Chapter 11
The Scorpion's Downfall
So Scorpius Malfoy hated Christmas. So what? Did that really garner him the nonappreciative glares he received after said onlookers learned this fact? (Actually, 'nonappreciative' was an understatement). So what if the sound of carols was ear-grating (especially at all hours of the night). So what if the thought of exchanging presents sickened him? So what if he hated the usual Christmas feasts? So what if the sounds of celebration filling the halls reminded him that he was, truly, alone?
At least there was Miles, he supposed, who was also not a big fan of the Yuletide. "Means nothing to me but Semester exams, man," he mumbled around his toast at breakfast. Above them, Peeves was busy filling in his own "special" lyrics to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," overturning the garlands decorating the House tables and spilling eggnog goblets. They didn't have to look up to know where he was, though, due to the mischievously jingling bells strung around his bow tie. "I mean, come on. We finally get something of a break and they load us with more because of it. What is that?"
Scorpius didn't answer, too busy cramming for their Defense Against the Dark Arts semester final that morning, not emerging from the sickening words of Rita Skeeter until he was sure he knew the names of all victims used by Voldemort for his horcruxes. He didn't bother studying for Potions; Decima wasn't one for tests, especially not exams. She had complained to Professor Grey on many an occasion that a carefully scheduled testing-of-knowledge was ridiculous; only by randomly surprising them with such a task was much more effective. Though Grey had turned the notion down several times, she had rebelled by writing an exam filled with nonsense questions: What is the weather today, what is your name, what class is this? That wasn't to say they weren't surprised with dozens of other random tests designed to "help" them. Scorpius scoffed. One more P and he wasn't sure how much "help" he could take.
"Merry Christmas," a terribly familiar voice sang as she sat down opposite him. Rose Weasley was in an especially chipper mood today.
"It's not Christmas yet," he mumbled, turning the page sullenly. "Now go away."
She took a sip from her orange juice, watching him. He could see feel her gaze as he attempted to sink back into Magical Defenses. "You know, you'll get nowhere with that attitude."
"Exactly." Why was she being so prying today, anyway? "I'm sorry, did you want something?"
Rose pursed her lips, glancing to either side of them in mock caution. The only one around in close vicinity was Miles. "Actually, I do. We do, as a matter of fact. There's a prank landing just after the last exam, before everyone takes off for Holiday. I've been told to enlist the two of you. You're Ravenclaws, after all."
Miles' lip curled. "Told by who, one of your revolting relatives?"
He must have been looking for some type of reaction other than the one she gave him: Stealing the jam from his hand with a flick of her wand and a quickly whispered "wingardium leviosa" (She, along with half their year, still could not muster the complications of nonverbal spells). Miles slumped, defeated.
Bored but still slightly panicking about the Defense exam, Scorpius risked a glance over his book at the Weasley. My God, she practically glows, he thought. What was it about Christmas? What was it that drove people to walk around smiling idiotically, humming to themselves, absolutely eager to spread the good cheer? He shook his head, going back to Rose's idea. "Who's it against?"
She laughed. "You know those heaps of dung Peeves has been leaving in front of doors and claiming he's trying to make mistletoe?"
"Like hell I do!" exclaimed Miles, setting down his fork. So that was what the smell had been . . .
Scorpius, though he was generally on Miles' side, couldn't help a snicker. Hogwarts' occupants had been stepping in carefully-placed hippogriff dung for days now, begging the N.E.W.T. students for easy aroma-erasing charms. Unfortunately for everyone seated at the Ravenclaw table, Miles Bletchley wasn't a N.E.W.T. student in Charms.
"Anyway," continued Rose, wrinkling her nose at the source of the smell, "Do either of you know where Peeves sleeps?"
Miles looked incredulous. "Peeves sleeps? Can poltergeists do that?"
"Surprisingly, yes. But then again he causes so much destruction, he's bound to need a few minutes' shut eye every once and awhile. " She helped herself to the eggs, humming. Scorpius noted she wasn't bothering to study, though they had the same exams that day. "Anyway. I overheard my uncle George talking with Lee Jordan about their old Hogwarts days, and in this discussion, they mentioned their dear old friend Peeves. And you'll never guess where he cozies up for his naps."
Scorpius sighed. "I have a feeling you're about to tell us."
She ignored him. Not an unlikely reaction from her. "The Owlry. At the very top of the tower in the rafters, to be precise. Something about the owls warning him if someone unfriendly comes along."
By now, Scorpius' concern rubbing off, Miles had stolen the Dark Defenses book and was flipping through it distractedly. "Alright, so, what do you want to do? And why would we help?"
"I'm not saying I need your help, Bletchley. What I'm saying is that you two are welcome. We're trying to get all of Ravenclaw in on it so he doesn't targets specific individuals after this, you know how h is. But whatever you choose to do is fine by me. I really could care less."
