"Driftwood" - A Gift for roses_at_sunset

[a_smrw_gift]

Title: Driftwood
Author: butterfly_kate
Gift For: roses_at_sunset
Summary: If Rose has learnt one thing, it's that life doesn't turn out the way you thought it would when you were nineteen.
Rating: R
Warnings: Adultery, non-linear structure and as the rating suggests, sexual situations.
Word Count: 6,000
Lyrics/Quotes Used: I really need you tonight/Forever's going to start tonight/Once upon a time I was falling in love/But now I'm only falling apart. and 'But what about us?' 'We'll always have Paris.' 
A/N: This was really challenging to write but also a lot of fun.  I really hope it is something you'll enjoy, roses_at_sunset!  Thank you so much to my beta, who shall remain nameless for now, but really helped and got me out of a tight spot on this one. 


25.
It doesn't feel right.  It doesn't feel real.  It doesn't make sense, but Rose is wearing a wedding dress and the way her heart is pounding in her chest tells her that this is something she cannot change.  This is going to happen, now.  Married at twenty-five; too soon in her eyes, too late for her parents.

In the back of her mind she knows that this is a mistake.  She should not be looking for her ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend, as she's walking down the aisle, but she is.  Her eyes should be focused on the man she is now (somehow) marrying.

She catches Scorpius's eye and he smiles weakly.  Rose feels as though her heart is beating the words 'what if' over and over again.  She forces herself to look away, to fix her gaze on the man who will shortly become her husband.  Scorpius had his chance.

21.

'I should have known,' says Rose.  She takes one look at the scene before her - high heels in the air, clothes everywhere - then she turns on her heel.  Why had she even agreed to stay over at Malfoy Manor in the first place?  It was stupid; she could just as easily have gone home.  Even if she was a bit tipsy.

She hears movement in the room behind her, but she cannot bear to change her course, not now.  The sound of skin slapping against skin is deafening in her ears, even when it stops (the significance of which doesn't really occur to her).  She keeps on walking until one of her precious high heels catches on the grooves in the floor.  As she takes them off she hears more skin slapping - this time feet against stone.  Rose turns around to find her best friend Scorpius jogging down the hallway towards her in a pair of pinstripe trousers and nothing else.  He comes to a halt, gasping for breath.  Rose is glued to the spot.  Her toes are cold.  She should go.

'I'm not athletic,' Scorpius says after a few moments of silence.

'Really?' asks Rose.  'You looked like you were getting a work out back in the library.'

'I was … I didn't …'

Rose can do nothing but feel disappointed.  The old Scorpius would have had something better to say; she tells him so, then turns and continues on her path towards the nearest exit (if she can bloody find it).

'What do you mean “the old Scorpius”?' he asks, following close behind her.

'You know what I mean,' replies Rose, trying very hard to keep her eyes on where she's going and not look back at him.  She catches a glimpse in a candlelit mirror as they head on to the second floor landing and instantly resents his stupid torso.  He's right - he isn't athletic at all.  He's lanky and pale.  The white of his skin is brighter than the candles.  To make things worse, the image of the way his trousers sit just below his hipbone seems seared into her brain.  This mental image alongside the sound of the slapping skin and now she can hear the paintings muttering as she rushes down the stairs; it's all too much.

'You're right,' says Scorpius.  The words are all it takes for Rose to pause halfway down the second flight of stairs.  'I do know what you mean.'  She sinks into a seated position, looking out at the vast entrance hall.  Out of the corner of her eye she sees him sit next to her.  He's keeping a distance, but is next to her all the same.  'The old me,' says Scorpius, 'would never have left you alone at a party when we'd agreed you were staying here, after.'

'I was supposed to be your date, Scorpius,' says Rose, feeling anger beginning to bubble up again.  'You completely ditched me.'

'I didn't think you'd mind.'

'You ditched me,' she says, with a shrug.

'It's not like we were together-together, it was just a stupid party.  I'd hardly seen you all night.'

Rose gets to her feet again.  She's beginning to feel like she might be overreacting but she has come too far to back down now.  This is the last straw.  This night is just the last in a long line of incidents over the last year and a half or so.

