AN: I've never written anything AU, and I couldn't let this plot bunny run away so easily. This is what comes of watching War Horse, fangirling about Benedict Cumberbatch in uniform, listening to Coldplay, and complaining to your friends about every single tiny problem you find with your story. ;) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The lyrics are from "A Rush Of Blood To The Head" by Coldplay. I own nothing except Amelia.

I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war

He signs up almost immediately.

She expects it, really; Scorpius is the type to be proud and bold, managing to be heroically noble and painfully arrogant and the same time. He's the type to want to do something before anyone else, to grab the chance to prove himself to the world, and whatever he does, his friends will follow, because Scorpius has always been a natural leader.

So when Albus signs up two days after his best friend, Rose is only mildly surprised. She does confront Scorpius about anything he might have possibly said to sway her cousin's decision – because Albus has always been very anti-war and peaceful, the polar opposite to Scorpius – but Scorpius claims he must have been taken by a surge of patriotic adrenalin like the rest of them, and that it was good for him, good forthem. All the same, Rose makes Scorpius promise he'll keep Albus safe, no matter what. She knows Al, and she knows Scorpius, and worst of all she knows who's the most likely to make it out alive.

They're already calling it World War Two, and Rose doesn't doubt it for a second. Headlines scream at her every time she steps outside her front door, and she's been hearing warnings and grave words from 'old hands', her parents included, for months – Rose was one of the few who saw this coming a mile off, who held no hopeful optimism about the chances of it not happening. It had all started with a whisper, a whisper about a war…

All you had to do was listen.

She knows she could try to reason with Scorpius. It would be all too easy to persuade him not to go, beg him, bribe him. She could even present him with several well-articulated facts explaining why he should not go. But Rose won't do that. Partly because she knows full well he'd be forced to go in the end, anyway, and partly because she doesn't want to fight now of all times, not if it could be their last fight (but no, she won't think like that either). But, mostly, it's because she's scared he'll do exactly what she asks him to. Scorpius has that annoying habit. Only with her, of course – but one word from her would be enough to make him stay put, just for her. Rose can't be that person. She's weighed up the options, argued with herself inside her head, tossed and turned uneasily in bed each night trying to work things out – and this was before it had been announced Britain was at war. Just because she had come to a decision, it didn't mean it had to be easy.

Rose has to let him go.

She's not exactly sure why, but instinct has never let her down before – on most occasions – and she knew Scorpius needed to do this. Wanted to go. God, Rose herself wanted to go – and she would, if it weren't for two problems.

One: she isn't allowed, because she's a woman.

Two: Amelia.

Rose is clutching Amelia's hand more tightly than Amelia is clutching hers the day Scorpius leaves. They stand on the platform, the smoke billowing around them, the loud noise from everyone else unable to penetrate their bubble. Nobody sees the blonde man kiss his wife and little girl in turn. Nobody sees them because they are unimportant, just like everybody else waiting for the final whistle that calls the men to the train, taking them away – possibly forever.

Scorpius turns to go, because he's not sure he can stand the look in Rose's eyes much longer, but Rose launches forward and grabs his shirt. "Remember what I said," she pleads, quietly enough so that Amelia won't hear. "No matter what."

Scorpius' eyes find Albus a little way off, all smiles and jokes as he says his jovial goodbyes to his and Rose's extended family. Then he looks back at his wife, a thin smile gracing his pale face. "No harm will come to him."

They both know he's lying, but they pretend anyway.

Scorpius crouches down to Amelia's level, taking her tiny hands in his own large ones. "Be good for your mother, Amelia."

The little girl nods, her blue-grey eyes wide and filled with confusion. She doesn't understand. None of them do.

"Pinky promise, sweetheart." Scorpius holds up his little finger.

Amelia doesn't hesitate to link their fingers together. "Pinky promise," she echoes.

Scorpius smiles, stroking her fair hair. "Good girl." He stands again, and kisses Rose on the forehead. "I'll be back soon."

"I'll be waiting."

There's nothing else to say. Scorpius coughs, gives a brisk, military nod, and turns swiftly to go collect Albus. He claps him on the back, both grinning like idiots, and they leave to last farewells and barely concealed tears as an attendant slams the carriage door shut behind them, sealing them away for God knows how long. Rose finds herself floating towards Lily as the train coughs and splutters, the smoke clearing long enough to allow them to see it rumbling away around the corner.

