Chapter 1 : Morning
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Dear potential readers,
First off: Yes, this is a Rose/Scorpius. Yes, this is my first Rose/Scorpius. And yes, I would love to hear your thoughts.
And secondly, this is a journey story. In which memories will be remembered, maps will be lost, a car or two may be crashed, and speed limits are bugers.
Lastly, enjoy and thanks for reading.
A concept that neither the Muggle nor Wizarding World could figure out is, wait for it….love.
Yes, four letters that no one could ever solve. Most people can’t even say the word, so how can you expect someone to dig through it and tell us what ‘it’ exactly is? That’s right, you can’t.
The ‘l’ word (I am one of the cowards who can’t say it, mind you.) is a mystery, one that you aren’t supposed to solve, one that should be left a mystery. It is the impossible that has no solution and at the same time has an infinite amount of solutions. It is an emotion that winds you up and puts you on edge. It makes you feel nervous and doubt yourself. And at the same time it makes you feel whole and right. Basically it is a jumble of confusion.
But when it comes down to the main problem with the ‘l’ word, there are only two them. It is either you know what it is or you don’t. And if you do know what it is then you’re lucky. You can save yourself before the dragon of l-o-v-e sinks its claws fully into your back, never letting you go.
Not a good feeling, is it?
But what is worse is falling in l-o-v-e without knowing. You may call me oblivious but I swear I wasn’t and still am not. I didn’t have any of the irritating symptoms then: no butterflies in my stomach(I never got that. Do people actually eat butterflies or something? It sounds unhealthy.), no rapid heartbeats, and no daydreaming (okay, maybe just a little, but it was about treacle tarts).
Sometimes I would stay awake pondering on exactly what has got me into this horrific and monstrous situation. These nights I can’t sleep. All I can do is stare blankly at the ceiling and remember his face: the gray storms that will always look at me quizzically, the blonde, windswept hair that even left my cousin Dominique jealous, and the flash of teeth that barely appeared.
I truly miss him. And it hurts like hell. It hurts so much that sometimes I want to give up all my reserve and confront him.
The pain of not seeing him seeps through my veins and threatens to take over. At times the pain is too overwhelming that I want to scream. And after that I want to cry. But what is worse than not seeing him is the fear of not remembering him.
No one ever told me that l-o-v-e hurts this much.
At the end of the night, I push those thoughts out, annoyed for even letting them enter. ‘Close your eyes,’ I tell myself. Slowly all the shards of memories come back, recollecting themselves without my order. When they all come together, a flash of white sweeps through.
Then crack, everything breaks.
An explosion of every shade of every color leaves me blind. Breathing heavily, I force my eyes open. My body curls itself into a ball instinctively. ‘Nothing left,’ echoes in my head. My hopes blur and move away leaving one pillar standing: the hope that the memories will never come back.
But they always do.
Always, always, always……..
Ring, Ring, Ring…
Ring, Ring, Ring…
A sound repeats in the background. It keeps repeating as if it demands my attention. The piercing noise sounds familiar but I can’t put my finger on what it is. If it is a ‘what’ that is.
Alarm clock? I ask myself. Nah, I threw mine out. Life is so much easier without those little buggers.
Owl? Nope, that sound is more like a bulldozer on low volume, I conclude.
Someone knocking on the door? Unlikely, my family knows not to wake me up early in the morning unless they want a jinx or hex of some kind come their way. (I prefer Langlock and the Bat-Bogey Hex.)
My Wiz-Phone? Definitely.
Rolling out of my comforting bed, I reach for my phone that is lounging on my night stand. My hand makes contact with it. Fingers curling around it, I touch the ‘receive call’ icon.
Immediately a loud yet gentle male voice fills the rooms. “Rose, I am at the door. Can you please open it?” Only one person would be stupid enough to disturb my Saturday morning sleep: Albus Potter, my lovely cousin.
Rubbing my face with my palm, I make way around the clutter of things on the floor and head toward the exit of the cave of doom (my room that is).
As I enter the living space my chocolate brown eyes clear and I start to adjust to my surroundings. The space is very open with its small kitchen, medium sized dining and messy living room. I pass by a couple couches, some fairly new while others are worn down. I maneuver around stacks of dusty books that lie on the ancient rug.
