Hello again!

Thanks for the lovely reviews! See? It pays already: I was so happy I sat and wrote chapter 2 and there it is!

Disclaimer : oh I wish I had the talent and the imagination to write Harry Potter but unfortunately, only JK Rowling has. In a nutshell : not mine. I don't own the songs I quote in the titles either. Look them up, they're real good!

Lady lights a cigarette
Puffs away, no regrets
Takes a look around, no regrets, no regrets

(Regina Spektor, Lady)

The mecanical alarm clock rings off and I immediately reach for my wand and wave it to silence the damn thing. It's a Muggle device Grandpa Weasley has given me last summer – so I wouldn't forget to wake up and sit for my OWLs. Naturally, I have done brilliantly – I may be a rebel according to my family (and, sometimes, Headmistress McGonagall), but I've never lost my appetite for competition. I just keep the alarm clock on my nightstand because it is a reminder of Arthur Weasley, the quirkiest, sweetest Muggle-loving old wizard I have ever met.

It's seven o'clock. The day before was eventful and I definitely need more sleep. But it's the first day of school and I just can't be late for the beginning of my sixth year at Hogwarts. Classes start at nine, and I have a lot of catch-up to do with my friends before.

I roll on my belly, sweep my red hair away from my face and look around. My roomates are still sleeping soundly in their four-poster beds. Closest to me, my friend Lana has almost all her face covered with a curtain of her thick, chocolate-brown hair. I can't help but smile: she's such a big sleeper. I know today is going to be really hard for her.

I stretch my arm and grab the framed photograph that sits on my nightstand next to the clock.

That's me with my other best friend.

A best friend trickier to introduce to my parents – the kind of best friend Ron Weasley took years to accept and to talk to when he came at the Burrow during the holidays.

On the photograph, I have my arms wrapped around Scorpius Malfoy's waist and he has an arm around my shoulders. We are laughing out loud at something - laughing so much i'm almost collapsing on him. I can't remember what we were laughing about, but by the look on our faces and the sparkle in our eyes, it was really funny, or we were just really happy.

Scorpius's untidy blond hair falls in his eye - and my eyes are alight with joy. I love this photograph – it is probably my favourite picture in the whole world – because it's the epitome of our friendship. It says everything about me and Scorpius: our physical closeness without ambiguity, our spiritual bond, our adoration for each other. When we are together, every minute is like this picture. Scorpius, who usually looks so serious, as if an indelible sadness had left its mark on him, is always bright and happy with me.

And it makes me feel special too.

Lana is my best girlfriend, but Scorpius is my very best friend. Actually, he's more – he's like a soulmate, like a missing part of me, someone who sometimes understands me better than I do. The thing I have felt the day we've met is still going on: we don't need to speak sometimes, we just know what the other is thinking. He's the only one who can make me laugh when I'm sad, and I'm the only one who can cheer him up when he's depressed. Despite our differences – one look at the photograph sums them all up – our relationship is still as sparky and intense as in its first days.

It's unusual to have such a friend. I know it. And I only value our friendship more.

Moreover, spending time – nearly all my time, to be exact – with Scorpius has made me change. But in a good way. I feel peaceful when he's around. He progressively cured me from my restlessness. I still hate to be ordered around, to be imposed with mindless rules, and I've certainly set a record of detentions in my first years at Hogwarts that could made Uncle George proud. But his patience, his calm manners, his way of speaking his mind after carefully thinking about what he has to say taught me to be more humble and mature. Which is very un-Slytherin of him (yet although I've never had a doubt about why I am in Slytherin, I sometimes wonder why he has been Sorted in this House). He helped me grow out of the state of permanent rebellion I was in when I first arrived at Hogwarts. He made me grow up along with him and it felt incredibly good and natural. And so there we are now. Six years later. Still friends, only just a little older and smarter.

After one last look at the picture, I get up quietly and get dressed, putting on my school robes – deep Slytherin green with a silver snake blazon – over my jeans and Tshirt. In front of the mirror I give my unruly red curls a quick brush – they bounce around my face like springs – I take my school bag and walk down the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon.

Before going to Hogwarts – and before being Sorted in Slytherin – I had always imagined the Slytherin Common Room as a dark, mildewed cave lit by melting candles, an eerie place where no one in their right minds would want to hang out. One look at it the first night I arrived was enough to make me change my mind. Either the Room has always been so surprisingly light and cheerful, or the Slytherins after the War wanted to make it a more attractive place to live, but our Common Room is beautiful, majestic and cosy. Even James and Albus, who had reluctantly agreed to let me show them around the Slytherin dungeon during my first year, had liked it (I believe 'It's okay' were James's terms and that 'Slytherin doesn't seem so bad right now' were Albus's).

