Rose Weasley sat in a broad chair on her balcony overlooking the imposing mountain figures that surrounded her secluded home in the Lake District of England. She did this every morning, but the beauty of the surrounding land never failed to take her breath away. As she balanced a mug of tea on her right knee she observed the serene surface of the lake in front of her. The water was so still it acted as a perfect mirror for the slate colored fells. Her own fiery colored hair always stood in stark contrast to the muted tones of her environment—if you were to zoom out her vibrant red hair would look like a lonely dying ember in a sea of ashy coals. This is precisely how Rose often felt within her own soul, a lonely ember. As she sat, breathing in the beauty, she slowly got lost deep in the thoughts that the grey color of her surroundings often summoned.
Rose has moved to the Lake District three years ago. She chose it specifically because it was known for it's sparse population. The terrain made it difficult to navigate, build houses, or otherwise populate. Lucky for Rose she was a witch and these impediments did nothing to stop her desire to be alone. The Lake District often brought in tourists, artists, and poets due to its inordinate beauty—but they stayed contained to the roads and accessible areas. Her home was not accessible to anyone who was not magical, because it stuck right off the side of a mountain—held in place by powerful magic. Since her father was the Chief of Aurors it came as no surprise that he put up every possible ward around the house to protect her from harm. In fact, it was the safest home in all of England.
Her home was made entirely of large wooden beams and one huge magically impenetrable glass window. The exterior and interior both displayed the beautiful dark wood that had been harvested from a forest in one of the magical providence of Russia. It had been no simple task, even with magic, for the architects to fashion the beams into a livable home. They built the frame of the house on the ground, and then with extreme magical strength lifted it and secured it with old powerful magic to the side of the mountain. The side of the house that looked over the lake and onto the surrounding fells was made of continuous glass, so that there was never a moment she could not take in the beauty of the land.
Rose did not need a lot of space considering she was the only inhabitant of the house, but her mother had insisted that she should make it large enough to hold visitors if needed. She conceded to her Mum only because she knew that there would be times she might want the company of her large family. She had a spacious kitchen that suited her needs perfectly, a master bedroom and bathroom, a guest bedroom and bathroom, and her spacious living room— which made up most of the house. The guest bedroom could be magically expanded to hold more beds if needed. Her living room and kitchen could almost be considered one room because of their open floor plan. Lining the tall and long back wall of her house were custom-made bookshelves that her Father had made for her. These shelves held her vast collection of books. She had never counted, but she would not be surprised if she owned upwards of 5,000 books. She had been collecting books since she could read. It was a quirk of Roses that everyone accepted as a part of her pure and lovable character.
The décor in Roses home also fit her character perfectly. It was a perfect mix of modern furniture with touches of cozy mismatched items that made it unique. Rose was very minimal in every aspect of her life (besides her books, which was the furthest thing from minimal). Most of her furniture was white and modern, which contrasted with the dark wooden cabin feel that the walls gave off. She made this look work perfectly by adding touches of bohemian décor such as her large golden elephant statue, a mismatched patchwork old quilt her grandmother had made, and her large colorful shaggy area rug that sat under her plush white couches. In the middle of her shelves was a large stone fireplace; the only way into her home was by floo. Visitors would have to owl her before their arrival so that she could cast a spell to open the floo for entry.
Rose was a perfectionist through and through, and she had spent a lot of time perfecting her house. She believed that atmosphere was all-important for a home; she learned that from Hogwarts—the atmosphere of that castle had an impact on every memory she has of her time spent there. As a writer, Rose needed a perfect atmosphere to fuel her brain. She bought a large white marble writing desk that she pushed against the glass wall of her house. This enables her to peer into the vast grey landscape as she ponders her writing assignments; this always puts her in the right mood for writing.
She was more than thankful for her writing gig with the Daily Prophet, which she could do in the comfort of her own home. She wrote an intelligent and witty weekly opinion column about current wizarding world events—most importantly it was anonymous. Rose loved being anonymous. She never wanted to feel like her opinion mattered more because of who her parents are and she liked knowing that people read and loved her column without knowing her identity. Her family knew that she worked for the Daily Prophet, but they thought she was an editor and not a writer. None of them had any idea that she was the voice behind the weekly opinion column entitled Razor's Edge.
The closest and most populated town of the Lakeland is Barrow-in-Furness, and when she needed the comfort of humanity she would go there to have dinner or sit in the cozy teashop. There were other witches and wizards that visited Barrow-in-Furness or lived in the surrounding land. There was even a pub and a magical bookshop that could only be located by magic. She frequented Lysander's Book and Quill shop every other Sunday. Lysander was the son of Luna Lovegood, who had fought in the war alongside her parents.
He was the only person in this remote part of England that had any ties to her past life in London, and she his. Out of formality of their close proximity they met every other Sunday on his break from tending the bookshop to have lunch and chat. Rose enjoyed their time spent together and the routine of their meetings. Her family was often hinting that they thought the pair of them would make a swell match. After he and Rose had become good friends Lysander had confided in Rose that he had an inclination towards wizards instead of witches—which did not surprise her in the slightest. She had an aptitude for understanding even the things that are unsaid.