All of my walls are the same shade of pasty off-white with a few scattered frames that hold family photos. The floors are a golden-looking hardwood except for the kitchen which is covered in tiles. Each of them decorated with cornflower blue borders.
Reaching the door, I fiddle with the locks and bolts and then swing open the door to be greeted by a raven-haired, emerald-eyed boy with an amused look etched upon his face.
Noticing my attire, shorts and a baggy t-shirt, he frowns, “Not ready for the day yet, I suppose?”
I try to glare at him but it doesn’t work since I still have sleep clouding my eyes and my body is stiff of the want to be under warm blankets. Moving aside, I let him enter through the threshold.
“Gee, Rose if anyone comes here they’ll think you live in a dungeon.” Albus says playfully, heading towards the kitchen. He starts to rummage through my cabinets for some coffee beans while I pull up a stool to my island.
The best part to the flat is the island. It ties everything together in my opinion. It is a soft oakwood painted a mix of beige and yellow. The granite top does the trick of making it look magnificent.
“So, how have you been?” It is a simple question with different meanings. I don’t know if I should answer with the truth or just say the usual, ‘fine.’ I go with the second option.
“Fine,” I sigh, letting the bitter smell of coffee awake my senses.
“Just fine?” He has a knowingly look on his face as if he knew I am lying. I don’t give him an answer. Instead I take the cup of coffee he holds out to me. Clutching the cup with both hands, the heat radiating off of it makes me feel less chilly.
Al takes a slow slip, observing me over the rim of his mug. Ever since he was a kid he was able to drink and eat warm things without burning himself. While I on the other hand had to wait until it cooled down a bit to prevent harming myself.
Al always has these great abilities that I am jealous of: the way he could dive flawlessly on a broom, the way he controls the situation by remaining calm, the way he can get an Exceeding Expectations without trying, how he brews potions so quickly, etcetera and etcetera. He also has devilish good looks like James. With his dark, messy hair girls fawn over him. His grandmother’s eyes make girls drop to the ground, literally. And his ‘charm’ won the hearts of professors. Don’t ask me how but he manages to get away with things that no one else can.
During Hogwarts he got a lot of attention. Some days he would use it to his advantage and some days he would disappear so no one could find him. At times I wish I could be like that: only me and no one else so I can just disappear into my own world. That can never happen though since I was and still am cursed with the Weasley hair which makes me stick out like a sore thumb.
“Rose,” I catch Albus say. His long, fine hands wave infront of my face, checking if I am still with him.
“Hmm,” taking a sip of my coffee, my brown eyes meet with his earthy green.
“I sent an owl to Dad.” He states nervously. His fingers smooth over the granite gently, stopping at a rounded corner.
“Okay,” I nod, my tone hesitant. Why was he making me a big deal about sending a message to Uncle Harry? Unless…
“About Scorpius,” he adds on. His full focus is on me now. Moments pass by and my heart beats rapidly at the sound of his name. I hate when it does that. The hearing my own heartbeat hammer in my ear aggravates me. Why does my heart get so excited upon hearing his name? It is not like it is special or anything. It is like my heart wants to constantly remind me of him, his face, and how me makes me feel.
“Al-” but he cuts me off before I can protest.
“Rose, listen to me.” He yells, securing my attention. His face and resonance suddenly morph. Tenderly he articulates, “This has gone on too long. I can’t see you like this, not anymore. It has been five years and what you are feeling right now isn’t going to go away. It is time, Rose. It is time for you to find him.”
Tears cling to my lashes. They want to pour out but I don’t let them. Not today, not now. “I don’t know if I can do it.” I admit, closing my eyes shut so Al can’t see the damage his friend has done.
I hear him come up behind me. His hands rest on top of my shoulders and his chin rests on my head, assuring me he is there. He is there for me and I couldn’t be more grateful. “You are so strong, Rose. You are going to be fine. I promise.” And those words chime through my head. Maybe I could do this. Maybe, just maybe it is time to deal with those buried feelings and those raw emotions that keep banging on my door.
The swirl of thoughts, clear and is replaced my determination. I am going to find the boy I gave part of my heart to, the boy who took it without permission and I am going to get it back. All I need to do now is track down that part of my heart.
How hard can it be?