Disclaimer: I am not the genius behind Harry Potter, but I do try to document the lives of his children.

AN: Reviews mean more than the rumours about Shelley Corner's relationships.

Chapter Twelve

"Delusion or Denial"

Or

"Second Potter Syndrome"

'James—come on, please?'

The boy in the stands laughed. His arms were crossed, feet up on the benches in front as though he had no cares in the world. Even though his team wouldn't be arriving until an hour later, the Head Boy was all dressed up in uniform and had been watching the proceeds of the Ravenclaw practice for about ten minutes before his presence was noted.

'You shouldn't schedule practices on Saturdays,' he told the captain as she sped over on her broom to shoo him away. 'Especially not in the slot before Gryffindor.'

'Can't you wait somewhere else?' Cordelia asked, folding her arms and maintaining perfect balance atop her broom. James stood and walked to the edge of the stands, resting his hands on the barrier between the observers and the pitch.

'Like where?' he pressed.

'Somewhere you can't see our practice?'

James raised an eyebrow. Grinning, he told her: 'You're just worried you'll mess up with me watching you.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Someone's got a skewed idea of his own importance.'

'Please.'

'James.' She had held up her team's progress enough; even if their first game wasn't for a couple of weeks, she couldn't afford to cut on practice time, or compromise their hard work by letting the captain of an opposing team peek in. 'Go—please?'

'...Fine,' James said reluctantly. 'But you'd better make it up to me.'

'And just how can I do that?' Cordelia looked interested to see just what response he would give.

'Don't ditch me in Hogsmeade to spend the day with Dominique?'

Cordelia laughed. 'How about, next time we get the chance to visit, you and I go to The Three Broomsticks?'

James's face morphed into feigned puzzlement. 'My dear,' he said incredulously, 'are you trying to ask me on a date?'

'Well, if you can't figure out that much,' she muttered, playing along, 'I'm not sure I want to any more.'

He smirked, and thought about commenting on the fact that he was a Gryffindor, not any other intellectually challenged house, but she had friends in every house and he didn't want to push his luck. Instead, he agreed—'I'd take great delight in going to The Three Broomsticks with you. But we can talk about this later; I don't want your team hating me for any reason other than us beating your sorry behinds.'—and she hit him, and then he left.

'Sorry about that, you lot,' Cordelia said upon returning to her teammates.

Will told her not to worry about it, and that in truth he was more pleased about the fact that James Potter had left. Bridget just giggled and made a comment about what she had bargained to make him leave—for none of them had heard the goings-on of their conversation—which warranted a smack from Cordelia and two laps around the Pitch, which she completed rather reluctantly.

They spent the better half of the next thirty minutes going through plays they hadn't had the chance to with James watching; by the time the Captain returned at six o'clock—his team in tow—they had these plays perfected, and rather smug looks on their faces.

'The pitch is yours, Gryffindors.'

Barbara noticed: 'That rhymed.'

'Yeah—kind of a spontaneous moment of brilliance,' the Ravenclaw captain replied, a smile on her face. Al grinned at Cordelia when she passed him: a look she returned, but one that got Fred telling his cousin, 'Don't lose focus over a pair of pretty eyes.'

As if Fred was one to talk.

'She looks sour.'

Scorpius chuckled. 'Understandable,' he said in his best friend's ear. 'You hit her and I told her family about our relationship. At the same time.'

They crossed the Great Hall on the way out from dinner together; continuing to observe Rose Weasley and her friends as they made their exit in front of the pair. Patricia leaned in so to make sure their conversation remained unheard by their peers—who would most likely set a goal to tell Rose or her comrades the contents of Patricia and Scorpius's conversation did they listen in—and said, 'Would it bad to say it served her right?'

'No,' Scorpius replied. 'I don't think so. But,' he confessed, as they scuttled down the stairs to the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was located, 'I do wish our conversations didn't revolve around her.'

'I second that motion. We need something else to talk about.'

