A/N: Vicky is Victoire. Nicky is Dominique. Awww, Vicky and Nicky.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.
October 12th, 2017
Quidditch season has started. The Gryffindor team is having its tryouts today, and both James and Freddie are trying out. Freddie is trying out for beater. James is trying out for both beater and chaser. Personally, I've seen him chase, and he's abysmal. He is going to make a fool of himself. I'm definitely planning to go watch. Rosie is itching with jealousy. She really misses Quidditch, and she's right to. She's possibly the best chaser in the family.
We are at the pitch now, and I'm sitting with Scorpius to my left and Rosie to my right. Scorpius is now officially the third best mate. When I asked Rosie, she said: "I'd been getting a bit sick of only you as a best mate, actually."
"Well, so had I," I said wittily.
When we found Scorpius after that, we grabbed one of his arms each and marched him to a corner of the common room, much to his bemusement.
"Scorpius," I hissed secretively. "Rosie and I discussed it, and we think…" I glanced at Rosie.
"We would like it if you joined us in eternal best-matehood," Rosie said, a bit dramatically, I thought. Scorpius's dimples began to show.
"I would be honoured," he said, looking both amused and delighted. "Is there a ceremony?"
"Of course," Rosie said briskly. "Repeat after me: I, Scorpius,"
"I, Scorpius," said Scorpius.
"Pledge to uphold the values of eternal best-matehood and be a loyal member of this sacred and marvelous group 'til death and perhaps beyond," said Rosie, coming up with the words on the spot, seeing as we haven't ever added new best mates to our twosome before. Scorpius repeated the words, and then Rosie grabbed one of his blond hairs, plucked it off his head and tossed it into the air like some demented witch doctor, chanting "Scorpius, new best mate, welcome," over and over again as it floated downwards, stopping only when it touched the ground. My family is insane.
Scorpius has turned towards me.
"D'you think you'll try out for Quidditch next year?" he says.
"Course," I say. "Will you?"
"Might," Scorpius says, turning back to watch a chaser hopeful. There are only two openings on the team this year, one for beater and one for chaser.
"What position?" Scorpius asks, sounding curious.
"Seeker," I say. When you play years of Quidditch with your family, you end up finding yourself a position, sticking to it, and getting quite good at it. I've known I'm a better seeker than anything else since I was seven or so. "What about you?"
"Dunno. I thought about trying out for Seeker too," says Scorpius. I hope he tries out for something else too. I don't want to have to beat him at next years Quidditch tryouts. He's a mate.
"You're so arrogant," he says, smirking at me. He's read what I just wrote.
"Don't look into my journal," I tell him.
"You're writing everything we say, as we say it?" he asks incredulously.
"Yeah," I tell him. He's snorting now.
Scorpius wouldn't let me write for a bit, but it's James's turn to try out for chaser, and I must chronicle it. One of the other chasers has thrown the Quaffle at him. He has caught it, but now he's off balance. He flies in the wrong direction for several seconds, before swerving and going towards the goal. If this were a real match, a Bludger'd have knocked him right off his broom by now. Nicky, who is the other Gryffindor chaser, and who is opposing James in the tryout, flies up and easily grabs the Quaffle out of James's hands. He looks furious and chases her, but she's already scored. I don't think I need to watch any more to know that James will not be getting next year's chaser position. I'm going to stop writing now until the beater tryouts start.
It has begun. Freddie is going first. He's fairly decent. His aim is good, and he seems to have a good control over the Bludgers. He makes a very good defensive Beater. James has gone on now. He's decent too. The thing about James is that he really keeps an eye on the game, so he can foil the opposing team's Seeker before they catch the Snitch, or a Chaser before they score. He makes a cracking offensive Beater. James and Freddie make a cracking team, too. I'm almost sure they'll be chosen.
They have been chosen. James, Freddie and Nicky have come to the stands to greet us. James is being insufferable, and Freddie is no better. Nicky is eyeing them half exasperatedly, and half in amusement.
"Come on, you lot, let's go to dinner," she says, herding us all together in an affectionate, motherly way.
