The Mistakes We Make (PG) (1/2)
Title: The Mistakes We Make
Author: xxx-angelin-xxx
Prompt: 101
Summary: Rose was found washed ashore on an island in the Caribbean. And although she didn't have amnesia, that was the story she presented to the man who found her, Scorpius Malfoy. It was either that or risk arrest for something that she’d run away from back in London. She could hardly argue, therefore, when Scorpius slipped a gold band on her finger and delivered his own bold-faced lie - that she was married to him!
Rating: PG
Warnings: WARNINGS GO HERE
Word Count: 19.962
A/N: This is the first story I’ve written for a year - since last year’s ficafest, to be honest. It don’t think it’s my best (of course, you are to judge that), but I’ve enjoyed writing it a lot; it was a way for me to try new things and practice my character development and narrative techniques; a way to get back into writing. This wouldn’t have been possible without my wonderful betas, Tina and Faye, who supported me with their cheerleading, feedback and suggestions. Finally, I couldn’t not thank the wonderful mods of this fest, both for organizing it every year, but also for being so understanding and supportive with me and my inability to meet deadlines. Thank you all- I hope you’ll enjoy this story as much as I did.
“Rose? Rose!”
I force open my eyes, only to give in to my heavy lids and close them again. My head feels like it’s about to explode and opening my eyes to the right, blinding light of the sun did not help at all. All I want is to stay down until the horrible sensation wears off, but the voice that disturbed my peace calls my name once again.
“Rose? Are you alright? Come on, open your eyes. I know you can hear me!”
The voice is decidedly male. It’s too loud, too tense, too insistent and, for my injured head, too annoying. I sit up quickly and open my eyes, hoping to get rid of the nuisance as soon as possible. The moment I turn my head to look at him though, I realize the mistake in my abrupt movements: the world around me spins and, though I didn’t think it was possible, my head feels even worse than before. I grimace, trying to stay completely still till it passes.
“Dizzy?” the man asks. I nod, an action which pulls a groan from me. Every movement is even more painful than the last. He seems to understand how I’m feeling. He puts one hand behind my head, and the other at my shoulder, gently laying me down on my back.
I look up at the blue sky, and try to regain control over my senses. Several minutes pass and slowly, I begin to regain my composure. The sun doesn’t seem so horribly bright anymore and my ears have finally stopped ringing. I can now hear the unmistakable sound of waves, breaking on the shore somewhere nearby. Curious, I dig my fingers into the ground, feeling soft sand beneath them.
“Where… Where am I?” I’m surprised by my own voice as I speak; it’s weak and hoarse. The words come out with great difficulty. “What is this place?”
He snorts. “Come on, Rose! You know very well where you are. You picked the place yourself… Excellent choice, I must say…”
As he finishes his sentence, my mind begins to work again; I find myself facing the fact that I am quite a predicament, and not just physically. I know that voice. That arrogant, mocking to the point of venomous tone is unmistakable. I look at his face and my worst fears are confirmed. With terror I realise that the man I couldn’t identify mere moments ago was none other than Scorpius Malfoy - the most annoying man I’ve ever met and the last person I would ever expect to revive me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, if only to show how irritated I am with his presence here, wherever ‘here’ is. I ignore his raised eyebrow - that expression that so eloquently says that he doesn’t believe me - and take a deep breath, wishing it wasn’t so painful for me to think. What happened to me? I must have had an accident… Oh!
Just like that, the memories come back. I sit up and let my eyes wander over the beautiful landscape in front of me; the clearest sky I recall ever having seen, along with the bluest sea and a deserted beach of white sand. The scenery is quickly lost to me. Horrible images, words and ideas, burned into my mind, terrify me still; so much that I have to close my eyes tightly, deluding myself into thinking I can block them. Instinctively, I press my hand over my eyes, something I’ve done too often the past few months. It doesn’t surprise me to find that it still doesn’t help.
“Okay, I understand you’re confused. You should be after everything, but if you put your mind to work a bit harder you’ll remember everything. I’m sure of it.”
Scorpius appears to have taken my terror as a sign of annoyance with my lack of memory. Why else would he take on this soft, kind demeanor? He puts his hand on my shoulder, a gesture as awkward as it is insincere; he was never one to show sympathy so it’s quite obvious that he’s pretending, undoubtedly trying to get me warm up to him. I respond by staring blankly in his direction. I know where I am, I know what brought me here, I’ve remembered everything I need to, but there is one thing I still haven’t quite figured out: what is he doing here?
“Rose,” he says, obviously having lost his patience. “You need to focus, alright? It’s very important.” My response is to continue to look at him blankly, an act which enrages him. He grabs my shoulder, turning me to look directly into my eyes. “You must remember; you must tell me everything you know.”
The way he insists, the way he presses me for more… I fear that he knows more than I thought. What if he isn’t here by accident? What if he was sent here? For me. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought and I feel his hands apply even more pressure on me. I realize that, subconsciously, I’ve been trying to trying to release myself from his grip.
“Rose…” he warns me.
“Let me go!”
“Rose!” he insists.
“I don’t know anything!” I shout, tears starting to fall from my eyes. He lets go of me, practically pushing me away like he’s being holding onto a burning iron. The words left my mouth impulsively; I’ve denied everything like a child being scolded for a broken marmalade jar and yet he persists. Why? Could he be one of them? He’s asking all the right questions, like he knows what I’m involved in. But if he is one of them… why I am still alive?
I’m hyperventilating. Soon my breaths turn to sobs and I hide my face in my hands. What if my mind is still playing games with me? It’s an unreasonable thought to consider Scorpius Malfoy a criminal, or worse, a killer. Sure, I never liked the boy, but lately I’ve proven that my judgment is not to be trusted. Then again, if he’s not one of them, what is he doing here? What does he want? A sigh escapes me; I can’t be sure until I visit a hospital and have my head examined.
For the next minute or so, my sobs, the waves and the buzzing of some bug are the only audible sounds. Eventually Scorpius turns back to me, surprising me by the sight he presents: the hard lines of his face have softened, replaced by an odd expression of fear and confusion.
“Rose…” he begins hesitantly, “Do you mean you don’t remember anything? Anything at all?”
What the… oh! He thinks… he thinks I’ve lost my memory. Well, that’s not a bad idea… not bad at all. His purpose appears to be to learn what I know, so he won’t try to hurt me until I talk. If I pretend not to remember anything, I’ll be able to buy some time to see if I’m right about him, or even better, escape. The fact that I’m even able to form a simple plan, when minutes ago I was delirious, surprises me and makes me wonder if I’ve missed something, but I nod anyway, allowing now fake tears to escape my eyes.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks, obviously struggling to keep his voice calm.
“You don’t understand…” I say, so low it comes out as a whisper. “It’s not just this place or you…” I choke out. “It’s like my whole life has disappeared… All I know is that my name is Rose, and that’s just because you keep repeating it!”
Abruptly, he gets up. It seems that the news of my condition has upset him: I watch his shoulders move as he breathes. I try to read into his body language; He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, but that doesn’t tell me very much: what I take as fear could be anger, what I believe to be concern for me could be concern for himself, for his mission. We spend another moment in silence, a silence he breaks by exclaiming: “Good Lord, help me!”
“Who will help me?” I cry weakly, hoping my voice sounds as small as I wish I could let myself feel. I sniffle and wipe away some tears to add to the effect.
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” I hear him laugh bitterly, before sitting back down in front of me. “Your name is Rose Weasley, daughter to Hermione Weasley, née Granger, and Ronald Weasley. You’re 22 years old and you live in a loft in Central London.” He rambles on, rattling off the most pertinent facts of my life like he’s reading my résumé. It’s quite entertaining to listen to, actually. “You work as a journalist for the Daily Prophet one of the top newspapers in…”
I raise my eyebrow, wondering what made him stop. He appears troubled; a deep frown has appeared on his features, his fingers tapping the sand nervously. Taking a deep breath, he reaches behind his back and shows me his wand. Oh, that. Crap. “Do you know what this is?”
I wish I knew something about amnesia, even a little something. Is it possible for one to remember this little detail, when they’ve forgotten everything else? Could I take such a risk?
“A wooden stick?” I go for the safest option. Denying magic means denying who I am, but I cannot risk it. My own wand was broken a while ago, so I believe I can manage to live without it a little longer. Plus, it would be tremendously entertaining to watch him try to explain why he’s showing me a wooden stick.
“Right,” he agrees, biting his lower lip. Another thing I never thought I’d see. “I was just making sure you remember the basics.” He seems to think for a while, before adding: “And checking your eyesight. In case your head injury affected it.”
I nod to show my understanding and watch as he pretends to carelessly throw the ‘wooden stick’ away, but I know he’s still holding it. Conjuring tricks were my cousin Albus’ favorite game; obviously he’s passed some of that knowledge to his best friend. I lose myself with this thought as it brings back memories of better times. I go so far away that I cannot tell for sure how long it’s been since either of us last spoke. A cold sensation makes its way through me and brings me back to reality with a start. There’s no reason for me to feel cold in this place. I clear my throat, push some tangled strands of hair behind my ear and ask him: “The accident… What happened?”
He takes a deep breath and gives me a look that says I have to be strong because he’s going to tell me something horrible. “We’re on Antigua, an island in the Caribbean Sea. We rented a boat to get to one of its many secluded beaches, but the weather wasn’t on our side… The weather took a turn for the worst and our boat overturned. You hit your head in the process and I brought you to shore.”
I must admit that this man has a vivid imagination. If I could applaud, I would. Unfortunately, his story has a little plot hole: the fact that I’m mess and he’s not. I don’t need a mirror to realize I must be looking hideous: my face is red, my eyes are puffy from tears, my hair is a mess of uncontrollable auburn curls sticking out in every direction, my muggle clothes are drenched and there’s sand clinging to the skin between my toes. He, on the other hand, appears untouched; his hair is perfectly in place, his shirt completely dry, his trousers’ pleat still perfect… odd choice in clothing for day at the beach, for vacations in general.
“I suppose I should thank you…” I let my sentence trail off, hoping he’ll finish it off himself by answering the only two questions I have: who he is and what he’s doing here with me?
“Scorpius,” he introduces himself. He doesn’t seem eager to continue. In fact, he has taken his eyes away from me, obviously thinking of what to say next. Perhaps he’ll present himself as someone I met here and we’ll get rid of each other’s nuisance soon. I’ll have to keep my eyes open; I doubt he’ll give up so soon, but at least it-
My trail of thought is interrupted as he takes my hand in his. He begins to say something but it turns into a sigh as I instinctively pull my hand away. For a moment, I fear I’ve given myself up, but then I realize this isn’t the case: it would make sense for me to pull away since he’s supposed to be a complete stranger to me. We spend a while looking at each other - he, uncertain; I, curious and slightly insulted - until, with another sigh, he gets up again.