This morning, a soft September light is warming the velvet green and silver Slytherin banners that cover the walls of the Common Room, and the rays of light coming from the mezzanine windows are sparkling with golden dust particles. Walking down the hardwood stairs as quitely as possible, I let out a sight of comfort. It's good to be back home – my real home, the one I have chosen, the one that's chosen me.

No one is there except a familiar blond. My heart gives an unexpected leap of surprise and joy in my chest.

'Hello, pretty boy,' I say, walking past him, mussing his hair as a way to say 'Good morning', and I let myself fall in one of the big, comfortable armchairs in front of his.

'Hello, fair lady,' he says without looking up from his book, but the crooked smile playing on his lips tells me he just dies to tease me a little bit more than this.

'Well, in my case, fair is probably not an appropriate adjective after the holidays,' I say, pointing at my sun-kissed, freckled cheekbones.

He looks up at me and snorts. 'Are you actually tanned, Rose? I didn't know it was possible. Didn't notice yesterday evening, but then again the candlelight really doesn't do justice to your new complexion.'

How can someone be mocking and kind at the same time? Only Scorpius achieves that look. He's always picked on my freckles, which paradoxically helped me get over what I thought was an ugly skin problem over the years. I laugh with him about them now.

Still chuckling, I take a few seconds to take in his appearance. I haven't seen him since the end of July when he left the Burrow to go back to his parents' and he still seems to have grown several more inches since then. He's got the tall, slender, fit body that suits his aristocratic features – nothing too square, too muscular, too obvious, too… Gryffindor. His skin is pale and flawless – I've envied him for that beyong measure since I've met him – and his hair, usually dirty-blond, has turned almost platinum with the summer sun, and reminds me of the Scorpius I met exactly six years ago.

He turns a page of his book and I snap out of my contemplation. Weird. I've never really paid too much attention to how Scorpius looks. I know he looks good, that's all. I must still be a little sleepy.

To change the subject – and to dismiss the awkward feeling, I resume our conversation:

'But let's talk about you, Scorp: what're you reading?'

'It's a Muggle book,' he says. His answer is short, but the tone of his voice is inviting.

'I didn't know Malfoys were allowed to own Muggle books, let alone read them.'

'Let me tell you, Miss Weasley, that all Malfoys are not narrow-minded, anti-Muggle pricks.'

'I know that,' I say softly. 'My friends are always the best, and it's only natural that I picked the best Malfoy.'

'I'm flattered.'

'So, what's the book?'

'It's Dostoievski. Crime and Punishment.'

'Ooh. Sounds fun.'

'Well…' He looks up at the ceiling, then straight down in my eyes, a strand of blond hair falling in his face – the way he always does when he gets ready to explain something very simple to his slightly dim-witted red-haired friend, 'it's not exactly fun. It's… philosophical. It's about a man who seeks to prove the existence of God by comitting the unspeakable. According to him, if he gets punished, it will prove that God's justice exists, thus the very existence of God. Of course things won't work his way, and then you have your story.'

'That's what I said: fun.'

'No. Beautiful.'

And he resumes his reading. I can't help but smile tenderly at him. I love it when he tries to explain things to me: he is always so serious and he rarely gets the implied sarcasm in my voice. Once more, I wonder how Scorpius, who can sometimes be so genuinely pure and innocent, can have been Sorted in the same house as me, who is always sarcastic and self-deprecating. But then again, I'm not going to question the decision of the Sorting Hat. I would have never met such a fantastic friend otherwise.

'I'm going to go upstairs for breakfast, would you like to come?'

He doesn't answer right away, takes the time to finish the page he's reading. Then he puts the book down.

'Sure.'

He gets up and he's indeed towering over me – I mean, a lot more higher than when I left him last July. Didn't notice it yesterday, I was just so happy to see him and to be back. I admire his shiny blond hair, his crisp white shirt perfectly cut under his deep green blaser - a perfect Slytherin look, if you ask me – and as always I'm proud to be his friend. He's not the most popular boy at Hogwarts, sure. That's because he's quiet and slightly mysterious and doesn't let people approach him easily - and, to be franck, no Slytherin wants to be popular anyway. But he's the smartest, the most beautiful (I mean, please take a look at his straight, thin nose and his perfectly shaped cheekbones. The boy is indeniably handsome) and the most interesting, and he has chosen me to be his friend. I never say that out loud, of course, but it fells great.

And, as we walk side by side on our way to the Great Hall, laughing and telling each other about our summer holidays, I am happy. Happy about the perfect year I'm going to spend at Hogwarts thanks to Scorpius. Another fantastic, ecstatic, special year.

Little do I know that the cause of the miserable year I am actually about to live is, in fact, Scorpius Malfoy.

That was just the setting, but I hope you liked it anyway. More action in the next chapter...

Reviews are welcome! Reviews = faster updates due to writer's enthousiasm! You get the drill.