"Third Time's Not Always A Charm" - A Gift for drcjsnider

[a_smrw_gift]

Title: Third's Not Always a Charm
Author: rosivan
Gift for: drcjsnider
Summary: Scorpius loses his memories working on a potion, and Rose is there to help him until they come back.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: ~5100
Author's Note: I tried to write something different for these two, as requested, and I hope you enjoy it~ It's less about Quidditch than I wanted it to be, but the elements are there. ♥ A big thank you to M - I appreciate the beta, lovely.


I don't know where I am.

There's a robe on bed beside me, and a silk dress left crumpled on the floor. I don't recognize them. I don't recognize my hands. I don't know who I am.

"Scorpius?"

There is a woman in the kitchen down the hall. I think she's cooking something. It smells good. I'm hungry. What's my name?

"Scorpius, did you hear me?"

I think I know her. She must be speaking to me. That must be my name. My head aches and there's an odd taste in my mouth. Was I drinking? I can see a strange bottle on the table, but I don't feel drunk…

"Hey, you all right?"

The woman is a redhead and she smiles at me from the doorway with an expression of slight concern. I don't like the thought of her worrying over me, for some reason. I don't want her to worry over me. I don't know why - I don't even know her name. Don't even know my name.

"Who are you?" The voice startles me until I realize that it's mine. She stares at me like I'm making a bad joke. I stare at her, because I'm not, and then repeat the question. "Who are you? Am I Scorpius?"

She rushes to my side, and takes my face in her hands. Her skin is warm, and the touch is vaguely familiar. I think. "Oh, love. Oh, you didn't…"

"Didn't do what?"

Her mouth twists and tears well up in her eyes. I want to make them go away. I don't want her to cry. I don't want her to worry. I hold her close to me, and she lets me, so it must be okay.

"You shouldn't have taken it," she whispers. She kisses me softly and I feel a strange pang of guilt. "You said it wasn't ready."

I don't kiss her back. It feels like it was. Whatever 'it' was.

- - -

The house is in the country, and Scorpius feels quite at home. He's been told it is his home, but he doesn't remember it except in feeling. Rose, the redheaded woman, takes him around the property - it's theirs, apparently. They're married, she tells him. The ring on his finger and the ring on hers match, so he supposes she's right. He can feel himself loving her, he thinks, but he feels a lot of things, so he's not sure what to trust.

They eat sandwiches and tea on the edge of their property, where a line of trees make excellent shade in the summer afternoon.

"Who am I?" Scorpius asks her, not for the first time since he found himself in the bedroom.

She smiles at him, rather prettily, with one corner of her mouth curled slightly higher than the other. He runs a thumb across her cheek without thinking about it, and she looks away. "You're brilliant and kind, and you hate it when people hurt."

"You're only saying that because you're married to me," Scorpius decides, looking out at the field. "Tell me the negatives."

Rose brushes the hair from his face, and nods. "You're stubborn. You don't take down notes on your potions because you keep them in your head, so you end up doing more work than you honestly need to. You leave half-read books lying around. You can be a snob when it comes to dancing, which I think is hilarious, but you take it very seriously."

"What kind of dancing?" Scorpius asks. That he's stubborn doesn't surprise him. He already feels that he likes to get his way.

"Ballroom, the proper kind," Rose says. "You make me wear dresses I hate, and practice dancing I'm rubbish at, but you always make sure I have a good time." She smiles again at him and he raises her hand to his lips. The smile deepens with approval. It feels familiar.

"I come from money," he suggests. Scorpius thought he might, considering the inside of his wardrobe and their lovely country house. He had later hoped that it was because they were successful, though.

Rose nods, confirming his original assumption. "Actually, your father is coming to see you tomorrow. He knows more about what you were working on than I did."

"And my mother?" Scorpius asks almost automatically. Rose looks at him.

"No," she says carefully. Scorpius wonders about the change in tone. "She will be staying at the manor."

"Manor. All right."

Rose sips at her tea, "You come from a lot of money."

"I feel like it doesn't matter that much to me," Scorpius admits, hoping he's right.