“Rose…” he repeats, and I don’t have the time to register to the pain in his voice, because what he says next blows my mind completely. I could never imagine that the following two little sentences could have so much power over me, but they do. They scare me more than anything else in my life, and given the turn it has taken lately, that’s a lot. For what has to be the first time ever, I doubt myself; I wonder if I’m really suffer from amnesia or if I’m just crazy. If all these horrible memories I have are real or if they’re just figments of my awful imagination.
“I’m your husband. We’re here on our honeymoon.”
His words hit me like bullets. Horrified, I look down at my right hand: a gold wedding band shines on my ring finger.
*
He sits with his head buried between his hands; the perfect image of a desperate husband. I take a peek at him, before turning back to the sight of the setting sun. There’s nothing I hate more than the state of mind I am in now: the agonizing doubt, the numbness, the inability to think clearly. I’ve felt it in the past: every time I reached a dead end, after every all-nighter over books and papers, but never like this. Never so strongly.
I spent the day at the local hospital, going through several tests, seeing one doctor after the other. Eventually, someone was kind enough to inform us, me and Scorpius, who didn’t leave my side for a moment, that though it hurt, my head wasn’t seriously injured. The doctor suggested I rest for the next couple of days, just in case. As for my ‘amnesia,’ he said that they couldn’t do anything: there wasn’t any physical damage to my brain, so the problem is most possibly psychological. In any case, he recommended I should visit a psychologist; as an expert, he ought to know better why my mind had blocked most of my memories.
It was obvious that this man didn’t know anything more about memory loss than I do. What’s there to know, really? I’ve always thought the human mind was a mystery to both man and science, and apparently I was right. The ring at my finger is the proof for that. Can it be? Is it possible that I have really lost my memory?
During the day, I had plenty of time to think about my predicament. If I’m indeed suffering from amnesia, it could only be limited to the past few years; to the fact that after Hogwarts I didn’t lead a lonely life, focused on my career, but found myself a boyfriend on the face of my academic nemesis, and eventually married him. I don’t have a reason to doubt anything else; it’s only the last 2 years that are tested based on Scorpius’ words.
During the day I had ample time to think about my predicament. I came to the conclusion that if I am, in fact, suffering from amnesia, I could only have lost the last few years of my life. That after Hogwarts I didn’t lead a lonely life, focusing on my career. Instead, I found a boyfriend in my academic nemesis and married him. The last two years are a blur, memories I try to conjure up seem faded. Could I be Mrs. Scorpius Malfoy?
His story, his reality makes so much more sense than mine. The life I remember is a horror story, most probably taken out of one of those old muggle action films I love so much. What Scorpius has told me is more realistic, more in-character for the kind of girl I am: perfect attendance record and grades, a bookworm, the family’s pride and joy. How could that girl be acquainted with criminals and smugglers?
I know the answer, of course. I had a lot of time to look back and think lately, so I’ve made my criticism. I was a foolish girl, always craving adventure. I ended up risking my life because I thought too high of my abilities. But I can’t tell whether all these memories are real or not. What if I wasn’t brave enough? What if it was all a dream, a theory inside my mind, a story I’ve covered for the Prophet that, after a knock to the head, came back to haunt me? I, myself, said that the human mind is a mystery… What if it’s able to create an illusion like that after an injury?
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t believe him. Now, though, there’s evidence supporting his version: the ring, my clothes in the wardrobe of this room, the fact that my ID is here when I thought I’d burned it a while ago. The more I think about it, the more I believe Scorpius. It seems that I have lost the past 2 or 3 years of my life in some dark corner of my mind and replaced them with fantasies of a girl caught up in a dangerous situation. Even though this seems like the most likely explanation, l can’t shake away the feeling of impending doom.
If only I could speak to someone: a Healer, an Unspeakable, a trustworthy friend with a clearer mind than mine… I sigh, knowing that I can’t. I don’t feel like telling Scorpius the truth yet and there’s no way I’ll return to London. I’ve done everything to get away from that city. Once again, all I’ll have to count on is myself and this time I’m not so certain my mind will lead me down the right path.
The day’s events are eating me up from within - I need some air.
I sit up, ready to head to the balcony, when Scorpius raises his head. He looks very concerned, at least I think it’s concern, with his messy hair, his tired eyes, his face flushed with color. It’s another very unnatural sight for me who have always considered him to be the most controlled - and cold - person I know, so I stand still and wait for him to talk.
“Do you want to go out? For a walk or some dinner, if you’re hungry…”
His suggestion finds me unprepared, but I have to admit that it’s a good idea. “I’d like some air, yes. I’m not sure if I’m fit for a walk, though…”
“We can walk through the hotel’s garden,” he offers. “And then go for dinner. Would you like that?”
I nod. “Can I have a shower first?”
“Of course.”
The shower is rejuvenating; it doesn't clear my mind, but it makes me feel refreshed. I pick out a pair of clean shorts and a t-shirt, without bothering whether they'd be appropriate for dinner in a hotel that looks this expensive. I have more important things to worry about and, in any case, what I see in the mirror pleases me, especially my hair, which has finally calmed down. Scorpius is waiting for me on the balcony, staring out at the dark sky. He’s still wearing the same clothes as before, and I can’t help but wonder why I’m the only one who was affected from our accident this morning. I’m too tired to think about that, so I just knock the window glass lightly, and he turns to look at me. "Ready?" he asks, and I nod.
The hotel's garden is beautiful in the dim light of the night, I can only imagine how much better it would be in the morning. I lose myself in its beauty, memorizing its turns, fountains and architecture, trying my best to keep unpleasant thoughts out of my mind. Eventually, I tell Scorpius I'm tired, so we head towards the dining room. I’m not being entirely honest though: the walk hasn't exhausted me, but the silence has.
The first half of our dinner passes like that as well, but now I have nothing to keep my mind from wondering. Unpleasant thoughts come again, and I can't help but wonder if I could perhaps ask Scorpius for some information - anything that might help me sort this out. For what has to be the first time after we've left the room, I take a look at him. He's staring at his food like I did, and seems uncomfortable, pushing his salad from one side of the plate to the other.
"Scorpius?" He looks up immediately. "I was wondering if you could tell me about our life together..."
It takes him a moment, an awfully long moment in my opinion, before he replies, "What do you want to know?"
"Anything," I reply at once, the desperation at my voice doesn’t come across as fake as I'd like it to be.
He shakes his head in apprehension. "I'll tell you how we first met," he offers, and I take it. I'd take anything he's willing to give, even though I'm quite certain I know how the story goes. "It was our first week in… school." I almost smile at how he was about to say Hogwarts, but just like he did, I stop myself. "Albus and I had just become friends. We were both… outsiders, let's say. We were in class, our second… Chemistry class of the year and Albus told me that his family wouldn't take our friendship well, especially his uncle Ron. It didn't really bother me, but still… I was expecting some hostile looks. And then, there you were, passing in front of our desk to go to yours. No hostile looks, only a smile and a greeting. Easy to say, you made an impression."
In spite of myself, I laugh. I remember that day as well, though not that particular moment. It meant nothing to me: a smile and a greeting to your cousin who just happened to pick Malfoy as his best friend. I didn't have anything against the boy, despite my father's warnings and advice. He appeared to be a quiet kid, but everything changed during that lesson…
"So we became friends?" I ask innocently.
He shakes his head negatively and smiles. "The lesson began, and Professor Addleton asked some questions to see what we’d remembered from the previous week. You, being you, raised your hand to every one of them. I think you might have answered one or two correctly. I was a lot shyer than you and a boy so I didn't even bother. And then you made a mistake. I felt so bad for you at the moment; you went blood red and you seemed ready to cry,” he pauses, like he’s bringing the memory back in his head. “Anyway, Addleton asked again and no one else raised a hand. So I raised mine and I knew the right answer. I think you hated me just then."
"I didn't hate you!" I protest. "I mean, it's impossible to hate someone just because they answered a question correctly which you couldn’t. Am I that bad?"
He smirks a bit before answering me: "I don't know. All I know is that from that day onwards you took it upon you to beat me in every test. You were very competitive!" Another small smile appears at the corner of his lips as he adds: "And of course, I took the challenge."
I smile as well. I never would gave guessed Malfoy had such a talent for story-telling. The way he narrated this little incident of our early Hogwarts years, however, made me think of him differently, like a kinder, warmer version of him was sitting in front of me. The competitive relationship we had didn’t exactly allow me to like him back at school. I certainly respected him and his academic abilities and I admired the fact that he chose to use his mind to achieve things at an age when most boys prefer to play Quiddich or play silly pranks. Still, his snarky, sarcastic attitude annoyed me.
It’s true that I’ve never hated him though. I just didn’t like to be challenged, not in the way he challenged me in front of the entire class that day. I thought of that incident as the most embarrassing moment of my young life. So I took it upon myself, as he had guessed, to show him that I was better than this, better than him. Loaded with the predisposition I got from my father’s words in the platform:
Don’t get too friendly with him, Rosie. Make sure you beat him in every test.
To be completely honest, I think that I just never bothered with him. I’ve never cared enough to get to know him as a person; not in Hogwarts, it would just hurt my already wounded pride, and most certainly not afterwards, when he became an arrogant Ministry employee. Actually, in the past 4 years, I’ve rarely seen him and each time I have, he seemed to me even more disagreeable than before. Now, however, judging solely from this little story, he seems very likeable. It makes me wonder…
“What are you thinking about?” his voice - not as warm as before - brings me back to reality.
“I was just wondering how I went from hating you to marrying you…” I admit, hoping that perhaps this story is going to enlighten me.
“Oh, that story!” he exclaims a bit too excitedly. “It’s no big deal, really. It seems that we didn’t really hate each other, after all. In our sixth… junior, in our junior year, I’ve finally worked the courage to ask you out. We’ve been together ever since.”
Quite suddenly, I’m struck by how clear my mind is. As he finishes his story - if I can call this a story - the pieces are starting to fall into place, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I can see now how easy it is for Scorpius Malfoy to lie. With his characteristics and attitude, he gives people the impression of an uncommunicative man who talks charily, saying only what is absolutely necessary. When he needs to lie, he only says a few curt sentences and no one can tell how uncomfortable he really feels. But now I can. I’ve heard him tell the truth and I’ve heard him lie, it’s like listening to two different men. The first Scorpius is kind and open-hearted. The second is the person I’ve thought him to be all along.
The important thing is I’m not crazy after all. I’ve been played. I can’t feel relieved. I can’t feel anything, really.
“Shall I be insulted that the story of how we met is ‘no big deal’?” I joke eventually, but my voice comes out weakly.
He appears to take it as concern about our relationship. “I didn’t mean this,” he hurries to correct himself. “We’re happy together, Rose,” he adds to reassure me, undoubtedly.