Patricia and Scorpius followed a gaggle of second-year boys into the Slytherin common room. It was now bustling with activity: groups of girls hurrying up to their dormitories, a couple or two sitting with their heads together in darkened corners—which were plentiful; given the house's nature, and their under-lake location—the occasional stressed-looking N.E.W.T. student cramming in an essay at the desks scattered around the rooms.

Since their usual seats by the fire were taken, Scorpius and Patricia moved over to a small couch near one of the bookshelves, where an anxious-looking fifth year was trying to find a suitable book that would help for her O.W.L.s—Patricia thought this ridiculous, considering they weren't even a month into school; but she knew this girl's type in Cordelia and her housemates—was jittering through the sets of books on offer.

'What about Quidditch?'

Almost completely unfocused, Patricia wasn't sure what her friend was talking about. Then it dawned on her: conversational topics that weren't Weasley. 'I'm death at it.'

'I know,' Scorpius said, in such a way that she wasn't offended, 'but the first game of the season's coming up, and instead of the before issue'—by this, they both knew he meant being with Rose—'it's my captaincy that's taking time away from our "oh-so-important bonding".'

'Yeah,' agreed Patricia, 'but I know how important it is to beat the Gryffindors' pompous arses.'

And Rose's cousins', she thought without mentioning it aloud. Even though they weren't talking about her, and they had told each other that they didn't want to start doing so again, but Patricia found obscene satisfaction in bettering Rose at any opportunity she could.

'It'll shut the school up about the fact that I'm a year younger than half of the captains, as well—basically, the Hufflepuff one and the Gryffindor one.' After this, he began to go off on a tangent: 'I can't imagine how it is for Cordelia, though; she's the only female captain...'

He listed the disadvantages of this, but recanted when he thought that she was a lot more able than people expected; Patricia had almost forgotten that the two of their families were close as well—Cordelia's mother had been friends with Scorpius's—and that her best mate was also on good terms with her primary Ravenclaw confidant.

'...wouldn't have picked her for someone who would end up dating Saint Potter's son—but then again, I can't believe who I snogged, so don't trust me to pass judgment on relationships—'

Patricia laughed as Scorpius slipped into incoherency. The nervous fifth year girl had left now, and Patricia found her bent over an essay in the opposite corner of the room; the number of people in the common room had greatly dissipated since Scorpius and Patricia had sat down to converse. For a Saturday night, things were very tame. Caladora Goyle entered the common room and stumbled across it with her friends, whispering to one another.

Her—Caladora's—blouse was buttoned wrong, leaving a gap down the middle of her torso, revealing a bright pink undershirt below. She was giggling.

'I don't know how he got it in,' Patricia overheard one of Goyle's friends saying, 'but Prikk's got firewhiskey—and probably stronger stuff, but I wouldn't let Cal stay—who knows what she would have done? Probably something ridiculous, like taking Prikk back. You know, perhaps that was his plan after he invited us to have the drink.'

Apparently, Scorpius had heard the same words Patricia had, because he muttered: 'Merlin, just when I thought Prikk couldn't get any stupider, he actually brings firewhiskey—which isn't particularly bad, but what that bird said made it sound like the tamest thing on offer—to school in hopes of getting his ex-girlfriend drunk enough to reconsider. Mental.'

Patricia couldn't have agreed more.

Recovering from their daily Quidditch team practice was the first thing on Barbara's mind. For the first time, all of her muscles were aching; she was almost worried James was over-working them in his attempts to best Scorpius Malfoy. She was sitting in the common room at three o'clock that afternoon, rubbing her arm and looking out the window in an attempt to sooth the cramps.

Fred and Wood had passed through the common room following James to devise what seemed like yet another possible strategy that could win them the match. Al had gone to talk to Louis, and did not seem too bothered by the strenuous activity that made up their training; perhaps it was a part of being a Potter. Lily, too, had hurried off to spend time with her friends, without even having to wipe any sweat from her brow, or anywhere else.

