Bits of this chapter were actually written about 2-3 years ago but I just took SO long to get here. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys! Hugs to my kind reviewers, I really enjoyed your guesses :D Much love to Rhy, ThoseWhoLiveWithoutLove, random reader, jacqueline, Susieq820, StarCrush, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, xxally93, holyemmoly, NarmeenPervez99, movies2560, ChanceToBeImmortal, Chanel Forsk, Ramisa, whimsysun, angelserpent, meandering-bluebottle, Arcoiris, LovelyLadyMindings, LilyJean630, Weasleyred91, teddvictoire'slovechild, icantthinkofaname11, OrangeCupcakes, Aryam, Scorprosetvd, AMBERJANUS, sas479, syranzra, Escapingthisworldwithfiction, glassycry, hpdude-4life (thank you for your double reviews!), LillyMay77, catwomannnnnn1, isamartinez28, mlcm and all the wonderful guests and anons who reviewed!

I hope you like this one! Hang in there, more to come…

Chapter 30: The Deep

Needles and knives.

Needles and knives.

Needles and knives.

And then—air.

Rose broke the cold surface with a desperate gasp, lungs swelling as she flailed in the middle of the ink-black waterhole. The sky hovered perilously above, and pure relief flooded through her… but her magical reprieve was broken all too quickly. She was sinking again. Tread, screamed her lizard brain. Yet her legs struggled to catch up to her gut, the entirety of her threatening to go numb in the hellish freeze of the lake.

Air hit her face once more, the frost stinging her cheeks as she tread water in desperation. Her childhood flashed before her eyes then, the memory blurred around the edges… An idyllic afternoon at a gleaming lake nearby Ottery St. Catchpole. Her father's shoulders showing signs of sunburn as he taught her and Hugo how to swim, long arms circling in exaggerated butterfly strokes as they giggled behind their palms. The elation she felt the first time she ever looked at the sky with her back on water.

No—she mustn't lose her nerve. Not yet. She could get out of this, the way she always got herself out of things. Even though she wasn't the best of swimmers, even if the shore looked forever away, even as her entire body crumpled within the relentless cold—

Keep your head above water. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The moan of water in her ears threatened to drown out her shuddering attempts for air; Arnold The Third's hysterical squeaks had long faded into the distance. "Help," she managed in a croak, but the cold water shock was like a tightening noose around her neck. Rose, who had one too many experiences with the dangerous and unknown, could always tell when she was in over her head. She had to find something to hold on to, magick herself out of this, or at least try to swim back…

And then—the inexplicable sensation of long, brittle fingers curling tight over her ankle.

A fresh bout of hysteria hit her veins like ice pricks.

Without warning, Rose was tugged sharply back under the icy surface. At once, she lost all orientation of her surroundings—suddenly at the mercy of some malignant force beneath her feet.

Water gurgled in her ears. Her eyes stung when she tried to open them. Rose caught the familiar glimpse of a Grindylow's blood stare… the water demon keen to make a meal of her, or something more sinister.

Then, as though in slow motion, a second Grindylow materialised from the black depths.

And behind it, yet another.

Short and mottled green bodies. Gleaming red slits for eyes. Plump, retractable tentacles… and those lengthy, bark-textured fingers. If Rose wasn't so distressed, struggling to keep the only breath she had from escaping her burning lungs, she would have been awed by the sight of them in their natural habitat. She had studied them for years… had fallen so hopelessly in love with the one presented to her class in a water tank. Fascinated by their wild and grim natures, their unequivocal repulsion towards magical folk, their apparent inability to ever be tamed by wizardkind—

I used the Revulsion Jinx to cut them loose, explained Uncle Harry to little Rose once, when she'd begged him to tell her more stories from his Triwizard Tournament. Nasty little buggers… You shouldn't take too much fascination with dark creatures, Rosie. Almost killed your Aunt Gabrielle, they did—

Too many pin-sharp fingertips were cutting into her leggings now, tugging her downwards still into a watery grave. The dappled light coming through the grey surface of the waterhole was fading by the second. Blindly, Rose reached for the wand under her robes. She had never tried this spell nonverbally, but she had to bloody well try—

Relashio, her mind screamed, her wand now aimed at the Grindylow crawling up her front, a sneer revealing a set of sharp teeth. Relashio—

The creature's eyes widened, its face frozen in a snarl.