October 20th, 2017
James and Freddie have just done an astounding thing. They have invited me, Rosie and Scorpius to help them set up a prank for Halloween. I am flabbergasted. Freddie says he thinks we have potential as pranksters, judging by the ways we find to get them back for the dirty tricks they pull on us. Rosie is rubbing her hands together in glee. Large-scale mayhem is right up her street. The thing about Rosie is that she exudes an angelic aura. She looks a lot like her mum, her face is earnest and serious. She has perfected her "responsible and mature" look, on top of that, so people, adults especially, trust her without a second thought. But Rosie is downright evil. James is a prankster, but he's a bit of a bumbling idiot. Freddie has a bit more finesse, but he's got scruples, which is unfortunate. Rosie simply does not have a conscience. Come to think of it, she'd make a good Slytherin. So would I, according to the Sorting Hat, but I'd rather not talk about that.
Anyway, Rosie is the master of executing a plan. Scorpius's talents lie in spotting other peoples' weaknesses. While, me, I'm good at thinking of things to do to people to make them wish they'd never been born. I think I have a bit of a cruel streak, just like Rosie has a dishonest streak, and Scorpius has a critical streak. Maybe that Sorting Hat was right. But I'd really rather not talk about it. At least, not today.
October 31st, 2017
We have set everything up for our Halloween prank. Now we simply need to trigger it off and watch as chaos abounds. Rosie's going to do the triggering, of course. James didn't want to let her at first.
"I don't want to leave the important stuff to the titches," he said. But Freddie made him let us.
"I want to see what they can do," he told him. "We should know their capabilities so we can use them to their full capacity, don't you think?"
Hah. Use us. What do those two idiots think we are? Stupid? Brainless? The moment we have finished this prank, that will be the end of our collaboration, you mark my words. Even though I am still dead chuffed that we're allowed to be part of this prank at all. But it shall be the last!
Rosie has set off the WWW Batboxes. We set up about six, and each produces about twenty enchanted bats that last for at least two hours. There are bats ALL over the place. Professor McGonagall has fainted. Professor Flitwick and Professor Ogden are trying to Vanish the bats, but they're Wheezes, and stuff like Vanishing never works on their products. While the teachers are occupied, James and Freddie have set off all the Portable Graveyards. There are gravestones everywhere, and some have hands reaching out of them and flailing about. Uncle George is a genius.
Girls are shrieking, it is quite amusing. Scorpius is flashing me his tight-lipped grin, his dimples out rather prominently. He looks very jolly, I can't help but smile back. He is rolling his eyes because I'm writing in this journal near-constantly. I don't see what he has to complain about. I don't write in it every day. Only, the days I do write, I get a bit obsessive about it. But I know my writing will be invaluable to the children of the future, so I must do it for them.
November 7th, 2017
I am in History of Magic. I am perhaps one of the few who doesn't die of instant boredom when they enter this classroom. Firstly, because I like history. It's true. I even like the Goblin Rebellions. I suppose it's because Aunt Hermione's in the DMLE, and they're working on cooperation between magical beings, and that entails all sorts of awareness-raising between different cultures of magical being. So I've learnt a whole lot of stuff about Goblin culture and psychology. Aunt Hermione is Rosie's mum, so she ought to be knowledgeable on this sort of thing too, but she's fast asleep. But Rosie's impossible to understand anyway, so I won't question it.
Professor Binns is teaching us. He is a ghost; apparently he has been teaching here since 1902, and as a ghost since 1935. I wrote about him in a letter to Mum and Dad, and they sent me condolences with their replies. It was hilarious. I like Professor Binns, though. There's nothing like a teacher who thoroughly enjoys his subject. Even though he calls me 'Parfitt'.
