lord himself. Scorpius had no idea how much cruelty had occurred in his home, however, and how much his father had been witness to. It made his stomach drop in pity not only for Rose's family, but for his own father as well. To see all of that and feel powerless to stop it must have been horrifying.
The thought that Rose somehow blamed his father, and by extension him, and saw his entire family as disgusting and cruel broke Scorpius' heart. He couldn't even fathom how he would be able to love her now. Hell, did he even want to after the shame that he saw in his father's eyes now took up residence in his own chest? Scorpius was broken from this sad thought by the sound of Hugo rising and clearing his throat.
"Thank you for letting me hear that," Hugo said. He walked up to Draco and held out his hand. A little bit of pride went back into Draco's eyes as he shook Hugo's hand firmly. Hugo just nodded and turned to go.
"Scorpius, I think we should meet for drinks in a few days…when things cool off," Hugo said, shoving his large hands into his pockets.
"Yeah, thanks…I….yeah," Scorpius said, eager to talk about this with someone, but also eager to get into his room and drown in his thoughts.
With that, Hugo left out the front door, and Scorpius was left sitting next to his father, both of them staring silently into the fire.
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Rose smiled slightly as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She was wearing a short, red dress, covered in sequins. It was garish to say the least, and clashed horribly with her skin tone and bright hair. Christmas was always her favourite time of year, and one of the reasons was that she could wear red and damn the consequences! She placed some strategic sprigs of Holly in her intricately designed hair before spraying a very small amount of spiced perfume.
"Lovely as always, dear, but might I suggest a different colour dress?" The mirror said to her primly.
"Not today! It's Christmas!" Rose said happily, practically skipping over to her bed to put on her red heels.
Halfway to her bed, Rose stopped short and her good mood fell. There, on her bureau was Scorpius, staring at her smugly. It was the picture of the day she got Head Girl, and her portrait self and Scorpius were currently shoving each other aside to fight for the attention. An ache began to form in her stomach as Rose let her eyes linger on his painfully familiar face. She tried to compel herself to put the picture face down, as she had done with all the others, but yet again she could not.
It had been six months. Six months since she went through the most horrible experience of her life. Six months since her mother told her of her similar experience. Six months since Rose showed up at Malfoy Manor to say horrifying things to Scorpius. Six months since she fell in love. It was her self-imposed punishment, the payment for the broken look on his face when she accused him of the unthinkable, that she could never have what she wanted…she could never feel his love again.
Rose willed her eyes not to water, worried that the glitter would come off of her face as she remembered every letter she sent back to him without reading, how she warded her flat to him, and how she quickly took a new internship in Egypt without telling anyone but her parents and Uncle Bill. All was meant to hurt her as much as she hurt him, and if the look on his face was any indicator, she hadn't even scratched the surface.
But tonight was Gran's annual Christmas Day Extravaganza, and Rose needed so badly to have one day of happiness. So she took a deep breath, checked her ostentatious, glittering makeup, and made her way to the Apparation point. Her spirits were reasonably high when she finally lifted her wand and Apparated to The Burrow.
The smell of meat and puddings wafted out of the front door as it was flung open to greet Rose. James was standing there, festive hat askew, with green garland strung around his neck. He looked well and pissed already, and it was only 4 pm.
"The prodigal cousin returns!" He shouted, sloshing his glass of what looked like scotch around.
"You know very well I'm anything but prodigal! I may have been in Egypt, but I kept a flat here, and I was always within reach!" Rose said with mock severity.
"Whatever," James slurred, tipping back the rest of his drink.
Rose made her way through the cramped kitchen and into the living room, greeting cousins, aunts, and uncles along the way. She found her parents huddled together in a corner, her father kissing her mother gently, and she couldn't help but smile. As gross as it was, she was happy her parents were so close. She walked over to them and announced her presence, delighting in the warm hugs from each of them despite the fact they had just seen her last week.
"Where's Hugo?" Rose asked, suddenly aware of a sizable missing person.
"He'll be along shortly, just had to pick up a mate," Ron said, his face looking red as he took another sip of mulled mead. Blimey, was everyone an early drunk today?
"Before you even ask, no it's not a girl. Apparently Hugo finds dating to be a waste of time. Just a mate who's thinking of renting a flat with him," Hermione said, and she thankfully didn't slur her words at all.
Rose made herself comfortable near the tree, enjoying her own glass of something Al made and catching up with Roxanne and Lily. They may have been a few years behind her, but the girls had formed a nice friendship over their lives. When Rose categorically denied meeting any Egyptian hunks, Roxanne finally burst out that she was in love. The three girls had a good laugh over the smitten Roxy while the alcohol and sweets kept coming.
