When Rose didn't know what to do next, she turned to the library.

When the library didn't know what to do next, Rose panicked.

"This is impossible!" She slapped the textbook shut with force enough to cause the modest stack on the desk to wobble, and her hand went out to steady them. "Absolutely nothing about… stopping teachers to walk around at night."

Scorpius, opposite her at the desk and surrounded by his own pile of textbooks, raised an eyebrow. "I have suggested—"

"We're not going to give the teacher's food poisoning. It's just not going to happen and I would never sink so low."

They're been scrounging through books and tomes and ancient texts all day. No such spell existed to stop teachers haunting the school at night. In all the years that Hogwarts stood, had not one former pupil thought cover their tracks magically? Not one who could've helped them avoid their current predicament?

"I thought you might be happy about it," Scorpius said, shutting the book in front of him too and leaning back. "If we can't figure this out, then the party is off."

"Oh, please. You and I both know that the school could explode and Tristan would still have this party." She rested her head on the wood – it was cold to match the chill battering the windows outside. "It's this Saturday. We need to think of something or we'll all get in trouble."

Saturday. Four days away. Tristan was, unfortunately, counting on them to pull something miraculous out of the hat. Come hell or high water, his party was happening, and Rose wanted to, at least, reduce the potential for getting caught, even though certain individuals didn't deserve it.

"Unless… hmm…"

Scorpius suddenly leant down and retrieved his DADA textbook.

"That's the first thing we checked, remember?"

"I know," he said, not rising to her tone. He opened the book to the current chapter they were studying in class. "Hmm…"

"Hmm, what?"

When Scorpius didn't say anything, she stood up, marched over to his side and peered over his shoulder. The first thing she noticed was his scent – something musky, but not heavy, quite pleasant – then his finger resting upon the chapter title.

Repello Muggletum, it read.

"This," he said, "repels Muggles."

"So?"

"We need a spell to repel teachers."

It hit her like her dad's car on an icy road (definitely not an experience Rose wished to repeat). Rose paused for a second, then grabbed her chair and sat down next to him.

"You think… you think we can adapt this spell?"

"I think it's possible. There's Repello Inimicum for enemies, after all. They all do the same job. What's Latin for teachers?"

Rose took a moment. "The closest is probably magistri, which is plural for the English magister."

Scorpius nodded, then traced the wand movement for the spell. "I think if we can figure that out, we'll be okay."

"We have four days," she reminded him. "Three, if you don't count Friday, when you'll be rubbing shoulders with Cowboy Canyon. You'd not only have to invent the spell, but perfect it and test it to see if it works."

He shrugged. "Nothing like a bit of pressure."

"You're crazy."

"I prefer ambitious." He smiled, then stood, stowing away his things in his bag. "I think I can make it work."

Startled, Rose gathered her belongings as well. "Well, do you… want help, or something?"

Scorpius paused. Watched Rose beneath hooded eyelids. "You? Asking to help me? Now who's crazy?"

Her cheeks flared. "I was just offering. We're supposed to be doing it together."

"Well, the wand movement will be the trickiest thing to figure out, if you want to help me with that, Rosie."

"Don't—" Nope. No point. Rose sighed. "Fine. I can… help you with wand movements."

Unfortunately, and what Scorpius obviously knew as well as Rose, she hadn't been able to do the Muggle-Repelling enchantment yet. Scorpius had. If anyone was going to put this absurd plan into action, it was him. She resorted to matching his strides in the hallway as he made for an empty classroom. Testing grounds. The pair dumped their belongings on the desks before clearing space for Scorpius to work.

"How do we even start?" Rose asked. She'd never thought – never even considered inventing a new spell before.

Scorpius shrugged. "I'll try the Repello Muggletum movements." He cleared his throat. "Repello Magistri!"

Nothing.

