Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me.

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Of Lasts and Firsts and Almosts"

Or

"August"

(Maybe)

'At least now they can be bachelors together,' Barbara said bitterly.

Cordelia looked up from behind the book she had been reading, then decided that her friend's needs were greater than Melody Malone's, and closed the novel altogether. She threw a pumpkin pasty in Barbara's general direction.

'But you and Fred didn't really break up, did you?' she asked as Barbara took a bite of the pasty. She joined her friend on the bed. 'I mean—sure —you had a massive row, but you're not... permanently broken... are you?'

Barbara shrugged. 'I don't even know,' she said miserably. 'I'm such a mess—why can't I be more like you? Why is it so hard for me to break up with Fred, as much as I wish I hadn't? Why can't I even face the prospect?'

Cordelia sighed, getting up from her place on the bed and crossing the room to close the door. Her parents were out, and Mitch was at a friend's house, but she still wanted the privacy of being absolutely isolated. This just seemed like one of those times. The honest truth was that she had no idea what Barbara was talking about, wanting to be "more like her". Did it seem easy for Cordelia? Having things end with James?

It probably did seem like that to everybody else. But it hadn't been easy.

'You must think I'm being really daft,' Barbara said, sniffling.

Cordelia handed her a tissue. 'No, of course not.'

'But it's true!' she argued. 'You and James split up three days ago. You're fine. But me and Fred? It's been two weeks and I'm still a blubbering, blithering idiot!'

'Okay,' said Cordelia, who decided she had had enough of consoling somebody who obviously wasn't getting the message. 'I don't want to make a speech at you, but I feel like it might just be the only thing left to do.'

Barbara motioned her onward.

'I am tired of you comparing the two of us. We are two completely different people, with two completely different relationships, both of which just so happened to end within two weeks of each other. Mine ended because James stopped loving me. I mean, he can say what he likes, but the Magpies are not a proper excuse to break up with somebody.'

Barbara looked pitying.

'No!' said Cordelia. 'No, don't look like that! You think—"oh, yeah, Cordelia's fine! She's not crying or screaming or anything like that—in fact, she's consoling me and telling me everything's going to be all right! She must be fine!" But no. That is not the case. Do you have any idea what it's like to meet up with your boyfriend one day —the first boy who's ever shown the slightest interest in you—and then realize he's breaking up with you? He says it's because of commitment to a Quidditch team, but you know it's not. Because he's a stubborn bastard who would keep fighting for something if he really, really wanted it.'

She sighed. 'That's not the case with you and Fred. Sure. You said some god-awful things to each other, but—Barbara—you walked out. You left that house, even if you didn't want to. He certainly didn't want you to. That means Fred still loves you, and judging by your two weeks of moping, you still love him, too. So don't say I'm fine. Don't say I'm handling this better than you. Because I could not be feeling worse right now, and our circumstances could not be any more different.'

Barbara leaned over and gave Cordelia a hug, which really didn't help, but Cordelia didn't have the heart to tell her that.

'But you're wrong, you know,' said Barbara. 'About James.'

'I really don't want to talk about it,' Cordelia muttered.

'Just hear me out,' the older girl encouraged. 'Seriously. James came to Molly and Alice's after he broke up with you. I was there—'

'—because you're staying there due to the fact you don't want to go home and face your parents—'

'—yeah. But anyway, he came over and he was worse than I'd ever seen him.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'You're kidding.'

'No, I'm not,' said Barbara, and her tone was completely serious; after a brief moment of indecision, she began to tell Cordelia what had happened.

(July 29)

Molly's newly-made strawberry smoothie levitated its way over to her friend who sat at the bench. Barbara was, at three o'clock in the afternoon, messy-haired and pajama-clad. She sighed appreciatively as she took a sip of the drink.

