Scorpius was not a big one for mornings.

They started when the wristwatch that he and Al had enchanted spewed out obscene noises and skittered off under the furniture. Covers were thrown off, voices – rough with sleep – muttered about this being the morning that the bloody thing was decimated, the watch was found, prodded harshly with a wand until it shut up, Merlin's beard.

Then it was sports kit on, a jog by the lake, a chat with that Ravenclaw who seemed to have roughly the same routine – simple as clockwork. He left the age spent in front of a mirror to his girlfriend, whose power over contours and lip-lines were more impressive than any amount of enchanted watches that Scorp could come up with.

Especially this watch.

"Make it stop." Potter begged pitifully from the other side of the dorm, splayed out across the bed with his face buried in a pillow. "I will give you a pound of Bertie Bott's if you smash that thing, Malfoy. We made a mistake. We created a monster."

The stone floor was cold under Scorpius's feet when he swung them out of bed, and he shuddered. "Which way did it go?" He asked, plucking his wand from on top of his bedside table and blearily wiping sleep from his eyes. The multi-faceted windows did little to keep the March winds at bay, and Scorp was definitely considering writing to his mother and asking for a pair of fleecy pyjamas. Just like the pair he'd had when he was eight.

"Please tell me that you're making fun of the blind kid and don't actually expect help."

"Albus."

A hand was stuck in the air and waved in the general direction of the dresser. The high keening of the watch was reaching its crescendo, and Scorp leapt in the general direction with as much coordination as the newly-woken eighteen-year-old could muster.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Each plea was punctuated with the wand being stabbed at under the massive hunk of mahogany, and finally, finally, silence enveloped the small dorm room once more. Scorpius heaved a sigh of relief, rocking back onto his heels. The innocuous watch lay in his hands. And, just like every morning, Scorp considered smacking it with a book. Or a bookcase. And, just like every morning, the quietened watch was tossed back on top of the dresser, it's execution adjourned.

"I bloody love you." Potter mumbled into his pillow, pulling the covers back up to his chin. He was snuggling back under the duvet, black hair tufty and sticking up all over the place. "Have I mentioned that?"

"Yesterday morning, about the same time." Scorpius replied easily, grinning as he started gathering his kit together. "You done that Potions homework for later?"

"Maybe."

"Can I have it?" Scorp asked, tugging his shirt over his head.

"I bloody hate you. Do your own work, mate."

"Cheers, Al!"

"Enjoy your run, you arse. I hope the squid eats you."

The dew was fast to soak through Scorp's trainers. Spring in Scotland is brisk, to say the least, and it took an entire lap of the lake before he could feel his fingers. Mist rose from the water in tendrils as it burnt off, the March air doing little to warm it through. Scorpius ran with his the rhythmic thudding of his footfalls for company, not one for music. Any other time, and he was a music aficionado. But when he was running, he liked the quiet. He loved the feeling of his own heartbeat, boasting of it's existence in his ears and thudding at his pulse points. He didn't run to stay fit, not really. He ran to calm down. He ran to wake up. He ran because his life was brilliant and busy and boisterous, and this half hour in the morning was his piece of serenity.

There had been a time when it all got too much. There had been a time when his father's grey eyes had taken in his bruised knuckles and split lip, and there was a time when his father taught him that counting to ten can save a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. Because Scorp was a talented athlete and a calculating quidditch player, but he wasn't good with his fists. He was lithe and fast, and had a habit of picking fights with lads three sizes bigger than him. Let's see your arm, Malfoy! Death Eater scum!

His father had turned over his battered hands in his cool ones, and said "You get it from your mother, Scamp."

And Scorpius had seen his mother flash him a proud, predatory smile and known it to be true.

He cleared the woods just as Hanks from Ravenclaw appeared at the fork in the path. The castle wasn't much further ahead, coming into view against the daunting black clouds.

"Morning," Hanks called, speeding up to match Scorpius's pace. "You're early today."

"The watch buggered off under the dresser at six," Hanks had been regaled with tales of the Fucking Watch since they had become accidental running partners, three summers ago. "Definitely won."

"Still ticking, though?"

Scorp laughed, taking a minute to catch his breath before replying. "Unfortunately. Ready for the match next Sunday?"

Hanks made a show of flexing a burly muscle. He was built for beating – Thick shouldered, no apparent self-preservation instinct, and an absolute powerhouse. He'd clapped Scorp across the back after a particularly tough run last winter, and the blond had felt it reverberate through his bones. Probably through his great-grandchildren's bones as well. "Weasley got you training hard?"