And then it released her.

Too late. Too late. Rose looked up, the last ditch surge of adrenaline now drenched with desperation. The surface felt too damn far for her to reach—her body was refusing to take instructions from an oxygen-depleted brain. Her head had gone pleasantly light even as her lungs scorched for air. Rose was suffocating, teetering the very brink of unconsciousness. Could she possibly make it? Her body begged her to relax, to take a breath, water or no—just a breath, Rosie, it seemed to coax.

And all will be well.

It could, perhaps, count as a dying hallucination that a fair-haired creature with a glittering tail had emerged from the murky depths, reaching out for Rose with the strangest of expressions in her impervious, blue-toned eyes. Oh, Rose thought drowsily, how beautiful you are. She felt the last of her air leave her then, precious bubbles floating past her lips and tickling her cheeks. Then there was the vaguest sensation of a slimy, finned hand clamping over hers. Dragging her up, up, up…

From a distance, Rose could make out the piercing, hollow screams of Grindylows through the water as they lunged towards the pair of them. Everything around her became a greyish whirlwind—and then the Mergirl had hoisted Rose past the surface, pushing her between shards of ice and right into the safety of unforgiving winter air.

Breathe.

Beneath her, the Mergirl had disappeared into the deep, taking the Grindylows with her. Rose gasped for air, coughing and hacking, her heart pounding from exertion. Certainly she had to be having a heart attack. A heaviness had crept over her and dulled her senses, her drowned body losing a fight to the vicious temperature. No, no, no. She had to stay up. Rose desperately fought the sensation of sleep, a sob rising up her throat. Don't close your eyes.

The very breath that brought her relief was attacking her now, a sharp panic stabbing her expired lungs and overwhelming her. Her legs had completely given out, her very bones wrought with exhaustion. She was shaking so hard, it was all she could do to thrash helplessly around her to find something, anything to hold on to… finding nothing but the invisible grip of water.

Before her, her fingertips had gone blue.

Rose closed her eyes.

"Brilliant game today, mate."

Scorpius glanced up to see Albus stepping out into the hallway with Butterbeer bottles in his hands. The muffled echo of low, obnoxious beats from the Slytherin common room was starting up from behind the dungeon walls. Slytherins were well known for their taciturn natures, but few things unleashed their capacity for wild partying like demolishing a Quidditch rival.

"Oh, I can't claim all the credit," Scorpius said wryly, accepting a bottle from Albus. "Tarquin's the one who butchered Vance's team."

Albus snorted with laughter as they knocked bottles. "Can't believe he wants to be an artist, of all things."

"Huh. He told me he's going to be a farmer."

The two of them glanced quizzically at each other before shrugging and returning to their drinks. Tarquin had always been vague as hell.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Albus said casually, after a gulp of Butterbeer.

Scorpius was really waiting for Rose, but Albus didn't need to know that. "It's too crowded."

"The party's barely started."

"Then why are you out here?"

"Tamara Fayed," Albus admitted glumly. "She's been breathing in my direction since she walked in. Who the hell invited her, anyway? Blast, I just bet it was Harper-Flint… She likes it when I'm harassed and miserable."

Scorpius snorted, amused at the prospect of the smitten Hufflepuff Chaser making moony eyes at Albus all evening. "Maybe it's time you gave Fayed a shot, mate. She's been pining after you for years."

Albus shrugged, shoulders dropping. "Not my type."

"Ah, just because she isn't a Prefect? I'm sure she's happy to put on a badge if that's what gets you off—"

Albus elbowed him roughly in the side, causing Scorpius to spill a bit of Butterbeer down his front. But Scorpius merely grinned, in too good a mood to mind a ruined jumper.

It was nice, somehow, to be talking to Albus. His friend had been… odd with him lately, to say the least. There was a growing strain between them recently that bothered Scorpius a little more than it should. They had rows over the years, of course… been through their share of boyhood scraps and growing pains in close quarters, limits and boundaries crossed and tested before they eventually settled into a friendship that made room for each others' idiosyncrasies. Even so, Scorpius had grown up fiercely private about the matters closest to his heart—perhaps as a way to defend against his tyrant of a grandfather.

Albus, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve… dealing with his personal bruises with good humour. Where Scorpius did little to hide his fury when he was crossed, Albus merely swept away any unpleasantness in his life with a crooked grin.

