07/11/2018

Teenage Icon
I'm not magnetic or mythical
I'm suburban and typical
But I've got it, I've got it, I'm overrun with it all
Seductive charm, a way with words
So effortless, not leather clad or dangerous
But I always did it like a real rebel would
I had a photo where John Lennon
May have stood or so I'm told

Two days passed between the Prophet announcing Ron Weasley's reinstatement as senior investigator and his daughter receiving the letter from London. Albus and Chandra were in the midst of a conversation she was trying not to listen to as she filled a glass of pumpkin juice.

'I was so looking forward to going back to school,' sighed Chandra. 'But we have so much homework already.'

Albus nodded in consensus. 'And James says we need to start training four days a week again. It's ridiculous. Our next match isn't for ages and the pitch is still covered in snow.'

Chandra gave him a sympathetic smile. 'What do you have now?'

'Care of Magical Creatures. You?'

'Ancient runes,' said Chandra. 'But I just absolutely have to finish this Defence essay. Have you started?'

'Er… tried to.'

'Come to the library after last period,' said Chandra brightly. 'We can help each other.'

'You don't want my help. I'm terrible at Defence. I'm the worst in the whole year.'

'Oh, no you're not, Al. And Connor said he'd give me a hand, so he can look over yours too.'

'Oh, that's… nice of him. Only I'm supposed to be at Quidditch practice tonight.'

At the sound of wings beating overhead, Rose looked up, searching for a sign of her parents' owl, her heart pounding in anticipation, and then finally she saw her.

Henrietta landed before her, narrowly missing her plate of scrambled eggs. The owl deposited the letter in her lap, nuzzled her hand, and then took flight again to reach Hugo at the end of the table where he was eating with her friends.

She picked up the envelope and slit it over with her butter knife. She had been waiting for the letter for the last two days, but now, as she opened the scroll of parchment and scanned her mother's slim, slanted handwriting, all she could feel was angry.

Dear Rose,

I hope your first week back is treating you well. You're lucky you left London when you did – it's been raining all week. I'm very jealous thinking of you and Hugo up in the castle surrounded by snow.

I'm sure by now the professors are starting to prepare you for your OWLs. I know it must seem arduous, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it when it comes to exam times.

Teddy and Victoire have decided on the twenty-fifth of August for the wedding. Knowing Teddy, I must say that's much sooner than I expected of them, but I suppose Victoire will be very organised. She says she wants to do it when you're all home from school and doesn't want to wait another whole year.

You probably saw in the paper yesterday, but Dad and I forgot to tell you that he's going to be doing some work for the Auror Office. He'll be away from the shop, but I'm sure he'll be back there in a few weeks. Until then George has Fred helping him. He and Juniper are trying to save some money before they head overseas – again!

I'm missing you very much already, but I know you'll be having a lovely time being back at school.

Lots of love,

Mum

She opened her book bag and tossed the parchment inside, before getting to her feet.

'Where are you off to, Rosie?' asked Chandra.

'Class.'

'Oh, but…' Chandra glanced towards Rose's plateful of untouched scrambled eggs.

'I'm not hungry,' she said in answer. 'I'll see you at lunch.'

And she turned away, stalking along the Great Hall and through the oak doors into the entrance hall. She passed Hugo as she did so. He was laughing with his friends, his letter from their mother lying unopened next to his cup of tea.'

Her anger somehow divided her from the rest of the world; she felt oddly distant from the other students striding in and out of the Great Hall. Forty-eight hours she had been waiting – waiting for them to find the courage to pick up a quill and acknowledge what she already knew. Even in the letter her mother had prefaced it with nothingness, talking about the weather and OWLs and weddings. Her father's return to the Auror Office had been framed within a space of inconsequence; it was to be thought about only in terms of the shop and George and Fred, but nothing in the realm of the war and the Ministry. Her mother would never suggest to her that it was anything other than the ordinary.

'Rosie, wait up.'

She had made it to the first-floor landing before Albus managed to catch up with her. He took hold of her shoulder as he said her name, and she turned to face him. He peered up at her with wide, pitying eyes: she hated people looking at her like that.

'What?' she said.

'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine. You're going to be late down to Hagrid's.'

'Yes, but… you looked a bit…'

'A bit what?

Albus hesitated under her sharp glare. 'I just… was the letter from your parents?'

'Yes.'

'What did it say?'

In reply, she tore open her book bag, snatched out the roll of parchment, and forced it into his hand. 'It didn't say anything. They never say anything.'

Albus unfurled the parchment. She watched him read it over before he looked back up at her. 'Rosie…'

'Oh, don't be so fucking pitying, Albus.'

'I just… Maybe she didn't know what to say.'

Rose ignored this, and said instead, 'I don't know why our parents wanted children if they don't want to ever speak to us.'

'That's not true.'

'It is, Albus. How many times have you had to find out about your dad going to St Mungo's from the Prophet rather than him? God, I mean, my mum gets made head of the DMLE and I find out from bloody Lucy. Lucy instead of her.'

Albus didn't seem to have a response to this, and so he reached out to try to grip her shoulder, but she shook him off.

'Doesn't it bother you?' she asked. 'Doesn't it make you angry?'

'I… well…'

'Or does it not bother you anymore? Now that you've got Mei to keep you occupied?'

Albus sighed. 'Rose, don't…'

'What?' she said. 'Am I not allowed to speak her name?'

'God, Weasley, do you ever give it a rest?' came the drawling voice of Scorpius Malfoy.

Albus and Rose both spun around to find him standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with his arms folded, looking at Rose as if she had just spat at him.

Rose folded her arms in a huff, mirroring him. 'Seriously, Malfoy? Don't you have anything better to do than follow us around?'

Scorpius rolled his eyes, taking a step closer towards them. He glanced around to see if any of the students passing up and down the corridor, before he looked at Rose. When he spoke again he had lowered his voice. 'Have you told him yet?'

Albus looked back and forth between the two of them. 'Told me what?'

Scorpius gave an angry sigh of dismay, shaking his head. 'You haven't told him?'

'You tell him if you think it's so important,' Rose bit back.

'You don't think this is important? Jesus, Weasley, you're unbelievable…'

'Oh, stop with your moral outrage,' snapped Rose. 'Don't pretend like you care.'

'Please, can you two just… just not?' sighed Albus. 'What haven't you told me?'

Rose rolled her eyes. Scorpius glanced around again. Students were trailing up and down the marble staircase on their way to first period, but nobody was looking their way.

'We saw the Slytherins last night,' Scorpius informed him in a whisper. 'While we were on prefects' patrol.'

Albus's eyes swelled. 'What were they doing?'

'Going up the astronomy tower. But we heard them talking. They're going to meet this August bloke again. Next weekend.'

'Next weekend? In Hogsmeade?'

'Must be.'

'Well, what do we do?' said Albus. 'Tell the teachers?'

Rose gave a heavy sigh. 'Albus, they're not going to believe you.'

'They might…'

'No, she's right,' said Scorpius certainly. 'We need to follow them.'

Albus nodded thoroughly and looked to Rose. 'Rosie, will you-'

'No.'

'I didn't even say anything!'

'I'm not being a part of this,' she said, 'and I'm not interested in talking about it anymore with him.' She jerked her head towards Scorpius.

Albus opened his mouth to reply, but Rose didn't wait to hear it. With her arms folded she turned on her heel and joined the crowd of students trudging up the staircase to first period.

Albus and Scorpius watched her go, before Scorpius looked back at Albus. 'What is wrong with her?'