'Don't you have a guest to entertain?' she says, casting a glare over her shoulder as she heads down into the entrance hall.

'Forget about her,' says Scorpius, 'she's not important.'

'Oh that's lovely.'  She shakes her head - to think she ever had feelings for the person who is now following her towards the double doors of his mansion, telling her that the poor naked girl he just abandoned in his library is not important.

'You know what I mean,' says Scorpius, clearly exasperated.

'This is just it, Malfoy,' she says, resorting back to schoolmate formalities in the hopes that it will drive home the severity of her feelings.  'I don't know what you mean.  I have spent the last - what?  Year and a half? - trying to figure out what you mean, to get back to where we were before, to be a good friend.'  She heaves the huge wooden front door open.  'All you've done is throw your conquests in my face and push me away.  I've had enough.'

She's running down the steps now and too late notices that it's raining and that she must have left her shoes on the stairs where she sat.  It's too late to go back for them; maybe Astoria will realise they belong to Rose and send them on to her.

'Rose, come back,' Scorpius is calling to her as she reaches the bottom of the steps and begins heading down the path towards the large, wrought-iron gates.  'You'll catch a death!'

He catches her halfway down the path, where it opens up to accommodate the large, almost over the top, fountain.  It seems ridiculous that it is still going now at what must be close to four in the morning, with only Scorpius and Rose even noticing it (and only then because they're half drunk and having a blazing row).  The Malfoys are so unnecessary, she thinks, and then files this away to tell her dad later.  He would appreciate that one, even if he had grown out of his dislike of them.  A bit, anyway.

'Rose, would you just stop for a minute, please?' says Scorpius.  She does so, but she can feel herself fixing him with one of her worst looks.

'It's chucking it down,' she says, her hands out, palms upwards as if to illustrate what is already perfectly obvious.  'What could you possibly say to me that you haven't already said?' 
      'I'm sorry.'  He looks like he means it, but Rose has a habit of convincing herself that men mean what they say far more than they actually do.

'It's a little late for that,' she says.

'I don't mean for tonight - for everything.  I feel like I've lost my best friend.'  When Rose does not respond to this he takes a step towards her, apparently more confident.  He pushes his sopping wet blond hair out of his eyes.  'I'm falling apart without you, Rose.  Already.'

'Don't turn this around on me,' she says, shaking her head.  'I'm not the one who left.'

'I'm sorry.'  He steps closer again.  The rain is still falling hard and fast, as though it is attempting to keep pace with the fountain.  The sound of rain and rushing water makes it difficult to hear when Scorpius speaks again: 'I need you,' he says softly, or Rose thinks he does.

'And I need you,' says Rose.  As soon as the words leave her mouth she breaks eye contact.  She feels more vulnerable than she ever has before; she came here tonight for a fight, not this.

Scorpius has closed the gap between them now, but she finds herself still too scared to look at him.  He lifts her chin with his right hand, while his left goes to her waist.  She takes a breath, blinks away raindrops, then meets his eyes.

'If I need you and you need me, then where's the problem?'

He leans in and kisses her, his lips cold but inviting.  She pulls him closer to her, his body itself surprisingly warm - but maybe she imagines that part, it is probably the fact that this kiss feels like so much more than the meeting of lips.  Rose is coming home, arriving at a place she had been sure she would never return to.

They pull away, both smiling like children.  She sees a flash of the eleven year old Scorpius, sitting by the fire in the Ravenclaw common room on the first night at Hogwarts.  She had been determined to hate him, but found herself indifferent.  It was much later that they had become friends.  And now … this.

'Can we go inside, please?' asks Scorpius.  His thumb is gently stroking the back of her hand as he holds it.  'Can we talk?'

Rose shakes her head.  'Sorry.'  She takes a step back, releasing his hand.  'We can talk when we've had some sleep.  And more importantly, when there's not a leggy blonde naked, in your library.'

She continues on her path down to the gates, stopping as she opens them.  She sees the hope in Scorpius's eyes as she turns back towards him and can't suppress a grin as she calls, 'Could you send my shoes to my house, please?'

30.

