A/N: …Oops. I didn't mean for it to take me this long to update, but with marching band, school work, NaNoWriMo, and other miscellaneous things, I didn't get a chance to update. I beg forgiveness.

Chapters are probably going to be a bit shorter from here on out, just because I'm still figuring out the pacing and my muse has begun to leak away. However, I will do the best I can to give you all semi-regular updates; there won't be another three month long gap like this one. And I will finish it; that is certain.

Also, do you think that I could get away with dropping the rating to a T? I just feel that M might be a bit strong, since I'm not showing any violence—it's just strongly alluded to. Thanks in advance!

Oh, and by the way, I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own any of the characters. Just the plot. Consider yourself disclaimed.

The boy offered her a weak smile. "It's no problem. Now, I want you to take a step forward as I step back."

She took one step, following his instructions. Then another. On the third, she faltered, but Scorpius managed to keep her steady. "I've got you," he reassured her as she tensed up. "You can trust me."

It was completely strange, what was happening between them.

By the time the lights turned on in the room, signaling that it was daytime (as the room was located in the interior of the hospital, which meant that there weren't any windows), Rose was able to walk across the room. She hadn't progressed enough to be able to stop on her own, though, and her legs were as shaky as a newborn foal's. The girl's muscles had been stiff after a few days without use, but Scorpius was sure that she'd be walking strong in no time.

The Malfoy, on the other hand, hadn't made any headway with his own issues. He still didn't exactly want to be on the godforsaken planet, and he continued to yearn access to the wand that had become like a limb to him, but he had to admit that helping Rose had made him feel just a little bit better.

It was nine o'clock—about two hours later—when the immediate members of the Weasley family returned to check on their kin. Surprisingly, they found her sound asleep, her hands fisted in the rough sheets of her lumpy hospital bed. Scorpius was in a similar position in his own bed, having passed out there when Rose felt that she had practiced enough for the day.

Rose slept, albeit restlessly, for two hours; her first physical therapy appointment began at eleven, and a nurse came to fetch her just a few minutes before, bringing a wheelchair with her. Even in her groggy, half-asleep state, she scowled at the object with distain.

"I don't need that thing," the Beater muttered after she downed the pain relief potion that she had been given. "Lend me an arm, and I'll get there fine."

The nurse had the decency to look sympathetic, but before he could open his mouth to get a word, the girl's father spoke up. "Even if it wasn't hospital policy for your sort of injury, you would be using the chair, because we wouldn't want to risk you hurting yourself. Now come on, I'll help you sit."

Scorpius would let me walk there, Rose thought, irked. He didn't baby me last night. She was about to open her mouth to say this in her defense, but then decided against it, coming to the conclusion that mentioning anything that had to do with the boy in the bed next to her would be a bad idea.

And also because that last bit sounded more like one of her cousin James's innuendos than she would care to admit.

Sparing one last glance at the sleeping boy across the room, Rose sighed and pushed herself out of bed and into the wheelchair, denying the hands that had been waiting to help her and scowling as she did so. After she got as comfortable in the Muggle contraption as she possibly could, the stubborn girl wheeled herself out of the room, leaving her family in her wake.

A yawn burst forth from Scorpius's chapped lips as the boy stretched, reaching towards the ceiling as he acknowledged the fact that his self-induced injuries no longer caused him pain.

He wasn't sure at the moment if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Pushing the sleeves of his hospital gown back, he examined the slightly raised lines carved into his forearms. The one on the right was slightly diagonal and straight, as that was the one that Scorpius had decided to sectumsempra first, but the healed gash on his other pale wrist had missed its mark, going to the side of his forearm instead of the center of its ivory white underside.

Maybe, if he had better aim that second time, he would be dead. It wasn't a calming thought to either of the perspectives that were duking it out in his blonde noggin.

It was at that moment that the Weasley clan came back into the room. Quickly, Scorpius flicked his wrists so that the long sleeves of the gown came to rest over the ugly scars; he didn't want anyone else to see his weakness, and that went especially for Rose. If she saw them, she'd probably laugh in his face and call him a coward.

And he definitely didn't want that.

"So how did it go?" Scorpius asked, genuine curiosity lighting in his eyes as the girl pushed herself out of the wheelchair and sat down, hard, on the bed.

Rose ignored the surprised and taken aback looks from her family and smiled at her newfound friend. "Better than I expected. I guess I have you to thank for that."

Scorpius found himself smiling a bit; the expression felt strange on his face, even though he'd been showing that particular facial movement around the red-haired Quidditch star quite frequently. "It was my pleasure. I could help out a bit more later, if you'd like."

"Hold on, hold on," Ronald Weasley broke in. An uneasy expression had settled itself on his freckled face, and Scorpius could tell that he wasn't happy about the Malfoy brat doing anything with his daughter. "What are you two going on about?"

Rose turned and grinned up at her father, and Scorpius could tell immediately that the man's daughter had him wrapped around her finger. "I was trying to walk last night, daddy, and Scorpius helped me. It's why I could do all of the things that they tried out in therapy today." She placed a small hand on top of her father's, which was fisted in the sheets by her right knee. "He was a perfect gentleman."