Scorpius seemed undeterred, even though further attempts made it obvious that the magic wasn't going to bite. He then emulated the movements for the similar enemy spell to no avail too. Diving deep into their attempts, Scorpius had Rose jot down all the movements he tried. She was particularly shocked when, at the eve of their empty period and only their sixty-second attempt, Scorpius' steady wand produced something of a wisp.

"I can't believe it," she said, even as the orange spark faded. "It's working."

"Was there ever any doubt?"

"… Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No." The bell clambered, and students piled into the hallways. Reluctantly he lowered his wand. "You noted that down?"

"Of course."

"Good. We'll keep trying after class."

"I can't after class." Rose grimaced. "Tristan's wandmaker is due to arrive. I have to be there with Abeo to supervise."

"I'll keep trying." He approached the door, glanced over his shoulder at her. "Join me when you're free."

Rose grabbed his arm – she wasn't sure why. "Scorpius."

He raised an eyebrow, and who knew how one such gesture could radiate so much smugness.

"Thank you." She forced the words out before they could stick in her throat forever. "For… I don't know. Doing this."

He smiled, but said nothing else, and left Rose to her thoughts.

By the time class had ended and Rose had rushed to the classroom to meet the wandmaker, Tristan and Abeo were already there, and the wandmaker had already lined up his selection of fine, glittering wands, snug in their oblong boxes.

Rose frowned. Not a huge variety. There had to be only ten, twenty in all, certainly not to the same level as Ollivander's, but Abeo had told her he'd only give up his freaky elder wand if he could have his say on a selection by this wandmaker. It was either this or the worse alternative.

All three turned to look at her when she closed the door.

"Ah, Weasley!" Tristan said grandly. His robe was discarded and his sleeves rolled up. "Just in time. Meet Monsieur Boiseries, finest experimental wandmaker in the world."

Monsieur Boiseries looked like a stalk of wheat in human form. Tall, thin, pale skin that was probably meant to be peach-toned, but had discoloured to an uncomfortable shade of yellow. Pathetic tufts of hair stood ramrod on his forehead, and he hunched over, as if he'd spent many years fussing over deskwork. Or wandworking. One tiny prod could push him over, Rose reckoned. He bowed in deep gold robes.

"Such an honour to meet a famed Weasley," Boiseries said beseechingly, voice high-pitched but his American accent thick. "If you are ever in need of a new wand, or perhaps even curious about the fickle and chaotic nature of wandworking, I insist you come to me. I would be happy to give you a wand on the house!"

"Oh, thank you, that's… very kind," she said, withholding her displeasure. "A Monsieur? You're… from France?"

"No, no," said Boiseries. "Some of my clients like to believe French wands are the height of quality, of romance, so I adopted this name. Sometimes I even put on a French accent!"

"I figured out a long time ago that it was all an act." Tristan winked. "There's a reason I'm a Ravenclaw."

Abeo coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like male bovine faeces.

Rose dumped her belongings and approached warily. Tristan's wand choices were… mad. To put it nicely. She couldn't identify wand woods up close, but who needed to when most had been ingrained with glitter, handled with gold, or painted a garish shade of lavender? Some were even longer than her forearm, some as small as her thumb. She glanced at Abeo, but he was already watching the exchange with equal, if not more, bewilderment.

"In that case, Mr Asher, please feel free to ask about any of the wands you see before you. Try them, even. I would be honoured to aid in you in any way I can."

Rose cleared her throat. "Tristan, you remember what we said about the wand chooses the wizard?"

"I remember," said Tristan distantly. He plucked one from the packaging – the handle was made of orange stained glass. "Ooooo. Tell me about this one, monsieur?"

"An awesome, rare artefact from Mexico," said Boiseries. "Cypress, nine and a half inches, very sturdy."

"Sturdy? It's got a glass handle."

Rose nudged Abeo hard.

Boiseries ignored him, and flourished his bony hands, his robes flowing in kind. "Curupira hair core. Extraordinarily powerful, and brilliant at the more complex spells you will, no doubt, be needing, Mr Asher."

