Rose's parents had been quite surprised to see the state of their children as they'd both disembarked the Hogwarts Express.
Rose knew she looked dreadful—she'd hadn't slept a wink on Thursday night, spending the wee hours twisted up in shame, and heartbreak all neatly contained in a silencing charm so her roommates wouldn't hear.
She'd tried to keep up the conversation in the carriage, but it was hard to talk past the weird lump in her chest. The tiny, bitter voice in her mind reminded her she was just being a burden—her friends weren't interested in her silly little problems, which she'd probably blown out of proportion anyway. Rose didn't always want to be the person that needed help, to be the one that always needed the people around her to patch her up again. So she'd kept quiet, trying to ward off the looks of concern her friends keep shooting her.
Funnily enough, Hugo looked just as worn down—sweaty in a way that didn't make sense in the December weather. Ron and Hermione hugged them both tightly, but their mother still sent them a 'is everything alright? We'll talk about it later' look that Rose recognized. Then they were welcoming Tessie, 'so glad you could join us again, Tessie!', ignoring the glaringly obvious fact that Tessie's own family hadn't welcomed her home for Christmas.
It was nice to see her parents again though, especially after hearing not hide or hair of them for a period that was long for their family.
Rose had made a passing comment, in the car on the way home, asking whether her parents had been busy, and if they'd received her letter. Ron and Hermione had shared a look, and Rose figured she wasn't the only one who had something to share.
Saturday 24th December
Ron stood over the frying pan, flipping the sausages with a flick of his wand,
"There's only one more sausage. First in, first served."
Her father's Christmas Eve breakfast fry up was an odd family tradition—but Ron maintained that lining one's stomach with grease before the Yule piss-up was tantamount to avoiding a hangover. Not that Rose had ever been old enough to get pissed at Christmas—her seventeenth birthday was still four and a half long months away—but Rose was fairly certain it was bullshit. Ron usually spent Boxing Day avoiding bright lights and grumbling about George being a bad influence. But he always managed to be pecker up again for the New Year's Party at the Burrow, where he would repeat his mistakes.
Her father's movements were predictable, he was a creature of habit. Her mother, on the other hand, usually kept her head in the festive season. There was only one Christmas Day Rose could recall her mother being drunk, and that was nine years ago. Rose had run inside the Burrow, from the garden where the children had been playing in the dark, and found her mother at the dining table with Nana Molly and Aunt Ginny. Hermione had been very pink-cheeked, and the three were giggling scandalously. Her mother had leaned forward, a little wobbly in her chair,
"You're damn right Molly, all men want to do is stick their—"
Rose hadn't heard the end of her mother's sentence, as Uncle Harry had clapped his hands over Rose's ears, and guided her back outside to light some sparklers.
There was no evidence of that person now; Hermione flicking through some paperwork and sipping from a champagne glass filled with orange juice.
"Last sausage? Going once, going twice…" Ron called from the kitchen. Hugo made a sound, through a mouthful of hash brown, and Ron called, "and the last sausage goes to the man with tomato sauce on his chin."
Tessie was partaking in mimosas with Ron, as her seventeenth had passed back in October. Rose had snuck a cheeky one, and went for a cheeky second,
"Do you want a top up, Mum?" Rose asked, presenting the half-empty champagne bottle to her mother.
Or, that's what Rose thought she said. But judging by the way her mother stiffened in her chair, eyes darting up from her paperwork, Rose could've said she was going to rob Gringotts.
Even her father had stopped humming in the kitchen, and Rose watch her parents meet eyes across the room, a silent conversation happening between them. Her parents had these often, and nine times out of ten it progressed into the actual bickering her parents were so well practiced at.
"When we discussed this earlier," Hermione said, in a light sing-song voice that meant danger, "you said you wanted to handle this."
"But Rose asked you the question, so would you like to handle it?" Ron replied, watching Hermione cautiously.
"Why, do you not want to?" Hermione asked, and Ron shook his head,
"No, I'm happy to, but I don't want to derail the conversation—"
"Alright, so I'm doing it, am I?"
