A/N:
Hey all!
FIRST OFF, I made an updated author's note regarding the "concerning behaviour" displayed by Rose and Scorpius in the last chapter. PLEASE GO TO THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER TO READ IT SO THAT WE ARE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE.
I do not in ANY WAY condone toxic or abusive relationships, and again, PLEASE UNDERSTAND that neither Rose's or Scorpius's behaviour is to be lauded or glorified (as of right now anyway).
With that being said- I have to place a trigger warning on this chapter- those triggers being: depictions of serious mental illness, implied self-harm, and violence.
This whole chapter covers Rose's first therapy session. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT IN NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM DO I INTEND TO DEPICT HOW MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS ACTUALLY TREAT INTERMITTENT EXPLOSIVE DISORDER IN A REAL LIFE SCENARIO, AND IN NO WAY DO I INTEND TO ACT LIKE I HAVE ANY KNOWLEDGE OF THE ACTUAL METHODS USED FOR ACTUAL TREATMENT.
All "treatment plans" mentioned in this chapter are entirely fictional and unique to this story ONLY.
Please read, like, bookmark, and/or review!
Happy reading,
-Everlasting Faerie Light
P.S. I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.
xXxXxXxX
-July 2032- St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Present Day-
"Let's see here, Rose - according to your chart, it looks like you saw Healer O'Malley consistently for seven years, is that correct?"
"Yes. I started when I was eleven."
"And then it says here that you stopped?"
"During my final year at Hogwarts."
"Why is that?"
"I dunno- I was already of age, and I was tired of dedicating two evenings out of every week to attending the same sessions with the same healer I had been seeing for several years. On top of the several N.E.W.T.s to study for, along with being the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, I just didn't have the time anymore."
Rose is consciously aware of the fact that she is uncontrollably tapping her foot against the wooden floor of Healer Jones's office. The incredibly soft, squashy maroon armchair that she currently sits in does little to calm her nerves.
The curly-haired Weasley understands that she is in dire need of therapy. But she cannot help the uneasy grumbling in her stomach.
While her sessions with Healer O'Malley throughout her school years were ultimately effective for the most part, Rose's past treatment plan was long, exhausting, and at times, extremely painful.
And then when Rose had turned eighteen years old during the early part of her seventh year at Hogwarts, she called it quits. Healer O'Malley never fully discharged her from his services, and strongly suggested that she continue her treatment.
But Rose was just- done.
And now here she is, just over eight years later, banned from ever playing Quidditch professionally again, an attempted manslaughter charge stamped to her record (along with a court date to determine her fate), and working as an employee under Scorpius cheater-fuck Malfoy.
Rose wants to slap herself silly.
Maybe if she had just continued her sessions with Healer O'Malley, she wouldn't be in this mess.
Healer Jones smiles kindly at Rose from her desk, her brown eyes twinkling behind her square spectacles. "I completely understand. N.E.W.T.s can be particularly nasty and time-consuming. Would you like some tea? I tend to slip a little calming draught in any batch that I make- if that's okay with you, of course."
Rose is slightly taken aback by the middle-aged woman's sudden offer, but she quickly recovers with a tentative smile, her frigid guard crumbling ever so slightly.
"I would love some. My cousin Lily also puts calming draught in her tea. It's quite effective."
"Your cousin sounds like a smart girl," Healer Jones replies with another smile as she points her wand at the small tea kettle sitting atop an enchanted burner located just to the right of her large desk. Rose watches as the kettle lifts itself up from the burner and neatly pours its contents into two brown porcelain mugs.
With another flick of Healer Jones's wand, one of the porcelain mugs slowly levitates towards Rose, who holds her hands out to catch it once it's within reach.
She cups her hands around the steaming cup, finding comfort in the heated temperature against her palms as she raises it to her lips to take a hearty sip of the calming draught-infused tea.
"Now, I want this to be as comfortable as possible for you, Rose," says Healer Jones soothingly as she regards Rose with gentle, understanding eyes. "I understand that your previous treatment plan with Healer O'Malley involved the use of psychoanalysis and behavioural therapy through hypnosis. How did you feel about his methods?"
Rose hesitates for a moment as she stares into her tea cup, her reflection warping against the surface of the steaming brown liquid.
While hypnosis proved to be effective for Rose in that the frequency and severity of her episodes lessened significantly over the years, it really was a harrowing, and at times, even painful process with some very unfavourable side effects, including fairly consistent nausea, sleepwalking, insomnia, and chronic fatigue.
"It was… effective. To an extent," Rose begins, her eyes still glued to the contents of her tea cup. "It wasn't at first though. My episodes got me into a lot of trouble during my first, second, and third years at Hogwarts. They were ready to expel me; Professor Lister and Professor McGonagall gave my parents an ultimatum. But my fourth year was a lot…better. And my fifth year was almost perfect until… until I beat up my first boyfriend after he broke up with me."
A lump forms in her throat at the memory.
Healer Jones tilts her head ever so slightly as she regards Rose with those friendly eyes, that warm, sympathetic smile never once leaving her lips. "I am sensing a fair amount of distress from you. If you feel comfortable enough, would you care to elaborate on this experience with your first ex-boyfriend?"
Rose hesitates for a split second, slightly nervous about opening up to a therapist for the first time in almost a decade, but the calming draught does well to keep her incessant anxiety at bay.
