Chapter Eight

Rose blinked, momentarily disoriented as she stared up at Scorpius Malfoy. Of all the people she could've run into at this moment, it had to be him.

"Malfoy?" she managed to say, her voice unsteady. Her mind was still buzzing from her confrontation with Roy, the weight of everything she'd just experienced pressing heavily on her.

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he held out her essay to her. "You dropped this in the bin. Thought you might want it back, you do have a deadline, after all."

Rose blinked again, completely caught off guard. "I wanted to throw it away, I dropped it in the bin cause that's what people usually do when they want to dispose of things" she muttered, taking it from his hand. Her fingers brushed against his for a split second, and she pulled back quickly.

He didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't comment. Instead, he studied her with an intensity that made her feel like he could see straight through her. "I think you might have dropped the wrong one". She stood silent and motionless, she didn't have strength to fight, or to bite back anything. She still felt empty.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice quieter. Rose nodded quickly, trying to pull herself together. "Yeah, fine. I just—I'm on my way to see Albus." She nodded to the corridor that led to the Slytherin's dorm.

"Right." Scorpius glanced down the hallway as if weighing his options. For a brief moment, Rose thought he might say something more, but then he just nodded. "Well, I'll let you get to it then. Give that to McGonagall. It's good to come to terms with one's responsibilities". Rose wasn't sure if he was talking about her or about himself.

He started to step around her, but something stopped Rose from letting him leave. Maybe it was the intensity of the conversation she'd just had with Roy or the raw vulnerability she was feeling. Whatever it was, as their gazes intertwined, a silent thread pulled her into a quiet understanding she'd never expected from him.

"Scorpius, wait," she blurted. That was the first time she'd ever called him by his first name, and she didn't know why.

He froze, his body tensing for a split second. She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes, his brows lifting ever so slightly as if the sound of his name on her lips had caught him off guard. He hesitated, almost as if he was processing the shift in how she addressed him, before his expression softened, the curiosity now unmistakable.

He paused, turning back to face her, his expression curious. "What is it?"

Rose took a breath, feeling oddly exposed standing there in the dim dungeon corridor. "Have you ever... had to let someone go, even when it hurt like hell?"

Scorpius stilled, the faintest shift in his expression catching her eye. His gaze, usually so composed, flickered—just for a heartbeat. He held her stare, but something unspoken lingered behind his eyes, as if a curtain had been quietly drawn back. The torchlight cast gentle shadows across his face, highlighting the sudden stillness in his features. His usual air of effortless control seemed to ease, replaced by a quiet, almost imperceptible vulnerability.

He didn't speak right away. Instead, his shoulders tensed briefly before settling again, as if he was carrying something invisible yet heavy. Then, after a long moment, he nodded—slow, deliberate. The movement was subtle, but in it, Rose sensed the weight of an answer that went far deeper than his silence.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I have."

Rose swallowed, the intensity of his gaze making her feel exposed all over again. She hadn't known what she expected him to say, but somehow, his response made her own pain feel smaller, almost insignificant, compared to whatever lingered unspoken in his silence.

"Will it end, the pain?"

"First, you have to mourn the expectations you held, to grieve the life you will never live. Then you can start rebuilding yourself from the ground up. And somewhere in that process, you'll realize that your new walls have left them on the outside."

"That's not how someone who's over it would respond."

Scorpius stared at the floor for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but softer, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "Some things you don't just get over," he said, the weight of unspoken memories tugging at his tone. "Some things you dodge and leave behind, praying they won't chase you." He lifted his gaze to meet hers, a quiet intensity in his expression.

"You work on yourself. Be better for yourself. Graduate. Walk away from everything that makes you feel small and useless." His voice hardened, but not out of anger—out of conviction. Once again, Rose found herself wondering whether he was speaking to her or to himself. "You're so much more than what they ever made you believe. Prove it to yourself first. The rest... it'll follow. And if it doesn't," he added, a faint, almost bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "then it never measured up in the first place."

He turned and walked away. Rose watched him go, feeling a surge of gratitude. His leaving lifted the pressure of having to respond, a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying. She was thankful as it spared her from searching for words she wasn't sure she had. The only thing she knew she needed to tell him was "sorry." Eventually, she would find the right moment to say it.

Rose stood in the dimly lit corridor, her mind drifting through the aftermath of her brief conversation with Scorpius. Though the exchange had lasted barely five minutes, it felt as if it had stretched into hours in her thoughts. His words hung in the air, mixing with the swirl of her own emotions.

She replayed their exchange repeatedly, trying to understand the depth behind his advice. She wondered what experiences might have led him to such conclusions.

The usual hustle of Hogwarts had given way to an unusual quiet. The corridor's torchlight flickered softly, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the stone walls. It added a contemplative atmosphere to her reflections. Rose thought back to her breakup with Roy, and how Scorpius's advice about leaving behind what made her feel small seemed to resonate deeply with her own struggles to move forward.

Her steps echoed softly as she made her way from the cold, confined dungeons to the brighter, more open spaces of the ground floor. The shift in her surroundings mirrored the gradual change in her mood. The stark contrast between the oppressive, narrow dungeons and the expansive, welcoming ground floor seemed to symbolize her internal shift from confusion to a budding sense of clarity.

As she reached the Transfiguration classroom, she felt a sense of calm settle over her. The empty corridor was a welcome space for her to think without distraction. She placed the rolled parchment—representing her effort and dedication—on Professor McGonagall's desk. The action felt like a small but significant step in reclaiming a bit of control and order in her life.

As she stepped back, Rose experienced a curious blend of detachment and contentment. The immediate need to seek out Albus had diminished, replaced by a quiet acceptance of her situation. Scorpius's advice had provided a fresh perspective, giving her a new way to process her emotions. The act of leaving the parchment behind and taking a reflective walk through the castle helped her feel as though she was slowly making peace with her emotions, finally allowing herself to feel. It had never occurred to her before that maybe—just maybe—she was allowed to feel. And maybe, just maybe, feeling was the only thing that truly made her herself. Not a perfect kid. Not the brightest witch. Just Rose.