Then, Rose takes Amelia home and doesn't look back.

Scorpius slumps into the carriage, a rare frown marking his forehead as he puts his bag down. He watches Albus continue to grin and chatter excitedly opposite him. He watches his wife and daughter dissolve away into the smoke.

He watches his own fingers, clenched to hide the trembling, as he realises he can't protect either of his best friends now.

Scorpius writes often, as he promised he would do. Albus hardly writes at all, not to her or Lily or anyone else, so Scorpius covers for him too, keeping Rose informed on how both of them are coping. He tells her about the training, the sergeants, the other soldiers. She can't bring herself to try and remember everyone he mentions, but she entertains him anyway, if only to keep the letters coming. They are her only source of him now – one time, she pressed one close to her face and tried to smell him, as if that could get her closer.

Then she realised that was crazy, that he was gone and there was no way that he would be on the letter.

Eventually, the letters start to become not only fewer and further between, but shorter too, and, by the looks of his handwriting, more hurried. Scorpius is vague about where they ship him off to, but Rose knows it's somewhere in France, and he's still with Albus. She's thankful for those small details.

He still tries his best in his letters, but it's never enough to satisfy her. He still tells her about his duties and the other men, but he doesn't tell her everything. Rose is far from stupid, though: she can guess the rest. He asks about life back at home a lot more, too. Asks after her and Amelia and the Potters, asks her to keep his parents updated. Rose wonders if he writes to Mr and Mrs Malfoy very much. Astoria is a worrier, so she supposes he's only told them the bare minimum – unlike with her.

They ask about him, too. Her family. Rose is touched that they show so much interest, because they were never big fans of Scorpius before. It might simply be because he's their connection to Albus, but she's grateful all the same.

Everything means something to her, now.

Two years pass surprisingly quickly.

Rose is lucky to get a letter at all now, and when she does, it's hardly a letter at all. It's hard to find Scorpius anywhere between the lines, amongst the smudged words. He doesn't joke anymore, doesn't talk about what he's doing. In fact, all he does is talk about Rose and Amelia, like he's there with them, not fighting God knows where. He could have moved on from France by now, but Rose wouldn't know. She doesn't know anything anymore, and she's beginning to feel like she doesn't know Scorpius either.

He's short and to the point in his letters. Angry, almost. Rose can't help but wonder what he's seen to cause him to… change. All she has are these letters, so rare now, and even through these she feels like she's losing her husband.

One time, he doesn't mention Albus at all. Rose thinks that's strange, but she passes it off as a simple slip of the memory to update her on how he's doing. Scorpius wouldn't leave Albus out of the letter on purpose – he knows Rose would worry herself silly if she did.

A week later, there's a knock at the door. Not many people knock at her house now – when there's a war on, everybody tries to keep their head down and keep to themselves. Immediately, she thinks the worst, and takes a few deep breaths to control herself before answering the door, dreading what she will see on the other side.

But when she opens it, she isn't handed a telegram.

She receives an armful of Lily, who lets out a shuddery breath when she sees Rose and falls into her, clutching her brown cardigan with desperate fingers. Rose remembers to catch her just in time, and holds her tightly, rocking her gently.

"Lily, let's get you inside – come on now, come with me," she says in a soothing tone, half-dragging and half-lifting Rose inside, shutting the door gently behind her. "Amelia, go upstairs and play in your room."

The little girl, perched nervously on the bottom step of the stairs and still not much of a talker at five years old, turns and bounds up the steps as she is told, blonde curls bouncing behind her.

Rose guides Lily to a chair and keeps a firm hold around her shoulders, leaning back to try and talk to her more easily. "Now, Lily, tell me what –"

Lily lifts her face to stare at Rose, stains on her freckled cheeks and fresh salty tears threatening to spill over. She's shaking all over, having to clutch the arms of the chair so she doesn't slump onto Rose again, her hair and appearance all over the place. This Lily, the one who suddenly doesn't care about looking beautiful and whose haphazard emotions are even more painful to watch than usual, looks so unbearably broken that Rose just knows.

She knows.

And all she can do is hold Lily even tighter as she cries onto her shoulder and whisper to her and promise everything will be just fine. In reality, that's an overused line and it's the never the truth, but something tells her Lily wants to be lied to now. In reality, nobody ever wants to know the truth.