She brushes another kiss against his cheek. "It doesn't."

Scorpius nods, feels somewhat relieved, and pours more tea into his cup.

-

Draco is his father, and Scorpius is startled to recognize him until he realizes he finds him quite similar to the reflection he sees in the bathroom mirror. He is the splitting image of Draco, though not as thin, and more tanned from time in the sun.

He greets his father almost awkwardly in the foyer, and doesn't know what to make conversation about. Draco seems informed about the situation, however, and makes it easy for him.

"You don't know who I am," he says frankly. "Don't apologise. There were days where you had wished it were so."

Scorpius is a little taken aback by the honesty, but he finds it oddly comforting. "How is my mother?"

"Better," Draco says shortly. "Your situation concerns me, Scorpius, do not misunderstand, but I do need to return to her quickly. I would like to make this visit brief."

Not quite stung, but feeling very much like a child to this man, Scorpius only nods. "Of course, father. Rose is-"

"Rose is not involved in this matter," Draco says, leading them through a side door and down a corridor that Scorpius hasn't explored yet. At Scorpius's frown, he amends, "She has her work with her brooms, and you have yours with your potions. You may relay what you deem important."

Scorpius nods, realizing that he's lost all understanding of the man in front of him, and that the loss would impair their communication with one another. There seems to be a certain subtext to the things that Draco says, and Scorpius doesn't know how to read it anymore.

The room at the far end of the corridor leads into a workshop of sorts, with cauldrons set up down the length of a long table. The cabinets and shelves are lined with boxes and jars, all precisely labelled in neat handwriting. The space is fairly immaculate, and as soon as Scorpius steps inside, he feels himself relax.

"Now," Draco says, pulling a polished wood rod from his sleeve. "Let's see what you've done to yourself. Come here, Scorpius."

Scorpius moves closer to his father, who presses the wood rod to his temple. Though he's never thought about it intentionally, it occurs to Scorpius that this is probably magic - the kind that Rose had asked him about, and that he had easily said was a basic concept in his life. Or so he felt.

Draco murmurs in Latin for a moment, looking for something in Scorpius's gaze. A flash of blankness races across Scorpius's mind and he forgets for a moment everything he had been thinking about. Then there is an odd sort of buzzing, and a pressure on his skull. He flinches and instinctively tries to block it out.

"Just let me look," Draco says lowly. Scorpius can't help squirming, because it's like a sudden headache is digging around in his head. "Let me see, Scorpius. I won't hurt you."

"See what," Scorpius manages to say, though it is somewhat difficult to string words together. "What are you doing?" Another sheet of blankness blankets his thoughts.

"I won't hurt you," Draco repeats, softer, kinder. The ache in his skull lessens and Scorpius can think straight again. "You're my son." The rod pressed to his temple falls away and Draco takes a step back.

Scorpius braces one hand on the table and tries to catch his breath as his father watches him. "What did you do? What were you doing?"

The older man seems less severe than he had a moment before. There is genuine regret in his gaze as he looks at him. "Forgive me - Legilimency was something I never had the precise touch for, but I needed to try."

"See what?" Scorpius asks harshly. He doesn't understand what just happened.

Draco's hand rises as if he wants to reach out to him, but he catches himself. "Your memories are in there, Scorpius. I could see them, lingering beneath the protection that the potion put in place. I believe they will return in time, but I will continue work on the next draft as we agreed."

"What does it do?" Scorpius asks. "Did...you know I was going to do this?" He doesn't recognize the sharp angle that his father's face is tilted at. He feels he should, and that there is something that he should know from just seeing it.

Draco sighs, and hands him a vial. It's small, containing a thread of silver floating in the crystalline liquid. "You may wish to ask Rose about this. I must return to your mother." He moves to leave as soon as the vial is in Scorpius's hand.

"Wait," he says, catching the sleeve of his father's robe. Draco turns to him, one slim eyebrow slightly raised. "Is…Mother all right?"

Draco carefully pulls Scorpius's from his sleeve and squeezes his hand tightly. His thin smile twitches into existence for a moment before vanishing again. His palms are cool, but reassuring. "It is the first time she's been sick since we've married. I am only…fretting."