"Pah, as if. We make all of our own decisions on the team. Completely autonomous. Rose just, you know, represents."

Hanks nodded slowly, but there was a knowing look in his eye. "Well, we'll see how that autonomous approach works next weekend, shall we?"

"We shall!" Scorp replied as they slowed, footsteps echoing around the courtyard. He took a mock swing at the stockier boy. "I'll have you on your knees, Hanks!"

The Ravenclaw simply smiled a slow, genial smile. "Put your money where your mouth is, Malfoy."

Looking up from where he was balancing on one leg, glute stretched out, Scorp's eyes lit up. "You want a bet?"

"I'll take everything you've got, mate."

"I'm only offering ten galleons."

"Sixty."

"Fourty and a piece of this," Scorp gestured at his body, shaking out his leg as he swapped the stretch to the other side.

"Fifty, but without a piece of that."

"Deal!"

It stayed crisp and cold for the next two days. Scorpius circled the pitch with one hand on his broom and the other one pressed between his arm and his side. They all had warming charms cast over their kit, but the chill was pervasive and biting. The team were spread out around him, the Gryffindor colours of red and gold partially concealed under mountains of scarves and woolly jumpers. Game day would be different. On game day, they would be an inescapable force of team spirit.

But for now? Now they were just cold.

"Finnegan, take a left! Faster than that! I could have put that bludger straight between your shoulder blades!" Rose Weasley knew quidditch. More than that, she knew how to win. Scorpius dipped his broom, pulling his free hand out of hibernation and wrapping it around the handle as he gathered speed. The role of Captain would always be much sought after, but when a fifteen year old Rose had dared to speak up and go "Well, what if we-" during a team meeting three years ago, it was like a prophecy had been laid down. Brains and that mile-wide mischievous streak made a dynamic coupling. Her name had been put forwards unanimously when Lupin had graduated.

"Malfoy!"

The broom protested underneath Scorp as he pulled up sharp. "Yes, dea-Weasley?"

"Why are you flying at the ground as though you have hell hounds on your tail?"

Scorp tried to lean nonchalantly back on his broom, but his ass was numb and his hands were numb and he settled for an ungainly flop instead. "Practising, boss."

Weasley raised an eyebrow. "For the suicide squad?"

"Pah, no. Between you and me, Rosie, there's a lot riding on this match."

He could actually see the thought "Are you for real, right now?" as it drifted through Rose's brain. "Scorp," She said, slowly. "the rest of the team are managing to handle the pressure of the House Cup without flying straight at the ground. Do you need to talk to someone?"

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just call me unbalanced. No, this is so much more than the House Cup. I've got a bet with Hanks from Ravenclaw."

"Giant, brawny?"

"The very same."

Even from six foot away, swaddled in an enormous scarf, Scorp could see Rose's eyes turn calculating. If anyone understood the utter importance of an inter-house bet, it would be her. "What are the stakes?"

"A hot piece of this," Scorp gestured at his wool-swathed self. Rose just rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fifty galleons."

"That's it? That is causing you more stress than the House Cup?!"

Scorp shrugged, as if to say "What can you do?"

Weasley turned her broom, using her spare hand to stuff her ginger mane firmly under her hat. "Fine, fine. Do what you've gotta do. But get those turns sharper, or I'll be having a piece of that" she eyed him meaningfully, "for breakfast."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows gleefully, "Why, Rosie, all you had to do was ask. But I am in a committed relationship, so you'd have to share."

"Gah!" Rose threw her hands up in the air, "Die in a hole! But after the match!"

That committed relationship of Scorp's was waiting for him when he came out of the changing rooms. She was leaning against the wall, a picture of sleek black hair and painted burgundy lips. The first time that Scorpius had seen her, he had been up to his elbows in suds, chipping at the noxious bottom of a charred cauldron. The first time that he had seen her, the fact that he was in detention and she was a fucking prefect had not deterred him in the slightest. Every girl liked a bad boy, right? And he was bad. He was so, so bad. He was-

"You've got something on your face." Albus had said, cutting through the fog that was her.

"Hmm?" Scorpius realised he'd been staring when Al reached over and closed his jaw by hitting him upside the chin.

"Yeah, it's like a smudge? Or complete fucking worship? Can't tell in this light."

"Asshole." Scorp had said, not listening, watching her. Ravenclaw's royal blue did these things to her Hispanic features which did things to Scorpius's features. "Do you know her? That girl?"