Albus' service can't be called a quiet affair, for the amount of people – all family – who turn up, but it isn't big. It's for two other men in their village as well, two brothers, for whom nobody turns up except the mother. Rose thinks her name is Luna. These services are commonplace now, held every few weeks. Sometimes, Rose wonders if their village is going to have to celebrate anybody coming back at all by the time all this is over.

He'll be buried at a military cemetery close to the place he died, which Rose quickly finds out is in the east of France, at the border with Germany. At least she knows where Scorpius is most likely to be now.

Rose wishes he could be there to say goodbye to his best friend. It almost feels like a betrayal to have the service without him, but Lily and the rest of the Potters need it as soon as possible before they lose it. The service brings a sense of finality. It doesn't make the pain go away, but it numbs it, at least for a little while.

It's around this time, and the months following, that James and Hugo are forced to join up. Rose is particularly upset about Hugo; she swears he's still just a boy, but she can't stop them. Fred and Louis joined up last year.

It'll be a miracle if Albus is the only casualty in their family.

Amelia grows up too fast for Rose's liking. She's seven now, and has rapidly become the chattiest person Rose knows. She still remembers the first time she held her baby daughter and saw Scorpius in every part of her face, how much her heart clenched at the sight of her bright, blue-grey eyes, the tufts of fluffy blonde hair. She doesn't resemble Rose in the slightest, but that's alright. She hasn't seen Scorpius for four years, and she's never been more grateful for Amelia.

Many of his other qualities are starting to shine through in Amelia. Some of them make Rose laugh, some make her exasperated, and some make her cry. The overconfidence and the cheeky smirk – how that can be an inherited trait and not something she's learned, Rose will never know. The eagerness to do absolutely everything first and the best. The stubbornness and the remarkable amount of pride and dignity Rose didn't think was possible in a seven-year-old.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy have been coming round to see her more often. They miss Scorpius too, and always say, like everyone else, how alike Amelia is to him. People make feeble jokes about Amelia not being Rose's at all. Rose doesn't find those jokes very funny.

She reads to Amelia every single night without fail, and it's always for this half hour or so each day that Amelia willingly falls silent and hangs on to her mother's every word. That's one thing Amelia inherited that is undoubtedly Rose's – her love of books. It doesn't matter what it is, from stories in the newspaper to a non-fictional book about birds, to novels most people would consider far too advanced for a seven-year-old, but Amelia likes fairytales the most. Stories full of foreign lands and magic and the knowledge that, at the end of the last chapter, good will vanquish evil and everything will be right in the world again.

Rose wishes she could just as easily believe in the princesses and dragons and knights as Amelia, who doesn't know how lucky she is to still be so young and that her life will never be as perfect as her fairytales. That's the kind of innocence that comes with being a child who hasn't really seen yet.

On occasion, Rose will look at Amelia and wonder what Scorpius would say if he could see and hear the things she does and says. If he would laugh, if he would get strict, if he would team up with her against Rose. If they were a normal family unaffected by war. Rose doesn't want to ever have to tell Amelia why her father never came back from the smoke in a vague memory she barely has.

Mrs Rose N Malfoy

We regret to inform that your husband Private Scorpius H Malfoy has been reported missing in action, presumed dead, since twenty eighth November. If further information is received you will be promptly notified.

This Christmas is the quietest Rose can remember.

She doesn't go to her parents' as she normally would, and, on her insistence, they don't come round. On Christmas Eve, she scrapes together the ingredients to make Amelia her Christmas Eve hot chocolate as usual. On Christmas Day, Amelia runs into Rose's room at an ungodly hour squealing her excitement as usual. On Boxing Day, they put their boots and warmest clothes on and take a walk through the village as usual.

Rose pretends nothing is amiss. Just because her world has slipped five degrees off its axis and thrown everything out of balance, it doesn't mean Amelia's has. Rose won't be the one to cause that to happen, to her sweet, carefree little girl. She doesn't know if deceiving her is kinder or not.

But she's almost certainly lost her father, and Rose has almost certainly lost the love of her life, and kindness doesn't seem to be on their side in the first place. So she gives up with kindness.

How on earth can everything outside Rose's selfish bubble of misery still be functioning properly? Why hasn't the weather brought torrential rain and terrible storms? Why haven't all the ecosystems collapsed in the world? Why hasn't the world fallen to its knees in surrender to war?

