Chapter Twenty-Six: Emily: The Wounded

I couldn't breathe.

I could barely see where I was going. I had slammed the bedroom shut and made it three steps down the hallway before I stopped suddenly, the room spinning before me, my heart pounding my ears and my chest tight and my lips tingling from when they had touched Al's lips –

What did I just do?

Then I heard a crack from inside the room. I instantly froze; shit, did Al fall or break something or… what? Ignoring my aching head, I rushed back in, not caring what I'd just done, but Al needed to be okay, he had to be –

But he wasn't even there. I realized the crack meant he'd apparated out. The room was just as we'd left it: the beds were unmade and Al's socks were on the floor. Light streamed through the windows.

I shakily made my way into the shower, keeping my clothes on as water poured over me. My tears intermingled with the water and I still couldn't breathe, but I didn't care; I stripped off my sopping t-shirt and tank top and stared through blurry eyes at my torso.

It never changed. They weren't going to: they were scars. I had to remember that.

Usually I managed to cover it with a spell, but the spell damage I'd done was permanent. Two years and the scars were still there as though David had given to me yesterday, but they hadn't. They didn't hurt anymore. They were just a living reminder of what I'd gone through and what had happened when I tried to cover it up. When I tried to run from it.

They were ugly and purple and blue and black and I wanted them gone.Every day I had to look at them, and for a while I thought I'd finally gotten over it. I thought that I could look at them without feeling like David still owned me. That I was my own person. That someone else cared for me enough to protect me from someone like him, and that I deserved it, for once. That I wouldn't look at myself and feel so bad.

And he didn't even remember, even when evidence was staring at him in the face.

I slid down the tiled wall and curled into myself, beginning to sob underneath the hot water of the shower. Al lied to me. If he really cared for me, he would've remembered. If he'd felt anything, he would've kissed me back.

He forgot, you idiot, he forgot and he used you, I told myself. He doesn't care, and you shouldn't, either. He told you to get over him because he felt guilty for leading you on. Stop crying and accept that.

But I couldn't. I knew Al. And maybe I didn't, because he'd played me like a fool and I fell for every bloody thing he did. I was such an idiot for believing him. I was a shit Slytherin, and even worse, I hadn't learned from the first time I'd gone through this.

I ran my fingers over the biggest bruise – the one Al had seen. The one that extended from my cleavage down to my belly button. The one which started as a bruise, when David had punched me and scratched his nails down the middle of my torso. The scratches still looked as though they were open and bloody. Like they would never heal.

I still couldn't breathe.

I can't believe he didn't remember.

I didn't know what to expect of Azkaban. All I knew was that it was on an island, and the Dementors were only there because there was literally no way to destroy one and there was no other place to put them. They were still trying to work that out, I suppose.

My mother and I had arrived at the ministry to take a portkey there with an official-looking wizard with a comb-over and black robes. My eyes were still red. So were my mother's; they were red when I had come over the previous day.

I think she was depressed. I didn't even think how my father's imprisonment had affected her, and looking back, we may have been able to help each other. Even if we were just eating ice cream on the couch while sitting and talking and rubbing each other's feet (mother-daughter nights over the years), it would've been better than being alone.

But we weren't alone this time. I clasped my mother's hand like when I was little and held the portkey, which was an old, battered hairbrush. Her hand was warm and comforting as we spun through the stratosphere, into nothing - into the decay that was Azkaban.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was the sea, combined with something I didn't recognize. I wrinkled my nose and straightened up, unwilling to let go of my mother's hand as I observed our surroundings.

It was dark. We could hear the sea, but couldn't see it; the island seemed to be entirely surrounded by the prison, and we'd landed in the courtyard. Surrounding us were endlessly tall walls of building, shaped in a triangle. Prison cells were surrounding us, just bars.

Then I started to hear the moaning and screaming.

From the prisoners.

"Come on," the official bit out impatiently, and my mum pulled me to follow him. He led us through an entrance and up stairs. Many stairs. And it was dark. As we climbed, I could hear the moaning and screaming get louder and louder and louder. I brought up one hand to shut my ears.

Finally, we stopped at the fifth landing.

