Name Game (completed)

Chapter Seventeen

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is shorter than I wanted it to be, but I kinda felt that I should end it. Dedicated to Jenna for being awesome. There might be a wait for the next chapter, because I only have the basic plot-line sorted out.

~C

As Scorpius had predicted, Malfoy Manor was deserted; the weight of memories had driven its inhabitants away from the once cherished walls, but their family pride was untouchable and it had remained their's for tradition's sake. It was in a derelict state; the iron grills were rusted over, the gardens overgrown. Its internal damage was just as bad; mould clung to the ceilings and the majority of the furniture was infested by Chizpurfles.  A suspicious patch of fungi was revealed to be a Bundimun, and a host of melancholy ghosts had taken to haunting its hallowed halls. 

Rose, having taken up residence in a tower bedroom, remained constantly in the rotting fourposter bed, staring blankly out of the high, arched window. She refused all food, leaving the trays he brought to her untouched, and fended off conversation as a skilled fencer parries a blow. Scorpius tried to avoid her a much as possible. He hated being in her presence, hated the ghostliness of her staring eyes, the lifelessness of demeanour. But his conscience weighed upon him, and more often than not, he'd find himself ascending the crooked staircase that lead to her shadowy haven. 

On one such occasion he found that she had left her position in the bed, and was instead seated cross-legged upon a carved, ebony chest. Her position was defensive yet vulnerable; her knees were drawn up, her arms folded across her chest. But in spite of its connotations, Scorpius was pleased. The hard, protective lines of her posture had a little more vibrance, a little more life than the dejected drooping he was accustomed too. She glanced up as he entered, and he noticed with displeasure, the dark circles that ringed her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping. Setting the tray down upon the unmade bed, he went to sit beside her.

"You got up."

It was more a statement than a question, but Rose nodded anyway. Straightening herself a little, she turned to face him, pointed chin resting upon the palm of her hand. 

"Why?"

She shrugged and said nothing, continuing to stare at him with blank eyes. 

"Rose... I'm going to leave now. Your food's on the bed. Is that okay?"

He hadn't expected her to reply but she did.

"Yes." It seemed as though the little monosyllable had taken an incomprehensible amount of effort to say.

He was at the studded, oak door when she spoke again. 

"Do we have any chance?"

It could have meant anything. He settled for the simplest interpretation and launched into what he hoped was an uplifting and positive speech. Those were probably the two adjectives that described his current mood the least well, but he knew Rose didn't need any more negativity.

"Yes. A slim one, but still a chance. The Death Eaters have strength in numbers which is where we'll fail. But they don't have a leader. My dad told me once that the Death Eaters were nothing without a leader. They have no sense of strategy, no moral basis. They can't organise themselves to carry out  a successful attack."

"You don't think the have a leader?"

"No. A successful leader needs to be charismatic and intelligent. It's very rare to find those two characteristics in someone as cruel as a Death Eater. He Who Must Not Be Named... well, he was an exception - some sort of evil, insane genius. But they don't have in any more, and awful as... Voldemort..." He shuddered as he said the name. More than twenty years after Voldemort's defeat the name was still seen as a curse, an unutterable word. "... is very fortunately, for us, completely irreplaceable."

Rose seemed slightly baffled by his placidly logical approach. In spite of their current predicament, Scorpius smiled. He had always found it odd how one could be so clever, yet so completely illogical. Rose just didn't think that way. Her's was a different brand of intelligence, a brighter, bolder, more enthralling kind.

"Scorpius...?" The way she said his name made the hairs on the back of his neck rise up in unison.

"Yes?"

"I'm scared." There were tears glinting on her pale, wasted cheeks; iridescent droplets of emotion.

Scorpius swallowed. There was no answer, and besides: it wasn't even a question. Surely she didn't expect a reply. He wanted to go, her calmly terrified manner was alarming him. He wanted to run away, and pretend nothing had ever happened; pretend that she'd stayed in bed, as usual, without saying anything. Part of his conscience insisted that if he based his actions on any moral basis, he would stay, to comfort and reassure the girl who meant more to him than anyone else. But the more selfish side was dominant, and it's advice was getting through. He turned in his heel and exited the room.

*

The blankets felt like a safe haven after the torment of their brief encounter. Rose burrowed under them, with as much furious determination as a hibernating hedgehog. And there she stayed; drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep. Hugo's face haunted her dreams, and she would wake up crying. The tears were never enough. They flowed freely and silently down her face. No pain, no effort. Almost as though they didn't mean anything. But there was nothing else.