"Curiosity often leads to trouble."

-Alice (Alice in Wonderland)

Chapter 1 – Curiosity often leads to trouble.


The Sunday Prophet

4 years ago, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has developed a brand-new and original project of starting a new finishing-years study starting from Year 8 and extending till Year 11 or more. However, only the most talented top 100 or so are accepted every year. For students choosing this route, N.E. need not be taken unless he-she wishes to leave the school with O. after the 7th year.

4 years later, at the present, this programme has proven to be exceptionally well-approved of and significantly popular, leading students of many other schools to apply and thus, transfer, to take up the finishing-years study programme.

The programme allows students to choose specific subjects or courses they wish to pursue or continuing studying at a deeper level at the beginning of Year 8, even doing higher levels of research with well known and knowledgeable individuals of that field.

However, Hogwarts has affirmed that equal attention will be given to its current students, students starting their 1st year at Hogwarts, and finally, the students taking its finishing-year study programme.

The Ministry of Magic is extremely supportive of Hogwarts' authentic programme and wishes to see 'Many bright, young and talented graduates at the end of their studies, contributing towards the world and order of Magic'. The Ministry of Magic has also confirmed that a higher chance of esteem and chances of opportunities will be offered to students in this programme.

To all students returning to school on the morrow', please do not burn down any buildings with means of firecrackers and potions (Yes, we still remember!), good luck and all the best!

Barnabus Cuffe

"It was only that one time, that ONE time! And it was my 2nd year!" Scorpius Malfoy crushed his copy of The Sunday Prophet to his side while trying to manoeuvre his way through the crowd. "And besides," He pushed a boy (From the looks of it, probably first year) to the side so that he could pass. "You have already paid for the damages. A new building was even erected."

"Lower that preposterous voice of yours, you're making a fool of yourself."

His father, Draco Malfoy, the member of the feared and still talked about Death Eaters, was a figure to behold and to be shunned. Scorpius saw the terrified gaze of people as they walked past the father and son, he heard the hushed whispers of fear, and he took it all in. He couldn't deny that he didn't like the negative attention. He liked the power, the authority.

"Tell me again, Scorpius, why we are making this last minute run through this packed crowd of..." His father scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes. "People."

Scorpius liked to think that his father thought it was lowly to mix around with people of the wrong choice.

"We could have sent the butler."

Draco Malfoy had the Malfoy look- the white blond hair, the pale skin and sharp profile. Scorpius recalled when he looked like a much younger version of his father, when he was maybe 11. But the years had changed him, his hair had darkened, his skin tanner from Quidditch, his height and built grown significantly, but his features proved his roots.

"My uniform's a tad too loose."

The look his father gave him, he couldn't decipher.

They entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a store in Diagon Alley where students got their uniforms from. But as soon as they entered, Madam Malkin (or it may have been her daughter now, he never bothered to find out) abandoned taking measurements for another kid to attend to him instead. The parents were not at all happy.

But they did not say a word, not in the presence of a Malfoy.

Madam Malkin (or her daughter!) began fussing over him, taking his measurements and apologizing profusely that the uniform comes in general sizes and that she would tailor it to his liking.

"I'll have altered right away Mr Malfoy."

"Father," He was standing on a lifted platform facing a mirror. His father had settled into a plump red armchair beside the platform, looking undeniably bored. "You need not have accompanied me here you know."

"Save it. Your mother's still fuming since you missed the train in your troublesome 2nd year." He glanced lazily at the complaining family at the other side of the store. "Ever since then, she may not be here to send you off, but she's made me responsible for it. And by the way, you have 3 hours till your train departs."

"I overslept." Scorpius mumbled. "Sue me."

He expected a warning from his father, maybe a stern lecture, but Draco Malfoy simply looked at him with a slight smile, his eyes filled with affection. His father always looked at him with pride. It was times like this when he couldn't imagine his father as a bloodthirsty killer-member of the Death Eaters. He was the only child and he showered Scorpius with adoration though he never showed or liked to admit it.

"Listen Scorpius." His father leaned forward. "About two years ago-"

He froze. "Yes, I repeated Year 7 but I passed this time. It won't happen again."