Albus shrugged. 'She… er… she's a bit upset. I don't know if you've been reading the papers… Her dad's gone back to the Auror Office.'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. 'That's what's wrong with her?'

'Er… I suppose so.'

'Okay, so, what's her excuse for every other day of her life?'

In spite of himself, Albus smirked. 'You should ask her.'

'No thanks. I don't fancy having my neck slit.'

'Fair enough. Look, I need to get down to Care of Magical Creatures. Which way are you headed?'

'Muggle studies, but I can be late. I'll walk you.' He gestured forward and they started walking. 'How are we going to get the cloak?'

'Well, I've got Quidditch practice tonight,' said Albus. 'I could ask James about it then.'

'And then on the weekend – what do we do then?'

'We'll wait until Zabini, Rosier, Goyle and Montague turn up to breakfast,' said Albus. 'You know, get up early so we don't miss them and then follow them into the village, and once we know where they're headed to we could tell the teachers.'

Scorpius nodded in agreement. 'I'll have to come up with something to tell Zaina.'

'Oh, but she won't… won't mind, will she?'

'She'll mind I'm not spending the day with her.'

'Oh, right. So things are – are good with her?'

'Yeah, I guess,' said Scorpius. 'I think I owe you though.'

'Oh, well… you're welcome. Thanks for – you know, with Vane…'

'He's a prick.'

'Yeah.'

They lapsed briefly into silence as they started down the marble staircase, fighting to keep themselves steady against the throng of students heading up the stairs. Once they had made it to the bottom of the stairs, they fell in line with each other and crossed the entrance hall.

Stepping through the oak doors into the January chill, they tugged their coats around them against the wind and started down the sloping pathway to Professor Hagrid's cabin.

'I suppose I better tell Mei…' But Albus wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Well, tell her something.'

'You're not going to tell her the truth?'

'Er, no but… you're not telling Zaina.'

'Yeah, but Zaina's Zaina.'

'Right, and… and Mei's Mei.'

Scorpius raised a hand in defeat. 'Alright. Fine. Your business, not mine.'

They came to a halt where the pathway turned into cobbled steps. The groundskeeper's cabin sat at the bottom of the sloping hill. The rest of the class had already convened in the pumpkin patch. At the front of the group, Professor Hagrid was speaking to the group, holding aloft a large ugly bird.

'Fucking hell, is that a cockatrice?' said Scorpius.

'Yeah, but he's very well trained.'

Scorpius shook his head in disbelief. 'How do they let him teach?' When Albus didn't reply, Scorpius seemed to remember who he was talking to, for he added quickly, 'Looks like you're late.'

'Yeah. You're later, though.'

'Yeah, well.' And he shrugged. 'Enjoy it.'

'You, too.'

'I can't believe you still make everyone wear these.'

Harry looked up from his sheet of parchment. Ron was leaning against the bookshelf across the room, fumbling with the collar of his aurors' robes, trying to loosen them.

'It's not my doing. Take it up with Hermione.'

'We looked good in them when we were twenty,' mused Ron. 'Now we just look like idiots.'

'Do you have to think aloud?' asked Harry. 'I'm trying to work.'

'You called the meeting.'

'It hasn't started yet. Leave me alone.'

'It started ten minutes ago. Hermione's late.'

Harry glanced down at his watch. Ron was right. Sighing, Harry rolled up his slip of parchment. He slipped his glasses off his ears, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

'You look like shit,' said Ron.

'Thank you.'

'You should have taken time off. I'm taking over the investigation. I can handle it.'

'Believe me, I'd love to hand it all over to you, but it's not just the investigation. I need to organise the roster before all the departments re-open next week,' said Harry. 'Kingsley's said he wants aurors with the department heads at all times. I'll have to pull recruits out of the training program to make that happen, which means I'll need to take on more recruits, which means we need to take more aurors off the field and have them training the recruits, but I don't have enough people to take aurors off the field.'

'Tell Hermione. She'll make it work.'

'I have. Rowle's objecting. He says we can't take anyone off the field at the moment.'

Sighing, Ron moved across the room to take a seat at Harry's desk. 'It wouldn't be the end of the world if you took some time off, you know?'

Harry considered this. He knew Ron was watching him, but he didn't want to meet his eye, and so to preoccupy himself he unfurled his sheet of parchment once more. It was a pointless exercise, as he had met an impasse: he needed more staff, and he didn't have more.

There was a knock at the door and both he and Ron looked up.

'You don't need to knock,' Harry called impatiently, and the door opened, revealing Hermione, her arms laden with rolls of parchment. She was looking thin and tired and her bushy hair was coming loose from its braids. She shut the door behind them, saying as she did, 'I'm sorry I'm late.'

'You've got to get Rowle to agree to have more aurors training the new recruits,' Ron told her. 'And why do we need still to wear these robes?'

'Hello to you too,' said Hermione curtly, collapsing into the chair beside her husband and depositing the rolls of parchment on Harry's desk. 'I just had a meeting with the Wizengamot.'

'And?' said Harry.

'They've been debating security measures, and they've decided they want aurors stationed on every corner Diagon Alley at all times.'

Harry sighed and reclined in his chair. 'I knew they'd want that. With what aurors, exactly? We're already short-staffed.'

'Rowle has a solution to that,' said Hermione grimly. 'He wants a hundred more recruits by the end of the month. There'll be no training period – they'll be put out on the field immediately with a mentor and learn on the job.'

Ron swore under his breath.

'No training period?' Harry demanded. 'What good does he think untrained aurors are going to do? They'll be killed on their first day.'

'I know that,' said Hermione. Her voice sounded strained, as if she was trying to contain her anger. With an unsteady hand, she gestured to the rolls of parchment she had dropped onto Harry's desk. 'These are consent forms. The Wizengamot wants consent from every Ministry staff member absolving us of the responsibility if they should suffer any injury while fulfilling Ministry duties.'

'Oh, brilliant,' growled Harry. 'That really solves the problem, doesn't it? People getting killed doesn't really count as long as we're not responsible.'

Ron gave a sniff of laughter. Hermione ignored both of them and said, 'I need you to get them out to all of your aurors so they can sign them as soon as possible.'

'And what do I do when people refuse to sign them?'

Hermione gave a low sigh. 'Tell them to send a complaint to my office.'

'And what will you do then?'

'Harry, please,' urged Hermione. 'Just send them out, will you?'

'Okay, fine. Fine. Look, can we talk about what we're actually here to talk about? We're running late as it is.'

'Good point,' said Ron. He took out his wand and gave it a wave, conjuring up two identical scarlet folders which he sat down on Harry's desk, on top of Hermione's mound of paperwork. 'The autopsies are back from St Mungo's. There's a copy of the report there for each of you.'

Hermione snatched up one of the folders and opened it on her lap. Harry did nothing but eye his copy with distaste. He looked back to Ron. 'Do you think you could summarise it for me?'

'Thought you might ask for that,' said Ron. He shifted in his seat, once again struggling with the collar of his robes. 'The aurors weren't killed in combat, and it wasn't from the building collapsing. They all died in the same way: exposure to some type of dark material.'

'What type of material?' asked Harry.

'Oh, you'll love this. We asked Unspeakables to take a look, but it's nothing that the Department of Mysteries is familiar with.'

Hermione looked up from scanning the autopsy report, looking alarmed. 'That's impossible. How can they be unfamiliar with it?'