How can everything be so normal?

It's everywhere, everywhere she goes, all the normal. She doesn't understand. It feels so wrong to go about her daily business and do everything she would normally do, not knowing if Scorpius is alive or dead, and fearing the latter so much it chews a hole in the pit of her stomach so deep that she's surprised she hasn't dropped down dead herself. Rose carries on with her normal, too, but it feels traitorous. It doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right anymore.

The empty space next to her in her bed glares even more harshly at her now. The arms that should pick up Amelia and hug her when falls down and scrapes her knee now hold Rose captive, but she can't ever truly touch them. The silent air screams at her whenever she doesn't hear that witty remark or the teasing reply she expected to. Before the telegram, Rose could at least hold onto some hope that the empty space would be filled and the arms would become real again and the voice would become something tangible. Before the telegram, Rose could look at her daughter and not despise her for looking and acting so much like Scorpius.

Before the telegram.

Was there such a time?

8th May 1945.

The day the war ends.

The rationing will go on for much longer, of course, so Rose winces a little when everyone's supplies are blown on the celebrations. But celebrate they do, and nobody can deny them that. Six years since they last had any sense of normality in their lives, six years since they'd had an excuse to celebrate anything, six years in which the world changed forever. It's funny, Rose thinks, that these last six years have transformed the world and the future in ways nobody could have previously imagined, have done things which couldn't be achieved in hundreds, or thousands of years. It's such a tiny amount of time.

But then again, every day is important, isn't it?

A few people retreat into their homes, draw the curtains and don't answer the door. The war has affected some people more than others. Maybe Rose would be one of those, if she didn't have Amelia and her overbearing – well-meaning, of course – family to think about. And Rose used to rather like a good party, which one would hardly believe to look at her now, so she throws all her energy and spirit into the efforts and genuinely enjoys herself.

The euphoria won't die down for a long time to come, but the celebrations do, and eventually everyone returns to semi-normal life for the first time since the beginning of the war. Brothers, fathers, husbands and sons turn up over the next few weeks, injuries varying, and are welcomed like heroes. Most families are missing at least one of their former number – and no one has escaped unscathed – and Rose is continually astounded at how they carry on. They don't wallow in their misery at other people's happiness to get their men back safe and sound. They get on with it. They don't live exactly as they used to, but they begin a different life. And it works.

Rose feels guilty.

Fred, James, Louis and Hugo all make it back. The relief almost bowls her over as she hugs each one in turn. Hugo and James look as good as can be expected. Fred is limping along on crutches and Louis has to rely on his sense of touch to recognise Rose. She vaguely remembers hearing news of their injuries. She can't quite remember, though.

Rose feels even guiltier.

They're in high spirits, grinning and laughing and joking. It reminds Rose of when Scorpius and – and Albus, oh God, she hasn't been able to say his name for years – left. The last time she saw her best friends. But there's another story they'll take to their graves. She can see it in their eyes, even Louis' unseeing ones. Sadness, bitterness, and, mostly, of old age. These are young men who are so old. There are experiences in those eyes and those faces that don't match up with who they should be.

A thought strikes her suddenly, as Roxanne and Victoire are fussing and crying. Do they know about Albus? By the looks of them – unless they're remarkable actors, and Rose doesn't think that's something the army trains them in – they don't.

She feels so guilty that the feeling is burning her up inside, the flames licking at her heartstrings every time she lays eyes on James' face. What will he do? He always warned Albus about signing up. He might have denied it, but they all know it was Scorpius' influence that made him sign up. He died because he followed Scorpius. With Scorpius not being here, Rose will be the next person to put the blame on. She so badly doesn't want to be the bad guy, especially where her best friend is concerned.

But they need to know, and they need to know today.

As if right on cue, Fred glances round the room and says, "Where's our Al, then? Don't tell me he can't be bothered to come say hello, the lazy git."

Louis, Hugo and James laugh.

They stop when nobody else does.

Amelia is old enough now to understand the buzz around the war. She understands why her Uncle Albie died and she understands enough to cry with her Uncle James when he cries.

So Rose doesn't understand why she hasn't asked any questions about her father yet.

She's certain that Amelia must remember him if she remembers Albus. She was three years old when he left to fight – doesn't she have even the vaguest memory?