It was a sunny afternoon, and light was streaming through Molly's kitchen window. The girl was living with Alice Longbottom in a small London flat, close to the Ministry. They were on the ground floor of some Muggle establishment, with a small lawn and lots of plants that made the neighbours curious, because they grew "so quickly, it's like magic!". But Alice and Molly were not alone in the house now, for Barbara had retreated there after her fight with Fred and had been living in the spare bedroom ever since, binge eating and crying until her tear ducts felt like sand.

'She didn't leave because of me, did she?'

This from Barbara, concerning Alice, who had left very hastily for Diagon Alley upon the ex-Head Girl's emergence from the bedroom.

'No,' said Molly, sipping at a coffee, 'she wanted to go see her mum.'

(For, if you don't remember, the extremely-informed and ever-supportive Hannah Longbottom, landlady of the Leaky Cauldron, was Alice's mother, and very up to speed with the goings-on at Hogwarts partially because of her daughters attendance and partially because of her husband's employment.)

'Oh, okay.'

At this moment, there was a loud popping sound, and James appeared beside Molly near the sink. Both girls jumped in surprise, but the male in their presence looked incapable of anything but the saddest frown imaginable.

'Merlin, James... what's got you looking like that?' Barbara asked, concerned.

Molly and James shared a brief glance.

'You did it?' asked the former.

'Yes,' informed the latter, sounding quite miserable.

'Wait,' Barbara said, looking from James to Molly, and back again. She raised her small hands to pause both of their conversations. 'Did what?'

Molly frowned. She took a sip of her coffee and set down the empty mug. With an awkward cough, she muttered, 'I should probably head over to the Ministry. Dad said there was something he wanted me to help out with.'

'You said that wasn't until four—'

' —bye, you two!'

Pop.

Barbara looked at James, and he looked back. There was no light in his eyes: they looked cold and dead—not with malice, not with hate, for it was certainly not Barbara's fault in any way—but as though a candle had been blown out. The two of them hadn't spoken since July 15th. Barbara had refused to. An immature thing to have done, sure, but she didn't want anybody to see how bad she was doing. Not when there were already rumours of Fred being interested in one of the Holyhead Harpies.

James crossed his arms. 'How have you been?'

Deciding that now was not the time for lies, Barbara answered: 'Horrible.'

'You're not the only one.'

After a long pause: 'How is he?'

They both knew who "he" was.

'Terrible,' James replied. 'Absolute mess. Even Uncle George can't cheer him up.' He sighed. 'But I haven't been to see him enough. In two weeks, I've been round there... what, three times?'

Barbara shook her head. 'Don't feel bad. It's not—'

'But it might be,' he said, cutting across her. 'Because most of the times I've been gone, not talking to him, I've been with Cordelia, or playing Quidditch. The two things that used to make both of us happiest: girls and that game.' James sighed again, leaning back against the countertop. 'It's not like I haven't been happy. It's been great. But Fred and I have been inseparable since the fetus stage, and he's distraught.'

Barbara hoped he didn't take this the wrong way. 'So what? What has that got to do with you?'

It was in this second that it occurred to her that she'd never actually seen James cry. She'd seen him with tears of joy in his eyes, but he had never wept. Not in front of her. Perhaps not in front of anyone.

But James Potter let his guard down now, and it was probably awful to say but even then—with tears streaking over his face—he still managed to look both rugged and godly and Barbara didn't ever think that façade would shatter.

'It's got e-everything to do with me, Barbs,' said James. 'Because if F-Fred's feeling like hell, then I don't deserve to be doing a-anything else.'

She climbed down from her place at the bench and approached him. Tentatively, Barbara put an arm around him. 'Hey,' she soothed, 'hey, it's not your fault.'

'Yes, it is,' James protested. 'She...'

Beat.

'She?' asked Barbara. 'What?'

James sniffed. 'Cordelia.'

'What about her, James?'

'That's what Molly was talking about.'

Barbara's mouth fell open. 'You... you didn't.'

James nodded. 'I did.' He paused. 'And you know what was so strange about it all?'

