A/N: I would like to say a quick few words before I begin this! Sorry, just bear with me for a second.

1. This does not in ANY way mean that I am abandoning Happy Accidents. It just means that Rose and Scorp aren't quite cooperating in my brain recently and have been forcing me to write this instead. When I finish this, I will go back to it, and finish it. Pinky promise.

2. This story is going to be told in both the present and the past, probably present/past/present/past and so on and so forth. I will put the dates at the top of every page and try my hardest not to make it too confusing.

3. I do not in any way, shape, or form own any of the recognizable places, characters, or events in this novel. All belongs to the beautifully talented JKR.

4. Thanks y'all! R&R :)

Present Day.

May 4, 2029

"These are the best days of my life," Rose Weasley reminded herself firmly, stifling a yawn as her future mother-in-law held up yet another blue china pattern. The older woman waited for a response, and Rose hummed wordlessly, giving neither assent or otherwise. Truthfully, she wondered if the older woman was making a joke. The pattern on the plate looked exactly like the last three she'd been shown.

"Well, that's every plate in the shop," Mrs. Archibald – no, she had insisted Rose call her Fiona– tittered, trying not to be annoyed, Rose could tell. "I give up, dear!"

Rose, who truthfully cared not a whit about china patterns or ornamental vases, or anything else in this shop, smiled apologetically at the other woman. She did feel bad, truly she did, but her feet were killing her from shopping all day, and if she didn't get some food inside of her quickly, she was going to faint.

Sensing she was fighting a losing battle, Mrs. Arch- Fiona – sighed, hitching her handbag higher onto her shoulder and checking her shiny silver wristwatch as she did so. She tutted. "It's nearly time to meet Simon for tea!" She looked up at Rose, her mouth stretched into a forced smile that seemed to be more menacing than friendly. "Time sure does fly when you're having fun, doesn't it, dear?"

Rose was sure the smile she offered back was just as tight.

When the ladies reached the café on the outskirts of Mayfair, Simon was already waiting for them with a table. He kissed both women on their cheeks, lingering for a while on Rose's so that she blushed a horrid shade of red. As he pulled out her chair for her, Rose noticed that her fiancé had already taken the liberty of ordering teas for the women, as well as a couple cakes for the table. Rose gratefully took one upon sitting, frowning when she saw raisins inside of it. Not seeming to notice her distaste, Simon sat back in his chair and dropped a cake into his mouth, smiling at his mother as he chewed.

"So, how did my best girls get on today on your shopping trip?" he asked, his eyes alight as he glanced from Rose to his mother, and back again.

Neither woman seemed able to disappoint him by detailing how the day actually had gone.

Rose listened halfheartedly as Fiona prattled on about cushions and wedding registries and floral arrangements, and picked the raisins from her cake, one by one. Her future mother-in-law meant well, but the world in which Rose had grown up in was (literally) miles away from Simon's. Being muggleborn, and born into a certain amount of wealth, no less, meant that his family's expectations for this wedding were far different from her own. If she, Rose, had had her way, they would be having the ceremony at her grandparents' home in Ottery St. Catchpole. It was where every one of her family members had gotten married before, as far back as she could remember.

Instead, the event was to be held at the church Simon's family went to. It was an old Baroque building, ancient and grand and ostentatious in its very nature. Fiona had insisted on the very best and most elaborate bouquets and pillars of flowers to decorate the venue, where 300 of their closest friends and family would gather in just under two months' time.

Sometimes Rose forgot that this wedding was, in fact, her own.

As Fiona and Simon continued to talk - Rose noted idly that now the conversation had turned to catering – she took the time to study her fiancé. She could only see the profile of his face at this angle, but even with the limited view it was very clear how handsome he was. Everything about him oozed masculinity. His jawline was square, his nose sturdy. Even his blue eyes twinkled with an intensity that belayed his inner strength. The positive qualities stretched further than his looks were concerned, as well. He had a good, steady job as a Healer at St. Mungo's, and he took his grandmother out for lunch at least once a month.

He was strong, and he was safe.

She had always noticed him, even at Hogwarts, though she was certain that he'd only seen her as another redheaded Weasley at that point in their lives. He'd been two years ahead of her in school, Head Boy, and all-around dream boat. Rose had been shy and bookish, hiding behind her large family so that she didn't have to have an identity of her own.

Somehow, a few years after Hogwarts, they had met at a ministry function and hit it off spectacularly, to everybody's surprise. Rose could remember the night as clearly as if it had been yesterday. It had been a cloudless, beautiful night, and Rose recalled that the summer air had felt crisper than usual, hinting at an early autumn. The function paid honor to her Uncle Harry, whom St. Mungo's hospital had named their most recent wing after. She had felt awkward in the robes her cousin Lily had lent her to wear, and somehow out of place, even among friends and family. It had been the first time she'd gone to a public event since…

Rose shook her head, mentally berating herself. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to think of that time in her life, the accident. So long since she'd allowed herself to think of him.