His words are the last straw after a day of great emotional conflict. They make me want to yell, to flip the table over and, then, to cry hysterically. I see now that if one of us has serious issues and it’s not me. What kind of man lies to a woman who appears to have lost her memory? What kind of human being, really, takes advantage of a person in this kind of situation? And even though I don't really have amnesia, he led me to believe I had lost my mind; he made me think I was insane. I have no idea what he hopes to gain by saying we're married. I don't even know how he managed to make his lie so believable. But I'm going to find out. I have the upper hand now. I know he’s lying. He still believes I’m telling the truth.
With all these thoughts running through my mind, I lean across the table and towards him, wearing my most seductive smile. “I only want to know one more thing…” I whisper, fighting not laugh cruelly with the way he leans back just a little bit. “Who’s Albus?”
I don’t know what his game is. But whatever it is, it’s on.
*
When we return to the room, he offers me the bed mumbling something about not wanting to make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t pay much attention to what he says or does. I just kick my shoes away and collapse onto the mattress, hoping that this is one of the days when I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.
I’m wrong, of course. There’s nothing I crave as much as rest, exhausted as I am from everything I’ve been through, drained from the sea and the sun, overwhelmed by today’s confusion but sleep doesn’t come. For what seems like hours I roll from side to side, listening to Scorpius’ light snore while I, myself, am being tormented by unpleasant thoughts. It’s not the first time this is happening to me, but I’m certain it’s the worst.
What have I gotten myself into? That is the most insistent question in my mind; a question asked many times the past few months but never as urgently as now. Like a bunch of Wizarding England’s most notorious criminals coming after me weren’t enough, I had to get myself involved with this lunatic, someone who plays with my mind and claims to be my husband. What does he hope to gain with that? There are many better and less uncomfortable excuses he could use to be near me: he could say he’s my friend, my colleague, my brother, even my lover. Saying we’re married, though… it’s just too much unnecessary trouble. What if it somehow works for him? What if he’s not part of the organization like I’ve originally thought, he’s just someone who needs a wife to present to a distant uncle, perhaps, to inherit a small fortune?
That’s it. I’m officially out of control. I need to rest. For my sanity’s sake.
I roll around on the bed for a while longer, but sleep still doesn’t come. I have successfully managed to push all these questions away from my mind, because I know there’s no way I’ll find answers tonight. What concerns me now is the very simple question of what am to do next? A question I should have asked myself much earlier, considering that I’m in a life-or-death situation. I should have listened to Uncle Harry more carefully when he was giving his how-to-be-an-auror lecture.
Every time I reach a dead end, I wonder what my mother would do. But not this time. I picture her in front of me, glaring at me over her glasses, her expression disappointed and judgmental. Then I think of my father, frowning by her side, wondering why I even bother, laughing with the journalist in me. If it were him, he wouldn’t even bother about Malfoy. He’d simply call him crazy, swear under his breath and ignore him, going on with his original plan. I’ve always considered that angle a bit tactless. Not this time, though. Following Dad’s - hypothetical - advice can save me so much trouble.
And that’s how I come to my decision. I’ll run away.
*
“I want to swim!” the little fat girl shouts for what has to be the tenth time since I got here. I let my book down and gaze at the scene the family under a nearby umbrella presents: the father busy with his mobile, the mother absorbed in her magazine, inflatable toys thrown around them and the child, not older than 5, stomping her feet, insisting her wish be granted.
“I don’t care,” the mother replies in a blank tone, without even bothering to look at her daughter.
“But Mom… why?”
“Because you ate two hot dogs and an ice-cream,” she reminds her, matter-of-factly. “If you swim, you’ll drown.”
The girl’s reply is to cry loudly - with fake tears, I might add. I wish I had my wand with me, so I could block them out… or, perhaps, teach them a lesson. I don’t though, and I have no idea where Scorpius keeps his. He most probably hasn’t brought it with him down here in case poor-girl-who-has-no-idea-what-it-is, a.k.a. me, finds it and causes an accident.
I take a look at my ‘dear husband’; after finishing what had to be twenty laps in the pool, he’s sitting comfortably in his chair, enjoying his breakfast and his newspaper, untouched by the girl’s loud cries. He always was a bit insensitive, but this time he’s taken it too far. And I'm not referring to the noise.
“What are you frowning about?” His voice makes me jump - he looked so absorbed in whatever it was that he could find interesting in a Muggle newspaper that I didn’t think he was paying attention to me as well. Apparently, I have to be more careful; he seems to always look out for me.
“Frowning?” I wonder. I don’t think I was frowning; I was most probably glaring at him, but whatever…
“Yes. Rather scarily, if I might add.” So he has noticed.
“I didn’t realize it…”
He nods and turns to look at me, eyebrow raised.
“That family over there,” I admit eventually. “My parents would never let me scream in public like that.”
“Oh, Rose,” he begins in a tone that makes me feel he’s about to make fun of me. “My parents would never let me eat that much at 10 o’clock in the morning!”
The fact that he’s joking - not mocking me as I’ve originally thought - makes me smile. He looks at me amused for a moment, before turning to them. He grows serious immediately. “Rose…” he says. “I know these people.”
Well, that’s unexpected. Does it mean that these people are part of his trick? Am I finally going to find out a bit more about him? The honest surprise on his face tells me I might be wrong. Perhaps it’s revelation time…
“Do I know them?” I say eventually. It’s better than saying nothing and at least I can get some information out of him this way.
He looks at me puzzled. “I guess- you must have met them at our wedding.”
I feel my eyebrows raise. “Really?”
“Yes. Dr. Higgery is a friend of my father’s.” The fact that he says the word “doctor” a bit too casually for someone who has grown up away from anything Muggle doesn’t escape me. Only yesterday he had trouble talking about school without making a mistake, and now he sounds very cool and certain. It appears someone has been doing his homework.
“What kind of doctor?”
I seem to have caught him here, because he doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he looks at the man’s direction skeptically. “I have no idea,” he admits when he turns back to me. “I’m not the kind of person who pays much attention to details.” Aren’t you now? “You can ask him, though; he’s coming over.”
I look over to see that the man has in fact gotten up, and is walking towards us, a big smile on his face. I really don’t know what to make of that. It’s more of a wait-and-see situation, and those are definitely not my favorites.
“Scorpius!” the man exclaims when he reaches us, offering him his hand. He shakes it with a grin. “Hello, Dr. Higgery. How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you child.” By the time he turns to look at me, I’m already up and smiling as well, clasping my hands together to avoid any uncomfortable fidgeting. “And if this isn’t Mrs. Malfoy!” It takes all I have not to laugh at that. “You get prettier every time I see you, Rose,” he compliments me as he shakes my hand.
I relax my facial muscles, hoping my smile hasn’t turned into a grimace. “Thank you.”
Scorpius must have realized how uneasy I am, because he speaks again: “Rose and I were just talking about how cute your daughter is.” Of course, he had to say the craziest thing possible. You can’t compliment someone on their child, when said child has been screaming for the past hour! They’ll know you lied.
Dr. Higgery grins happily though. “Oh, Maggie? She’s a little sweetheart!” I fight the urge to roll my eyes, by taking a sip from my juice. This is the exact kind of social situation I can’t stand. Especially now that I know it’s fake. “Of course, she has her devilish moments, but she can be so adorable when she wants to. All children are like that; you two are going to find out when you have your own.”
I choke on my juice and spit it back into my glass. I never thought these things happened unintentionally, but apparently I was wrong. I keep my face down for a while, the glass still on my mouth, hoping that they haven’t noticed my reaction.
My wish doesn’t come true though, but that doesn’t surprise me, lately none of my wishes have been granted. I can tell by the way Scorpius says: “It’s quite early to discuss children.” It’s formal and sounds quite forced, and I can imagine the stern expression his face must have taken. I look up, only to find Dr. Higgery smiling apologetically at me.
“So,” I say just to change the topic, “what kind of doctor are you, sir? I was asking Scorpius, but he failed to remember.”
Scorpius glares at me as he mutters under his breath: “Yeah, we both do lately.”
“I’m a psychologist,” Dr. Higgery answers, ignoring him. The moment the words leave his mouth, I realize I’ve fallen into the trap. I try to say something; anything just to stop what I know is to happen next. But Scorpius is faster than me.
“A psychologist? Oh, dear lord, that’s such a blessing!”
I’m left speechless because of two reasons: first, Scorpius Malfoy appealing to God. Second, the relief in his voice. It’s just so genuine. And I have no idea why and under which scenario he’d ever care so much about me.
“Why? What happened?” Dr. Higgery asks, a bit surprised.
“Rose, here, she…” he stops to breathe, like he’s been talking for hours when he only said three words. He smiles, swallows hard and continues. “She had a horrible accident, she hit her head and…” he pauses again, this time biting his lip. I’m left to stare at him, thinking that all this would be really amusing if it didn’t happen on my expense. “She doesn’t remember anything, Doctor. And I can’t take her back to London, because it has just happened and these doctors said she needs rest, first. You’ve got to help her.”
“Oh, my dear child,” Dr. Higgery immediately replies, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of me. “This must be horrible for you!”
I take my eyes from Scorpius and look into the older man’s. I really don’t know what to say or do. I suppose I should play my part, but I can’t. I just can’t do this anymore.
“Excuse me.” I get up and leave.
*
He finds me sitting at our room’s balcony a while later. I can’t see him, but I can hear him, as he pulls a chair and sits next to me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a soft whisper. I don’t reply- for so many reasons, but mostly because I don’t trust myself to speak without bursting in tears.
He sighs. “I’m sorry I told Dr. Higgery about you. He says it might have bothered you, because you need time to accept that something’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I instinctively answer.
“I know, I didn’t mean…” He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t finish the sentence. “Look, he told me some very interesting things about amnesia. He says that since you know how to speak or read, there are things you remember. Not memories, per se,” he hurries to correct himself after the deadly look I throw at him, “but instinctively you still know who you are; what kind of person you are. That’s why you remember how your parents raised you, but can’t really remember them.”
“What?”
“Before, when we were discussing Dr. Higgery’s daughter… You said your parents would never let you scream in public. You don’t even notice it, but it’s true. That’s why he says you most probably acted like that, before.”
I don’t listen to anymore of what he says, although I know I should- he’s giving me some important information on memory loss. I just can’t. All I think about is how I almost gave myself in at breakfast; without even understanding it. And, of course, he noticed.
My decision from last night comes again. It was an impulse of the moment, a plan I didn’t pay much attention to, tired as I was. As it comes back to me now, I know I have to do it if I want to keep myself safe. I don’t know what Malfoy wants from me, but I’m not sure I want to find out anymore. Whatever it is, it seems like a well-organized scheme. And I had my fair share of those.
“For Christ’s sake, Rose- just say something!” Scorpius exclaims, turning my chair towards him. He stops and calms himself, I must look really scared, and speaks in a much lower voice: “Look, I know you’re upset that I told him, but I had to! Believe it or not, it’s very important for me to get you home safe!”
