I did have this chapter written up last Sunday but it's extra long and needed major edits. Sending love to all of you reading this right now! Special thanks to OrangeCupcakes, M, Lamp Light Reader, whimsysun, NarmeenPervez99, HPDWTWD, Scorprosetvd, Rhy, LillyMay77, isamartinez28, veeRonniekins, angelserpent, Weasleyred91, crushHP, glassycry, meandering-bluebottle, icantthinkofaname11, jacqueline, AMBERJANUS, LovelyLadyMindings, raspberryrainx3, Aryam, RCabajes, Susieq820, catwomannnnnn1, mlcm, unamusedwallflower, chameleon and guests/anons for your kind words!
AConcernedReader – Thank you for checking on me, dear. Not insensitive at all! I've been well, the situation is contained where I am. Everyone, I implore you to take extra care at this time. Wash your hands often and stay in. Let's do what we can to protect ourselves and our most vulnerable.
Rhys – This fic is looking to be about 50++ chapters. I… have a lot of feelings.
Chapter 31: The Slumber
You only die once.
The words, sharp and accusing, punched brightly through the darkness like meteor bolts. Tried as she might, Rose could not remember who said it to her before.
Was it her father? Her mother, perhaps. Or even Hugo...
The stillness gave way to the rushing sound of water in her ears. Rose blinked her eyes open, glimpsing the greying clouds before catching sight of the face above her.
Scorpius. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. His mouth was moving, and there was an urgency in the storm of his eyes, but she could not hear the words. It was like watching a movie in slow motion with the audio mismatched to the scene. Rosie. Rosie…! Ah, there it was. He was saying her name. Over and over, the echoes of his voice drawn out and incongruent.
The black enveloped her once more.
When Rose finally regained consciousness, everything was still spinning around her in a heady mishmash of colour and sound, as though she was caught in the midst of some wayward time-turning expedition. A forceful throbbing arose between her ears then, followed by a vertigo that threw off her inner balance. For some stretch of time, she could not tell if she was upright or lying down. That surreal, chaotic vision of Scorpius hovering over her and shouting disappeared… the shadows of his handsome face fading into the chiaroscuro of dusk and candlelight stretching across a cobbled ceiling.
It took a few minutes for her to return to herself, the force of gravity anchoring her in a sudden, unpleasant swoop. Rose exhaled shakily, at once detecting the all-too-familiar smell of tea-tree and disinfectant.
The Hospital Wing.
She wasn't dead.
Rose was overcome by a wave of relief so intense, it was all she could do not to weep.
But before the traumatic events of the late afternoon could catch up with her, a muffled sniffle caught her attention.
It was Poppy. She was seated by the bed, her trembling hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked young and frightened in the faint light of the ward. Her long hair had come loose, the locks uncombed and stringy, her already pale complexion turned ashen. She seemed utterly at odds with herself—her usual composure whittled to nothing as she fidgeted in her seat like a skittish cat. When Rose stirred, Poppy jerked to attention, her startled expression crumpling into something resembling relief.
"Poppy," Rose managed weakly, attempting to sit up in the bed. Poppy reached forward to help her.
"Easy—Madam Pomfrey just mended your chest."
"My chest?" As if on cue, a sharp pain shot through her sternum. Rose winced, trying to catch her breath and Poppy fluffed her pillows. She felt overwhelmed and fatigued, as though she could sleep for a thousand years if she just closed her eyes. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" Poppy wiped the corner of her eyes, her voice thick from emotion. "You were at the Great Lake, and you must have fallen in… You were attacked by a pack of Grindylows. God, Rosie, you could have died out there. If Malfoy hadn't found you in time, I can't even imagine—"
Without warning, she burst into tears.
Poppy had never cried in front of Rose before, not even after James broke up with her. This unlikely sight rattled Rose, and for a moment she forgot the foreign aches permeating her bones.
"Poppy, Poppy," Rose said in a hush, clasping urgently at her friend's hand. "I'm here. It's okay."