"Patrick Fitzgerald was my first boyfriend. We dated for three months when I was sixteen, and then he broke up with me for…well-stupid reasons that really don't matter anymore. But I was so upset and I just…freaked out on him. Went berserk on the poor sod. Even though it happened over ten years ago, and he turned out to be a no-good arsehole, I still, to this day, deeply regret hurting him like that. I immediately regretted it then too. I felt like absolute garbage. Like I was some good-for-nothing lunatic with absolutely no self-control. I thought that there was something seriously wrong with me, that I was never going to change…"
Rose remembered it.
That sensation of feeling like a psychotic person with absolutely no societal worth.
Like someone who'd become a serial killer one day.
Like the textbook definition of an abuser.
Like a monster.
A fucking monster.
She still feels like a monster.
Rose's breath hitches in agitation as the intrusive thoughts kick around disruptively in her head. She quickly takes another hearty sip of tea, hoping that the effects of the calming draught will increase. Once the liquid travels down her throat, she utters a bitter laugh.
"I got into a lot of trouble for that, y'know. With the entire Hogwarts staff, my parents, and of course Patrick's parents. My mum was ready to send me to a reform school for ill-behaved children somewhere in Ireland. I surely would have gotten expelled if my Uncle Harry didn't show up and pull the whole 'I-am-the-Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World-and-she-is-my-niece-so-you-should-cut-her-some-slack' shite."
And yet, despite another round of near-expulsion, weekly detention for the rest of the school year, and a screaming match with her parents that left both Rose and her mother in tears, March 3rd, 2022 was strange in itself for an entirely different reason-
It marked a significant shift for Rose.
But she isn't ready to go there.
Not yet.
Rose exhales loudly before taking another sip from her tea cup, which is now half empty.
Her sharp blues eyes flit around Healer Jones's large, but surprisingly cozy office for a few brief seconds before landing back on Healer Jones, herself, who is still staring at Rose with that permanently kind expression stamped on her bespectacled face.
"Tell me a little bit about your family," says the healer as she once again flourishes her wand, causing her feathered quill to immediately stand upright on her desk and dip itself into some ink. "Do you feel like you get along with them?"
Rose's eyes fixate on the quill as it starts scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Her mind reels as she fishes for the right words to express herself coherently.
"My mum and dad love me to bits," she starts in a small voice, trying not to get distracted by the incessant scratching of the quill. "And I love them too, of course. I know that they did their absolute best despite our special circumstances."
"Special circumstances?" Healer Jones inquires curiously.
Rose utters a small snort, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the healer's display of daftness.
"My mum and dad are Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They played a key role in helping my Uncle Harry defeat Voldemort in one of the greatest wizarding wars of all time. My mum also became the youngest British Minister of Magic at just thirty-two years old. Those aren't normal circumstances."
The curly haired Weasley pauses for a moment to take another sip of her tea, the tranquil silence of the room broken only by the consistent scratching of the enchanted quill against parchment. The extra dose of calming draught relaxes her limbs and further loosens her tongue.
"We were constantly swamped by the press. Growing up, I remember the tossers sneaking into our yard and sometimes even breaking into our home. Whenever we'd leave the house, there would be swarms of Daily Prophet hounds at our front door, just waiting to catch my mum or dad in some sort of slip up, constantly badgering me and my brother Hugo- always trying to get us to talk. And it wasn't just the press we had to worry about.
"There were a lot of folks who wanted to see mum and dad out of the picture- groups of pureblood fanatics and post-war sympathisers who would vandalise our property, leave grotesque messages in our front yard, even go so far as to send us curses in the mail and threaten all of our lives. We had aurors stationed at every entrance of the house. Mum had to employ ministry-grade security charms around our whole property. Dad got more and more paranoid as the years went by. Needless to say, Hugo and I didn't have a normal childhood."
"And do you feel that this constant intrusion by the press had a lasting effect on you and your family?" Healer Jones asks after taking a small sip from her own cup of tea.
"Definitely. Especially on my parents," says Rose without a single millisecond of hesitation. "Things between them were always tense. They were constantly fighting. I honestly do not recall a single memory in which mum and dad weren't arguing with each other in some manner, even when they were getting along. But when they weren't, which was quite frequently, things between them got- really bad. Like exponentially bad.
"When I turned ten, mum and dad- they separated. Mum had the divorce papers ready at a moment's notice, and dad was living at some random inn in muggle London. It must have been a combination of all the stress and paranoia felt from the neverending media interference, along with their nasty tempers. They were literally done with each other."
Rose pauses once more to briefly reflect on her parents' constant fighting throughout her adolescent years.
On top of the constant media attention and paranoia that her parents faced on a daily basis, her mother was also barely home due to her demanding and harrowing role as the Minister of Magic, leaving her father, who also happened to run a very popular joke shop with her Uncle George, to be the primary at-home caretaker for the kids.
Both of her parents were disgustingly overworked; but it was her father that Rose remembered spending the most time with at home.
And Merlin, did Ron Weasley struggle with domestic duties.
Rose wouldn't be surprised if he still resents her mother to this day for that particular circumstance.
Her parents' screaming, their curses and hexes, her dad's insults, her mother's tears and wracking sobs, the broken plates, cups, and plates that littered the floor and left small dents in their kitchen wall-
And nobody outside of the Weasley-Potter clan knew just how bad things were either. Both of her parents did well to keep up appearances for the general public (because Merlin forbid the media catastrophe that would've followed if any of those Prophet hounds caught wind of a possible Weasley-Granger divorce), and everybody in the family knew better than to open their mouths about such matters to outsiders.