"I wouldn't give myself all the credit," Scorpius put in with a blindingly white smile that was relatively forced. "You've raised a very strong daughter, sir. Very stubborn, when she wants to get something done. You should be proud."

Ron may not have caught on to his daughter's sweet talk, but he definitely noticed Scorpius's attempt at subtle manipulation; his blue eyes narrowed, and her turned to appraise the boy in the opposite bed. Auror mode had been activated, and Scorpius wondered if a painful interrogation was in his future. "You're being vague; I want a straight answer, with all of the details. What were you and my daughter doing last night?"

Scorpius threw his hands up, palms out, in surrender, and his sleeves fell down to his elbows. "Sir, I—"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, stop behaving like a child!" Hermione exclaimed, smacking her husband's shoulder. Her irritation soured her expression, and Scorpius could tell that she'd had to call her husband off numerous times before. "You're not at work and you don't even know the poor boy—"

"What're those?"

Hermione was still admonishing her husband, but Rose's timid question had gotten Scorpius's attention. Panicking, the boy realized that his bare forearms were in full view, so he put his arms down quickly, as if something had stung them. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing," he snapped quickly, his hands fisting in the sheets on his lap.

"What happened?" she asked, curious and uneasy and a little bit afraid. "Are those why you're in here?"

Scorpius forced a laugh, knowing that Rose could probably see the alarm in his eyes that he'd been unable to mask. It sounded bitter and fake to even his own ears. "No, of course not. They're old. Stuck my hands in a bush, I did, to get out a… galleon that I noticed was in there! Scratched me up, it did." He let out another strained chuckle. "What did you think they were?"

The room was nearly silent for a moment. Ron was grumbling to himself, arms crossed, as Hermione sighed and shook her head; both were completely unaware of the event that had just transpired between their child and the boy on the other side of the room. Scorpius's shadowy eyes flicked to Rose, who was looking at him with a bemused, slightly pitying expression that made the boy want to curl up in a ball of shame and spill everything. He knew she had an idea of what had really occurred—Scorpius could see the thought running through her mind—and he knew that if he wanted to tell her, he could.

It was the pity that stopped him.

He hated pity. Sympathy he could deal with, but he'd learned at an early age that nothing good came from pity. Ever since he was a boy, he'd been pitied—pitied and hated, both coming from his family's gruesome history. Scorpius couldn't stand his only friend (even though he'd only really known her for about a day) looking at him like that, even if it was for a completely different reason than all of the other looks of that emotion that he'd received over the years.

"Mr. Malfoy?" a hesitant voice questioned from the door, unsure of whether or not she should enter. "It's time for your appointment."

"Wonderful," he said, practically jumping from his bed and running out the door, leaving a group of confused Weasleys in his wake.

He wasn't ready for her to know. Scorpius wasn't sure that he ever would be.

"You can tell me, you know."

It was late. Scorpius would have to guess that it was about one in the morning, and yet he lay awake, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about anything at all.

Of course Rose would still be awake, too. She'd assumed the worst when she saw his scars, and for once, the worst was correct. The girl had felt sick when she saw the pale white gashes on his alabaster skin, thoughts consumed with images of the boy who was becoming her friend sprawled out on the floor, eyes open but glazed with a sheen of lifelessness, crimson blood glistening—

And then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her family noticed her subdued mood, though they thought it had appeared for a completely different reason.

Other members of her family came to visit her: Uncle Harry and his family, which included Aunt Ginny, James, Lily, and her best friend and beater partner Albus ("Al!" he corrected in her head); her cousins Fred, Roxanne, and Louis also stopped by, giving her messages of love from relatives that had been unable to make it.

Scorpius hadn't had any visitors. Or at least, not any that Rose had seen.

When visiting hours were over and the Weasley-Potter clan was gone, Scorpius had returned to the room, looking tired and indifferent. Where he'd been all day was a mystery to her, and when she asked, he'd just shaken his head and plopped down gracelessly into the uncomfortable hospital bed across the room.

And that was where the boy remained, still looking exhausted and just a little bit lost. "Can I?" he questioned in a monotone, sounding as if he could care less about the answer.

"Yeah," she affirmed softly, turning over and propping herself up on one elbow so she could see him. The only light was the small amount that leaked in from the dim hallways from the crack under the door, so she could just see her friend's outline under the thin sheet that was supposed to be a comforting blanket. "I trusted you last night. And… I sort of want to be sure that they're not what I think they are."

"So what do you think they are?" Scorpius asked, his voice still void of emotion.

"Scorpius…"

"Rose."

"Please don't make me say it."

Suddenly, Scorpius turned so he was propped up just like she was, and faced her. "So what if they are what you think they are? What difference would it make? Why would you care?"

A lump formed in the girl's throat. Emotion had colored his tone, and he sounded so damn lonely that it made her stomach hurt. "Please."

But he wasn't ready. Scorpius almost wanted to tell her, because the truth seemed like it would kill him, and he still wasn't sure that he was happy to be alive just yet. "Goodnight, Rose."

He fell back onto the mattress and rolled over to face the wall, not saying another word the entire night.