Monday 9th January 2023

Rose only had two ways to make decisions—either rushing into it headfirst, or mulling over it in such painful detail that she ended up talking herself out of everything and lying in bed for a day.

For one, she blamed her parents. Both had such different natures; completely opposing not just with each other, but themselves. Her mother was level-headed and logical, but also emotive and impulsive and wild. Her father was laid-back and cheery, but stroppy and moody and occasionally foul-tempered.
The combination resulted in her oil and water personality, how she only sat at either ends of the spectrum, incapable of middle ground. It made sense that she had passed from loathing, directly to affection, with no rest in the middle for a kindling friendship.

Her friends knew this. Whenever Rose zoned out for a minute, she'd be brought back by Tessie,

"You better not be overthinking it. Rose Weasley-Granger, come hell or high water you're telling that boy how you feel." With her accent, she sounded like a stern catholic grandmother, not giving Rose a second to suggest otherwise.

But, she recognized the relief of knowing. Finally having something to explain emotions she'd had since the beginning, which she'd always thrown on the miscellaneous pile she'd labelled 'hatred'.

Sickly butterflies weren't hatred. Tracking someone down to yell at them, and see their face heat at your words, just because nobody else could scratch that unexplainable itch—that wasn't hatred.

Sheer stubbornness and old-fashioned denial had had Rose pulling the wool over her own eyes, and finally being forced to realize her own feelings had been a strange, sad relief. It was letting go of a lie so old it had become familiar company. Yet when Tessie had pointed it out on New Year's, there'd been an undeniable lightness. A feeling of: oh, right. That.

Rose would tell him. It didn't matter if he never looked in her direction again, if he cursed her right between the eyes. It especially—especially, Rose told herself—wouldn't matter if the feeling were unreciprocated. Because she just needed to say it. In the spirit of Gryffindor bravery.

Because she knew if she didn't, if she continued to talk herself out of it, Rose would be nothing but what-ifs and could-bes—and she didn't want to be made of nothing but hypotheticals. She didn't want to need to get on her broom every time she couldn't sleep, or drink alcohol because it was a temporary solution.

"I just think it's better out than in." Rose said finally. The other girls in their carriage, who's rapt attention she'd held for the last twenty minutes, nodded in agreement, now up to date on the events of the last month and a bit.

Tessie snorted, "Is that from Shrek?"

"What?" Rose was thrown off by her friend's random outburst.

"'Better out then in'? You know… Shrek?"

"What the fuck is a 'Shrek'?" Georgette asked, and Tessie sighed in exasperation.

It was starting to grow dark out, and Rose knew they'd be back at the castle soon. Tessie was gushing about a present she'd sent Elgar for Christmas, and the boy in general—'he's really interested in the Paris Commune, I guess they don't teach much Muggle history at Durmstrang. He said he wanted to go to Beauxbatons but his French wasn't quite up to scratch, and Germans traditionally go to Durmstrang—' and Rose tried hard to be attentive, as Tessie had been for her these past few weeks.

But as Rose's opportunity approached, she was quickly realizing her mental proactiveness would now have to translate into something real. That was the idea, Rose reminded herself, but fantasizing about the possible ways a conversation might go was much more comfortable than the real thing.

Albus and his father had barely been on speaking terms when he'd boarded the train. They'd managed a hug goodbye, and even a 'see you in June', but it was strained and awkward and Al hated it.

Ginny knew not to push it, however. She recognized the similarities in Al and Harry, and knew how to handle both of them awfully well. She'd said as much to him the night before he left, as the two of them shared a pint of ice cream in the kitchen just past midnight. As much as he was like his father, he and Ginny's midnight cravings were always unnervingly in sync.

"You're too much like one another, and that's the problem. You're both bloody stubborn—when your father sets his mind to something, he's like a dog with a bone. And you're exactly the same!"

"Well," Al had grumbled, as he'd excavated a large brownie chunk from the tub, "he'd better get over himself, because I'm not bending on this one."

Ginny had laughed, "You know, he said almost the exact thing about you."

"He did?"

Ginny finally spotted the brownie chunk he'd unearthed, "Hey, I haven't found a single bit yet! Go halves."

"No way!" Al protested, holding his spoon out of her grasp, "Finders keepers!"

But, in the spirit of midnight snacking, he acquiesced, putting the chunk back in the tub for both of them to work away at.