"I just said I'm happy to do it, but—"
The scraping of a chair on the tile distracted the two of them from their not-quite row, and Tessie cleared her throat, "I can leave, if you'd like—"
Hermione waved her hand airly, "Don't be silly, Tessie, you're practically family. Sit down."
Ron look to Hermione, "You're doing it?"
Hermione sighed, "Yes, Ronald, I'll do it." Rose's gut was churning at this point, a thousand possibilities running through her mind. If neither of her parents wanted to share the news, that had to mean it was bad, right?
Even Hugo's attention was caught, the last sausage that was speared on his fork halfway to his mouth, hovered there.
Hermione flashed a weak, nervous smile at the other three occupants of the dining table, resting her hands in her lap,
"Well, your father and I have a rather exciting announcement." Hermione paused, looking to Ron. He'd abandoned the frying pan, making his way over to his wife, standing behind her chair and giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
'Exciting' was a good word, right? People didn't get 'excited' over getting divorced, did they? Her parents bickered, sure, but they didn't actually fight. And even if they did—on the very rare occasion—Rose usually caught them snuggling up and kissing on the couch afterwards, when they thought Rose was asleep.
"Don't look so anxious, Rosie," her father laughed, "it's nothing bad."
"It's good news, I promise." Hermione nodded, before taking a breath, "Well… we're pregnant."
The table went quiet, until Ron chuckled, "I'm pretty sure you're the pregnant one," Ron remarked, his voice quiet as he let the rest of the table absorb the news.
"Last I checked," Hermione replied, in a teasing tone, "you had something to do with the matter."
Rose found her eyes flicking to her mother's stomach, and Hermione caught her gaze, "It's only early days—twelve weeks, actually. That's why we haven't been good with writing, it's been very busy. We just thought it would be better to tell you in person."
"But," Hugo interrupted, "how does that work? I thought that when you hit," his voice lowered, as though he was cursing, "menopause you couldn't have kids anymore."
Hermione pulled a face like she was offended, but she was laughing, "Merlin, Hugo, I'm only forty-three. I'm not menopausal yet. And suffice to say, the pregnancy was certainly a, uh, surprise." Ron and Hermione shared a look, and Rose didn't want to even think about that aspect of it, "And there will have to be some adjustments, but now that the shock has worn off, we're utterly delighted."
Tessie was the first to react appropriately, leaping out of her chair, "Congratulations! This is wonderful news!" Pulling a surprised Hermione into a tight hug, before rounding on Rose, "Oh my God, you're going to have a baby sibling! I just love babies, they're so squishy and adorable!"
As though Tessie's excitement was infectious, Rose felt her face light up, and she got up to hug her parents, "Do you know what it is yet?"
"We want it to be a surprise." Her father said as they pulled out of a hug.
"Twelve weeks," Rose counted forward in her mind, "that means the baby is due in July?"
Hermione nodded, "The 24th."
Even Hugo had left his seat now, hugging Hermione and Ron with an awkward smile on his face, like someone was forcing him to show affection at wand point.
"Ooh, a Leo. That'll be interesting!" Tessie was grinning, expressing enough excitement for everyone in the room.
Rose was still in a state of shock, but she could feel it melting a little as realization settled, and dots began to connect, "Wait, what about your campaign to be Minister for Magic? Are you going to drop out?"
Hermione shook her head, a relieved looking grin on her face. Rose dimly noted that they must have been nervous about the reaction they'd receive, but Rose couldn't imagine feeling anything but excited.
"We've decided I'll stay at home." Ron filled in, "The Auror office isn't too busy these days, and your mother makes more anyway. She's been angling for this position for the last decade—it wouldn't make sense for her to leave now."
"I'll have a few months maternity leave," Hermione explained, "But as soon as the baby is three months, I'll be back into it."
"Oh!" Rose exclaimed as more dots connected, "Hugo and I will be home for the summer—we'll help!"
