Valentine's Day was fast approaching, which, for the older students, meant constant drama. Victrola would be glad to have nothing to do with the whole messy affair, but she had discovered a deliciously lucrative side line. The Weasley Wizard Wheezes love potions and related products were selling like mad this time of year, of course. Victrola had spent some time experimenting and had developed her own line of stronger products, and offered them at a dramatically cheaper price. Now, by February thirteenth, a steady trickle of students somehow found their way to her spot on the school grounds. They were sly and furtive, seemingly under the impression that they were purchasing illegal materials of the wickedest calibre. Victrola wanted to laugh in their faces. Sure, she would be in very hot water if caught, but if she wanted to get in trouble . . . well. There were darker forms of magic, anyway.
The whole Potions thing was a drag, anyway. Brewing strong-smelling liquids in the Room of Requirement until her thick hair stuck to her neck with sweat, it was hellish. It payed well, though, and the money would tide her over while she finished her studies. The other students would buy anything from her. Dreamless Sleep, Blemish Blitzer, Calming Draught, Beautification. Something a mite stronger than Pepperup. Dogbreath for enemies. Amortentia for reluctant lovers. Valentine's season was second only to the week before exams, as far as sales went.
Victrola thought she had sold to pretty much everyone fourth year and up, directly or indirectly. The faces tended to blur together. Still, she was unprepared to see Harry Potter's son, appearing angelic to any and all witnesses, make the trek to her spot under a trailing willow.
"Er - hello. You're Petracca, right?"
She leaned back against the tree trunk, taking him in and nibbling unconsciously on the end of her wand. Untidy black hair. Harry Potter's green eyes, sans glasses. Narrow mouth, slightly pursed in self-conscious confusion. Faint smattering of freckles across the nose and cheekbones. Small body, wiry yet strong.
"I am. You must be the Potter boy."
He blinked rapidly. "I was told you usually do business anonymously."
She rolled her eyes. "Come off it, I'm selling enchanted juice, not crack."
He laughed suddenly, his entire face lighting up. "You're right. Er, sorry if I was pretentious. I'm Albus." He extended a hand.
Victrola took it, not bothering to get off the ground. WIth a slight tug at his wrist, she made him sit next to her on the grass.
"Middle name?"
"Severus. Why?"
"Interesting," she murmured. "Like Severus Snape?"
"Yes, exactly. He was my parents' teacher."
"He taught a lot of people. You know, he's my blood relative."
"Oh! How are you related?"
"Dunno exactly." She waved her wand in a vague sort of way, accidentally knocking off some of the tree's leaves. "Second cousin, third uncle, or something. Apparently I take after him."
"I believe it," the boy muttered.
Feeling a quick surge of animosity, Victrola stowed her wand and started rummaging through her bag.
"So, first-time buyer, yes? I'm guessing you didn't come here to browse."
"Got that right. I'm looking for a love potion, something really strong, you know?"
Victrola gave him a once-over. "Don't seem to need it, luv."
He blushed. "Oh, it's not for me," he stammered. "Or a girl, or anything. It's actually a prank."
Victrola leaned forward over her knees, her dark eyes glittering. "Brilliant! No one's come to me with that idea before. Oh, this is too good. Who's the chosen victim? Wait, if you tell me it's some girl who rejected you, I won't sell."
"No, not all. It's - promise you won't spoil it?"
"I swear on my father's guitar."
"Scorpius Malfoy."
She smiled in delight. "Too good, this is too good! Brilliant idea, the little bugger so deserves it."
"I know! Wait, you know him?"
"Mm. I know that he's a naive rich boy who gets off on bullying younger kids. What else is there to know?"
"He's bloody awful to my cousin. Acts like he fancies her one minute, then -"
"Insults her." She pulled out a dark red bell-shaped bottle the size of a key and handed it to Albus. "Strongest stuff I have. Since I hate Malfoy and you're named after my cousin, I'll give it to you for free. Incidentally, who is Malfoy going to fall in love with? You'll need to add a bit of her hair or something."
Albus grinned wickedly. "I was thinking of a Pygmalion sort of scenario."
