Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: This has only been edited by one of my betas, so it's subject to some changes, but I couldn't stand waiting another day to post it. xDD

Chapter 7: Strange New Reaction

(September 1st-October, Second Year)

I boarded the train for my second year for schooling with no small degree of dread, for I had just recently realized that Priscilla, constant thorn in my side that she was, would be joining me at Hogwarts. As she managed to infuriate me even when we weren't spending every single day within a close proximity of each other, I despaired to think of what would happen if she was sorted into Gryffindor. I'd probably jump off the Astronomy Tower in horror.

Céline, of course, did nothing to alleviate my fears. "Oh, she'll definitely be in Gryffindor," she said decisively when I brought the subject up. "She's got that braveness about her when it comes to enforcing the rules, you know?"

I knew--oh, Merlin, did I know--but I didn't want to admit that. "Nah, she couldn't be a Gryffindor; she's too cowardly to break any authority figure's expectations."

"Maybe Slytherin, then?" Céline offered. "That way she wouldn't annoy either of us. And," she added, grinning at the thought, "our family would be so ashamed that they'd chuck her right out."

"She'd definitely fit in," Hugo agreed, laughing.

"Yeah, Slytherin would be perfect," I lied, though on the inside I was smarting. Having Priscilla in Slytherin, the House I had been denied entry to, would be even worse than having her in Gryffindor. I was in a lose-lose situation either way.

Yet, miraculously, I ended up "winning" in the end. The Sorting Hat had barely touched Priscilla's head before it shouted out, "RAVENCLAW!" in a booming voice. I let out a sigh of relief and heard Hugo do the same on my left, while Céline glared murderously at the Hat. None of us had expected Priss--as we were fond of calling her--to become a Ravenclaw, although the House did fit; Priss did love to read her books and parade her knowledge around

Despite the fact that she had been sorted into a different house than I, however, Priscilla found something reprimand me about with an impressive alacrity; I didn't even make it to breakfast the next morning before she scolded me for "walking too quickly" in the hallways. I wondered just how much of her summer she'd spent memorizing such pointless school rules; did she have no life at all?

Priss' rant against my "incorrigible contempt for school policy"--here was a Prefect in the making if I ever saw one--lasted nearly twenty minutes; I was ravenous by the time I finally sat down at the Gryffindor Table. I'd barely started to chomp away at my breakfast, though, when Céline suddenly slid next to me on the bench.

"Could I just eat here for the rest of my school career? Please?" she begged, glaring in Priscilla's direction. "Because I can't stand to be around her any longer. She's tagging after me and correcting everything I do wrong. 'No, Cel--' Cel, for Merlin's sake!--'Hogwarts doesn't allow that. You shouldn't break rules!'"

I winced at Priscilla's nickname for Céline. "I'm sorry," I said sympathetically, handing her an apple, which she refused. "And, yeah, you can sit here for as long as you want to; no one's going to mind." I took a bite of the apple she had turned down. "As for Priss, well, at least it's only for another six years, right? Six is better than seven, after all."

Céline scrunched up her face in disgust. "Could you swallow before you speak? I couldn't hear a word that you just said. You're as bad as Hugo," she muttered grumpily.

"I am not as bad as Hugo," I replied, taking care to overemphasize my swallow. Here I was being nice to her, and all she could give me in return was grouchiness--though, honestly, I couldn't begrudge her this attitude; she was responding exactly the way that I would have if our positions had been reversed. "And, as I was saying before you insulted me, you're lucky that only have to put up with her for six years and not seven. Imagine what it'd be like if you were her classmate."

Céline shuddered melodramatically. "I'd drop out of Hogwarts and join Beauxbatons. And I'm not joking."

"Aw, it's not that bad," I told her. "You only have to endure her annoyingness until classes start. Once they do, Priss won't have time to follow you around anymore; she'll spend all her free time doing detailed homework assignments and reading ahead in her textbooks."

"She damn well better read her textbooks once classes start, because if I find her reading my magazines again…" Céline grimaced and let her sentence trail to nothing. I stared blankly at her until she explained, "Priss, er, went searching through my stuff yesterday to look for illegal objects--"

"Because you're definitely the type to have illegal objects," I interrupted, laughing at the idea.