"Gregory Goyle," the official grunted, unlocking the door with his wand. "Served three weeks. Top security. Cause: Death Eater." I wondered why he would be telling us this – we obviously knew – but it was evident when he'd opened the door. We entered the room, and single cells switched back and forth in quick speeds.

So the visitors don't see the Dementors, I realized.

"Dad!" I cried when his cell came into view, stopping and slamming in place. The official unlocked his cell with a wave of his wand and left, shutting the door. Without thinking, I leapt forward and jumped in my dad's arms.

"Emily," he said weakly. That's when I stepped away and got a good look at him; he'd lost a lot of weight. He was pale and shaking, even after being away from the Dementors. Despite that, he seemed intact. Not insane. I threw my arms around him again, warming him, smelling in that good old Dad scent and trying not to cry again. My mother wrapped her arms and both of us from behind me, and I relaxed.

He was okay.

Shocked. Terrified. But okay.

"You shouldn't have come here," he whispered, tears leaking out of his eyes. I shook my head and held tighter. "It's not – it's not safe."

"Dad, I missed you," I gasped, beginning to cry yet again. My mum as already crying, and her tears were soaking the back of my shirt. I pulled away and let mother and father embrace.

I wiped my eyes as they kissed and held each other, whispering incoherent thoughts. I kept hearing, "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay…"

It really was hardest for my mum. I found myself imagining myself in her place, if Al was the one trapped behind bars with Dementors, forcing him to imagine his darkest memories, as though he were trapped in them, as though he would never feel happy again –

Except we could never compare to the love between my parents. That was real. And no matter how much I wanted it otherwise, Al didn't feel anything for me.

But I still had my parents.

I went back to wiggle in between them again, feeling as though I hadn't been truly at home for months. I loved my dad. I loved my mum. I loved them so much for raising me and teaching me how to walk and use the toilet and kissing my cuts and for their singing in the morning. I loved them so much.

And just like my bruises, I wanted my father gone from his place.

I still couldn't breathe.

We only got a bit of time before the guard, who had been waiting outside the door, came back and told us to leave. Barely any time to talk to my father. He just kept telling us to be strong – as if he didn't need the advice himself – and bid us goodbye. I never had the chance to say goodbye before. It was harder than I thought it would be.

When I got back to the ministry and hugged my mother goodbye, I came home with a resolve to be better at keeping in touch with her. I wasn't sure how to keep in touch with my dad, because visiting was a scarring experience in itself, but I would do it. I wanted to.

I found Rose and Scorpius in the kitchen, packing utensils into a box. I sniffed loudly, and they looked up.

"Emily, you're home – are you okay?"

I nodded, but Rose leapt a few steps and tackled me anyway. I wrapped my arms around her; she was getting bigger now, with a tiny bump on her stomach. I looked over her shoulder at Scorpius, trying not to burst into tears again.

He mouthed it. 'Well, are you okay?' I locked eyes with him and shook my head. The next thing I knew, Rose had let go and Scorpius was gripping me tightly, lifting me slightly off my feet.

"I'm so sorry," he told me desperately, swaying me back and forth. "I wanted to tell you – we felt so bad for kicking you guys out that we wanted to make sure you and Potter had somewhere to stay, but he found out first and got hot-headed and –"

"You're more alike than you think," I whispered in his ear, relaxing. "It's okay, Scorp. Siblings fight all the time. We all make mistakes. I still love you."

"You're so sappy."

"Says the one squeezing me to death." Almost squeezing out my tears. I buried my nose in his shoulder. "I never want to go back to Azkaban again." He only awkwardly patted my back. Same old Scorp.

"AWWWW!"

I laughed and turned to Rose. "Couldn't hold it in anymore?" I teased, my voice cracking as it came out.

She dabbed at her eyes and launched her arms and around Scorpius' neck, bringing their lips together. "Nope," she mumbled. I rolled my eyes and grinned, almost feeling better.

Until I was painfully reminded that they too had what I didn't have. I watched them as they smiled at each other, eyes sparkling and pretty much forgetting I was in the room. Like they were the only ones in the world.

I cleared my throat. "Where's Al?"