As Tristan and Boiseries conversed quietly, Rose pulled Abeo to the corner of the room and blew out a long, tired breath. Her face slacked with helplessness.

"These wands are just as bad as the last ones!"

"They're not," said Abeo, deadpan. "Boiseries assured me there's not an elder wand amongst them."

"But curupari hair?"

"I wouldn't panic. That mustard yellow wand? It has a celery core."

"Celery? But that's… a non-magical plant?"

Abeo sighed. "I know that."

This Monsieur Boiseries was the biggest fraud. Experimental? Did half of them even work? Still, Rose felt not a single fibre of an inclination to warn Tristan or shoo the faker out of the room. At least celery core wouldn't injure anyone.

They returned to see Tristan testing out the plainest wand there: brown wood, spiral core. He rolled it in his palms, bent the handle slightly, dragged his fingers along the tapered tip. He raised it to a nearby chair.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The chair lifted into the air – a genuine smile broke out on Rose's face – before vanishing from sight, and her elation fell faster than a stack of bricks off the top of the North Tower.

"Oh. Hmm." Tristan put the wand back into the box. "Maybe not that one."

"You know I'm going to have to report a missing chair, right?" said Abeo, crossing his arms.

"I'm sure it'll return. Eventually."

A broken desk, half a bouquet of wilted flowers and a hole in the wall later, Tristan tried one of the last wands left – a hideous redwood with glass holes in the middle, like a block of cartoon cheese, that provided a view of the wand's Kneazle whisker core. When it didn't immediately break the quills that Tristan animated – and by animated, the quills stood on their tips before falling silent again – Tristan raised it into the air.

"This is it! I feel it in my gut. I like this one."

"An excellent choice, Mr Asher," said Boiseries beseechingly, bowing as he spoke. "Redwood, six inches, flexible but not lazy. This is a wand that will be your most valuable companion. A wand that will be with you through thick and thin. And should you feel dissociated, separated from your wand in a spiritual manner, then you may take a look into its core, and see for yourself how it glows under your command."

Abeo rolled his eyes so hard they could've fallen out of his head.

Tristan, naturally, absorbed these words like a heady scent and shook Boiseries' hand. "Thank you, Monsieur. I heartily appreciate it."

"And now the matter of my payment. My prices, as you know, are flexible," he grinned, childlike in its bleeding ignorance, "but for this one, it is one thousand and fifty dollars."

"One thousand—" Rose choked.

"And fifty!" Abeo roared. He stepped forwards, shaking his head, and faced Tristan. "Surely you're not that stupid?"

"Hmph!" Boiseries glared at Abeo. "It appears only Mr Asher knows innovation when he sees it!"

Tristan waved at Abeo. "Pipe down, Abeo. I know what I'm doing. And yes, I agree to that price. Have the bill sent to my estate in LA. You know the address."

Reluctantly Rose yanked Abeo back again, even though he looked like he was about to blow a gasket watching the exchange. Bosieries pulled out a roll of parchment – a contract absolving him from any potential damage and loss, no refunds – and had Tristan ink his signature at the bottom. By the time Boiseries had magicked all his other wands into his bag and swept away, Tristan had already attempted four spells. None of them worked.

With Boiseries finally gone, Abeo ran a hand down his face. "Tristan, you got ripped off."

Tristan pocketed the new wand in his back pocket and retrieved his robe. "Once again your opinion was not required."

"I'm serious." Abeo grabbed Tristan by the shoulders, forcing their eyes to lock. "You got mad ripped off. For a wand that doesn't even like you."

"It will warm up to me. That's the nature of experimental wands."

"Abeo's right," Rose chimed in, though she had zero desire to actually make Tristan see sense, because that was like trying to teach a pig to fly. "You know you could save yourself so much money and heartache by just going to Ollivander's."

"I don't want an Olive Garden wand." He shrugged out of Abeo's grip. "I want the best. I had the best –" he reached into his robe pocket and withdrew his elder wand " – but you won't let me keep it."