'See, that's the thing,' said Ron. 'They think it must be the invention of whoever detonated it. We've been working under the assumption that the aurors were killed trying to defend whoever this was from infiltrating the Ministry, but I don't think that's the case. I don't think they were even present when this stuff was detonated, because otherwise they would have been killed too. I think that whatever this material was has been in the atrium for a while, concealed and waiting to be detonated from a distance. The atrium is open to the public: anyone could have left it there.'

'But what did they want?' asked Hermione beseechingly. 'If they weren't planning on infiltrating the Ministry, why attack us?'

'Probably to scare us,' said Harry. 'To let us know just how powerful they are. This Reclamation Army is trying to make a point. If we're to believe their claims that they killed Gamp and destroyed the building in Hogsmeade then we need to consider the possibility that they're going to just keep killing people until they get what they want.'

Ron gave a low groan and raised a hand to rub his eyes. As if unconsciously, he reached with his other hand to grasp Hermione fingers. 'I really thought these days were over,' he said.

Harry saw Hermione lace her fingers through Ron's. 'It's not going to be like it was,' she said. 'The Ministry's different now – we'll find out who did this before it escalates any further.'

'It doesn't seem so different,' said Harry. 'Rowle's out there getting the Wizengamot to pass his laws, convincing people that this Reclamation Army is the product of blood equality. If things continue like this he'll win the election next year.'

'But things won't continue like this,' insisted Hermione. 'This isn't a war. It just isn't. And we can't let Rowle convince people it is.'

'It's not a war yet,' said Harry, 'but if it turns into one you realise we'll be fighting on the wrong side.'

'Harry,' hissed Hermione.

'Mate, that's not true,' said Ron.

'We're fighting alongside Muggle-haters like Rowle. That seems like the wrong side to me,' replied Harry.

'We're fighting the people who killed twenty-five aurors,' said Hermione rather coolly. 'We need to remember that, Harry.' She let go of Ron's hand to check her watch before saying, 'I need to speak to Kingsley about re-opening the atrium next week. Was there anything else?'

'That's it for now,' said Ron.

She got to her feet, brushing her hand over Ron's arm as she did so. She crossed to the door, pausing to look back at Harry. 'Please make sure the consent forms get signed, alright?'

'Yes, yes.'

'Thank you.'

She left his office, shutting the door behind her. Ron sat watching the door, waiting for her footsteps to fade away, before he looked back to Harry. 'You shouldn't have said that.'

'Said what?'

'About us fighting on the wrong side.'

'You disagree?'

'You just shouldn't have said it.' He got to his feet and waved a hand towards the consent forms. 'Suppose I should sign one of those, shouldn't I?'

'Or don't,' said Harry. 'Won't make any difference if you're dead.'

'That's the spirit, mate.' He picked up a roll of parchment, slipping the consent form into his pocket before he strode from Harry's office.

When he wanted to be unimpeded by his senses, he got drunk. When he wanted to be in control, he got on his broom.

Inebriation offered an intoxicating oblivion; all of his senses more and less at the same time. The world was diminished to simple things; another drink, another cigarette, another girl. Life was full of tangible, touchable pleasure.

But on the Quidditch pitch, it was all power. His limbs bent the way he told them to. The broom obeyed his touch. His body weaved through the air unburdened.

It had been this way for as long as he could remember. From the first time he rode a broom and every time after that. The longer he did it and the further he pushed himself and the harder it became, the more control he had.

But today, with the cold numbing his fingers and the icy wind battering their brooms and his arm screaming in protest, he had no control. He couldn't make the broom move the way he wanted; he couldn't get the quaffle through the hoops. Today there was no control, only blinding frustration.

He watched, for what felt like the hundredth time in their hour's practice, with his chest bursting with anger and his limbs feeling haplessly dulled, as the quaffle slipped through his fingers and hurtled to the ground. It landed against the frozen pitch with an ugly thud.

'Fuck!'

'Good save!' called Louis.

James didn't smile. He swooped down, snatching the quaffle off of the ground. He circled back up, holding it with his left arm. His right arm was too painful to serve with.

He tossed the Quaffle to Adam, who passed it to Louis, who passed it back to Adam, who swooped towards the goal posts, before Kim intercepted it.

'Farouk, stop slowing down when you shoot,' James instructed. 'Watch how Louis does it.'

Kim passed the ball to Louis, who proceeded to demonstrate. Louis scored again but James sighed, dissatisfied.

'You're doing it too quick,' James told Louis. 'Show him what you're doing.'

'How can I show him how to shoot without slowing down if you want me to slow down to show him?' asked Louis.

'For fuck's sake, I'll just do it. Give me the quaffle.'

Rather than toss the quaffle, Louis flew to his side and held it out for him.

'I don't want you to drop it again,' said Louis innocently.

James didn't have the patience to think of anything clever to say and so, glaring at his cousin, he snatched the quaffle from Louis. He chose to do so with his right arm; although his elbow was still throbbing, he was determined to break it back it. It was as if he could exorcise the damage through the pain.

He moved towards the goal posts, raising the quaffle, willing his arm to obey, taking aim…

'Watch it!'

He spun around at Finlay's warning. He had half a second to register that a bludger was going to hit him. He pulled up, trying to dive away, with his movements were too slow, and it collided into his right arm and hurtled away.

Pain ripped through him and before he could stop himself he gasped out, 'Fucking hell!'

The quaffle fell from his grip, once again thudding into the earth. He clutched his arm to his chest, willing the pulsating pain to stop, breathing deeply. He knew his team-mates were watching him and so he forced himself to straighten up, moving his shaking arm back to clutch his broom handle.

Finlay approached on his broom from where he and Xan had been practising with the bludgers. 'You okay?' he asked.

'You're supposed to be aiming them at each other, not at us,' James barked at him.

'I know, I know, I missed it…'

'No shit, Fin. I realised that much. Missing them isn't going to be good enough for our next match, is it?'

Finlay didn't reply, which only made it worse. James would have preferred if he had risen to meet his anger, but all James could see in his eyes was pity.

As if to break the silence, Adam pulled his broom away from the hoops and dropped down to collect the quaffle.

'Leave it, Farouk,' snapped James. 'We're done for the day. Everyone get down.'

Very little was said at the seven of them landed. As his team-mates stowed away the equipment, James busied himself adjusting the laces on his boots. He needed an excuse not to speak to any of them. He could feel hot, wet blood trickling along the inside of his sleeve: the impact of his bludger had re-opened his wound.

'James, you coming?'

He looked around to find Finlay was standing over him, his beaters' bat slung over his arm.

'No, I need to keep practising. I can't think with you lot here constantly needing correction.'

But still Finlay remained passive. Lowering his voice so nobody else could hear, he said, 'Your arm…'

James straightened up. 'It's fine.'

'I told you not to try to fly yet.'

'Yes, I remember. You were right as always. Do you want a gold star or something?'

Finally, Finlay relented. With one last sorry look at James, he turned away and started towards the change rooms with the rest of the team.

Once alone, James eased his arm out, testing how it moved. The bone was mended, but Finlay had told him that cursed wounds healed slowly. He wondered, not for the first time, if he could manufacture a story that Hannah would believe in order to get it seen by a healer.

'Are you coming to the change rooms?'

He glanced around once more. It wasn't Finlay, but Albus. The rest of the team had departed, but his brother remained. He was standing with his broom hanging limply in his arm, watching James expectantly.

'No, I'm going to practice some more.'

'Right, well… Do you want me to play keeper so you can practise scoring?'

James gave a harsh laugh. 'I don't want you to embarrass yourself.'