"Emily, what a surprise!"

I was sure James was being slightly sarcastic when he answered the door, so I didn't answer. He let me in, awkwardly watching me take off my shoes. "Al's kind of… unavailable right now."

"What do you mean?"

"He's unconscious," he stated matter-of-factly, sounding unconcerned. My mouth fell open.

"Why?"

"He splinched himself getting here, the prat." James rolled his eyes at my worry. "Don't worry, he's fine. He's been out for hours, though. Did he sleep last night?"

"Not really." I placed my shoes neatly in the corner and followed him into the house. "Al found the Daily Prophet article yesterday, so I think he was a little occupied with that."

James snorted. "He's been mumbling about you in his sleep for the past four hours."

So he feels guilty,I thought, but my face burned anyway. Just as we entered the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Potter fell silent and glanced to us from the stove. Their eyes widened in surprise.

"Hello," I greeted shyly, and James shoved me into a chair at the breakfast bar. He sauntered away. "Wait, where are you going?" I called.

"Checking on Al. Don't come," he added.

I wasn't going to go. Pfft.

PFFT.

It's not like he'd want me to come, anyway, I remembered, my face falling. I quickly pulled it back into a weak smile at Al's parents. I still found it strange to see them in muggle clothing; I'd seen them in dress robes for the past seventeen years of my life whenever they were in public. They were famous. It was strange to think they had normal lives.

"Hello, Emily," Al's mother greeted, breaking the awkward silence. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"I – if you'll have me." I fidgeted with the ends of my shirt as they assured me that they'd love to have me over. I wondered if there would ever be a point that I wouldn't feel awkward and intruding around the Potters. I loved Al, but his family took some adjusting to.

Wait a minute.

Bloody hell.

I loved Al.

"Emily?" Mr. Potter waved a hand in front of me, and I started again stunned. I'm in love with Al. "Emily, are you okay?" No, I'm in love. I'minloveI'minloveI'minlove. I nodded anyway. I felt numb.

I'm in love with Al.

And he doesn't love me back.

I couldn't breathe anymore.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter looked at a loss for what to say, so they simply went back to making dinner, respectfully giving me space. As I regained the awareness of my senses, I watched them cook dinner – a casserole of some sort. They worked together, handed things to each other from the fridge and pantry and cupboards. Mrs. Potter would smack her husband lightly on the hand every time he reached in pan to taste something. Their laughter blended together.

They were probably amazing parents, like mine. They probably knew everything about their children's lives and helped them whenever they were struggling with something. They probably had years of memories stored away; everyone knew that they'd gotten together in their sixth year of Hogwarts. The rumour was practically a legend, and sitting there watching them, I could see how people believed it. It was true.

First it was my parents, then Rose and Scorpius, and now Al's parents. It was always there, but it was as though it had caught my attention and flaunting it in my face like some sort of banner: We have what you don't. And probably will never have. You fall in unrequited love. And like the selfish person I was, I felt something break. I just couldn't keep it inside any longer.

"I'm in love with your son."

They stopped bustling around at my outburst. They exchanged glances uneasily.

"We know that, Emily…" Mrs. Potter answered, unsure. I shook my head.

"That's not it."

"You're not in love with James, are you?"

"What – of course not," I said, momentarily distracted.

"Then what is it?"

I took a deep breath. I couldn't even believe I was doing this. "I'm in love with Al… but he doesn't love me back." They stared blankly at me. Disbelieving. I closed my eyes, unwilling to see their disappointment. "We didn't know each other when we got married. We did it save my family."

They didn't say anything. I kept going.

"It was fine, at first. We became friends. We went to the ministry. They almost believed us. Then Al's ex-girlfriend told the minister that we weren't in love, and since we didn't take Veritaserum, they took my father to jail." I buried my face in my hands, still refusing to look at them. "Then Al told me he fancied me, but he lied, and I don't know why, but now I'm in love with him and it's still a lie to him."

My voice broke. "All of it was a lie."

The sauce or whatever was in the pot began bubbling noisily; they gratefully took the distraction, but instead of simply turning off the stove, they both lunged for it, muttering under their breaths to each other.

"Let me do it."