"I think for your father, it's a bigger issue than just 'education'." Ginny continued, after a decent mouthful of brownie bit, "While that part is of definite importance—and yes, we will be having that discussion later—it's part of his own regrets as well. Not only are you so much like your father in spirit, you're a spitting image of him. He's sees himself as you, and is unintentionally projecting his own issues onto you as a result of that.
"He hasn't mentioned it to you before, but your father regrets not finishing school. At the time, he wasn't interested at all, and the Auror position was a lucrative offer—not that he regrets taking it. But I think he wishes he had a full qualification to his name, despite what he's achieved. To see you make the same decision is especially difficult for him."

Al felt a burst of irritation despite himself, "Just because I look like him doesn't mean I should bear the brunt of his regrets. How is that fair?"

Ginny shook her head, "I never said it was. But you've got to have some understanding, Al. Your father didn't have a supportive father figure for most of his formative years. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's absolutely terrified of stuffing it up. He'll make mistakes, just like I make mistakes, just like Nana and Poppa made mistakes with me, all of us. Especially Ron, as I'm pretty sure they dropped him on his head as a baby."

Albus suppressed a snort of laughter at that, but, as per usual, his mother had appealed to the sympathetic mediator within Al, who couldn't help agreeing with her,

"Fine, alright. You're right. But I'm still sticking to my guns."

Ginny shrugged, "I wasn't expecting a miracle, just some understanding."

"But," Al continued, as though he were negotiating a business transaction, "I'm still entitled to throw a teenage temper tantrum."

Ginny nodded seriously, "Of course. Just try keep the door slamming between 9am and 10pm, and I'll be happy."

Taki had fled in the wee hours of New Year's, leaving from the Burrow's Floo—recognizing that heading back to the Potter's wasn't likely to make him popular.

At least, if there'd been something positive of the whole experience, James had finally shut up about Al's inability to pull.

A very drunken James had approached him under the marquee just after midnight, after Al and Taki had snogged heartily to celebrate the arrival of 2023. Taki had nipped off for drinks, and James had stumbled over, a ruddiness to his cheeks reminiscent of a man three times his age. Most likely brought on by the half a bottle of Firewhiskey Albus had watched him drink over the course of the night.

"You know," James slurred, clapping a brotherly hand on Al's shoulder, "your boyfriend's a bit of a looker, isn't he?"

"I certainly think so." Al had hummed in amusement, his lip still a little pink from the passionate moment only minutes ago, so he didn't bother correct James' assumption.

"He's got lovely, manly arms, doesn't he? Looks like they could hold you tight through a frosty winter. Or that kind of roughed up, outdoorsy look he's got going—awful scruffy and all. He looks like he could build a treehouse for the kids, you know? And he'd chop wood for the fire, looking all sweaty with wood chips in his hair…" James trailed off, a strangely faraway look in his eye.

Albus snorted, "Merlin James, you sure you're not gay?"

James shook himself a little, "Me? Nah. I'm right into the ladies, mate. I like how soft women are, you know? All soft and squishy. And soft. And they always smell really soft and nice. Whereas blokes are all sweaty, and hairy and hard. Not soft at all. You know?"

Al laughed, "Yeah, I know."

"I was just saying," the longer the talked, to more drunk James appeared, "I can see the appeal. I was just making sure he meets my approval, you know? Because you're still my little brother—and I know I give you and ribbing and all, but it's still my job to look out for you. Make sure no one is taking advantage, you know?"

"Of course, thanks James." Al was teasing a little, but this was all James seemed to need—giving Al another firm slap to the shoulder.

"Good stuff." James nodded—blinking so slowly it looked as though he had to fight his eyes open, "Now, I need to go see Freddie bloody Weasley about a drink. The prat thinks he can drink me under the table—he'll see about that."

James had left the day after, nursing a headache and grumbling about 'Freddie bloody Weasley'.

Now, Albus was gathering his belongings, trying to usher Oscar back into his cage, as they prepared to disembark from the Express. The trip to Hogwarts hadn't been horrific, he and Scorpius had just talked without actually talking, each delicately skipping around certain topics with a level of awkwardness—Taki for Al, and Rose for Scorpius. Al hadn't even dared to say her name, seeing how Scorpius had flinched when Al talked about New Year's in passing.

Now that he knew the story behind Rose and Scorpius, and the extent of what had actually passed between them—Al shuddered, he didn't like to picture his cousin and best friend doing that—Scorpius' behaviour made a lot more sense. While his best friend was perceptive, it was likely he'd be doing his very best to deny whatever he was feeling currently, in the aristocratic fashion at which he was well practiced.