He frowned, just as confused by her almost friendly gesture as Scorpius was. In the end Miles told her they'd think on it, keeping silent until she went away, assumably not to study. The moment she was gone, he turned on Scorpius. "What were you doing back there, Malfoy?!" he cried, furious. Scorpius was bewildered. "It's always me backing you up while she verbally assaults us. But you just sat there!"
It was true, he had. Scorpius raised his hand in mock innocence. "I was studying. We have exams, if you can actually remember."
Miles pushed the book back to its owner, disgusted. "I mean, what's up with you and the Weasley anyway? You're acting like she hasn't been absolutely killing your reputation since day one, man. What is with you?"
And now, he had no reputation left. Scorpius felt a little sick to his stomach. Maybe it was the exams, maybe it was the smell of dung wafting from Miles' shoes. He found he didn't have an answer to the question. Not that Miles needed one; he finished his breakfast and strode away, no doubt having something devious to get to.
Scorpius' day was filled with regretfully forgotten facts, frantic cramming, and terribly out of tune carols that haunted him down the hallways. They even emanated from Caitlin Goldstein's old radio in the Ravenclaw common room that night as he was trying to study beside the fire. Amid a hearty rendition of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town," Lee Jordan's voice emerged from the small speakers (charmed to fill the room).
"Gooooood eeeeevening Hogwaaaaarts," he called into the radio. To Scorpius, it sounded like a yawn. So dramatic. "Allow me to welcome you all back to another week's episode of Hogwash, Hogwarts' one and only most popular radio show. Dost I hear a smattering of applause among the turrets?" As a matter of fact, no one was clapping; they were all familiar with Jordan's worn-down introduction. "No need to thank me, folks, no need at all. Believe me, I've thanked myself enough for all of you." Cocky wizard, wasn't he? "Anyway, I'm sure you've all noticed our little musical introduction, done nicely by the Hufflepuff Chorus, taking time out of their busy schedules to record it for me . . ."
"Get on with it, Jordan!" Craig Donovan called above a game of Exploding Snap a table over.
". . . But this is neither here nor there," Lee Jordan went on, as though hearing Donovan's comment. "Hogwarts finds itself in the midst of yet another Christmas. The trees are up in the Great Hall, there's snow in the windows, exams are settling in, and the suits of armor are dancing. And no, I had nothing to do with that, for the record. Along with the Holidays comes the decision of going home for the season or remaining at Hogwarts. I have been 'politely' asked by Professor Robards that everyone who wishes to return home is asked to sign up in order to secure a seat on the Hogwarts Express. And I know seats are hard to come by on the Express, Professor. They do go fast. I myself was forced to walk home one blustery winter evening not long ago when I was a youngster like yourselves. Oh. Yes. I was kidding, kids. I don't know what the deal is with Robards, but he wants it done, so everyone, get it done and you won't have to stick around Hogwarts for Christmas. Now, that would be dreary."
Which reminded Scorpius: He had recently been owled by his father with Christmas plans. Scorpius would return on the Hogwarts Express, among the other troves of students, and the rest of the Holidays would be spent visiting either his father's side, his mother's side, and, of course, devoted friends of the family. Scorpius, again, felt sick; dozens of stiff dinner parties and evenings spent playing dress-up (not to mention having to fake Slytherin as his true House) had never appealed to him. True, he could "manage" it. That is to say, "manage" meaning "closing his mouth, looking away, and avoiding all attention." He got by, yes, but he was in no way looking forward to his vacation.
" . . . I mean, it wasn't the actual taste that bothered me, more so the fact that I was spending my Christmas Eve sitting across from my House Head in the Great Hall. To this day I can't eat pudding without that sour, awkward taste. Bad memories, kids, bad memories . . . Anyone up for a reading of Christmas wishes?"
Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Christmas wishes?" He was done with it. He really, really was. Shutting his by now vast collection of studying materials he made his way towards the dormitories, pausing to throw his father's letter into the fire. The words We look forward to seeing you crackled merrily in the flames like the lies that they were. That was another thing, he thought. Why was it that flames always seemed to be merry around Christmastime, as opposed to the usual stark imagery they were given at another other point in the year?
-
Which charm caused Wizard Baruffio's downfall?
How the hell should I know?
He had some trouble concentrating in his Charms exam due to the hushed whispers of Rose, Goldstein, and a selected few who were dying to get back at Peeves. Among written incantations and wrist movements he heard whispered threats decisions regarding the "prank." He wondered why they even bothered; no one, no one, could ever get the best of the poltergeist. And that was a fact. He turned around mid-exam to shush her.
Rose cocked her head to the side. "What?"
"I'm trying to take a test."
Which charm caused Wizard Baruffio's downfall . . . ?
