Wotter Watch

Rose had done nothing overly dramatic. She was a smart girl, a mature adult - eighteen  years and four months old - the top of her class and Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain. She was brilliant and level-headed and logical, and she had seen this coming for a long time now, so there was no point in crying, no matter how her eyes burned or her stomach clenched.

The dark blanket of night gave her free reign over her facial expressions. Albus would not be able to see her tight jaw or the way her eyebrow twitched. He knew the ticks in her face like the lines on his palm.

The cold grass crunched under rubber soles. She felt the warmth of a person next to her, sitting cross-legged on the ground a hair’s breadth away.

It was not Albus.

“It’s after curfew,” she said flatly.

“I know,” said Scorpius, and fell silent. 

Becoming friends with him again had been so easy, Rose realized. They had not spoken from the end of sixth year, all the way to the December of the seventh, because of something as silly as a failed relationship. It had taken one honest conversation during the Christmas party (and a sharp berating from Professor McGonagall, her godmother) to realize that friendship, and the happiness of her cousin, was more important than holding a grudge. So now, when Scorpius didn’t speak, the quiet was finally a comfortable one.

“I knew it was going to happen,” she said at last, knowing that he would listen. “I mean, they were always going to couple’s counselling - not continuously, but when the fighting got too much and Mum saw that Hugo was starting to notice, she and Dad would disappear for ‘date night’, which I figured was to see the therapist. There were those times when it was better, and I thought things could be...normal, y’know? Like once, last year, we went to Budapest for two weeks -”

“I remember the photos,” Scorpius said, and she smiled. 

“Yeah, and it was just so...happy. They didn’t fight at all. But now...”

“Divorce?”

“Separation,” she said quietly. “Divorce is too permanent for them, I guess. Or they think it’s too permanent for us. Dad’s got an apartment in Diagon Alley.”

“Oh,” he said. A measured pause followed. “Maybe they just need some time alone. Like us.”

“We were nothing like them,” she replied sharply, and immediately regretted her tone. Not that it had been intentional.

“We needed time apart,” he shot back, “and it worked, Rose. Look at us now - we’re friends again, aren’t we?”

“I don’t want them to be just friends,” she mumbled, as she rested her chin on her knees, drawing her legs up to her chest.

“It’s better than them being nothing at all,” he said. Rose knew that his aunt, Daphne Greengrass, had divorced Marcus Flint many years ago, and had full custody of their two daughters. The girls almost permanently stayed in the Malfoy Manor because of Daphne’s hectic job. The woman refused to take any help from her ex-husband or sister.

That was not how Rose wanted her parents to turn out.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait and see,” sighed Rose, her shoulder bumping into Scor’s. For a moment it seemed like the gloom that had been following Hugo all day would finally be passed on to her, when she saw something move in the darkness.

She squinted, and pushed stray fiery strands of of her eyes. “Geez. How long do you think Al’s been standing there.”

“A while,” Scorpius guessed, and rolled his eyes. ”The git. He probably thinks we’re having a moment or somethin’.”

“Git,” she agreed, though unable to help the wide, fond smile that spread across her face. The fact that it was an hour past curfew did not stop her from raising her voice to call out to him. “OI, POTTER! GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OVER HERE!”

@FoxyRoxy has posted a new picture: Celebrating our one month anniversary *heart eyes emoji*  @ZoellaL 

@AlbySP has posted a new picture: He’s such a dramatic little shit. @ScorpioM 

@RosesAreRed has commented on this: Damn straight. 

@ScorpioM has commented on this: *This comment has been deleted* 

@Domixx has posted a new picture: They’re so disgustingly in love. @MyNameIsEdward @Victory 

@FoxyRoxy and @Victory have liked this.

@ItsPronouncedLouie has commented on this: Isn’t he supposed to be in Cairo or something?

@Domixx has commented on this: Yes. Yes he is.

@AlbySP has posted a new picture: Best. Roadtrip. Ever. @RosesAreRed @ScorpioM 

@ScorpioM has commented on this: Rosie kept putting her feet on the dash -.-

@RosesAreRed has commented on this: No one likes a nitpicker, Scorp :*

@ScorpioM has commented on this: IT WAS A NEW CAR AND YOUR SHOES WERE FILTHY.

@RosesAreRed has commented on this: THEY WERE FILTHY BECAUSE YOU PUSHED ME IN THE LAKE.

@AlbySP has commented on this: STOP OR I’M BLOCKING BOTH OF YOU.