Rose goes to Lily about it in her worry, because although she certainly hopes her daughter is perfectly normal, this isn't.

"Rose, I wouldn't worry about it," Lily says tiredly, fiddling around with the wireless. Rose didn't know Lily listened to that. She probably didn't, before the war. "Amelia is nine. She hasn't had a father for most of her life."

"That isn't my fault!" Rose protests. She pauses a moment. "Or Scorpius'! He would have had to go fight anyway!"

"I know, Rose. All I'm trying to say is – look, what's your earliest memory?"

Rose frowns, thinks for a minute, then a smile quirks at her lip. "Teasing Hugo when he had chicken pox when we were both little."

Lily nods. "I remember Hugo and I had that at around the same time, and I know I was three, making him three years old too. Meaning you were five. If you remember hardly anything of your life before then, how do you expect Amelia to?"

"I suppose I see your point."

"I'm simply saying that Amelia doesn't ask about Scorpius because she doesn't remember him. Have you ever talked about her father with her? Shown her pictures?"

"But why does she remember Al, then? And – no, I haven't. I stored all the pictures away a long time ago. I… I never talked about him to anyone but myself."

Lily snaps. "I don't know, Rose, I'm not an expert in child psychology! And that's your fault if Amelia hasn't even seen a photograph of her own father!"

They fall silent.

Rose politely excuses herself shortly after.

The knock at the door makes Rose jump, almost sending the plate she's washing crashing to the kitchen floor. She saves it just in time, wipes her hands on her blue dress – her Sunday best, they've just returned from church – and goes to answer the door.

She stops suddenly, her stomach lurching terribly. This is exactly like the time two years ago when she opened the door to a future she didn't want to see and the telegram about Scorpius. She'd been washing up, in her Sunday best, and Amelia had been playing on the living room carpet, as she is now. Maybe this is bad luck. Maybe this is a sign she shouldn't open the door. It'll be more bad news. Is there somebody she's forgotten about who she's only receiving news of now? Her brain tells her there isn't any way that could be, but her heart tells her to be afraid, anyway.

To be afraid is to be prepared. And to be prepared…well, it makes it hurt that teeny bit less.

Rose has never believed in superstitious nonsense anyway, so she marches up and wrenches open the door without hesitation.

All the breath rushes out of her.

"It's not… you can't be…"

The blonde haired man smiles crookedly.

"You were dead!"

Rose is wild-eyed, finding herself shrieking the accusation as she grips the doorframe for support. It's a good idea, because at that moment her knees catch up with her failing heart and collapse beneath her.

"Technically, I think the term on the telegram was missing, presumed dead. Note the key word."

Scorpius Malfoy's smile wavers slightly, as he sees no change in Rose's horrified expression.

"That's dead! That… that practically means dead!"

Scorpius frowns slightly. "Not always, Rose."

"Don't – don't say that! Don't say my name! I… I've got to…" She runs a hand through her hair, apparently unaware of what she has to do. Get herself together, perhaps.

"Rosie –" He reaches out to grabs her arms, but she shrinks away.

"Don't!" she warns.

He holds up his hands. "Alright. OK. I'm sorry."

Rose stares at him, eyes watering. A hiccupping noise escapes her mouth, and she lets out a shuddery breath. "People don't just come back from the dead…"

"I was never dead. I went missing, they thought I was dead, but I wasn't. I wasn't. I'm here, Rose, I'm real – see?" He doesn't attempt to touch her this time, but holds his hand out instead. His eyes search her lost and upset face, begging her to reach out.

It takes a few moments, but then a few trembling fingers brush his palm. Electricity shoots through his veins. It's been so long since he felt that touch. All he wants to do is hold Rose, forever and ever, and never let go.

She becomes more confident, holding herself straighter as she takes his hand in her smaller ones, studying them as if to check for any telltale signs of him being an impostor. Apparently she finds none, because she suddenly stills and her head snaps up, eyes locking with Scorpius' again.

"You were dead…" she repeats, testing the words on her tongue, before launching herself into Scorpius' chest. "You were dead. You were dead! You horrible, awful idiot… how could you? Please don't be dead again… please, please, oh God, please…"

Her fingers wrap in his hair, clutching him as tightly as she possibly can, and he returns the embrace, burying his face in her vibrant red curls. He doesn't he's crying until he feels drops of water on his shoulder, and finds Rose's hair slightly damp. They're crying for each other, crying for Albus, crying for the last six years. Crying because they finally have a shoulder to cry on.