"It's not okay," Poppy snapped. "Why were you even out there? As if your scare with the spiders back in third year wasn't bad enough? Or the one time you almost got stamped out by a Troll… Of all stupid things you could do, Rose—"
"Poppy. I saw her. The Mergirl."
Poppy stopped short. Rose didn't miss the way her friend tightened her grip over her hand.
"Are you sure?" she said, sounding flustered. "You were the one who said it wasn't possible—"
"I know what I saw." Rose sank back against her pillows. "I'd found Fabian's letter, and…"
"You did? How?" The uncharacteristic sharpness in Poppy's voice made Rose's heart sink to her stomach. She hated the suspicion rising in her gut, warning her of Poppy's likely involvement in the unpleasant matters detailed by Fawley. This was Poppy, God's sake. Who had always been upright and rule-abiding; who befriended Rose when she was unpopular; and who stayed by her side through the countless scandals in the years after—
"Poppy," she said at length, "is there something you want to tell me?"
Poppy stared at Rose, a mixture of emotions crossing her expression. She blinked rapidly before looking away.
"You know you can tell me anything. Please let me help you."
Poppy tugged her hand away from Rose's grasp, her gaze fixed on her lap once more. When she stayed stubbornly mum, Rose forced herself to continue. "Professor Crossley has something to do with this. And I intend to find out what it is."
"Rose. You almost died." Poppy gave her an anguished look, her pale blue eyes brimming with tears once more. "Does it matter, what Crossley is up to? You'd put your life at risk because Fawley thinks he's up to something?"
Rose picked distractedly at the threads of her duvet, taking her time to process Poppy's words before speaking again. "I never said Fabian thought Crossley was up to something."
Poppy mouthed wordlessly at her, and at once seemed to realise that she had given herself away. Somehow, she'd found out the contents of Fawley's letter—
Which meant she was the one who stole it in the first place.
Something crumbled inside of Rose then. As exhausted as she was physically, nothing hurt more than the acute knowledge that Poppy was not as truthful as she trusted her to be. Even so, Rose held back from demanding the truth. It had become clear that this was a sensitive matter, and if she was going to be of any help, she would have to seek the truth at Poppy's pace.
It was hard seeing Poppy on the verge of tears again. Rose itched to reach out and comfort her friend, to tell her everything would be alright—
But she could not bring herself to do it.
Not without the facts.
Before either of them could say another word, Madam Pomfrey had swept in. She took one look at Poppy and tutted, hurrying over to shoo her out of her seat. "Away with you now, Miss Langdon. I know you're worried about Miss Weasley, but we can't afford to tire her out. She needs her rest to recover."
"Yes," Poppy said faintly, rising to her feet.
"As for you, Miss Weasley—you have some explaining to do. Gave us all quite a scare. Headmistress McGonagall will want all the details."
Noticing the look of mild terror on Poppy's face at Madam Pomfrey's proclamation, Rose meekly switched the subject. "How did I get here, Madam Pomfrey?"
"Mr Malfoy brought you in a few hours ago. In the name of Dumbledore, young Penelope… You look much worse for wear than Miss Weasley does, and she's the one who came in with frostbite. Off to bed with you—"
Before Poppy headed for the door, Rose caught her wrist. Poppy glanced back at Rose, her expression strangely impassive now.
"I'll look for you," Rose blurted out. "We'll talk tomorrow. First thing."
"Not so fast, Miss Weasley. You'll be here for awhile. Come now, Langdon."
After Madam Pomfrey sent Poppy on her way, she fussed over Rose, measuring her fever and applying a fresh bout of salve and bandages to her newly mended breastbone. "Good thing you merely broke a bone," Madam Pomfrey muttered. "A quick fix, these things. Young Harry Potter had to grow his bones back after the idiot Lockhart removed them by accident. Different story, that. Much more painful, too."
After her bandage was secured, Rose buttoned up her pyjama front, unable to keep from asking after Scorpius.
"He was a mess," Madam Pomfrey declared, as she briskly applied Frostbake Lotion to Rose's cold hands. "Carried you in looking like an ice-block and shaking like a leaf. I had to sedate him."
