A/N: This was written for RDucky's "Look Right" challenge over at the HPFC forum. This story has three parts, which I posted all at once. Please read and review! I promise a happy ending!

SEVEN MONTHS

Part One

He remembered the last time he saw her, with her hair caught up in a tight bun, one fallen scarlet curl hanging deliciously down her neck. She was sitting at the piano, her fingers trailing along the keys fluidly as she played a simple, tragic-sounding piece that made him feel terribly nostalgic for a relationship they had never properly had. He came up behind her and watched her playing, wanting desperately to speak to her for one final time but not daring to interrupt the moment. He watched as a single tear fell down her cheek and was startled that she could play so beautifully by memory while feeling such turbulent emotions. He remained like that, watching her, until she ended the song, placing her hands in her lap soon afterwards. His own hands moved to her shoulders and he wished that her shirt left them bare, for then he would get to touch her bare skin one final time.

She had known he was there, he supposed, for she was not startled by his touch. She didn't dare turn around for a moment, and instead said to the piano before her, "I can't believe it's over."

Neither spoke and she finally turned to face him. She had stopped crying, and though he'd never known her to wear much make-up, a black trail had formed along her face—her tear leaving its final mark. He rubbed at it absent-mindedly, enjoying the feeling of her smooth skin against his fingers. Only weeks before he'd never touched her, but now he could not imagine a life without her, a life without the happiness and security of her touch, her voice, her smell.

She stood up now, placing her hands against his cheeks as well. She was tall, though not as tall as he was so though she had to stand on her tip-toes to kiss him he did not have to bend over to aid her. The kiss started off surprisingly gentle at first. Her lips were soft as they grazed against his but he could not stand such a passionless goodbye when their affair had been so spectacularly fervent. He kissed her back, hard and demanding, reaching his hands up to her hair where he tore the tie out so that her auburn locks fell across her shoulders. He pushed the neckline of her shirt lower, exposing her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. She let out a whimper, and she felt him shudder against him, great sobs escaping her lips even as she kissed him back. He pulled his lips from hers, not daring to look at her face in the interval between one kiss and another along her neck, and then one more below her collarbone, where a small freckle sat. Her own hands moved to his hair, and she drug him back to her lips, kissing him with just as much passion, claiming him for her own. He wanted to drag her onto the floor and be with her, connect with her one final time, but knew that this was not the proper situation. This was as much of a goodbye as he would get.

He remembered the sad look in her eyes as she stepped away from him, as she swept her hair up into a bun once more. The mansion was empty save for them and a few servants, and he wanted desperately for it to stay that way. He wanted to keep her there forever, but also to be able to step out of it with her—to have her in his, no, their bed at night, but also to be able to walk with her in town on some sunny Sunday morning and to be able to send her little notes from his office to her at her job. But it would never happen.

He sat in the same room now, staring off at the piano that his wife never touches. Rose was the only one who had in years. Scorpius had taken lessons as a child but never found much interest in it or pursued the art. His parents hadn't either. Now, Scorpius found himself staring at the piano almost constantly.

"Darling?"

Scorpius was startled by his wife's voice from the doorway, and he shuddered at her liberal use of a pet name. He stood and turned around to see her in her fine silk shirt that clings to her swollen belly. The only reason Scorpius responded to his wife, née Myrtle Knott, is because his child grew within her. In fact, that was the only reason Scorpius ended his relationship with Rose. The world he grew up in was one he'd thought he'd escaped from long ago, a world filled with arranged marriages and family pride and propriety—one he knew he would not force is son or daughter into, no matter what Myrtle said. Though Scorpius's parents had always been fairly free-minded, allowing him to befriend Potters and Weasleys and all other sorts during his Hogwarts years, he had still been raised among the dwindling pureblooded society. He still had had young women marched before him, dressed up in old-fashioned gowns and hand-me-down jewels that no longer sparkled with the luster they had in decades and centuries past, when their mothers and grandmothers and even older ancestors had worn them. It was Myrtle Knott that his mother had selected for him. She had selected many others, of course, but Myrtle had been the one Scorpius had approved of as well, for she was the best looking and fairly intelligent and not some distant relation as other girls were, which was all that had mattered to him then. During his Hogwarts years he'd seen other girls, but also gone about courting Myrtle—taking her out here and there. He'd slept with her twice during his Hogwarts years, and found the experience pleasant enough, though there was something lacking in her expression—in the way she simply sighed when it was over and in the way that she was very, very frigid. Since then he had continued to see her, out of duty to his family and slept with her once as well, after a date on a warm April night earlier that year when everything was looking down.