Abeo nonetheless took it from his hand, and then passed it to Rose. In one clean go, she snapped it in half. The core seemed to spark before it whittled to nothing. It was satisfying to see it, finally, destroyed.

"For good reason," she pressed, glaring at him.

But Tristan waved her away. "Well, it doesn't matter. This is my new wand now. It's even more unique than my last one! Now." He scooped up his bag and threw it over his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I have a party to plan."

When Tristan finally left, Abeo sighed.

"How could someone be so outrageously stupid?"

Rose did not have the answer. "Let him be stupid," she said, collecting her own belongings. "He'll eventually see reason."

Abeo snorted.

"Yeah, and by then I'll have grey hair."

It was Friday evening before Scorpius sent an owl, requesting her presence by the Slytherin dungeons. Rose had never been into the Slytherin common room – not even been near it, for the whole area gave her the chills – so she treaded carefully down the stairs, until windows became walls, and sunlight became green flame, flickering ominously from braziers. Scorpius was waiting for her outside the entrance, and he kicked off the wall when she approached.

"I've done it."

No messing around, it seemed. "The— the spell? You've perfected the spell?"

"Yes. At least, I think so." He took a deep breath. "I was at the Ministry today, with Canyon, but he let me off half the day, so I spent some of it in the Ministry Archives, looking up advanced spellcrafting. Figured out some wand movements which would be better."

Rose was too flabbergasted to do much else but follow him wordlessly down the corridors, to find a hapless teacher as a test subject. Low ceilings cast eerie glows ahead. Had Scorpius really invented and perfected a new spell in four days? With very little help? It seemed unbelievable, incredible. She knew he was good at spells, but this was a whole new level, beyond NEWT for certain.

They came to the Potions corridors, the sharp stench of recently extinguished cauldrons astringent. One of the doors to the Potions laboratory was ajar, but Scorpius kept his distance and drew his wand, startling Rose.

"You're— you're just going to try it?"

"This is the best time," he whispered back. "I doubt one cast will last the night, and if there's any place people will naturally avoid during the weekend, it's here."

And yet, Rose could detect the tell-tale bubble and hiss of a lit cauldron.

"Professor Monroe," Scorpius explained, though they didn't dare get any closer to the door. "She's always in there this time of week, brewing."

"This is a bad idea," Rose said. "Let's wait, at least until she's finished the potion."

So they waited. The scents drifted down the corridor, and Rose identified a few of the ingredients. The herby notes of Standard Ingredient. The honeyed syrup of forsythia. A fruity twinge of mock orange. Plus something tangy, like blood, too. Only when the crackle of fire had ceased did Scorpius ready his wand again.

"Watch closely."

"You're certain about this?" she whispered.

His grey eyes fixed on her a moment, but then he simply looked away. Ever unreadable.

"Repello Magistri."

Much like its sister spells, the wand tip flared with orange energy, spreading out around them like the opening of a lily blossom. It faded from view almost as quickly as it appeared, and Rose pressed her back to the wall as Scorpius lowered his wand.

Silence, except for Rose's heartbeat, a drum in her chest.

A moment later, Professor Monroe emerged from the Potions classroom. Monroe was always somewhat busy in appearance; tattoos proclaiming loudly behind plaid blazers and trousers, several piercings crammed onto her ears, smoky eyeshadow that married perfectly with a stern frown. But there was something haggard about her now, and with her free hand she was tugging almost obsessively with a wayward lock of her blonde bun. The other hand was clutching an unmarked bottle, hastily filled with a blood-red liquid that dripped down the sides. Her eyes fixated on Scorpius and Rose, standing warily at the wall.

"Oh, hello, Scorpius, Rose…" Her eyes darted. "I… I think I should go."

She turned on her loafers and hastily tottered down the corridor.

Rose's shoulders pulled taut.

"It… it worked."

Scorpius raised himself to full height. "She couldn't escape fast enough. Huh."

Rose couldn't fathom it. "I…I can't believe it worked. I… I can't believe you invented a spell and it worked."