"You sedated him?" Rose said, taken aback. "Where is he?"
"Boys' ward." Madam Pomfrey shot her an exasperated look. "Credit to him for resuscitating you, but in here he was no help at all. I had to magick him to his bed because he was coming to see you every five minutes. Not to mention he was telling me how to do my job while I tried to tend to you! The audacity." Her next words were uttered under her breath. "Too much like his father."
"Can I see him?" Rose said hopefully.
"No, Miss Weasley. Don't make me sedate you, too. Rest, child—your fever won't break otherwise."
Rose timidly sank beneath her duvet as Madam Pomfrey blew out the candles across the ward, her footsteps fading before a heavy wooden door clicked shut. Rose rolled onto her side, sinking against the softness of her pillow as a bout of fever chills ran through her. She closed her eyes, images flashing under her eyelids as she recalled Poppy's tears and Fawley's letter… the demon snarls of Grindylows and Scorpius' handsome face twisted in desperation, his mouth coming down over hers…
She couldn't tell how many hours had gone by when she woke up in the semi-darkness, feeling unbearably warm. She kicked off her covers, shivering as her clammy skin met the cool evening air. Fire flickered in the hearth across the ward, providing a warm, comforting glow in the dead of night.
Rose sat up in her bed, lethargic and bleary-eyed. The pain in her chest had dulled, and her frost-bitten fingers had regained most of their sensation. Just the fever to contend with, now. She listened intently to the night sounds—the swish of empty branches against the night wind, the crackling of embers from the fireplace… the sharp creaking of bed springs.
Rose's ears perked, suddenly alert.
She glanced about the empty wing, past perfectly made beds and folding screens, somehow expecting Madam Pomfrey to pop out any minute.
Seconds ticked by. No sign of the grumpy nurse.
Quietly, Rose swung her legs to the side of the bed, her feet searching for slippers. She shuffled tentatively towards the door at the end of the girls' ward, and pushed it open.
The boys' ward was far darker, the hearth reduced to just glowing embers. When Rose's eyes adjusted, she caught sight of a single figure sat in a bed across the room, his duvet shoved to a side.
It was untenable, even to her, how the evening's stresses simply melted away once she sensed his presence. In fact, she suddenly felt terribly light-headed for reasons that had nothing to do with her fever.
Later, she would realise her reaction to him made very little sense at all.
His broad frame was partially obscured by the shadows, nightclothes rumpled and creased, as though he'd been forced to put them on. His tousled silver-blond hair caught the moonlight from the windows, head lowered in his hands as though he was staving off a headache. She could hear him breathe, slow and laboured, like he'd just awoken from a nightmare.
As though hypnotised, Rose stepped in.
The door creaked shut behind her.
Scorpius looked up.
His eyes found hers in the dark. And, in that moment, Rose caught a glimpse of the madman Hogwarts often talked about. He tracked her every move, his attention wolf-like and predatory, fixed on her like she was a prized creature that had emerged from its hiding place. He looked like he would have pounced on her, had he the choice. Madam Pomfrey's wry words returned to Rose.
I had to magick him to his bed because he was coming to see you every five minutes…
Ah—he was stuck where he was, then.
Not to mention he was telling me how to do my job while I tried to tend to you…
Tried as she might, Rose could not hold back the fond smile that lit up her face.
This impossible, arrogant man.
Watching her approach, Scorpius' own features had softened, somehow torn between disbelief and affection.
Wordlessly, he reached out for her with open arms.
She did not run to him, as fatigued as she was, but it was a close thing. He caught her in his arms as her own went around his neck, letting him tug her carefully onto the bed with him. There was a quiet desperation in the way he touched her, hands sweeping up her small, lithe frame to confirm her presence. His slender fingers roved up her back, finding the delicate outline of bandages through her pyjamas. With a quiet hiss, he drew her onto his lap in a heated embrace… an arm tucking her close against his chest as one of his hands cradled the back of her head.