But then along came Rose. It all started in their seventh year, when they were Head Boy and Girl together. However, not much came of that aside from a friendship that consisted more of passionate arguments than anything else. Scorpius knew he had fallen in love with Rose by the time the year was out, but did nothing about it—Rose was not of his world, and he was not of hers. Now that school was over, they were destined to be friends, if that. Still, after years passed by, the connection between them had not lessened. Scorpius had been working at the Ministry for five years when Rose applied for the job beneath him the May past, and they had begun talking again, and then dating, or at least seeing one another one-on-one. Their relationship only lasted a few short weeks, but Scorpius knew it was love, as did Rose. He even spent an evening in his mother's old quarters, staring at the ring she had intended for him to give Myrtle—a rather large diamond on a surprisingly thin, shiny platinum band. However, it all came crashing down in late June, before Scorpius ever had the chance to even mention the idea of marriage to Rose, with an owl from Myrtle, who was pregnant.

It was family duty that had caused him to put aside his relationship with Rose, and family duty that kept him bound to the child that grew within Myrtle. "Yes?" Scorpius asked, staring at his wife from across the room. Her long brunette hair was tied up in a tight bun. Not a curl fell loose. She was certainly no Rose.

"An owl came for you," she said, clearing her throat afterwards as she crossed the threshold, releasing her hands from behind her back to show Scorpius an envelope. "One of the servants was going to deliver it but I said I would." She forced a smile, trying to seem like a loving, doting newlywed who craved a few spare minutes with her husband.

Myrtle was always doing this—trying to be intimate and close with Scorpius when it was the last thing he wanted—and failing miserably, at that. He wondered if she knew about Rose, or at least that there had been another woman and that he had only married her out of duty, for he knew how cruel pureblooded society could be and did not want her, or him, for that matter, to suffer the consequences.

The envelope only said his name on it and the handwriting was familiar. Scorpius tore it open, curious. He had not corresponded with Al since marrying Myrtle, for Al had known of Scorpius's relationship with Rose and had been enraged at the way his best friend had broken his cousin's heart. Frowning, Scorpius took the letter out of the envelope and looked up at Myrtle, wondering if he should read it in her presence.

"I'll just be in my study," he said, attempting to smile as he walked by her.

The walk to his study seemed long in comparison to all other trips there. Once he reached it he shut and locked the door behind him before pacing to his desk, ornately carved with figures of dragons along the legs, where he sat down and unfolded the letter. Only a few lines had been written, and apparently in haste.

Scorpius – I know it's been a few months, but we absolutely must meet. There's something very important we must discuss in private. I'll floo over to the study at Malfoy Manor at eleven tonight. Please make sure there will be no interruption. – Albus

Still perplexed, Scorpius folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket before leaning back in his chair and staring at his wristwatch. It was quarter after eight. He had over two hours to spare. Scorpius rubbed at his temples, wondering what exactly Albus had to tell him that was so significant. Suddenly, it hit him that something could be wrong with Rose. Scorpius nearly jumped at the thought, sitting up straight and staring down at the letter, smoothing it out so that it lay completely flat. It was clear that Al had written in haste. His handwriting was sloppier and more slanted than normal, and he'd dotted his i's with such vigor that Scorpius was sure the nub of his quill was ruined.

He remained like that for some time, pouring over the letter desperately, wondering what on earth could be wrong, until Myrtle knocked on the door half an hour later. He let her in, and she said she was feeling tired and would retire shortly.