But even Rose, who was a small child at the time, understood that her parents' marriage was crumbling to dust right before her eyes.
And yet-
"They didn't split though," Rose continues, unable to fight off the feeling of intense catharsis as she spills her guts to her new healer. "When I left for Hogwarts, they somehow managed to work things out and dad eventually moved back home. It took an arse load of marriage counselling and many painful conversations, but they fell back in love with each other again."
Rose cannot help but roll her eyes when the words 'in love' leave her lips.
"They had a bloody ceremony to renew their vows and everything," she grumbles. "And they are still happily married to this day. They still bicker here and there, but they don't scream at each other anymore."
Healer Jones studies her curiously for a moment, her warm brown eyes twinkling knowingly behind her glasses. "It sounds like your parents made the mutual decision to work on their marriage together. Are you happy that they fell back in love?"
"I suppose," Rose responds with a light shrug, the calming draught now in full effect as indicated by her half-lidded eyes. "They really were unbearable to be around though. Not to mention extremely awful to each other, and sometimes to me and my brother if we caught either of them in a particularly nasty mood. I'm not saying that they're the sole reason why I have anger issues, but I definitely learned a thing or two from them. But at the same time-"
The curly haired Weasley turns her head to look out the large rectangular window. The summer sky is bright, cloudless, and blue. Perfect Quidditch conditions.
"They both put in the work," Rose concludes, her eyes still fixated on the clear blue sky outside. "They deserve their happy ending."
"I would have to agree with you there," says Healer Jones, her smile widening considerably. "Would you like some more tea? I need to let my quill catch up for just a moment."
"No thanks. I do like calming draught, but I am a bit sensitive to it," Rose says with a small frown. "I'll just end up falling asleep."
"Of course," the healer responds politely before she fixes herself another cup of tea, the scratching of her quill once again breaking through the otherwise tranquil silence.
After Healer Jones has taken a fresh sip from her tea, her attention is once again focused on Rose.
"So, Rose, tell me a little bit about this 'chronic anger' of yours. Your records mention that your episodes started when you were quite young. Is that correct?"
"I was an ill-tempered child," grumbles Rose with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "I guess I still am. It's just in my nature I guess… to be a crusty fucking bitch. Which is actually quite hilarious because my younger brother Hugo doesn't have a single mean bone in his body, and we're as related as you can get."
Rose pauses for a moment to catch her breath before diving right back in.
"My parents both had nasty tempers for sure, but genetics couldn't explain why my tantrums were as bad as they were. I didn't actually get diagnosed until I started seeing Healer O'Malley, but my fits started long before that. The first really bad one I remembered having was when I was four years old. I don't remember much about it… just that I had it, and it was absolutely horrible. Honestly though… it wasn't until I went to Hogwarts that things took a turn for the worse."
"You did mention that your first, second, and third years were particularly difficult for you. Why do you think that is?" Healer Jones inquires.
Rose can't help but scowl.
She knows exactly why her fucking first, second, and third years were particularly difficult.
Despite her willingness to open up about sensitive topics to her new therapist, Rose still doesn't feel like talking about Scorpius Malfoy.
She just… doesn't want to go there.
Not now.
Not yet.
Healer Jones seems to sense the visible shift in Rose with interest, but she doesn't press the matter.
With another casual flick of the healer's wand, the enchanted quill ceases its writing and proceeds to place itself back at its original spot on the desk.
"Like I said, your comfort is one of my top priorities, Rose," says Healer Jones gently, that warm smile never once leaving her face. Not even for a second. "So I want to talk to you about what you are to expect from these sessions. Have you ever heard of a method called pensieve-talk?"
Rose cocks an eyebrow, but shakes her head. "I'm afraid I haven't."
"Well I will tell you right now that it is far less physically intrusive than hypnosis is. You also will not have to worry about any of those ill side effects you were no doubt feeling while under O'Malley's care," comments Healer Jones with just the smallest hint of distaste. She is obviously not a fan of hypnosis as a treatment method.
"The concept behind pensieve-talk is very simple," continues Healer Jones, her gentle tone taking on a poignant, professional edge.
"It enables a patient to relive and recount their memories through the specialised use of a pensieve. This method is purely reflective; by reliving and recounting traumatic, triggering, or significant memories throughout their life, the patient, under the careful supervision and guidance of a trained healer, will ideally learn to identify and cope with any specific or consistent triggers, and to apply any useful lessons and techniques learned during these sessions to their everyday life."
An unpleasant sensation fills Rose's gut as Healer Jones explains her treatment plan.
Relive and recount memories?
Through the use of a bloody pensieve?
Honestly, Rose would rather deal with the constant nausea and sleepwalking spells that came with hypnosis.
She isn't sure if she is ready to watch her very own memories play out before her very eyes like some fucked up muggle movie. Let alone with a goddamn shrink.
But, honestly, when will she ever be ready for something as intrusive as that?
When Healer Jones flashes her another warm, reassuring smile, Rose feels the unpleasant sensation in her stomach lessen ever so slightly.