Scorpius supposed he was partly at fault for this distance between them. But it was only because he'd sensed that Albus didn't particularly trust his ability to handle his own feelings, and that he could perceive Scorpius was… catching feelings for Rose. Subtlety, after all, was hardly Scorpius' strong suit. He knew how loud his feelings could be, however he tried to muzzle them.

Not that he had to worry about broaching the subject any longer. At present, Albus was watching him with somewhat calculating expression.

"You know," he said conversationally, "Rose isn't your type, either."

Scorpius took another swig of Butterbeer, resigning himself to the topic. "No," he said at length. "She's not."

"So you're not serious about her." He could hear the hope in Albus' words. Scorpius had always suspected that his best friend wouldn't support the idea of he and Rose dating for real—his first reaction to hearing of their supposed get-together those few months ago was indication enough.

Now, however, he knew for sure.

It stung.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said tersely, feeling their earlier cameraderie dissipate coolly into thin air.

"Salazar's hanging bollocks." Albus had turned to him, exasperation entering his features. "Look, it's okay to admit you have a thing for her. Every bloke in Hogwarts has at some point. It's clear you're no different."

This brutal assessment grated on Scorpius' nerves. "Make your damn point."

Albus' jaw worked; it was obvious he was running short on patience. "Scorpius, mate. You know I've always wanted the two of you to be friends. But for some bloody reason, Lily thinks you're carrying some sort of torch for Rose."

Scorpius merely stared at Albus as he bit his tongue.

"I've known her forever," Albus continued, his tone surprisingly measured. "And I sure as hell know you. So you can believe me when I say that she'll never live up to your expectations."

Scorpius' grip tightened over the neck of his Butterbeer bottle. "My… expectations."

"Yeah. Your expectations." Albus' blazing green eyes were fixed firmly on Scorpius' own. "Your impossible expectations, since we happen to be having a heart-to-heart. You'll want to be the most important thing in her life, and when she can't give you that…" He grimaced at the thought. "There's a reason why Rosie's never had a boyfriend. She needs to be out there with a damn animal, clawing through a jungle or chasing a damn Jillybird in the sunshine. That's where she belongs, where she's happiest—"

"And what makes you think I don't know what she wants?" Scorpius interrupted frostily.

"You think you do. Just like all her admirers. And when she does something to shatter your illusion of her, you'll end up resenting her for it."

"That's not going to bloody happen."

Albus made a disbelieving sound. "That's what you thought about Georgia."

That did it. Scorpius found himself fighting to keep his temper in check, an unwelcome rage coiling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what was worse; that Albus being a damn pillock about one of the only things that made Scorpius happy of late—

Or the fact that he might be right.

"You don't know the first thing about what's going on between me and Rose," he said curtly, refusing to give Albus the satisfaction of a reaction.

"News flash, Scor—I actually don't fucking know. You never tell me or Tarquin a damn thing, then you give us shit when we can't read your mind." An angry redness was splotching on Albus' face, his lips now pressed into a thin line. "Face it, you were a shitshow with Plumes and an utter fucking knob to us the rest of the time. Excuse me if I don't want history repeating itself, especially with my cousin."

"You know, for someone who comes from a family with the strictest moral code in Britain, you sure stink of prejudice." Scorpius shot Albus a sardonic smile, carelessly tossing his unfinished Butterbeer over his shoulder. The bottle shattered into the stone wall a few feet away. "…Fuck off."

He shoved past Albus abruptly as he stalked away, going through the darkened hallway in lengthy strides. His former good mood had been completely extinguished… even the prospect of seeing Rose could not curb the fury curdling in his blood. His trembling fingers raked through his tousled hair, a mild throb building behind his temples from the agitation.

So much for friends.

Albus could go to hell.

Without his notice, he had climbed the flight of stairs leading out of the dimly lit dungeons, coming face to face with the ebbing daylight. He slowed to a stop by the edge of the grounds as he struggled to quell the unpleasantness spreading through his veins. His surroundings seemed to mirror his mood, the heavy fog painting the fading afternoon a despondent shade of grey.

He wanted Rose beside him, he realised with a forlorn jolt. It was almost sort of pathetic, how much he craved her company. Even though he'd just seen her barely an hour ago…

He already missed her.