Scorpius doesn't have to know his father to hear the unsaid 'I hope'. He squeezes his father's hand in return, and they part ways, Draco insisting he doesn't need to be shown out and that Scorpius should go find his wife.

He eventually finds Rose in the workshop behind the house, where she carefully puts together brooms for something she calls 'Quidditch'. On the desk she has a broom dismantled, the twigs and shaft to one side. She is working on a piece of metal, writing symbols on it with the beechwood rod she carries with her.

He taps on the door with one knuckle, not wanting to startle her. Rose hums, writing a few more symbols, before setting down the rod and turning to look at him. "Have a minute?" Scorpius asks, starting to think he should have left her to her work.

"Sure," she says and rises from the chair. With a wave of her hand, the pieces of the broom whizz around in the air for a moment, before settling in an open case on the drawers against the wall. The case's cover snaps shut and locks. "I was just modifying the levitation charms. Did your father drop by, yet?"

"Yes," Scorpius nods, and takes her hand as she draws near to him. "He left, but I'm to ask you what to do with this." He hands her the vial, or tries to, but she seems to recognize it on sight.

"Is it yours?" She asks, and leads him back to the house.

Scorpius shrugs, "He didn't say. …Rose, is there something wrong with my mother?"

Rose pauses and looks at him, a sweet sadness on her face. "She was injured in an accident. She's learning to walk again…slowly."

He hurts at hearing this new information, but the ache is old, and he gets the impression his mother's been this way for some time. "My father said she was sick."

"I don't think he wants to face that she's disabled," Rose admits quietly. They walk closely down the path leading to the house. Scorpius drops her hand and slides an arm around her shoulders.

"For now," he murmurs, and looks at the vial in his free hand. She sighs and he changes the subject. "What is this, Rose?"

Her arm presses reassuringly against his back, and she tells him, "A memory."

-

They drop together into the inky water, chasing after the silver piece of the past. Rose holds him tightly, and he clings back, not enjoying this particular display of magic. The fall and twist, and then with a sharp turn, land on their feet, in the middle of a room slowly being built by the shadowy water. The silver streak flashes through everything, holding it together, until Scorpius and Rose are standing in the workshop where Rose builds her brooms.

Scorpius releases his grip on Rose and approaches the figure sitting at the unlit desk. "Hello?"

"It's a memory, love," Rose says softly. She follows after him. "You can only watch."

"Is it mine?" Scorpius asks, and moves so he can see the person's face - he doesn't recognize the woman, but her expression is twisted in pain. "Who is this?"

"Galia," says a man, and Scorpius turns to see himself as he is walking into the shop, dressed in a white robe with the sleeve rolled to the elbow. "There you are - I was told you were waiting in the study."

Galia grimaces and pivots in the chair to face him. She plays with a curly strand of her hair while speaking. "I apologize, Scorpius. I just…" She looks longingly at the long leather cases on the wall. "I haven't touched a broom in so long, and…" She stops speaking, shaking her head in embarrassment. "How long until I can fly again?"

Scorpius watches his memory-self's impassive face and tries to remember this happening. He only ends up feeling overwhelmed with remorse.

"Stand, please," Scorpius says.

The woman shakes her head, almost desperately, "Scorpius, I just want to-"

"Then stand, Galia." Memory-Scorpius crosses his arms over his chest, relentless. "It is a simple request."

"You know I bloody well can't!" She cries, flinging an arm out. "But I don't need to stand to fly, do I? Why won't you sign off on the health form?"

"Simply, because you are not healthy," Scorpius says. He moves over to the woman, his expression begging her to understand. "Because you cannot be strapped to a broom, and because you are a chaser and you need the use of your legs."

"If they don't work," Galia says viciously, "Then I don't need them."

Scorpius rests his hand beside hers on the table. "They will work, but in time. You need to be patient."

"No," Galia says harshly. "You need to understand, Scorpius, that I fly for the Harpies. I'm no use to them in rehab, and 'it'll come back, eventually' isn't going to cut it! Just fix my bloody legs!"