"--and," Céline continued as if I hadn't spoken, though she seemed to be fighting a grin, "she found my Witch Weekly collection. Wanted me to lend her a few so that we could discuss fashion and gossip together, but I told her to go to--"

"Aw, Céline, you've found yourself a new best friend!" I teased, giggling again.

"Oh, shut up, Lils," she muttered, rolling her eyes, "or else you won't be my best friend anymore. Speaking of which, I'm going to need you to act as my best friend by holding onto my stash for me until it's safe to take it back, because I can't trust any of my hiding spots to keep her out. She's currently operating under the delusion that what's mine is hers. But, er," Céline added hastily, "I don't mind sharing the magazines with you, because what's mine really is yours. Feel free to read all of the articles that you want to, because I'd be all ears if you discussed them with me." Her expression became expectant.

"I'll try one," I promised her. "I'll read the edition with the 'How Well Do You Know Your Man?' article."

"Ooh, what boy are you going to try it out on?" she asked eagerly.

"No one. I'm just going to read it to see what the questions are like." Which was a lie, of course, but I could hardly tell her that I was going to test my knowledge of Scorpius Malfoy--not that I considered him "my man" or anything. He, er, was simply the only boy whom I was, er, friends with that wasn't a member of my family. It wasn't like I fancied him or anything. What a ridiculous idea, right?

I scored well on the quiz. As in, the only question I didn't know the answer to was: "What is your man's favorite ice cream flavor? Topping?" Which annoyed me for inexplicable reasons--I liked ice cream, but that that much--and made me determined to find out the answer.

I think Scorpius must have forgotten, over the summer, just how enthusiastic I could be--but, in my defense, "enthusiastic" was built-into my personality; I could hardly help it--for he stiffened in shock when I gave him an excited hug and squealed, "Ooh, I missed you!" Clearly he hadn't been expecting such a greeting.

"You missed me?" he repeated, his cheeks turning the slight pinkish color that indicated a blush. "Why?"

"Why not?" I demanded. "Didn't you miss me?"

"You? No, absolutely not," he said, shaking his head to stress his words.

I grinned. "You did too miss me, and you know it. Bet you even cried a few times in sorrow," I joked.

"Malfoys don't cry." I laughed at that.

"You're such a liar. Now, tell me," I added before he could argue, "because I've been dying to know, what is your favorite ice cream flavor and topping?"

He blinked. "You think I missed questions like these?" he asked, eyeing me as if I was insane--an assessment that probably had some basis in fact, I'd admit. I nodded my reply. "You are, without a doubt, the oddest person I've ever met. I like… vanilla ice cream?"

"Vanilla?" I repeated, frowning. Could he get any more bland? "No, you need to choose something else--and don't say chocolate!" I warned.

"What's the point of asking me if you're going to deny my answer? I honestly like vanilla the best." I crossed my arms and sighed. Patience might be a virtue, but it was one that I lacked. "What, is your favorite ice cream that much better?" he asked after I huffed in irritation for the third or fourth time.

I couldn't resist answering the question, though I knew it to be rhetorical--a word which Rose had taught me over the summer. "My favorite ice cream is Peanut-Fudge Chocolate Chip, and I like to have it dripping with chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles. Ooh, and walnuts!" Scorpius twisted his face with evident distaste, and I wondered whether or not I should take offense at that. "What's wrong with my favorite ice cream?"

"I've got an allergy to nuts," he responded, shrugging. "Anything that involves them repulses me."

"Really?" I asked, shocked. Why hadn't he ever told me this before?

"Why would I lie about that?"

"I didn't think you had actually lied," I muttered, rolling my eyes at his literal interpretation. "All I was doing was expressing my shock. And, aw, that must limit so much of the food you can eat."

"Not at Hogwarts. Haven't you ever noticed how nuts aren't used in school foods?" I shook my head; I wasn't that observant. "Oh, well… they aren't," he finished lamely.

"Huh, that's interesting," I said thoughtfully; I was definitely going to check for that at my next meal. Then, matching fact for fact, "Did you know that house elves cook all the food, and then magically send it up through the ceiling? My Auntie Hermione told me that when she was describing her club to me. It's called 'spew,' I think--or, that's how Dad pronounces it, at least."

"No, I didn't know that," he replied, and I thought I could detect the hints of an amused smile forming on his face. "But it does make sense, because house-elves love to do that sort of thing. I've actually got a house-elf back home who practically cries with joy each time she has to cook us a meal. But, of course, the Ministry of Magic keeps trying to take her away from us; we don't deserve to have servants, they claim." One side of his mouth turned up in a sardonic grin.