She teases her hair up into a bun, alternately placing tendrils to frame her face before putting them back up again.  At thirty, she wonders if she is too old for a messy bun, too young for a neat one.  Her life is at a crossroads but there does not seem to be much choice in which path she takes.  She undoes her hair, brushes it, then braids it into a plait that seems to fall naturally to her left.  Better.

Paul is in the study, as usual.  She knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an answer.  He is sat in his armchair at the fireplace reading the Prophet with a glass of whiskey and he doesn't look up when she comes in.  The fire crackles, either in warning or welcome.  Beyond this she can see that the clouds have burst and it is raining outside; it looks like evening, but it's the middle of the afternoon.  She leans against the door frame, surveying the scene, drumming her fingernails on the wood.  The noise seems to attract Paul's attention, at last, because he looks up.

'Yes?'

Rose takes her cue, entering the room properly and gently closing the door.

'I have something I need to tell you,' she says, hands by her side, confident.  Confident.  He just looks at her, vaguely interested at the odd occurrence but still irritated, she can tell.  After a moment he gestures to the armchair opposite him.  'No, thank you.  I'll stand.'

'You won't be wanting a drink then either, I take it?' he asks, and then takes a sip of the whiskey.

'No,' says Rose, her plait swinging slightly as she shakes her head, 'I won't.  In fact I won't be having much alcohol at all for the foreseeable future.'  He looks at her in question, now.  This is it.  'There are two things that I want to tell you.  The first is that I'm pregnant.  The second is that I don't love you at all.'

Her words hang in the air amid the now dying fire and the falling of the rain.  Paul takes another drink of his whiskey and his expression is impossible to read.  After a moment he picks up the newspaper again.

'Thank you for letting me know,' he says, before resuming his reading.

'That's all you have to say?' Rose takes a step further into the room, her anger giving her more tenacity. 'You don't care at all, about either of those things?'

'Honestly, Rose?  No I don't,' he says.  'Truth be told, I don't love you either.  I haven't for quite some time.  I suppose now at least we've a reason to continue in this marriage, I was beginning to wonder why you hadn't divorced me.'

'I've certainly got grounds to.'

'So have I.’ He doesn't even look up from his newspaper.  'Don't think I don't know about your indiscretions.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' says Rose, but she knows that the blood is rushing to her pale cheeks and giving her away.

Paul snorts in derision.  'If you're just going to stand there and lie then there's really no point to us continuing the conversation.  Why don't you run along and tell your mother the good news?  I'm sure she'll tell everyone at the Ministry so I won't have to grimace my way through it.'

Rose grits her teeth.  She can't have ever loved the man before her, can she?  This is the ghost of that man.  Perhaps she's the ghost of the woman who fell for this man.  Either way, something fundamental changed along the way, something she only allowed herself to realise in the last year.

When she was young, Rose thought that growing up would mean battling dark wizards and saving the world; that is what it meant for her parents' generation.  The more time that passes, the more she sees that growing up means learning to live with the mistakes you've made, settling for what you've got and putting up with the pain.  Growing up means letting go of your dreams and of the world you imagined when you were eighteen and the world was your oyster.  She doesn't know how she's going to move forward - if it wasn't for the life growing within her now, she doesn't think she would be able to.

27.

Where is it?  Where is the bathroom? Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit?

Having veered worryingly far from the ballroom, Rose is reduced to opening each door she comes across in the hopes that there might be a toilet within.  She's beginning to walk with a little bounce in between each step and feels like a four year old; lost without her mother in a Muggle supermarket and unable to find the loos.

Of course, this place is infinitely more beautiful and terrifying than a shopping trip with her mother.  Rose has been to a number of events in Eastern Europe at this point - her husband's work at the Ministry makes it a necessity - and they are almost always beautiful and scary.  This one happens to be in a castle, though she is beginning to suspect it is a labyrinth.  If she gets lost in this place forever at least she won't have to pretend she didn't find some unfamiliar lacy knickers under the sofa last week.

Then, at last, a bathroom.  She doesn't think it's the one she is supposed to be using because it is very dank and bare (earlier she found one with carpets and mood lighting) but she is really beyond the point of worrying. A few moments later and she is back in the stony corridor, wondering how to get back to the ball.  Soon enough she hears the band playing in the distance and heads off with purpose.