"Pygmalion. It's a Muggle story," explained Rose. Her latest etxracurricular scholarly pursuit was ancient Greek mythology. "A sculptor feels himself superior to all the women where he lives, so he makes a statue of a beautiful woman out of stone. He falls in love with it, it's quite creepy. Then at the end, Aphrodite turns the statue into a real woman and Pygmalion marries her."
"How interesting," said Lily, edging surreptitiously towards the exit of the Common Room. "Rosie, I'd love to stay and chat, but Lysander absolutely promised to show me how to make a miniature fountain in the Great Lake."
"Oh, okay. Have a nice time."
Rose was well aware that her littlest cousin wasn't interested in the Pygmalion story. Sttill, it was terribly interesting from a feminist perspective, and she was dying for someone to discuss it with. Albus had seemed genuinely interested, but had promptly dashed off on some mystery "errand" that was probably fabricated.
She couldn't help thinking that she was being the tiniest bit pathetic. Usually she wasn't nearly as keen to talk about whatever she was reading. People weren't interested, so she happily read alone, or sought out Hugo if it was a topic that merited debate. Was she perhaps distracting herself because she was going to be alone on Valentine's?
She didn't have to be literally alone, but she was young, and frankly she was starting to crave a bit of romance in her life. Maybe even a little drama. Despite what she had told Albus, a teeny tiny indulgent part of herself had rather wanted Malfoy to make a move, if only for the satisfaction of turning him down. It would be something to think of, anyways.
Rose mentally slapped herself. She was so desperate, she was actually considering Malfoy?!
It was then that Rose Weasley decided she was not going to be alone on Valentine's.
She had lots of acquiantances in Gryffindor who would probably be glad to take her out to Hogsmeade tomorrow, but she was feeling capricious. She wanted someone really cute, preferably from another House.
Someone like Mark Davies, the seventh-year Ravenclaw Seeker. He had flirted a bit with Rose, the Gryffindor Seeker, after matches. From what she had heard, he was single. Davies would be the perfect arm candy for the Hogsmeade trip, if he hadn't already asked someone. Rose would seek him out at the Quidditch pitch. It would be a good opportunity to get in some flying practice, either way.
Ruby tried to warm her icy hands by rubbing them together, to no avail. Annabelle had concocted the brilliant scheme of watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice, and they were sitting alone in the bleachers. Wanting to look cute in front of Zach, her date for Hogsmeade the next day (Valentine's Day!), she had opted for a red silk headband to pull back her short, soft black curls instead of her usual fleecy hat-and-scarf. Her face was achingly cold. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to her dorm and curl up with Jane Eyre, but she couldn't just ditch Annabelle, and besides which Zach kept hopefully looking in her direction whenever he made a particularly skillful save. It felt nice, having someone try to impress her, even though she didn't really understand the appeal of his floppy sand-colored hair and vaugely ferretlike face. She clapped enthusiastically for him, trying to get the blood circulating back to her fingertips.
Rose Weasley walked onto the pitch with her broom over one shoulder. She waved a quick greeting to the two girls in the stands.
"Hi!" called Ruby, hoping that she would come talk to them before flying. She did not, but kicked off immediately. Almost as quickly, Davies dropped to hover next to her.
"What's he saying?" asked Annabelle with a strain of urgency, craning her neck.
"Maybe telling her off for flying during their practice?" said Ruby. "They are rivals, after all."
But Davies did not seem to telling her off. Rather, she laughed audibly at something he said and gave a reply.
Annabelle gasped. "They're leaving the pitch together! You don't think they're going out, do you?"
Ruby had no reply, especially when Davies nudged Rose's shoulder in a playful manner.
"This is just too awful," groaned Annabelle. "I'm going to go back to the castle, eat loads of chocolate, maybe sing some heartbreak music. You in?"
Ruby hid a smile behind her hand. Annabelle 'fell in like' quickly and often, usually with Quidditch players, and got over them remarkably fast. She generally thought it was good to put on a face of heartbreak for a few hours, if only to show the proper respect for her rotating cast of crushes.
"Totally." Ruby hopped gratefully off the bleachers and was on the point of following her friend when another boy dropped from the sky.
