"You two go ahead, I need new gloves. I'll be along in a minute."

Hogsmeade was crowded, energized, and dusted in snow. The clouds overhead rumored that another frozen layer was on its way, and the cold steered students into shops and cozy cafe corners with great success.

Rose, Albus, and Alice were working their way towards her uncle's joke shop when she remembered that her quidditch gloves were sporting well worn holes and needed to be replaced before their next game. Her father owled that morning to mention he'd be at the joke shop all afternoon, and he wanted to see her especially after the accident.

Her errand would not take long.

Moving into Shepherd's Snitch Shoppe, Rose kicked the snow from her boots on the coarse rug by the door, and breathed in the smell of leather, broom polish, and cinnamon. Mrs. Shepherd loved her cinnamon candles, and her husband loved her enough to humor them.

"Ello, Rose," the latter greeted her with a broad-toothed grin, rising from his chair behind the register. His expression changed when she pulled off her knit cap and he noticed the scars on her cheek. "Blimey! Your dad told me you'd been hurt but.."

"Oh, Jasper, hush. Don't make the poor thing feel worse." Bette emerged from one of the long aisles of Quidditch gear, waving off her husband's comment. "What can we help you find, deary?"

Rose appreciated the woman's kindness, but still subconsciously pulled her scarf up around her neck. "New gloves. I wore the last ones to pieces," she added with a laugh.

"Not to worry, dear. Those'll be on the back shelf. Just there."

Rose nodded and started in that direction. "Thanks." Slipping out of sight, she let her fingers trail along the shelves, running over the leather spines of Quidditch histories, product manuals, and beginners guides alike. When she reached the back of the store, she scanned the display and lifted a pair of dragon hide gloves to examine them more closely.

The Weasley clan was a quidditch family through and through. Her father rooted for the Chudley Cannons, as did Hugo, while Rose had been a fan of the Holyhead Harpies, the team for which her Aunt Ginny had played for most of her growing up years. Hermione rooted for Puddlemere, but only half-heartedly to tease her husband.

As the cousin count grew, teams naturally formed, and every family gathering held a match or two. She and Roxanne were chasers on the family team and now the Gryffindor team, and James had played Keeper until his graduation last spring. Rose did not want to pursue a career in the sport, but it was in her blood and a favored break from the books she loved so much.

Rose set the gloves back on the shelf and removed her winter mittens. She reached for the left hand and slipped the soft leather over her fingers, stretching her hand wide and gripping a tight fist over and over again.

"Careful there, Weasley. It's quidditch, not boxing."

A voice to her right surprised her, just as she caught sight of a long, slender white hand reaching for the other glove. Scorpius Malfoy smirked down at her and assessed the leather in hand.

Rose looked up at him with a blank expression, but her eyes threw daggers at him as she held out her hand. "My glove, please."

"No 'Give it here, Malfoy'?" he teased, sliding the right glove onto his own hand and repeating her motion from a moment before. "Besides they're not your gloves. Not yet."

Sighing, she removed the left glove with several sharp pulls of the material over her fingers, her gaze breaking with his and studying the grain of the dark wood display. "Fine, they're all yours."

Rose tossed the other glove onto the shelf and snatched her mittens. She had no desire to deal with him right now. What was wrong with her? He owed her nothing, he had said nothing, that was true, but the comments of his fellow Slytherin that morning burned hotter than her wounds.

A smirk played at his lips as he, too, removed the glove he wore, slowly and deliberately. "What's got your wand in a knot, Weasley?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Scor, don't."

"Don't what?"

She nearly laughed, rolling her eyes. "Don't pretend we're friends."

It was his turn to stare blankly at her, though a smirk lingered in his eyes. "Don't know what you're talking about. Sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?"

"When I fell?" Rose's brow furrowed in hurt and confusion. Had he actually begun to blame her for the incident? To believe the things his friends were saying? "Scor, I know about the books."

"What books?" Scorpius quirked an eyebrow at her and shrugged, toying aimlessly with the gloves in his hands, having picked the second up off the shelf.

Gaping at him, Rose studied his face. He had sought her out, hadn't he? He had gone from laughing at her to laughing with her over cauldrons, had he not? But was he back to making her feel the fool? Rose stared up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition.

Finally, a sad half laugh pushed through her lips. "What do you want, Scor? Do you even know?"

Scorpius chuckled and shook his head. "You're talking nonsense, Weasley. I know exactly what I want. New quidditch gloves, a Supernova 12, fame and–"

"I took the fall for you."

Scorpius shrugged, keeping his eye on the dragon-hide in his palms.

Rose scoffed at herself, her eyes dark with confusion and hurt. "I can't believe I took the fall for you."

His gray gaze remained cold, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Nobody asked you to do that."

"Yeah, well… I'm asking you to."

Scorpius rolled his eyes, a scowl forming at his lips, incredulous. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, further spurning her anger. "Merlin, Rose, what do you think–"

"I think," she began, her voice rising in pitch and volume, "that the next time your girlfriend says–"

"She's not my girlfriend," Scorpius interjected, pointing a finger at her.

"Fine," she said, swatting it away. "When your fling of the week get's a kick out of saying I look like acrumple-horned snorkack, the least you could do–"

"A what?"

Rose huffed. "It's this… thing that…" What was she saying? Why was she explaining this to him? An honestly, what did she expect? "You know what, never mind! I don't even care anymore. Good luck in potions, Malfoy."

Abandoning her errand, Rose brushed past Scorpius, knocking roughly into his shoulder on her way toward the door. She said not a word to the Shepherds as she pushed out into the cold, the wind biting her bare fingers as though it were laughing at her, a reminder of the catastrophe moments before.

She whirled into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in a huff, shaking the snow from her hair as she made her way toward her cousins huddled by the newest display.

"Hey, did you get the… gloves?" Albus's words faltered, noting the glint in her eye, and with one shake of her head he knew not to press the issue. Ron rounded the corner and swept his daughter into his grasp to look over her wounds, and she forced a bright smile.

She was on the mend. She was recovering. And she was steeling her heart against any further slip ups, which meant she was fine. Wasn't she?