"Of course, how effective the treatment is depends entirely on your willingness to put in the work necessary to get better. It requires that the patient be open-minded and honest during sessions, so you can see how pensieve-talk isn't the ideal treatment plan for everybody. But I can tell that you want to get better, Rose. I can tell by your willingness to open up to me in our initial discussion that pensieve-talk sessions will prove to be very effective for you."
"I'm not sure if I like the idea of watching my memories play out like some muggle movie at a theatre," Rose grumbles nervously, her left foot once again tapping incessantly against the wooden floor of the office.
"I completely understand. Memory recollection is daunting indeed," says Healer Jones, her voice unflinchingly kind. "If it makes you feel any better, you are in sole control of the memories we will evaluate. We will never evaluate a memory that you are not comfortable with sharing or recounting. Pensieve-talk is all about giving power to the patient. Like I said, effectiveness of treatment depends entirely on the patient's willingness to get better."
Rose presses her lips together, her sharp blue eyes fixated on Healer Jones, who looks right back at her with that warm, motherly face.
As unappealing as these pensieve-talk sessions sound, Rose also understands that she is already here at St. Mungo's seeking treatment for her mental health. Not just because it is required for her to keep her job, but because she needs to do this.
While hypnosis worked for her to an extent, its harrowing effects left Rose exhausted and burnt out. She didn't want to spend her last year at Hogwarts sleepwalking every other night, or malnourished due to her inability to keep down meals. So she ended up quitting treatment and neglecting her mental health for the past eight years.
But now she's here.
And she needs help.
So with a heavy, slightly irritated sigh, Rose places her now empty tea mug on the small coffee table placed in front of her and leans back in her seat.
"Fine. I'm in. Let's just get this over with."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
"So there are some differences between the medical use of a pensieve for pensieve-talk and its traditional use by the general wizarding population," explains Healer Jones as she adjusts her glasses.
The two are now standing in the middle of the open, airy office space, the desk, tables, and armchairs magically transported to one side of the room. In between Rose and Healer Jones is an ancient stone pensieve, its contents swirling languidly in a slow, circular rhythm.
"Instead of extracting your memory physically and casting it into the pensieve, I will perform a a specialised charm that will bind your deepest consciousness to the pensieve; by binding the powers of the pensieve to your conscience, you will be able to tap into the most minute details of even the most buried of memories. As the caster of this charm, I will have access to these memories as well, but like I said, you are in complete control of which memories we evaluate. Does all of that sound alright to you, Rose?"
Rose stares into the depths of the pensieve apprehensively, her stomach performing an array of intricate somersaults. Nevertheless, the naturally hardened Weasley reminds herself once more that she is here and she is doing this. No matter how uncomfortable this experience may be.
She looks back up at Healer Jones and gives a curt nod of approval.
"Good. I am going to perform the enchantment now. Please remain still and take deep, even breaths as I do so."
Rose attempts to relax her naturally tense muscles as she breathes in and out slowly, making sure to draw as much air into her lungs as possible before exhaling.
Meanwhile, Healer Jones slashes her wand around in a chaotic pattern of intricate formations. Her eyes are closed and her lips move rapidly, uttering inaudible words that have absolutely no meaning. Honestly, the scene really is quite disconcerting- it reminds Rose of some sort of ritualistic exorcism.
As she exhales for the tenth time, Rose feels an undeniable buzzing sensation flood her head, chest, and stomach. The sensation swirls around erratically for a few moments before settling into a subtle hum that leaves the curly-haired Weasley feeling oddly warm.
With a final drawn out breath, Healer Jones opens her eyes and taps the edge of the pensieve with her wand, causing the contents to turn bright gold for a split second before returning to its original colour.
"To start off, I want you to think of a consistent trigger unique to your life specifically. This trigger may be an emotion, an object, an idea, a thought process, a person- it can be anything really. Once you have this specific trigger in mind, I want you to dip your hand into the pensieve, and think of a specific memory that relates to that trigger. Are you following me so far?"
"Specific memory that relates to a unique trigger," Rose parrots with a determined tone very much like her mother's. "Got it."
When Rose thinks of the word trigger, her cataclysmic mind immediately fixates on one thing- or rather, one person. Even though she isn't necessarily keen on revisiting any old memories involving Scorpius Malfoy, she also understands that he is bound to be the subject of many a future session if she plans on actually getting better.
Once the curly-haired Weasley has a specific memory in mind, she dips her hand straight into the swirling contents of the pensieve.
xX
- November 23rd, 2019 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Third Year -
It was a crisp Saturday morning at Hogwarts, and most students were bundled up in their heavy jackets, enchanted water-proof boots, and winter scarves in anticipation of the day's monthly Hogsmeade trip.
Fourteen-year-old Rose Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table with an irate expression etched on her face, her unruly mop of curly red hair forced back into some semblance of a ponytail. Her entire body was covered from neck to toe in over four layers of clothing due to her less-than-favourable sensitivity to the cold, though the idea of being outside in the cold all day did not hinder her desire to attend Hogsmeade with her cousin, Albus Potter.
Rose had spent the last two Hogsmeade trips of the year with her best friend, Estella MacDonald. Unfortunately, due to a rather dire situation involving Professor Longbottom and venomous tentacula in greenhouse three, Estella landed herself in detention all weekend, and Rose was left without her usual Hogsmeade buddy.