As she rounds what she expects to be her last corner (but isn't) she is greeted by a tall man in a pale grey suit.  He is still wearing his mask whilst hers is nestled in her handbag.

'Scorpius,' she says, taken aback and not even entirely sure it's him until he lifts his mask up with a grin.  'I'm so sorry; I completely forgot to return your owl.'

'Did you really?  I thought you were avoiding me.'  He stares at her intensely for a moment, before taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

'When did you start smoking?' she asks, stuck for something to say while he's doing it.

He shrugs.  'When did I stop?  It's all on and off, you know how I am with it.  Do you want one?'

'No, thank you.  I haven't smoked for quite some time now.'  She's proud of herself.  In fact, she hasn't had a single cigarette since she started going out with Paul.  Well, aside from that one at the wedding reception, but Scorpius had insisted on that.

'I bet you haven't.'

'Why are you hanging around out here?  What are you even doing here?'

Even as she asks the question, Rose already knows the answer.  It might be nothing but a hope; that he is there for her.  All these years later and she still can't quite let go.  The memories flood back as soon as he smiles at her.

'I wanted to talk,' he says, before turning, opening the window behind him and throwing the cigarette outside.  It seems very windy, which is somehow appropriate; extreme weather and Scorpius have always gone hand in hand.  'You're miserable.'

'What?' This is not the opening line Rose expects.

'You're sad.  You're not enjoying life.'  He looks sympathetic towards her, pitying even, which only lights a fire in Rose's belly.

'How would you know what my life is like, Scorpius?' she asks.  'It's not as though you're in it any more.  I've barely seen you over the last couple of years.'

'Whose fault is that, Rose?' he counters.  'Not mine; why didn't you reply to my owl?  Any of the owls I sent to you?'  She finds herself unable to answer these questions and has to remind herself to stop chewing the inside of her cheek.  'If you're so happy, why didn't you jump at the chance to reconnect with me?'

'I told you, I forgot.'  Their voices are rising now; someone (Paul) wouldn't have to stray too far from the ballroom to catch their conversation.

'You're a bad liar, Rose.'  His voice his so harsh she actually recoils a bit.  'So here's a secret for you: I'm miserable.  I'm stuck.'

'So?'

'We're the same.  And it's going to stay that way until one of us wakes up, gets out, does something.  There's only so far I can go on my own.'  He pauses, bites his lip just slightly.  'I need you.'

'What if I like my life?  What if I don't want to wake up?' says Rose, finding herself torn between two worlds - two selves.  She tries her best to appear resolute but knows it has become pointless to pretend.  Scorpius knows her better than she would ever admit; the only man who knows her better is her dad, but she would never admit to that, either.  'What if the reason I haven't made the effort with you is because you're not part of my life any more, Scorpius?  Then what?'

Scorpius sighs.  Rose feels like the fire that had been lit between them is fizzling out, the tension in the room is fading; Scorpius has given up.  He shrugs.  'If that's the case, then I suppose we'll always have Paris.'

Rose smiles, sadly.  'And a year; we'll have that year, too.'

'Perhaps,' says Scorpius, 'but the way I put it sounded so much more romantic.'

He turns and heads back towards the ballroom, leaving Rose staring through the window at the cold Romanian night.  She shivers as though he's a departing ghost.  Scorpius is her past come to visit; had she known this when he was her present, maybe she would have done things differently.

22.

Rose lets out a screech of frustration.  'We're going around in circles,' she says.  'I tell you one thing and you just choose to interpret it in your own little way.'  She sits at the picnic bench and Scorpius immediately rises, pacing up and down.  She can feel eyes on them from the house and it makes her feel like a baby or worse - a teenager.

'I'm not misinterpreting anything.  I'm sick of being treated like dirt off your family's shoes just because my last name is Malfoy.'

'And I'm sick of you acting like such a martyr.'  She slams a hand down on the table.  'Maybe my family aren't the easiest people to assimilate with, but yours are no picnic either - they're awful, Scorpius.  Awful.'