"I'm trying!" Scorpius exclaims. Tension and nervous energy suddenly presents and he moves away from her instead of gripping her by the shoulders. "God, I am trying to, but it takes time to undo the 'quick fix' that your game medic placed on you - magic like that sinks into your body and holds it together while you push through the game. It twists you up, and any magic that grips you like that can't easily be reversed." He looks back at her, genuine, awful regret in his eyes. "I swear to you, I am doing what I can."

Galia bites back a frustrated noise and nods silently. "It's not enough."

The workshop mists and sinks away, and Scorpius prepares to be pulled out of the pensieve, but Rose's hand on his arm draws his attention.

"I should show you something else," She says, and using the beechwood rod, she extracts a strand of silver from the side of her temple. It expands around them, swallowing them in mist, before shooting out to fill the swirling waters.

Drapes fall from out of nowhere, and furniture rises from the floor, until they are standing in a bedroom at night, and the only light around them is from the lit fireplace by the door. Rose leads Scorpius to the bedside, where the memory versions of themselves are curled tightly together beneath the blankets, whispering to each other.

"I know I don't always make sense, Rose," Scorpius says quickly, as if he wants to tell her everything before forgetting even a minor detail, "But I'll try to say it right. Rehabilitation after a devastating magical incident is crippling - we're so used to thinking that we can fix everything with magic that when magic becomes the thing holding us back, we are at a loss at what to do."

"I don't mean to lag behind on your epiphany," Rose murmurs, "But what part of that are you trying to fix? Getting past magic, which is more into wandwork than potions, I believe, or easing the emotional impact of rehabilitation? There's already therapy for that sort of thing - and potions for that as well. This isn't a new project, love."

Scorpius shakes his head, and rethinks how to explain where his thoughts are taking him. "What if…you were able to have a potion that could counteract the effects of magical-wounds, while at the same time easing the emotional stresses placed on the mind?"

Rose hums to herself for a moment, thinking. As she does this, she draws little swirls down Scorpius's neck. His hands close over hers, because he's honestly trying to focus. She smiles and stops, because despite her playing, she wants to hear what he has to say. "Do you have something drafted that will counteract magical wounds? Magic leaves marks on everything- as far as I know, there's no eraser for magic, Scorpius."

"Pretend you have a piece of parchment," Scorpius holds their hands up between them, as if holding a scroll. "You've written something on the parchment-"

"Like a naughty letter to my husband?" Rose winks.

He makes an exasperated sound, "Sure, yes. If you want, it can be a letter-"

"Naughty letter."

"- A naughty letter to me. Rose, please, just let me talk about this, and then you're welcome to let me in on the contents of your imaginary letter."

"Imaginary?"

There is a pause where Scorpius is completely distracted by this notion. Rose laughs and gives him a fleeting kiss before saying, "All right, I'm sorry. I have a piece of parchment and there's something written on it."

He presses his face into the pillow and sighs, before turning back to her again. "Yes. As I was saying, you have a piece of parchment and you've written something on it in ink. A glass of water is spilled on the parchment. The ink spreads, if it is ordinary ink. It remains as it was if it were magical ink."

"You want to find a water, so to say, that will remove the magical ink."

"I want to find a water that will remove the magical ink without leaving ripples in the parchment once it dries."

"Why not just find an eraser that will erase the magical ink?"

Scorpius smiles, moving forward to kiss her slowly. Her hands slide into his hair, and they press even closer together under the sheets. When he has pulled away, he murmurs, "Because in this metaphor, I deal in water, not in erasers."

The memory swirls away, led back into Rose's temple by the tip of her wand. When it is gone, she reaches out her hand to Scorpius, and they float back to the surface of the pensieve - something he enjoys more than chasing after memories.

Scorpius feels more himself when he opens his eyes, and leans away from the murky waters of the stone basin. Rose's shoulder is warm against his, and they stare at the pensieve for a moment.

"Your first draft of the potion stripped the test subject of all natural magic, and left the magical injury," Rose tells him flat out. He looks at her, somewhat horrified. "I won't say who. It was an accident, your father can attest to that - he was working on it with you."