Fortunately, due to other circumstances that Rose didn't give a hippogriff's feather about, her dear cousin Albus happened to be free of his snakey little triad for the weekend, and agreed to go to Hogsmeade with Rose this time around.
Hence why she was anxiously waiting in the Great Hall with over four layers of clothing on.
After what seemed like an eternity, Rose finally spotted her black-haired cousin enter the great hall, his emerald green eyes scanning the tables until they landed on her. With a smile, the curly-haired Weasley jumped up from her seat to wave her cousin over.
Albus Potter returned her grin and quickly made his way over to her spot at the Gryffindor table. He slid into the seat next to her and reached out to ruffle Rose's already tangled hair.
"You look like a marshmallow, Rosie. I know it's cold outside, but it isn't that cold," he mused with a twinkle in his eye.
"You know how sensitive I am to the cold," snapped Rose, swatting her cousin's pesky hand away from her already messed up hair. "Another remark like that and I'll hex your hand off."
"Ouch. Right off the bat with the threats. Aren't you always a charmer?" Albus joked with a tone of mock-hurt.
"That's why I'm your favourite cousin," said Rose with a devious smirk on her lips before making a movement to get up from her seat. "Now let's get going. I want to nab some of that special hot chocolate from Honeydukes before they run out again."
"Actually…" Albus began, the teasing twinkle immediately fading from his eyes, only to be replaced with a solemn look of reluctance. "I-er… we need to wait a few more minutes. Someone else is coming with us."
Rose froze, her already sharp blue eyes narrowing dangerously at her cousin. "Someone else?"
A nervous chuckle escaped Albus's lips, his lanky figure seeming to grow smaller and smaller by the minute under his fiery cousin's death glare. "Now don't be mad Rosie, but- there has been a recent change in circumstances- and I figured, hey! Maybe we can make this work out just for the day-"
Albus was starting to ramble.
Albus only ever rambled when he was hiding something.
Rose didn't like it.
"Albus," she deadpanned. "Who else is coming with us?"
As if on cue, a certain blonde haired, silver-eyed boy with a permanent sneer stamped to his face sauntered into the great hall. Albus made eye contact with his best mate over his seething cousin's shoulder.
Rose immediately turned around to see who the bloody hell suddenly caught her cousin's attention, and her insides immediately froze over at the sight of Scorpius Malfoy.
She couldn't believe it.
With a wild scowl that had the power to set villages on fire, Rose Weasley turned back around to face a cowering Albus Potter, her narrowed blue eyes aflame with fiendfyre.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Al? You said that he and Zabini were out for the weekend."
"I was trying to tell you that due to recent circumstances, things have changed!" Albus exclaimed, his voice trailing up a few octaves out of anxiousness. He knew better than most people that once the wrath of Rose Weasley reached a certain point, there was no going back.
"You said that it would just be me and you." growled Rose, a hint of hurt and betrayal coating her rage-filled words. "And I can't be around him, Albus. You know that."
"Come on, Rosie," pleaded Albus. "He just found out that his mum is really sick. Like really sick. She's going to die in the next few years. Just cut him some slack, will you?"
"I don't fucking care. He can go die with her."
Though the words tumbled out of Rose's mouth with bitter indifference, she couldn't deny the odd lurch in her chest at the dismal news of Malfoy's mum.
Was that… sympathy she felt?
But if any sign of sympathy made itself known on her features, it went unnoticed by Albus.
A dark look that could only be described as hatred flooded the young Potter's features as he regarded his seemingly dismissive and cruel cousin.
However, before Albus could open his mouth to say something undeniably hurtful to Rose, he was interrupted by Scorpius Malfoy, who slid into the seat across from the two cousins, his silver eyes poignant and suspicious.
"Hey Al. Weasel-bee," Malfoy greeted, that characteristic cold smirk of his creeping onto his lips. Nobody would've guessed that something was seriously wrong- that his mother was going to die. "Gossiping about your third Hogsmeade date? I'm hurt."
"Change of plans," Albus suddenly snapped, that dark look still etched on his face, his eyes still locked on his still-seething, curly-haired cousin. "Rose, you're on your own. Scorp and I need to discuss Quidditch tactics for the Slytherin team, and we can't have the Gryffindor beater around for that."
Rose felt as if someone had just kicked her in the chest. Hard. With a steel-toed boot.
She blinked a few times, her brain still processing her cousin's sudden and swift change of heart.
"Are you serious?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she regarded her cousin's cruel, unyielding expression.
She knew that maybe she went a little too far with that comment about Malfoy and his mum dying. But did it really warrant Albus just blatantly ditching her? In front of Malfoy himself?
Did Albus really hate her so much that he was willing to humiliate her like this?
All because of one stupid comment?
"Oh, I'm dead serious," responded Albus, his eyes still glinting with unbridled fury.
He had had enough.
He had been patient with Rose for years already, constantly making excuses for her shitty behaviour and unfair treatment of his best mate. He understood about as much as any thirteen year old boy really could about his cousin's "sessions" at St. Mungo's, and he knew that her anger outbursts weren't all her fault…
But he also knew that Rose needed to be held accountable for some of the horrible shit she did and said.
And it was always Rose that started arguments with Malfoy.
Not the other way around.
Her constant need for toxic conflict with Malfoy had made Albus resentful towards his cousin over the last two years.
And he wanted her to understand that he was sick of her shit.
Rose felt her eyes burn, that familiar sensation of tears threatening to spill from her eyes overwhelming her senses.