Once again, I’m at loss of words. His hair is messy, his expression desperate, his words seem honest but what does he want?
Before I can say anything, before I can even decide what to do next, he speaks again: “Maybe we should go back to London.”
I freeze. I can’t go there- I won’t. “But the doctor… he said I’m not to travel,” I manage to mumble.
“Yes, but still. I think it’d be better for you to be in a familiar environment. See your family…”
“No,” I interrupt him a bit too abruptly. In London, everyone knows who I am. In London, I can’t hide. In London, I’ll die within the hour. He’s looking at me suspiciously, so I pull myself together. “I won’t do this to you.”
It’s his turn to be speechless. “Ehh...what?” he falters.
“It’s unfair for you,” I repeat more certainly, taking his hand in mine. He looks down at it, surprised, before looking back at me. “We’re on a honeymoon.” I force a smile. “We’re going to appreciate this island for another week and you’re going to tell me all about me- all about us- and perhaps I will remember. After all, we can always take Dr. Higgery’s advice, correct?”
“Yes, but…” he looks up at me, like he sees me for the first time. “You’d do that for me?”
No, not for you. I’d do it for my husband, though, if I live long enough to get married. Hesitantly, I place a hand, the one that’s not holding his, at the side of his face, and smile. “I’d do anything for the people I love.”
I can feel him swallowing hard, and he looks down avoiding my eyes. I let my hand fall back to my lap, before speaking again: “Now, what time did Dr. Higgery say that he can see me?”
“Late in the afternoon,” he mutters as he looks up at me, appearing a bit more focused than before. “His wife will take Maggie to the park, so…”
“Lovely.” I grin and get up. “Would you like go out, then? See the city?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, I’d love to.”
*
It’s the first time in quite a while that I wake up peacefully. I’m not sweaty or scared and I feel rejuvenated. It’s truly a blessing. I yawn and sit up, trying to familiarize myself with my surroundings. And then it comes to me: Antigua, Malfoy and the doctor.
Surprisingly though, I don’t worry about any of that. No, this time I let myself think about what I’ve done. What I’ve gotten myself into. And I finally see myself and my actions clearly.
You know how in action stories they say that the hero is either very brave or a fool? Well, I’m not brave. Not even a little bit. The Sorting Hat knew what it was doing when it didn’t place me in Gryffindor. Now, however, I seriously doubt its choice to sort me into Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw ought to know better. A Ravenclaw wouldn’t end up like this.
I can easily blame my parents and say it was the way they raised me, always giving me what I wanted, always congratulating me. They made me feel like I was special and that if I wanted to, I could do something great. But what kind of person would blame their parents for trying to make them happy? They only wanted me to have a good childhood. No, it’s my fault. Only mine.
I’ve been a fool. It’s true, even though it hurts to admit it. I’ve been vain and I’ve been arrogant and I’ve caused all this trouble myself. When I became a journalist, I expected feature articles and front pages. All I got was a little weekly column, relaying information from the Auror Department.
It was hardly a job for a journalist. Anyone could have done that, even a child. ‘Patience, Rose. Patience.’ They told me. But patience was a virtue I had never possessed. That’s why when I heard my uncle talk about a network of smugglers who had ties in Gringotts and the Ministry; I decided I had to do something about it.
It was the first time I had ever showed an interest in one of Dad and Uncle Harry’s work stories. It surprised everyone, but they thought I was just being nice. The Aurors in the family were very excited, of course, and so they started talking. They told me everything I needed to know and I didn’t even have to ask twice.
That’s how I learned about the missing artifacts: pieces that had gotten lost on the way from Gringotts to the Department of Magical Equipment Control. There were only two at the time: a ring and a cauldron. The powers of the objects were unknown, which was why the story hadn’t made it to the press yet. But they feared there would be more losses. They didn’t know much, the Aurors only had one name. The rest had only been assumptions, but from what they told me they were expecting the syndicate to strike again. I told myself that they’d need someone in the press to investigate.
Orson Montgomery. It wasn’t a name I found easily. It took me a month and many close calls but, one day, Dad brought the right file home. After that, it was surprisingly easy: all I had to do was flirt with him at a bar and moan about how much I hated my job. I told him I was looking forward to do something more… exciting. He believed me; mainly because I was a Weasley.
No one would have thought that this surname would be the key to criminal success. It was, though, because it’s easy to take the wrong turn when everyone expects you to succeed. Mistakes aren’t allowed when your parents are war heroes and your whole life is planned for you before you’re even born. Orson understood that, because he too had felt the pressure that high expectations can have on a child. He came from a very rich muggle family who expected him to take over the family business when he grew up. As you can imagine, they were disappointed when he received the envelope with the trademark green letters.
He introduced me to his partner, a man he called “Jonny”. I never learned his real name. As I got more involved with them, I’d get more information: a name here and there, a target, a position. But they never asked for anything from me and so they never gave me anything really important. Until that fateful day, almost a week ago, when they asked me to bury whatever the Auror Department released about them.
I still remember how scared I was when I walked out of Jonny’s house that night. I was close to breaking the case, so I decided to stay behind and watch the entrance and run surveillance. What a stupid idea! I was so excited; I didn’t realize my mistake at the time. I finally had an official’s name and that meant I had my story. Mister Zacharias Smith, head of the Department of Magical Equipment Control. I had a photo of him walking into Jonny’s house to seal the deal.
Silly, silly me! I sent the story to the Prophet that very night. I slept like a baby afterwards, unaware that it was the last good night’s sleep I’d have for a while. I remember how surprised I was when, the following day, I went to work and instead of credit for an awesome job, I got a list of errands. I looked at the list and I froze; the previous night a painting was supposed to mysteriously “disappear”, but there was nothing about it in any press release from the Ministry that morning. I didn’t understand why yet, but I was terrified. I had a feeling that everything had gone horribly wrong.
I wasn’t after trouble. All I wanted was to show everyone what a great investigative reporter I was. I see now that what I truly wanted was to become famous overnight. I wanted too much, too soon. And I’ve learned the hard way that it doesn’t work that way.
“Hey you!” I feel the bed shift behind me as Scorpius sits down on it. “You’re up.” Words that friends could’ve exchanged are spoken so formally, they sound odd to me. I turn to look at him and I see that I’m not wrong; he’s composed himself after this morning’s incident and looks cold and rigid again.
“I was a bit tired,” I reply, honestly. After our conversation at the balcony, he excused himself to shower and I dozed off while waiting for him. “How long was I asleep?”
“7 hours. You didn’t sleep well last night,” he says and though it’s not a question, I deny it.
“No, I slept fine. I guess I’m still tired from our little adventure.” It’s a lie he can’t argue easily so he nods and looks away from me. “Sorry we didn’t go for that walk.” It takes him a while to understand what I’m talking about and when he does, he smiles.
“Don’t worry about that. We can still go later if you want to.” That was exactly what I wanted him to say. “After you see Dr. Higgery, that is.” I had forgotten about that. I nod, unsure of what else to say to avoid it. Just then, at the exact right moment, when the silence has fallen and there’s nothing else for us to say, someone knocks the door. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at how well they’ve planned this.
Scorpius opens the door and greets the doctor kindly, thanking him once again for taking time out of his holidays to help us. I simply nod in his direction. The fact that I’ve finally slept doesn’t mean that I’m ready to stand any more of this nonsense.
“Rose, I’ll be right outside, okay?” Scorpius tells me like he’s talking to a child.
Don’t worry I’m not going to throw a tantrum with you out of the room. Quite the opposite, actually.
“Okay.” I give him the most reassuring smile I am able to conjure.
Scorpius leaves and Dr. Higgery sits in the armchair next to the bed. “So tell me, Rose…” he begins. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” I’m quick to answer, perhaps a bit too quick.
He pulls the corner of his lips up in what has to be a smile. “You’re not completely honest, are you, dear?”
I fight hard to keep my face expressionless and to continue to look at him straight in the eye. “I am honest.”
He sighs then and as he does that, he doesn’t look so threatening anymore. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s try this: I’ll ask you some questions and you’ll answer.”
I decide that it’d be better to go along with it and do as he says. It’s not just because I don’t know if he’s really a doctor, he could be an actor Malfoy paid to soothe me or an actual Healer, an expert in memory loss, someone who can figure out if I’m lying or not. What scares me most is that I know somewhere, under that large summer shirt, he has his wand.
“Rose?” I turn my attention back to him and nod my reply. He smiles. “Do you remember your name?”
“No.”
“Your job?”
“No.”
“Your husband, then? Or some family members?”
“No.”
“Do you remember how to read?” I open my mouth to ask him why being able to read matters, but he continues. “How to write? How to use a fork? How to get dressed on your own or how to behave?”
“I do, but…” I’m unable to get another word out before he interrupts me once again.
“Then, you haven’t forgotten everything; your mind isn’t stuck in some childhood memory or wiped clean.” For some reason, this last statement makes me think that he’s talking about the memory charm.
“That’s good, right?”
“In a way, yes. It also means that something happened to you; that you had some kind of traumatic experience and that’s why your mind blocked your memories.” He stops like he expects me to say something, but all I do is look at him blankly. I wonder how much he’s going to reveal about my past; how much he knows.
“Something happened to you in London, Rose. Something terrible. That’s why you don’t want to go back there.”
“What?”
“Scorpius told me you’d rather stay here for a while more than return. Your excuse wasn’t a very good one,” he points out and I have to take a deep breath, silently cursing myself for thinking Scorpius believed me in the morning. He just looked so… convinced, to say the least. “You have a bad feeling about London, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Rose…” he warns, “Didn’t we agree to be honest with each other?”
Honest? I want to chuckle but I can’t. Instead, I look at him straight in the eye and say: “Nothing bad could have happened in London.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because if anything had happened, Scorpius would know and he would tell me.” My certainty surprises even myself, even though I have to fight hard for my voice not to shake. I thought I understood Scorpius. Once again, I was wrong.
Higgery looks at me for a while longer, before nodding. “You’re right. In any case, I’d recommend you to stay at a familiar environment with people you know. And you should talk about your life more often. It’s the only treatment we have in such cases…” As he gets up to leave, he mutters something to himself, in a voice for me too low to hear. All I catch is “the kindest treatment, that is” It’s enough to terrify me.
I don’t have any time to show my discomfort as he moves closer to me, extending his hand. I get up and shake it, smiling. “I’ll consider your advice, Doctor.”
“Excellent!” He smiles back at me and turns to leave but stops midways. “Scorpius also tells me you don’t want to call your parents…”
My parents? You’re lucky I don’t want to call them. If I do, your little scheme will be over. “I don’t want to trouble them.”
“Won’t they be troubled by you not calling?”
“I’m on my honeymoon, Dr. Higgery. Calls are the last thing my parents would expect.”
He chuckles. “Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon, then.”
I watch him leave, thinking about how his words sounded more of a threat than a wish.