It was Roxanne who eventually approached her. The tanned girl was rubbing Essence of Murtlap or something like it onto her shins as she sat down on the couch beside Barbara. 'You don't mind, do you?' She asked cautiously, as if realizing that sitting down without warning might not have been appropriate.

'No,' Barbara said, having experienced enough Weasley house visits to become accustomed to their closeness, 'of course not.'

'Is your arm okay?'

She nodded, however this may not have been a wise gesture for it sent stabs of pain down her neck; at Roxanne's concerned look, Barbara told her: 'Really, it's fine. Not worth the time or strain of heading to the hospital wing only to be told that I'm weak by James or Fred.'

'Neither of them would say that,' Roxanne replied. 'Especially not Fred.'

'You'd be surprised what best friends will say.'

'I'm not talking about as a best friend,' said Roxanne.

Not this talk again. Why did everyone insist that there were more feelings than met the eye? Barbara and Fred had been friends for a long time, but that didn't mean he saw her any differently than the tiny, once-bespectacled, girl she had been when they first met. That would be too much good luck for any reasonable person to deserve.

'Then what do you mean?' Barbara inquired, playing stupid for the sake of the argument.

Roxanne rolled her eyes. 'Everyone knows he fancies you, even if he can't admit it to himself. You of all people should know about that.' When Barbara didn't respond in the affirmative, Roxanne looked surprised. 'Oh, come on, you can't be that naïve; don't you see the way he looks at you?'

'Fondly,' Barbara said, 'like any best friend should.'

'God,' muttered Roxanne, 'if that's the case, then I need to find myself a friend like that. My brother'—with these two words, her tone became more pronounced—'doesn't look at you like you're just any old friend. I don't even want to be the one who has to explain this to you, because he's my brother, but if you won't listen to Molly, I s'pose I'll have to do. I think Fred's in love with you.'

Barbara's hand dropped from where it had been nursing her arm. She hadn't expected the statement to be so out-there, upfront, blunt, factual. Roxanne continued: 'If I thought he fancied you I would've just said that, but no; I think he's in love. The whole package. The real deal. If you two hadn't been friends so long, then maybe, yeah, it'd just be fancy. But you've known each other for practically ever. And I've watched his looking change over the years.' She sighed. 'You're in deep, my friend.' She patted Barbara on the back. 'Fred's in love with you.'

This was probably the longest conversation the Head Girl had ever had with Roxanne. It was a pity that it was all revolving around the girl's positivity that Fred was in love with his best friend. Barbara shook her head, feeling as though Roxanne—as well-meaning as her actions were—was completely wrong. Barbara possessed none of the qualities that someone as high a caliber as Fred would find attractive. Yes, they were friends, and yes, they had played Quidditch together for a few years, but Quidditch and being nice were really Barbara's most attractive qualities—she didn't think herself pretty or intelligent; not like Victoire or Dominique had been—she was safe.

Average.

Mediocre.

A voice inside her argued that, perhaps, Barbara wasn't as lowly as she thought. She had been made Head Girl, and before that, Prefect: they were meant to be the most intelligent, well-rounded students in each house. Beating Molly in anything related to brains was definitely something to be proud of, contested Barbara. But still, Fred didn't care for the qualities that portrayed her in a positive light. She was law-abiding, and he was not. She was quiet, and he was not. She was... nothing out of the ordinary; he most certainly was.

'You're awfully quiet,' Roxanne noticed. 'Does that mean you're freaked out, or taking time to process this like a sane person...? Or—or perhaps you're in love with him, too! It would be absolutely brilliant if you are!'

'Roxanne—shush!' Barbara cried, slapping a hand over the fifth year's mouth and ignoring the throbbing discomfort as she did so. Though her voice was silenced, Roxanne's eyes were quite alive; she was looking excited, like she had just solved a great mystery, or discovered yet another thing about Hogwarts castle's secretive past. 'Fred can't be in love with me!' Hopefully, she still sounded forceful in a whisper. 'Because what is there to like? Really?' The rhetorical sense of the question allowed Barbara to keep Roxanne's mouth firmly shut, though Roxanne herself was trying to do otherwise. 'I can't get anyone to fancy me—let alone Fred! Miles Clarke only wanted to go out with me to see how far he could get with a Gryffindor; or to try and spite Fred!'

