Raindrops on Roses

Chapter 39: Seventh Year Part 7: Suddenly Time Flies

2025

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He was going to be able to walk by his birthday.

That single thought was his strongest motivation. It got him out of bed in the morning, got him through all the exercises Albus made him do, and even caused him on occasion to insist on doing some extra work. It reminded him to do the sitting exercises even while he was in class or at dinner, and, as the weeks passed and he began to improve, to try and do more things without the help of the chair, and more often. He had less than two months before he turned eighteen, but he was determined. Rose had been right in the end, he thought, all that time ago, when she'd said that in order to get better, he had to really and truly believe that he could. Up until now he'd been labouring under a sort of resigned half-hopelessness. Now he was sure he could make it happen, so it was just a case of doing the work.

Also, things with his friends, and Rose in particular, were a lot easier now that they were being open with each other. If he was having a good day, Albus and Rose were there to enjoy it with him, and to help him forget about the pain by doing homework together, or just sitting with him while he scribbled in his notebook. If it was a bad day, and there were plenty of those, he would go to Albus if the problem were medical, and Rose if it were psychological. Not that the two were mutually exclusive. He didn't know how he would manage without either one of them.

With Rose's continued - and frankly nagging - encouragement, he got back in touch with Cleo, and officially rejoined the band. He still wasn't sure he was ready, but Rose's surprise performance at Christmas had lit the fire in him again, and now that he was determined to get back on his feet either way, there didn't seem to be any point in avoiding music anymore. They started up rehearsals in Hogsmeade again, on Saturday afternoons. After dusting off the cobwebs, he found that he could in fact play just as well as before, although not for as long; no matter how he sat, his back and chest started to ache unbearably after an hour or so of holding the guitar.

"Baby steps," Cleo said, unconcerned. "It's better than nothing."

He still felt as though he were highly inadequate, but they all wanted him to stay. He supposed he should have expected this, after they'd all agreed to help Rose with her surprise. They were eager to show him the new songs they'd been working on; many of them were worked out from the notes and scribbles Cleo had copied out of his notebook. In these, Scorpius recognised the feelings he'd had while stuck at Durmstrang, when writing had been his only escape from the endless monotony, but he felt oddly removed from them now, as though the words had been written by someone else entirely. In this frame of mind, he made suggestions, and changes, and even started working on a new song or two. There had been plenty to write about, these last few months. He couldn't wait for it to be over. For things to go back to normal. At least he wasn't having the weird prophecy dreams nearly so often, though now that they were almost gone, he couldn't help wishing they would come back just long enough to give him some kind of hint about when he'd be on his feet again.

He tried to make things as easy on Albus as he could, but it was difficult. Grateful as he was for his friend's help, he wasn't blind; he knew Albus went to bed late and woke up dead tired, didn't sleep well when he did sleep, and was struggling to keep up with all his homework on top of the piles of research that Knox had apparently assigned him. Even the study sessions with Lizzie now seemed to be spent actually studying, not that that, Scorpius told himself, was really any of his business.

"I can do it myself," he said one night when they began the exercises they usually did before bed. "You need more sleep."

Albus raised an eyebrow at him. "And let you hurt yourself, pushing too hard?" he said stubbornly. "No fear."