But she wasn't going to let herself cry.
Not in front of Malfoy.
"But… we planned this. Come on, Al. I'm your cousin," Rose attempted one more time in a softer tone, her big blue eyes pleading with her cousin to change his mind.
"You heard the man, Weasel-bee. He is dead serious."
The condescending sound of Malfoy's drawling voice immediately made the beast within Rose's chest scratch its sharp claws against the inside of her ribcage, just screeching to be released.
In one swift motion, Rose immediately rounded on Malfoy, her left hand simultaneously grabbing a whole, untouched cherry pie. With skills that could only be tailored through years of Quidditch practice, the ill-tempered Weasley hurled the pie straight at Malfoy's face with surprising force.
The whole great hall fell silent as everybody beheld the disaster unfurling before them with bated breath.
And then chaos immediately ensued.
Malfoy jumped to his feet, his face now covered with pieces of cherry pie and filled with unbridled rage. He whipped out his wand before Rose could even blink and she felt herself thrown backwards from a very-well cast knockback jinx.
Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through her veins, maybe it was the fiendfyre that surged through her limbs… but Rose didn't give herself time to feel any pain from the impact of being thrown into the Hufflepuff table.
Ignoring the gasps and screams from other students, the curly haired Weasley scrambled to her feet and immediately hurled a "Stupefy!" in Malfoy's general direction, only for it to completely miss her target and hit…
Albus.
Rose watched in horror as her cousin keeled over, devoid of consciousness in his seat before completely falling to the stone floor with a resounding thud.
"Albus!" she screeched before scrambling towards her cousin's unconscious form, not caring that every single pair of eyes in the Great Hall was fixated on her.
She knew that he would be okay; after all, a properly performed stunning spell wouldn't have any lasting ill effects on the victim.
But that didn't stop the nauseating feeling of guilt from flooding her stomach as she got to her knees and attempted to lift her unconscious cousin's surprisingly heavy body from the ground.
Albus was definitely going to hate her when he woke up.
He'd disown her as family.
Rose already knew it.
"My, my. Knocking out your own family in a duel. You are your own worst enemy, Weasel-bee."
At the sound of Malfoy's demeaning voice not a foot away from her, Rose could only see one thing.
Red.
Rose saw nothing but red.
Not a split second passed after Malfoy spoke before the roaring beast-of-a-Weasley dropped her unconscious cousin and aimed a swift, hard kick at the blithering ferret, her foot making solid contact with his poor bollocks.
xX
-July 2032, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Present Day -
Rose quickly withdraws her hand from the pensieve, and finds herself back in Healer Jones's office. She feels slightly disoriented at having just witnessed one of her third year memories with such clarity.
She also feels… embarrassed? Humbled?
Something along those lines.
"So there is a lot to dissect."
The voice of Healer Jones breaks Rose away from her internal monologue. "But I am most interested in what you have to say about this particular memory. So tell me, Rose, what exactly is going on here?"
Rose blinks a few times, her eyes fixated on the swirling depths of the pensieve. She still feels that strange warmth from the charm buzz through her limbs.
"I'm in my third year, and my cousin Albus and I were supposed to go to Hogsmeade together," she starts tentatively.
"It was supposed to be just the two of us. I was looking forward to it, especially since my only other friend at Hogwarts landed herself in detention that weekend and I had no one else to go with. But then he tried to bring Malfoy along because his mother was super sick, and Al was trying to cheer him up or something. They are best mates after all. Still to this day."
Rose pauses for a moment, a sudden sensation similar to regret flooding her chest. Healer Jones doesn't speak, silently urging Rose to continue.
"You see, Malfoy and I never saw eye-to-eye. I broke his nose and he made me vomit slugs the first time we ever spoke to each other. And worse… for some odd reason that still puzzles me to this day, Albus immediately decided that Malfoy was going to be his best fucking mate for life."
Rose cannot help the anger that makes its way into her voice as she talks about Scorpius Malfoy and his friendship with Albus.
"This memory is significant because it marks the official end of my friendship with Albus. We were never the same after that day. Yes, he's still family, and yes we still care about each other, but everything changed after he came back from that stunning spell. Not only did I end up losing my Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of my third year, but Albus wouldn't even fucking look at me anymore. Things between me and Al are still fucked up, and it's all his fault."
Healer Jones regards Rose curiously for a moment. "If you don't mind me voicing my opinion- Scorpius Malfoy's friendship with your cousin seems to act as a definite trigger unique to you. You mentioned that the two are still best friends? Do you interact with Scorpius Malfoy on any sort of consistent basis presently?"
Rose scowls, her eyes flashing dangerously. "He's my bloody boss. He's the new Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, so I would say 'yes,' I do have consistent interaction with him."
Healer Jones raises both of her eyebrows at Rose's answer. She seems fairly perplexed by the news. "How have your interactions with him been in the workplace?"
Rose opens her mouth with every intention of bad-mouthing the shit out of Malfoy as her boss, but she stops herself just as the words are on the tip of her tongue.
After another brief moment in which the curly-haired Weasley collects her thoughts, she starts to speak, choosing her words carefully as she does so.
"Well, the first day wasn't good at all. I poured coffee all over his paperwork, and he blasted me with some made-up stinksap curse. Then during my mail-sorting duties, we sort of- got into it again. I said some shit that really riled him up, and then I proceeded to knock over his mail piles. Then he…well… he sort of threatened me- I guess. Honestly- it felt just like we were back at Hogwarts- like no time had passed."