They freeze when another, younger voice interrupts the wracking sobs. "Mummy?"

Scorpius can see her over Rose's shoulder. His little girl, Amelia, isn't so little anymore. She's staring at him with those wide blue-grey eyes, toying with a strand of blonde hair nervously. Rose had been right in her letters: she really does look uncannily like a female version of him.

"Hey, sweetie," Scorpius smiles, pulling back from Rose, before crouching in front of his daughter. Amelia looks down at him with an odd look. Then he realises she's so tall now he doesn't have to crouch, so he quickly stands up.

She shuffles a bit, playing with the hem of her dress. "Who are you?"

It takes a long time, but they're slowly getting back on their feet.

Scorpius learns, day by day, how to be a father again. It takes a while to earn Amelia's trust, but Scorpius refuses to forgive himself for missing six years of her life, and determinedly ploughs on through the tears and the arguments and the phases. Amelia begins to laugh easier around him, allows him to cuddle her and joke with her, and even goes to him about the smaller problems at school or with her friends.

Rose will never grow tired of the excited grin on Scorpius' face when he takes another step forward in his relationship with his daughter, the delight when he gains that little bit more trust, the shine in his eyes – though Scorpius refuses to admit he nearly cried – when Amelia, awkwardly and formally, calls him 'Father' for the first time. The more she says it, the more she relaxes, and soon calling him 'Daddy' is a common occurrence.

Rose watches Scorpius chase Amelia around the garden and help her with her homework ("this isn't how they used to do it in my day") and entertain her with stories and jokes in the evenings. This is how it was always supposed to be, she thinks. Perhaps they're a little late in getting started, but the months since Scorpius came back have been the happiest of her life. It's right.

It's right when Scorpius wraps his arms around her from behind when she's cooking dinner. It's right when she wakes up to Scorpius' face every morning. It's right when she can hold his hand outside, as they walk through a village that is also gradually healing its war wounds too.

Her life is finally right. And she's not letting it go for anything.

They don't forget about Albus, but they don't dwell on a ghost either. It seems his death brought everyone closer together, Scorpius included – even James doesn't harbour any ill feelings towards his cousin's husband anymore. Amelia finds a new, and potentially dangerous, best friend in Lily, who tells her about the best pranks and how to make boys putty in her hands – both of which Rose thinks are 'highly inappropriate' – but most importantly, she talks to Amelia about Albus. A few times, Rose has found Amelia sitting cross-legged in her bedroom, looking up at the stars through her window and speaking to her Uncle Al as if he was there beside her. Amelia tells him how much she loves him, and how much he is missed. She tells him about her father, and Fred's various girlfriends, and Louis' artwork. Every night she makes sure to say goodnight and wish him well until the next time.

One day, Amelia has something important to tell Rose. Rose thinks it must be about Albus, so she sits her down on the sofa and patiently waits.

"I never forgot Daddy."

Rose nearly falls off her seat.

"You – what? Who told you –"


"Lily – of course. I'm going to have to have words with Lily later on," Rose smiles, fuming on the inside. "But what do you mean, sweetheart?"

"I mean, I know you thought I'd forgotten him. I didn't. I could still remember him, and I found the pictures of him in the attic."

Rose closes her eyes, rubbing her temples as frown lines crease her forehead. "But I don't understand, Amelia – why didn't you say anything?"

Amelia mumbles something. Rose doesn't quite catch it. "Pardon?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me?"

"I could see it. I could tell that Daddy hurt you, but I didn't know why. Now I know it wasn't his fault, but I didn't want to say anything about him because I was scared you would get hurt again. I didn't recognise him because… I tried to forget about him. Like you." She gives a sheepish smile. "But Lily says it worked better for me than for you."

Rose is quick to pull her daughter into her arms, ignoring this last comment. "You need to tell me things like this next time, alright? I don't care how much they hurt me. I love you too much for them to hurt me."

Amelia nods against Rose's shoulder. "I will."

The conversation has opened up old scars Rose had nearly forgotten about. But everything is out in the open now. There are no more secrets.

It'll take a long time, but eventually those scars will heal and fade for good, leaving their faint mark on the world as a warning.

But for now, Rose is content to leave those scars alone.

If you can tell me something worth fighting for

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