"I am not changing a nappy." Hugo protested immediately, much to the amusement of everyone else in the room.
Christmas Eve was always the calm before the storm. The 25th was always a flurry of travel, discarded wrapping paper, cheek pinches and food. The Potters liked to spend the day before lounging around the house, snacking lightly and catching up with one another before the chaos truly began.
It grew dark just before dinner, and Al was curled in front of the fire, curled up with a Wizarding edition of Lonely Planet: Indonesia.
He was skimming through the basic phrases section, which included—'can you help me, sir? I appear to be pooping frogs'—when the front door was slammed open, hitting the wall with the sound that made Albus jump—Oscar leapt off his shoulder in protest.
The sudden arrival wasn't surprising, however, when James Potter's voice rung loud from the front entrance, "DON'T WORRY MUM, THE FAVOURITE CHILD IS HOME."
Their parents barraged James with questions over dinner: how was he finding Egypt? How was Bill? Had he been staying out of trouble? Had he met any nice girls?
James' answers, through mouthfuls of mashed potato, had respectively been 'good, good, yes' while the last story had prompted a tale about a heavy night of drinking, which had ended with James picking up a girl at the bar who'd turned out to be a jinn, who'd tried to eat his soul.
"She sounds nicer than the other girls you've brought home." Lily snorted into her dinner, and even their parents tried to disguise a laugh at that one.
But Albus' badly contained snort of derision had caught James' attention, who elbowed his brother rather roughly in the ribs.
"Have you tricked any girls into dating you yet, Al?"
As always, Al disguised an eye roll at the choice of gender that so many people assumed he was interested in. But Al returned the ribbing, easily engaging in the antagonistic relationship he'd always had with his brother, flicking a pea at him, "Not yet—I was hoping you'd get me some tips."
James shrugged, "No trickery here, Al. Just waves of pure, undiluted sexual charisma seeping from every pore. The women love it."
Al snorted, "I think most people call that 'body odour'."
"And I think you're just jealous that I sucked all the sex appeal out of the womb." James fired back, waggling both his eyebrows and fork in a lecturing sort of way.
"Hey!" Lily jumped in, "I'm perfectly desirable, thank you!"
Though their parents had been watching the exchange in silent amusement, Harry jumped in,
"Lily, at your age, I hope the only 'desire' you're referring to is getting good grades in school."
James chortled, "Are you kidding Dad? At fifteen I was—" but he paused when he caught Ginny's raised eyebrow from across the table, "in bed every night at nine pm, sleeping soundly." He finished carefully, turning his attention back to his peas.
"You're the worst liar, James." Albus pointed out, but James was already moving on, back to their original topic,
"All that aside," he said quickly, avoiding his mother's eye, "we still haven't gotten to the bottom of your girl problems, Al. It's been plaguing me—I can hardly sleep for worrying. All my tousling and turning annoys my bed partners, as well—"
"Oi." Harry said in a clear warning, nodding in Lily's direction as a reminder to keep it clean.
Lily's protest—'God, Dad, I know what sex is!'—went largely ignored, and Al could feel himself getting irritated with James' dogging of the topic. But Al knew his obvious frustration wouldn't stop James—instead encouraging his brother on his quest to shit stir.
"Leave off, James." Al gruffed, playing with the puddle of gravy in his mash.
"But why, when we could have a heartfelt chat and get to the root of it all?"
"You're such a prat."
"Maybe," James hypothesized, as though he'd finally cracked it, "it's jealously! It must be hard living under my shadow, watching the women flock to me."
"I couldn't care less what you do with women, James." Al's irritation had bloomed into anger, his brother being the only person on earth who could provoke such an un-Albus like emotion. James did this often, crossing the line of gentle ribbing into something more cutting and personal.
"Why, you swing the other way or something?" James jibed, the rest of the family oblivious as they chatted about something else over their plates.
Anything to get James off his back—Al's clenched jaw let the wrong words escape, the topic that had only been on his mind every day since his date with Taki,
"Yeah, I bloody do, James. Happy?"