Without meaning to, she'd nuzzled against his nightshirt and breathed him in, letting his presence wash over her like a balm. He smelled different tonight, his expensive cologne a mere trace within the clean laundry scent of his nightclothes, the coarse fabric underlined with the natural salt warmth of his musk.
But it was all Scorpius, and Rose loved it all the same.
Gently, he tilted her head back so he could look at her. In the almost darkness, his eyes resembled moonbeams on water, lashes damp and dark... she could still see the edges of a dream in his gaze, as though he hadn't quite woken up yet.
"Where are you?" she murmured, as he rubbed his nose affectionately against her soft cheek.
"Sleep Draught." Scorpius shook his head slightly, as though to clear his mind. "I've been high for hours trying to stay awake. Been hallucinating about..." He trailed off, his gaze riveted on her face.
The way he looked at her made the heat bloom in her cheeks. "You should have gone to sleep."
"I can't. Not without knowing if you're alright." He shifted beside her, his head sinking back into the pillows. Even before she could think about it, he was coaxing her down beside him. Rose carefully adjusted herself, turning her head to a side to face him.
As exhausted as she was, being near Scorpius made her feel irrepressibly alive. She felt painfully aware about everything about him, from the intimate waft of his breath across her skin, to the soft-boned heat of his body pressing up against hers…
Even the simple brush of his calloused thumb over her bottom lip made her tremble.
He inched closer then, cupping her cheek in a warm hand. Their noses brushed. "Rosie," he whispered, lifting his head from the pillow so his lips could press fully over hers. "My little imp." Every brush of his mouth lingered sweetly, each adoring kiss chasing the next. His mouth coaxed hers open, the gentlest of demands… their kiss deepening as his fingers intertwined with hers. "Sweetheart."
The way he said it, so tender and wistful, put the softest of aches in her very heart. The closeness of him melted the stiffness in her bones, her entire being slowly shaped by the insistent heat of his embrace. They kissed slow and sweet, his every touch dark with yearning… the two of them hopelessly lost in a potent, dream-spun intimacy that could only exist between lovers. His hungry mouth had moved to the rest of her, kissing her skin like he already missed her, damp fluttery touches across her neck that stained her pink. Between them, his deft fingers had come up to undo the top buttons on the front of her pyjamas... the fabric coming apart even as his mouth sought hers.
He gradually pulled away from their kiss, carefully tugging her nightshirt to a side… the heat in his gaze turning sombre as he stared fixedly at her bandaged breastbone.
His fingers brushed across the dressing, regret filling his expression.
"I broke you," he said softly.
So he must have, if he'd resuscitated her. "It's already healing," Rose murmured, as he nuzzled gently into the centre of her sternum.
Scorpius nodded blindly, leaving a trail of almost kisses over the rough-hewn dressing. "…I should've been more careful."
"You couldn't have." Their eyes met, and Rose reached out to stroke his hair. "Scorpius. I was drowning. I… I could have died. You did what you had to." The vague memory of him panicking over her made her heart heavy. She couldn't imagine how he must have felt. "How did you find me?"
"Arnold. He came for me, of all people." His eyes fluttered shut as her fingers combed gently over his scalp. "Greta helped. Afterwards. When I was trying to get to you."
Rose's eyes widened. "Greta? The Giant Squid?"
"She's the one who chased away the fucking Grindylow. I just—followed her lead, really. Rose…" Scorpius exhaled quietly, his expression turning serious. "Tell me what happened."
The reminder of Professor Crossley's possible experimentation made Rose's stomach lurch. She hedged for a moment, unsure of how to explain herself without giving away Poppy's secrets.
"I was investigating something."
"What's that?"
"I couldn't say. I… don't have the facts yet."
"You don't have the facts." Despite his obvious weariness, there was something dangerously measured about his tone now. "And yet you risked your life for it… and almost killed us both in the process."
There wasn't much she could say to that. When Rose didn't reply immediately, Scorpius tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
"I almost watched you die, Rose," he said in a low voice. "I think I deserve to know why."