'What?'

'She was fine,' he said. 'The whole time. She didn't cry or anything. She wasn't fazed.'

Barbara sighed. 'Oh, James. James, you beautiful idiot.'

(Present Day)

Albus suddenly felt quite warm.

He hadn't put on a coat, and the room was as drafty as it had ever been, with the windows open and door ajar, even though summer was meant to be heated. It wasn't that kind of warm, for one. There was that kind of warm, and then there was a seventeen-year-old boy who had just been told something very, very surprising.

'No,' he argued. 'No, you're kidding.'

Louis, who sat opposite on his cousin's bed, shook a blonde head. 'No, I'm not.'

'Who did you hear it from, though?'

'I'm French,' said Louis confidently. 'I don't need to hear it from anybody. I can feel—'

'—don't start your nonsense.'

'Fine,' he said, slumping his shoulders. 'Scorpius told me.'

Albus sat up. 'But how did Scorpius know?'

'I don't know. He's Scorpius Malfoy.'

'So you're saying Scorpius told you a "certain brunette friend of mine" fancies me?'

Louis nodded and Albus launched once again into a rant on this improbability.

Deciding after a check of his wristwatch that this venting session would have to be cut short, Louis interrupted his cousin. 'Sorry, but we're meeting Scorpius and the others at six, and it's five-forty-nine and your hair looks like you've never brushed it.' When Albus shrugged, he added, 'in your life.'

There was a knock at the door and Patricia and Scorpius sprang apart, launching themselves off the couch with surprising agility. The blond threw his girlfriend a stray jumper, but did not wait for her to put it on; instead he rocketed to the door, not taming down his wayward hair, and—upon seeing Andy—opened it wide.

'I'm glad I knocked,' said the Hufflepuff.

Scorpius shrugged, cocky. 'You wouldn't have been.'

'You did say six, though?' she confirmed.

He welcomed her inside with a low bow. 'Yes. You're right on time.'

They returned to the living room, which Patricia had managed to clean up—the witch was putting her wand away as the two of them entered—and she smiled at them. 'Three weeks without you seems like a year.'

Andy watched them warily. 'Well, Ireland's a good place to escape to. Good thing you sent me a picture of where to go.' She moved to explore the wall of windows over the cliff. 'I take it Al and Louis aren't here yet?'

'Well, unless we're hiding them under the cushions...' Scorpius quipped.

But they were at the door; the bell of which chimed. Scorpius went once again to greet the guests, who returned to the lounge moments later, both looking like some kind of advertisement for Muggle clothing companies in London. Upon seeing Andy, Albus inclined his head. Hey.

She nodded back, then returned her attention to Scorpius, who began to open a bottle of firewhiskey. Besides, it wasn't as though that acknowledgement meant anything. They were friends and nothing more and even though his small smiles made her feel like they were the only two people in the world that didn't matter because he still hadn't understood what the hell Bridget Davies had been trying to get at or that she had been in the wrong with her questions at all. The phrase "Rose-tinted" glasses should have been altered to something a lot more fitting.

'Drinking again tonight, Fawcett?' Albus joked. 'Wow, we flyers can never do that.'

'I should bloody well hope that's not the case,' Scorpius interrupted loudly. 'Because you will be downing this—Potter—and you have no choice.' He handed Albus a very large mug, filled with the burning liquid. The black-haired boy looked down at his drink.

'What's the occasion?'

Scorpius, whose answer was momentarily delayed due to his business in the draining of his cup, grimaced. 'No occasion, mate. We're all seventeen. Who's in want of one of those stupid constraints? I say we just have fun tonight, yeah?'

Patricia took the firewhiskey from the table when her boyfriend went for a refill. 'Have you seen yourself, beerboy? I think you should probably slow down.'

Scorpius shrugged. '"Beerboy"?' He turned to Louis and said matter-of-factly, 'she wants me.'

