III:
His father had always been a sulker, when Draco Malfoy was mad everyone put up with it for days. When Astoria Malfoy was mad, she blew things up with her wand, and then got over it. Scorpius chose not to be like either of them, anger simmered in him gently, and grew into a dangerous weapon. For him anger was a rare emotion, it took a lot to move him from irritation toward actually anger but if he arrived it was an experience most never forgot.
Her father and mother yelled a lot when they were mad, Rose was glad they thought she had more of her grandfather's temperament. Of course Grandfather Weasley was very peaceable by nature. For Rose it just wasn't productive to show someone how angry you were, it gave them power of you. Instead she explained her displeasure in such pleasant terms the offending person felt horrified and remorseful for months after Rose had completely forgotten the incident.
They met in the hallway, each slightly cautious. As aware of each other's anger as they were of everything else. Someone had dared imply…dared suggest. It couldn't be true.
Rose could feel her heart jumping, straining towards him as it always did. Was it real?
His eyes burned dark grey, slicing through her. What made him so angry?
Scorpius battled his instincts to drag his pale, tired Rose to bed, tuck her in and hold her tightly, never letting go. Was it real?
Her tone as she answers him has him quivering inside. What was she so mad about?
They circle, waiting torturously long days and nights, wondering, hurting and it's Rose who finally breaks. Hurling herself into his arms and begging him to say it's not true. He's never seen her cry, and it cuts him more than anything else, fills him with rage at whoever dared hurt her.
She's furious at her tears but Scorpius is holding her, so tight she can feel her bones creak and they're falling and she's so happy and so angry that she can't do anything to stop them.
There is so much pain she cannot bare to move and for the second time she cannot stop the tears and she is not alone. He cradles her close, as each wracking sob shudders through her body then echoes in her own. Precious moments spiral away, a future rushed off out of reach. But the memory will remain and when the initial pain is gone wrath unseen before wells from deep within.
And so began the search, other carefully laid down plans, sidelined in pursuit of vengeance. Days passed to weeks, and clues led to dead ends. In a kind of frantic determination, they paused only when Scorpius insists Rose rest. He stays with her, silent, caring. In those moments both knew without a doubt that the scraps of paper where an evil blasphemous lie. Those moments did more than clarify, they drove them on.
Things began to unravel, the hunt became obsession, and obsession became a consuming compulsion that cannot be contained. The façade cracks; concerned family and friends descend, only to be denied access by a disheveled, frantic eyed man, hardly recognizable as Scorpius Malfoy.
There are three vials; Rose pours the first into a shot of Firewhisky and waits for him to return from the bathroom. He talks to her, as she buries impatience, today has always been hard on him. Just thinking of the exquisite irony of the date has her hiding a smile. Pleasure bubbles within as he downs the glass. She watches his eyes widen in realization and horror, he clutches at his throat as she dangles the second vial in front of him, mockingly. He snatches it while his face turns a fascinating shade of reddish purple. She lets him think he outwitted her by grabbing it off her and downing it in one gulp. The choking stops, his eyes glaze over and he slumps down at the table. She pulls out her mirror and holds it near his face; it fogs slightly. Satisfied, she stands, brushing herself off and checking herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bright and hot. She smiles and walks into Scorpius' arms.
"Three or four hours," she says and smiles as strong arms come around her.
"Shall we go? They'll be waiting."
She nods, then leans down and writes four precise neat letters and leaves the scrap of parchment on the table.
Liar.
They look as though nothing has happened; both dressed with a simple elegance that outshines everyone else in the room by far. If the crowd of well-wishers and people dying to feed their curiosity bothered either of them it does not show. Neither does the raging fury that lies beneath the surface. A lifetime of scorn and pretence fuelled the simmering hurt and anger from the events of the past months. Rose wants blood. She wants pain. She wants them to pay. Every single one: from her smothering, needy grandmother to her assertive, reckless younger brother.
Her uncle Harry makes his usual speech about the unsung heroes. Rose thinks after more than 21 years of his speeches, they have surely been sung enough but she produces the misty eyes that are expected from females in their family during the Battle of Hogwarts anniversary. Scorpius' arm around her waist is support and comfort. As is the knowledge he is with her in every way. What others see in his eyes as remorse for his family's actions, she can identify as anger to match her own. She makes it through the evening, though there are several moments where she wants to pull out her wand and start shooting Unforgivables till there is no-one left. Finally, they make their farewells.
"It's so good you came." Molly Weasley sniffs, "after all your troubles," She looks pointedly at Rose's stomach before pulling her into a tight hug. Rose manages not to flinch, but it's a struggle to return the embrace that wasn't ending. "Some young people, they just don't understand the importance of these things. They forget what we went through so they could live in peace." Scorpius meets Rose's eyes over her grandmother's back and comes to her rescue, "We really must be going Mrs. Weasley…"
"Molly dear, you're practically my grandson."
Scorpius ignores her, "Rose needs her rest." Patronizingly sympathetic eyes rest once again on Rose's stomach as she is released. "Yes of course, I'm so glad you came, at least some of my grandchildren understand the importance of remembering." An infuriated look is directed at Uncle George that makes Rose very nearly crack. A tiny giggle escapes into Scorpius' chest as he pulls her to him and they Aparate away.
The fire gradually simmers down. Now the culprit has been found and appropriately dealt with, but the damage is done. They know now with blinding clarity. No one can be trusted. No one can understand their connection. No-one can be let in. No-one can know what they do. Rose and Scorpius are above them all.
Two days after news of the horrific murder of Fred Weasley Junior, prankster extraordinaire, rocked the wizarding world, the gates of Malfoy Manor close permanently, the iron bars along the top curled into the words Eternal Sanctuary. And no matter what people try, no matter what resources they used or powerful witches and wizards they recruited, the gates remain shut. The house seems to grow old, gate rusts over, ivy and other climbing vines grow in abundance. A few can see the shadow of what the Manor once was under the disrepair. Once or twice someone claimed to a flutter of curtains at a window. The rumour of a ghost, of haunting, of deadly lover's spats or flights from societies persecution depending on the turn of the tellers mind, began to spread. Before long people forgot that the Manor had been occupied by the living, that it had once been Malfoy Manor. It settles into the local landscape and history and stayes there as The Sanctuary. Though the gate was rusted and the large wall surrounding the Manor was crumbling, not a single could ever manage to break into the grounds.
That's the end. Please review :) Hope you all enjoyed.