"That's not what I meant Sc-"

He bolted for the door. Diagon Alley was still packed with last minute shoppers, mostly Hogwarts students trying desperately to get textbooks and quills. It was always last minute for many. The holidays were something to be treasured, every minute of it. Of course, Scorpius had never needed to get his necessities; he had people to do it for him. People bumped into him roughly. He shoved back.

Peasants.

He didn't want to think about what happened 2 years ago. He never wanted to go back there. He let himself get pushed along the crowd and finally stopped when the crowd released him to disperse among themselves. Scorpius just stood there, trying to breathe properly, trying to forget what he didn't want to remember.

"You can't do that."

And he forgot everything when he heard her voice. She was merely a street opposite where he was, but her back was facing him. Even through the noise of the crowd all around them, he could still hear voice- soft but unwavering.

A crazed-eyes woman with huge boils and warts carried a huge brown box in her arms. She had a long crooked nose and a hideous grin. "Sure I can Missy," Her teeth were chipped. "I did not steal. I simply picked them off the streets Missy, one by one."

She didn't even bother to negotiate. "Let them go."

The woman hissed at her, crouching in a menacing position. "They are MINE. I can eat them if I please!"

It happened so fast. The woman screeched in pain as she dropped the box conveniently into the girl's hands. She proceeded to walk away with the box but the wart-woman grabbed after her. The girl did not turn behind. She simply stopped and the woman seemingly tripped and fell to the ground.

"Don't do it again." She hugged the box closer to her and walked away again.

He was filled with mystifying curiosity. He had to see her, had to know her.

Scorpius gave chase. He found her in Eeylops Owl Emporium. He went inside, blending with the crowd that were excitedly picking out owls. The store smelled like dead rats.

And from where he stood, he finally saw her face.

She was fair, and had full lips like it was painted on. Her long dark hair fell delicately to her waist in waves. They framed her face, gave her a contrast in which her dark eyes and lashes contributed to. He never thought eyes could be this sultry. She reminded him of an antique doll, those you bought to be put on display to be admired and to beautify her surroundings. Scorpius could not comprehend such a look- a look of such dark allurement.

"You have to take them." She pushed the box on the counter to the owner of the store, an ageing man with a warm and sad smile all at the same time. "Please."

His smile was genuine. "I'm sorry Young Lady, but I sell owls, not kittens-" He then realized the loud mewing coming from the box.
Kittens?

"Are you selling little kittens too?" A redheaded girl whom Scorpius later realized was Rose Weasley approached the counter. "They're adorable!"

The store owner turned to look at the dark-haired girl as she mouthed the word 'Please'. The owner sighed before speaking to Rose Weasley. "Yes Miss, feel free to have a look."

The girl smiled at the store owner and they he nodded his thanks at her. She then picked up a quill at the counter to scribble on a piece of paper before handing it to him. This time, he couldn't hear a word she said

Rose Weasley sucked in a deep breath. "I think..." She stepped back. "I think one of them is... Dead."

The store owner rushed to the scene, scooping up in his palm a tiny white fur ball, smaller than the size of an average kitten. "Oh no." He spoke softly. "This one's a runt, the unfortunate one in a litter to usually not make it in the world." His voice was gentle. "A pity, pity."

"I think you should remove it. In case it dies and brings diseases to the others." Rose Weasley said in her I'm-the-smartest-in-the-world kind of way. The dark-haired girl gave Weasley a look that made her stumble over her next words. "I mean... I mean it's... I'm speaking... It's the truth."

Unconsciously, Scorpius smiled.

She turned to the store owner and the warm smile was on her face. She eased her hands to gently take the white kitten from the old man. The kitten was still breathing; sleeping, not dead.

"I'll take it." Once the kitten was in her arms, she hugged it closely to herself. "Thank you Mister."

As Scorpius tried to follow her out, the store owner called him to the counter.

"Malfoy?!" He ignored the Weasley.

"Young Man, the Young Lady requested for me to pass this to you."

He looked out of the shop and took the note at the same time.

She was on the opposite side of the street and the busy crowd between them. He saw her cradling the kitten in her arms. She stood out from the crowd, willowy and beguiling. She had on one shoulder, a black bag she casually slung on. Her dark eyes looked back at him. She turned her head to the side slightly.

And she was gone. She had disappeared into the crowd and gone.

He cursed silently in his mind. The note was scribbled in a pretty handwriting; the one word on the note was neat, as if it was meant to be imprinted:

Stop.