His severity of his gaze dampened her resolve. She swallowed, considering her next words with care. "You do," she agreed at last. "It's… a sensitive matter. I've been in contact with Fabian—"
"Fawley?" Scorpius frowned. "You mean the letters?"
"Yes. He tells me about new species and other discoveries, and sometimes we discuss our personal research. I've been studying Grindylows for awhile, but I've been thinking of moving on to Sasquatches." Rose cleared her throat at Scorpius' slowly raised eyebrow. "Um, anyway. It's just something we do well together. Looking at theories, then proving or disproving them. It's a little more urgent this time, though—he needed me to help him confirm something he'd heard. What we know… what we think we know… we could get people in trouble." She tried to ignore the lump in her throat at the thought of Poppy. "There's nothing I want more than to tell you everything. But if I haven't proven anything, that would be awfully irresponsible."
"So you're telling me you were investigating something Fawley heard through the grapevine. Which is why you can't tell me the reason I went after you in subzero temperatures… because you have a theory you haven't proven."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to accept that you're always going to be reckless for reasons I might never know."
"I—yes." Rose lowered her gaze, guilt pricking her insides. Since a child, she had always given little thought to safety as she chased the wild and unpredictable, surviving her misadventures through bullish enthusiasm. It was easy to ignore her own parents' disapproval—they did, after all, defeat Lord Voldemort in the same spirit.
She would get over this, but for someone as sheltered as Scorpius, this brush with death on her account must have registered as a permanent shock of sorts. Rose bit her lip then, feeling a bout of remorse.
"I… will be more careful from now on," she said, with some difficulty. "I promise to try."
Scorpius studied her closely, his pale eyes searching her face. Rose was all too aware that this was quite possibly too much to ask of him. His trust was such a fragile, precious thing—and here she was asking for it, giving him close to nothing in return. As they considered each other, her fingers curled absently into his palm; Scorpius' thumb had gone to caress the pulse point of her wrist.
"Then you'll tell me everything," he said at last. "Once you have the facts."
"Yes," she said at once.
A terse moment passed between them. Then Scorpius pinched the spot between his eyebrows, his head dropping back to the pillow.
"Fuck," he said in an undertone. "You drive me bloody mad."
But there was no real heat in his words. It was obvious to her that he still wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but he merely bit down on his bottom lip and said nothing more.
He was choosing to trust her. Despite everything. This understanding lit Rose up from the inside… her heart filled with a sudden tenderness for him. Impulsively, she inched forward to press a kiss in the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you for looking for me," she said sincerely. "For always looking for me."
Scorpius merely glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. To her surprise, his warm palm came to rest over her forehead. A low grunt of dissatisfaction escaped him. "Are you cold?"
"A little." She was burning from her fever awhile ago, and now she had the chills. She felt his neck to gauge his temperature. "You have a fever too."
"It's nothing," he mumbled, covering her hand with his. Rose's breath caught when he guided her trembling fingertips beneath his nightshirt, the palm of her hand coming in contact with the furnace of his bare skin. Scorpius observed the slow blush filling her cheeks, his eyes never leaving her face.
"What?" she whispered, oddly self-conscious at the intensity of his stare.
"Are you afraid to touch me?"
"No, I..." Suddenly it was hard to know where to look. "I just don't know how."
A wry smile reached the corners of his mouth. "Just think of how I touch you. And do it to me."
This shouldn't scare her more than stroking the feathered back of some untamed beast, but it did. She had never touched a person before, not the way Scorpius wanted her to touch him. Magical beasts were unpredictable, prone to a defensive violence with the simplest of contact. Touching a creature of any sort required care and diligence.
Perhaps touching a man deserved the same consideration.
Scorpius didn't rush her, merely watched her with a burning patience. Releasing a quiet breath, Rose finally gave into her curiosity, letting herself feel the shape of him beneath his nightshirt. With agonising slowness, she skimmed the satin-smooth plane of his back, the hard sinew beneath tensing as she shyly traced the toned outlines and indents of his defined torso. It was one thing, she realised then, to admire Scorpius' gorgeous physique from afar… and quite another to touch him intimately, to perceive the masculine vitality of him under her fingers, each cord of muscle a testament to the raw strength cultivated over years of physical exertion on the Quidditch pitch.