'See!' Roxanne exclaimed, breaking free of Barbara's hold. She shoved the Head Girl's hand down onto the couch in front of them before her mouth was covered again, and then did the same with Barbara's other hand as it shot out to take over the task. 'See—Clarke asked you out to spite who? Fred! He could have asked out anyone in Gryffindor, and he was sour towards Fred the day before your date—instead of cancelling, Clarke still went along with it! For what reason, you ask?' Roxanne's eyebrows shot up and down again in what signified a nod. 'You said it yourself: to spite Fred. Damn it, Tennant, if even the Hufflepuffs know he's in love with you; I don't know what's stopping your logic.'

'I hate Mondays.'

Lottie Flanagan seemed to hate a lot of things. She headed down to breakfast with her loose red curls pulled back in a plait, eyes framed with pale green shadow, which she hoped would enhance her eyes: a brighter shade of the same colour. She stood short, bobbing up and down behind her friends as they made their way to the Great Hall.

Melissa slowed down to walk beside Lottie, while Liz and Rose continued on, talking about something that related to Ancient Runes. Lottie couldn't be bothered with subjects that required such research; her electives of choice were Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Unfortunately, none of her friends had chosen to pursue a Seer's career, and therefore she was left alone in Divination with only people like Shelley Corner for company. Still, things could be worse.

Walking beside Melissa made Lottie feel even worse. Melissa had dark skin, and she was tall, almost Amazonian. She would have looked normal if she and Cordelia were walking side by side. Instead, she had Lottie for a companion, who felt like a child when compared, for she was so short and Melissa was deathly opposite.

'I know,' said Melissa. 'We all hate Mondays.'

They passed Devon Henry, who Lottie made a point not to look at, for she had not done so ever since the vile turn-out with Shelley Corner and the pair of Slytherins. She had thought Devon quite attractive up until then. Testament to my bad taste, Lottie supposed.

'Potions, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures all in one day?' she said dejectedly. 'It's a nightmare. Not to mention having to stay up 'til bloody midnight for Astronomy. It's hard to believe no one falls asleep.'

'I wouldn't be able to,' muttered Melissa, 'what with you going on and on about the most obscure topics.'

'The later it gets, the more truth is spilled,' Lottie told her, tone light.

They entered the Great Hall behind Liz and Rose, who seemed to have noticed their absence and slowed down considerably. Gryffindor table was about halfway full; the sprinkling of orange around the table made her aware that there were a good number of Weasleys present, though not all just yet. Lottie followed the others to a bare section of bench near the middle of the table, where they sat down hurriedly; Liz and Melissa more eager to eat than Rose or Lottie herself.

'Please don't tell me they're going out,' moaned Rose.

Lottie followed her gaze to the door and, instead of seeing Scorpius and Patricia Day as she would have expected, she found her eyes falling on James and Cordelia Gilbert. 'Why don't you want them dating?'

'He doesn't need another girlfriend,' said Rose. 'I don't care who it is, or how nice she might apparently be. And if that wasn't enough; don't you think she's a little—I don't know—a bit of a show-off? Like, "oh, hi, I'm Cordelia Gilbert, and I'm just so perfect! Oh, let me go and date the most popular boy in school, James Potter! Did I mention I'm so down to earth and don't care about who he is that I actually said no when he first told me how he felt? I'm so brilliant and smart!". It's like... really?'

'What's gotten into your pumpkin juice this morning?' Liz asked irritably. 'You sound like a bit of a bitch.'

Rose bent her head back and sighed. 'Where's your sense of humour these days, Liz?'

Lottie watched James and Cordelia's conversation until it ended with the arrival of Albus. They spoke for another moment or two before Cordelia smiled at both the boys, waved, and moved to the table beside: Ravenclaw. James looked annoyed at his brother, but grinned a second later, as if Al had said something incredibly hilarious. Perhaps he had. If it weren't for her friendship with Rose, Lottie would definitely fancy him.