Potter, that bastard, gave a cursory gaze and just shrugged one shoulder. "Do I look like a copy of Which Wizard? Look, we finish this, we get off early, we get lunch. Focus." This last part had been said with a shove to Scorpius's shoulder. Which, due to the somewhat whimsical legs of his chair, sent him crashing to the floor with a yell. He had lain there for a moment with his eyes closed, ignoring Al's cackling, when a pair of feet came to a halt by his head.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!"

And as Scorp had looked up into the darkest eyes that he had ever seen, he was reminded to thank Albus for being the best wingman on the planet.

"Guys, practice tomorrow, same time, okay? There's a hell of a lot riding on this one!" Weasley's tone brokered no arguments, but the team was too hyped to give her anything other than multiple cases of "You got it!" "Are you kidding? I love freezing myself onto a broom!" ("Attitude, Finnegan.")

Scorpius jogged over to join Naya, tugging on the end of her scarf. "Sorry I kept you, been here long?"

Naya stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips against Scorpius's cheek, "Maybe - Make it up to me?"

Six months later and he still wasn't used to the way she made him see stars. "Uh, duh."

That night, the corridors were deserted. The lanterns and torches threw fluid shadows against the stonework of the castle, and owls called to each other across the grounds. In the Ravenclaw tower, the lights were muted and, as always, the atmosphere reminded Scorpius of the library. It had the same feeling of quiet, of concentration. At this time, there weren't the students debating the finer points of the barbaric acts of Salem, of the true location of Babylon. There was no manic scratching of quills. All was still. And, much like he did in the library, Scorpius felt at least a little sorry for what he was sure could be seen as defacing the whole studious spirit of the place.

And yet, Scorp could have sworn that the eagle glared at him as he gently eased the door closed behind him. Not to be intimidated, he gave it a jaunty wave before setting off across the castle.

"Mung beans."

Nothing. The Fat Lady breathed out another almost-snore.

Moving closer to the portrait, Scorpius tried again. "Mung beans."

There. The Fat Lady cracked an eyelid open, and eyed Scorpius up and down. "I've half a mind to leave you there." she said, her voice sleep-ridden. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Scorpius offered up an apologetic shrug, because yes, he did, and yes, he knew exactly what kind of a person came slinking home at three a.m. The Fat Lady humphed, but with a final scowl, the portrait swung open.

"Much obliged." Scorp said archly, climbing through the hole.

Much like the Ravenclaw common room, the lights were dim in here. He recognised Simmons's tabby cat curled up on top of the chess board, and the copper weather vane spun slowly in the corner of the room.

And there, on the sofa in front of the fireplace, lay Weasley. It pulled him up short. She had her knees tucked against her chest, her cheek pressed against the velvet arm of the chair.

Scorpius was increasingly aware of the noise he was making as he padded over, trying to keep the weight on the balls of his feet. Her hand was curled loosely around her wand. On the floor, a cardboard map of the quidditch pitch lay, complete with holographic hoops and stands. Projected Gryffindor players flew aimlessly without Weasley to guide them, the flags on the stands blew in a breeze that wasn't there. Scorp knelt next to Rose's head, biting his lip when the floor creaked under the movement.

Strands of red hair had fallen into Rose's face, and fluttered every other second as she huffed out a breath. Scorpius reached out to brush them away, but his hand stilled, hovering above her face. The gesture felt strangely intimate, and he put it down to the low lighting and the delicate line of Rose's jaw. Scorp wandered how he would feel if he woke up to a strange bloke fiddling with his hair and grimaced.

He looked around for a moment, wondering what to do. He'd never make it up to the girl's dorm carrying her – the trick stair was a viscous foe. There was a patchwork throw draped over the back of the sofa. Scorp spread it carefully over Weasley's prone figure, gut twisting at the goosebumps dotting her bare arms. And maybe the sudden hitch in Rose's breathing, the way she curled the blanket under her arms - maybe it brought about a surge of affection in Scorpius. But the cat was asleep, Rose was asleep; There was no one to snitch on him if he tucked the blanket around the girl a little more firmly. Rose's wand was pulled from her freckled fingers and, together with the closed pitch layout, deposited on the nearby coffee table.

One last look around the common room told Scorp that there was little else for him to do, and he turned to go. But as he did so, he felt smaller fingers grasp his. He stayed stock still for a moment, surprise and warmth warring. The moment ended, and Rose's arm fell limply by her side again.

"Sweet dreams, Rosie." Scorpius breathed.