PART 2
Author: xxx-angelin-xxx
Prompt: 101
Summary: Rose was found washed ashore on an island in the Caribbean. And although she didn't have amnesia, that was the story she presented to the man who found her, Scorpius Malfoy. It was either that or risk arrest for something that she’d run away from back in London. She could hardly argue, therefore, when Scorpius slipped a gold band on her finger and delivered his own bold-faced lie - that she was married to him!
Rating: PG
Warnings: WARNINGS GO HERE
Word Count: 19.962
A/N: This is the first story I’ve written for a year - since last year’s ficafest, to be honest. It don’t think it’s my best (of course, you are to judge that), but I’ve enjoyed writing it a lot; it was a way for me to try new things and practice my character development and narrative techniques; a way to get back into writing. This wouldn’t have been possible without my wonderful betas, Tina and Faye, who supported me with their cheerleading, feedback and suggestions. Finally, I couldn’t not thank the wonderful mods of this fest, both for organizing it every year, but also for being so understanding and supportive with me and my inability to meet deadlines. Thank you all- I hope you’ll enjoy this story as much as I did.
“Rose? Rose!”
I force open my eyes, only to give in to my heavy lids and close them again. My head feels like it’s about to explode and opening my eyes to the right, blinding light of the sun did not help at all. All I want is to stay down until the horrible sensation wears off, but the voice that disturbed my peace calls my name once again.
“Rose? Are you alright? Come on, open your eyes. I know you can hear me!”
The voice is decidedly male. It’s too loud, too tense, too insistent and, for my injured head, too annoying. I sit up quickly and open my eyes, hoping to get rid of the nuisance as soon as possible. The moment I turn my head to look at him though, I realize the mistake in my abrupt movements: the world around me spins and, though I didn’t think it was possible, my head feels even worse than before. I grimace, trying to stay completely still till it passes.
“Dizzy?” the man asks. I nod, an action which pulls a groan from me. Every movement is even more painful than the last. He seems to understand how I’m feeling. He puts one hand behind my head, and the other at my shoulder, gently laying me down on my back.
I look up at the blue sky, and try to regain control over my senses. Several minutes pass and slowly, I begin to regain my composure. The sun doesn’t seem so horribly bright anymore and my ears have finally stopped ringing. I can now hear the unmistakable sound of waves, breaking on the shore somewhere nearby. Curious, I dig my fingers into the ground, feeling soft sand beneath them.
“Where… Where am I?” I’m surprised by my own voice as I speak; it’s weak and hoarse. The words come out with great difficulty. “What is this place?”
He snorts. “Come on, Rose! You know very well where you are. You picked the place yourself… Excellent choice, I must say…”
As he finishes his sentence, my mind begins to work again; I find myself facing the fact that I am quite a predicament, and not just physically. I know that voice. That arrogant, mocking to the point of venomous tone is unmistakable. I look at his face and my worst fears are confirmed. With terror I realise that the man I couldn’t identify mere moments ago was none other than Scorpius Malfoy - the most annoying man I’ve ever met and the last person I would ever expect to revive me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, if only to show how irritated I am with his presence here, wherever ‘here’ is. I ignore his raised eyebrow - that expression that so eloquently says that he doesn’t believe me - and take a deep breath, wishing it wasn’t so painful for me to think. What happened to me? I must have had an accident… Oh!
Just like that, the memories come back. I sit up and let my eyes wander over the beautiful landscape in front of me; the clearest sky I recall ever having seen, along with the bluest sea and a deserted beach of white sand. The scenery is quickly lost to me. Horrible images, words and ideas, burned into my mind, terrify me still; so much that I have to close my eyes tightly, deluding myself into thinking I can block them. Instinctively, I press my hand over my eyes, something I’ve done too often the past few months. It doesn’t surprise me to find that it still doesn’t help.
“Okay, I understand you’re confused. You should be after everything, but if you put your mind to work a bit harder you’ll remember everything. I’m sure of it.”
Scorpius appears to have taken my terror as a sign of annoyance with my lack of memory. Why else would he take on this soft, kind demeanor? He puts his hand on my shoulder, a gesture as awkward as it is insincere; he was never one to show sympathy so it’s quite obvious that he’s pretending, undoubtedly trying to get me warm up to him. I respond by staring blankly in his direction. I know where I am, I know what brought me here, I’ve remembered everything I need to, but there is one thing I still haven’t quite figured out: what is he doing here?
“Rose,” he says, obviously having lost his patience. “You need to focus, alright? It’s very important.” My response is to continue to look at him blankly, an act which enrages him. He grabs my shoulder, turning me to look directly into my eyes. “You must remember; you must tell me everything you know.”
The way he insists, the way he presses me for more… I fear that he knows more than I thought. What if he isn’t here by accident? What if he was sent here? For me. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought and I feel his hands apply even more pressure on me. I realize that, subconsciously, I’ve been trying to trying to release myself from his grip.
“Rose…” he warns me.
“Let me go!”
“Rose!” he insists.
“I don’t know anything!” I shout, tears starting to fall from my eyes. He lets go of me, practically pushing me away like he’s being holding onto a burning iron. The words left my mouth impulsively; I’ve denied everything like a child being scolded for a broken marmalade jar and yet he persists. Why? Could he be one of them? He’s asking all the right questions, like he knows what I’m involved in. But if he is one of them… why I am still alive?
I’m hyperventilating. Soon my breaths turn to sobs and I hide my face in my hands. What if my mind is still playing games with me? It’s an unreasonable thought to consider Scorpius Malfoy a criminal, or worse, a killer. Sure, I never liked the boy, but lately I’ve proven that my judgment is not to be trusted. Then again, if he’s not one of them, what is he doing here? What does he want? A sigh escapes me; I can’t be sure until I visit a hospital and have my head examined.
For the next minute or so, my sobs, the waves and the buzzing of some bug are the only audible sounds. Eventually Scorpius turns back to me, surprising me by the sight he presents: the hard lines of his face have softened, replaced by an odd expression of fear and confusion.
“Rose…” he begins hesitantly, “Do you mean you don’t remember anything? Anything at all?”
What the… oh! He thinks… he thinks I’ve lost my memory. Well, that’s not a bad idea… not bad at all. His purpose appears to be to learn what I know, so he won’t try to hurt me until I talk. If I pretend not to remember anything, I’ll be able to buy some time to see if I’m right about him, or even better, escape. The fact that I’m even able to form a simple plan, when minutes ago I was delirious, surprises me and makes me wonder if I’ve missed something, but I nod anyway, allowing now fake tears to escape my eyes.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks, obviously struggling to keep his voice calm.
“You don’t understand…” I say, so low it comes out as a whisper. “It’s not just this place or you…” I choke out. “It’s like my whole life has disappeared… All I know is that my name is Rose, and that’s just because you keep repeating it!”
Abruptly, he gets up. It seems that the news of my condition has upset him: I watch his shoulders move as he breathes. I try to read into his body language; He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, but that doesn’t tell me very much: what I take as fear could be anger, what I believe to be concern for me could be concern for himself, for his mission. We spend another moment in silence, a silence he breaks by exclaiming: “Good Lord, help me!”
“Who will help me?” I cry weakly, hoping my voice sounds as small as I wish I could let myself feel. I sniffle and wipe away some tears to add to the effect.
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” I hear him laugh bitterly, before sitting back down in front of me. “Your name is Rose Weasley, daughter to Hermione Weasley, née Granger, and Ronald Weasley. You’re 22 years old and you live in a loft in Central London.” He rambles on, rattling off the most pertinent facts of my life like he’s reading my résumé. It’s quite entertaining to listen to, actually. “You work as a journalist for the Daily Prophet one of the top newspapers in…”
I raise my eyebrow, wondering what made him stop. He appears troubled; a deep frown has appeared on his features, his fingers tapping the sand nervously. Taking a deep breath, he reaches behind his back and shows me his wand. Oh, that. Crap. “Do you know what this is?”
I wish I knew something about amnesia, even a little something. Is it possible for one to remember this little detail, when they’ve forgotten everything else? Could I take such a risk?
“A wooden stick?” I go for the safest option. Denying magic means denying who I am, but I cannot risk it. My own wand was broken a while ago, so I believe I can manage to live without it a little longer. Plus, it would be tremendously entertaining to watch him try to explain why he’s showing me a wooden stick.
“Right,” he agrees, biting his lower lip. Another thing I never thought I’d see. “I was just making sure you remember the basics.” He seems to think for a while, before adding: “And checking your eyesight. In case your head injury affected it.”
I nod to show my understanding and watch as he pretends to carelessly throw the ‘wooden stick’ away, but I know he’s still holding it. Conjuring tricks were my cousin Albus’ favorite game; obviously he’s passed some of that knowledge to his best friend. I lose myself with this thought as it brings back memories of better times. I go so far away that I cannot tell for sure how long it’s been since either of us last spoke. A cold sensation makes its way through me and brings me back to reality with a start. There’s no reason for me to feel cold in this place. I clear my throat, push some tangled strands of hair behind my ear and ask him: “The accident… What happened?”
He takes a deep breath and gives me a look that says I have to be strong because he’s going to tell me something horrible. “We’re on Antigua, an island in the Caribbean Sea. We rented a boat to get to one of its many secluded beaches, but the weather wasn’t on our side… The weather took a turn for the worst and our boat overturned. You hit your head in the process and I brought you to shore.”
I must admit that this man has a vivid imagination. If I could applaud, I would. Unfortunately, his story has a little plot hole: the fact that I’m mess and he’s not. I don’t need a mirror to realize I must be looking hideous: my face is red, my eyes are puffy from tears, my hair is a mess of uncontrollable auburn curls sticking out in every direction, my muggle clothes are drenched and there’s sand clinging to the skin between my toes. He, on the other hand, appears untouched; his hair is perfectly in place, his shirt completely dry, his trousers’ pleat still perfect… odd choice in clothing for day at the beach, for vacations in general.
“I suppose I should thank you…” I let my sentence trail off, hoping he’ll finish it off himself by answering the only two questions I have: who he is and what he’s doing here with me?
“Scorpius,” he introduces himself. He doesn’t seem eager to continue. In fact, he has taken his eyes away from me, obviously thinking of what to say next. Perhaps he’ll present himself as someone I met here and we’ll get rid of each other’s nuisance soon. I’ll have to keep my eyes open; I doubt he’ll give up so soon, but at least it-
My trail of thought is interrupted as he takes my hand in his. He begins to say something but it turns into a sigh as I instinctively pull my hand away. For a moment, I fear I’ve given myself up, but then I realize this isn’t the case: it would make sense for me to pull away since he’s supposed to be a complete stranger to me. We spend a while looking at each other - he, uncertain; I, curious and slightly insulted - until, with another sigh, he gets up again.
