Raindrops on Roses

Chapter 27: The Last Summer Part 6: Adrenaline

2024

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When he finally woke again, it took him a while to realise it was happening. Strange, alien feelings came over him, one at a time - a dry, dusty texture to his mouth, a disconcerting heaviness in his limbs, a fuzzy, fluffy feeling to his head and a weight over his eyes as if someone had pinned them shut. He had the sensation of having woken several times already, but he had drifted off into the darkness again, unable to rouse himself.

Stay awake, he told himself firmly. Stay... awake...

It was difficult. Something powerful was pulling at him, urging him back into the endless slumber where he was warm, and safe. As he lay there, fighting against it as much as he could, the dream became less a true memory and more a scattering of images and feelings, the way dreams tend to do. But the last image stayed with him, biting at him, forcing him away from the sweet release of sleep and bringing him back to life.

Rose. I have to save Rose. The coffin covered in white and surrounded by flowers. He had to stop it. That was all he knew.

With a great effort and a gigantic force of will, he opened his eyes.

It was dark. He was lying on his back, and the ceiling was very, very far away, and quite unfamiliar. When he turned his head it became clear that he was lying on the floor. As the feeling began to return to his back and legs, he realised it was not a comfortable floor at all, and there was only a thin pallet between him and it, and his back was one big ache.

Groaning, he forced himself up onto one elbow. The hard wood of the floor banged against the bone as he lifted his head up. It hurt, but he felt a little less fuzzy afterward. Catching on, he found his other hand and pinched himself on the crook of the arm. That gave him enough brain power to try and work out what in Merlin's name was going on.

Someone had covered him with a cloak. That was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he stank, as if he hadn't washed in days. Further exploration of his own body revealed that there was dried urine on his trousers. Nice. They were the same clothes he had been wearing on the day of his arrest, minus the robes. Something told him that that day was long gone. When he touched his face, the skin over his jaw was rough with stubble.

His head started to droop over his chest, and he shook it thoroughly and pinched himself again. His mouth and throat were dry as a bone. He needed water badly, and some food wouldn't hurt, either. His head was pounding.

It would be a while before he was able to stand. His legs would barely move, and he knew they wouldn't support his weight just yet. Instead he pressed his fingertips to his forehead and tried to focus on the room.

It was small, and dark. It was empty except for him and, quite nearby, a pile of bags next to another pallet. Clearly someone else was also sleeping here. There was one window, too high to see out of, and that let in what little light there was to see by. Scorpius guessed by the colour that it might be late afternoon, though he had to admit that any such observation was little more than his imagination. The place was clearly very run down. The wallpaper, whatever colour it was, was cracked and peeling. The floor gave the impression of being slightly unstable.

How had he got here? He thought hard, brushing away the fragments of confused memory and concentrating on the whole ones. He remembered delivering the package. The raid. The long, horrible wait in the dark holding cell. Then Teddy had been there... and Rose's father. There was a man he wasn't likely to forget in a hurry. But then what had happened? He didn't remember going to sleep. Why was he here? What was here?