'Yeah,' Andy scoffed. 'When you're sober.'

She clapped Al on the back, for he was spluttering at the strength of the firewhiskey. He had managed to drink through half of it in the time since its distribution, but he did look a little green. Louis laughed at his cousin and continued to drink.

'I feel sick,' said Albus, staggering across the living room and collapsing onto the couch beside Andy and Louis. It was around three hours later, three mugs of firewhiskey later, and the three of them on the couch were also in the room where Scorpius and Patricia had been kissing for approximately fifteen minutes on the opposite couch. All had rerouted their eyes.

'That's not surprising,' Louis replied, eyes still staring out of the windows and over the grassy lawn to the fall of the cliff. He felt quite tired himself, and was very nearly falling asleep, even though it was only nine in the evening.

'Why do people find this sort of thing fun?' Albus asked loudly. He was obviously quite far from sober. This was a total change.

Andy laughed. 'I don't know. Something about inhibitions.'

'But you're not messed up like me!' he protested. 'Because I am messed up, you know. I can tell. But you're not. Lou's not. But he's French. Are you French? Why aren't you messed up?!'

Andy smiled. 'I work in a pub over summer. The only other thing I've learned from there is how to get ex-Hufflepuffs emotionally invested in our lives.'

At this, Albus laughed. He looked over at Louis, too see why he wasn't joining in the mirth, but then said rather disappointedly: 'Aw. Lou fell asleep.' He pondered this for a moment, then asked, 'do you want to go and see what's outside?'

'We can see through the windows, Al.'

'No, I know that —but I mean out there, for a walk or something. It's not like anybody's doing anything here but sleeping and kissing.'

'Okay,' Andy supposed. 'Yeah, we can go for a walk.'

The two of them stood and, reaching the exit first, Andy opened the door. Albus followed her out and the pair lit their wands for a source of light, then began pacing around the grass, careful to not go too far forward, to the cliff edge. The female in their party almost instantly regretted wearing form-fitting jeans. She hated doing so, and now the fabric did nothing to protect her from the cold. Even Albus shivered.

'You're quite sluggish tonight, Potter,' said she, when her considerably shorter legs had out-paced his and the boy had fallen behind.

'Hey!' Albus said.

'Hey what?'

'Hey-I-don't-drink-and-don't-enjoy-it.'

Andy sighed. 'Here,' she offered, extending a hand for him to take; which he did. 'Now you can't get lost.'

Albus smiled. 'You look beautiful in turquoise,' he told her, nodding to her flowing shirt. It was much more feminine than anything else she had ever worn, but Andy blushed all the same, like it was her favourite item of clothing.

'You can't be that hammered,' she decided, knowing that he probably couldn't see her red cheeks in the dim light. 'You're saying "turquoise".'

'Who says a drunk person can't be eloquent?'

'I don't know—the laws of the universe?'

They walked along some more, still holding hands quite tightly. The wind was picking up and Andy wished she hadn't left her coat inside, but did not intend to go back and get it. Not now that she was where she was, with who she was with.

However, Albus didn't have a jacket either, so it wasn't as though fairytales would take effect and he would give her his.

'You're not fair,' Albus said suddenly, after a few minutes.

Andy looked puzzled. 'Why?'

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I just wanted to fill the silence with something.'

'Okay.'

'Can we sit down?'

They were near the cliff edge now, but sitting seemed safe enough and so Andy agreed. Her hand was not released from Albus's grasp even as they sat down on the grass.

'I want to talk to you.'

'Aren't you already doing that?' asked a confused Andy.

Albus shook his head. 'No, this is serious.'

'Oh,' said she; 'oh, all right.'

He swiveled around so that the two of them were facing each other. Even in the raw light emanating from their wands, his green eyes glinted like galaxies were embedded inside them. It was almost too beautiful a sight to have so close, so reachable. And yet, never to be obtained.