'Now, speaking of couples,' Melissa began, eyes on the door. 'Are they going out yet?'

The three other girls turned to witness Barbara and Fred enter the Great Hall together, deep in conversation. Barbara's hands were moving as she spoke, gesturing to things that looked like a mixture of sprained muscles and swishing air. Lottie guessed "Quidditch practice".

'I don't think so,' said Rose, still sounding a bit put out after Liz's comment from earlier.

'Should happen soon. I mean, just look at how happy he is to be around her.'

Rose bit her lip. 'Please don't make me want to puke with talks of my cousins being in love.'

'Fine,' Lottie settled. 'But us not mentioning it won't make it any less true.'

Though it had been over a week since the end of their shared patrols, Albus still had trouble with Andy coming up to him in corridors or lessons—even just as he was walking around the grounds, as had happened once before—and insisting that there was some hope in him ending up with Cordelia.

He didn't really understand her fascination with the way he may or may not have felt about his friend; if she wanted to further along any romances at Hogwarts, perhaps it was better to go after Fred or even Scorpius Malfoy, who—after all that had happened—Al kind of hoped had feelings for his best friend, Patricia Day. It wasn't that he spent time thinking about relationships—because he definitely didn't have that much time on his hands—but sometimes people just... weren't good at hiding their feelings.

Al was beginning to think he was one of these people, what with how Andy would scurry up to him with new information on things Cordelia or James had said to debunk their budding relationship (though it was, almost all the time, more Cordelia's words than James's that Andy was informing him of).

But, if he was fair, about three quarters of the time she just came up to tease him about how she thought he felt.

'Andy,' he said in the library after lessons that day, 'if you have something to say, don't withhold it.'

She had been standing a shelf away for about five minutes, looking hesitant. Finally, given what she was taking as a "go" sign, the questions and everything else that entailed began. 'I saw you two talking at breakfast. She'—meaning Cordelia—'didn't just smile at James when she left, though. And I really don't hope you're thinking of me like I'm stalking you guys or something—I'm not. I honestly couldn't care less about who your parents are, or who your brother is—I'm only doing this because I'm hoping you've not got "Second Potter Syndrome".'

Al laughed. 'What's "Second Potter Syndrome"?'

Andy grinned. 'You're the second Potter sibling: not the first boy—James—or the first girl—Lily. You're in between, but no less brilliant. I just don't want you getting shoved into the shadows due to the fact you won't, y'know, light Evan Cadwallader's underwear on fire or something.'

'I don't even think James has ever done that.'

'Then you could be the first!'

Setting a book back on its shelf, Albus asked: 'What happened to Hufflepuffs being all "don't solve your problems with violence; be tolerant"—you know?'

'Your impression makes us sound like drug addicts.'

'Hey,' Al pointed out, 'your house name is Hufflepuff.'

Andy plucked a book from the selection. She looked puzzled. 'Most people look at me like I'm mad when I say something like "drug addict".'

'Because it's a usually Muggle term or because it makes you sound insane?'

'A bit of both, I suppose.'

'Well,' Albus told her, 'my granddad does a lot of tinkering with Muggle objects. One time, he was working on a television, and there was a news program on talking all about alcoholism and drug addicts. So I—er—did some learning.'

For the first time, Al noticed a few stray cake crumbs on her sweater. He wondered if she really was as obsessed with desserts as her reputation warranted. Noticing them herself, Andy brushed them off and straightened out her top.

'I hope that's not your way of telling me you tried drugs, because I know everyone says you're supposed to tell someone, but I don't think you're meant to be that subtle—'

Albus raised his arms in front of him, like a surrender. 'Andy,' he said, 'relax. That's not what I meant. I may have "Second Potter Syndrome",' he joked, 'but I'm definitely not a drug addict.'

'Good,' the Hufflepuff told him. 'Because I wouldn't trust the Prophet not to abuse that information.'