'Yeah, okay, well…' Albus raised a hand to show James the snitch he was still holding. 'I might keep practising too.'

James gave a low, angry sigh. 'Do you have something to say to me?'

'I… No.'

'Obviously you do, but if you're not going to say it can you go away, please?'

'Right… okay.'

James could see Albus hesitate, but he never-the-less turned away.

James picked up the quaffle and mounted his broom and soared upwards. He would get better: he had to get better. He would tell Hannah whatever was needed to get her to fix it.

'I stayed over at Mei's place on Christmas,' he heard Albus call.

James brought his broom to a halt and looked back at Albus. He was standing below, cast in James's shadow, gazing up at his brother expectantly.

'And?' James called back.

'And we… you know…'

Albus trailed offer, but he had caught James's attention. He brought his broom back to the ground, stepping of, with the quaffle slung under his arm.

'Ducky,' said James, very sternly, 'Are you trying to tell me you're not a virgin anymore?'

Albus looked uncertain, but not embarrassed. 'No.'

'No, that's not what you're telling me or no, you're not a virgin?'

'The second one.'

With the hand unoccupied with the quaffle, James put his hand to his chest and gave a wistful sigh. 'Oh, Ducky. I'm so proud. I didn't think you had it in you.'

'Er… thanks.'

'You're all grown up. You're a man, Albus.'

'Oh, shut up.'

'Mum and Dad will be so pleased when I write to them.'

'James!'

'I'm only kidding.' And he took a step towards Albus, slinging his good arm around Albus's neck and pulling him into his chest. He ruffled Albus's hair.

'Get off, James.'

'But I'm excited! You're not totally useless, are you?'

Albus managed to push him off, stepping away. 'Okay, stop now.'

'How was it? Did she manage to keep to a straight face?'

'Oh, fuck off,' snapped Albus. 'I only told you because – because-'

'You're not sure if you did it right?'

'Because I need the cloak to I can get to her dormitory,' finished Albus.

James raised his eyebrows. 'Dad's cloak?'

'Yeah. You've got it, right?'

James spun the Quaffle on his finger, looking sly. 'I might.'

Albus drew a deep breath, willing himself to persist. 'Well, can I have it, please?'

'Perhaps.'

'James, come on.'

'What do I get out of it?'

'What do you – why would you get anything? I only want to borrow it. You can have it back.'

'But what if I need it?'

'God, you are such a prat. When do I ever ask you for anything? And you can't even lend me a cloak which doesn't even belong to you. Dad didn't say you could have it. The cloak's as much mine as it is yours – what?'

James was grinning. 'Oh, Ducky, you're so touchy. I'm only teasing. I would never deny you pleasure.'

'Alright. So – so I can have it?'

'If that's what's required for you to get shagged. When do you need it?'

'For the weekend.'

'I'm sure I can make arrangements,' said James, tossing the Quaffle in the air and catching it again. 'I want details, though.'

'Details – about?'

'About Mei, obviously.'

'No.'

'If you say so,' said James, 'but I know you want to give them. I'll wait. I'm not in a hurry.'

'Right, so when can I have the cloak?'

'All in good time, Ducky. I'll deliver. But for now you need to go away and leave me alone so I can practise, okay?'

'Yeah, sure. Cool. Thanks, James.'

Finally, Albus obeyed, picking up his broom and turning away. He trudged away through the snow towards the change rooms.

'It looks awful.'

'It looks fine.'

'I knew I should have waited until the retrograde is over. I can't let Connor see it like this.'

'Chandra, it's fine.'

But Chandra was looking on the verge of tears, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The tendrils of hair that she had trimmed away were lying in pools in the bathroom basin. She reached into her pocket and withdrew her wand.

'What are you doing?' asked Rose.

'I have to grow it back!'

Rose caught her wrist. She had seen Chandra attempt this before with disastrous consequences. 'Don't.'

'I'm late for divination! I can't go in there looking like this!'

'We'll go down to the hospital wing. I'm sure Hannah has something to grow back hair.'

'But – but divination…'

'Firenze won't mind if you're late. Come on.'

Rose took her hand and led her out of the bathroom back into their dormitory. Chandra paused to snatch up a scarf from her trunk and wrap it as much around her head as she could before they hurried down the stairs and through the common room. The hallways were relatively empty, sans for a few stragglers hurrying off to class, and Rose was pleased to find nobody paid them much notice as they descended the stairs to the hospital wing.

When they reached the door of the hospital wing, Rose let go of Chandra's hand to open the door and usher her inside. Hannah had her wand out and was standing over a bed occupied by a first-year who had sprouted antlers that looked like the product of a transfiguration mishap. The matron looked round at them at the door opened.

'Afternoon, you two,' she said, before turning back to the antlered first-year and giving her head a sharp rap with her wand. The antlers began to recede. 'What can I do for you?'

'Do you have anything that grows back hair?' asked Rose.

Hannah eyed the scarf Chandra had wrapped around her neck. 'Oh, Chandra, not again.'

This was enough to break the dam of tears Chandra had been fighting to hold. She gave a shuddering murmur before she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

'Oh, dear, that won't do any good,' sighed Hannah. She crossed over to the two fifth-years.

Raising her wand, Hannah aimed it at the door of the medicine cabinet across the room, which flew open and a vial of pink serum levitated towards them into Hannah's hand. She gestured for Chandra to sit down on the bed closest to them and forced the vial into her hand.

'Drink that,' said Hannah, and Chandra obeyed immediately, uncapping the vial and downing it in one gulp.

Rose sat down on the foot of Chandra's bed. She watched as Chandra unwrapped the scarf from her head, clutching at the ends of her shoulder-length hair, looking for any sign of growing.

'It's not working,' whimpered Chandra.

'It will start growing in a few minutes, but it will take about an hour for it to get back to how long it was before,' said Hannah impatiently. 'I'll write you a note excusing you from your next class. Rosie, what do you have now?'

'Free period,' said Rose.

'Oh, really? Professor Cadwallader told me has the fifth-years this afternoon,' said Hannah pointedly. 'I was sure you were taking arithmancy.'

Knowing she was being told to leave, Rose rolled her eyes and got back off the bed. 'I'll see you at dinner,' she said to Chandra. 'Stop pulling at it.'

Chandra whipped her hands away from her hair and waved Rose goodbye. The prefect left the hospital wing and started down the corridor towards the arithmancy classroom. She was in no hurry: Professor Cadwallader wasn't the type to give detentions for lateness.

By the time she had made it to the fifth floor, she was already questioning whether she ought to bother going. Her dorm was empty; she could spend the afternoon reading with Chandra's cat on her lap. Would Hannah bother to follow up whether she made it class? She somewhat doubted it.

'There you are.'

She stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder. She had passed by the prefects' office, from which Lucy had just emerged, wearing a scowl.

'I came looking for you in arithmancy and you weren't in class,' continued Lucy.

'I had to take Chandra to the hospital wing,' said Rose. 'Why were you looking for me?'

Lucy stepped aside from the doorway and ushered her forward. 'Come inside.'

'Lucy, I'm late for class.'

'Get in, Rose.'

Sighing, Rose trudged back and stepped into the prefects' office. She wasn't alone; sitting at the desk beneath the window was Scorpius Malfoy. He was tilting back his chair, looking bored, but when their eyes met he scowled at her.

'What's this?' asked Rose.

'It's the prefects' office,' drawled Malfoy. Rose ignored him.