'I was talking to Louis this afternoon,' he said, completely unaware of the effect he was having, 'and he said that one of my friends—a female one, with brown hair—fancies me like mad. Scorpius told him, apparently.'

MerlinMerlinMerlinMerlinMerl inMerlinMerlinMerlin. What had she ever done in her life to be punished like this? He was going to tell her that this was "perfectly normal", but he just wanted to be friends. Then it would be uncomfortable between them. Perhaps he was too far gone for that, though. Andy didn't know.

'And I think he meant Bridget.'

'What?!'

'I mean—he said Cordelia also knew. So who else would that be about, right?'

'What?!'

'She's really pretty, though,' said Al. 'I've been thinking about asking her out for a while. I like spending time with her.' He sighed. He had no idea that Andy regretted sitting by the cliff, for now she was resisting the urge to throw herself over it. 'But then sometimes I think there's somebody else who I really like; and she's super cool but I'm pretty sure we're just mates.'

Who's going to waltz in now, Al? Who is this girl?

'I don't know, though...' Albus continued.

He looked her in the eyes. 'Sometimes, I think there's potential... reasons for hope and whatnot. That, maybe, I shouldn't give up on this tiny chance.'

They were still holding hands, weren't they? Andy didn't have the heart to check. She swallowed, then almost jumped out of her skin in surprise. Al took her other hand in his; both of their wands fell stray onto the grass, and so their light was restricted, and neither he nor she could see absolutely clearly.

Andy could feel him close to her, though. Dangerously close, separated by a few inches, at maximum. She wondered if he had kissed anyone—a stupid thought: he was Albus Potter. But he had never had a girlfriend, a proper one.

Her eyes closed, but it didn't matter much, because the lighting had been so obscured anyway that complete loss of vision changed nothing more than infinitesimally. He was bound to be millimeters away now, if that. Any moment now, she would feel his kiss and everything would be fine. It wouldn't have been a waste. Nothing would have been a waste—not coming here tonight, not drinking the firewhiskey...

Wait.

No.

Andy reared back, almost against her will. If she was going to kiss him, she didn't want it to be like this: slurred, half-drunk, late.

'Al.'

He opened his eyes, surprised to find her a distance away.

'We've been drinking —I'm sorry, but it's just—'

'—no!' he said far too quickly. 'No, it's fine. I totally understand. Completely. Of course. It's just. Not right. Because—we've been drinking. Yeah.'

Andy fought the urge to fling herself off the cliff, getting to her feet with her wand in hand for vision purposes and apologizing: 'no, really—it's not that I didn't want to —it's just—'

'—No. Yeah. Absolutely.' Albus stood, scratching the back of his head with the wand-free hand. 'I'm just... I'll go.'

'You shouldn't feel —I mean, maybe you could—Louis's inside...'

Albus took a few steps back to illustrate just how much he needed to leave. 'He knows where to Apparate to when he wakes up. Sorry. Again. It's okay, though—don't apologize—please—'

'Goodnight, then. Al.'

He put up a hand. 'Night.'

Then he spun on an invisible axel and was gone. It took Andy ten seconds to cry.

The atmosphere in the café, though it was a Muggle one, was certainly magical. Alice, who Barbara had not often spoken to during their time at Hogwarts, had gone to buy another cup of coffee for herself. Taking it upon herself to use their brief moment alone, Molly leaned over the table to her constantly-miserable friend.

'You're okay, right?'

Barbara looked up. 'At the present? I guess.'

'That's good,' said Molly. 'Just checking.'

Alice returned with a tray carrying three cups of coffee. Tendrils of steam floated from each one, and as the tray was set down on the small circular table, the overwhelming aroma of cappuccino, chocolate and sweetener filled the girls' nostrils.

Molly picked hers up, but was delayed in taking a sip, for at that moment Alice said brightly: 'Guess who's over at the counter!'

For a second, Barbara was actually worried that it was Fred—not that she didn't want to see him, but what would she say?—but upon turning her attention to the counter in question, she discovered that it was somebody different altogether: Professor McKinnon.