She grinned snidely. "And I'm trying to plot. Has it occurred to you that your test-taking is hindering my planning ability here?"
He looked back at his test, stuck on question number thirty-four. "You're not funny."
She leaned forward in her desk; he could tell from the breath slowly tickling his neck as she breathed in and out. "Then maybe I can be quiet if you can tell me the spell for sound recording. Then maybe, just maybe, I can pause in my ponderings so you can take your precious test."
As a matter of fact, Scorpius did know the spell; it had been in the footnotes of something he'd been reading just last week. Not that he'd ever actually tried it, and not that he felt complied to tell Little Miss I-Get-By-On-Wit-Alone Weasley. Keeping an eye out for the professor, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "I'll tell you if you, eh, 'jog' my memory on question 34."
There was a pause behind him; she appeared to be thinking it over. Professor Goshawk hobbled across the front of the class, waiting for them to finish. Finally the breathing on his neck changed as she spoke. "And what if I doubt you know it anyway?"
"I'm sure it'll be no loss to you," he replied snappily. "You're no stranger to cheating."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
With a resounding slap of her cane against the desk's wood, Goshawk moved her gaze slowly over them, daring each one of them to speak again. Rose and Goldstein went back to their exams, but not without a quick "c" murmured in Scorpius' ear. He felt himself smiling. However, it was ringed in the dismal knowledge that, come night before they departed for home, he would be up in that tower along with the rest of Peeves' victims. And he wasn't so sure he wanted to be there.
-
"Are you sure he's asleep?"
"Sure I'm sure, I'm George Weasley's niece, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you and half of London. Merlin, it smells."
A large handful of Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even a few Slytherins thrown in were crouched at the base of the Owlry in the dead of night. Rose and Alec Corner were bickering over the snoring poltergeist in the rafters above. He appeared to have slung himself a hammock of bird feathers and cob webs.
Scorpius poked Rose in the shoulder, keeping his footfalls silent. "I thought Peeves liked being up and about at midnight; why sleep now?"
The group was shocked into silence by a snort from Peeves and a mumbled phrase or two in what sounded like German. They all looked at each other. A bilingual Peeves? Nothing was far from the truth with him. They waited for him to settle soundly back into sleep before setting to work.
"Alright," stage-whispered Rose, "Roxanne, Fred, to battle stations." The twins practically clicked their heels and saluted before standing guard on opposite sides of the circular tower; with incredible spell precision they began casting the locoportus charm on the open windows of the tower: a charm that set up invisible wall-like imitations. Though a ghost could no doubt sail right through them, a poltergeist was a much different story. Their spells shimmered in the night air like nets as the owls rustled their feathers around them.
The remainder of the students set about placing their own individual spells, repetition jinxes to be exact, on different parts of the Owlry. One beneath the snowy owl here, one atop the feeding box there. Scorpius stood back with the twins to watch. He himself had shown their fellow students how to place recordings into spell-form, having read up on it two nights before. And they had listened. They had actually listened to the boy they had scorned for so long. Scorpius didn't know what was going on, but he had to say, it wasn't half bad.
She loves this, Scorpius thought, watching Rose stand in the very center of the floor and hold out her hands for the signal. More determination shone on her face than on any exam day. She's enjoying every moment of this leadership. In fact, it hadn't actually been Rose's idea, but Roxanne's. Of course. "On the count of three, everyone," she whispered, watching Peeves' slumber above (he liked to roll around in his hammock, cackling at random intervals in his sleep. "Three – two – one – "
And the spells were off with an explosion of light and sound, a single word cried by dozens of Hogwarts students, "Rectify!" The Owlry was soon flooded with Peeves' previously recorded shrieks.
"GOT YOUR CONK!"
"ICKLE BICKLE FIRSTIES FOR SALE!"
"ARE YOU TELLING A LIESIE? YOU DARE TELL A LIESIE WITH PEEVSIE WATCHING?!"
"LOOPY LITTLE HUFFLEPUFFS ARE FUN!"
And, suddenly, the poltergeist was awake, slamming into the Owlry ceiling. Caged by his own screams, he attempted to escape through a window; unfortunately, due to the twins' expert locoportus charms, he simply bounced back, violently throwing himself against the thick stone walls. He screamed, cursed, and chattered foully to the students assembled below.
Fred laughed as he craned his neck back to watch their victim. "How does it feel, Peeves? Enjoying the taste of your own medicine?"
Miles was, for a change, delighted. "Yeah, and this is nothing compared to your dung stunt!" Scorpius glanced at his "friend" in amusement. Still bitter about that now, was he? The group was practically rolling on the dropping-covered floor in triumph as the poltergeist hit separate walls and rebounded to its opposite. It was like watching a muggle pinball in a machine, and for Peeves, there was no getting out.