"I see," replies Healer Jones, that perplexed expression still etched on her face. If Rose doesn't know any better, she would think that the middle-aged woman is concerned for her well-being or some shit. "And have the nature of your interactions with him been consistent since you started working there?"
"No," Rose grumbles, a condescending frown forming on her freckled face. "He mostly just acts like I don't exist. He only ever talks to me when absolutely necessary."
And honestly- it is starting to infuriate Rose.
After her chaotic, shit-storm of an explosive first day as Malfoy's official assistant, the next two days proved to be fairly… uneventful.
Apart from a few stale insults half-heartedly sent her way, Malfoy made a point to blatantly ignore her, only ever addressing her for strictly professional reasons. Even during the daily two-hour mail sorting period in which there was plenty of opportunity for him to torture or demean Rose in some way, the silver-eyed wanker pointedly kept his head down and his attention strictly focused on his work.
Rose just doesn't know how to respond to his cold, neutral indifference.
She would almost prefer that he slam her against the bookcase again and threaten to make her life miserable.
At least then she would know how to fucking react.
"Well I am glad to hear that he is consciously limiting his interaction with you. To be honest, the two of you working together doesn't sound very beneficial for your health, Rose," Healer Jones comments, her voice now definitely laced with genuine concern.
Rose resists the urge to roll her eyes.
"Yeah well, there isn't much to be done about that," she deadpans, before elaborating.
"Malfoy is damn near untouchable, and I have a lot to lose. My mum only managed to get me this job because she's Minister of Magic, andthe Wizengamot still tacked on an arse-load of conditions for my employment, including these sessions. I can never play Quidditch again. Most other high-end positions won't hire me due to my criminal record. I can't afford to work as a busser or a cashier. The only thing I can really do is- learn to live with my current situation, I guess. I just-"
Rose sighs, a surprising amount of exhaustion overtaking her body.
"...I just don't know if I can."
Healer Jones gazes at her with a studious curiosity, her lips pressed together as she considers her next words. After a few languid beats of silence, the healer addresses Rose with a smile:
"I want to try one more exercise with you, Rose. Given the nature of your current situation, I believe that it would be in your best interest to place some emphasis on developing healthy ways in which you can interact and relate with Scorpius Malfoy on a professional and personal level. You are required to work with him on a daily basis, after all. Unfortunately, constant exposure to your triggers will only hinder your treatment- unless specific methods are implemented within your treatment plan to help you cope with constant exposure."
Rose feels another bout of anxiety well up in both her chest and her stomach.
She doesn't like the sound of "developing healthy ways" to "interact and relate with" Scorpius-fuck-me-Malfoy.
Nevertheless, she keeps her mouth shut, allowing the healer to continue.
"If possible, I want you to think of a time in which you felt some sort of empathy for Scorpius Malfoy. Maybe you learned that you two have something in common. Maybe you worked on a school project together and achieved high marks. It doesn't have to be anything extremely significant- it just has to be a moment- even if extremely brief- in which you felt that you could somehow relate with or empathise with him. Do you think you can do that, Rose?"
Rose's breath hitches violently, her mouth taking on the consistency of parchment.
She feels an array of butterflies surge from the bottom of her stomach all the way up to her throat.
Healer Jones tilts her head ever so slightly, her eyes regarding Rose with concern once more. "If you do not feel up to it today, I completely understand. We can always try again during another session."
But Rose just shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and dips her hand into the pensieve once more.
xX
-January 17th, 2023 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sixth year-
Rose's eyes flew open as a strangled gasp escaped her plump, freckled lips.
She blinked a few times.
Where was she?
Why the hell wasn't she in her four-poster bed in the Gryffindor girl's dormitories?
Just as her night-vision came into view, a powerful wave of nausea overtook Rose's whole body, and it took everything within her not to empty the contents of her stomach onto the cold stone floor.
Instead, the sickly seventeen year old bolted for the first open door her blurry vision could make out, which fortunately happened to be a washroom. Unfortunately, Rose didn't have the willpower to keep her vomit down until she reached a toilet, so she headed straight for the circular array of taps and grossly unleashed her dinner into the first sink she could reach.
Cold sweat dripped covered Rose's whole body as she heaved and coughed. Once she got the last remaining bits of food out of her system, she turned the sink on to wash away her mess, and rinse her mouth out.
She slept-walked. Again.
And then got sick. Again.
Rose couldn't keep doing this. Her twice-a-week hypnosis treatment with Healer O'Malley was really starting to take a physical toll on her body. She was constantly tired- so tired that she could hardly gather the strength to properly play Quidditch. She would throw up at least three or four meals a week, despite the anti-nausea potion she was drinking.
But nothing was worse or more terrifying than the bloody sleepwalking.
She was tired of waking up and finding herself in random parts of the castle. She was tired of the nightmares and the sleep paralysis and the constant fear of walking off the bloody astronomy tower in her sleep…
At the same time, though- Rose was no longer experiencing explosive episodes. She was hardly angry anymore- yes she was still a by-default bitch, but that was just who she was. She just wasn't getting in trouble for her unnecessary, ill-tempered, and often violent outbursts anymore.
Even Albus seemed to be warming up to her again.
That was a good thing, right?