@ScorpioM has commented on this: No, you won’t

@RosesAreRed has commented on this: Yeah, you love us too much :*

@AlbySP has blocked @ScorpioM.

"He's alone," said Albus. 

Rose harrumphed. "That's his choice. I'm sure he has his own friends."

"They must not be very good ones if they've left him alone," said Albus, and he pushed his glasses up his nose. She frowned. What he said was true (as much as she hated to admit it). Rose had seen the people he called his friends, who hung around him because his name was well known or something stupid like that.

"It's the same with Mr. Malfoy," Albus continued, and now she was confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, "when you see him outside, some people go up and talk to him, but when he leaves they start talking about him instead. I know that they say he's done some terrible things, but if he's trying to be a better person, shouldn't they consider that too?"

Rose looked at him, and then sighed. It was so annoying when he was right.

"Fine," she muttered, and got up. She slid the door open and walked up to the opposite compartment, not noticing the way Albus was grinning at her retreating figure. The partition there was partially open and she stuck her head inside.

"Hey, Scorpius," she said, "do you want to come sit with us? There's plenty of space."

The blonde boy turned away from the window, looked at her, and smiled.

It is Victoire’s sweet secret, something that makes her smile when no one’s looking, knowing that there’s a person growing inside her. When Teddy asks her why she looks so happy, she laughs and shrugs. She wants to wait for the perfect time to tell him. Maybe the engagement party, or on one of those beautiful mornings when the Sun was just bright enough and his tousled hair makes her heart swell.

And then, it isn’t so perfect anymore, because there’s so much blood, and she doesn’t know why. Her first call isn’t her fiance.

Dominique is there in a matter of minutes, eyes wide as she sees her big sister sitting in a pool of red on the bathroom floor, looking to her and asking if this is her fault. Their past, all the knots in their relationship, fall away.

Dom takes her to Paris, away from the people who will notice that something’s wrong. They cremate the baby’s remains, and scatter the ashes in Vic’s favorite places. Her sister is her rock, constantly by her side, helping her heal.

Astoria worked as a columnist with the Daily Prophet, but that wasn't exactly a full-time job. The career that made her parents turn up there noses and frown was her teaching English to high-school students. Muggles. But she didn't care what people said. She loved her job, Draco supported it, and it helped Scorpius understand that Muggles weren't to be looked down upon.

"Tori?" came the faint mumble beside her, and she turned over, flashing her husband a sleepy smile. His eyes were barely open, his hair ridiculously messy and faint stubble covering his jaw. She couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of affection just by looking at him, and she leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. His mouth curved into a smile, and his eyes opened more fully.

"Why aren't you up yet?" he asked, running a hand over his face. 

"Because it's Christmas Eve, silly," she said, smiling at him. One of the few days of the year that she and Draco slept in for as long as they wanted. He didn't work, per se, but he was usually up the same time as her, liking to keep busy all the same. They had enough wealth to simply sit at home and do nothing for the rest of their lives, but Astoria found her job to be fulfilling.  

"Yes, of course," he mumbled, eyes drifting closed for a fraction of a second. He looked like he wanted to go back to sleep. "Daphne will be here, then. Shall we go say hello?"

His voice was thick with the last tendrils of slumber that clung to him, and she slowly shook her head, more for her husband than herself.

1. For Her 

2. City of Love

3. Rose Weasley - Character Profile

4. Confession (Dominique)

5.  Perfectly, Utterly Normal

6. Stay

7. The Other George

8. The Ivory Journal #1

9. Throw A Dollar

10. Hands

It took him less than five minutes to get dressed and onto the curving marble staircase that led downstairs. With his hand resting lightly on the banister, he descended, and the warm smell told him that someone had already lit a fire in the living room. It was unusual, because his parents slept in on winter mornings.

His bare feet padded quietly as he walked over the lush carpet, and from where he stood, he could see the back of the sofa that stood in front of the fireplace, long blonde hair spilling over the armrest. Three possibilities came to mind, but they quickly diminished to one when a silver ringed hand ran through the hair.

“Aunt Daphne,” he said, and he couldn’t help the surprise that colored his voice. His mother’s sister sat up, and her mouth stretched into a wide grin when she spotted him.

“What?” she asked, arching one perfectly-shaped eyebrow, “No hug for your favorite aunt?”

“You’re my only aunt,” he couldn’t help but point out, but he went over and embraced her anyway. He couldn’t help but notice how slim her arms were as they slipped around him, how her skin was clear and pale, making her look much younger than her forty-three years. But, then again, seeming half her age was a part of her job.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he said, once he’d settled himself next to her, “but why are you here? Mum said you had a photoshoot in Australia or something.”