"No, let me do it."

"Just – let go, Ginny –"

As they struggled over the pot, determinedly not looking at me, I heard thumping coming from the stairs. Moments later, James and Lily and the boy I was in love with (maybe if I repeated it to myself, it wouldn't sound so scary) appeared in the doorway. We locked gazes and froze. Simultaneously.

Shit.

I didn't even ask him if he was ready to tell his parents.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to croak.

My heart was racing. "Al."

As I slid off the chair and walked towards him, he looked as though he was fighting the urge to run away. He looked nervous and shocked and scared, and I didn't know why. He winced when I pushed him out of the kitchen.

"What's going on?" he asked, peering closely at me. "What's wrong?"

I closed my eyes under his gaze. "I told them."

"What?"

"Al," I said impatiently, my eyes snapping open. Guilt was settling in my stomach, making it clench and squirm. "I told them everything."

He was pale before, but after I'd confessed what I'd done, the colour had completely drained from Al's face. I felt guilty, yeah. But I needed to do it. It was the right thing to do.

"You told our parents," he whispered. "You told them we…"

"Everything." I shifted my weight from one side to the other. "Why we did it. The real reason."

He swallowed. "You did this without telling me."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I hung my head. I spotted butterflies on my socks. Did I really do it because I was in love with Al, and he lied to me? Did I really snap because everyone else's love life was perfect, but mine wasn't even close? I felt my cheeks burn from shame.

"Because you don't care," I whispered.

"What?"

"Well, you don't, do you?" My head snapped up to meet his bewildered expression. "How could you forget? Why didn't you kiss me back?"

"So was this some way of tattling on me?" he demanded.

My face grew hotter. "No."

"Bloody sodding hell, what did you just do?"

"I told them the truth!" I shouted back, throwing my arms in the air. "I told them what we should've told them two months ago! Why did we hide this from them? Why did we tell Rose and Scorpius that I'm pregnant? So you could use me?"

"I never fucking–"

"That's enough," came a voice from inside the kitchen. Mrs. Potter stepped out in the hallway, hands on her hips and looking extremely menacing. I guess Mr. Potter won the battle over the pot. "Watch your language, Albus."

"Sorry," he muttered, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets.

Wow. He listened to his mother.

"What's going on?" she asked, turning to me. Al was glaring at me, and it was very distracting. "Dinner's ready, and you two are making a racket out here –"

"She started it!"

"I started this?"

"Yes, you did!"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

I was about to answer when James and Lily burst into laughter; evidently, they had been peeking into the hallway. Mr. Potter was sitting at the table, smiling to himself. Even Mrs. Potter was trying not to laugh.

"Do you two need a time out?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.

"No," we both replied indignantly. We glared at each other, crossing our arms.

The next thing I knew, we were seated beside each other at the Potter's dinner table across from Mr. and Mrs. Potter. James and Lily were sitting at the sides, giggling away and glancing at the casserole in the middle of the table. They were probably hungry. Oops.

"So," Mr. Potter said as silence fell over the room, "why are you two fighting?"

"What aren't we fighting about?" Al muttered, arms still crossed tightly around him. "I don't even bloody know what's going on anymore."

"That's what you call lack of communication."

"Shut up Lily," Al shot, scowling.

"You know exactly why we're fighting," I mumbled, still unrelenting. If he was going to be stubborn about it, than so was I. "But I shouldn't have told. Should've talked to you about it, first."

"You don't say."

"Stop being rude, Albus," Mrs. Potter scolded before turning to me. I instantly trembled under her gaze. "I… we don't approve, but Emily, you have to be considerate of your husband."

I blinked. "Yeah… but… it's fake, isn't it?"

Mr. and Mrs. Potter exchanged glances, looking back at us wearily. Al uncrossed his arms, sensing a change. Shit. What's going on? "Well… Emily… we might have known all along," she admitted. Our jaws dropped.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

"You… you what?" Al choked, eyes widening. His hand reached under the table and brushed my thigh. I tensed before taking it. It was warm and sweaty, and I squeezed it and closed my eyes. It couldn't be true. They couldn't have known all along.

