Summary: They were opposites, but that hardly mattered. Not in the greater scheme of things. What mattered was that they clicked. Some clicks, fitting with the perfection of puzzle pieces, made history. Some wrought disaster.
Just which would arise from their fated cleaving was yet to be. Potters, Malfoys, Weasleys, and Muggleborns. They were a mixture that could only go one of two ways.

Rating: T (possible later progression to M)

~Written for the House Competition Round 3~

House: Ravenclaw

Category: Drabble

Prompt: Breakfast

Word Count: 898

Prologue: Legends

Carma Institute was nothing like Azkaban.

Many considered it a correctional facility, but such wasn't expressly accurate. Others called it a support centre, but it wasn't quite that, either. A magically concealed complex, the vast expanse of it spread in an underground network of high-ceilinged corridors and false windows beaming magical sunlight into its interior. Its white walls were pristinely clean, vinyl floors polished to click beneath heels and slap under socked feet. Rooms, clustered together like terraces, were plated with names like 'three-hundred and sixteen' or 'ninety-nine'.

Magic thrummed throughout. It rippled through the doors, firing regular reports to the staff observation room. It turned watchful eyes upon the residents as they lounged with relative ease in those very rooms, in the common areas, in the mess hall.

Those residents didn't act much like inmates. It was but another reason many considered Carma to be something less than a prison. That those very residents couldn't up and leave was about the only inhibiting factor of the mix.

That, and the routine. August Ashberry learned on his first day just how enforced that routine was. And it started with the breakfast.

August didn't think he deserved his sentence at the correctional facility. He didn't think his supposed 'crimes' warranted it. It didn't stop him from remaining close-lipped about those 'illicit activities', however. He wasn't a fool.

And neither, it seemed, were the rest of the residents. Least of all those that deliberately left empty the seats at the table occupied by one specific quartet.

The clatter of his tray and the scrape of his chair passed unnoticed as August took his place at one of those empty seats. The hall itself, as white and clean as the rest of the facility, was flooded with residents arriving and leaving and picking at surprisingly decent if somewhat bland breakfasts. August turned his attention towards his unflavoured porridge, scooping a bite.

It never reached his mouth.

"I'm just saying, that if someone hadn't suggested using the back door, that particular incident could have been easily avoided."

August's attention was drawn across the table to the young woman who'd spoken. She was regarding the mousy-haired woman at her side, her slightly long nose tipped primly into the air as she sniffed.

Her breakfast partner, round-faced and appearing nothing if not unimpressed, gave a deliberate tug upon her companion's curly red fringe. Her hands moved so fast August barely saw them reach before the long-nosed woman yelped indignantly. "You're the one that suggested I lay off 'headlong charging into battle'," she replied, releasing the curl and stabbing her spoon pointedly into her barely touched porridge. "You can't renege on your words so blatantly, Rose."

"Since when have you ever actually listened to Rose's suggestions, Dee?" said the young man three seats and two people along from the mousy-haired woman. White-blond hair cropped short, his sharp-featured face was drawn into an expression of boredom paradoxically mixed with exasperation.

"Shut up, Scor," Dee said.

"I'm allowed to have an opinion."

"Unless it's a stupid opinion."

"You're both stupid, so both of your opinions should be kept to yourselves," Rose said, frowning between the two of them. She grunted, frown turning to a glare, as Dee elbowed her side. "And keep your pointy elbows to yourselves, too."

"Play nice, children," said their fourth member, a dark-haired young man seeming nothing if not distracted with stirring shapes into his breakfast. Or at least he was until his green-eyed gaze flickered up towards August. "We have a guest."

August still hadn't taken a bite, and he doubted he would for the gazes that all swung towards him. Not when they stared at him. Not when even the muted chatter of the surrounding mess hall faded before his dawning understanding.

Because he knew. Suddenly, August knew. His gasp would have been embarrassing had he half a mind to hear it.

Rose.

Dee.

Scor.

And… "You're Albus Potter," he managed.

"It's rude to stare," Scorpius Malfoy said in a dry tone that somehow sounded slightly dangerous. The hooded gaze was even more so.

"Or gawk, more correctly," Deidre Dursley added.

"Unless he has mental deficiencies, in which case it's not his fault," Rose Weasley finished, though her own flat stare bespoke anything but leniency.

Albus Potter only smiled pleasantly. "You're sitting at our table," he said.

August swallowed. "I…"

"People don't usually sit at our table," Rose said, her high-tipped nose pointing towards him accusingly. "For good reasons."

"He's still gawking," Deidre noted.

"He must be an idiot," Scorpius said.

Of course August was staring. How could he not? He'd heard the rumours just as everyone else had, but nothing definite. Nothing to truly solidify the suspicions that they, four of the most renowned young witches and wizards of their generation, had been incarcerated. That they…

"You're really here," August breathed, awe welling within him. Everyone had heard the rumours of what they'd done, even if no one quite knew if it was true. "Unbelievable…"

Albus' smile widened. Strangely, though Deidre glared, Rose sniffed, and Scorpius still regarded him dangerously, it was Albus' smile that was the most unnerving. "Believe it. Welcome to the reality of the criminal youths of the world."

"Though not really 'youths' anymore," Rose said.

"Speak for yourself," Deidre countered, elbowing her once more. "I'm eternally youthful."

"Would you both shut up," Scorpius drawled.

August stared. He still stared, because he couldn't help it. "So you mean you… you all really…?"

"I think he wants to know," Deidre said.

Rose sniffed again. "Typical."

"How unoriginal," Scorpius sighed.

"Would you like to hear?" Albus asked. His slow stirring hadn't ceased in its hypnotic swirling for a second. "The story of the heinous acts that so shocked the Wizarding world?"

"Oh, the horror; that we would so tarnish our family names." Rose smirked.

August nodded. Of course he nodded. They four… they were practically famous in the right circles. In his circles.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. Deidre fell back upon her porridge. Rose turned deliberately away from August in dismissal.

And Albus. Albus just smiled. "That, August Ashberry, is something of a secret."

August wasn't even surprised he knew his name. They were, after all, legends.