Neville Longbottom sat at the head table, sandwiched between Hagrid and the muggle studies professor, McQuilch.

Stabbing his fork into his serving of roast, he tried to keep his attention on McQuilch's talk about advancements in muggle technology, but it just didn't seem possible. Despite his neutral demeanor, Neville was pureblood, born and raised within the wizarding community so completely that he hadn't properly met a muggle until he was in his twenties. He wasn't prejudiced, just uninterested and a little confused, not even attempting to understand the strange slang and oddly clunky inventions that non-magical folk came up with. Muggledom seemed, well, a little boring.

Neville let his mind wander around the room. The 1st years seemed less and less lost by the day, although it was always surprising just how small they all were. Every returning student went through the ever-steady ritual of outgrowing their robes, shooting up like stalks of grain seemingly overnight. Students he taught over the years seemed to disappear as they graduated; it was hard to keep up with who was in what year, and Neville sometimes had a hard time remembering such trivial matters until a student was just gone.

The Slytherin table was as loud as ever. Two long months of no magic tended to make students restless. Each teenager showed this in different ways, but the Slytherin House was always keen on practicing long dormant hexes and jinxes. Someone would trip, a sausage would end up in a Hufflepuff's nose, a Ravenclaw's hair would turn suspiciously purple, a Gryffindor's feet would start tap-dancing uncontrollably. All this was fairly harmless, even though it fell drastically short of being good-natured.

Predictably, Albus was letting lose his yearly renewed supply of Wizard Wheezes, sneaking Puking Pastilles into someone's pudding, sending Snowlers (a prank version of a Howler that would go after the victim with rude limericks and gaseous noises), and causing general mayhem that, of course, could never properly be blamed on him.

He turned back to his bit of cake, only catching the tail end of McQuilch's lecture. The man was an absolute bore; his droning only second to Professor Binns in tedium. Neville was too polite for his own good, nodding in agreement over the slipping quality of muggle television programs. Whatever those were. From the description though, it seemed that 'reality shows' were anything but realistic. Not that he could understand the appeal of watching other people humiliate themselves for money.

The dinner crowd began to thin out, last mouthfuls of cake and pumpkin juice left uneaten, a jaw-cracking yawn or two emitted from some of the 1st years, a sure sign that the novelties of starting at Hogwarts were beginning to wane.

Neville noticed a flash of blond hair bobbing at the end of the hall. Taking one last drink of wine, he excused himself from McQuilch's tirade. He made his way down the steps of the raised platform, robes flapping at his ankles.

"Malfoy! Scorpius! Wait!"

But Scorpius didn't seem to hear Professor Longbottom calling out for him. Neville quickened his pace, only hesitating a moment to let a pair of 3rd year Hufflepuffs pass.

"Oi! Scorpius!" he said again, only to be rewarded with the grim figures of Goyle and Zabini.

"What do you want?" Zabini said, eyes squinting.

"No business of yours," Neville said. He veered to the left, only to be blocked by Goyle. "Twenty points from Slytherin, boys," Neville said, side-stepping both of them. "You should know better by now."

By this time, Scorpius had left the Great Hall, going down the corridor. Neville ran to keep up, dodging another patch of younger students who simply shrugged and kept on their way.

He didn't catch up with Scorpius until he recognized that the path would eventually lead to the Owlery, but he didn't concern himself with pathways at that moment. Closing the gap, he gave Scorpius' shoulder a tug that was quite unusual to be shared between a teacher a student but he finally got the boy's attention.

Neville felt slightly out of breath. He was hardly out of shape, but he wasn't young anymore and Scorpius had kept a brisk stride.

"You are, by far, the hardest student to get a hold of," Neville said between pants, remembering the numerous notes he had sent over the past week. "We need to talk." Scorpius' eyes narrowed. "You're not taking Herbology. Why?"

"Why do you care?"

"You got an O on your Herbology O.W.L.S. You love the subject." Neville straightened. "Rosie tells me that you wanted to work under me as an apprentice."

Scorpius' gaze shot down towards his feet. "I wasn't aware you were so close to her," he mumbled. His voice sounded slightly affronted, but naïve in trying to make it sound convincing.

Neville shot him a curious look. "Her family and I have been friends since before you were born. You know that already but that's not the point." His look softened. "Scorpius, I'll gladly take you into my N.E.W.T.S class. It's not too late. Really, it's not." He placed a hand on Scorpius' shoulder. "What happened? When you went home?"

Scorpius jerked away as if he were being burned but Neville's hand stayed in place. The space between his eyebrows creased. "Look, if you're talking about that thing that happened before school ended-"

Neville nodded. There was no point in pretending.

If Scorpius was surprised about his professor's frank look, he didn't show it. He took back his shoulder. "That's between me and my father," he said. He stiffened himself, taking back the pose that he had learned long ago when dealing with his father. Don't show weakness. Don't show fear. Don't show remorse.

He turned to go up the passage leading to the Owlery.

"Protego!"

Scorpius ran into the shield, falling backwards onto the ground. He got up, only phased. Turning back, he saw Professor Longbottom tucking away his wand.

"You can either talk to me now or I can assign detention," Neville said calmly. "And believe me, we can have a good, long talk then."

Scorpius sighed, brushing the dust from his robes. "Look, I'm sorry, Professor, but I can't go back to your class. It's nothing personal, really."

Neville almost breathed a sigh of relief. Scorpius' mask of trained superiority dropped, as it only did when the boy was genuinely at a loss. "If you'd like, we can go up to my office and have a nice long chat," he offered. Scorpius blinked at him. There was a pause. "It's your father, isn't it? He doesn't want you to take Herbology."

Scorpius nodded, looking down at his shoes again. "Among other things, yea." For a moment, Neville felt something blossom in his chest.