"Remember when we had dinner at the Goyle's house?" Mrs. Potter said carefully, as though she was afraid we would explode. "You two had gone up to Emily's room – I think she was unpacking or something?" she asked, and I nodded in confirmation.

I remembered. I also remembered Al saying, "You should care. It's good for you."

And look where that had gotten me.

She sighed. "Well, that's when we agreed we would let you two do this."

"But everyone figured it out after your lame story," Lily interjected, rolling her eyes. "I don't even know how Rose and Scorpius believed you. I think most of us know by now."

What the bloody hell.

Did we suck at lying that much?

"What were you planning on doing?" Mr. Potter asked, raising an eyebrow. "Divorcing after this was over? It was clear that you barely knew each other two months ago."

I squeezed Al's hand this time.

"You can't just divorce," he explained, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's complicated, costs money, and honestly? It's not the right thing to do."

Mrs. Potter sighed in agreement. "Divorce rates may be high because people realize they're not in love anymore, but that doesn't always justify it. People forget that they have to work for their relationship. You can't go into a marriage knowing you're going to divorce."

"But…" I struggled for words, not quite understanding their point. "We did it to save my family. It wasn't real. Why does it matter?"

"Because we don't want you to think it's okay to divorce when you're actually in love!" she emphasized, slamming a hand down on the table and looking pointedly at me. My eyes widened in fear.

Don't tell him I'm in love with him, please don't tell him, Merlin, please no.

To my surprise, she only said, "Divorce isn't as big of a joke as people sometimes make it out to be."

Oh.

I hung my head again. Al's hand was slipping in mine, but he held on tight.

Why am I holding his hand?

"We didn't think it was a joke," Al muttered guiltily. "We just did what we had to do."

"I think what Mum and Dad are trying to say is that people give up too easily," James contemplated, studying his hands as he spoke. "They don't realize that they have to share everything which each other. I think…" He ducked his head in embarrassment. "I think that's what it means. Not seeing flaws as necessarily a bad thing, and working on them if they need to."

Al raised an eyebrow at his brother, but Mr. Potter just went on, completely unconcerned about the fact that James had done something very out-of-character.

"Exactly. And another thing." He pushed his glasses up. "We know about selling the house."

"Did everyone know before us?" Al grumbled. I snorted.

"Rose and Scorpius told us that they were trying to find a place for you guys, but they wanted a backup, just in case," he told us, standing and reaching to the basket on the counter. He tossed us two shiny, silver spare keys. "Welcome to your new home."

"I thought we were going to find an apartment," I said numbly, watching the key clatter onto the table in front of us.

"I don't think you're ready for that yet."

"Yeah, did you see yourselves?" Lily piped up, smirking as she flipped her hair. I blushed at the memory. "Acting like little children. What are you, five?"

Al tried to sound tough, but it just came out indignant again. "No."

Mrs. Potter was looking at us thoughtfully. "You know, I think Lily might be onto something."

"That we're five years old?"

"No…" Her eyes lit mischievously and glanced to her husband. It was as though they were communicating silently, because a few seconds later, he grinned widely.

"You know, I think that might just work," he said.

Al's spine tensed with nerves. I still didn't know why I was holding his hand.

"You two," said his mother, pointing at us with two fingers. "Grab your keys and dinner and go to your rooms."

"What?"

"I don't have a room here –"

"Wait a second," Al interrupted, staring at his parents in disbelief. "You're giving us a time out. You're actually doing it."

"If you're going to act like five year olds, then we might as well give you appropriate punishments." I could tell that Al was speechless; he open and closed his mouth as though there were many things he'd just love to say, but couldn't since, you know… they were his parents.

But finally, he said something.

"What the fuck."

… it was probably the wrong thing to say.

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Mrs. Potter thundered. I just about peed my pants. James and Lily burst into silent peals of laughter as their mother stood, eyes ablaze, a shaking finger pointed to the direction of Al's room. He tightened his grip on my hand and set off, but not before he grabbed the entire casserole dish with his other hand.

"Come on, Emily!" he shouted, mirth twinkling in his eyes as we ran up the stairs and into his room. I couldn't help but laugh at his idiocy. "We're home free!"