“Rose…” he repeats, and I don’t have the time to register to the pain in his voice, because what he says next blows my mind completely. I could never imagine that the following two little sentences could have so much power over me, but they do. They scare me more than anything else in my life, and given the turn it has taken lately, that’s a lot. For what has to be the first time ever, I doubt myself; I wonder if I’m really suffer from amnesia or if I’m just crazy. If all these horrible memories I have are real or if they’re just figments of my awful imagination.
“I’m your husband. We’re here on our honeymoon.”
His words hit me like bullets. Horrified, I look down at my right hand: a gold wedding band shines on my ring finger.
*
He sits with his head buried between his hands; the perfect image of a desperate husband. I take a peek at him, before turning back to the sight of the setting sun. There’s nothing I hate more than the state of mind I am in now: the agonizing doubt, the numbness, the inability to think clearly. I’ve felt it in the past: every time I reached a dead end, after every all-nighter over books and papers, but never like this. Never so strongly.
I spent the day at the local hospital, going through several tests, seeing one doctor after the other. Eventually, someone was kind enough to inform us, me and Scorpius, who didn’t leave my side for a moment, that though it hurt, my head wasn’t seriously injured. The doctor suggested I rest for the next couple of days, just in case. As for my ‘amnesia,’ he said that they couldn’t do anything: there wasn’t any physical damage to my brain, so the problem is most possibly psychological. In any case, he recommended I should visit a psychologist; as an expert, he ought to know better why my mind had blocked most of my memories.
It was obvious that this man didn’t know anything more about memory loss than I do. What’s there to know, really? I’ve always thought the human mind was a mystery to both man and science, and apparently I was right. The ring at my finger is the proof for that. Can it be? Is it possible that I have really lost my memory?
During the day, I had plenty of time to think about my predicament. If I’m indeed suffering from amnesia, it could only be limited to the past few years; to the fact that after Hogwarts I didn’t lead a lonely life, focused on my career, but found myself a boyfriend on the face of my academic nemesis, and eventually married him. I don’t have a reason to doubt anything else; it’s only the last 2 years that are tested based on Scorpius’ words.
During the day I had ample time to think about my predicament. I came to the conclusion that if I am, in fact, suffering from amnesia, I could only have lost the last few years of my life. That after Hogwarts I didn’t lead a lonely life, focusing on my career. Instead, I found a boyfriend in my academic nemesis and married him. The last two years are a blur, memories I try to conjure up seem faded. Could I be Mrs. Scorpius Malfoy?
His story, his reality makes so much more sense than mine. The life I remember is a horror story, most probably taken out of one of those old muggle action films I love so much. What Scorpius has told me is more realistic, more in-character for the kind of girl I am: perfect attendance record and grades, a bookworm, the family’s pride and joy. How could that girl be acquainted with criminals and smugglers?
I know the answer, of course. I had a lot of time to look back and think lately, so I’ve made my criticism. I was a foolish girl, always craving adventure. I ended up risking my life because I thought too high of my abilities. But I can’t tell whether all these memories are real or not. What if I wasn’t brave enough? What if it was all a dream, a theory inside my mind, a story I’ve covered for the Prophet that, after a knock to the head, came back to haunt me? I, myself, said that the human mind is a mystery… What if it’s able to create an illusion like that after an injury?
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t believe him. Now, though, there’s evidence supporting his version: the ring, my clothes in the wardrobe of this room, the fact that my ID is here when I thought I’d burned it a while ago. The more I think about it, the more I believe Scorpius. It seems that I have lost the past 2 or 3 years of my life in some dark corner of my mind and replaced them with fantasies of a girl caught up in a dangerous situation. Even though this seems like the most likely explanation, l can’t shake away the feeling of impending doom.
If only I could speak to someone: a Healer, an Unspeakable, a trustworthy friend with a clearer mind than mine… I sigh, knowing that I can’t. I don’t feel like telling Scorpius the truth yet and there’s no way I’ll return to London. I’ve done everything to get away from that city. Once again, all I’ll have to count on is myself and this time I’m not so certain my mind will lead me down the right path.
The day’s events are eating me up from within - I need some air.
I sit up, ready to head to the balcony, when Scorpius raises his head. He looks very concerned, at least I think it’s concern, with his messy hair, his tired eyes, his face flushed with color. It’s another very unnatural sight for me who have always considered him to be the most controlled - and cold - person I know, so I stand still and wait for him to talk.
“Do you want to go out? For a walk or some dinner, if you’re hungry…”
His suggestion finds me unprepared, but I have to admit that it’s a good idea. “I’d like some air, yes. I’m not sure if I’m fit for a walk, though…”
“We can walk through the hotel’s garden,” he offers. “And then go for dinner. Would you like that?”
I nod. “Can I have a shower first?”
“Of course.”
The shower is rejuvenating; it doesn't clear my mind, but it makes me feel refreshed. I pick out a pair of clean shorts and a t-shirt, without bothering whether they'd be appropriate for dinner in a hotel that looks this expensive. I have more important things to worry about and, in any case, what I see in the mirror pleases me, especially my hair, which has finally calmed down. Scorpius is waiting for me on the balcony, staring out at the dark sky. He’s still wearing the same clothes as before, and I can’t help but wonder why I’m the only one who was affected from our accident this morning. I’m too tired to think about that, so I just knock the window glass lightly, and he turns to look at me. "Ready?" he asks, and I nod.
The hotel's garden is beautiful in the dim light of the night, I can only imagine how much better it would be in the morning. I lose myself in its beauty, memorizing its turns, fountains and architecture, trying my best to keep unpleasant thoughts out of my mind. Eventually, I tell Scorpius I'm tired, so we head towards the dining room. I’m not being entirely honest though: the walk hasn't exhausted me, but the silence has.
The first half of our dinner passes like that as well, but now I have nothing to keep my mind from wondering. Unpleasant thoughts come again, and I can't help but wonder if I could perhaps ask Scorpius for some information - anything that might help me sort this out. For what has to be the first time after we've left the room, I take a look at him. He's staring at his food like I did, and seems uncomfortable, pushing his salad from one side of the plate to the other.
"Scorpius?" He looks up immediately. "I was wondering if you could tell me about our life together..."
It takes him a moment, an awfully long moment in my opinion, before he replies, "What do you want to know?"
"Anything," I reply at once, the desperation at my voice doesn’t come across as fake as I'd like it to be.
He shakes his head in apprehension. "I'll tell you how we first met," he offers, and I take it. I'd take anything he's willing to give, even though I'm quite certain I know how the story goes. "It was our first week in… school." I almost smile at how he was about to say Hogwarts, but just like he did, I stop myself. "Albus and I had just become friends. We were both… outsiders, let's say. We were in class, our second… Chemistry class of the year and Albus told me that his family wouldn't take our friendship well, especially his uncle Ron. It didn't really bother me, but still… I was expecting some hostile looks. And then, there you were, passing in front of our desk to go to yours. No hostile looks, only a smile and a greeting. Easy to say, you made an impression."
In spite of myself, I laugh. I remember that day as well, though not that particular moment. It meant nothing to me: a smile and a greeting to your cousin who just happened to pick Malfoy as his best friend. I didn't have anything against the boy, despite my father's warnings and advice. He appeared to be a quiet kid, but everything changed during that lesson…
"So we became friends?" I ask innocently.
He shakes his head negatively and smiles. "The lesson began, and Professor Addleton asked some questions to see what we’d remembered from the previous week. You, being you, raised your hand to every one of them. I think you might have answered one or two correctly. I was a lot shyer than you and a boy so I didn't even bother. And then you made a mistake. I felt so bad for you at the moment; you went blood red and you seemed ready to cry,” he pauses, like he’s bringing the memory back in his head. “Anyway, Addleton asked again and no one else raised a hand. So I raised mine and I knew the right answer. I think you hated me just then."
"I didn't hate you!" I protest. "I mean, it's impossible to hate someone just because they answered a question correctly which you couldn’t. Am I that bad?"
He smirks a bit before answering me: "I don't know. All I know is that from that day onwards you took it upon you to beat me in every test. You were very competitive!" Another small smile appears at the corner of his lips as he adds: "And of course, I took the challenge."
I smile as well. I never would gave guessed Malfoy had such a talent for story-telling. The way he narrated this little incident of our early Hogwarts years, however, made me think of him differently, like a kinder, warmer version of him was sitting in front of me. The competitive relationship we had didn’t exactly allow me to like him back at school. I certainly respected him and his academic abilities and I admired the fact that he chose to use his mind to achieve things at an age when most boys prefer to play Quiddich or play silly pranks. Still, his snarky, sarcastic attitude annoyed me.
It’s true that I’ve never hated him though. I just didn’t like to be challenged, not in the way he challenged me in front of the entire class that day. I thought of that incident as the most embarrassing moment of my young life. So I took it upon myself, as he had guessed, to show him that I was better than this, better than him. Loaded with the predisposition I got from my father’s words in the platform:
Don’t get too friendly with him, Rosie. Make sure you beat him in every test.
To be completely honest, I think that I just never bothered with him. I’ve never cared enough to get to know him as a person; not in Hogwarts, it would just hurt my already wounded pride, and most certainly not afterwards, when he became an arrogant Ministry employee. Actually, in the past 4 years, I’ve rarely seen him and each time I have, he seemed to me even more disagreeable than before. Now, however, judging solely from this little story, he seems very likeable. It makes me wonder…
“What are you thinking about?” his voice - not as warm as before - brings me back to reality.
“I was just wondering how I went from hating you to marrying you…” I admit, hoping that perhaps this story is going to enlighten me.
“Oh, that story!” he exclaims a bit too excitedly. “It’s no big deal, really. It seems that we didn’t really hate each other, after all. In our sixth… junior, in our junior year, I’ve finally worked the courage to ask you out. We’ve been together ever since.”
Quite suddenly, I’m struck by how clear my mind is. As he finishes his story - if I can call this a story - the pieces are starting to fall into place, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I can see now how easy it is for Scorpius Malfoy to lie. With his characteristics and attitude, he gives people the impression of an uncommunicative man who talks charily, saying only what is absolutely necessary. When he needs to lie, he only says a few curt sentences and no one can tell how uncomfortable he really feels. But now I can. I’ve heard him tell the truth and I’ve heard him lie, it’s like listening to two different men. The first Scorpius is kind and open-hearted. The second is the person I’ve thought him to be all along.
The important thing is I’m not crazy after all. I’ve been played. I can’t feel relieved. I can’t feel anything, really.
“Shall I be insulted that the story of how we met is ‘no big deal’?” I joke eventually, but my voice comes out weakly.
He appears to take it as concern about our relationship. “I didn’t mean this,” he hurries to correct himself. “We’re happy together, Rose,” he adds to reassure me, undoubtedly.