"Come down to my office." He gave Scorpius a hearty pack on the back. "We'll have tea." Neville's hand gave an insistent but gentle push towards the region of the greenhouses.

Scorpius stood firm.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said, moving away from Neville's hand. "But I have to go- uh. I mean, I have to send a letter." He gave a sheepish look towards Professor Longbottom, who quirked an eyebrow. Without thinking, Scorpius shuffled his hands into his robes, trying to produce said letter, a scrap of paper, something to prove that the slight blush spreading over his cheeks had nothing to do with his poorly disguised fib.

"Well, I see," Neville said, taking on an air of authority. Scorpius' blush deepened, realizing he was caught. Neville straightened, the corner of his lip threatening to tug upwards. "I guess this means 'good night', then." Then a vaguely knowing grin spread over his face. "And if you happen to meet anyone up there, please tell them 'hello' for me."

Scorpius bit his lip, giving a brief nod before turning to sprint up the steps.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy," Neville called. Scorpius popped his head back into view. "Detention, tomorrow night. To discuss your future in Herbology."

Scorpius shook his head to clear his mind as Professor Longbottom disappeared. For a moment there, he could have sworn he had seen the professor give him a wink.

He didn't dwell on this, though. He was already running late.

------------------

Rosie wrung her hands. It was cold for September, the threat of ice already was lingering in the air. She approached Sophie, who tilted her head and hooted cheerfully at Rosie's arrival.

Rosie smiled, raising her palm with a treasured owl treat, which Sophie ate quickly. She nipped at Rosie's hand, asking for more. "No no," Rosie said, a gentle laugh to her voice. "I want you to deliver something."

She reached into her robes, withdrawing a letter. Albus' messy handwriting could be plainly seen, even in the disappearing light.

Sophie gave a confused hoot, obviously not recognizing the writing as her mistress'.

"I know what you're thinking," Rosie said in a sweet voice. "Albus wanted to send the letter himself, but he was busy." Tying the letter onto Sophie's leg, the owl hooted complacently. "Alright, I'm lying. I'm supposed to meet someone."

Sophie, as if acknowledging that she understood, nuzzled Rosie's hand before taking off. The soft beating of her wings faded with the sunset, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Reaching into the collar of her robes, she withdrew the small locket that had been resting against her chest. Soon, very soon.

The past week seemed to go by so slowly. Every 6th year were excited about their N.E.W.T.S. classes (or at least excited to drop their most hated subjects after five long years). There were free periods of course, but they were taken up with studying and homework. She ached to be near Scorpius again but she was constantly being deterred. Albus had been particularly difficult to get around. He kept saying that Scorpius was sick, but Rosie knew that from the very first moment she saw him. Glimpses here and there told her that he was getting better, but he wasn't the same as he once was. Goyle and Zabini crowded around him like always, but it seemed more out of habit than Scorpius' commanding power. Maybe the majority of the student body couldn't tell the difference, but Rosie could.

That made the hastily written note she received that morning very odd.

R,

Will you see me?

-S

Rosie wrote back, but didn't hear anything until just before dinner. Albus grabbed her before she could enter the Great Hall, handing her a letter. It was addressed to Uncle Harry, but when she asked Albus why he couldn't send the letter himself, his pale skin flushed almost immediately. He mumbled something incoherent about having an appointment. He dodged every question she threw at him until he said "besides, Scorpius will be sending a letter tonight too."

She blinked at him fiercely, watching as he looked back into her eyes, his own twinkling.

Needing no further convincing, she left the Gryffindor table long before dinner was over. She was too excited to eat.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. After two months and a week of waiting, she would see Scorpius again. He hadn't forgotten her. Her father hadn't scared him off.

He was hers.

She broke from her reverie as she heard the sound of footsteps falling. The rushed slapping filled her ears with alarm, her adrenaline spiking fiercely. She turned to find Scorpius halted in the doorway, his normally neat hair disheveled, his grey eyes flashing in the moonlight.

Now that they were in the same room, it became clear how much they had changed over the past two months. They stood for a long moment, gauging each other. The world was silent, a dream that seemed to surreal to be true. At sixteen, they had lived lifetimes apart. Scorpius' eyes were paler, his face thinner. His lips were a hint redder than before, as if they were chapped and bitten. Bags were under his eyes.

Scorpius trembled, trying to force the air back into his body. Rosie was standing in the moonlight, radiant but all too thin. Albus had been telling the truth. Her depression over the past two months waved over her like a flag. Her hair seemed limp, her face pale. Her eyes became more pronounced. He had forgotten their intensity. But it seemed that he had forgotten a lot of things this summer.

"Scor-" Rosie whispered, moving towards him.

She might have remained reserved, but Scorpius could not hold back any longer. He had missed her, missed this, and he hadn't craved her for what seemed like a long time, although he remembered feeling an unquenchable thirst for something that he couldn't put his finger on. Some unknown force with dark hair and smoldering eyes that twisted his stomach in unpleasant knots.

He almost toppled her in his embrace. He grabbed at her, pinning her arms to her sides as he rocked them together. The knots in his stomach twisted harder, grief he didn't know he possessed gripped him as he took in the scent of her hair, jasmine wafting under his nose with a brute force.

He felt a sob in his chest, and wasn't sure if it was from him or from Rosie, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Her body fit so perfectly against his. She shuddered against him. Letting go wasn't not an option.

Snapping his eyes to the ceiling, he felt a sudden flash. A lump of metal was lodged between their chests. It pulsed harshly between them, and before he knew it, Rosie was flung from him. A violent hiss erupted as they fell to the ground, both teenagers looked at each other, bewildered.

Viedemal's image struck behind his eyelids, the only warning he got before pain ripped through his body, crippling him.

"SCORPIUS!" he heard Rosie scream before he blacked out completely.