Though she chose this secluded life for herself she did stay in close contact with her family. Many of them thought her decision to move to the mountainous region of England was just a phase, a decision made in haste and further influenced by her aching heart. Three years had passed now and they realized that this was not just a phase for Rose and that Lakeland was her home now. She never had to say her reason for leaving out loud. They all knew what was not even apparent to her, it was because she could not bear to live in a city that reminded her of a certain blond haired grey-eyed man named Scorpius Malfoy.
Rose had not heard from Scorpius in the three years that she lived in the Lake District. The last time she had seen him was three and a half years ago, when he came to tell her that he would not be home for at least the next three years, but that he could not tell her why. "Trust me," he had said. After graduating Hogwarts Scorpius had joined the Auror department. Then after taking his aptitude tests and scoring exceptionally well, he began an immersive language program to learn Mandarin. He went through two years of rigorous mental and physical training—she knew what was unspoken; he would eventually be placed in the most secretive intelligence program that the British Ministry had. For lack of better words, he was a Ministry spy.
She knew that is was unlikely she would ever see him again and she had spent the last three years getting herself accustom to that idea. It was a life sacrifice to join the British Wizarding Intelligence Program— often called WIP—and many of the witches and wizards involved never came back. They shared an intimate and tumultuous relationship with one another. It began in their 5th year at Hogwarts and continued off and on until he last departed. They never had an official title, and their affair had been a secret until they left Hogwarts when finally her cousin Albus had ousted them. Neither of them had been the types of people to go about confessing their love for one another in a grand fashion. In fact they didn't even bother to make their care for the other apparent. Rose often felt like her life was an unfinished book. There was no neat and tidy ending to their "relationship" with one another.
Rose had a lot of time to reflect on the times they had shared. It was never concrete, always uncertain but never lacking intense passion. It's almost as though they were both too afraid to make it real, because as soon as something is tangible it can be lost. They would sometimes go weeks and weeks without contact, but when they did see each other again they always could pick back up right where they left off. Scorpius had also always known that he was certainly destined to join WIP—it had always been a goal of his. The distance he kept from Rose over the years was to avoid the inevitable heartbreak of leaving her, possibly forever. What he did not realize is that the distance he kept between them did not make it easier to walk away from her on the day he departed for his three-year mission in China.
When the first year passed Rose grew hopeless. He had told her he would not be home, but he did not mention that he would not contact her at all. He never sent an owl, never passed a message through another member of the Ministry, never did a single thing to even let her know that he was still alive. Of course, she knew that he was still alive because her father was the head of the Auror department and would have told her otherwise. She often felt that it would be easier to not hear from him if she knew that he was dead—but he's out there, somewhere, she just didn't know where.
Two years passed, then three, and now Rose was just angry with him. She was angry he never tried to contact her. Rationally she knew that because he is in a top-secret program that his orders are probably to not contact anyone—but that knowledge did not settle her fury. Even just one sentence from him would have been enough. She also knew that she did not really deserve to hear from him either. They were never dating and she had no real claim on him and he had no obligation to write her. Rose had too much time to think alone—on several occasions she had convinced herself fully that he never actually cared about her, that meaningless fucking was the furthest extent of their relationship. The sickening feeling she felt in her stomach when she thought of him proved that this wasn't true, but it was easier for Rose to ignore that—it made her life without him more tolerable.
When she thought too much about Scorpius she often ended up feeling silly and childish. She made wild assumptions about how he must have felt, or didn't feel, about her. The anger and grief she felt did not dissipate over time; it only grew worse each day. She knew that he probably never even thought about her now after all of these years, even though she spends more time than she would care to admit thinking about him. Overanalyzing everything, Rose finally resolved that she needed to get over him once and for all. She wasn't even sure what it was she needed to "get over" exactly, because she would never admit to herself what it was she actually felt about Scorpius. She had spent the past three years blocking out emotions that bubbled up when he crossed her mind.
Rose had been lost in her thoughts for so long that her morning tea had gone cold, but she could barely care. She glanced down at the mug and sighed. It had now been eight years since the start of their affair and she knew that she had been hanging on too long to the idea of him. That's all it was now—an idea of him that I've has made up in my head. Yes, yes…I must let it go. She nodded her head as if this would solidify her decision. Deep down she knew that she had made this same resolution several times before.
Her head snapped up as something caught her eye on the horizon. She recognized the large barn owl flying towards her. It was her uncle Harry's owl. Harry had become the Minister of Magic 10 prior, but he always took the time to send letters to Rose every so often to inquire about her well-being. She knew that her Mum probably put him up to the task, worrying that it would bother Rose if she were to constantly bother her. She smiled towards the direction of the owl not yet realizing that the letter it brought would change her life forever and give her a chance to close an unfinished story.