"Well--and Auntie Hermione," I added sheepishly, "would hate to hear me say this--I'm sorry that's happening. I think it's rubbish how the Ministry's trying to limit your rights because your Dad and Grandpa made a mistake."

"You do?" he asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Of course," I answered. "You family's learned from its mistakes, so why shouldn't you all be given a second chance? I mean, your parents have changed, right?"

"As much as they could," Scorpius replied, shrugging. "But their prejudices are too strong to ever completely vanish. Old habits die hard, as the saying goes." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Why am I telling you this?" The question seemed directed more to himself than me. "A one-word answer would have been enough."

"Because you know how amazingly understanding I am," I responded cheerfully. "And you have trust in our friendship's ability to survive all obstacles."

He snorted at that. "Merlin, how deluded and corny can you get?" His words lacked any real force of insult; in fact, I had the feeling that he was complimenting me in a roundabout way. "It's no wonder that you're a Gryffindor."

That, however, I took insult to. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you belong in Gryffindor," he said slowly, as if I was an idiot for not understanding his meaning before. "You've got the Gryffindor family, the Gryffindor personality, and you'll soon be on the Gryffindor quidditch team. You're a Gryffindor through and through."

My annoyance instantly vanished; I was touched by his confidence that I'd make the team. "You think I'll become Keeper?"

"Well, why wouldn't you? You've got the talent, haven't you?"

I shrugged modestly. "I'm okay on the field. It's always nice to have some support, though."

"Well, er," he said awkwardly, and I had the feeling he had never had to encourage anyone before, "I'm sure you'll make the team very… easily?"

"Thank you!" I chirped happily, reassured more than I perhaps should have been, because he was wrong in the end; I didn't become Gryffindor's Keeper. A tall, hulking seventh-year boy named Alphonsus Howe got the position instead, even though he, Savannah, and I had all saved five goals a piece.

Yet, to tell the truth, I wasn't too devastated by the turn of events--unlike Savannah, who sobbed into Fred's shoulder for a solid two hours after her rejection. I only had to vent to Al once or twice, because, really, I had other, just as enjoyable ways to spend my time as quidditch: drawing, homework, reading Witch Weekly's (which I was more fond of than I would have cared to admit), and more drawing. I only wished that James would realize that, for he refused to stop worrying about my reaction.

"Talk to me, Lily," he pleaded, deaf to all my protests that I was fine. "Tell me all about your disappointment."

This was the first time that James' presence ever completely aggravated me. Sure, I might have occasionally wanted him to leave me alone before then, but I'd never wanted him to just completely go away as I did now, for his constant, hovering presence interfered with my attempts to talk to Scorpius. I figured that, with all of my newfound free time, I'd be able to help with the Malfoys' trial--though, since I was only a second year, I knew that he wouldn't have much use for me--but I couldn't very well offer my services when James was there to watch me like a hawk.

James continued to annoy me throughout October, until I finally became so annoyed with him that I cast accidental magic--on myself, of course, because even in an entirely instinctive state my body was daft--and ended up blowing off part of my leg. Literally. I had to stay three nights in the Hospital Wing before it finally grew back; I was ready to die of boredom by the end of the first.

Rose came to visit me during my second day there, a newspaper clipping held angrily in her hand. "Read this," she muttered, shoving the article towards me. The heading read: "MALFOYS FIGHT BACK." Intrigued, I read the following paragraphs.

"The lawsuit of Draco Malfoy, 40, heir to the largest fortune in the Wizarding world, against the Ministry of Magic soured yesterday evening as Malfoy, smarting from a dismal first day of prosecution, turned to a new and shocking tactic to gain back his infringed rights: introducing the controversial topic of half-breeds and non-human creatures.

"'The majority of werewolves, vampires, giants, and other magical beings,' he boldly stated to the assembled Wizengamot jury, 'were supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during his war to purge the magical world of muggleborns, yet they face no punishment for their past mistakes. In fact, in the years since the war has ended, these creatures have gained more rights from the Ministry of Magic than they ever had before. All I ask for here and now is to be given the same consideration; all I ask is that my family's misdeeds to be forgiven, if not forgotten.'

