Chapter Seventeen

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The Sky Turns Black Tonight

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Rose seems to materialize out of nowhere. She launches herself against Albus, who groans weakly as he fails to brace himself for impact.

"What the hell did you leave like that for!"

"Rose, my ribs, dear god," Albus murmurs.

She shakes her head. "And you," she turns to Scorpius, still hanging off Albus like he may disappear again. "Thank god you're all right. I was looking for you both everywhere when I heard you woke up."

"Oh," Scorpius says.

"Albus, what have you done with your hair? You look so old." Rose steps onto her tiptoes, then runs her fingers through until strands become loose and hang over his forehead again. She hugs him around his neck, and Albus lifts her for a moment before wincing and placing her gently down again. "What are you two wearing? You look like you just got back from a—. . . Oh."

"Where's Kiara?" Albus asks, looking over Rose's head. "Have you seen her?"

"She's been catching up on sleep. Callie told me that Kiara hasn't slept through the night since last month."

"I'm going to look for her. She wasn't well when we last spoke. She would only speak to me in french, and I don't think she even realized. Rose, why don't you walk Scorpius back to the infirmary for me? Nurse Abbott says he should spend some more time there, so she can heal the rest of his wounds."

Scorpius stares at him. "I remember her saying the same of you."

Albus waves him off, his fingers glancing across his ribcage. "I'll meet you there later."

He begins to walk toward the Ravenclaw tower, and Scorpius thinks he may be off to tell the girl how he really feels for her. Part of him hopes so—and the other part of him wonders if he could beat Albus to it.

But then he looks to Rose, and he nearly forgets who Kiara is. She holds her small hand out to him, and he takes her fingers tentatively within his grasp, dwarfing the small girl with his height and large hand. He remembers this feeling: Holding Rose and thinking everything is OK because of it. Just her presence makes him smell warm sunlight on dewy grass, and he can taste fresh strawberries across his tongue.

"My other arm doesn't work right," he says, because he can't think of anything else.

"I heard. Nurse Abbott wants to put it in a sling for now. It'll be fine soon, you know. If you go to London. What happened to your other hand? You're bleeding?"

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