“I did,” she said, and her eyes clouded over, “But my daft prick of an ex-husband said he’d come and visit the girls for Christmas, because he wanted them at his house for the holidays, so I had to come.”

Talking about Marcus Flint always gave his aunt a sour mood, so he was quick to change the topic.

“Marquin is coming over by lunch, and she’s bringing Vera, though I don’t think she knows your coming -” he said, and he wondered if he’d given away too much, but Daphne simply laughed.

“What, she doesn’t want to introduce her girlfriend to me because she thinks I’ll disapprove? Well, I’ve always known that Marquin was too good for any man. And I suppose Piper isn’t bringing that professor of hers?”

“Professor Moore,” said Scorpius. He still found it weird that his Potions teacher was dating his cousin. There were only four years between them, and they’d only started going out after Piper had graduated, but the fact never ceased to make his lessons slightly awkward. “And no, she isn’t bringing him. It’s too soon, or something like that. And Piper’s always flighty with her beaux, so I think she wants to wait until everything is settled. She’s never really introduced you to anyone, has she?”

Daphne rolled her eyes, “Oh, please. I’m more of an occasional house guest than their mother. This Vera girl will be the first insight I have into their lives. I expect Toria knows them better than I do.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but smile. It was true - his mother did treat his cousins like they were her own children. Even he saw them as his own sisters.

“It’s not your fault,” he reminded his aunt, because he knew how hard she worked to support her girls. “You know what - you haven’t had anything since coming, right? Mum and Dad won’t be up for a little while, so do you want me to make you some breakfast?”

“Ah, such a gentleman,” she sighed, and she kicked off her three-inch stilettos. Her bags were strewn across the white rug before the fireplace, and Scorpius could see her coat hung on another chair. “That Potter girl is lucky to have you.”

He couldn’t help the flush that crept up his neck, and he stood up and ran a hand through his hair. His aunt had a very knowing smile stretched across her face.

Rose had read somewhere that dogs could sense a storm coming. She'd seen it happen once, when she was traveling down the road to their house and the neighbor was walking his terrier. The pup had been happily prancing about and yapping at everything that moved when, all of a sudden, it fell quiet. The dog stayed rooted to the spot, its head held high and ears pricked, sniffing the air for something a mere human could not detect. And then, it started to whimper and tug at its leash, moving in the direction that they had came from. The owner seemed to understand, for he took his pet home. Two hours later, Rose had been confined to her room, watching heavy raindrops pelt against her window as she sipped a cup of tea.

The twelve-year-old liked to think - no, she knew she had the same ability. Just like an animal, she could tell when a storm was coming.  She could read the signs, the very subtle nuances, though her ability had nothing to do with the weather. The tell-tale changes she observed were not through a window, but in her living room, watching her parents. Her mother's voice suddenly grew very quiet, her father's light blue eyes clouded over, and Rose knew what was about to happen.

"Come on, Hugo," she said suddenly, and her brother, who had been watching Phineas and Ferb on T.V., looked at her inquisitively. "Come where?"

"Upstairs," she replied. Her mother spared her a glance through the corner of her eye, but nothing more. "I want to show you something."

He didn't grumble. Instead, he turned the television off and stood up, and on her cue, he followed her to his bedroom. Rose looked back as she walked, and  as she noticed that her parents' voices were getting louder, she realized that she needed to hurry up. With an impatient noise, she gestured to him. He rolled his eyes but quickened his pace nonetheless.

She ushered him into his room, and just as she closed the door, she heard her mother's voice, like a clap of thunder; "Honestly, Ronald -"

She shut the noise out and turned to Hugo with a slight smile, pretending nothing was wrong, like she always did. Instead, she walked over to his computer, and with a flurry of fingers, a song began to play. Rose made sure to increase the volume. Soon they could hear nothing of what was going on downstairs.

"It's called Money, by Pink Floyd," she told her brother, as the strange sound of cash registers and clinking coins filled the air, followed by a catchy melody on a bass guitar. "Have you heard it before?"

"I've heard of it," he admitted, making himself comfortable on his bed by crossing his legs and leaning against the wall. "Why?"

"Well," she said, straining her ears to make sure no raised voices came through the bedroom door, "it has a sax solo in it, and there's a lot of bass guitar, so I thought we could practice together."