"Malfoy's arguments raised the uncomfortable, but necessary truth that the most dangerous of Voldemort's supporters have gotten off with little punishment whatsoever. Wizardfolk have spent so much of their time repairing this broken world that they forgot to punish those responsible for the rupture in the first place. Many half-breeds deserve to be rotting away with their fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban, or to be living limited lives (much more so than the Malfoys do, to be sure) for the roles that they played in the war, yet nearly all walk free.

"Only one non-human currently is held in Azkaban's grip: Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf murderer who was known to purposely attack young children while transformed. Greyback even, during the height of Voldemort's second reign, began to claw and bite humans when he was not transformed. If one werewolf is capable of such atrocities, who's to say that others are not, as well?

"And werewolves aren't the Wizarding world's only problem, either. Vampires and banshees have also largely been left alone by witches and wizards since the fall of You-Know-Who, with the dreadful result of a population increase for both species. Rumors have even begun to form that select groups of vampires have attempted to teach themselves to cast magic using wands, although the Ministry declines to comment on the matter. These dangerous creatures clearly are starting to bite the hand that feeds them, as the saying goes, and Malfoy understands this fact better than most. One can only hope that, during the next few days of the proceedings, he enlightens all others to what should be the world's number one problem, and spurs them into action against it."

"Scorpius Malfoy," Rose said in a stiff, cold voice when I had finished reading, "does not have any good in him; no one in his family does." I had no response to give her, for my mind was having difficulty processing what I'd just read. How could Scorpius' father say such a thing? "His father has blatantly tried, in the course of one day, to dismantle all of the progress wizards have made in overcoming their prejudices against non-humans."

"I-I'll talk to him, see what--" I began, but Rose cut me off.

"You mostly certainly will not talk to him." Her voice was calm, but her scarlet ears betrayed volumes of her anger. "Not even you can defend him now. If you do, he must have you bewitched or something."

"He doesn't have me bewitched," I replied on instinct, and Rose frowned. "But, er, I won't see him anymore if you don't want me to." Arguing, I knew, would be the biggest mistake I could possibly make at this moment.

Rose seemed relieved. "Good, good. I was," she confessed, "afraid you'd be illogical about this, but you're taking it so well."

Her words made me feel a little guilty, because I was planning on having one last conversation with Scorpius before I cut him out of my life. I wanted to know what his family--and especially his father--had been thinking when they'd brought non-humans and half-humans into their case. After that, though, I would ice him out just as Rose wanted me to.

It wasn't hard to find Scorpius; he came to visit me that night--after visiting hours were over, I might add--to see how I was feeling. His concern was so sweet that I almost lost the anger he had inspired in me. Almost.

"Bad," I responded to his question. Then, "And not because my leg hurts--I mean, it does, but that's beside the point--but because of this." I shoved the newspaper into his hands. "What do you have to say about it?"

He read what the author--Callisto Aquinas--had written with an ever deepening scowl. "This is a load of rubbish, of course."

"Oh, really? Because she has a quote from your dad in there that quite clearly reveals his support of the article's message. Are you trying to deny what she claims that he said?" A part of me, no matter how firmly I tried to hold it in check, was optimistic that he'd somehow do just that.

"No, he did say that," Scorpius admitted with a sigh, and the last shred of hope I'd had for our friendship died right then and there. I turned my head to the side because I couldn't bear to look at him anymore. "But that quote is taken entirely out of context," Scorpius added, his voice slightly rushed. If I didn't know any better, I would have said that he was desperate to be heard.

"Taken out of context?" I repeated doubtfully, though he had succeeded in getting me to face him again. "How so?"

"Father only said that to point out how forgiving the world can be," Scorpius assured me, and he seemed comforted to a small extent by the fact that I was willing to listen to him. "He wanted to be given the same privileges as half-bre--half-humans." Despite his efforts to hide the slipup, I caught it, and it made me cringe. The word "half-breed" sounded so derogatory, even filthy. "He didn't want their privileges to be taken away."

"He had no idea that Callisto Aquinas would write such a nasty article?" I asked.

"Of course not! He's, er, all for the rights of magical creatures." I stared at Scorpius with disbelief written all over my face, and he sheepishly corrected himself, "Well, maybe he's not a huge supporter of their cause, but he's not against them, at least. He's not about to make the same mistake with half-b--half-humans that he made with muggleborns."