Rose wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead before focusing her attention on her surroundings.
She still didn't know where the hell she ended up this time.
From what she could gather, she was in a lavatory. Which one- she wasn't quite sure.
Pale moonlight flooded through the arched windows and onto the ancient stone floor, creating a bath of opalescence in the otherwise blackened space.
And in that next split second, Rose heard it.
The unmistakable sound of crying.
No- weeping.
The utterly heartbreaking sound of someone weeping.
And the sound was extremely close. As in- only a few feet away from her close.
Rose felt something unfamiliar stir within her chest at the sound.
"Lumos!"
With her wand lit up and ready for action, the seventeen-year-old witch crept forward to investigate, her feet taking her closer and closer to the source of the sound.
…which happened to be coming from the closest cubicle to her.
Once Rose was right outside of the cubicle, the weeping immediately ceased, as if the perpetrator sensed her presence.
She held her breath and with her wand held at the ready, the bullheaded Weasley aggressively kicked the stall door, causing it to swiftly fly open and hit the side of the cubicle with significant force.
Rose was not prepared for the sight before her.
It was Scorpius Malfoy.
And he looked worse than death.
She could make out his side profile as he stood there in his pyjamas, his head pressed against the side of the stall, his whole body sagging with utter defeat. His white-blonde hair was dishevelled and matted with sweat, and a horrible look of stricken grief coated his sickly pale face. But Rose couldn't take her eyes off of his bare arms and hands, which hung at his sides, completely covered in blood.
In fact, the whole inside of the cubicle was covered in blood, from smeared handprints to streaks to uneven splatters- it honestly looked like a goddamn murder scene in there.
"Malfoy…"
Rose's voice was soft with shock.
She didn't know what to do.
She didn't know what to say.
Her eyes kept flitting from his pained face, to his bloody hands, to the blood-shaped handprints on the inside of the cubicle…
She felt sick.
Malfoy turned his head to shoot Rose a look of utter disgust through his pained face.
"Of all the fucking people, it just has to be you," he spat at her with bitter vehemence, though his shuddering breaths suggested the threat of uncontrollable, wracking sobs. "Why the fuck does it always have to be you? For Merlin's sake, can't the universe cut me a fucking break?!"
Rose jumped as Malfoy effectively slammed his already bloodied fist into the wood of the cubicle with a sickening crack before he turned his whole body so that he was face-to-face with the shell shocked Weasley.
"All I want-" sneered the deliriously devastated seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy as he took a step toward Rose, his soulless, metallic eyes filled with a dangerous mixture of malice, hatred, and pain. "-is to be alone so that I can grieve in peace, but of course, little Miss Rosie-Posie Weasel-bee has to come prancing along in the middle of the fucking night to make my life even worse than it already is. But you know what?! I don't even give a FUCK!"
Despite the fact that he was advancing closer and closer to her with every word he spoke, Rose did not make a single movement to move backwards. She stayed rooted where she was, her sharp blue eyes fixed on Malfoy with the intensity of a thousand suns.
But she wasn't angry.
No. Definitely not angry.
"So let's just get this over with," spat Malfoy, his poisonous voice breaking ever so slightly as grief leaked through his facade. "Give me your best shot, Weasel. I know you want to hurt me. You always do."
But Rose didn't.
She really didn't.
Especially not when he was like this.
Covered in blood, delirious, grief-stricken, weeping.
Broken.
Scorpius Malfoy was broken.
But why?
And then it suddenly clicked in her brain.
She remembered Albus' words back in third year before that Hogsmeade trip that never happened- about how Malfoy's mum was sick.
"Malfoy…" Rose choked out, a lump forming in her throat.
She didn't understand why she felt the sudden urge to cry.
None of this made any sense.
"Your mum… she's gone, isn't she?"
A look of shock passed over Malfoy's face for a split second before his eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare.
"How did you know that?" he spat with a cracking voice as tears spilled down his cheeks. "I only just found out an hour ago- no one else knows."
When Rose didn't answer, Malfoy pointed a bloody finger at her, his obvious grief now washing away every ounce of volatility usually etched upon his handsome, pale face.
"Why the fuck does it always have to be you?"
He no longer sounded angry.
Just defeated.
Confused.
Hurt.
And though Rose didn't understand the pain of losing a parent, she did understand what it felt like to…
…completely lose it.
To feel defeated. Confused. Hurt.
Perpetually miserable.
Without another rambling thought, Rose closed the space between her and the grief-stricken, blood-soaked Malfoy. She rested her forehead against the crook of his neck, her arms wrapping around his languid, toned form in a firm embrace.
Maybe she was still sleepwalking.
Maybe she was having a really strange dream, and she would wake up at any moment.
Rose did not know why in Merlin's beard she felt like embracing Scorpius Malfoy was the appropriate response.
In hindsight, it really was one of her more awful ideas.
Despite Malfoy's constant frigidity, Rose could feel the warmth of his body heat wash against her skin through the thin fabric of her pyjamas. The distinctly sharp, but strangely intoxicating scent of his cologne permeated through the musk of his sweat, and made the curly-haired Weasley's head spin ever so slightly.
"Weasley… what the bloody hell are you doing?" he asked suspiciously, though he already found himself melting into her embrace as if it were the most natural thing on earth for him to do.
"Just shut the fuck up, Malfoy."
And for once, he listened.