His words are the last straw after a day of great emotional conflict. They make me want to yell, to flip the table over and, then, to cry hysterically. I see now that if one of us has serious issues and it’s not me. What kind of man lies to a woman who appears to have lost her memory? What kind of human being, really, takes advantage of a person in this kind of situation? And even though I don't really have amnesia, he led me to believe I had lost my mind; he made me think I was insane. I have no idea what he hopes to gain by saying we're married. I don't even know how he managed to make his lie so believable. But I'm going to find out. I have the upper hand now. I know he’s lying. He still believes I’m telling the truth.
With all these thoughts running through my mind, I lean across the table and towards him, wearing my most seductive smile. “I only want to know one more thing…” I whisper, fighting not laugh cruelly with the way he leans back just a little bit. “Who’s Albus?”
I don’t know what his game is. But whatever it is, it’s on.
*
When we return to the room, he offers me the bed mumbling something about not wanting to make me feel uncomfortable. I don’t pay much attention to what he says or does. I just kick my shoes away and collapse onto the mattress, hoping that this is one of the days when I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.
I’m wrong, of course. There’s nothing I crave as much as rest, exhausted as I am from everything I’ve been through, drained from the sea and the sun, overwhelmed by today’s confusion but sleep doesn’t come. For what seems like hours I roll from side to side, listening to Scorpius’ light snore while I, myself, am being tormented by unpleasant thoughts. It’s not the first time this is happening to me, but I’m certain it’s the worst.
What have I gotten myself into? That is the most insistent question in my mind; a question asked many times the past few months but never as urgently as now. Like a bunch of Wizarding England’s most notorious criminals coming after me weren’t enough, I had to get myself involved with this lunatic, someone who plays with my mind and claims to be my husband. What does he hope to gain with that? There are many better and less uncomfortable excuses he could use to be near me: he could say he’s my friend, my colleague, my brother, even my lover. Saying we’re married, though… it’s just too much unnecessary trouble. What if it somehow works for him? What if he’s not part of the organization like I’ve originally thought, he’s just someone who needs a wife to present to a distant uncle, perhaps, to inherit a small fortune?
That’s it. I’m officially out of control. I need to rest. For my sanity’s sake.
I roll around on the bed for a while longer, but sleep still doesn’t come. I have successfully managed to push all these questions away from my mind, because I know there’s no way I’ll find answers tonight. What concerns me now is the very simple question of what am to do next? A question I should have asked myself much earlier, considering that I’m in a life-or-death situation. I should have listened to Uncle Harry more carefully when he was giving his how-to-be-an-auror lecture.
Every time I reach a dead end, I wonder what my mother would do. But not this time. I picture her in front of me, glaring at me over her glasses, her expression disappointed and judgmental. Then I think of my father, frowning by her side, wondering why I even bother, laughing with the journalist in me. If it were him, he wouldn’t even bother about Malfoy. He’d simply call him crazy, swear under his breath and ignore him, going on with his original plan. I’ve always considered that angle a bit tactless. Not this time, though. Following Dad’s - hypothetical - advice can save me so much trouble.
And that’s how I come to my decision. I’ll run away.
*
“I want to swim!” the little fat girl shouts for what has to be the tenth time since I got here. I let my book down and gaze at the scene the family under a nearby umbrella presents: the father busy with his mobile, the mother absorbed in her magazine, inflatable toys thrown around them and the child, not older than 5, stomping her feet, insisting her wish be granted.
“I don’t care,” the mother replies in a blank tone, without even bothering to look at her daughter.
“But Mom… why?”
“Because you ate two hot dogs and an ice-cream,” she reminds her, matter-of-factly. “If you swim, you’ll drown.”
The girl’s reply is to cry loudly - with fake tears, I might add. I wish I had my wand with me, so I could block them out… or, perhaps, teach them a lesson. I don’t though, and I have no idea where Scorpius keeps his. He most probably hasn’t brought it with him down here in case poor-girl-who-has-no-idea-what-it-is, a.k.a. me, finds it and causes an accident.
I take a look at my ‘dear husband’; after finishing what had to be twenty laps in the pool, he’s sitting comfortably in his chair, enjoying his breakfast and his newspaper, untouched by the girl’s loud cries. He always was a bit insensitive, but this time he’s taken it too far. And I'm not referring to the noise.
“What are you frowning about?” His voice makes me jump - he looked so absorbed in whatever it was that he could find interesting in a Muggle newspaper that I didn’t think he was paying attention to me as well. Apparently, I have to be more careful; he seems to always look out for me.
“Frowning?” I wonder. I don’t think I was frowning; I was most probably glaring at him, but whatever…
“Yes. Rather scarily, if I might add.” So he has noticed.
“I didn’t realize it…”
He nods and turns to look at me, eyebrow raised.
“That family over there,” I admit eventually. “My parents would never let me scream in public like that.”
“Oh, Rose,” he begins in a tone that makes me feel he’s about to make fun of me. “My parents would never let me eat that much at 10 o’clock in the morning!”
The fact that he’s joking - not mocking me as I’ve originally thought - makes me smile. He looks at me amused for a moment, before turning to them. He grows serious immediately. “Rose…” he says. “I know these people.”
Well, that’s unexpected. Does it mean that these people are part of his trick? Am I finally going to find out a bit more about him? The honest surprise on his face tells me I might be wrong. Perhaps it’s revelation time…
“Do I know them?” I say eventually. It’s better than saying nothing and at least I can get some information out of him this way.
He looks at me puzzled. “I guess- you must have met them at our wedding.”
I feel my eyebrows raise. “Really?”
“Yes. Dr. Higgery is a friend of my father’s.” The fact that he says the word “doctor” a bit too casually for someone who has grown up away from anything Muggle doesn’t escape me. Only yesterday he had trouble talking about school without making a mistake, and now he sounds very cool and certain. It appears someone has been doing his homework.
“What kind of doctor?”
I seem to have caught him here, because he doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he looks at the man’s direction skeptically. “I have no idea,” he admits when he turns back to me. “I’m not the kind of person who pays much attention to details.” Aren’t you now? “You can ask him, though; he’s coming over.”
I look over to see that the man has in fact gotten up, and is walking towards us, a big smile on his face. I really don’t know what to make of that. It’s more of a wait-and-see situation, and those are definitely not my favorites.
“Scorpius!” the man exclaims when he reaches us, offering him his hand. He shakes it with a grin. “Hello, Dr. Higgery. How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you child.” By the time he turns to look at me, I’m already up and smiling as well, clasping my hands together to avoid any uncomfortable fidgeting. “And if this isn’t Mrs. Malfoy!” It takes all I have not to laugh at that. “You get prettier every time I see you, Rose,” he compliments me as he shakes my hand.
I relax my facial muscles, hoping my smile hasn’t turned into a grimace. “Thank you.”
Scorpius must have realized how uneasy I am, because he speaks again: “Rose and I were just talking about how cute your daughter is.” Of course, he had to say the craziest thing possible. You can’t compliment someone on their child, when said child has been screaming for the past hour! They’ll know you lied.
Dr. Higgery grins happily though. “Oh, Maggie? She’s a little sweetheart!” I fight the urge to roll my eyes, by taking a sip from my juice. This is the exact kind of social situation I can’t stand. Especially now that I know it’s fake. “Of course, she has her devilish moments, but she can be so adorable when she wants to. All children are like that; you two are going to find out when you have your own.”
I choke on my juice and spit it back into my glass. I never thought these things happened unintentionally, but apparently I was wrong. I keep my face down for a while, the glass still on my mouth, hoping that they haven’t noticed my reaction.
My wish doesn’t come true though, but that doesn’t surprise me, lately none of my wishes have been granted. I can tell by the way Scorpius says: “It’s quite early to discuss children.” It’s formal and sounds quite forced, and I can imagine the stern expression his face must have taken. I look up, only to find Dr. Higgery smiling apologetically at me.
“So,” I say just to change the topic, “what kind of doctor are you, sir? I was asking Scorpius, but he failed to remember.”
Scorpius glares at me as he mutters under his breath: “Yeah, we both do lately.”
“I’m a psychologist,” Dr. Higgery answers, ignoring him. The moment the words leave his mouth, I realize I’ve fallen into the trap. I try to say something; anything just to stop what I know is to happen next. But Scorpius is faster than me.
“A psychologist? Oh, dear lord, that’s such a blessing!”
I’m left speechless because of two reasons: first, Scorpius Malfoy appealing to God. Second, the relief in his voice. It’s just so genuine. And I have no idea why and under which scenario he’d ever care so much about me.
“Why? What happened?” Dr. Higgery asks, a bit surprised.
“Rose, here, she…” he stops to breathe, like he’s been talking for hours when he only said three words. He smiles, swallows hard and continues. “She had a horrible accident, she hit her head and…” he pauses again, this time biting his lip. I’m left to stare at him, thinking that all this would be really amusing if it didn’t happen on my expense. “She doesn’t remember anything, Doctor. And I can’t take her back to London, because it has just happened and these doctors said she needs rest, first. You’ve got to help her.”
“Oh, my dear child,” Dr. Higgery immediately replies, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of me. “This must be horrible for you!”
I take my eyes from Scorpius and look into the older man’s. I really don’t know what to say or do. I suppose I should play my part, but I can’t. I just can’t do this anymore.
“Excuse me.” I get up and leave.
*
He finds me sitting at our room’s balcony a while later. I can’t see him, but I can hear him, as he pulls a chair and sits next to me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a soft whisper. I don’t reply- for so many reasons, but mostly because I don’t trust myself to speak without bursting in tears.
He sighs. “I’m sorry I told Dr. Higgery about you. He says it might have bothered you, because you need time to accept that something’s wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I instinctively answer.
“I know, I didn’t mean…” He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t finish the sentence. “Look, he told me some very interesting things about amnesia. He says that since you know how to speak or read, there are things you remember. Not memories, per se,” he hurries to correct himself after the deadly look I throw at him, “but instinctively you still know who you are; what kind of person you are. That’s why you remember how your parents raised you, but can’t really remember them.”
“What?”
“Before, when we were discussing Dr. Higgery’s daughter… You said your parents would never let you scream in public. You don’t even notice it, but it’s true. That’s why he says you most probably acted like that, before.”
I don’t listen to anymore of what he says, although I know I should- he’s giving me some important information on memory loss. I just can’t. All I think about is how I almost gave myself in at breakfast; without even understanding it. And, of course, he noticed.
My decision from last night comes again. It was an impulse of the moment, a plan I didn’t pay much attention to, tired as I was. As it comes back to me now, I know I have to do it if I want to keep myself safe. I don’t know what Malfoy wants from me, but I’m not sure I want to find out anymore. Whatever it is, it seems like a well-organized scheme. And I had my fair share of those.
“For Christ’s sake, Rose- just say something!” Scorpius exclaims, turning my chair towards him. He stops and calms himself, I must look really scared, and speaks in a much lower voice: “Look, I know you’re upset that I told him, but I had to! Believe it or not, it’s very important for me to get you home safe!”