Lucy stepped back into the room, shutting the door behind her. She gestured to the empty chair beside Malfoy. 'Sit down,' she said to Rose.

Rose obeyed reluctantly. She dropped down into her seat, trying to avoid looking at the Ravenclaw, and Lucy took her seat across from them. She didn't look pleased, but Rose didn't think was unusual for Lucy.

'Why'd you call us in here?' Scorpius asked the head girl.

'You two didn't finish your patrol last night,' she replied venomously.

'Yes, we did,' said Malfoy without hesitation. Rose nodded in agreement.

'No, you didn't,' snapped Lucy. 'I was waiting for you at the end of the route. You never showed up.'

'You held me up in the common room last night, so we finished a little late,' said Rose. 'You must have missed us.'

Lucy's freckled cheeks were taking on colour as her anger was rising. 'I did not miss you, Rose. I waited for an hour!'

Rose raised her eyebrows. 'You waited an hour?'

'Yes!'

'Why'd you do that?' asked Scorpius. He too seemed bemused as to why Lucy cared.

'Because I could tell Rose wasn't going to do what I told her to do.'

Scorpius gave a sigh, and cast Rose a disparaging look, before looking back to Lucy. 'I did try to tell her to finish the patrol-'

'Oh, please,' hissed Rose. 'He left of his own accord. It has nothing to do with me. It's not as if I imperiused him.'

'Well, I don't see why I should patrol with her,' said Scorpius hotly. 'I was perfectly happy to patrol with Hamish Coote –'

'And I was perfectly happy patrolling with Mei Zhao,' lied Rose. 'If you would just put us with other people-'

'You both know that's not true,'' snapped Lucy. 'I've asked Hamish and he told me you missed two patrols in December.'

'I was ill,' he insisted.

Lucy ignored him and turned to Rose. 'And Mei says you were late to every single patrol you had together.'

Rather than refute this, Rose said, 'What if I patrol with Hamish? I'll start turning up on time, I swear.'

'And I'll patrol with Mei,' said Scorpius. 'I'll do extra hours if you need me to.'

'No!' growled Lucy. 'You two aren't allowed to just pick and choose what jobs you will and won't do. While I was waiting for you last night I found four students out of bed. You realise the patrols are there for a reason? It's not safe for them to be wandering around at night! You're supposed to be prefects. And Merlin knows why the professors chose you two, but they did, and you both need to just grow up and do your duty.'

'If you want a different prefect from my house then pick someone else,' said Rose. 'I don't care.'

'Pick someone else? You – I…' The concept that somebody would turn down the title of prefect seemed too much for Lucy to comprehend. She stopped talking, heaving a deep sigh. 'You can't opt out of being prefect, Rose. You'll do your patrol as it's assigned to you. And if you don't I can make sure you won't have any Hogsmeade visits until you graduate. And I can talk to Professor Karim about having people taken off the Quidditch team.'

Rose and Scorpius were both silent, glaring across the desk at Lucy. It seemed both of them had exhausted their bartering, and neither of them were prepared to risk being banned from Hogsmeade or Quidditch.

'So, you'll both turn up to your patrol next week,' Lucy concluded. 'You'll both be on time, and you'll both follow the set route all the way from the beginning to end. And if you don't I'll know.' She opened the top draw of her desk and withdrew a sheet of lilac parchment, brandishing it in their faces. 'I'm going to pin this up here in the prefects' office. You both need to sign your names with the time you finish your patrol. It's bewitched, so if you try to falsify it at all I'll know. Any questions?'

Lucy seemed to take their silence as assent, for she gave a satisfied nod and returned the lilac parchment to her desk. 'Good. You can both go then. But don't think this means you get a free period – I'll be checking with Professor Cadwallader to make sure you both turned up.'

They both pushed back their chairs, Rose doing so with such vigour that she almost upended her chair. They both marched to the door, nearly colliding in the doorway, before Scorpius pushed past her into the corridor. She pulled the door after her, slamming it shut.

Once out in the corridor, Rose started again towards arithmancy. She wanted to get ahead of Scorpius so she wouldn't have to look at him as they walked, but she heard him break into a jog to catch up with her.

'Weasley, wait.'

'We're late.'

'Cadwallader doesn't care. Stop, look…' And he sidled in front of her, impeding her path.

She gave a long sigh. 'Please, can you just get out of my way? I'm not in the mood.'

'Implying that at other times you're a ray of sunshine?'

She frowned at him. 'Is there any point to this?'

'Yes, if you'd let me talk.'

'Talk, then.'

'Well, I just… look,' he said with difficulty. 'I was shitty last week.'

'When are you not?'

'I'm trying to say sorry, Weasley.'

'Are you? I wouldn't have guessed.'

'I shouldn't have said anything about Thomas when I know she's your friend.'

Rose gave a cold laugh. 'You shouldn't have said anything about her because you don't even know her.' And she pushed past him, continuing down the passageway, but he followed.

'Look,' he said, following after her, 'we can't just refuse to patrol together. Your cousin will make our lives hell.'

'I'm not refusing,' she snapped. 'I just don't want to.'

'Neither do I,' he growled, 'and I know you may have nothing to do with your time-'

'This is you saying sorry?'

'- but I do, and I'm not getting thrown off the Quidditch team because you're incapable of acting like a grown up and just being fucking civil with each other, okay?'

'Don't ask me to be civil after you've just tried to blame me for us not finishing prefect duty.'

'You left patrol!'

'So did you!'

'Only after you did! You had a little tantrum and – and…' He stopped himself, drawing a deep breath, following along in her tracks. 'Look, I know you're upset about your dad…'

She stopped so suddenly that he ran into her. They both stepped away from each other, glaring.

'Excuse me?' she demanded.

'Albus told me that's why you're being such a brat, and I sympathise-'

'Sympathise? I'm not a bloody invalid, Malfoy! Is it that hard for you to fathom that maybe – maybe I just don't want to patrol with you?'

'Well, you're going to have to!'

'That doesn't mean I have to be nice to you!'

'Good, I won't be nice to you either!'

It was then that the door to their left was wrenched open. In their anger, neither of them had noticed that they had come to a halt outside the arithmancy classroom. Professor Cadwallader was standing in the doorway, clutching the doorhandle, looking between them.

'Mr Malfoy, Ms Weasley,' he said slowly, sounding rather bored, 'if you're going to yell at each other would you mind doing it somewhere else where you won't interrupt my class?'

Rose and Scorpius were silent. They both felt that they had a lot more to say, but the presence of Professor Cadwallader had made them forget the clever things they wanted to say to one another. It was also hard to ignore the snickering faces of students in the classroom trying to peer around Cadwallader to get a better look at them.

'So,' said Cadwallader, 'do you want to keep arguing or are you going to get a hold of yourselves and come inside?'

Laughter could be heard from within the classroom. Refusing to look at each other, Rose and Scorpius both started forward. Professor Cadwallader stepped out of the doorway to let them step inside the classroom, and he closed the door again after each other.

'For those of you that came late,' said the Professor as he strode back to the chalkboard, 'turn to page two-hundred and eighty-nine.'

Scorpius dropped into a seat at the front of the classroom and Rose, in order to put as much distance between the two of them as she could, hurried to the back of the room, ignoring the curious glances she was getting from other students.

She could feel her hands shaking with anger as she opened her bag and pulled out her arithmancy book. She looked towards the front of the room; Scorpius was scribbling in his book, dutifully copying down the notes on the chalkboard. His sycophancy only infuriated her more.