"… and Rose would love the chance to spend time with her for the next few weeks, wouldn't you, darling?"

"Hmm?" Rose asked, snapping out of her private thoughts, silently praying to Merlin that Mrs. Archibald hadn't noticed her lack of attention to the conversation. A quick glance at the older woman told her that Merlin had ignored her plea for help.

Simon frowned, an unattractive wrinkle marring his otherwise beautiful face.

"I was just telling Mother," he said slowly, "that you would be more than happy to keep Annette company whilst she is in London for the wedding."

Annette was Simon's younger sister, who was in her final year studying abroad at Beauxbatons. Much younger than Simon, she was the prodigal baby of the family. Rose had yet to meet her new sister-in-law, but had heard rumors. Annette had attended Hogwarts up until the end of her fourth year, when she mysteriously transferred to the French school of Magic. Simon had never said especially to allude to this, but Rose got the sense that Annette was not as precious and sweet as her family thought.

She swallowed her worries and smiled extra warmly at Simon, for Fiona's benefit. "I would be delighted to," She said.

Rose could always tell when Albus was at home because of the smells emanating from their flat. The space they shared was not particularly large, just an old brick two bedroom in the North side of Muggle London above an ancient pub. However, despite the limited space, Al had no qualms about turning their flat into his own personal potions lab. As Rose unlocked the front door, she got a strong whiff of overripe garlic and something else unidentifiable. She supposed she could consider herself lucky – the smells were never particularly unpleasant, though they were strong. The muggles in the surrounding flats were under the impression that Al was some sort of chef, or perhaps an eccentric perfume-maker.

"All right?" Rose called to her cousin, whose messy black hair she could just see over the top of his cauldron.

" 'Lo, Rosie" was the muffled reply.

Rose chucked her purse and coat onto the sofa and kicked off her boots. Having done this, she flopped herself onto the couch, exhausted, and promptly summoned a butterbeer. After a few moments of peace, Albus joined her. She summoned another drink, and handed it to him.

"Long day?" Al laughed, accepting his butterbeer with a nod of thanks and then taking a long swig.

"Merlin, it was the worst. I don't think I've ever been so bored in my life, and I sat through seven years of History of Magic."

Al gave a low whistle, and shook his head. "If it's that bad, I don't see why you bother, Rosie." He turned to face his cousin, his green eyes shining brightly in the afternoon sun that shone through their window. "Why don't you just have the wedding at the Burrow and be done with it? All this planning and shopping is making you miserable."

"I have to do it, Al," Rose sighed, looking down at her frothy drink. "Simon and his mum are really close since they lost his father, and I feel like I owe it to her somehow to let her plan this wedding."

Al looked at his cousin long and hard before answering carefully. "I just think that in the months leading up to your own wedding, you should be the one who's happiest about it, that's all."

Rose smiled at her cousin, truly appreciative for his worry. "I am happy, Al." she said.

"All right, all right." Al took a last swig of his butterbeer, then got up and ventured into his bedroom. His voice continued from the other room, "d'ya fancy going round the pub tonight? James mentioned he's off training this week, and wanted to grab a pint. I think Freddie and maybe Rox are planning to join as well."

"Sounds good!" Rose yelled back, tidying up the coffee table. Merlin, Al was a slob. She loved her cousin, and there was nobody else she would rather live with, but he wasn't the easiest flatmate in the world. Where in the bloody hell had he put the book she had been reading earlier?

"…figured we would apparate over to the Leaky at about half six, which would give us about forty-five minutes to…" Albus was still talking from the other room.

Rose, finally giving up on ever finding her novel again, grabbed an upside-down newspaper from the table and yelled over her shoulder to Al, "Is this today's Prophet, here on the table?"

There was a moment as Al thought about her question. His head popped out of his room, as he pulled a jumper over his messy-haired head. "Should be."

Rose laughed at her cousin, and flipped the newspaper over to the front page.

Her heart stopped.

She could feel her breath constricting, like long spindly fingers gripping her throat.

There was a moving picture of a man on the front page. His light-colored hair was long and shaggy, and his sallow skin hung off his hollow body like it didn't quite belong. But when he looked up, there was no mistaking those features, more pointed and angled than they had been before, but still somehow aristocratic. And those eyes. It was just a photograph, but Rose could feel those eyes boring into her soul.

The picture had just one headline, bold-faced and thick-lettered.

AUROR SCORPIUS MALFOY RETURNS FROM THE DEAD.