"Oh god," Scorpius says anyway. He feels awful, even though he doesn't remember who it was. "The second draft?"

Rose rubs her hands over his arms, sympathetically. "Second draft spread the magical injury though the subject. It was the same subject as the first, and it corrected what when wrong with the first draft, thank Merlin."

He is starting to feel light headed, but Scorpius asks anyway, "Third draft?"

With a sad smile, Rose pats him on the cheek. "That's you, I'm afraid. No loss of magic, no spreading of the injury, but there is suppression of memory."

"I can't even help my father fix this," Scorpius murmurs weakly. "Everything I know about this, and potions, and even magic, is gone."

Rose holds him tightly, "Not gone, love. It'll come back."

Scorpius thinks of the Quidditch player, Galia, and the vague promise of 'eventually'.

-

Two weeks pass without any improvement in Scorpius's memory, and he spends the time reading books from their library and watching Rose work on her beloved brooms. She repairs some, but mostly works on her own models, none of which are named until completed.

"Things have a habit of producing personalities when you name them," Rose insists, when he asks. "I don't care what it is - you name it, and suddenly there are quirks. It's better left until the end."

Scorpius tries not to get in her way, but there's something familiar about taking things apart to repair and put them together again. He doesn't quite follow the magical workings of how everything is done, but the concepts are easier to grasp.

Another two weeks pass, and the days are leading into an early autumn. Scorpius, with a happiness that Rose was curious to learn about, welcomes the need to start wearing jumpers, and pulls them contently from the back of the closet each morning.

His father pays a visit one evening, when Scorpius and Rose are roasting things over a fire in a small cleared area around the side of the house. Scorpius feels ridiculous toasting bread with a stick, but Rose only laughs and tells him stories about her family's camping trips, and how her brother could always make the 'perfect marshmallow'.

Scorpius is trying to put out a marshmallow that has caught on fire when Draco approaches them. His father's coat is long, with a high collar propped up against the night's cool breeze. "Scorpius," he says when he draws close enough, and hands him a stout bottle. He nods over at Rose, and seems to ignore the remains their roasting fun. "Evening, Rose."

"Hello, Draco," Rose says in return. They aren't warm to each other, but Scorpius has learned that isn't quite the way of the family he was raised in. It's a great contrast to Rose's family, whose varying members has been over several times in the past few weeks.

"Should I drink this?" Scorpius asks, uncorking the vial so he can sniff at the contents. It smells sharp, and nutty, with something strange beneath it. It makes his head ache almost immediately, but it occurs to him that the ache may be a good sign.

"Please do," Draco says, and crouches down beside him. His wand - as Scorpius learned they were called - is already in the palm of his hand and he looks apprehensive. "A little at a time, Scorpius. I do not know how much you drank."

Carefully, Scorpius tips the bottle against his lips and lets the liquid slide down his throat. It tastes differently than it smells, but he faintly recognizes the taste from the day he suddenly found himself sitting in the bedroom.

The potion is kind, Scorpius thinks, and then finds the thought odd. It leaves coolness in this throat, and the tension in his body slips away. He is vaguely aware that someone is asking him questions, but the words don't seem to reach his ears. His vision blurs and then clears, and then a curious sort of sensation eases across his mind.

His first thought is spoken out loud, "What did you change, Father?" He remembers everything, because whatever was added to the potion has fixed the memory loss. Experimentally, Scorpius summons the used fire poker to him, and it snaps into the palm of his hand obediently.

Rose is already checking the curse scar on his arm, to find that is still there and hasn't spread, like it did when his mother drank the second draft.

The knowledge that it was his mother that drank the first and second drafts hits him hard, as if he were just hearing it for the first time. For nearly a month he was free of that guilt, and Rose and his father had shouldered it alone. "I'd forgotten," he gasped, as if winded. "Mother…"

That train of thought is interrupted by Rose punching him in the jaw. At first he wonders if it's to punish him for forgetting this mother and leaving them with the burden, but then he remembers that this is Rose. She is hitting him because he'd taken the third draft without discussing it with her.

"Ow, shit, Rose," Scorpius says, cradling his jaw with one hand.

