Prologue

In which the scene is set, the players introduced and an old rivalry is re-established.

In Hogwarts , where I lay my scene, nineteen years of peace had hidden the ghosts of the past. Nineteen years in which children had been educated without fear of War and Death and Destruction hanging over them.

The four Houses of Hogwarts still competed, of course, to win jewels and the Quidditch Cup, but that rivalry was based on friendly competition.

The Sorting Hat had much to do with this. Over the summer of 1998 it had spent a lot of time in thought. Had it, by sticking too rigidly to the principles of the founders, nurtured, indeed encouraged, the rise of Dark Powers?

From thence forward sorting changed, very subtly, so that there was no longer an automatic assumption children would follow their parents. The monopoly of the House system was broken.

However, the Hat was not infallible and occasionally it allowed its heart to rule its head – if a Hat can be said to have such organs.

It showed itself to be fallible, not once but several times, in the Septembers of 2016 and 2017; so setting in motion a train of events that would ultimately lead to the deaths of two young men and a young woman, the near destruction of two families, and the extinction of a third. Such is the power of words!

It is, therefore, perhaps appropriate that this train began in a train station on the first day of September, 2017.

-o0o-

Draco Malfoy stood with hand upon the young boy's shoulder. He could feel a pulse, even through the new robes, running faster than it should have done. The boy, his son Scorpius, was nervous, perhaps even afraid. He was going to a place he did not know, though his parents did, where he knew nobody.

The Malfoys had not had "a good war". Indeed, their star had fallen further than most. They were shunned by the winners and scorned by the losers. After the final battle they had retreated to their Gloucestershire mansion and bolted the gates. Only through the testimony of Draco's most hated rival, Harry Potter, had his father and mother avoided Azkaban.

This same rival was now standing not twenty yards away, with children of his own. With him were three people whom Draco despised almost as much. The first was Potter's wife Ginny; a brassy, red-headed woman who had used her name and her medals, and probably whom she was sleeping with, to establish not one but two successful careers. Despite being a no better than average player, she had become a professional Quidditch flyer and then breezed in to a plum job with a newspaper.

The other two were no improvement. The first was that great oaf Ron Weasley, whom Potter considered a friend; so much so he had married his sister, the aforementioned brassy red head. Weasley's wife Hermione was also there, of course; the women who had, for years, conned everybody in to believing that knowledge was a substitute for intelligence. Draco was surprising pleased to notice that she was starting to run to fat.

Of course, his own wife was no stick insect. She was neither his intellectual, nor cultural, equal but she had married him and given him a son to carry on the Malfoy name. One day, they would rise again.

-o0o-

The carriage door was pulled open and a girl and a boy walked in, sat down and looked at the only other occupant.

'Hello' said the girl. 'All on your own? We're quite glad we've got each other, aren't we Al? I don't think I'd like to be going to Hogwarts by myself. I see you've changed in to your robes already. I did too; I've been wanting to wear them for ages. Al hasn't put his on yet, have you Al?

I'm Rose Weasley, by the way, and this is Al Potter. He's my cousin; we've got quite a few cousins on the train, haven't we Al? Of course, his real name is Albus, after Albus Dumbledore, but everybody calls him just Al, don't they Al?'

The boy looked rather shell-shocked after such a torrent of words; probably more than he heard spoken in a day at home.

'I'm..my name is…'

'Oh, we know who you are, don't we Al? My dad told me. You're Scorpius Malfoy.' She smiled at him. 'Would you like a chocolate frog?'

It was the start of a friendship, of sorts. Scorpius got to know them mainly by default, because Rose talked incessantly all through the journey. At Hogwarts, they watched each other being sorted. Scorpius went first and, after a long delay, was sorted in to Slytherin. Al and then Rose went to Gryffindor; the hat was no quicker with them, either.

That was about it, really, for four long years. They knew each other, of course, as they attended the same lessons on occasions. It became quite obvious to the teachers that Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley were exceptional students. This was of no great surprise to those with long memories; both had at least one parent who was exceptionally gifted academically.

The two soon found themselves in a sort of rivalry to be top dog in the year, and the thought of being bested by the other was enough to persuade them to get their homework finished and revise hard for any test. This rivalry was based on true respect for each other, and they were almost as pleased with a victory for their rival as they were with their own.

