[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 1 : morning.
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 13|
Background: Font color:
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dear potential readers,
First off: Yes, this is a Rose/Scorpius story! I would love to hear your thoughts on it!!
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 buggers.
Lastly, enjoy and thanks for reading.
edit: 7.28.2015 (the second chapter is finally coming! keep your eye out)
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’s 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.
But when it comes down to the main problem with the ‘l’ word, there are only two options. It is rather 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. I didn’t have any of the irritating symptoms: no butterflies in my stomach (I never did get 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 what had got me into this horrific and monstrous situation. Those nights I couldn’t sleep. All I could do was stare blankly at the ceiling and remember his face: the grey storms that would 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 so 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 would push those thoughts out, annoyed for even letting them enter. ‘Close your eyes,’ I would 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 would force my eyes open. My body would curl itself into a ball instinctively. ‘Nothing left,’ would echo 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 demanding 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 from my wand. (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 the palm of my hand, I make way around the clutter of things on the floor and head toward the exit of the cave of doom (my flat that is). As I enter the living space, my brown eyes clear and I start to adjust them to my surroundings. The space is very openly connected 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, and my stacks of dusty books that lay 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 that are 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. But something is off. I search him over with dazed eyes. Sleep makes it so that I can’t spot it so I push it to the back of my head. It’s early in the morning. I’m probably overreacting.
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 from the desire 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 of my flat, in my opinion, is the island (well, that and the thought that my parents didn’t a pay a knut of it). It ties everything together. The soft oakwood painted a mix of beige and yellow is vibrant and 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. I clutch 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 food and beverages 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 situations 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 could.
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: simply being, simply breathing. That could never happen though since I was and still am cursed with the Weasley hair. Turns out red hair sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Rose,” I catch Albus say. His long, fine hands wave in front 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 just said that we have a family gathering in two weeks.” His continues to observe me, trying to guess what I had been thinking of.
“Okay,” I nod. “What day is it?” Family gatherings are always… grand. There is tons of food, lots of catching up, a game of Quidditch (which I participate in), and at the end of the day we all gather around in the living room to watch a Muggle movie of some sort. Since graduating Hogwarts, it’s been hard to keep in contact with all of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I still visit my parent quite regularly though. I’m sort of a daddy’s girl and I get homesick easily. But what can I do about it? I’ve been raised by them and dependent on them my whole life. I’ll always end up going back to them in my down times (which is becoming more and more often).
“Saturday,” Albus answers easily, taking another sip of his coffee. The bloke takes it with no sugar whatsoever which I find weird and James, his brother, agrees with me.
“So how has work been?” I question, actually interested in what he has to say.
“It’s been good. I haven’t gotten a project or mission since my last one but I’m hoping to get one in the next couple of months or so.” I nod. Albus’s last mission was his first. He was gone for a whole month but when he came back he was alright and bathing in some minor success.
A comfortable silence rests between the two of us. We stay there, drinking our beverages as quietly as possible. Albus is my favourite cousin, not going to lie, and spending time with him has always been something I enjoy. So when all of a sudden he says something in a tone that makes me suspicious, I’m surprised.
“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 is he making 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. 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’s like my heart wants to constantly remind me of him, his face, and how he makes me feel.
“Al-” but he cuts me off before I can protest.
“Rose, listen to me” he asserts calmly, securing my attention. His face and resonance suddenly morph. Tenderly he voices, “This has gone on too long. I can’t see you like this, not anymore. It has been four years and what you are feeling right now isn’t going to go away.””
“Al, I don’t think-”
“Rose, you love him. I know you do and you know you do. And I don’t blame you and you shouldn't blame yourself.” Al places his hand over mine in comfort. I slip my hand out of his fast, his words stinging my skin.
“I don’t l-” I cut myself off, not able to say the word. Albus raises an eyebrow. He thinks he already proved his point, but I can’t have that so I try to say something, anything really, to prove him wrong. “I just miss him.” I fake a nonchalant shrug. “We got close seventh year, that’s all.”
“People don’t have constant dreams of friends, Rose. I was best friends with him and I can tell you straight out that I don’t dream about Scorpius.”
I swallow. Saying his name out loud again makes my heart beat even faster. “Al, they’re just dreams. They don’t mean anything.” I pick up my mug but I can’t hold it steady in my hand. My hands are shaking too much. I set it down as quickly as I can, hoping Al hadn’t seen. His contemplating look says he has.
Al sighs. “You have to find him, Rose. I don’t know how but… just find him.”
I almost laugh at how easy he makes it sound. “And say what exactly? ‘Hey, I’m Rose Weasley. You know Al’s cousin. We met in seventh year and never had contact again. Remember me?’” Even when I’m sad, I’m sarcastic. I can tell by Al’s furrowed brows that he’s not pleased by my tone.
He holds my gaze for a moment before rubbing his face with his hand. “I’m telling this to you as a friend. If you don’t go tell him now, you’ll regret this for the rest of your life.”
“You can’t know that for sure.” My voice comes out hoarse instead of composed.
“Yeah, I do. You love him.” He says the last three words in such a soft voice that it hits me somewhere on the inside. I think that’s what does it. Him saying those three words again. Because it’s true and I can’t do anything about it.
I can feel my eyes watering, 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 can’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 can 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 could it be?
Other Similar Stories
Fire & Ice
Making a Name