The Red Rose That Has Green Thorns

I threw up three more times before I could stand and undress, dropping my clothes to the floor like they were on fire. Still it felt as though blood were seeping through my fingers, warm and wet and sickening. I rushed into the shower, which steamed from the mostly hot water running down my skin. I scrubbed vigorously, but when I looked down, the illusion that the water was red, fading to pink, caused an uncomfortable lurch in the region of my stomach.

I got out of the shower just a few minutes later, my week knees giving way as I slipped and fell on the cold stone floor. I let myself sit there, naked and shivering, for a few minutes before I forced myself to my feet slowly and walked to where my towel hung. I pressed the fluffy material to my damp skin, drying myself off slowly. For a second after the towel pulled away, pink shimmered on it’s white surface, but then it was gone.

Still shaky, still feeling sick, I sat gingerly on the floor, leaning my back against the wall. I now realized that the feeling of blood all over, the sticky wetness that so tormented me, and seeing red everywhere, was an aftereffect of the vision. I hadn’t had such a horrible vision before, which would explain my moments of panic when the aftereffects had taken their toll on me. I breathed deeply, standing and returning to the shower, which I’d left on, dropping my towel on the way, and then I stepped back in, letting the water slide over my skin as I adjusted it to a better temperature.

When I stepped out of the bathroom an hour later, I was dressed in clothes I summoned down my laundry chute (there was a chute for dirty clothes from both of the dorms to the bathroom) and, although I still felt slightly ill, I wasn’t as bad anymore.

“Rose!” Scorpius said as soon as the door opened. Unlike his normal routine of reading while I bathed, he seemed to have been pacing. He rushed over to me and took me in his arms, the strength and comfort for which I was grateful overtaking me. I relaxed into his hold, taking a deep breath to calm myself. “Rose, what was that all about this morning?”
Should I…? I know I shouldn’t keep anything from him - he’s my boyfriend, after all, but somehow I didn’t think telling him this was the smartest thing to do. I didn’t need a leash, like some guys thought their girlfriend’s needed.

“It’s…it’s nothing. I just…I got sick, and it surprised me. Sorry that I woke you.”

“You’re ill? Do you need the hospital wing?” he asked in a businesslike manner, a no-nonsense tone.

“I’m fine,” I told him as firmly as I could, pushing him back slightly. “Probably just a case of stomach flu. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

“I don’t care,” he retorted, hugging me closer again, “I don’t care if I get sick, too. You just worried me, Rose.”

He placed a chaste kiss against my forehead, as if to prove he didn’t care if I was sick or not.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, sighing and leaning my head against his chest.

“I don’t believe you,” he groaned back, his face in my hair and his breath brushing my neck. “I know you’re not telling me the whole truth, but I trust you, Rose. You’ll tell me when you think the time is right.”

*

Scorpius went down to the kitchens and brought me food up, and must have told my family that I was feeling ill, because all the Potter/Weasleys of Hogwarts were in and out with candy and Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes merchandise and whatever they thought would make me feel better. I ended up with a mountain of Chocolate Frogs, three bars of Honeyduke’s best milk chocolate - it was filled with caramel, very delicious - and a box of Cauldron Cakes and seven Pumpkin Pasties.

My family takes the notions of “The way to their heart is through their stomach” and many of the other food related sayings very seriously.

Also, by extension of the word ‘family’, I was including Andy, who came and sat with me for most of the day. She knew from the moment Scorpius told Albus, and had come right up - the first to do so. And what I mean when I include her in the extension of ‘family’ is that she and Al started dating two weeks ago. They are glued at the hip, never apart for more time than was necessary. She had even begun to attend each and every class he took - all of which also contained Scorpius and I.

“--and ‘ave you ever tried ze sugar quills zat are based on ze ones from a hundred years ago? Very sweet, zat zey are.”

Her French accent was more pronounced than usual, because she was talking fast, trying to entertain me. I didn’t mind - I had to deal with Aunt Fleur, who’s French accent hasn’t gotten much better because she’s taught her children French, and frequently lapses into the language when talking with Victoire.

“They’re probably not made with sugar imitations,” I commented dryly. “I thought it was just muggles that were obsessed with reducing sweet stuff, but it’s us, too.”

Andy chuckled, and we continued our discussion on candies and how the flavors had changed from what they used to be.

*

That night, I couldn’t sleep, but I didn’t pull myself away from my room to find comfort in Scorpius - for I was sure he was waiting on the couch in case I came. I tossed and turned, burying my face in my pillow as the frightened tears leaked out.

The images came back, in frightful clarity. My skin felt hot and sticky, and the visions on my closed eyelids made me think for a split second that it was blood. I sat up, opened my eyes, and threw off the covers in a single moment, and realized I was shaking and sweating. I took a shaky, deep breath, and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to force the images from my mind. Nothing worked!

“Stop!” I whispered, midway through the first sob. Then another sob, and soon I was burying my face in my hands to try to stop the flow of the renewed tears. “Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop it!”

I got progressively louder, but never so loud that Scorpius should hear. I was yelling at not only the visions that replayed again and again, but the tears that left my cheeks salty and wet and warm, and made me feel like I was crying blood. And strangely, there was nothing I wanted more than to be held in my mother’s arms, being rocked back and forth as she soothed me, and said everything would be okay, like she had done when I was younger. The same with my father - either one would be a comfort, although my father was more awkward with those situations, and would eventually go find Mum because he didn’t know what was wrong.

It was nearing eleven when I gave in, got up and ran to my door, and threw it open. As I had thought, Scorpius was there with a book in his lap, but a look on his face that told me he couldn’t concentrate on it at all. He looked up as my door hit the wall, and stood up immediately, worry lining his face.

I wasted no time in running to him and flinging myself into his warm embrace, tucking my head against his chest and letting the tears fall as they would. And he did just what I needed him to do: he sat down on the couch, pulling me into his lap, and held me. Just held me, stroking my hair and keeping me close.

His whispered words were the melody that lulled me into a simple, dreamless sleep.