-o0o-

It started to change, slightly, just before the end of the fourth year. Summer assignments had been handed out, so both children made their way to the library to draw the books they wanted to take home with them. Scorpius was walking along one of the rows, looking for a particular book when he was suddenly sent flying. From his position on the floor he looked up to see a pile of books on legs. As he watched the pile slowly fell to the floor, revealing Rose Weasley.

'Sorry!' she said. 'I couldn't see you.'

He stood up and smiled at her.

'It's OK, I'm not hurt.' There was an awkward silence. 'I was looking for a book.'

Scorpius blushed; what a stupid thing to say in a library. Why couldn't he have been witty and urbane, like some of the other boys? He was always like this; awkward and tongue tied.

She turned her head to take in the scene around her, very slowly. 'I think you may be in luck.'

She bent to pick up the books she had dropped, and he bent to help her. Their foreheads collided.

'I'm sorry!' Scorpius blushed even more. Merlin, he was such a dolt. Maybe he should just run away. She smiled at him and rubbed her brow. She could see him blush, and felt rather sorry for him.

'What book were you looking for?'

'Grewcock's "Advanced Transitional Arithmancy". I thought it might be fascinating to contrast his theories with Poulton's.' He hung his head. Brilliant, Scorpius, just brilliant! You've certainly got her interest now.

'Oh dear' said Rose. She shrugged at him and held up Grewcock's book. 'I thought of that as well. This is the only copy in here.'

'Maybe I …' 'Do you think…' They had both spoken at the same time. Scorpius indicated she should go first.

'I was going to say…maybe I could send it onto you once I've finished with it.'

'Thank you, I was going to ask if you would. I'll give you my address.'

The book was eventually carried to Scorpius by Rose's owl Theodore, with a note saying Rose had finished her essay. Scorpius sent a note back with Theodore saying it had arrived safely, and how did her essay go? She replied, and he replied and the poor owl spent all summer flying backwards and forwards between them.

-o0o-

The start of their fifth year found Scorpius and Rose yet again sharing a carriage; both wearing their new Prefect badges, and they soon found themselves discussing their essays as they took their turn patrolling the train. Unsurprisingly, nobody else joined in with them

The start of term also meant Quidditch try-outs, and Scorpius finally got the position he had coveted on the team. The previous season he had been a Chaser but now, with the previous Seeker having left, he got the prize he so desperately wanted. His father had played Seeker, as well, and Scorpius wrote home to tell him the good news.

At least, he thought at the time it was good news. In reality, it turned out to be the cause of the problem.

James Sirius Potter was now in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He was also a prefect. He was also the Seeker, and captain, of the Gryffindor team. Finally, he one of the few people at the school who enjoyed History of Magic; mainly because his father, mother and all four grandparents featured in quite a lot of it. James Potter knew the name Malfoy. Oh yes, he knew that name.

Scorpius was sat in the Great Hall having breakfast the morning after the squads had been announced. Not only had Scorpius made the team, but so had his closest friend in Slytherin. Ben Volio had kept his place as a beater, which was no great surprise. He was thick set, where Scorpius was lithe; dark where Scorpius was fair. Even better, the fixture list had been announced and they were to play Gryffindor first; beat them and the Quidditch Cup was theirs for the taking.

The elbow caught him across the back of the head just as he was taking a mouthful of pumpkin juice, causing him to choke and drop the cup on the floor.

'I hope you're better at catching a snitch than you are at holding cups.' Scorpius turned to see James smirking at him. 'Not that it makes much difference, of course. I don't think a Malfoy has ever beaten a Potter to one yet.'

Fred Weasley, as usual, was standing next to Potter. He was a beater for the Gryffindor team, and highly rated. People said he was as good as his father had been, and his poor uncle, of course. The "poor uncle" had also been called Fred, and had died a hero in the war.

Scorpius said nothing; he knew that psychology and sledging had always played a part in the game and he would have to learn to live with it.