'Dad says he's only twenty-five,' Alice informed. 'A few months older than Teddy.'

'And he's ever so handsome,' Molly added.

Barbara raised her eyebrows at both friends. 'We've only just left school, you know.'

'But I'll be nineteen in two months!' protested Molly.

Alice shushed her hurriedly, because Professor McKinnon had just picked up his drink and was on his way to the door; a route which inevitably led him to pass the three ex-Gryffindors.

When finally he did notice them, the Professor stopped.

'Hello!' he said, sounding quite surprised.

(She was still in love with Fred—of course—but this did not stop Barbara from noticing how attractive her ex-Ancient Runes professor was when not wearing formal teachers' robes.)

'Hi, Professor,' she said, in relative unison with Alice and Molly.

Professor McKinnon smiled down at them, coffee in one hand. 'I'll let you in on a little secret—you've finished Hogwarts now—people usually call me "Luke", considering it's my name.'

He said this not unkindly, and so the three girls sitting down smiled again. 'Uh—okay, "Luke".'

"Luke" grinned and checked his wristwatch. 'I've got to go—nice seeing you, girls.' He waved as he hurried out the door.

Barbara, Molly and Alice watched him walk down the street, then turned to each other.

'That was strange,' Barbara decided.

Molly looked at her like she was insane. 'Please. That was hot.'

'That's it, Peps. You're disowned.'

Albus, who had only now mustered the courage to relay the events of August 3rd—or was it 4th by that time? It had been so late—to his older brother, frowned. 'That's hardly fair.'

James ran a hand through his hair. 'Isn't it? You shouldn't have drank before trying it on—'

'—I wasn't "trying it on"—'

James cut him off with a raised hand. 'Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? Now that you've gone through with it.'

Albus inspected his shoes. 'I suppose not.'

'And you haven't talked to Andy since, have you?'

He blushed. 'No.'

'What do your friends think about this?!'

'Scorpius thinks I'm a prat.'

(Even though Albus thought that probably wasn't the right person's viewpoint to give in response; James had been fishing for somebody else's name.)

'Wow, then Malfoy and I agree on something after all. What a miracle that is.'

Albus looked at his brother. 'Do you not plan on helping me at all?'

'Not now, at any rate.' James put up a hand. 'I have Magpies practice. Monique'—the team's ex-Beauxbatons, part-Veela, curvaceous but semi-athletic assistant coordinator—'will hex me if I'm late.'

A screech echoed over the whole of Southern England.

'I'm not Head Girl?!'

Rose Weasley's hair was just as red as her face, and it flew outward in all directions, wet in some places from tears. In one hand, she clutched a crumpled up Hogwarts letter, and in the other, the envelope from which she had not pulled a "Head Girl" badge.

Her mother, always rational, was attempting to calm her down from the doorway. 'Rose, I know it's disappointing, but your exam scores were still all Os —'

'—Mum, I'm not Head Girl! It doesn't matter anymore!'

Hermione looked stern. 'Rose Weasley,' she scolded, 'you are going to stop being ridiculous and listen to me.'

Rose sniffled. 'But y-you would've been Head Girl.'

With raised eyebrows, her mother replied, 'fine. If you won't listen to me, then listen to your dad—Ron! Your fatherly services are required!'

In response, from downstairs: 'But she's worse than Moaning Myrtle!'

'Ron!'

'Fine!'

Cordelia smelled, as always, like citrus and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop on a busy weekend. Albus inhaled this aroma in the brief second before the Ravenclaw pulled out of the hug, and then was struck by a guilty thought that it should have been James, doing that, not him.

But Cordelia didn't seem to be thinking about James at the moment. Instead, she was beaming at Albus. The two of them began the trek to the closest bridge; just behind the Tate Modern, the industrial-looking art gallery on the edge of the river. Both enjoyed London, but it was not on Cordelia's mind at the moment.