Maybe Rose's words would spur him to action, cause a little bravery of his own. Either way, Al would see the two of them together at some point, that was inevitable—but whether it was in ten hours or ten years would remain to be seen.

"I promised I'd walk with someone to the castle—I'll see you at the Slytherin table?" They'd hadn't spoken much in the last hour, Scorpius' voice was a little throaty from underuse.

"Yeah, cool. I'll see you in there." Albus didn't say he'd catch up with Rose and walk with her instead, not enjoying the way Scorpius stiffened at mere mention of her name.

Like usual, she wasn't hard to spot; her flaming hair a beacon in the almost darkness. Especially when paired with Tessie's bright blue, the pair were two emergency flares in a sea of blonde and brunette.

When he caught up, he watched as Rose instinctually scanned for signs of Scorpius with a frenzied look in her eye,

"He's walking with someone else." Al said quickly, just to put the poor girl out of her misery.

But behind the obvious panic, he could see something building in his cousin that apparently brewed in intensity over the train ride—a strange determination, a frustrated bravery. Al was a little taken aback; he'd obviously underestimated his cousin's tenacity. Because while Scorpius could run circles around his true feelings, Rose had a streak of aggressive honesty he often forgot about.
Once Rose had decided to do something, and had fully adjusted to the idea, she'd do it if it killed her. And it seemed confessing her feelings to Scorpius had become her new idea, and she'd locked onto it completely.

Maybe stubbornness was more genetic than he'd given his mother credit for.

They chattered harmlessly, and Al watched with silent approval as Rose participated happily, far more engaged than she'd been three weeks ago. It was already apparent the effect of their discussions over the holidays had had on Rose; emotional epiphanies were a good look on her.

Rose wasn't deliberately looking for him when they entered the Great Hall. It was a reflex—first she'd search for the green tie, before her eyes flicked up for the white-blonde hair to confirm. But he wasn't at the Slytherin table yet—a cursory check confirmed—and Rose squished down the flare of anxiety that had been holding her quietly hostage all train ride. She wouldn't give into it, not allowing it to make her decisions for her.

She caught Al's eye from across the hall. He sat alone, watching her with mirrored nervousness. The Hall was almost filled, and Scorpius was still notably absent.

Rose worried the inside of her cheek with her teeth, eyes darting from Albus whenever there was new movement near the still-open double doors.

It was a long ten minutes before she caught his familiar shape in her periphery—she'd been fiddling with her napkin in her lap, twisting it into increasingly tight knots in an attempt to distract herself.

She hadn't, she realized, seen him in more than two weeks. After weeks of forced interaction with him, it felt like an unreasonably long period of time.

After watching the door with agonizing care, she was now terrified at the idea of seeing him again. Her thoughts were racing, but she forced her gaze upwards anyway, tracking his movement across the hall, to his usual place beside Albus.

He didn't look any different—of course he didn't. It had only been two weeks.
The only different thing, Rose realized, was the girl latched to his side. He and Avery were holding hands, and every so often, Avery leant up to plant a possessive row of kisses across whatever surface of his skin she could reach.

Faintly, in the background, Tessie let out a string of filthy curse words, punctuated only by Scorpius' name. Rose didn't pay much attention though, she was too preoccupied with processing the sight before her.

Rose struggled to find an apt metaphor to describe how she felt—but she supposed it was something like having one's heart Transfigured to paper, if that paper was then screwed up into a tiny ball and flung across the room.

Albus wasn't sure he'd felt this angry before. Beyond red, stinging rage all he could picture was how his cousin's face had fallen, as something inside her visibly shut down. Whatever had cautiously peeked out of her the past few days-soft and careful and optimistic—had only taken a moment to disappear again.

It wasn't helped, either, by Scorpius' blissful ignorance. He and Lauren had played a perfect couple over dinner, groping and snogging between bites, feeding each other when the dessert items appeared. Scorpius either hadn't noticed or had politely overlooked the waves of tangible fury rolling off Albus. Because while Scorpius was his best friend, the lines had to be drawn somewhere. There was understanding and mediation, and then there was reasonable and logical outrage. Scorpius' actions had finally, in one of the few times in the course of their friendship, strayed into the second category.

After checking on Rose after dinner—who'd sworn she was 'fine', but clearly anything but—Al stormed to the Slytherin dormitories for a good, hoarse yelling. He wasn't entirely sure if Scorpius was there, as Al had left the Marauder's Map in his dresser for the holidays, and he cursed himself for it now.