Once again, I’m at loss of words. His hair is messy, his expression desperate, his words seem honest but what does he want?
Before I can say anything, before I can even decide what to do next, he speaks again: “Maybe we should go back to London.”
I freeze. I can’t go there- I won’t. “But the doctor… he said I’m not to travel,” I manage to mumble.
“Yes, but still. I think it’d be better for you to be in a familiar environment. See your family…”
“No,” I interrupt him a bit too abruptly. In London, everyone knows who I am. In London, I can’t hide. In London, I’ll die within the hour. He’s looking at me suspiciously, so I pull myself together. “I won’t do this to you.”
It’s his turn to be speechless. “Ehh...what?” he falters.
“It’s unfair for you,” I repeat more certainly, taking his hand in mine. He looks down at it, surprised, before looking back at me. “We’re on a honeymoon.” I force a smile. “We’re going to appreciate this island for another week and you’re going to tell me all about me- all about us- and perhaps I will remember. After all, we can always take Dr. Higgery’s advice, correct?”
“Yes, but…” he looks up at me, like he sees me for the first time. “You’d do that for me?”
No, not for you. I’d do it for my husband, though, if I live long enough to get married. Hesitantly, I place a hand, the one that’s not holding his, at the side of his face, and smile. “I’d do anything for the people I love.”
I can feel him swallowing hard, and he looks down avoiding my eyes. I let my hand fall back to my lap, before speaking again: “Now, what time did Dr. Higgery say that he can see me?”
“Late in the afternoon,” he mutters as he looks up at me, appearing a bit more focused than before. “His wife will take Maggie to the park, so…”
“Lovely.” I grin and get up. “Would you like go out, then? See the city?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, I’d love to.”
*
It’s the first time in quite a while that I wake up peacefully. I’m not sweaty or scared and I feel rejuvenated. It’s truly a blessing. I yawn and sit up, trying to familiarize myself with my surroundings. And then it comes to me: Antigua, Malfoy and the doctor.
Surprisingly though, I don’t worry about any of that. No, this time I let myself think about what I’ve done. What I’ve gotten myself into. And I finally see myself and my actions clearly.
You know how in action stories they say that the hero is either very brave or a fool? Well, I’m not brave. Not even a little bit. The Sorting Hat knew what it was doing when it didn’t place me in Gryffindor. Now, however, I seriously doubt its choice to sort me into Ravenclaw. A Ravenclaw ought to know better. A Ravenclaw wouldn’t end up like this.
I can easily blame my parents and say it was the way they raised me, always giving me what I wanted, always congratulating me. They made me feel like I was special and that if I wanted to, I could do something great. But what kind of person would blame their parents for trying to make them happy? They only wanted me to have a good childhood. No, it’s my fault. Only mine.
I’ve been a fool. It’s true, even though it hurts to admit it. I’ve been vain and I’ve been arrogant and I’ve caused all this trouble myself. When I became a journalist, I expected feature articles and front pages. All I got was a little weekly column, relaying information from the Auror Department.
It was hardly a job for a journalist. Anyone could have done that, even a child. ‘Patience, Rose. Patience.’ They told me. But patience was a virtue I had never possessed. That’s why when I heard my uncle talk about a network of smugglers who had ties in Gringotts and the Ministry; I decided I had to do something about it.
It was the first time I had ever showed an interest in one of Dad and Uncle Harry’s work stories. It surprised everyone, but they thought I was just being nice. The Aurors in the family were very excited, of course, and so they started talking. They told me everything I needed to know and I didn’t even have to ask twice.
That’s how I learned about the missing artifacts: pieces that had gotten lost on the way from Gringotts to the Department of Magical Equipment Control. There were only two at the time: a ring and a cauldron. The powers of the objects were unknown, which was why the story hadn’t made it to the press yet. But they feared there would be more losses. They didn’t know much, the Aurors only had one name. The rest had only been assumptions, but from what they told me they were expecting the syndicate to strike again. I told myself that they’d need someone in the press to investigate.
Orson Montgomery. It wasn’t a name I found easily. It took me a month and many close calls but, one day, Dad brought the right file home. After that, it was surprisingly easy: all I had to do was flirt with him at a bar and moan about how much I hated my job. I told him I was looking forward to do something more… exciting. He believed me; mainly because I was a Weasley.
No one would have thought that this surname would be the key to criminal success. It was, though, because it’s easy to take the wrong turn when everyone expects you to succeed. Mistakes aren’t allowed when your parents are war heroes and your whole life is planned for you before you’re even born. Orson understood that, because he too had felt the pressure that high expectations can have on a child. He came from a very rich muggle family who expected him to take over the family business when he grew up. As you can imagine, they were disappointed when he received the envelope with the trademark green letters.
He introduced me to his partner, a man he called “Jonny”. I never learned his real name. As I got more involved with them, I’d get more information: a name here and there, a target, a position. But they never asked for anything from me and so they never gave me anything really important. Until that fateful day, almost a week ago, when they asked me to bury whatever the Auror Department released about them.
I still remember how scared I was when I walked out of Jonny’s house that night. I was close to breaking the case, so I decided to stay behind and watch the entrance and run surveillance. What a stupid idea! I was so excited; I didn’t realize my mistake at the time. I finally had an official’s name and that meant I had my story. Mister Zacharias Smith, head of the Department of Magical Equipment Control. I had a photo of him walking into Jonny’s house to seal the deal.
Silly, silly me! I sent the story to the Prophet that very night. I slept like a baby afterwards, unaware that it was the last good night’s sleep I’d have for a while. I remember how surprised I was when, the following day, I went to work and instead of credit for an awesome job, I got a list of errands. I looked at the list and I froze; the previous night a painting was supposed to mysteriously “disappear”, but there was nothing about it in any press release from the Ministry that morning. I didn’t understand why yet, but I was terrified. I had a feeling that everything had gone horribly wrong.
I wasn’t after trouble. All I wanted was to show everyone what a great investigative reporter I was. I see now that what I truly wanted was to become famous overnight. I wanted too much, too soon. And I’ve learned the hard way that it doesn’t work that way.
“Hey you!” I feel the bed shift behind me as Scorpius sits down on it. “You’re up.” Words that friends could’ve exchanged are spoken so formally, they sound odd to me. I turn to look at him and I see that I’m not wrong; he’s composed himself after this morning’s incident and looks cold and rigid again.
“I was a bit tired,” I reply, honestly. After our conversation at the balcony, he excused himself to shower and I dozed off while waiting for him. “How long was I asleep?”
“7 hours. You didn’t sleep well last night,” he says and though it’s not a question, I deny it.
“No, I slept fine. I guess I’m still tired from our little adventure.” It’s a lie he can’t argue easily so he nods and looks away from me. “Sorry we didn’t go for that walk.” It takes him a while to understand what I’m talking about and when he does, he smiles.
“Don’t worry about that. We can still go later if you want to.” That was exactly what I wanted him to say. “After you see Dr. Higgery, that is.” I had forgotten about that. I nod, unsure of what else to say to avoid it. Just then, at the exact right moment, when the silence has fallen and there’s nothing else for us to say, someone knocks the door. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at how well they’ve planned this.
Scorpius opens the door and greets the doctor kindly, thanking him once again for taking time out of his holidays to help us. I simply nod in his direction. The fact that I’ve finally slept doesn’t mean that I’m ready to stand any more of this nonsense.
“Rose, I’ll be right outside, okay?” Scorpius tells me like he’s talking to a child.
Don’t worry I’m not going to throw a tantrum with you out of the room. Quite the opposite, actually.
“Okay.” I give him the most reassuring smile I am able to conjure.
Scorpius leaves and Dr. Higgery sits in the armchair next to the bed. “So tell me, Rose…” he begins. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” I’m quick to answer, perhaps a bit too quick.
He pulls the corner of his lips up in what has to be a smile. “You’re not completely honest, are you, dear?”
I fight hard to keep my face expressionless and to continue to look at him straight in the eye. “I am honest.”
He sighs then and as he does that, he doesn’t look so threatening anymore. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s try this: I’ll ask you some questions and you’ll answer.”
I decide that it’d be better to go along with it and do as he says. It’s not just because I don’t know if he’s really a doctor, he could be an actor Malfoy paid to soothe me or an actual Healer, an expert in memory loss, someone who can figure out if I’m lying or not. What scares me most is that I know somewhere, under that large summer shirt, he has his wand.
“Rose?” I turn my attention back to him and nod my reply. He smiles. “Do you remember your name?”
“No.”
“Your job?”
“No.”
“Your husband, then? Or some family members?”
“No.”
“Do you remember how to read?” I open my mouth to ask him why being able to read matters, but he continues. “How to write? How to use a fork? How to get dressed on your own or how to behave?”
“I do, but…” I’m unable to get another word out before he interrupts me once again.
“Then, you haven’t forgotten everything; your mind isn’t stuck in some childhood memory or wiped clean.” For some reason, this last statement makes me think that he’s talking about the memory charm.
“That’s good, right?”
“In a way, yes. It also means that something happened to you; that you had some kind of traumatic experience and that’s why your mind blocked your memories.” He stops like he expects me to say something, but all I do is look at him blankly. I wonder how much he’s going to reveal about my past; how much he knows.
“Something happened to you in London, Rose. Something terrible. That’s why you don’t want to go back there.”
“What?”
“Scorpius told me you’d rather stay here for a while more than return. Your excuse wasn’t a very good one,” he points out and I have to take a deep breath, silently cursing myself for thinking Scorpius believed me in the morning. He just looked so… convinced, to say the least. “You have a bad feeling about London, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Rose…” he warns, “Didn’t we agree to be honest with each other?”
Honest? I want to chuckle but I can’t. Instead, I look at him straight in the eye and say: “Nothing bad could have happened in London.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because if anything had happened, Scorpius would know and he would tell me.” My certainty surprises even myself, even though I have to fight hard for my voice not to shake. I thought I understood Scorpius. Once again, I was wrong.
Higgery looks at me for a while longer, before nodding. “You’re right. In any case, I’d recommend you to stay at a familiar environment with people you know. And you should talk about your life more often. It’s the only treatment we have in such cases…” As he gets up to leave, he mutters something to himself, in a voice for me too low to hear. All I catch is “the kindest treatment, that is” It’s enough to terrify me.
I don’t have any time to show my discomfort as he moves closer to me, extending his hand. I get up and shake it, smiling. “I’ll consider your advice, Doctor.”
“Excellent!” He smiles back at me and turns to leave but stops midways. “Scorpius also tells me you don’t want to call your parents…”
My parents? You’re lucky I don’t want to call them. If I do, your little scheme will be over. “I don’t want to trouble them.”
“Won’t they be troubled by you not calling?”
“I’m on my honeymoon, Dr. Higgery. Calls are the last thing my parents would expect.”
He chuckles. “Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon, then.”
I watch him leave, thinking about how his words sounded more of a threat than a wish.
PART 2