"Are you still reading your letter?" she asked, and Scorpius hated himself for glaring at her as if nothing of his doing was her business, when in reality she was his wife and what he did should be her business. Though his grandparents had been dead for years and his parents had moved off to some villa in France, it seemed to him that he was repeating some old-fashioned pattern, not only in allowing society to rule his life but in not loving his wife.

She left him alone with the letter and he poured himself a glass of brandy, which he swirled around more than he drank as he paced about the room until the clock chimed eleven. Moments later, the fireplace took on a greenish color and Al climbed out, dusting off his pants before standing up straight and staring across the room towards Scorpius.

Scorpius must have looked like a wreck, for Al crossed the room and hugged him. When he stepped away, Scorpius didn't even have time to offer Al a seat, for the other man quickly said, "I talked to Bentley Zabini today."

Scorpius frowned. The name was familiar to him—Bentley Zabini had been a fellow Slytherin at Hogwarts, two years his elder, with dark skin and features that made a majority of the female student body swoon. Scorpius had only seen him five times, in passing or at social events, since Zabini had graduated from Hogwarts twelve years ago. Scorpius couldn't imagine what he could have to do with anything. "And?" he prompted.

Al let out a sigh and walked over to the chair across from Scorpius's desk. He nodded at Scorpius, who sat down at the desk and motioned for Al to follow suit. Once both men were seated Al said, "I ran into him at that Quidditch specialty shop on…oh, what's it called? Not that one on Diagon Alley, but around the corner." Al didn't take time to ponder over the name, though, and continued with the story, his voice rushed, "Anyway, we had a discussion and someone you came up—you know, chatting about playing Quidditch together at Hogwarts." Scorpius nodded, sensing the discomfort in Al's eyes. Whatever Albus was going to say, it would obviously have some impact on Scorpius and had obviously had some impact on Albus as well.

"He said that he'd seen your wedding announcement and asked if I'd been at the wedding. He didn't say it, but I suppose he sensed it was a rather rushed affair. I said I had not, that it had been a very small ceremony from my understanding." Scorpius frowned, staring at Al, trying to determine what this had to do with anything. "And he said…well, you see, I have no idea why he laid this all on me but I suppose it was weighing on him and he needed to tell someone."

Scorpius let out a sigh. "Get to the point, Al." His best friend had never been this nervous in his life, it seemed.

Al looked from his hands, which lied in his lap, up to Scorpius and after a moment's hesitation spat it out. "He said he was surprised Myrtle hadn't come to him first, seeing as he'd been seeing her for over a month when he saw the announcement."

Scorpius stared forward at Al, not comprehending. His voice came out strangled when he asked, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Al said, standing up, brushing his pants down once more, and beginning to pace, "that it's highly possible…that Myrtle isn't baring your child, Scorpius. It's possible she's having Zabini's, but didn't want to scandalize her family and so she married the man she was supposed to."

Scorpius stood up now and finished off his glass of brandy before heading over to the decanter. He motioned to Al, who nodded, but Scorpius pushed the brandy aside, shuffling ice into both glasses and then nearly filling them both with someone stronger—firewhisky.

Al took his glass once Scorpius offered it to him, but did not so much as take a sip, though Scorpius drank a decent size portion, barely wincing before saying, "I'm not following you."

"Yes you are," Al said, placing his glass down on the corner of a sheet of paper on the desk. He pointed a finger at Scorpius. "Don't play dumb. You said yourself that you couldn't see how it happened—you said the charm, didn't you?"

Scorpius shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Yes, but that's not always effective."

"It is if you say it right," Al retorted. "Have you ever said it wrong?"

Shaking his head, Scorpius took another swig of his drink. "No."

"Then why would it fail?" Albus asked. "And furthermore," he said, slowly walking towards Scorpius, "she didn't write you until late June! Don't you think she would've known by then?"

Scorpius shook his head again. "She said she was unsure—"

"There's all sorts of charms to verify pregnancy," Al interrupted.