It came as a bit of a surprise, then, when a familiar string of squeaks sounded from a distance. Scorpius had long associated the sounds of Arnold The Third with Rose's presence. But when he looked up, there was no redhead to be seen. Instead, the pink furry was alone, skittering in a mad zigzag pattern across the hallway.

"Arnold." Scorpius stepped forward, taken aback when the creature pounced onto his chest, his piercing squeaks heightening in pitch. "Hey, quit it. I'll give you a jumper later, brat—"

He glanced back at the deserted hallway, somehow expecting Rose to appear and chide them for their little altercation.

But nobody appeared.

Unexpectedly, Arnold sank his sharp teeth into Scorpius' ear. Scorpius yelped, turning his attention back to the Pygmy Puff with a furious disdain. "The hell was that for? Get back here, you dumb twat—"

Arnold had surged forward sideways towards the snowy grounds, then paused just as suddenly. As though beckoning for Scorpius to give chase. It occurred to Scorpius, then, that Arnold The Third was with Rose when she watched his game that afternoon.

His instincts keened; a trepidation was rising in his gut. Scorpius stared at Arnold The Third, the animal's screeching titters now bordering on a hysteria that unsettled him.

"Where's Rose?" he said, keeping his voice restrained.

Arnold catapulted further out in the grounds.

This time, Scorpius followed. He had no clue why Arnold—or Rose, for that matter—would send him on a wild goose chase on the grounds at this time of the afternoon, but something seemed to propel him forward anyway. It was all beginning to unnerve him… Arnold's distress, the abrupt stillness of empty branches, this almost unnatural silence in the January frost.

They were approaching the Great Lake. From where he was, it made for a monotonous picture of contrasts… the descending fog in the distance blurring the line between lake and sky. The black water was deathly still… a sinister canvas for the broken ice floor floating soundlessly atop of it.

He paused by the bank, dread filling him when he caught sight of a Slytherin scarf and a set of headphones.

Scorpius glanced back up, his eyes searching the lake.

And his heart lurched at the splash of red in the middle of that pristine surface.

For the briefest of moments, he was reminded of the night he found Rose crying her eyes out with the Hippogriff… At the time, he thought he would rather have found Rose in any other condition. For what could be worse than a girl as sweet as Rose in tears? Now, he understood that there were indeed far more terrible things that could befall a girl like her. Because, at present, there was no crying to be had… there was plainly nothing at all. She was floating in the middle of a damn lake, at the mercy of the elements, her red hair as lifeless as the very grounds he stood on—

"Rose," he uttered, panic filling him and clouding out all common sense. On another day, he would certainly come to wonder about how she got herself into this; of what would happen if he'd never found her; or the fact that she could be dead in minutes, if she wasn't already. A thousand things flashed through his mind in a nanosecond, then settled onto one singular thought that launched him into a body of water with a temperature that went through him like a thousand knives:

I have to get to her.

Behind him, Arnold's staccato squeaks had become deep and long-drawn. Rose wasn't far out, but the lake was hellishly cold. The water sluiced around Scorpius, pinpricking him through his clothes and pounding at his chest… there was the terrible sensation of being punched in the gut. For all of his strength and athleticism, he had his limits—the freeze was shooting mercilessly up his bones until it was physically too painful to move. He was wheezing now, in the throes of cold water shock. His heavy breaths escaped him in white swells, and he reached shakily for his wand. He could levitate her, he thought wildly, something, anything—

In that second, the first of two distinct events happened. Scorpius watched in horror as a grimy, mottled head broke the surface beside Rose's body. It hissed in his direction, its long fingers curling possessively over Rose's ankle.

A Grindylow. Scorpius forgot every spell in the book—he would fucking wrestle Rose from that creature if he had to. The water filled his ears as he surged forward in the lake, his heart pounding from adrenaline. But it seemed impossible to reach Rose when the Grindylow was tugging her the opposite direction.

Fucking bloodsuckers, his mind screamed. Even as Scorpius struggled forward in the water, Rose seemed to drift ever further. A thought struck him then, as acute as lightning. He could drown here. They both would, if he didn't find a way out of this.

And then, the sound of water rushing downwards, as though something large had risen up beyond the surface. Scorpius glanced the other way, his frenzied gaze meeting a single bulbous eye with an iris of the deepest indigo. It was a surreal sight—water dripping from the surrounding taut rubber skin, the slimy purple texture freckled with white spots.