'Great,' he says, nodding emphatically, 'I'll let my mother know.'

'Don't be like that - you know I get along well with your mum.  Really well, it's …'

'The rest of them?  That's what you were going to say.'

'Maybe I was, does it matter?  You've just stood there and insulted my entire family and they're probably listening in.'

'That's another thing,' he says, sitting down opposite her again.  'I'm sick of having my privacy taken away.  I'm sick of coming around here, or to your parents’ house, and just having people squawking from every direction.'

'Personally I find that preferable to having to use an amplification spell so the person sitting opposite you at the dinner table can actually hear you.'

'Don't exaggerate, Rose, you're being ridiculous.'

Rose is on her feet again.  'I'm being ridiculous?  I'm being ridiculous?  Just … screw you, Scorpius.'  She begins walking back towards the house and sees the quick movements in the windows that indicate that her family were most definitely listening in.  'Go home,' she says, 'and talk to me when you've got over yourself.'

'I'll do that,' says Scorpius, 'and maybe you can talk to me when you've figured out what the problem really is.'

Rose storms inside the house, the unspoken knowledge that the end really is approaching bothers her more than anything either of them could have said.

29.

There is no point in pretending otherwise; she went to the pub that night hoping he would be there.  She sat at the bar, ordered herself a gin and tonic, got out a book and tried to look like she was perfectly content alone.  It must have been obvious she was waiting for someone.

He walks through the door now and she struggles to keep her features neutral.  He takes the stool next to her, orders a Butterbeer and waits for the barman to move on to someone else.  Rose can't stand the tension; she closes her book, looks up at him and smiles.

'Hello,' she says, 'fancy meeting you here.'

'Indeed,' says Scorpius.  'How did you know I'd be here?'

'I don't know.  A feeling.  I only found out last week -  mum mentioned it offhand - and I just knew if I came here tonight you would turn up.'

'Did I ever tell you that how well we know each other is a bit frightening?'

'You did,' says Rose, 'many times.'

'Not so much recently, though.'  He takes a long sip of his drink.  'We've been playing the avoidance game pretty well.'

'I won't deny it.'

She hasn't seen him in two years now, both of them opting to stay sleeping.  She doesn't really know what prompted this little excursion; maybe it was the excitement of the lies she had to concoct for Paul's benefit, the risk that she could be wrong, or worse that she was right and everything would just fall flat - that Scorpius would say that he's in love and that's all there is to it.

'Do you want to go for a walk?' he asks when he's nearing the end of his glass.

'Sure,' says Rose and she hops off her stool.  'It's a bit stuffy in here.'

It is a warm summer night but the fire is still burning in the fireplace of the Three Broomsticks so when the muggy humid air outside hits Rose, it still feels like a relief.  They silently head up the High Street and when a breeze blows it feels positively blissful.

'It'll be great weather for it,' says Rose.  'If it stays the way it has been all week.'

'Yes,' says Scorpius, nodding thoughtfully.  'I'm worried that it'll break and there'll be a storm.'

'You'd get fair warning for something like that though.'

'I suppose,' says Scorpius.  They're walking like they know where they are going, when in reality, Rose at least has no clue.  They seem to be heading out of the village; the shops are disappearing now.  Their path is lined with cottages, welcoming lights slipping through cracks in closed curtains.

'Marriage, eh?' Rose says, trying to smile as though she means it.  'I never really saw you as married.'

'Even when we were together?'

'I'm not really an optimist,' she says.  Scorpius lets out a little laugh and nods as though remembering something he's not willing to share.

They reach a fence, which Rose climbs over without even looking at Scorpius.  She can't stop moving, can't put a line under this while they're still in the village.  There is something beyond this place, within the unsaid, that she needs to unearth.  Deep down, Rose does not just hope for what comes next, she knows it.  It is palpable in the air between them, in the hairs on the back of her neck and in every second that passes whilst they remain in one another's company.

As they walk across the field on the other side of the fence, Rose can feel the wet grass against her ankles.  'Lumos,' she says, her voice cracking into the darkness around them.  Time and silence seem to envelop them as they move further from the village so that the lights are only markers in the distance and the forest beyond their field looms closer.  The only sounds are their breathing and their clothes against the longer grass and their skin.