But whatever anger she held within her there was no refuting it; she would be patrolling with him, because he was in no way worth missing every Hogsmeade visit for the next two and a half years of school.

The evening of the Hogsmeade visit dawned like most January mornings. A fresh coat of snow lay across the grounds and when he arrived at breakfast he saw that the Great Hall's ceiling displayed a sheet of heavy, milky clouds that were threatening to deliver another layer of snow.

He had overslept, going against their plan. The Great Hall was loud and full when he arrived, but Montague, Zabini, Goyle and Rosier were not present. His stomach gave an unpleasant turn; had he missed them?

He scanned the Ravenclaw table upon arrival. Scorpius was at the far end, sitting with Zaina, but keeping his eyes on the Slytherin table. Mei was seated at the end closest to the door, poring over a book, and he crossed over to her, giving her a kiss in greeting. He dropped down in a seat across from her, making sure he was facing the Slytherin table.

'I'm sorry I'm late,' he said to her.

It's alright,' she said without looking at him. 'I'll just have to stay late at the library.'

'So, you're not going to go down the village at all?' he asked.

'No, I can't. Stop trying to make me feel guilty.'

'Mei, I wasn't.'

'Alright. Then let it go.'

He took another glance up the Sytherin table; the four students he was looking for were still not present. Cautious of staring too long, he looked back to Mei. 'What are you studying for?'

'Ancient runes. We have an exam next week.'

'You'll be fine. You're good at ancient runes.'

In spite of herself, she smiled. 'You're trying to convince me to come to the village.'

'No, not at all,' he said quickly. 'But perhaps I could meet you when I get back this evening.'

'Perhaps,' said Mei, turning the page of her book. 'I'm running late now though.'

'Is something the matter?'

She looked up at him. 'What do you mean?'

'Nothing. You just seem… I don't know.'

She hesitated, before giving a sigh and shutting her book. She gestured to the copy of the morning Prophet lying folded beside her plate of toast. 'I was reading an interview with Rowle.'

'Why?'

'Because it's important, Albus,' she retorted. 'He's leading in the polls.'

'What? By how much?'

'Point five per cent.'

'Oh… that's not that much.'

'He was behind by one per cent the week he announced he was running. He's gaining support.'

'Yes, but – but that's surely only because people are scared,' said Albus. 'Once the Ministry catches whoever was behind the Christmas Massacre, I'm sure nobody will support Rowle.'

'But what if they don't catch them?'

'Well… I mean, they must. They've brought my uncle back as an investigator. I've heard he was really good at it.'

Mei gave a hesitant nod. 'Yes, he still holds the record for the most case closures of any senior investigator in the Auror Office since the 1960s.'

Albus didn't know if that was true, and so he had no response.

'Shacklebolt really ought to come out and acknowledge that it's a problem though,' said Mei. 'All he's done is tell people to remain calm – that there's no war. But people don't believe it, and that's why they're starting to trust Rowle.'

'You're right.'

Mei rolled her eyes. 'Don't tell me I'm right if you don't agree.'

'No, I agree.'

'Albus,' she sighed, 'I know that Shacklebolt is friends with your family, but you must see that he's mishandling – yes?'

Mei was no longer looking at him, but over his shoulder. He turned in his to see Scorpius standing over them.

'Morning,' said Albus.

'Hi,' said Scorpius. 'You still eating?'

Albus was very aware of Mei's questioning eyes, but he chose to ignore them. 'No, I'm done,' he said to Scorpius.

'Right, well, perhaps we should go down to the village?'

'Er… yeah.' He glanced towards Mei and then back to Scorpius. 'I'll meet you in the entrance hall, maybe?'

Scorpius looked impatient, but nodded none the less. He turned away and strode down the Ravenclaw table.

'What was that about?' Mei asked Albus once Scorpius was out of earshot.

'Er… what do you mean?'

'Why are you going down to the village with Scorpius Malfoy?'

'Er… I'm not sure. Just to hang out.'

'I thought you didn't like him.'

'Why'd you think that?'

'You punched him in the face.'

'Oh… right.'

'When did you two become friends?'

'Er… Since… I don't know, really. Recently, I guess. Look, Mei, I better go. But – but I'll see you tonight, yeah?'

Mei looked unhappy, but nodded. 'Alright, then.'

He kissed her goodbye and hurried out of the Great Hall. Scorpius was waiting for him on the other side of the door, looking sullen.

'Morning,' said Albus.

'We missed them. They're already in the village,' was all Scorpius said.

'What? How did we miss them? Are you sure?'

'I asked Lucien Runcorn,' said Scorpius impatiently.

'You asked him? What if he tells them?'

'God, how stupid do you think I am? I told him I need to talk to Goyle about that transfiguration assignment. We're partnered up. He told me he'd be in the Three Broomsticks.'

'The Three Broomsticks? Isn't that a bit… exposed?'

'Well, that's what he said,' said Scorpius. 'Come on, let's go.'

It was no longer a wound, but it was not yet a scar, and if he kept tearing it at Quidditch practice it seemed unlikely it would ever get to be one. With the sleeve of his sweater pooled around his upper arm, he inspecting the wide, U-shaped scab that marked where his bone had broken his skin.

'Blimey,' said Mundungus. 'You got lucky.'

'Lucky?' demanded James. 'What's lucky about getting my fucking arm mangled?'

Mundungus shrugged and took a sip of his stout. 'Well, it's good timing, anyways. We're going to have to lie low for a while. There are aurors swarming all over Diagon Alley. You won't miss anything.'

James shook his sleeve back down. 'What, so when will we do it next?'

'I'll keep ya posted.'

'Dung, I need money.'

'Not my fault, Jim.'

James let out a low growl of dismay. He sunk in his chair, swirling the dregs of ale left in his pint glass. 'You know nobody calls me Jim?'

'Really? You look like a Jim. Nothing like a James.'

'It was my grandad's name.'

'Well, I know that. You're not much like him though.'

This was the first time someone had told him that. 'No?'

'Nah He was a good bloke.'

James gave a sniff of laughter. 'Well, thanks.'

Mundungus chuckled and pulled a grubby pipe and battered tin of tobacco from the pocket of his over cloak. 'Didn't mean it like that, Jim.'

'I know what you meant. Give me one of those, at least.'

Mundungus filled his pipe before obligingly sliding the tobacco tin across the table to James. James withdrew a packet of rolling papers from his pocket and took a pinch of Mundungus's old tobacco.

Mundungus dragged on his pipe, blowing the ring into James's face before saying, 'You don't wanna be like him, anyways. Keep your head down. Don't go being a hero.'

'Says the veteran of two wars.' James passed the tobacco tin back to Mundungus and lit his cigarette. He had one long, deep drag before he got to his feet. 'I best be off. Don't want my professors seeing me drinking with hooligans.'

Mundungus bid him goodbye, before signalling to the bartender for another stout. James crossed the tiny pub and stepped out onto the street. He was out of his usual terrain, in a tiny inn on the outskirts of town. Mundungus refused to meet anywhere in which they might encounter Order members, a rule that suited James well. He found Mundungus endearing, but the man's shabbiness and incivility still made him slightly embarrassing to be associated with.

Smoking his cigarette, he started down the street. His dorm-mates would be waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks, and he had the whole afternoon to spend drinking.

He hadn't made it to the end of the street before he came to a halt. Nailed into the lamppost on the corner was a large sheet of parchment emblazoned with the Ministry's stamp and the scarlet letting that belonged to the auror office.