Her exploration of him felt innocent, her intentions hardly sensual, but Rose didn't miss the flash of lust in Scorpius' eyes, nor the erotic bite of his lower lip as he suppressed a moan. In one swift movement, he was on top of her, resting on his elbows to keep his weight from her mending chest, his lower body aligned to hers to find friction for his now throbbing erection.
The sensual pressure of him between her thighs ignited an unexpected, heady need from within her. Scorpius' hot mouth lowered to hers, their tongues clashing in an urgent kiss that made her weak all over. His hands went boldly under her pyjamas, returning the favour with caresses over the delicate ridges of her ribcage, fingers roving upwards to tease the tender undercurve of her breast.
Overwhelmed by sensation, she squirmed against him—and a shot of pleasure went through both of them like lightning. Her lips parted in a silent gasp; Scorpius uttered a husky groan against her neck.
"We can't," she whispered, even as she watched the dreamy, manic glaze in Scorpius' eyes. "Not like this."
"Like what?" he murmured between kisses.
Rose closed her eyes, trying to tamper the riot of longing he had built inside of her. "Like we've both just been batted in the head by a Fleamoth."
"What's a Fleamoth?"
"A beast from the tropics with clamped fists for feet." It was hard to ignore the way his hands had clasped over her hips, his thumbs now tracing the elastic of her pyjama pants. "They punch their way through everything. Rather like Tarquin, I reckon…"
When Scorpius' mouth brushed insistently over hers once more, Rose bit back a little smile and stroked his cheek.
"I should get back to my bed," she said softly.
"Stay with me." There was a command in his words, but nothing of it in the way he touched her. The back of his fingers had settled against her delicate jawline, soothing her feverish skin in feather strokes.
Not that Rose could leave even if she wanted to. Scorpius felt so safe and warm… she could not remember the exact moment she was stolen by sleep, fatigue dragging her into oblivion. When she started shivering again some time in the night, she was vaguely aware of a duvet being pulled over her shoulder, a kiss in her hair as a warm body cuddled her close.
As dawn filled the sky, she slipped back to her nonsensical fevered dreams… the most vivid of all involving a Sasquatch emerging from the depths of the French Alps to chase her and Scorpius through freshly snowkissed trees.
The first bouts of wakefulness arrived with the trill of birdsong beyond the tall windows. Rose nuzzled deeper into the cocoon of Scorpius' embrace, unwilling to meet the subdued light of morning.
Just a few more minutes, she thought sleepily.
She drowsed, sinking back into slumber… until several voices cut through the comforting lull of sleep.
"—can't imagine where she could have gone at this hour—"
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Rose was seized by the abrupt sensation of tumbling out of a dream and back to earth. She sprang upright in a hurry, suddenly acutely aware of where she was… and who she was with. Scorpius, still blissfully unaware of the world, had reached out to tug her back down into his embrace.
"Scorpius," she squeaked, glancing back in the direction of the voices. "Wake up, wake up—"
But it was too late. The door had burst open. Madam Pomfrey bumbled into the boys' ward, looking irritated and harried until she saw Rose wide awake and frazzled on Scorpius' bed.
"Well, well, well," she said dryly, with an air of a woman who'd seen too much in her long life, "what do we have here?"
But it wasn't Madam Pomfrey's sudden appearance that filled Rose with dread. Mr Malfoy and her mother were standing behind her, looking completely dumbfounded at the sight of their children entangled in bed. There was a spooked quality to Draco's expression; he regarded them like they were a pair of Boggarts, his worst fears come to life. Beside him, Hermione had gone crimson, her lips disappearing into a thin line… the way they were wont to do whenever she was incensed at Ron or Harry.
Rose had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach. She might have survived the ordeal with the Grindylows, but this—
Mum's going to kill me.