'You got it, didn't you?'

Albus looked sidelong at her, genuinely confused. 'Got what?'

Cordelia blushed. 'Head Boy. The badge.'

'Oh.' Albus shook his head. His expression remained neutral. 'No, it's not me.'

'Oh, Al—I'm so sorry—I honestly thought—'

'It's okay,' he reassured her. 'I sent Scorpius an owl. It's him.'

Cordelia sighed. 'Well, that's a relief. At least he and I are mates.'

They were about halfway across the bridge now, both had their hands in the pockets.

'You're Head Girl, aren't you?'

She nodded, then bit her lip. 'How much does Rose hate me?'

Albus shrugged. 'Stupefy, but not Unforgivable. We can't all be Gryffindor Quidditch captain.'

Understanding his reference, Cordelia rolled her eyes, 'I just can't shake you Potters, can I? There's always one of you up against me.'

'Especially James,' Albus euphemized. 'Up against you.'

Cordelia slapped him. 'Shut up!' But she was sobered. 'You know how that worked out.'

'I shouldn't have mentioned it. Sorry.'

She shook her head, brightening up again when Albus knew she realistically shouldn't have been able to. 'No, it's fine—you're Gryffindor captain! That's brilliant news! I knew it'd be you!'

'Well, I try my best.'

They walked on for a few moments in silence, continuing over the bridge to the cathedral that lay on the other side. When they reached its steps, Cordelia turned to Albus and asked, 'How are things going with her?'

'"Her" being?'

'Our girl, not glacé's.'

'You're good at synonyms.'

'Stop trying to change the subject,' Cordelia told him. 'You know she was really freaking out? She thought she'd ruined everything that afternoon—honestly.'

Albus shrugged. 'I don't know. We've barely seen each other since.'

Cordelia chuckled. 'Well, she hasn't stopped talking about you; her mail's getting annoying.'

He blushed. It was quite attractive.

Students went back to school in eleven days, counting the present one.

Scorpius had returned to his family's Wiltshire estate on the morning of the eighth; finding not just his parents, but also the anxious air that came before Hogwarts letters.

He had known why.

"Will our son be Head Boy?"

"Will he be Quidditch Captain again?"

Astoria said it didn't matter, and Draco didn't say much at all, but they were both counting on him. Even when things weren't under their son's control, they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be a trophy son, the perfect image. If they didn't know it, he did. Perhaps they were all aware. It was more than subconscious.

But, of course, his parents were not disappointed. He was Head Boy. He was captain.

It didn't really matter to Scorpius, though. Patricia had tried to talk it up, to make it sound like an achievement, but really it was the simple matter of—not necessarily being great—just being better than everybody else.

But it should've been Al.

It really should have been.

Al was good, law-abiding, talented. He had never kissed the wrong person, and he didn't come from a family of Death Eaters.

Scorpius hated himself for taking that title away from his best friend, and he especially hated James Potter for making it impossible anyway.

It should have been Al.

'This isn't a bad time, is it?' asked Patricia, cracking open the door to her boyfriend's bedroom. He had heard the sound of her Apparition.

'It's never a bad time if it's you.'

She scoffed. 'Corny.'

But it was true, in a way. If possible, she was even more beautiful after Ireland. It had been good practice at living together, even though that hadn't been either of their parents' intentions. She, thankfully, wasn't one of those people you began to hate when you spent too much time with them. In fact, the opposite had occurred. Scorpius thought being without her was an alien experience now.

They were so much closer after Ireland.

"After Ireland".

But, girlfriend or not, Ireland or not—it should have been Al.

It was raining; pouring down and damp in the darkness. He could see her silhouette, though, and he would recognize it anywhere. James followed behind her until he was close enough to address his ex-girlfriend.

'Cordelia!' He shouted to be heard over the rain.

She turned. '...James?'