When Rose doesn't know if she can handle much more of this, Scorpius grabs her wrist, bringing her to an abrupt halt.  The light of her wand is reflected in his eyes and now she can hear crickets, as though to underscore just how hot and sticky it is outside.

'Can we just …?' Scorpius begins, trailing off.  He looks unsure, insecure and a shadow of the man she saw in that castle two years ago.  But Rose is discovering that somewhere in that space she woke up; she would not have made it here tonight if that were not the case.  She finds that she does not care about much in this moment, just that she has spent the last two years building to it and she is not going to let it out of her grasp now.  She does not care that she is married or that this time tomorrow he will be married.  She does not care about the woman they'll both wrong.  She does not care that anyone could see out here, or that this could mean the end of everything she's built for herself in the last five years.

This moment feels monumental, because for the very first time in her romantic history, Rose takes the initiative.  She doesn't give Scorpius a chance to say anything, just claims his lips with hers.  Claims them for tonight. He doesn't falter, just pulls her to him.  Rose feels an urgency, a need she hasn't felt in so very long.  It is hot and it is sticky and the only thing that's really crossing her mind any more is the removal of clothes.

She goes to unbutton her jeans, Scorpius watching in some kind of trance as she does so.  Rose pauses, waves her wand in front of his face and says, 'Are you going to help me with this or what?'

He seems to crash in to her, her wand falls to the floor, lighting the ground around them, and he kisses her hard as he pulls her jeans down over her hips.  His lips move to her neck as his hand slides over her bum and around, then down.  Rose lets out a gasp, clings to Scorpius's clothes and then his hand is gone again.

She takes a breath, backs away slightly and pulls off her trainers and jeans, then sets her fingers to work on his trousers, skimming by the places that make him moan as he did to her.  They are alternately kissing, removing clothes and stumbling, until the moment that they each slide their shirts over their shoulders.  Suddenly, it is Rose and Scorpius in their underwear with only a wand to light their way and it is very, very real.

'Do you want this?' asks Rose, her breath short.  'Is this a mistake?'

'Yes, it's a mistake.'  Scorpius nods.  Rose feels transfixed by his collarbone and forces herself not to reach out and touch it.  'It's a mistake I've been dreaming about making for however many years.  And I'm not saying that this is going to change anything I just … I really need you tonight.  Only you.'

There are a lot of words here, too many for Rose to process when they have already got this far.  Somewhere in her subconscious is the recognition that what happens next is wrong, but she just cannot see beyond the man before her and the way she feels about him.  So she steps back towards him, brushes her lips softly against his and begins to pull him down into the grass.

The ground is cold against her back; on any other night she would flinch but this is merely a welcome relief.  She parts her legs, letting Scorpius find his bearings, kisses him again and ends it with a giggle.  This, Rose realises, is where she feels safe.  Scorpius presses against her, lust in his eyes like she has never seen it and this is the place where she belongs.  No one can reach her here underneath him, hidden amongst the grass.

'Please,' she begins, undoing her bra and flinging it aside.  'Could you do something about my knickers?'  Scorpius doesn't seem to hear her as he leans in, taking her left nipple in his mouth.  She laughs in pleasure and in memory (the left always was his favourite).

'Scorpius,' she says again.  He lifts his head, looking like a little boy caught stealing pick and mix. She pulls on him, bringing him up for another kiss, then lifts her hips.  'My knickers.'  He obliges, then does away with his own underwear.  They each reach down, reacquainting themselves with one another's bodies like teenagers discovering sex for the first time.  Then Scorpius slides a finger within and Rose realises that she cannot wait any longer.

A moment later and he is inside her.  What should be slow and savoured, each thrust and stroke remembered is nothing but, as Rose loses herself in her senses and in the world she and Scorpius have created on the ground.  She grasps at his skin with one hand and digs her nails into the dirt with the other.  He takes her as no other man has done, as none ever will and she draws her legs up around him, pulling him closer, begging and pleading - and then -

Rose locks her gaze on Scorpius's and there's this heavy feeling in her chest.  The universe begins to close in around her; stars dance across her vision and maybe they're the ones above them now - she doesn't have time to think.  She feels like energy - like magic - is flying through her body from her centre and all she can do is gasp, pull Scorpius closer and breathe his name.