Even if the boy had snuck off with Avery, Albus was angry enough to wait up. He briefly envisioned himself sitting on Scorpius' bed, lighting a lumos when the boy attempted to sneak back in, hissing a 'where were you?' like a furious parent.

But as he slammed the door to their dormitory open, he found Scorpius in his bed—quite alone in the room—sitting up and staring blankly into space.

Albus wanted to hit him. He realized this was how Rose had felt for many years, seeing his pretty mug and wanting nothing more than to sink her fist into it. He felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, before storming over to Scorpius' bedside. The boy seemed to be in a trance—he didn't even acknowledge Al's arrival.

"You—!" Al fumed, drawing his fist back and briefly considering his options. He didn't want to hit Scorpius in the face—in the same way one wouldn't waltz into the Tate and put one's fist through a Picasso. The boy really was too pretty for his own good, Al thought angrily, as he flailed madly and ended up punching Malfoy in the chest.

"Ow!" Malfoy suddenly leapt to attention, as though only just noticing Al's presence, "you just punched me in the tit!"

Albus was so uncharacteristically angry he couldn't form an answer, "You're a man! You don't have tits!"

Scorpius was rubbing it now, looking affronted, "Everybody has breast tissue—and it's very tender!"

Al was frothing, "You—my—Rose, you arsehole! You fingered her on a table two weeks ago, and suddenly you're back with Avery?! What is wrong with you?!"

Scorpius' didn't look so outraged at that, and his face fell, "Oh. Right."

"I can't believe you! Things were getting good between you two, and then you go and—!" Al's anger was quieting now, and it wasn't quite as satisfying to yell at a man who looked as despondent as Scorpius. He wasn't even fighting back, just sitting there and looking all mopey and depressed.

"I don't get it." Albus sat beside his friend, "You've been pining over her for years—"

"I have not—!" Scorpius immediately protested.

"Oh, shut up." Albus scoffed, "I'm mad at you, so it's my talking time. And stop deluding yourself. You've always had far more than an average interest in my cousin."

Scorpius scowled, but didn't try to defend himself.

"I don't get it." Albus sighed, "This is the kind of nonsense I'd expect from a bloke far dumber than you, Scorpius. You're fully aware of the way Rose has warmed to you—I bet you knew before she did. Because you're a crafty bugger, and you're far too smart and manipulative for your own—and Rose's—good. Why are you sabotaging it?"

Scorpius took a shuddering breath, fiddling with the robes he hadn't changed out of yet.

"It's my fault." He said quietly, "I just didn't want her to hate me anymore."

"And now she doesn't! You've done it—she's all twisted up over you, and it's been a nightmare to untangle."

"She has?" Scorpius looked a little less despondent at that, and if Al weren't still pretty miffed, he'd have pitied Scorpius.

"Of course, you idiot. But you've gone and blown it now, haven't you? You were all kissy with Avery in the Great Hall—she saw the whole thing. I must say, I think you set a world record for crushing someone's spirit."

Scorpius looked so down—so different from the person in the hall—that something clicked in Al's mind,

"But, you were just pretending, weren't you? You aren't back with Avery—you're just faking so Rose would see. Avery probably doesn't know it, but you know." Albus was weirdly intrigued, "What on Earth is going on, Scorpius?"

Scorpius' face had clouded over, and the boy—for once in his life—struggled with his words, stumbling as he found the right thing to say, "Rose and I can't be together."

"What—why not?"

"We can't."

"Scorpius—"

Something twisted in Scorpius, whatever thing they'd been close to, he shut down immediately, cutting Albus off.

"Leave me alone, please."

"If there's something you need to tell me, it's ok, you—"

"Leave." His tone was arctic.

Albus knew a lost cause when it came to Scorpius, and it seemed they'd hit a brick wall of epic proportions,

"Alright." He stood, taking a careful step from Scorpius' bed, "But if you ever need to talk, you know I'm here—"

But Albus didn't even get to finish his sentence, as the hangings around Scorpius' bed magically snapped shut.

A/N: I'm not happy with the writing here, my syntax is all off and the words wouldn't fit together correctly. One of those days, I think. Sorry, again, for errors, I need a beta and I always write very late at night.

I just want to give a quick thank you for the lovely reviews - especially glassycry because your comment made me cackle. And yes, this fic will be finished in the next few chapters probably. It depends how long you'd like it to continue, I'll be asking you all for your thoughts when we approach the end. Thanks again!