Tuesday 6th December

- Six -

It wasn't all doom and gloom. Tessie received a letter from Elgar at breakfast, and the way her face lit up could've melted the ice off any heart. Any heart, that was, except Georgette's.

"Are you seriously still writing to that suspicious German boy?" Georgette snapped, and Tessie's grin slipped into a scowl,

"He's not suspicious, he's coming over to visit this summer! We'll finally get to meet, and we're planning to—"

"I do not," Georgette interrupted with a disgusted look, "need to hear about your plans to fuck the German boy. He's probably Grindewald's great grandson or something."

Magda leaned over to Rose, muttering under her breath, "Is it just me, or is Georgette acting a little more… abrasive than usual?"

"Quidditch game this weekend, remember? Ravenclaw beat us last year."

"Oh," Magda nodded in understanding, "I forgot about that. Got any Calming Draught we can slip into her pumpkin juice?"

"Used it all for the last game. I'll talk to Slughorn."

Magda patted her shoulder, squeezing lightly, "Thanks, Rosie."

"It's my ears too." Rose shrugged, as Tessie and Georgette's fight increased in volume. Most of the Gryffindor table had learned to tune them out—but the Hufflepuffs at the next table were getting an earful.

"You, Rose. Are you alright?" Magda was giving her one of those concerned looks, and Rose felt her guard slip a little,

"I'm doing alright now. Thanks Magda." Rose gave her a weak smile.

The girl didn't look convinced, "I don't want to pry, but I just want to let you know that we're all here for you. Even those idiots over there." She nodded in the direction of Tessie and Georgette.

"I know. Same to you, Magda."

Magda gave her a tight, one arm hug, before banging her fist loudly on the table. It shook the nearby cups, and Georgette and Tessie froze in surprise,

"Listen up, girls. It's story time. And this story is called, My No Good, Very Awful, Absolutely Terrible Date with Ewan Dick-ory. It's a tragedy, obviously, but you may laugh."

Distraction, it seemed, wasn't a method that only worked on Rose. Georgette and Tessie's attention was captured—pulled away from whatever ridiculous thing they'd been arguing over—caught by the gossip that Magda had been obviously withholding.

As Magda shot Rose a wink, before launching into the tale, "Imagine a snow covered Hogsmeade. Cue one leggy, star-worthy blonde; one, arrogantly tousled Head Boy, with a stick up his arse, of which its size and proportion had no equivalent in the known universe—"

Rose's day had been a steady upswing from there—but she'd only just arrived at detention with Scorpius, so she didn't want to count her chickens yet.

"What are you smiling at?" Malfoy asked suspiciously, as they set out the day's equipment, and it was only then that Rose noticed she had been.

"I—well," she paused, "What do you think of Ewan Diggory?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Complete prat, obviously. He tries milk sympathy out of people because of the 'Cedric' thing, but he's barely even Cedric's second cousin, nor was he alive when it happened."

Rose fought back another smile, "Something we actually agree on."

Malfoy made an unimpressed sound, and they both redirected their concentration back to their work. There was another fifteen minutes of silence, before Rose felt Malfoy's gaze lift to her. She attempted to ignore it, but the gaze was so intense it felt almost like he was prodding her,

"Yes?" she returned his stare, locking with his bluey-grey eyes somewhere over the cauldron they'd strategically placed between them,

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head, "Don't worry."

He turned back to his work, but she could practically hear his brain clicking and whirring with thought,

"No, come on," She said, "spit it out."

He stood up straight again—having almost a half foot on Rose's own (average) height—looking at her curiously, "No matter, I doubt you'd answer me honestly anyway."

"Try me."

"If you insist…"

"I do."

He sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. She wanted to tell him it was a pointless endeavour—the strand he'd put away was outnumbered by hundreds of other escapees from his hair tie—but she was fascinated by the movement.

"Did you shag Selwyn on the Hogsmeade trip?"

Rose was so shocked she managed to choke on her own saliva, "What? N-no!" she spluttered, "Where on Earth did you get that?!"

