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Rose looks more fragile now, and it breaks Scorpius' heart in a way he can't put into words. He remembers watching his mother waste away. His wife's illness is kinder, but it is still an illness, still something that's hurting her and will eventually kill her.

"Come on, love," he says, holding out his hand. "Let's get you out of here."

Rose frowns, the lines on her face more defined. "The Healers say I don't need to go outside," she reminds him.

He's aware, and painfully so. Still, he hates the idea of her spending the last of her days indoors; it isn't fitting for someone as vibrant as Rose Malfoy. So he just shakes his head and takes her by the hand, gently guiding her to her feet. "Don't worry. I won't tell if you don't."

Her eyes light up at that, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. "You've got yourself a deal. What's the plan?"

He doesn't have a plan. Not really. All he knows is he wants just one more perfect day with his wife before the inevitable happens. He pulls her close and kisses forehead. "Dunno yet," he admits. "You're always the one with a plan. What do you say we make it up as we go along?"

Once, Rose would have hated that. She's always been the most organized person he knows, always meticulously planning down to the smallest details. Maybe that's changed as the end has started to catch up to her. She smiles and gives his hand a squeeze. "Nothing wrong with living a little."

…

He exchanges the Galleon for drinks- a black coffee for himself, and warm, spiced cider for Rose. She smiles as she accepts the cup with trembling hands, inhaling the fragrant steam.

"You took me out for cider on our first date."

He chuckles. "Albus said it was your favorite, and I wanted to impress you."

Her lips twitch, quirking into a ghost of a smile. "You hated it. I don't think I've seen you drink cider since."

Scorpius scowls, but the expression is quickly replaced by a smile. "I thought it would be more like apple juice," he says. "How can a liquid have a weird texture?"

Rose shivers, and Scorpius tenses, watching his wife with sharp eyes. The moment fades, and she mutters an apology under her breath, like she even has anything to apologize for.

"I'll take care of you," he tells her.

Her smile is sadder now, and Scorpius can see the tell-tale signs of tears in her eyes. "I know you will, my love. I'm sorry that you have to."

"If the roles were reversed, you'd be pissed if I apologized."

She sighs and shakes her head. "I suppose you're right." With that, she links her arm in his; it's too easy to tell how weak and frail her body has grown in the six months since that fateful diagnosis. "Let's go home."

He wants to protest, to remind her that they're supposed to be out here enjoying themselves, but he supposes she's right. She needs her rest. "Come on, Rosie. I'll fix you something nice for dinner. Whatever you want."

Scorpius doesn't know how many days he has left with his wife, only that it's not enough. Still, however many days it may be, he plans on making every single one of them count.