tonight, we drink the to lonely
NUMB THE PAIN, NUMB THE PAIN, is all his mind's shouting out these days. - —rose/scorpius

Disclaimer: © JKR

A/N: I think I'd shoot this story if I could. I warn you of all of my ramblings and not-as-good story line.

Fire-whiskey numbs all the pain.

He never wanted to start like this, becoming addicted to it. He's spent his life seeing his father, a coward at best, go on rampages and strike everything, the mad look in his eyes. Then he'd start going on tangents and cries until Astoria comes but he'll hit her and she'd cry too, and maybe their family is just as messed up as he is.

But, Rose, one of the red-haired beauties of the Weasley clan, books and wit and sarcastic smiles sent his way, he had to admit that she was one of those things that made her hold on as long as he did. The only thing that was a bit off about her were her teeth, just a little buck, and he'd tease her endlessly but it was so worth it; Rose Weasley was most beautiful when she was in fury. She'd had that logic, that overwhelming sense of realism and hard facts that it made him wish just a bit for her to be like one of those girls that dreamed and hoped and waited for their perfect prince, but that wouldn't be Rose at all. Maybe he was just a fool to wish for that.

They all leave, he thinks, twisting the cap off his fire-whiskey, the shot of liquid burned his throat, but it worth to gain just a little bit of bravery. Rose left all those years ago, aspirations kilometres wide, and her wand in one hand and the handle of a suitcase in another, leaving for the train to the Muggle Airport - "I'll help them, make all of those people free again!" The rare times she dreamed, he thinks it was for the wrong purpose. They had one night where she was drunk as hell and rebellion never felt so sweet for her and maybe he should have felt wrong for taking advantage of her, but to him it's a once in a lifetime and perhaps he should have told her before she left, but who knows? Maybe he'd have a child somewhere and he'd make sure they don't end up like him at all.

He's on his third bottle now, getting a bit tipsy. He fumbles over his feet, trying to find his way around the house, his parents house, his grandparent's house even though they're all long gone. He's hurting inside and there's pain, there's really nothing interesting in his life anymore. He drinks another shot of artificial courage and he's laughing and laughing like a lunatic and he feels numb and everything's just swirling around in a big space and he feels good, he feels better than he's ever felt before and maybe he's becoming like his father.

It's Christmas season and the rain's turning into snow flurries and the entire merry season is bothering him. Scorpius planned to go to town to grab a couple sets of fire-whiskey and leave without anyone seeing him. His black coat covering him head to toe didn't help as he stood out in the white landscape. He sees people shopping for presents and Diagon Alley is full of witches and wizards scuttling about, last-minute gifts and children hanging off their parent's arms and ogling at the display windows. He's never felt more lonely in his life.

"Scorpius!"

It was the sound of a female voice, a mature one, and he traced the source to a brown-haired woman carrying a bags of assortment of things. She smiled at him, that haunting smile that seemed so familiar but far away. She looked at him in pity, just a bit, her blue eyes piercing his soul.

"Who're you?" he asks her with confusion and all the woman does is laugh and then two girls come running down the alley to beg the lady for something. He recognises something about those two that connects with his own sense and he realises who that woman was. "Rose?"

"Took you long enough," she says, running her hand through his greying hair, and that smile of hers brought back the queasy feeling in his stomach. "You didn't think you'd get rid of me, did you?" His eyes wandered over to the two girls and all his thoughts are saying they're not his, they're not his, (but he knows deep down they are). "Oh, these are Amelia and Olivia." Her look is made of slight steel and he can see the roots of Amelia's hair is that bright orange ginger that Rose grew up with and Olivia's silvery blonde reminds him of his sister's when they were young.

"Merlin," he says, looking at his two girls. "You're both so big, how old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?" The two stares at him, and he realises they inherited Rose's death stares as well. Rose nudges the both of them with her elbow, and Olivia started to talk.

"We're fifteen," she says, her voice has a twinge of Scottish and some posh British, but a majority of it American. "And by the look on your face, Father, we were born in America, moved to Scotland, back to the states, and lived in England for the last two years." He cringed with the bitterness in her voice, being called "Father" at age forty should be usual, but he wasn't really the nurturing type.

"Or you could count from when Mum left for America plus seven months," Amelia piped up, her strong Scottish accent shone through. He could tell that she's one of those sarcastic ones already, taking after her mum and Aunt Lily. "Why weren't you there for us? We were waiting, me and Livvi, every night. Mum told us stories of you and eventually you faded into a fairytale." Scorpius started shivering with her words. Why did he never come back for them?

"Uh, run along kids, let your father and I talk in private.." Rose began, flashing one of her smiles to him.

"But Mum!"

"Twenty Galleons. Final deal. Get something for your cousins, or yourself, I don't really care at the moment." She hands them some gold coins that she fished from her purse, and they left without another word.

"Excuse them, they can be a handful," she says, tucking back her brown hair that started to frizz up from her stress. He could see the crease marks on her forehead already. "Do you want to swing by the Burrow for supper? Aunt Ginny took over that place after Grandmum Molly died. Or our place, it isn't much, but—" He cut her off with a wave of his hand. Her family was a bit too large and happy for his liking.

"Stop stressing out, Rose. You're starting to act more like your mother by the day," he reminds her and she flushes and consciously touches her frizzy brown hair. "I'd like to see your place, you know, spend more time with the girls." He thought he was a bit sheepish, but he hasn't even laid an eye on those two. Parenting would have been hard for Rose.. to do it alone.

"That sounds swell. Are you coming with us now?" she leaned on the wall behind her, that old smile back on her face. Time had a large effect on her, the creases on her forehead were always there now and her hair was beginning to thin out. He smiles at her face, the brushing his hand on her freckles.

"I'd like that," he says, leaning on the wall with her. "The last fifteen so years were lonely, you know. You'd never be replaced, well, maybe with just a couple bottles of fire-whiskey." Rose laughs along with him and maybe he's happy today.

Strange things happen when you out to buy fire-whiskey, though, that usually happens after you open the first bottle. He'll numb the pain later, but right now, he just needs a pop of red in his life to make it a little bit better.

A/N: That turned out like crap, but first stories are always a pain. I'd be honoured if you left a review, favourite even. Hope you enjoyed it.

- — Jane