-o0o-

The following Monday Scorpius and Ben were walking back up to the school after Quidditch practice. They had stayed on after everybody else so that Scorpius could get used to dodging Bludgers; he thought it might come in useful for their first game. They just had enough time to get something to eat if they got in to the Great Hall quickly enough.

James and Fred were on their way out; neither pair was going to give way. As they passed, a carefully placed foot sent Scorpius sprawling to the floor.

'Oh my word, Fred! Can't catch, can't control his feet! This is going to be the easiest match we've ever played!'

Ben faced James up. 'You know, I reckon I could fit a Bludger in that big mouth of yours from fifty yards.'

'Disrepect to a prefect?' James drawled. 'I could dock points for that. Now, how many?'

'Hiding behind your badge are you, Potter? I've heard your dad does that as well.'

James stiffened. Fred tapped Ben on the shoulder. 'I haven't got a badge on.'

'Of course not, Weasley, they wouldn't trust you with anything sharp.'

Within seconds Fred and Ben were rolling around on the floor. It was more handbags at five paces than a fight but James thought that, as a Prefect, he should try and break it up. Pulling Volio off by his hair seemed quite a good way of stopping it. It might have worked as well, if Scorpius hadn't slam tackled him to the floor. James was now honour bound to respond in kind.

The inevitable call went up around the Hall; 'FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!' and a small crowd gathered.

The explosion echoed off the walls, and the crowd melted away like summer snow. Scorpius stopped trying to bang James's head against the floor and looked up. James took the opportunity to swing a knee in before he, too, tried to find the source of the noise. Ben and Fred were having the same problem.

They soon found out, for walking towards them was Professor McGonagall. For a sweet white haired old lady, who needed a stick to get around, she looked remarkably fierce.

'MY OFFICE. NOW!'

-o0o-

The four stood in a line, trying to look anywhere where their Headmistress wasn't. It was a difficult job; their eyes seemed to be drawn to her. She stomped up and down in front of them; her breathing sounding more and more like a growl.

'Just take a look at yourselves.'

It was not a pretty sight. James and Ben had torn robes, shirts were pulled out, various bruises and abrasions were starting to glow red. Scorpius had trouble seeing out of his left eye, which was beginning to swell nicely; Fred had a split lip.

'Never...never in all my years of teaching have I seen such a …disgraceful display. And in the Great Hall as well!' After nearly sixty years of practice, McGonagall could do shock and outrage very well indeed.

'Despicable behaviour…and from senior pupils as well. What kind of example was that to set to the younger children? Well?' They were wise enough to know the question was rhetorical.

'Rolling around on the floor and fighting…like hoodlums!'

Now, as McGonagall knew full well, there are certain words you cannot use in front of fifteen and sixteen year old boys without making them smirk, and hoodlum is one of them. Fred caved in first.

'SO, WEASLEY, YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DO YOU? WELL, LET'S SEE WHAT WE CAN DO TO WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE, SHALL WE?

'Detentions, obviously.' She looked through her diary. 'Potter and Weasley on Wednesday, Malfoy and Volio next Monday.'

'But, Professor…' 'You can't…' 'Quidditch practice…' '…not fair…'

'SILENCE! Unless, of course, you want it to be every Wednesday and Monday for the rest of the term?' They shut up. 'And you will lose fifty house points each. In normal circumstances I would write to your parents as well. However, if your fathers got hold of these letters they would probably all be beating a path to the school to shake you by the hand. So, I will not write to your parents…'

The boys couldn't believe their luck! She wasn't going to?

'No, I will write directly to your mothers instead. Aha! I see none of you feel like grinning anymore, do you? And…YOU WILL attend breakfast in the morning.

I spent too many years of my life trying to stop Potters, Weasleys and Malfoys killing each other AND I AM NOT ABOUT TO GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN. HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR? Now, get out of my sight.'

The boys turned to the door, but she hadn't finished.

'Malfoy, Potter? Any repetition…ANY repetition…and I will have your badges. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Both of your badges, Potter.'

James blanched. Losing his prefect's badge would be bad enough, but the Quidditch captaincy? He would be duty bound to resign from the team if that happened.

Four rather nervous boys headed back to their dorms; breakfast the next day was not going to be enjoyable. They spent most of the night dreaming about red envelopes.