If he took offence to her shock, he didn't show it. Instead his hand went to his chin in thought.

"The problem now is its side-effects. Hopefully there should be none, but… there's not enough to time to find out. If needs be, we can use Finite Incantatem."

He'd invented a whole new spell and he was worried about the side-effects… Rose slid down the wall by her back. If Scorpius had done this for a party… what sort of things could he do with bigger motivation?

Scorpius snorted and slid down the wall next to her. "So this is happening."

"I guess so."

"We're doing security at a party."

Rose choked a laugh. "It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that."

"That's because it is."

"I just—" She let out a serrated breath. "This party is wasted on us."

"On us? What exactly did you contribute?"

She glared at him, hard, but it took a second to realise he was laughing, joking with her, and a second longer to realise she was laughing back. His posture, his timbre was… different. No mockery or stoicism to each exhale of breath. It was light, airy, free-wheeling and unfettered like wind. The sound meshed well with her own, high-pitched giggles, where each one seized all the breath in her chest.

No, no, no. Her throat burnt as her amusement twisted into a lash of fury. She did not laugh with Scorpius Malfoy. Did not make jokes with him. He was her enemy, her rival, and these odd circumstances where they were forced to work as one meant nothing. A mere means to an end.

Snapping her mouth shut, she stood. "I'll go let Tristan know."

His laughter dissolved. The normal Scorpius, the one she'd known since she was eleven, was back. He hesitated another second, then climbed to his feet. "I'm certain he'll be thrilled."

She watched his face, his body language, anything, that betrayed his feelings on the moment. Unreadable. Strangely it was a rock in her stomach, pinning her down, and she looked away.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "He'd better."

The envelope was an unwanted presence in Sorrel's bag.

The owl that had come in from the frigid October morning had dropped it straight onto his lap, as if aware of its private contents. Sorrel had quickly shoved it into his pocket and continued eating his breakfast, cereal, but of course, no one noticed. No one cared to notice, to look in his direction whatsoever these days.

It was for the best.

Yet the day had long since expired, and here he was, sitting in his bunk with the green curtains drooling down the bed posts for some false semblance of privacy. Past midnight, and the other boys in his dorm were asleep – tossing and turning, in Scorpius' case – and Sorrel had been avoiding the task this whole time. He had to open it. Now.

Putting his lit wand between his teeth for balance, he draw his fingers across the letter's surface. Sorrel Covington was inked in looping calligraphy on the front, and the back was sealed with wax. No stamp. Nothing that would give away its sender.

Swallowing his apprehension, he popped open the seal. It resisted before giving way. Unopened. Good. The letter within was a small scrap of parchment, barely longer than a finger, but he immediately recognised his grandmother's worn script.

Sorrel,

The clock chimes eleven. The winds will be favourable soon.

Seek the burning candle, hidden away.

Grandmother.

Fraught of any love and affection. Typical. Sorrel sat back, absorbing the letter. Grandmother Covington spoke often in code to stop prying eyes from unshrouding their secrets, but to Sorrel it seemed almost as obvious as blood on a white shirt what was being said.

The clock chimes eleven: the time is coming.

The winds will be favourable soon: contact will soon be initialised.

And the burning candle. He'd been waiting for it. Checking for it, almost every night. On the days he couldn't get away from the Slytherin dorms, in case he risked detection, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating, hoping that a candle had not been lit in his absence.

Sorrel folded the letter and tucked it beneath his mattress. He had to keep both eyes open, honed, vigilant. If he missed the signs, everything would go wrong. If he missed the signs, made even one small misstep, his entire family would be destroyed. Wiped from the face of the earth.

And then he'd be next.

A/N: Hi everyone! Hmm... what's Sorrel Covington up to? Guess you'll have to wait and see...

A small cameo to Professor Monroe, sent to me by indomitable The-Sweater-Sloth! Thanks for sending her to me! :D

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

NTT: "You do not look like a forty-year old now."