"Um, leaving already?"
"Oh, hey, Zach," said Ruby. "Yes, we're getting pretty cold."
She hadn't meant it as a flirtatious comment, but Zach gallantly put an arm around her shoulders.
"Feeling warmer, babe?" he said, with more than a touch of awkward bravado. The other players, their practice halted without a Seeker and a Keeper, started clapping mockingly.
"You go, Smith!" called some smartass.
Ruby felt her face heat up and was, for the second time in three days, immensely grateful that she was too dark to blush. She felt paralyzed, too self-conscious to push him away. It was highly unpleasant, being crushed against a sweaty, smelly male.
Annabelle coughed, breaking the moment. Ruby gently shrugged off Zach.
"Haha, very cute. Seriously, we're going back inside."
His hurt-puppy expression sent a twinge of guilt through Ruby, and she decided to do damage control by smiling coyly. "Nice flying, by the way. You looked great up there . . . babe."
If she had been feeling bolder (and maybe slightly less disgusted), she might have pressed a kiss to his cheek, but as it was she and Annabelle made a hasty retreat.
"You two are the cutest!" said Annabelle.
"Are we?" asked Ruby distractedly.
"Total cutest. You are such a great couple. He's all awkward, and you're totally sweet."
"Really?" she said, taken aback by this perception.
"Um, yeah. I meant," Annabelle backtracked, "he's, like, cute-awkward, like he likes you but doesn't know how to express it that well."
"I thought he was just being thick," said Ruby offhandedly.
"No, he's a Ravenclaw, right? He has to be pretty smart. I bet he's, like, book-smart, but awkward around cute girls," explained Annabelle.
"You can sense all that?" marvelled Ruby. Annabelle shrugged, smiling shyly.
"I notice things . . . especially things about cute Quidditch players! Oh, don't worry Rube, I would never steal your man," she said.
"As if I would let you!" joked Ruby, feeling more jovial now that reading Jane Eyre next to the fire was an immediate possibility.
Albus woke early on the morning of February fourteenth, keen to put his devious plan into action.
He had asked Petracca some follow-up questions about the mechanics of her custom potion, and apparently it could work with inanimate objects as well as humans. He just needed a bit of the object Malfoy was to fall in love with.
Petracca was . . . intense, in a way that Albus found scary and a tiny bit appealing. He would not want to be on the receiving end of her revenge, but having her on his side was exhilarating. Was this the power rush that James got when he planned a prank? It was delicious, and dangerously addictive.
As he reached the statue of Helga Hufflepuff - which stood meditatively in the alcove near the Muggle Studies classroom - Albus paused. Malfoy was a pretentious little prick, yes, but did he deserve this?
In the time leading up to Quidditch matches, when rival teams would try to intimidate, mess with, and even threaten the petite Gryffindor, she was cool and uncaring, outright laughing in their faces sometimes. Marie Zabini's snide comments about her bushy masses of red hair and flat chest never bothered her. And yet when Malfoy found some new words to throw at Rose, she was hurt every. Single. Time. Albus never failed to notice the pain in her expressive brown eyes, and it cut at him. Deep down, she must really care something for the blonde bastard, and let it really bother her when he attacked her.
Oh, yes, he deserved every bit of this. Albus determinedly scraped a small pile of stone flakes from the statue with his fingernail, then tipped the fine grey powder into the little red bottle. It flashed gold for an instant, then was dark again. He replaced the stopper and went to the Great Hall to join the others for breakfast. He and Petracca had it pre-arranged. She would create some distraction at the Slytherin table, and his hand would slip over Malfoy's goblet.
Nicky set off down the corridor at a trot. Scorpius was behaving very oddly. He had said some incoherent things at breakfast, then practically sprinted out of the room.
He was out of sight, and she had no idea where he was going. She broke into a run.
After five minutes of Scorpius-free running, Nicky stopped. She was winded, disoriented, and cross. She had been planning to enjoy St. V's Day by going down to Hogsmeade with the rest of the school. There, she and Scorpius were supposed to get a few Butterbeers at the Hog's Head and party it up like true singles, but now he had sent her off on some wild goose chase. Probably some idiot had slipped him a potion.