The whole table went quiet—but at least James finally shut up.
This wasn't how Albus had pictured it. It was his own fault really—he'd felt the point where James' usual antagonism had started to annoy him, and Albus hadn't removed himself from the situation. Usually James could push him much further, but he'd found a point of sensitivity and provoked it in a way only James could. Because coming out had been on Al's mind only constantly, especially with the added pressure of declaring his plans to leave school early, it had been sitting right on the surface, like an angry boil. James was a perceptive bastard, and he'd gleefully exploited something he could see was irritating Al. Even though he'd done it without realizing the root of it all, he'd done it all the same.
And now it was out there, and Al couldn't take it back.
"For real?" James' voice wasn't jovial anymore, just surprised, but Al found himself searching for something critical in it. Because the relief and fear of disapproval were building into something like tears, threatening in the space behind his eyes.
"Yep." Albus confirmed, and everyone at the table was watching him carefully.
After a silence that seemed designed to torture Al—who was trying very hard not to cry into his mash—Ginny spoke,
"Al, honey," her voice was soft, and she reached across the table to squeeze his hand, "this changes nothing. We love you no matter what, and we'll support you no matter what."
"Of course," Harry agreed, "your mother is right. And, I mean, we had our suspicions. It's not like you were bringing home girl after girl like James—"
James looked mock-offended, "Is Dad insinuating I'm a slut?"
"Well, you sure aren't playing hard to get." Ginny told him, and James' mouth was a circle of indignation.
Lily, who hadn't said a single word since Al's confession, suddenly rose from her seat. She looked oddly smug, and that was an expression that meant trouble on Lily Potter.
"If I may be excused, I have a few letters to owl." She declared, inching away from the table
"Why the urgency, Lily?" Ginny asked, not fooled by the look of false innocence on her daughter's face, as the latter inched her way around the table.
Lily tried to smile sweetly, but instead it looked a little evil, "I'm suddenly owed a great deal of money."
She'd was behind Al's chair now, and leant down to whisper carefully in his ear, "Also, you might want to be a little more careful with where you stash your Wicked Wizard magazines."
Sunday 25th December
The thing that loomed over Rose had no regard for the holiday season, hanging stubbornly around her neck all through Sunday.
As was tradition, they spent the Christmas breakfast with Hermione's parents, exchanging presents under their perfectly manicured tree. Rose got a whole bag of sugar-free sweeties and a charm bracelet from her mother's parents, and she smiled gratefully and picked at her croissant and strawberries. Tessie filled the gap in conversation, talking in detail about she and Rose's classes, and Rose's various successes on the Quidditch pitch. Her friend could sense she wasn't up to it, and Rose was grateful for Tessie's efforts, making a mental note to thank her later.
From there, they'd headed to the Burrow, quickly enveloped in the noise and chaos that was the Weasley clan. It was easier for Rose to withdraw here, sit in a corner and let conversation and movement fly past her, nursing the one glass of Firewhiskey she'd been rationed.
All she'd done since 'the incident'—as she'd now mentally labelled it—was run through what had gone wrong. She broke apart and analysed each second, trying to see past the pleasure in her own memory, to any point where she'd crossed a line with Scorpius. His expression had been nothing but violation, shock, and sheer, honest terror. Had he never consented? Had she broken through a boundary he'd tried to put up? It was the only explanation for the way he'd reacted. But the worst part, was the arousal she still felt when remembering it. There was an undeniable flush of pleasure deep in her belly every time she recalled how his hand had felt twisted in her hair, his desperate breath on her neck. But now that was all locked up in shame, and guilt, and disgust with herself.
It was like the white noise of her thoughts had been filled by the 'incident'—every moment she wasn't occupied, every moment her train of thought drifted from the track she'd forced it onto, she was back on the desk again, whining and keening under Scorpius' hands.
