scipio minor

𝐈𝐈. 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔢

❛ 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔢 ❜
november 1998
THE TONKS HOUSE
⋅ ﹙ ♚ ﹚ ⋅

      𝐇𝐄 awoke from his dream with a groan. His entire body felt sore. However, the agonising storm inside his body had cooled down. He was still steaming hot. His sweaty hair cleaved against his head. It had certainly been his body odour which had awoken him. He smelled like sweat, blood and garlic. Disgusting. He felt so uncomfortable.

He felt a bit sad when he reminisced about his time at Shell Cottage. Even though it had only been for about a week before they had left for Gringotts, and he still hadn't been healed completely, he peculiarly had felt at home in the coastal house.

He loved the company of Bill and Fleur. Especially because Fleur was one of his peers and they'd known each other since the Triwizard Tournament during Scipio's sixth year. He had even been her date to Yule Ball. Nothing had really sparked between the two, but Scipio had always perceived her company as comforting, while Fleur cherished the boy for his utter obliviousness towards her Veela qualities. While Harry and Ron had been tense and tired at Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur somehow always found a way to keep their visitors energised. Willingly, Scipio had fought side by side with the couple during the Battle of Hogwarts. Now, Fleur was visiting the France National Wizarding Bank, which had experienced a bit of a crash after Voldemort had been defeated. Bill was busy at Gringotts, he never not worked. The couple were one of the few of whom Scipio truly missed their companionship.

Even Harry hadn't been such an annoyance like he usually was when they resided in Shell Cottage. Ron had never left Scipio's side as his personal jester. Scipio suspected Hermione had encouraged him to practise his new jokes on the rough and almost uncrackable Malfoy heir. Scipio and Ted tried to run a short rehabilitation, made up of moderate walks on the beach, midday naps and drinking aloe vera tea.

Scipio realised the onion smell on his body was immensely similar with the odour of the cactus leaves— Andromeda's care. She stored an entire jar of cactus leaves in her potions cabinet. Scipio had sent a few rare potions ingredients from Andromeda's cabinet (with Andromeda's permission) to Hogwarts as a gift for Hermione, so she could practise for her exams. A bezoar, aconite, valerian roots, to name a few.

Hermione. .

He missed her the most of all.

He missed the aroma of fresh parchment and vanilla. Her warm breath and hands. Her long and curly hair, he could wrap each lock around his fingers and play with it. It had been his daily exercise when he'd been still bedbound in the bed in that little room of Shell Cottage. He also missed the way she touched him, with such carefulness, cautiousness, like he was porcelain that could break. She had this impulse to protect him and to take care of him. Scipio didn't resist, he wanted her to care for him. Nobody had ever taken care of him with such care and with such ease too. Her touch was lingering, but eventually always strained away from him. He wanted her to hold on, but he couldn't tell her, not when they were at war and everything he held dear could be abruptly and violently snatched out of his reach and vanish forever.

He craved the sight of her adorable plump nose, those deep brown deer-like eyes, yet so fierce. Oh and her soft smile, that wrinkle between her eyebrows when she was worried, how her hands moved when she was reapplying his bandage or was playing with her wand in concentration. He longed for her constant rambling, yet her words were always so cleverly chosen and so precise. He loved the way she sometimes got so hot headed her cheeks flushed red and her eyes sparked with determination. Sometimes she appeared so dominant towards him, he was blown breathless and would easily whimper in obedience. She was like fire. And he was ice, melting because of her heath. He absolutely loved it.