Hugo nodded, considering the idea, his gaze drifting to the instrument she spoke of - a shiny new Gibson that stood proudly in the corner of his room. "But I'm not that good yet," he said, and in response she simply walked over and picked up the guitar, before returning and placing the instrument on his lap.

"You know what they say about practice," she teased lightly. He smiled at her, his hands moving to gently grasp the instrument.

"Play the song again."

It started when she set his hair aflame in the first year, while trying to cast a Levitation Spell. Something about her kindled something within him. She’d make little fireworks which she’d show off in class, and more often than not, she’d blow something up. But through her singed eyebrows and her blackened face, she’d laugh, and that’s what Fred loved most.

She was friendly, too, not like her snobby sisters. She’d talk freely to him, and when she brushed past him in the hallways, he’d feel sparks on his skin. Their years together in school brought them close, and closer still when she graduated, and got a job at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Their love was a strange inferno that he couldn’t control, that he didn’t want to control.

She leaves as soon as she can, holding her daughter’s hand and squeezing her eyes shut as she concentrates on the face of her mourning city. She appears in her sister’s house with a sharp crack,  only to see Gabrielle curled up on the couch, a bottle of wine in her hand as she stares at the T.V. She meets Fleur’s eyes, and a fresh stream of tears pour down her face as they embrace. Fifteen-year-old Victoire pays no attention to her aunt or mother, but watches the news and wonders how someone could do something like this.

Bill follows, hours later, holding Dominique and Louis against him. He sees the three blonde women in the living room, and mumbles something about buying breakfast, tugging his children out the door. Louis, only eight, clutches his father’s hand tightly as they walk through the strangely deserted city. He doesn’t remember it being like this at all. There is a queer abundance of flowers, and the news stands all have the same headline. 

He stops abruptly outside one familiar building, a long steel fence not permitting him entry. There are flowers here too, but amongst them is a dark streak the color of cranberries.

Louis’ face turns white and he points at the stain, staring at his father in wide-eyed horror. Bill crouches by him and pulls out his wand, murmuring a few words, and the stain disappears. His son seems satisfied, and nods, before they resume their walk.

Twelve-year-old Dominique is not so easily consoled. She stays rooted to the spot, the flowers scaring her, the empty spaces making her feel claustrophobic, as she realizes that there is blood on the pavement of her favorite city.

Fleur freaked out, yelling at her in French about how she had no respect for the opinions of the people who cared about her, and how dare she go and do something like this without asking them? Victoire smiled and sighed and averted her gaze, not sure of whether to chide her sister or applaud the fashion statement. Louis said nothing, for he’d been the one to suggest the color.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Harry cringed, halting in his steps. He'd been so close, too - the door was only a few feet away. He turned on the spot, and there Ginny stood, at the foot of the staircase, dressed in a Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt. Baby James was at her hip, wide awake, and both of them were fixing Harry with very intense stares.

"Ginny -" he began.

"No, that was a rhetorical question," she snapped, and James seemed to nod. "See, I know where you're going. It's where you've been sneaking off to every day of the week, getting up and getting dressed and hoping I won't notice. I also know that you come home at four every morning, and you make it a point to wake up before me so that you look like you've had a whole night's rest."

He flushed and looked away, but he could feel her gaze burning into his skull.

"They need me, Gin," he pleaded. "They've found the hideout of a large group of Death Eaters, and if I'm not there -"

"If you're not there' someone else will take care of it." she said sharply. "Right now, you have a family, and a son you've barely looked at since you joined the Auror Department -"

"I have to be there!" said Harry insistently. "I know I haven't been around these past few months, but -"

"James crawled across the living room yesterday," she said suddenly, and Harry fell silent. She looked upset for the first time during the conversation. "And you weren't there, Harry. He'll grow up without you if you continue like this. So stay, Harry, please. Just stay."

"I can't, Ginny," he said, looking torn. "You know I can't stay. I need to go -"

"Harry, please -"

"Stay."

They fell silent, before their eyes slowly moved to their son. James smiled brightly at Harry, and repeated in his childish voice, "Stay."

For the first time in months, Harry properly regarded the baby - he had Ginny's eyes, but Harry's face, and that sort of smile that he associated with his wife's fire. And he realized that Ginny was right. In four long strides, Harry crossed the distance between him and his family. He stopped right in front of them, dazed, and looked at Ginny. Her eyes were very bright, and she smiled softly at him.

"Stay," Harry echoed, and pulled his wife and child into an embrace. The smell of wildflowers and broom polish overwhelmed his senses, and at that moment, nothing really mattered.