Chapter 1: Midnight Musings
That time between the first quiet of midnight and the final, reluctant stretch of darkness into dawn has always been my favorite time to wander the grounds of Hogwarts. Some may chalk it up to insomnia, and others may come up with other, more nefarious reasons for my obsession with the night time, but whatever the reason, I have been leaving the castle nightly for the past six years. There's just something about the way the moonlight hits the glass of the Black Lake's surface, and the rustling sounds of unknown creatures from the Forbidden Forest that always manages to calm my nerves after a long day of pretending.
For seventeen hours every day, between breakfast at 7, and my first steps onto the grounds at midnight, I pretend to be something I'm not, someone I'm not. I strut about the castle, sneering at those I've been taught to look down upon and buddying up to those who may have something to offer me. On the outside, I am the epitome of a Malfoy man: a clone of my father, a potions prodigy, a Slytherin. I interact only with those of whom my family would approve, and stay far away from those who would tarnish our family name.
Or at least, I should. At night is the only time I allow myself the freedom to contemplate my own thoughts. During the day, I try my hardest to play the part of the uninterested pureblood, but by night, I am no longer Scorpius Malfoy, pride of Slytherin. At night, I'm just Scorpius, one of a thousand kids at this school, just trying to get through my seven years before I can finally begin my life. I don't have to monitor my thoughts, and I am free to think about the future, and the people who I would like to be a part of it, rather than those who have to be. I can think about the students who, under better circumstances, I could see myself approaching with the offer of friendship, of the professors to whom I could go for career advice, had I not been expected since birth to take over for my father at the family business. I can think about girls who I wouldn't likely be forced to marry, should my grandfather ever manage to overpower my father's insistence that while we may be purebloods, we're not medieval. More specifically, I can think about her.
I first noticed her in third year, during a Care of Magical Creatures class. Sure, I had seen her before then, in classes, in the halls, or at meals. This time was different, though. She had just turned to whisper something to her cousin, and the sunlight hit her red hair at just the right angle to blind me, momentarily. It was at that moment that I came to the conclusion that would ultimately be my downfall: Rose Weasley was pretty. Very pretty. Like, life-ruiningly pretty.
This fact may not have rattled me so hard, had it not been for my rather unfortunate upbringing. All my life, I had been taught by my grandparents that the only attractive people in our society were the ones like us. Snobby, rich purebloods with a penchant for the darker side of magic. People whose only ambitions in life were to marry up and make fistfulls of galleons. Power was attractive, as were gold, mansions, and respectful pureblood surnames. Anything other than that was not worthy of a Malfoy's attention.
Yet, here she was. A half-blood with none of the snootiness, wealth, or ambition that my family would expect of my potential friends. Yes, her family had power, and more than a fair bit of gold, but not the kind that would impress my grandfather. I had grown up hearing tales about the Weasleys, and how traitorous they were to their bloodline, allowing all sorts of riffraff to marry into their rather large brood. Of the numerous Weasleys currently roaming Hogwarts' halls, less than a handful could claim any sort of blood purity, and least of all the witch who had captured my prepubescent attention.
After that fateful class, I began to watch her. Not all the time, of course, as it was never my intention to be creepy, but when we happened to be in the same room, my eyes always seemed to wander in her direction. It was through these brief glimpses into her life that I learned little tidbits about her personality.
I learned that her favorite subject was Ancient Runes, and she would always arrive to that class earlier than the rest of us, no matter how quickly I tried to climb the four flights of stairs from the Great Hall to the classroom. I once sprinted up the last staircase, taking the steps two at a time, only to round the final corner and see her patiently waiting by the door, reading through that week's chapter in the textbook. She looked up at me curiously as I went to lean against the wall on the other side of the doorway, struggling to catch my breath. I thought she might actually say something to me then, if only to ask why I was in such a rush to be fifteen minutes early for class, but alas, no. She caught me staring and quickly averted her gaze back to her textbook, a light flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. It was mesmerizing. It was also paralyzing, and it took me longer than I care to admit to finally tear my eyes away from her face and sit down against the wall of the corridor, pulling out my own textbook. I have to say, I've had better moments.
I learned that Rose adored her family. Of course, most kids our age probably held a certain amount of affection for their families, but understandably, seeing Rose interact with her cousins was a whole new experience for me. I loved my parents, and I suppose if it came down to it, I loved my grandparents, as well. However, I had never felt anything like the emotions I would see on Rose's face as she laughed with the Potters, or comforted the tall, veela-looking girl after a particularly bad break-up, or yelled at her brother for getting yet another detention. The most emotional expression my family would ever encourage was a scowl, and even that would be pushing it. The Weasleys, it would seem, tended to wear their hearts on their sleeves, for which I was eternally grateful.