Scorpius stood up straight, placing his glass on the fireplace mantle nearby. "That's beside the point," he said, now pointing his own finger and stepping towards Albus. "I married Myrtle for two reasons—the first, yes, because I have been led to believe she's carrying my child. But the second is because I know how cruel this society can be and life as an unwed mother would not be happy for her."

Al threw his arms out wide, raising his voice. "And this life's happy for you both?"

A grimace appeared on Scorpius's face. He reached into the pocket of his trousers to procure his wand and murmured, "Muffliato." He did not want Myrtle or any of the servants hearing this argument.

"And besides," Al continued, his voice only slightly quieter. "What happens when she has the baby? I don't mean to be rude, but it will be quite obvious whether the child belongs to you or Zabini."

It was true. Where Scorpius was pale and blonde, Bentley was dark. "I'll worry about that when it happens," he said, returning to his desk and sitting down. Waves of humiliation suddenly poured over him. If his life was miserable now, it would be even worse then. He'd have the option to divorce Myrtle, obviously, but then she would be humiliated, and it wasn't as if he hated her. In a way, Scorpius felt sorry for his wife. She was stuck in the same situation he was, it seemed. Though it was possible she didn't love Bentley as he loved Rose, she had still felt forced to go along with society's wishes and married Scorpius, the man her parents had wanted her to marry.

Al let out a sigh and Scorpius turned his gaze to him. "Look," Al said, rummaging about in his pockets. "I know you feel like you can't do anything about this, not just yet, but, well… I found this at Rose's apartment today when we were looking through old photos. I said I wanted it, but really I thought you might." He pulled the item he was looking for out of his pocket, but it was very small and Scorpius could not see what it was until Al pulled out his wand as well and tapped the item with it. The item grew and Scorpius could see that it was a picture frame, which Albus handed to him. "I think it was taken in our third year, at our first Hogsmeade trip maybe. I don't remember it being taken, and Rose didn't want to talk about it much."

Scorpius took the picture frame and looked at the photo within. A very young Al stood in the center, laughing and looking at a clearly teenage Rose, who stood to his left, her cheeks red from the cold. It was snowing and her Gryffindor scarf was wrapped around her neck. Her red curls bounced as she laughed as well. Scorpius stood to Al's right, backed away from the other two a bit. It was clear that at the time he had not known Rose well and felt a bit left out spending time with the two cousins, but he still smiled, his arms awkwardly crossed over his chest. It was clear that he felt insecure with himself at thirteen. But there was still a wide grin on his face and he was shaking his head back and forth. It seemed that Al had just told a very bad joke.

Smiling, Scorpius placed the picture frame on his desk. "So long ago. But why'd you give this to me?"

Al let out another sigh. "Because you're happy in this picture. You were happy growing up and you were happy early this summer with Rose. But the truth is, in between school and then, and especially now…" Al trailed off, stepping towards the fireplace. He reached for the bag of Floo powder stationed nearby and procured a small amount before tossing the bag back onto the floor. "Look, Scorpius. I know your life is difficult right now and that sometimes it's very hard to make the right decision. You've been very chivalrous about the matter so far, but the truth of the matter is…since when have you been chivalrous? So you need to—no, she needs you to make the right decision." Scorpius was not sure if she meant Rose or Myrtle. "She needs you to stop being so damn noble and just do what makes you happy, and this sure as hell isn't it." And with that, Al turned around, tossed the powder into the fire while stating his address, and stepped into the fire.

Scorpius started at the fireplace for a few minutes before shaking his head and turning his gaze to the picture frame before him. Happiness, he thought. It was a sentiment—not tangible, not solid. But still, he knew what it felt like, and he hadn't felt it in so long. The smile on the face of his younger self, yes, that was happiness, but it was Rose who he kept looking at—young Rose with her freckles and wide smile. The image brought an older version of her to his memory, one of early that summer. A version of her laughing in the rain, putting a book away, sipping out of her glass in a fancy restaurant, waking up, a whorl of hair against her naked breast and a smile on her face.

He hadn't seen that smile in too long.

A/N: Things start looking up in the next chapter. I promise.