Well, not exactly. Since his mother stormed in a minute later, grabbed the dish and stomped back downstairs… but not before Al put some in the lid of the casserole in and hid it in his bookshelf first.

I really loved this kid.

As soon as his mother slammed the door shut, Al's hand slid out of mine and he collapsed on his bed. I wouldn't have been concerned, but as soon as he landed, he let out a loud groan and clutched at his side.

"Al?" I asked, hurrying onto the bed beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he grunted. He made an attempt to sit up, but I pushed on his shoulder to keep him down. "Kind of a stupid move, running. Splinched myself getting here."

"How?"

"I dunno, I apparated and fainted." Without thinking, I moved my hand up his shoulder to his forehead and brushed hair away from his forehead. It was almost natural the way he closed his eyes.

"Let me see," I said quietly. Wincing, he turned over and lifted his shirt. Someone had evidently treated it with dittany and a few healing spells, leaving a long, thin scar where the wound had healed. "You've got a scar."

"Brilliant," he groaned, wincing again for some reason. I pulled his shirt back down and he turned over. "Mind getting the food? I'm starving."

We ate in silence. I was determined to avoid his eyes; instead, I focused on his room. It was still the same: ugly posters plastered everywhere, bookshelves filled with books and papers, a couch against one wall, a desk against the other. After we finished eating, I put the lid on his desk.

"Emily?" he called softly. "Why aren't you mad?"

Right, I'm supposed to be angry him, I thought, but I couldn't find it in myself anymore. It had been a long day of fighting and tears and I was tired of it all. I just wanted to crawl in his arms and sleep. I felt like crying again.

I only shrugged in response, plopping down on his couch and curling into it. I heard him limp over and sit beside me, placing a hand on my back. I wiggled it off. He retracted his hand as though it had burned.

"Sorry," he mumbled, leaning back and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. "Why do you think my parents gave us a time out?"

"We were being immature. I guess they just wanted us to talk it out like mature adults."

"We've always done that, though," he pointed out. I couldn't help but smile. We were so honest with each other that it was unnatural. "We tell each other everything. I mean," he added guiltily, "except for that thing…"

"That thing," I echoed, my voice hollow and emotionless as I sat up, keeping my legs curled underneath me. He almost told me. He was so close to telling me everything so things could make sense again, but then he… forgot. I might've overreacted, and kissed him… but he still hadn't kissed me back.

And you know what? We were both being stupid.

"I'm sorry," we blurted out together.

"I remembered," Al said quickly, turning and grasping my hand. His eyes were desperate and guilty – as I expected mine were. "I remembered where your bruises were from and I'm so sorry that I forgot. I could make excuses and shit but I really just wasn't thinking straight, and I'm sorry."

I breathed again. "I'm so sorry I overreacted. I knew you hadn't really slept well last night."

"It's okay."

Tears threatened to spill over. "Did you really use me?"

"No, of course not," he whispered firmly. "Bloody hell, I didn't kiss you back because I was shocked. Didn't have a clue what was going on."

"I thought you didn't care to remember."

His back stiffened. "Do I really act like I don't care?"

"Not usually!" I assured him quickly. He only looked more frustrated with himself. I shuffled closer to him. "I guess… in the beginning. When this was strictly business, or friendship. And maybe a little when you wanted me to get over you."

"Oh."

I looked away. "I thought this was all just a lie to you."

"But it wasn't!" he burst out loudly. "I promise, Emily. I would never lead someone on like that. Trust me."

My eyes found his again. "But you don't trust me."

"What?"

"With the truth," I clarified, tears finally sneaking out. "And if we don't have trust, then what dowe have?"

A long silence followed my words.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he said in a low voice sometime after. "It's just that I don't want to think about it. And I'd rather not. There was a reason that I didn't go out with anyone for the last two years."

"Why me?" I asked as I brushed away my tears.

"You made me forget." He whispered it so quietly, I was sure he didn't want me to hear it. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around him. He brought his hands around my sides and slipped his hands under my shirt. I froze.

"What are you doing?"