PROTECT WHAT IS SACRED

The Auror Office is now recruiting

The sign went on to detail how one would go about applying. What would be expected of the recruits. When and how to submit an application. Which OWLs and NEWTs were required.

It wasn't lost on James that Finlay had achieved all of the listed OWLs, and by the end of the year would surely have met the NEWTs requirements.

'Fancying to become an auror, James?'

He looked around. Professor Doge was looking up at him, leaning heavily on his cane, a purple coat slung around him.

'God no,' said James. 'Just amused by their terrible slogan.'

'Yes, it's an odd approach to take,' said Doge, adjusting his reading glasses to inspect the sign. 'Protect what is sacred. It has the work of Mikhael Rowle written all over it. Shameful, really; putting them up all over town when they know students will be here. I'm surprised your aunt allowed it.'

James shrugged. He didn't care much to agree or disagree. He dragged on his cigarette, before it occurred to him that smoking in front of teachers wasn't advisable, but Doge seemed unbothered.

'Heading back to school already?' asked Doge.

'Nah. Meeting Finlay and Julian and Linus at the Three Broomsticks.'

'Ah, we're heading the same way.'

'Lucky you. You get to walk with me, then.'

Doge chortled. 'Indeed.'

They started down the street and walked in silence for several blocks until Doge said, 'It's not often I see students around this part of town. I myself have a bookshop I'm partial to.'

'Oh, yeah? Any good finds?'

'Not today, I'm afraid. And what brings you here?'

'Oh, you know. Just drinking. Quieter than the Three Broomsticks.'

'Ah, I see,' said Doge. 'That wasn't Mundungus Fletcher I saw you drinking with through the window, was it?'

James was caught off guard, but decided it wasn't worth lying about. 'Yeah.'

'Didn't realise you two were friends.'

"Well, you know. I know him through my parents. He's a bit of fun. More of a laugh than the rest of the Order lot – no offence.'

'None taken,' chortled Doge as they rounded the street on which the Three Broomsticks sat. 'I'm afraid I don't see Mundungus as much as I did. He doesn't speak to many of us anymore. How is he?'

'Oh, excellent. He's running for a seat in the Wizengamot at next year's elections.'

Doge laughed again as they came to a stop at the pub's front door. 'Well, here you are.'

James tossed away his cigarette. 'You coming inside?'

'No, not today.'

'Right. See you back at the castle, then.'

'Enjoy yourself.'

'You too, Professor.' He pushed open the door of the pub, but Doge called him back.

'James?'

'Yes, Professor?'

'I'm sure you've been told this before, but Mundungus isn't exactly the best person for you to be spending your time with.'

'Yeah. I have been told this before.'

'Well, as long as you know.'

'I think I can decide for myself, but thanks, Professor.' And he turned away.

'Well, this is anti-climactic.'

Albus glanced the table to where Scorpius was lounging in the booth. They had been seated at the table for the better part of an hour, taking curious glances towards the Slytherins at the other end of the Three Broomsticks.

'A little,' said Albus.

'Wish they'd shut up, too.'

Albus wished the same. The Sytherins were playing a loud game of poker on the table, getting increasingly loud as Zabini and Montague continued to buy Goyle and Rosier pints of ale. There was no indication that any of them planned on leaving any time soon.

'Wish we could buy some ale,' drawled Scorpius. 'I'm seventeen in September. It's such an arbitrary rule.'

Albus didn't have much to say to this. He glanced around the pub. It was still early in the day and relatively empty, but he was conscious of not wanting to encounter Rose while he was with Scorpius.

'Am I boring you?' asked Scorpius.

Albus looked back at him quickly 'No.'

'Look, I didn't know they'd just be sitting here. They did say they were meeting August. Don't blame me.'

'I wasn't blaming you,' said Albus quickly. 'I just… I don't want to see Rose. She thinks we're being idiots following them.'

'Who cares what Rose thinks?'

'I know but I don't want to fight with her.'

Scorpius gave a disparaging sigh, slumping back in his seat. 'Why do you spend so much time with her, anyway?'

'Er… well, we're friends.'

'Why though? I've never met two people less suited to be friends. She's amazingly insulting and you…' Scorpius stopped himself.

'I'm what?' said Albus.

'I don't know. Not very… bold.'

'I punched you in the face, remember?'

Scorpius laughed. 'Yeah, true.'

'Look, I know Rose can be kind of difficult sometimes, but…' He stopped. He had been about to say "but she doesn't mean to", but he didn't think that was being truthful. Instead he settled upon, 'But she can be really nice when she wants to be.'

Scorpius gave a dismissive laugh. 'I've never seen it.'

'Well, she can be,' Albus assured him. 'You know, she… she stands up for her friends. If you got to know her then I'm sure you could get along.'

'Why would I want to do that?'

'It's only… it would be good to have her on our side, you know? If we want to get some evidence on the Slytherins. She's smart, you know?'

'She's not that smart.'

'Alright, well… okay. Just like… just don't take the things she says personally.'

'I don't take it personally. I couldn't care less what she has to say about me.'

'Right, well… good.' Albus looked back across the pub to the table at which the Slytherins were seated, only to find that they were no longer seated there. 'Fuck.'

'What?' said Scorpius, sitting up, and he spun in his seat to look back at the Slytherin table. 'Oh, damn it. Come on.'

They got to their feet, hurried out of the pub, and scanned the street. In the distance, traipsing along the cobbled street, were the Slytherins they were after: Caliber Montague, Laertus Zabini, Edmund Goyle and Clement Rosier. Scorpius and Albus looked at each other before starting down the street.

Following them was made more difficult from the villagers coming and out of shops and the ice over the cobbled stones and the bitter wind chilling their faces, but they did not relent. The Slytherins continued, seemingly unbothered, through the winding village streets until the roads widened and the houses become more scarce. They were nearing the edge of the village, close to the saplings that grew at the edge of the forbidden forest.

'They're leaving the village,' Scorpius warned. 'What do we do if they apparate away somewhere?'

'But the fifth years won't know how to apparate, will they?' said Albus.

'They could do side-along, I suppose.'

'Well, let's just wait and see,' Albus advised. 'Maybe we should put the cloak on now. If they look back and see us coming along this way they'll know we're following them.'

Scorpius nodded, and they ducked under the cover of an old pine tree. Albus opened his satchel and pulled out the cloak. Albus threw the silky material over them, before they started back along the street, the Slytherins a few hundred feet ahead.

'This is your dad's cloak, right?' said Scorpius as they walked.

'Well, it was. James has claimed ownership.'

'So how old's the cloak, then?'

'Er… I don't know. It was my grandfather's, I think.'

Scorpius looked alarm. 'Your grandfather's? You do realise they lose their effectiveness after a few years, don't you?'

'It works fine, honestly,' Albus insisted. 'I've seen James use it.'

Scorpius looked unconvinced. 'Well, if they notice us and kill us I'm holding you accountable.'

'Fine by me.'

They continued along the street until the cobblestones fell away into a dirt road full of puddles of melted ice. They had walked nearly a mile through frozen saplings before they met a crossroads where the Sytherins diverged.

'They're going towards the Shrieking Shack,' said Scorpius.

Albus looked at him, alarmed. 'Are you sure?'

'That's the only place that road leads.'

Albus nodded. 'Alright. We should let them go in first so they don't hear us following them.'

Scorpius looked at him, horrified. 'You want to go in there?'

'Well… well, we have to, don't we?'

'You want to get killed? There are ghouls in there.'