The Giant Squid.

"I tried a bunch of names with her to see which one she responded to. Diana, Lizzy, Meredith…"

Scorpius didn't stop to think.

"Greta," he boomed, the verge of hysteria clouding out all reason. "Greta, you big oaf—" He gasped as the icy water hit his face, barely feeling his limbs now. "It's Rose! Help me, please—please—"

That owlish eye circled about and blinked at him before sinking back into the water, its graceful disappearance barely leaving a ripple. Desperation seized Scorpius then. He'd fucking swim if he had to. Inexplicably, a spotted tentacle suddenly arose from the deep… thrashing downwards onto the water surface like a pillar collapsing.

A series of waves bloomed in the middle of the lake.

The Grindylow screeched at the disturbance, releasing Rose's ankle and tumbling back into the depths. Rose's limp body disappeared into the swell of black water.

"Rose!" he hollered, before the black wave collapsed over him. He found himself blinded briefly, before breaking the surface once more.

Then, then—Rose had resurfaced within arm's reach.

This was so far removed from everything Scorpius had ever been taught his whole life. In the blink of an eye, he was a child once more, hearing his father drone incessantly on about self-preservation. In the face of death, the right choice is the one that gets you out alive. Always put yourself first. There's nothing we gain from risking ourselves for the sake of others. His father's words echoed distantly in his mind, but Scorpius wasn't listening, his head instead flooded with Rose. With every second that ticked by, so was the possibility of getting her out alive, of ever having her warm and happy in his arms again… of being able to relish her adorable smile, her tender heart, her shy affections.

Rose.

Rose.

Rosie.

Her name was incoherent on his tongue now, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely hear himself think. He grabbed her and circled an arm around her like a vice, as though he was the one drowning, like she was the only lifeline he knew... every bone and muscle in his body fighting to keep them both afloat.

From a distance, the squid thrashed lazily once more. Scorpius went under for the briefest of moments, unwittingly swallowing a mouthful of black water as his arms clamped around Rose. After a moment of chaos, his feet found the pebbled underbelly of the shoreline. He stumbled backwards, Rose's weight above him anchoring them at the edge of the lake.

Scorpius grabbed Rose and dragged her to the sandy bank, shaking her gently as though she was merely asleep. Her skin had turned blue, the lifelessness in her impish face scaring the hell out of him. There was an unfamiliar, salty warmth trailing down his cheeks, but Scorpius barely noticed, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes as he felt around her neck for a pulse.

"Rosie," he rasped, his mouth descending on hers. This wasn't the kiss you promised. He tilted her head back, applying pressure over her chest. He knew fuck all about saving a life, even less so by magic—but by Salazar he was going to die trying if he had to—

"Come on, come on." Scorpius breathed into her mouth, trembling so hard. From the cold, from the complete terror of losing her. "Rosie—"

Please.

We haven't even had a chance yet.

Arnold had reappeared, squeaking as he rubbed helplessly against Rose's arm. Scorpius lowered his ear to her mouth, hoping for the slightest of breaths against his cheek… He drew back, his actions now instinctive and mechanical. His mouth sealed over hers once more, breathing into her.

Rose coughed, water escaping her as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes fluttered opened, ever so slightly, her fingers curling into his jumper with such a tight grip it almost broke him from relief. She was as limp as a rag doll against him, enervated but alive. Blindly, Scorpius tugged her close and cradled her to his chest, as tightly as he was allowed… pressing a kiss into her soaked hair, his careful hands sweeping up her ribs, her arms, her back as he felt for other injuries.

Every limb was screaming for him to collapse beside her. But Scorpius refused to, instead arranging her in his arms. "Stay with me," he whispered, before hoisting her up against him. Rose exhaled shallowly as she drowsed, her lips chapped and bloodless.

He glanced over his shoulder then. The lake had returned to its glacial calm, as though everything that just happened was merely a dream. The Giant Squid had disappeared, and there was no sign of the Grindylow. But before Scorpius turned away, he thought he caught sight of a long tail with wide fins disappearing into the middle of the lake.

A Mergirl… a certain hallucination. He must be shot in the head from exhaustion. Arnold The Third squeaked insistently beside him then, and Scorpius blearily returned to the present. He looked back to Rose's sleeping face, and then he was running for her life.