Hey guys. It's been so long, but I've been soooo busy and haven't had time for anything, and then the hols came up and all the stupid family socializing started and, you know. This is quite a short chapter but I'll update soon! :)
I lay on the couch, starring at the potion brewing slowly, the wooden spoon magicked into stirring around in slow, clockwise circles inside the almost clear liquid.
The atmosphere in the room was thick as cold custard, and Malfoy sat stiff on the other couch, his outline framed by the shimmering moonlight that seeped in through the wide window. I fingered the old parchment that contained so many secrets. How it had come by was a curious tale indeed.
"Why the heck do you have Albus's map, Malfoy? He won't even lend it to me, let alone you?"
"I have other means of getting what I want, Weasly."
"You mean you stole this?"
"Of course not. I would never stoop that low. I simply charmed your ignorant younger female cousin into fetching this for me."
Of course, it would have been a laughing matter for Malfoy to manipulate Lily into stealing the map. I hated it how he could just toy girls into situations like this, have anyone he wanted. How they never thought twice, never took their conscience and pride into consideration, even though they knew where it would all end, knew they were being used. It just proved that people nowadays are starting to give away their beliefs, to blow it for the easy solution. If the Hogwarts students were like that during the Second Wizarding War, who knows if I would have been born…
I snapped back to my own senses, noticing the overturned chair at the corner of the room. Malfoy's discovery had not been pleasant…
Let's say it included a lot of shouting on Roxanne's part, a lot of sneering from the others, then a lot of shouting from me as I defended the couple. Then begging on my part for them to sort this out tomorrow, as we had an assignment to finish, then their departure and a temporarily broken friendship. If a friendship containing Scorpius Malfoy could be called a friendship.
Suddenly, the potion in front of me turned perfect, glassy clear. The Veritaserum was ready.
I quickly leaned forward to put the flames out, for fear of ruining the potion. I looked up at Malfoy, who was lost in his own little world, probably recalling his BSD (Broomcupboard Shag of the Day). But… what? He had a book in his hands. A book. And it wasn't one of the old, leather bound library books.
Should I ask him, or shouldn't I? Under normal circumstances I would have ignored this and snapped at him to write the end of the report. But these weren't normal circumstances. I had had quite a strange couple of days, what with Roxanne and Zabini, the Patronuses, and that party-
No. I wasn't going to think about that.
I looked at Malfoy again. He was absorbed in is book, but the moonlight wasn't enough for me to see the title. It was, however, enough for me to notice his oh so perfect features, his white blond hair, and ever so expensive sweater. The moon reflected on his high cheekbones and his gray eyes glimmered mysteriously. If Scorpius Malfoy were a statue, he would reflect aesthetic perfection. It was quite enticing, but the young man before me was no statue to be admired and pondered over in a distant museum, or a soulless painting somewhere in dark corridor. He was seemingly alive (although cold as stone in many ways) and an arrogant, overrated narcissist that never showed himself to anyone. He was a walking mystery. I snapped back to reality and looked at him. Why did the most obnoxious people look the best? And was Malfoy actually reading for pleasure?
My curiosity was an untamed beast.
"Are you… are you reading?" Ok, I was lame.
"No, I am merely starring at these undecipherable symbols for no apparent reason." he drawled.
"Oh, haha. Seriously though, It's not a library book, is it? I hardly thought Scorpius Malfoy would read for pleasure."
"There's a lot about me you don't know, firecarcker. How can you come to assumptions about my habits?"
The truth was, I couldn't. I hardly knew the real Scorpius Malfoy.
"I'm not making assumptions, but this is quite unlike you."
"Again, you show a nack of thinking that you can come to conclusions about my character."
"Well, with the way you behave nobody can come to an actual conclusion, so it is natural for me to draw conclusions out of what I see. All you send out to the world is that you play Quidditch, dress expensive, and shag girls!" I said angrily. Seriously, if he was going to promote a façade for a personality, it wasn't other people's faults not to know about him.
"Really Weasly? Have you ever thought that maybe I have reasons for being the way I am? That maybe not everything was wonderful and sugary in my childhood, unlike the dear daughter of two heroes and member of a family everybody likes? Well, how do you know you don't seem distant and uptight to the rest of the world, that maybe you don't allow most people to see the real you either?"
That was the most non-insulting words me and him had exchanged in a long time. Ever, probably. I was rendered speechless. I was distant and uptight? But then, a brilliant idea started slowly forming in my mind, reminding me of my earlier plan. The sheer genius of it carried me away for a while. Scorpius wanted to express himself? Then he should do it wholly. And I should tread carefully.
I looked up at him. He had gone back to his book, apparently pleased to have shut me up.
"What are you reading anyway?" I asked tentatively.
He raised an eyebrow. And then the book. I gasped. The Seagull by Anton Chekhov.
"You're reading Muggle literature?" I asked, surprised.
"As you can see."
"But…but, I thought…-"
"Muggles are actually quite smart. The lack of magic made their lives harder, and so they used their brains to try and figure out the metaphysical. They raised great philosophical questions, trying to decipher the meaning of their lives' difficulty and strain, which made them quite inspired."
I gaped at him. Since when did he have such deep opinions about stuff?
"Is it any good?" I asked. I had never particularly fancied Russian writers and also never read Chekhov.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, excellent actually. The writing is clear and simple, yet fascinating."
"Right." I said. I was starting to get distracted from thoughts about books and Malfoy and I needed to focus on my plan.
"So, how do we know the potion's working?" I asked, faking an innocent voice. This was going to be quite an exciting evening…
AN/: I know there's no action, but I just wanted to clear some stuff up so there's free action in the next chap. Remember to review! It's what keeps me going! :)