The portraits were muttering judgemental remarks. She turned to an oil painting of a young woman with an equally long-faced horse.
"Have - have you seen a boy run past here? Blond, really fit, with sort of a stupid face?"
The painting tittered. "Running after a boy, on Valentine's Day? There are better ways to catch a man, dearie."
Nicky was on the point of formulating a retort about the painting not knowing what she was talking of, having never gotten any man action in the century or so she had been in existence, but it was pointless.
"He's just my friend. Please, he might be in real trouble."
The painting made a tut noise. "Yes, alright, he went past here a few minutes ago. There aren't going to be any more young people dashing by here, are there? Because Lancelot here gets very startled."
In the time it took her to figure out the painting was talking about her horse, Nicky was running again and had already turned the corner.
She finally caught him, in some obscure part of the castle near the Muggle Studies classroom.
"Ugh, mon dieu, you're fast for such a skinny little bastard. Guess it's all the Quidditch. How long were you planning on running, eh?" she panted, leaning against the wall. "You didn't even take the most exact route, this walk only takes a few minutes if you just cut across that one courtyard."
Socrpius turned around, a mad light shining in his grey eyes. "A faster route? I wasted such time! Anything to get to you faster, my loveliest treasure."
"Whaaa . . . ?"
Scorpius turned around again and began lightly carressing the face of the statue.
"Oh, my dear, dear, sweet Helga. Why did I never before notice your beauty? Well, I had never seen you 'till today, but . . . years were wasted, my sweet! We could have had so much more time together, but now we can have forever . . . I was drawn magnetized to you, and now our bond will never break." He rubbed his face against the stone. "Our own little paradise, right here. I will never leave you, light of my life."
Nicky felt physically ill. "You are fucking insane," she spat.
Scorpius didn't notice her, he was so intent on gradually working his fingers around the statue's substantial waist.
"It's okay, kitten whisper. You are the most special thing in my life. I'm so lucky to have you, baby." He kissed its cheek, its forhead, finally its unmoving rock mouth. "Helga . . ."
"Scorpius! Scor?!" He hated it when she called him Scor, and still he didn't respond. His tongue was on the statue. Fighting down a second wave of nausea, Nicky continued her efforts to get his attention. "MALFOY!"
He left off licking Helga Hufflepuff, at least.
Losing what little patience she had retained, Nicky wrapped arms around his torso and pulled his away.
"MALFOY! Listen to me! You! Are! Insane!"
He was far stronger than her and wrestled her off easily. The demonic glint was still dominating his eyes. "Nicky, I think I'm in love!" He laughed madly, throwing her off him, and embraced the Hufflepuff statue again, murmuring sweet nothings to it.
Nicky shook her head. "I need help."
It took her some time to track down the slimy weirdo called Petracca, but she did it.
"It's a love potion, and a really, really, strong one at that. You probably sold it," she said with a significant note of accusation, "so you have to be able to fix this."
"Sure. Who's the lucky . . . oh." They rounded the corner, and the seventh year smirked when she saw Scorpius making out with the statue.
"Yes, I am familiar with this particular potion."
"Did you sell it?" demmanded Nicky. She wanted revenge on whoever had given it to him.
"Maybe," she said, shrugging one slouching shoulder.
Nicky could have strangled her right there if she wasn't Scorpius's only hope of an antidote.
"Can you cure him, or not?"
The other girl's dark eyes flashed. "Of course I can, do I look like an amateur? I even have the stuff on me, everyone's going to be dying for an antidote today . . . I can't work with an audience, though. Clear off." She waved her hand dismissively.
"What? I'm not just leaving him!"
"If you're his girlfriend, I really couldn't care less. Sod off."
"We're not dating."
"I repeat: I couldn't care less. Leave, now. Go trot around Hogsmeade or something."
Reluctant to argue with the only person at Hogwarts who could her best friend's mad obsession, Nicky rolled her eyes pointedly, muttered something about perverts under her breath, and left.
Victrola had no intention whatsoever of curing the Malfoy git - not right away, at least. Potter had chosen a rather out-of-sight area of the castle, but this humiliating spectacle deserved some attention.