"Let me see," he requested, repeating my earlier words. He wanted to see my bruises. Did I want him to see? Would he freak out? Would he be disgusted? Would he suddenly disappear, like he did that morning? I swallowed and retracted my hands, shaking my head.

"I don't want you to."

"Please."

"I forgot to cover them this morning."

"You cover them?"

"With a spell," I admitted quietly. "Comes off in water."

He pulled my hands close and pressed his lips against them. "Don't cover them around me. I won't freak out again. I swear."

I started to shake. "They're disgusting. Why do you want to see?"

He didn't answer, but let go of my hands and pushed my shirt upwards slowly, as though he was asking again. And for some reason, I let him.

I closed my eyes as he pulled my shirt over my head, keeping them closed as his eyes searched my torso. I didn't want to see his reaction. I didn't want to see his face screwed in revulsion; I didn't think I could stand it.

To my surprise, his hand was shaking as it ran across my skin. His thumb traced my sides first before making its way to the middle. The back of his hand brushed the scratches, softer than feathers, up to the bottom of my bra, and even though it didn't hurt, I winced.

"Open your eyes," he breathed. I shook my head. "Why not?"

"Didn't want you to see."

"But now I have."

"Don't want to see your reaction."

"Why not?"

"No one has seen these before," I replied, a fresh wave of tears coming over me. "Scorpius barely saw anything. I've never shown a Healer, and I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"They're so… how can you do it?" I demanded. "I avoid seeing them as much as possible. It's like he's always there, like he'll never just leave me alone. How can you stand to look at them? How can you stand to look at me?"

I could hear his breathing laboured and forced. His fingers brushed around my middle again. "I don't think your scars have anything to do with how beautiful you are."

I opened my eyes. He didn't look disgusted in the slightest.

After I'd put on my shirt, I collapsed into him. There was no doubting it; I loved him so much it hurt, and I didn't even know if I could tell him. He was the brave one. It was him who confessed things and took a stand. I was the one who planned it.

"Thank you," I whispered. He shook his head.

"I can't believe I forgot."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay."

"No, it's fine."

"It's not –"

"Stop it, Al," I said firmly, leaning back to look at him properly. "I overreacted. I acted on impulse. Your parents are right, we are being immature."

"But –"

"Maybe this is why people don't get married so early." I bit my lip, and his eyes drew to it. "We need to grow up before deciding we can handle everything on our own."

"I think you're right," he said, still looking at my lips.

"Yeah."

"There's a part of us that doesn't know what we want yet."

"Exactly."

"And we make the wrong decisions. All the time."

"Al, stop staring my lips."

He broke into a smile, gripping my hips toward him so that we were closer. And closer. His breath was tickling my nose. "Why?" One of his hands was on the small of my back, now, making me shiver. His eyes were centimetres from mine. He was so close.

"Because you look like you want to kiss me."

"This happened last time, didn't it?" he contemplated out loud, his voice barely above a whisper. "You kissed me. I didn't kiss you back. Then I kissed you to make up for it."

"So you just want to make up for not kissing me back this morning?" I teased.

"Not only that." He moved closer, his lips so close to mine that if I moved, I would brush against them. "I want to. It's my turn."

"You still want me to get over you."

His breath hitched. "Last time. Then we're done playing games."

"Last time?" I echoed, feeling my heart drop.

He held me tighter. "I'm not using you. I just…" He struggled to find the words, but I understood. There was something inside him telling him that he shouldn't be doing this, but he wanted to anyway.

He wanted me anyway.

His lips pressed mine before I was even aware I had nodded. We clung to each other, a tangle of arms and legs and our bodies pressed against each other. I gripped every part of him I could. He was everywhere, his heartbeat, his ragged breath, his sweet taste and his warmth surging through me, and all I could think was IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

We stayed there long after we'd stopped kissing. I told him about Azkaban. He told me what his siblings has theorized about their father. We talked and held each other until the early hours of the morning. I think I had fallen asleep mid-sentence, lying against him.

I didn't know how it happened, or how it happened in the span of two months, but I had fallen hard for Albus Potter. We were having a serious lack of communication issue, he was scared to tell me something, but I think he wanted to protect me. I think he cared more than he was willing to admit.

So where were we supposed to go from here?