Ghosts are made of ectoplasm, aren't they? I don't know, I'm just curious. Teddy told me once that the sun is going to implode in something something billion years, and the earth will be destroyed. And he said that one day, the Universe itself will collapse upon itself and cease to exist. All matter will be destroyed. But ghosts aren't really matter, are they? Ectoplasm isn't matter, I'm quite sure. So where will the ghosts be when the Universe self-destructs? I know that the Universe isn't all there is, because there is the plane on which the dead exist. I know, because Dad says he has talked to his dead parents. He told me when my pet kneazle died when I was nine. I know it's possible that he was just saying this to make me feel better, but I know my dad wouldn't say something as out there as "I have spoken with dead people" if it weren't the gospel truth. Dad doesn't encourage misleading people, even kids.
The thing is, a plane where the dead exist is an irrational concept. Only, so is magic itself, and we know magic exists. The plane of the dead is, essentially linked to magic by irrationality. And I think things that are irrational are probably the safest, because the rational Universe is capable of being destroyed by a perfectly rational series of phenomena. But the plane of the dead is safe. Nothing can touch it, because it defies all logic, and doesn't follow any rules.
I really should think a lot less. I have a headache. I think I'll annoy Scorpius for a little while so that my mind can regain a state of normalcy.
Scorpius does not appreciate my poking his textbook with my wand. It has started to do a jig. Professor Binns has not batted an eyelid so far.
November 14th, 2017
I am at Potions. The Professor is a short, dumpy lady called Professor Belby. She seems pleasant, even though she keeps rubbing her hands together in what I can only assume is glee at the joy of tossing bits and pieces into a cauldron. Somehow, I get the feeling I won't like Potions. Dad was always ridiculous at them, apparently, and even now all he can make from memory is a very plain, regulation Pepper Up.
"Y'know," Rose whispers to me. "The 'Severus' in your name comes from our parents' Potions Master."
I nod, because Dad has told me this on more than one occasion, and I have seen a portrait of his. Dad talked to it, but I was too afraid to. I must've been about seven. I don't think I would've liked Severus Snape much. He had this extremely frightening hooked nose, it was ghastly and haunted my nightmares for a few nights after that. And he was so snide and just, so… unpleasant, I suppose. I know he did some good things, some exceptionally good things in the whole Voldemort war thing, but somehow, I feel as though if he hadn't done those things, nobody would've missed him much after his death. Dad would kill me if he read this; he's very big on respecting dead war heroes. And you can tell by my middle name exactly how much he respects Severus Snape.
I have an awful set of names though. Albus Severus Potter. Have you ever heard anything as pompous sounding? I bet I could make a lovely ministry official. Something that requires me to kiss a lot of peoples' behinds. Like the 'Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic' or something equally poncy. You know who else has a perfectly disgusting set of names? Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. It just screams 'junior toilet maintenance official whose parents got above themselves a bit!' I must show him this. He will hit me.
He has hit me. It was worth it.
November 24th, 2017
We are at lunch, and Scorpius has just announced that it is his birthday. Blithering idiot. If he had told us in time, we might've got him a present or two, maybe thrown a party in the common room. Rosie is improvising. She has turned our barely-used wizard hats upside down to resemble party hats, and strung our ties about on the chairs to resemble decoration. She is now sticking candles into the jelly that was served as dessert today. I don't know where she got the candles from, but Rosie is the resourceful sort.
Our family is embarrassing Scorpius terribly by singing "Happy Birthday" extremely loud and off-key. I bet he regrets ever befriending Rosie and me. He has gone pink, although his dimples are out.
We are in our dormitory now. We bid the rest of the family good night, and Rosie gave Scorpius her new quill because she felt awkward not having giving him any presents. Scorpius was chuffed, although he tried to tell her that she didn't have to give him anything. I suppose I should give him something too. He is changing into his nightclothes. I have already changed, and am rooting through my trunk. I hope I can find something that I can give him, before he clambers into bed and draws the hangings shut.
I found something. It was a book Auntie Hermione gave me on my birthday. I have barely touched it. It is called Hogwarts: A History. I hope he likes it. Then at least someone will be reading it.
I have given it to Scorpius. I told him it was the only thing I could find in my trunk that was in a presentable condition. He seemed pleased. He tried to feed me all that rubbish about not needing to give him anything again, but I brushed it off. He is a best mate now, and must be treated like one.