a/n i would give up walking for skipping if it was more practical.
Chapter Three - Ophidiophobia
Study Hall was easily Albus' favourite part of the day. It wasn't because he needed the class time to work or revise or whatever nonsense the other students got up to. His marks were spotless but it was the principal of the thing.
Usually the room was deathly silent save for the scratching of quills on parchment but today Madame Pince had excused herself from class, trusting that the students could tend to themselves.
Thus, the room was abuzz with conversation.
Albus was prepared for that. He had always possessed certain talent for blocking out the world especially when armed with reading material. What he wasn't prepared for was the boy who, without warning or introduction, seated himself next to him. He sat close enough that their thighs pressed together. Albus cringed at the unnecessary contact.
As if that wasn't bad enough the boy had the audacity to speak to him. "Word on the street is you're pretty clever."
Albus didn't respond and refused to meet the other boy's gaze. He already knew it was Wickham Turner – Fifth Year Slytherin, son of Mo Turner: imprisoned, low-end thief - and decided that no good could come of prolonged exposure.
"Wickham Turner. I do not appreciate being interrupted."
Turner just grinned like a madman. "You know who I am. Nice, very nice."
"I know everybody." With anyone else this might come off as arrogant but with Albus that wasn't the case. His memory simply refused to let him forget a name or a face.
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing some consulting work," Turner continued.
Albus knew his classmates didn't take his sharp witticisms very well and in many cases, reacted violently. He'd discovered that running about and throwing hexes wasn't for him. In light of this he refrained from issuing a biting retort and hoped Turner would leave on his own.
"Albus Potter, fancy seeing you here. And with a book no less. Colour me surprised." Rilian sang rather than spoke the words as she skipped to Albus' side. "And who is this? Have you actually managed to stay civil long enough to make, gasp, a friend?"
"He's not supposed to be here," came the reply. And it was true, the Slytherin was a year ahead of them and therefore in the wrong class.
"So he was just leaving?" she asked as she slid into the seat across from Albus. She stared at the intruder, her eyes sparkling with unspoken threats. Unlike her best friend she had no problem with hexes or causing general mayhem.
Finally the awkward, slightly menacing tension grew to be too much for Turner and he made to leave. But, of course, not without reminding them he was still an annoying gnat. "Er so yeah. If you change your mind just come find me." With that he scurried from the room and back from whence he came. The Slytherin Common Room, to be exact. He rationalised the abrupt exit as 'regrouping' but it wasn't likely his partner would see it that way.
"I can't believe you couldn't even get him to talk to you. Some charmer you turned out to be." Luc Toulour had been mocking his friend's failed attempt at coercing Albus Potter for the better part of an hour.
Wickham wanted to protest but he thought better of it. Besides, what kind of con man was he if he couldn't even wrap a little Fourth Year around his older, wiser finger? The failure kind, obviously. And Luc would see that that wasn't forgotten.
From the other side of the common room Scorpius Malfoy scoffed. Over confident buffoons like them is what gave the Slytherin House a bad name.
"Got a problem there, Malfoy?" Wickham snipped, finally tired of Malfoy's unwanted commentary. "This is a private conversation."
"Fuckin' tossers," Malfoy cursed under his breath. "Albus Potter is stone cold brilliant." He punctuated every word as if brutally stabbing it. "You can't flip your hair, bat your eyelashes and expect him to come tottering after you like a blushing school girl."
"Think you could do better then, do you?" Luc growled.
Scorpius laughed. He hadn't actually meant to push them this far and he knew he should just back down and leave them to it. But the anger that radiated from them basically demanded he keep on.
"Yes, actually. I think I can." Sure, he didn't exactly know what they were planning but he was a Malfoy and Malfoys never failed.
Well, almost never.
"Fetch the Potter boy then. Convince him of how great you are if you're so confident."
"What are you half-wits planning to do with him?" Scorpius asked with forced apathy.
"Bring him to us and maybe then we'll let you in on our little scheme." Scorpius felt ill. He hated the word 'scheme'. It sounded so plebeian.
"We could either continue this absurd run-around or you could just tell me now and save a bit of time," Scorpius drawled as he took to examining his nails. He'd broken one in Potions today and for the life of him couldn't find his nail file. He knew he shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning.
Luc looked at Wickham who looked at Luc and they silently conversed. Things weren't going to plan but that didn't have to be a bad thing. If they could get Malfoy in on it then they would have a fall guy if things happened to go south. Malfoys made such excellent scapegoats.
The silent deliberations concluded and they nodded to each other. Luc delivered the news. "Tomorrow, after class. Meet us in the library. We'll discuss it then."