After, Scorpius collapses on top of her, rolls away.  Silence.  Crickets.

When Rose wakes up, the first thing she sees is one of her trainers.  He is gone; she is neither surprised nor upset.  It is over.  Reality is in place once more.

32.

Scorpius, 
Paul has taken a job abroad.  I've thought long and hard about it and I'm going with him.  My daughter needs her father; I know this is something you'll understand.

We haven't seen one another in a long time now - spoken for longer.  I still felt compelled to let you know.  I need a fresh start somewhere else.  It's easier to send you an owl -  and I hope it finds you well - than to face the awkwardness of a conversation.

I've said what I needed to, so I'll end this here.  Hope your family is well.

Rose
x

19.

Over a period of four months things slowly began to build.  They had been friends since their final year of Hogwarts, best friends since not long after they left school.  They were so similar, so different.  Like a case of opposites attract and like meeting like all at once.

But it wasn't like that.

Until it was.

Summer in Ibiza, summer in Rome, summer in Prague, summer in Barcelona.  The parties, the cultural excursions, the drinking, the new friends and random meetings with old acquaintances.

Accidental bookings of one room instead of two.  A little too much shared over a jug of sangria.  A little too much skin at the beach.  They had kissed accidentally in a club in Ibiza, each meaning to kiss somebody else.  They had snogged in Barcelona, drunker than they each had ever been before.

Tension and memories built like neither of them could have envisioned, eventually giving way to autumn in Paris.

They stand looking at the Eiffel Tower.  They are each trying to find some significance in it and failing.  There must be a reason all these people are here.

'I'll be honest,' says Scorpius.  'I just do not get it.'

Rose has this overwhelming urge to kiss him and the shock at the strength of her feeling must show on her face because he gives her this weird questioning look.

'It's nothing,' she says, then inwardly berates her cowardice. Still, they have four days left, no use in spoiling it now.

They go out for dinner at a fancy restaurant.  It's like they're playing at being adults.  It's a good job Scorpius comes from a rich family else the evening would never have happened, Rose muses, then immediately hates herself for assuming he would pay, then even more for letting him.  She tells herself this is the last time that will ever happen.

Afterwards, they go for a walk, he gives her his jacket and as he slides it around her shoulders Rose gets this little well of hope within her chest - maybe he read her look earlier, maybe it wouldn't be such a mistake.  She gives him what she knows is a stupid dopey grin, and he returns it.

They reach her hotel room and she hands back his jacket, thanking him for the lovely evening.  She takes out her room key, pauses with it in the lock, invites him in for a nightcap.  It's the equivalent of playing Aurors and Death Eaters for nineteen year olds.

She leads him out onto the balcony.  They look out across the city, quietly remarking on the view.  Scorpius gives her a cheesy line about not being able to recognise the beauty of the Eiffel Tower when she is there next to it (something she will tease him for mercilessly many years later).  Then he kisses her.  This is for real, this is not pretend;  this is their first real kiss.

They set their drinks on the table and move inside.  Things move as if in slow motion.  Rose savours each moment so that she may remember it all, relive it in technicolour, later.  She has had sex with boys before.  This isn't sex, this is more than that.  This is the beginning of something wonderful, she thinks to herself.  Forever starts tonight.

In the morning he is gone.  A note on the night-stand merely says, 'Sorry'.

She stays in the room until it is finally time to go and when anyone asks her about the holiday she never, ever mentions Paris.

36.

Rose sits, her eyes closed.  She soaks up the sounds and the smells of the city around her, treasuring them as though they were long lost heirlooms.

'Well,' says a familiar voice behind her.  'Fancy meeting you here.'

She opens her eyes to find that sometime in the last couple of minutes it has started to snow.  The flakes drift down and disappear into the Seine.  She feels one land on her nose.  At last, she turns in her seat.

'I reckon there's going to be a storm,' she says.