Usually her distractions worked—and the pregnancy was an excellent one, as well as the entire Christmas season. But the happiness she felt was a smothered flame—there, but dying under the thick, choking blanket of negative emotion. Rose wasn't the type who usually had much control over her emotions, she barely had a lid over them, but now the roiling mess inside her had swollen, dwarfing her entirely. It threw her to and fro, rag-dolling her completely, as she was lost to the tsunami of grief for something she'd never had. She didn't have a chance.
It was past dinner now—she'd helped with the dishes, and tried to clean as much as she could. When she was moving, Rose had control of her body at least. But Nana Weasley had shushed her away, clearing the mess with a flick of her wand. Now she was curled up on a window seat, empty glass tucked between her hands, trying to measure her breaths before she was tugged under again, and pulled away by the currents.
George was dancing around the lounge to the Wireless; his children old enough now that they didn't require constant supervision.
"Glass empty, there, Rosie?" he shook the bottle of Firewhiskey he was holding. Rose's parents weren't in the room—Tessie and Al were off chatting with Teddy Lupin in the garden—so Rose held up her glass.
But George just winked, setting the bottle down beside Rose on the floor, "Have fun, Rosie." Before he was drifting from the room, probably moving to the dining room for the buffet-style dessert.
The living room was clear when Rose filled her glass to the rim, taking a gulp that made her eyes water. But the burning grounded her back in her body, and made her feel as though she had a modicum of control. Even the wave of nausea that hit her stomach after she'd finished the glass was reassuring, reminding Rose of her solidness, how she existed in the physical—she wasn't just memories of the Potions classroom, she wasn't just the person who Scorpius had held.
Rose finished three glasses before her sharpest emotions began to dull, the tide finally letting out. It was still threatening at the back of her mind, but she was fuzzy enough to ignore it. Now her only driving force was sleep, emotionally exhausted by the trial her mind seemed to be holding.
She stumbled up the staircase, wanting to snuggle up in the bed that smelt like her father, as though she was still young enough to be protected from the simpler evils of the world.
Rose didn't remember making the walk, but she remembered finally staggering to the bed, crawling under covers that were freshly laundered and didn't smell like much. She'd heard so much of her parents and their escapades, that she almost felt like she was friends with the younger versions of them. The Chudley Canons paraphernalia was still familiar though—something her father and a young Ron still had in common.
It took seconds for her to sleep—she was only woken by a brief spell of nausea, but she leant over the bed and it was gone, leaving her body in a process that felt simple. Then she fell back asleep—for seconds it seemed, before sounds got too close, and she was reluctantly pulled to consciousness again.
"Rose! There you—oh, honey!" it was her mother's voice, Rose managed to crack her eyes open, seeing Hermione eyeing the vomit on the floor with nothing but pity. Her mother waved her wand, the smell that Rose hadn't noticed until now disappeared, and Hermione sat on the bed, helping Rose into a sitting position.
She wanted her mother to be angry, or disgusted, something that would match how dreadful Rose was beginning to feel.
But she was softness and sympathy when she said, "Rosie… are you ok?"
It was kindness that broke Rose—her voice cracked,
"No," tears spilled, boundless, Rose couldn't even fight to hide them, and her voice was a broken wail, "No, I'm not."
Her mother didn't ask for an explanation, she didn't chide or probe or hold Rose away. The tears had barely reached Rose's chin before she was pulled into a tight hug, enveloped by the perfume Hermione saved for special occasions, and the faint smell of her father.
The family took the Floo home after that—Hermione told the family Rose wasn't feeling very well, guiding her through the Burrow so she wasn't caught swaying. Tessie looked immediately guilty when she saw the state Rose was in, squeezing Rose's hand and whispering an apology.
But they made it home in peace—Ron and Hermione helped Rose into bed, preparing a bucket by her bed, and giving her a pain potion for the next morning.
A/N: I'm so sorry it has been a while since my last update! It was my birthday two days ago, so I have been busy with merry-making, and not writing very much. But I'm back on the wagon now, I swear! Thank you again for all your reviews!