Draco manages to look only faintly amused, "Language, Scorpius."

"If you ever pull that again," Rose threatens, coming alive with a fire that he knows she's been holding in since she found him in the bedroom, "I swear to Merlin, and every one of my uncles I will knock you back to when you had some element of sense. Have I made myself clear?"

"Vividly, yes," Scorpius says. He offers a flicker of a smile, which she ignores because she's still angry. The worst of it is over, though, and he knows she just needs to cool down. He turns his attention to his father. "What changes did you make?"

"Porcupine quills," Draco muses, before actually sitting down in the grass, "In addition to the jobberknoll feathers, of which I'm not quite sure why you placed in there in the first place."

"I was trying to distinguish between the natural magic of the body and the foreign magic of the wound. Combined with the reactions in the first two drafts in a third draft that had both effects, but were cancelled out by each other." Scorpius stared at the fire thoughtfully. "If porcupine quills neutralize the memory loss…"

"There will be time tomorrow to discuss this," Draco decides, and stands. He takes a moment to brush the dirt and grass from his coat, before looking down at them both. He smiles, a genuine smile, and the tips of his fingers graze the top of Scorpius's head. "Your mother will be relieved to hear you are all right."

Scorpius smiles back at him. He knows that when Draco speaks of how his mother will feel, what he really means is that it's how he feels. It is a relief to be able to understand his father again. "Please tell her I love her," he says, and the slight tilt of Draco's head indicates he knows the sentiment was meant for him too.

-

Rose is forward and honest, and that's what Scorpius loves about her. He understands how to speak to his parents, through the layers of meaning, subtext and messages, but he loves talking to Rose, who speaks her mind and doesn't make games out of words.

"I'm still angry with you," she says when he hints that he's cold, even under the sheets and covers of their bed. She stubbornly braids her long hair, as she does when the nights get chilly, and half-resists his attempts to get her to laugh.

"I know," Scorpius says, "But you were very kind to me when I couldn't remember."

"That’s because you wouldn't have believed I was your loving wife, if I had punched you in the eye." She crawls in beside him after putting out the candles with a single muttered spell. "I mean it about doing it again."

"Yes," Scorpius says, and curls his body around her. She doesn't protest, because it really is cold, and she's not really that angry at him anymore. "I'm sorry. I couldn't put my mother through another test."

Rose rolls over to face Scorpius, and presses her forehead against his chin. "There's a department at the Ministry that offers safe testing of potions and spells, you know."

"It takes months to apply for qualification," Scorpius replies, "And just as long to get results for potions trials. I wouldn't be able to observe the testing, either."

The instinctive feelings of his memory-less time paled in comparison to the real thing. He remembers feeling vaguely attracted to Rose, and vaguely in love with Rose. Lying in bed, touching her skin, listening to her breathe - these were simple things, but the attraction and affection were stronger than anything he'd felt while under the potion's amnesia. He made a mental note to discuss it with his father the next day.

He presses his lips against her hair and says, "I love you. I don't think I've said that recently."

Her slender arms slip around him and she burrows closer beneath the blankets. "No, you haven't. I wasn't sure you remembered you did."

"I remembered," he said, without expanding on the details. Scorpius shifted so he could see her face. Light brown eyes were already looking up at him. He smiled, and kissed her on both cheeks. "I didn't know my name, but I knew I didn't want you to worry. It hurt that you worried."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Rose mutters, but she's smiling while she says it. "You hate it when anyone worries. Worry hater."

"Now who's being ridiculous?" Scorpius laughs, and holds her tightly. "You know what you should remind me about?"

Rose looks faintly alarmed, "I thought you remembered everything."

"Yes," Scorpius admits, "But I rather enjoyed that memory you shared with me, even if I didn’t realize it at the time, and I'd love to be reminded of the things in that letter."

Rose swats him on the chest for giving her a scare, but the action is immediately followed by her hands slipping under his sleep shirt. She bites back a wicked grin and says, "You'll have to help me remember them all. I may forget."

"That's all right," Scorpius murmurs. "I'm sure it's still around here somewhere."

Fin.