About an hour after arriving, James was again at the door, and a raucous shout of "Hugo!" Could be heard waving throughout the crowded little house. Rose leapt up, eager to see her little brother, whom she hadn't seen in nearly a month. With her head fuzzy and her knees wobbly, she rushed her longs legs toward the door, pushing aside the greeting throng to give her brother a gigantic and mirthful hug. She let out a laugh and her heel twisted. She fell immediately into his arms.
Hugo seemed to have lost a few inches of height as Rose's head was lined up with his. And were his shoulders thinner? Rose tried to regain her balance, to lean back and ask her brother what happened, but her heel snapped and her tenuous balance was all but gone.
"Easy there," A deep, melodic voice…decidedly not Hugo's…said lightly in her ear.
For a split second, Rose thought her heart had stopped. She breathed in deeply, jarred by the sudden familiar scent assaulting her nerves. She pulled back, feeling as though her entire body was in slow motion, and met those startling blue eyes. He was here, he was touching her, and he was real. Rose could barely breathe as her eyes focused on Scorpius' face. She wanted to fall into his arms and cry, but the memory of the hurt on his bruised face was enough to push her away.
Rose needed escape, but recognized her own inebriation enough to know she couldn't Apparate. She looked back over at the fireplace to see her parents still canoodling and knew she couldn't go that way either. She quickly backed away, abandoning her broken shoes, and rushed quickly up the steps. She felt ridiculous even as she did it, but she needed out…she needed to catch her breath and sober up.
She summoned the sober-up potion that her Gran wisely kept in the upstairs bathroom, turning into the first open and available room. She slammed the door and locked it with her wand, tipping back the potion greedily and willing her heart to slow down. Her head immediately cleared, and with it came the stabbing pain of memory that months of avoidance could only suppress and not dull.
She sat heavily on the bed, vaguely aware by the décor that she must have been in her Aunt Ginny's old room. Rose could still see the man who attacked her, his face a permanent scar in her mind. His name was Murchison, and he was currently ensconced in Azkaban, but that didn't dampen the crippling fear that joined memories of him. She could feel her body beginning to shake, but she knew how to deal with these feelings.
Months of therapy guaranteed she had the tools she needed to end the panic.
Beyond Murchison was something that Rose wouldn’t even talk about, something she would push as far away from her mind as she could. The need she felt for Scorpius was so strong, that sometimes she felt she'd rather run to him than do anything else at all. She couldn't have him and she knew that. After all they went through, after what she did, and what their parents experienced, they just could never be. That thought alone would threaten to hurt her beyond repair, so she let it go.
Seeing that mythical Him again, feeling his touch in an unprepared instance, had taken away any composure she had. The stiff hold she had on her recovery was solid, and would not shake, but the one holding on to her heart had snapped in two the instant her eyes met his. She had no idea how she would ever leave that room again, and resigned to sob until she figured out what to do. She ignored every gentle knock and insistent voice on the other side of the scrubbed white door and focused on the morbid look of tears and glitter falling onto her bare knees.
The door slammed open, and Scorpius rushed in before Rose had time to leap up and run.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please, just forgive me," Scorpius said, his eyes wild and desperate. "I've tried living without you, but after that day in the hospital, when you gave me hope that we could be something more…I can't think about anything else!" Scorpius said, his deep voice becoming slightly strident.
"Scorpius, I can't…I just…what happened…" Rose stumbled over her words, trying to explain what was screaming in her mind: "I accused you of cruel things, I accused your family. Our families could never survive this!"
Rose's entire body froze when Scorpius dropped to his knees in front of her. "I don't know what else I can do. Tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me! I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry my family did what they did to your family. I promise I'll do anything, just don't push me away again!" Scorpius was desperate, and Rose was nauseous. . She had oftener considered the harrowing ordeal of her attack to be her defining moment…her 'Do or Die' instance. She kept going, she kept her mind strong, and she pushed through. Her mother helped her, but Rose was stronger because she made it through. However, seeing Scorpius' face looking up at her, hearing his voice so cracked and pleading, it was all Rose could do to keep from entertaining the notion of pure self loathing rising up in her throat.
"Scorpius…don't…" Rose said. Her body was trembling again. If any moment was 'Do or Die' it was this one. She could run, she could ignore this. After the hols, she could take a permanent job in Egypt and pretend that this had never happened. She could send Scorpius away and eat her own shame, wallowing in her self-hatred until it consumed her. Or she could finally take the leap, the real one, the only one left to take.