They met in the middle. There was water clinging to her eyelashes. Even drenched, Cordelia Gilbert was very pretty. She looked surprised to see him, though, now.

'What are you doing here?'

(To be fair, she was two hundred feet from her front gate, and therefore this would have seemed quite creepy to anybody.)

'I miss you,' said James. 'I know that sounds stupid but I do. I miss talking to you. I miss your jokes; the annoying weight you put on rules. I miss your smile—yes, that one; you're doing it now—and seeing as today would have marked eleven months, had we got to that point, I thought I should tell you. I miss you. I miss everything.'

'Well, we can't get back together, James.'

His face fell. 'I know that. But I love you.'

'Do you?' she asked. 'Honestly?'

'Of course!'

It really was pummelling down with rain. Soon it would turn to hail, despite the fact that August should have been summer. (That's Britain for you.)

Cordelia smiled. 'There's kind of no choice here, then,' she said loudly, fighting to be deciphered amidst the howling wind.

'In terms of what?' asked James. He really wished they were having this conversation inside. His hair was sticking to his face and it was hard to see. Perhaps he needed a haircut, or glasses. James I had worn glasses. Maybe that was worth a look in —

'In terms of ending,' Cordelia explained. 'Do you really want the awkwardness of Trafalgar Square to be it?'

James shook his head. 'Let's see. I don't even really want "it" to be over.'

'Well, then we should probably give it a better ending.'

'Like what?'

'Like this.'

She reached up and kissed him; and even in the rain, with layers of clothing clinging to skin and hair matted across faces, it was probably one of James's better kisses. Which was saying a lot, considering that line-up.

Cordelia pulled away quickly, the opposite of what her company wanted, and looked at him. 'We're still not together,' she reminded him. 'And I know that's messed up, but a relationship would be hell hard trying to make it work with me at Hogwarts.'

'Then what to you suggest?' James asked.

'I don't know, perhaps an understanding,' she replied. 'So we both know that, just because it's over, the feelings aren't dead.'

'What do you mean?!'

'I mean I still love you, James—and I'm sorry for that, but... you keep telling me you love me. So know that we both know that, we have an understanding, right?'

'Right.' But it wasn't.

Cordelia looked around, to her house, where lights were emanating from. 'I should go,' she said. 'Mum will worry.'

James chuckled. 'Fine. Even after our "understanding", though?'

She shoved him playfully. 'Don't mock me, Potter.'

'You kissed me!'

'You dumped me!'

'...that was low.'

Cordelia sighed, turning away. 'But it was true.' She began to walk off, swiveling back only to say, 'Goodnight, James.'

He tried to smile. 'Goodnight, Cordelia.'

It had been over six weeks since their fight in Diagon Alley, but Fred was still miserable. He barely left his apartment, which probably made matters worse, since that had been the place the Great Fight was located. Witch Weekly had tried to do a street interview, to which Fred had said something along the lines of "she didn't want this!". A statement pertaining to Barbara. A statement the media then twisted, making her sound even worse than she was.

Barbara was never anything bad. She was nothing less than perfect. He still loved her so much; he still loved her like he had loved her for years, and one fight wasn't enough to destroy any of that. He wished he hadn't spoken.

But he wished she had come to see him.

Fred didn't want to be the one to visit Molly's. James had talked about how tense the atmosphere was there. He had said Barbara was miserable, just like Fred. Which was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Even if he was distraught, she still should have been happy. She needed to be happy, smiling; she was sunshine, and if clouds were cast over the sky then that was his fault. That night shouldn't have been the end. Fred hoped it wasn't.

Why couldn't she have come to him? Why was he scared to go to her? He was so in love, and she... well, he didn't know. Barbara could easily get somebody else. That wasn't the problem.

Barbara deserved the best, though.

"The best" didn't shout at her. "The best" didn't make her cry. "The best" would have distracted her. "The best" would have loved her better than he ever could. (Impossible?)

But that clearly wasn't Fred.