Scorpius sneered. Nothing was quite as amusing as amateurs pretending their school yard pranks were equivalent to the Big Time.
"Fine, I'll see you then." He collected his bag from his chair and started toward the door, pausing to lean on the doorframe.
"Don't let all this planning get in the way of your Potions essay. Befuddlement Draught, tricky stuff. And Professor Borage would be so disappointed if you let your extracurricular activities get in the way of your studies." And with that Scorpius was gone.
Wickham swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to speak. "Um so c-correct me if I'm wrong, but we d-do have a P-potions essay due tomorrow, yeah?" Luc nodded in agreement. "On Befuddlement Draught?" Another nod. "A-and Malfoy is a y-year below us, not in our class, not even in the d-dungeons on the same day?" This time Luc gulped audibly.
They stood frozen, wondering what in Salazar's name they had just gotten themselves in to.
Everyone knew that Albus Potter practically lived in the library. It was partly because he went through reading material like the rest of them went through Honeydukes sweets and partly because he was a walking cliché. Scorpius figured it would be easy; find the boy, woo the boy, convince the boy to plan dastardly deeds with him. Unfortunately when one is dealing with Albus Potter things rarely go as planned.
You see, Albus had this clingy little friend who was decidedly on the side of good. This friend, Scorpius knew, would never in a million years allow him to fall into Scorpius' evil clutches. It was all very inconvenient but nothing Scorpius couldn't work with.
He was nothing if not a very patient lad.
Day after day he sat in the library and watched Albus read for hours on end with little Cunningham planted firmly at his side.
It was rather dull work but on the bright side he was getting an obscene amount of homework done. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd finished an essay before the day it was due.
And so went his life, until one late Friday afternoon when Albus was mysteriously without his pesky counterpart. Scorpius could have danced a jig if it weren't so terribly undignified. With as much casual aloofness as he could muster he strolled up behind the armchair Albus occupied.
Logically he should have had a Plan of Attack, Malfoys always had plans. But the moment had snuck up on him and he wasn't likely going to waste such an opportunity. He figured he would just wing it. Probably not the best of ideas, given who his target was. But as Malfoys always had plans the also always underestimated their opponents. There was no arguing with genetics. Although he knew all of this he kept walking, determined.
"A book, how novel," he said from behind Albus' armchair, chuckling at his own joke.
Scorpius expected the boy to jump or cry out in surprise. He seemed easily excitable.
There was no response.
"What is it today? Numerology? Advanced Potions? The Encyclopedia of Mushrooms, perhaps?"
Again, nothing.
The minutes ticked by slowly and Scorpius grew increasingly awkward. He fidgeted, rocking back and forth on his feet. Just as his stubbornness was about to give out Albus spoke.
"Nothing so exciting," he said, lifting the book over his head so the other boy could see.
"Lara and Don Juan. Muggle poetry, I should have guessed."
"Jew-un," Albus corrected.
Scorpius frowned. "No, yo hablo espanol. Es Juan," he argued, pronouncing Juan, 'WAN'.
Another long, awkward pause. Albus' eyes were glued to the page. Scorpius sighed, opened his mouth to speak, and then sighed again.
"The meter loses it's poetic integrity if his name isn't bi-syllabic," he explained.
"Fascinating," replied Scorpius, in a way that would suggest that it was anything but.
"Actually, what's really fascinating is why someone of your social stature would spend so much time alone in the library. This can't be good for your image," Albus said, his eyes still scanning the book.
"I don't know what you're on about, Potter. I love the library. It's nice, quiet."
Albus sighed heavily. He hated having to explain someone's own motives to them. Deliberate stupidity was insulting to his intelligence. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Are you always such a cynic, Potter? You'll go prematurely grey that way."
"Look at that, I'm in the presence of the next Lord Byron."
"Eternity bids thee to forget," he said, quoting the only line from the poem he knew. He liked those words, they explained so much about human nature.
He leaned down to whisper in Albus' ear. "Tomorrow at noon, the Muggle History section." For the briefest of moments Albus could have sworn he felt a tongue sweep over his auricula. He shuddered.
By the time he composed himself and turned around, a witty retort poised on his tongue, Scorpius had disappeared.
Albus took a few deep, calming breaths and mentally berated both Malfoy and himself. Malfoy for being such a sneaky prat and himself for being so vulnerable.
He wanted to be disinterested. He wanted to ignore the other boy and pretend the past few minutes meant absolutely nothing to him. But somehow he could only be aggravated.
Aggravated that he had to wait a whole twenty-four hours before seeing Malfoy again.