Rose slid off the bed, her exposed knees falling hard against the wooden floor, her hands holding herself up on Scorpius' shoulders. She could feel him tense up; hear the breath leave his lungs at her closeness. She took a deep, trembling breath and pressed her nose in Scorpius' neck, letting her lips place gentle kisses along the soft skin there.
"Rose," Scorpius croaked, his hands coming up to grip tightly at the back of her dress. She could hear his breathing quicken, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath her.
"Don't apologize for any of that, ever again. Let's leave all of the apologies behind. I've been living in 'sorry' for too many months now. I didn't even realize how miserable it was in that dark place. I need you, more than I can ever understand. I don't want to ignore you anymore…I can't. I only ask that you forgive me one last time for not realizing how much I needed you until you came and threw everything back at me. Please, Scorpius, let's start again," Rose said, hot tears cascading down her cheeks as she kissed any spot on Scorpius she could reach.
"I love you…" He whispered, and Rose was shocked at how quickly she accepted this as fact. It was like the last six months hadn't happened, and they were continuing on that night in the hospital.
The blankness in her chest was filling, and Rose felt almost trite in how it seemed that love really was all she needed. If she hadn't had felt so utterly brilliant, utterly unburdened in that moment, she might have laughed at herself. All of the hurdles ahead of her seemed to get monumentally smaller now that she had come over the giant slope she hadn't realized she was climbing. As Scorpius' lips found hers, and gently pressed kiss after kiss upon them, Rose could do no more analyzing, no more thinking. She simply threaded her hands in his hair and let out a sigh she had been holding in for six months.
“Charlie!” A raucous chorus of multi-tonal cheers erupted from somewhere downstairs, nearly shaking the floorboards of Aunt Ginny’s old room.
“We should really get down there. I do not even want to imagine what would happen if we’ve been gone too suspiciously long,” Rose smiled.
Scorpius grinned in that charming way that Rose hadn’t even realized she loved so much, and held out his hand to her. She let her hand linger on his for a second; enjoying how warm his touch was, even in such a subtle gesture, before getting up herself. She would never tell anyone this, especially after teasing Roxanne, but her knees were incredibly weak upon standing.
They walked reluctantly into the hallway, and Rose felt compelled to pull Scorpius back against her. His body ran into her hard, but she didn’t mind. She buried her face in his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his waist, and breathed in deeply. She wasn’t better, not by a long shot. Sure, the therapy helped, but Rose spent a lot of time lying to herself that she would be okay.
“Everything is going to be alright, Rose,” Scorpius whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.
Gods, it almost felt like the truth coming from him. Rose had to steady herself before they walked down the stairs.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ginny shouted, and Rose jumped, but didn’t tear her hand from his.
When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, however, all she saw was her family surrounding the tables. Some were laughing, some were trying not to laugh, and the rest…well everyone besides Aunt Ginny were laughing. It appeared as though James had decided to pass out in Gran’s buttermilk mashed potatoes just before they were about to serve dinner. All Rose could see was a shock of bright red hair spiking out from the white clumps. Uncle Harry was laughing hysterically even as he and Al were trying to pull James up out of the potatoes.
Lily flicked her wand, and the potatoes went flying out of James’ ears and mouth and all over the room. A large clump of potatoes hit Rose in the face, and she froze, both disgusted and filled with the need to laugh uncontrollably. She felt a brush over her face, and as her vision cleared, she saw Scorpius smirking at her. He was wiping her face off with the sleeve of his robes.
“You’re going to ruin your poncy expensive clothes,” Rose said sardonically, though her grin was unmistakable.
“Well, you’ll just have to help me out of them, won’t you,” He said, getting the last of the potatoes off of her face and kissing her lips softly. Rose kissed back, letting the contact linger just a little bit longer.
When they finally pulled away, after Rose placed another light kiss on his irresistible neck, the once chaotic kitchen was quiet. Rose’s entire body tensed up as she realized the entire family (besides James, who had curled up on the floor) was watching her. Rose fumbled, and Scorpius gripped her hand tightly. After what seemed like the longest silence in the history of the Wizarding World, Hugo cleared his throat and Gran jumped up.
“Let’s eat!” she said, quickly ushering everyone back to the table. Ron sputtered for a second, but Hermione was already shoving him into a chair.
Scorpius looked at her, his cheeks bright red, and took her plate from her. When he set it back down in front of her, it was piled high with buttermilk potatoes.
Maybe The Weasley family was drunk enough for another food fight.