"And what about you? Are you prejudiced against them?" This question was the one that really mattered to me; I didn't care if his father was a bigoted git as long as Scorpius wasn't.

"No," he immediately and forcefully replied. "Lily, you have to believe me on this. I'm not biased against magical, non-human creatures." I said nothing. "Pl--" he began, but broke off with a wince. Then, as if it took all of his willpower to overcome his pride and do so, "Please, Lily. Please believe me."

It was his "please" that did it for me--made me once again trust him, I mean. I'm not sure that anything else would have worked. But, the minute he said that word--and it was amazing how magical "please" really did sound coming from his mouth--I was sold. He had to have some good in him if he was willing to beg for our friendship; he had to be capable of caring. "Does this mean that we're friends?" I asked, my lips curving slightly.

Scorpius smiled--and I mean really smiled--for the very first time in my presence. I was amazed at the change in wrought in his appearance; he no longer looked at all aloof or distant, but instead appeared… friendly. "Unfortunately, I think it does."

"You couldn't resist my natural charms any longer?"

"Or your modesty," he said without missing a beat, and I laughed. My heart felt at ease once again, even though I knew that it shouldn't have. I had, after all, disobeyed the one order that Rose had given me; shouldn't I have been more wracked by guilt than I was?

Maybe, I decided, concerned with my lack of remorse, it would be better to not over-think my emotions. "So, did you come rushing straight away to see me when you found out I was hurt?" I teased lightly in a (successful) attempt to force myself to forget these worries.

"I did come rushing, as a matter of fact." I blinked at him in surprised, until he added, with a smirk, "On my white stallion, even. Although, with so many people surrounding you, I could not allow myself to enter, for not even I could emerge victorious in a duel against so many foes." I was impressed at how "knightly" he had made that sentence sound.

"You still should have challenged them all," I mock-chided, feigning deep displeasure. "A true knight would have done so."

"Which is the reason I'm not a true knight, m'lady." I giggled at the address. "Slytherins, unlike idiot Gryffindors, know better than to engage in battles they can't win."

I coughed pointedly. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be implying that I'm also an idiot, would you?"

"No, you're the exception to the rule, because you have enough sense to at least spend time with a Slytherin," he said pompously, and I snorted. "How feminine of you, Lily."

"Shut up," I muttered, blushing. My brother's bad influence was finally starting to evince itself. "And you can call me 'Lils' now that you've admitted we're friend. Ooh, and I can call you 'Scorp!' Or 'Scor!' Or--"

"Or 'Scorpius,'" he finished for me with mock excitement. "I think that's a great nickname!"

"What, none of your friends shorten your name?" I asked, not buying that for a second. "Scorpius" was, after all, quite a mouthful to say.

"Not if they want to live, no."

"Pfft, you don't need to keep up the tough-guy persona in front of me," I told him as I rolled my eyes. "You're not going to fool me into believing it."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think this is an act, Lils?" My heart skipped a beat in joy when I heard him use my nickname, and I wondered why I'd had such an odd reaction. "Because it definitely isn't. I'm just naturally a tough-guy; I can't even help it anymore."

"I know it's an act," I said in an attempt to be flippant, but the effect was marred by the lingering confusion I felt at my body's response to him. I'd heard people call me "Lils" hundreds of times in my life, so why should this one instance effect me so much? I was utterly perplexed.

"Psh, you don't know anything," he teased, pretending to brush away my opinions with a flick of his wrist. "You'd have to see me with my friends to know just how strong and--" He paused, evidently trying to think of a good enough word to describe himself.

"And rugged," I supplied for him with a grin.

"--and rugged I am," he agreed.

"Ooh, so should I ask all of your Slytherins friends about you?"

"There's no point in doing so," Scorpius assured me. "They'd support everything that I've said. But, er," he added, his tone no longer playful, "don't really ask the Slytherins; they're not all as--" he searched for the right word--"open as I am."

"I think I could handle myself," I told him, but he shook his head.

"No, they're a pretty rowdy bunch, Lily; none of them would care if they hurt you. It's really better for the both of us if you just, er, stay away from them."

"The both of us?" I repeated, and he shrugged.

"Well, you wouldn't want me to have to fight them in a duel, now would you?" he asked, and my heart once again paused for a couple of seconds as I processed his meaning, his desire to protect me. "Because I'd have to if they hurt you, you know. Defend your honor and all that."

I positively beamed at him.