Their fun was cut short when Hugo, the appointed lookout, barged in with the warning of Robards and Lee Jordan. Though they doubted everyone's favorite caretaker would do a thing about their antics aside laughing and congratulating, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was truly frightening late at night. Thus, they left the still-screaming Peeves in a rush, scrambling for their respective common rooms. Scorpius found himself running and panting down the hall beside Caitlin Goldstein. She risked a glance at him as they turned a sharp corner past a burping gargoyle.
"That was you who came up with the Rectify charm?" she asked, her face neutral.
He nodded. Just once. Scorpius had a way of nodded curtly as though, if you weren't looking closely enough, it seemed he hadn't nodded at all.
Goldstein almost grinned. "Listen, don't tell Rose this because I know she'd kill me, but that was kind-of-sort-of brilliant stuff back there."
And as he sped up, Scorpius began to feel as though, for the first time in six years, people were actually seeing him, and he was slowly becoming a Hogwarts student, Ravenclaw or not.
However,
His downfall came the day after.
The platform at Hogsmeade was filled with the normal insane bustle that made up the Hogwarts students assembling for the Holidays. The snow was coming down by the bundle, it seemed; every head and hat was coated with a nice layer of white as trunks and owl cages were hauled onto the platform. Though they would likely see each other on the train there, students were already hugging and exchanging early Christmas gifts. Scorpius trudged past a group of Fifth-Year girls huddled around a serenely-singing Christmas card (which turned into a very un-harmonious squawk by the end of the song as a joke) and caught Fiona Taberts opening a bag of Zonko's products with the Weasley twins (but closing it again after a monstrous roar escaped the canvas edges). He had just finished checking in with Professor Robards and grabbed his trunk's handle when something smacked him soundly on the back of the head.
"Sorry!" someone called, and then, "Oh, it's just you."
Three guesses who that could be, he mumbled to himself without a word. Rose Weasley, in a hurry, had turned sharply on her heel and slammed her broom handle into his neck. Why did things always resort to her accidently hitting him?
"Do you always have to be so clumsy with that piece of trash?" retorted Scorpius sourly, rubbing his already-sore neck. Her expression changed swiftly into a vastly defensive face. Apparently you don't mess with a Weasley about Quidditch.
"This piece of trash," she said, blue eyes narrowing, "Is worth more than anything you own, Scorpion. Honestly. Do you always have to be so inconsiderate?"
Watching the rush of students swarming the Express, he stepped forward slightly. Surprisingly, she took a step back, as though they had to keep a certain distance at all times. This reaction amused him, and he stepped closer again, if only to see her retreat again. "If I have ever been inconsiderate, it's because you've been so first."
Her back hit the brick pillar of the platform. She gripped her broom tighter, he noticed, fingers curling around the wood and turning red in the cold. "So, what you're saying is that if I suddenly turn into a soppy sweet nobody, you'll become a complete gentleman?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, what did you say?"
It completely caught him off-guard, his downfall. It grabbed him by the shins and threw him upside-down and shook all his carefully governed principles and theories from his pockets, sweeping them up and throwing them away before he could try to us them again. It thrust him headfirst into a prism that was not him, into a world that was not his. It pushed and introduced and, above all, surprised. And it was those eyes that did it – those wide, sometimes-malicious, sometimes-mischievous, sometimes-almost-admiring, pure blue eyes. When he looked into them, he saw himself reflected back, and he wanted, for the first time, to use Legilimency. He wanted to see what she was thinking, what exact thoughts she had of him, no matter what they were. And suddenly, without anyone meaning to, his lips were against hers.
At first it was just a touch, just a stupid, crazy, almost-accidental touch that could build up and break down impressions. And then, though he didn't expect it to, a response came from the other side of the void. Her lips pressed into his instead of pulling away; her fingers, the ones he hate-loved, ran paths through his hair, and he could think of nothing, just . . . her, the she-devil and the red-haired goddess. They kissed feverishly against the brick, taking and giving, exploring and needing, loving and hating. It was bitter and sweet, quiet and loud, cautious and reckless, an oxymoron of the Weasley and the Malfoy.
She was the one to break it, of course. She broke contact, paused without opening those snow-caught eyelashes that just barely brushed his skin, breathing him in, and then without a word she had left, broomstick and all.
He watched her leave, rushing down the platform as the Express whistled for the late-comers. And as he stood there, hair mussed where her hands had been and lips warm and tingling, the thick snowfall coated everything in cold and white. Almost . . . magical.
So, maybe Scorpius Malfoy didn't mind Christmas.
So. What.
A/N: Aaah. Eleven chapters and we're finally here, finally getting past their petty rivalries. Haha. I really didn't think it would take this long, but here we are.
Please continue to read/review, and I'll be up with another chapter soon :)