I learned that while I found Rose to be perhaps the most stunning, gorgeous, enticing witch at Hogwarts, very few of my classmates agreed. I would sneer along with the idiots in my dorm as they remarked on how tall and gangly she was, or how her nose was just a bit too large, or her teeth a bit too long. Her hair was too bushy, or her freckles were too prominent. To me, these were all just pieces of the puzzle that made up my Rose, but the boys I knew seemed to view them as flaws, which confused me to no end (not that I would ever admit that, of course). I would just nod along silently as those imbeciles ripped her to shreds, then, on my midnight walks, I would imagine all the ways I would like to hurt them. Not physically, of course; I do have my image to think about. I could just let slip a secret or two here and there, make their lives a little more difficult. Maybe I could start a rumor that Belby had a hidden pygmy puff farm in an abandoned classroom, or that Zabini was secretly in love with Priscilla Goyle. No one would ever expect the stoic, careless Scorpius Malfoy to have made up all of these rumors, and they would have spread throughout the whole of Slytherin house by dinner, and throughout the school by lunch the next day.
In the end, I never did take my revenge. Although I was relatively certain I would never be caught, there was still a slight chance that someone would become suspicious, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. Once someone figured out that it had been me who started something, they would want to know why, and I don't think having a crush on a prominent Weasley would fit into the careful facade I had cultivated for myself over the course of my Hogwarts career. For now, I would just pretend to be one of the drooling monsters who made up my dorm mates, and take these midnight strolls as a chance to be myself. No one needed to know my real thoughts, as it's not like I would ever act on them, no matter how tempting.
And it had become very tempting, of late. Perhaps worse than the morons who couldn't see the beauty that was Rose Weasley, were the ones who could. To my great disappointment, there was one slightly less moronic boy in my dorm who refused to join in on the Weasley-bashing that normally took place: Alex Nott. To my even greater disappointment, Nott had seen fit to ask Rose to Hogsmeade a couple months back, and to my absolute horror, she had agreed.
It's not as if Rose had never dated anyone, before. There was Longbottom back in fourth year, and one of the Creevey boys had asked her to be his date to one of Slughorn's parties at the end of last year, but none of those idiots had ever lived with me. Nott had been my roommate for the past six years, and as such, I was privy to his thoughts on all manner of topics, including girls. While he had never been one to join in on the teasing, Nott found other ways to make his preferences known, and suffice to say, I wanted him nowhere near Rose Weasley. He was abusive, and would brag about it. He wanted a woman to bend to his every whim, which luckily for me, did not yet appear to include sex. I don't think I would have been able to keep quiet, had I been forced to listen to that.
What I did know about the current state of their relationship was that Rose was still reluctant to obey some of his more ridiculous demands. He wanted her to sit with him at the Slytherin table during meals, but she preferred to stay with her family, which he saw as an insult. She also refused to show any public displays of affection, for which I was grateful, but which seemed to anger Nott. Honestly, I'm not sure why he stayed with her if she was constantly making him angry, but I'm sure he had his reasons. I'm just not sure I wanted to know what those reasons were.
Which brings us to tonight. I had been wandering the grounds, as per usual, when the silence I'd come to expect from my nightly excursions was broken by a muffled scream. Now, I'm no Gryffindor, but I'm also not completely heartless. When someone is so obviously suffering, I'm compelled to help, and so I quickly drew my wand and made my way toward where I had heard the scream as quietly as I could. The sound appeared to have originated in the courtyard, so I ran over and hid behind one of the large stone columns lining the edge of the space. From my vantage point, I managed to catch the two figures as they emerged from the shadows directly across the courtyard from my position. My heart stopped when I recognized the smaller of the two as Rose, and my interest increased exponentially. Impossibly, it increased further upon recognizing the other figure as Alex Nott.
They appeared to be fighting, although the scream I had heard earlier had died down to a whispered shout. It was something about Nott and another girl, although the details of the conversation were lost on me. If I had to guess, I would have bet money that Rose had caught Nott in a compromising position with someone else, although the look currently plastered all over his face was far from contrite. Merlin, he could at least pretend to feel guilty about the situation!
Rose was laying into Nott, which was a reaction I had never expected of her, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Rose Weasley was loyal, and she cared deeply for her friends. Why wouldn't she feel the same about her boyfriend? A betrayal of that kind of trust would send anyone over the edge. I watched as her face turned impossibly redder, and she appeared to grow another foot and a half as she berated Nott. It wasn't until she finally reached for her wand that I thought about interrupting, but that wasn't the catalyst for my actions. Instead, it was the loud smack I heard as Rose was turning to retrieve her wand from the pocket of her robes.
I saw red. I don't remember moving from my place behind the column, but I do remember grabbing the hand Nott still had outstretched after hitting his girlfriend across the face. I remember twisting his arm behind his back and shoving his face into a stone pillar as I searched for the wand I had dropped in the scuffle. I only vaguely remember hearing myself screaming at him before being blinded by the red light of a stunning spell. Then, I remember nothing.