Albus silently agreed with him, but he wasn't going to admit this. 'That's just old legends.'

'How come nobody ever goes in there then?'

'Look,' said Albus bracingly, 'we said we'd do this, didn't we? We want to find out who August is. It was your idea, right?'

Scorpius looked mutinous, but he gave a slow nod. 'Right, but I didn't know August was in the Shrieking Shack.'

'Well, look: we're going to let the Slytherins go in first, right? So they'll get murdered before we do, and then the problem will be solved.'

Scorpius laughed, though reluctantly. 'Alright.'

'Right.'

'I hope this bloody cloak works.'

They continued down the pathway after the Slytherins. They crossed another hundred feet before, through the saplings, the hill began to descend and on the next slope the Shrieking Shack sat. It was a mass of rotted wood only barely resembling a house, its walls standing lopsidedly as if a heavy gust of wind would be enough to blow it over. Albus doubted it would be safe to enter, regardless of what was haunting it.

Ahead in the distance, the Slytherins had reached the end of the road. Ignoring the warning signs plastered in front of them, they climbed the old fence and began trudging through the snow-covered field of snow that separated them from the shrieking shack.

'Oh, no,' muttered Albus, and Scorpius looked at him. 'The snow.'

'The snow?'

'Out footprints. We've been on a road this whole way, but our footprints will show in the snow.'

'Fuck,' said Scorpius. 'I guess we best turn back.'

But such a thought seemed unacceptable to Albus. He shook his head. 'We'll wait until they're all inside and then we'll go.'

Albus knew from the look on his face that Scorpius wanted to protest, but he held his tongue. They waited by the fence, watching as Laertus Zabini aimed his wand at the door of the Shrieking Shack. He blasted it off its hinges and it fell back into the shack. Laughing, the Slytherins stepped inside. Zabini waited until the others were all inside before, casting a probing glance along the horizon to spot any onlookers, he too disappeared into the darkness.

'Alright,' said Albus. 'Ready?'

Scorpius grimaced, but nodded all the same. They climbed over the fence while keeping both of them concealed by the invisibility cloak was, and there was a lot of swearing and stumbling before they both managed it. When they reached the doorway of the shack they looked at each other.

'We better not light our wands,' said Scorpius.

'Well, yeah, I mean – obviously.'

They eased through the doorway, testing the dusty floorboards to gauge if they would creak under their weight. The corridor in which they found themselves was almost blackened, spare for the weak light filtering in through the doorway, but they didn't have the option of lighting their wands. Instead they followed the shoe prints in the dust up the decaying staircase to the shack's second floor.

They made it to the second storey landing, finding themselves at a rotting door that had been shut. The muffled voices of the Slytherins could be heard. From under the cloak Scorpius and Albus looked at each other, before they crept forward and pressed their ears to the door.

'I reckon we can win the cup this year easy,' said Laertus Zabini from behind the door. 'We beat Hufflepuff easy in November, and Ravenclaw lost most of their good players after last year.'

'Not with you as captain, surely,' said Montague.

There was laughter from around the room. Beside him, Albus felt Scorpius give a sigh of frustration. Albus knew they were thinking the same thing: had they followed the Slytherins into the Shrieking Shack just to hear them talking about Quidditch?

'I reckon we need better beaters,' proclaimed Edmund Goyle. 'We had way too many injuries in the last match.'

'Yeah, the Hufflepuff beaters are alright, aren't they?' agreed Clement Rosier.

Caliber Montague began to refute this, but he stopped at the sound of a pop announcing someone had arrived by apparition into the room. There was a beat of silence before Montague said, 'Alright, August?'

'Alright, Caliber?' replied the man named August.

Albus felt his heart pound against his chest and he exchanged glances with Scorpius.

'Sorry to keep you lot waiting,' came the voice of August carelessly. 'The Ministry's got aurors out everywhere. It's making things difficult.'

'Nah, don't say sorry, mate,' said Zabini, 'We know you're busy.'

'Still, I felt I should keep you in the loop,' August told him. 'We know you're just as keen as we are.'

'So what is that you need us to do?' asked Clement Rosier.

'Well, nothing's set in stone yet,' said August. 'At the moment, we're just hoping to find people we can trust at Hogwarts, but we're hoping to get you trained and active within the next few months.'

'So, then we'd be part of it?' asked Goyle eagerly. 'We could help fight? Like what you did to the Ministry?'

There was silence within the room, but Albus could sense the anticipation.

'The next time we plan an attack,' said August evenly, 'you'll know about it.'

Albus leant towards Scorpius and whispered, 'We need to see his face.'

Scorpius nodded without looking around. Under the invisibility cloak, Albus reached towards the doorknob to try to ease it open, but Scorpius caught his wrist.

'The key hole,' he muttered.

Albus looked toward it. From the keyhole, the light of the Slytherins wands was leaking through. Albus watched Scorpius stoop down, inclining his head towards the keyhole, and he took a step toward it.

As soon as Scorpius put his foot down, the floorboard gave a loud, angry groan. Albus's stomach turned. The voices from within the room died away. Scorpius groaned softly.

For a brief instant there was silence, save for the pounding of Albus's heart. Somewhere within him he knew he needed to move, but the more immediate thought was to stay as still as possible in case the floorboards groaned again with their movement.

And then the man named August spoke again from the other side of the door. The light, welcoming tone he had held when he greeted the Slytherins was gone, to be replaced a venomous growl. 'What was that?'

'There's someone outside the door,' said Zabini.

'Did anyone follow you?' August demanded of them.

'No, of course not,' said Montague. 'We were careful.'

'You,' said August. 'Go check.'

Footsteps began from within the room. Before he knew he was doing it, Albus reached for Scorpius's arm. Scorpius looked round at him, as if startled to find him there. Albus kept eye contact with him, waiting as the footsteps drew nearer, until he heard the click of the door as it was opened, and at the same time Albus dragged Scorpius back.

Edmund Goyle stood in the doorway, glancing up and down the perceptibly empty corridor. Albus pushed himself and Scorpius against the opposite wall, watching as Goyle's eyes passed over the place they were standing, seeing nothing. Albus tried to peer around him into the room in the hopes of catching August's face, but he was scared to move too much for fear of making more noise.

'There's no one out here,' Goyle called back into the room.

'No one?' came August's voice.

But Goyle didn't reply. Albus saw him begin to frown. He was not looking at the space against the wall they were standing, but rather at the floor. Albus looked towards the patch he was staring at, but there was nothing to be seen. He looked back up at Goyle to see (and his heart plummeted) that Goyle's eyes were travelling towards them. Their scrambling feet had cleared a path in the dust, ending where they were standing against the wall.

Albus saw Goyle reach for his wand, bringing it forward in one swift motion to point it where they were standing, and in the same moment Albus whipped out his own wand and bellowed, 'Stupefy!'

Goyle fell backwards. He hit the floorboards at the same time as they heard the other Slytherins scrambling to their feet in the room. Albus grabbed Scorpius's arm once more, forcing him to move, and together they bolted towards the stairs.

'Who was that? Where are they?' Montague growled from behind them.

'Careful, don't step on him! Someone revive him!' urged Rosier.

'Shut up, he's just stunned,' growled August. 'Where'd they go?'

But they were already down the stairs and they burst through the broken door out into the sunlight.

Song credit: Teenage Icon by The Vaccines.

A/N: This chapter is very much an admin-chapter, but admin is necessary. Pity I'm not clever enough to make it more interesting.

If you managed to get to the end of it please let me know you thoughts in a review! xx