He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I heard him boasting to his buddies in the library, about how he'd 'popped your cherry' and how you'd practically 'begged him for it.' His words, not mine." Malfoy added quickly, by the look on Rose's face.

The helpless nausea she felt since Saturday—the sense of vulnerability, violation—was turning into something thick and dark. This anger—no, this rage came in like a blinding thunderstorm—and her fists tightened in indignation.

The wanker! Not only had he been completely creepy to her—he'd thought he could lie about the experience to his friends!

"I didn't—for your information—shag him. If you must know," she didn't know where the confession was coming from—the memories had no space inside her as the anger expanded—but she was sharing it, and Malfoy was listening, "he tried to get me into the Shrieking Shack with him, before shoving his tongue down my throat, his hand up my skirt, and vanishing my tights—completely without my permission! I ran away, completely terrified of being compulsed or confounded into consenting, by a seventeen-year-old that enjoyed brandishing his superior magical ability, plus the law that allowed him free use of magic outside the castle walls, unlike me." She shuddered at the memory.

Malfoy had gone pale, "What? He—"

"Is a fucking creep, so to answer your question, I did not shag him. And I'd rather marry a rabid Niffler than so much as go near the prick again!"

The space between Malfoy's brows had creased, and he'd rested his palms flat on the workbench, as though he was resting his weight upon them.

Logic seemed to kick in again, and Rose had no idea why she'd shared that with him, of all people. She hadn't even worked up the courage to tell her own dormmates, let alone the human minefield that was Scorpius Malfoy—

"Forget I said anything." Rose said stiffly, avoiding his eye.

"Jesus Christ, Roza, I had no idea—" he said softly, but Rose was flinching at the nickname, as though it were her own Pavlov's bell for cruelty.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He was silent, as though weighing up her demand and whatever 'emotions' he currently felt regarding the incident. Rose wasn't sure he had what one would call 'emotions', not totally convinced he wasn't a psychopath.

But she knew that was a lie—if the way he was watching her worriedly was any indication. He was doing that thing again, where he treated her like a human being, showing her normal human affection. It made Rose feel strange, so she'd decided to ignore it until further notice.

"At least—I won't mention it again—" he amended quickly, "but does Albus know?"

She nodded shortly, "He knows."

"That's why he spent Sunday night with you?"

"In a nutshell."

As promised, they spoke no more on it. But Rose still felt the way he looked at her—in that oddly pitying way—so she found herself desperately wanting to shift the attention off herself,

"So, are you and Avery dating?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched, and she watched as his demeanour shifted—tensing, locking down, lifting his shields—twisting into something more sardonic and less empathetic.

"No." he answered dryly.

"Just shagging?"

His jaw twitched again—Rose felt like a puppeteer, capable of pulling verbal strings to make Malfoy twitch and jump in certain ways. Maybe she could invoke an eyeroll.

"Barely." He drawled.

"She's that bad, huh?" she joked—joking, with Malfoy?!—but it earned her an eye roll, which she thought was well-deserved.

"We need to get the slug in, now." He nodded at the cauldron, "Is it ready?"

It was a dismissal, but a relevant one. Her attention was pulled back into adjusting the heat, stirring, and by the time she looked up, the detention was over.

Malfoy put his things away, before leaving for the Great Hall. He hadn't said good-bye—or even sent a parting nod in her direction—which wasn't unusual for him. What was unusual—however—was that Rose felt a little put out by it.

Georgette arrived half-way through dinner—the tip of her nose red from the cold—dressed in snow speckled Quidditch gear.

The girls watched with curiosity as she stormed over to them, but she only had eyes for Rose,

"Where were you?" Georgette hissed menancingly, and the outburst was so expected that Rose nearly jumped in surprise.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, attempting to sound polite, as not to stoke the fire of Georgette's wrath,

"Quidditch practice! I had the team scheduled after last period! Where. Were. You?" she growled through gritted teeth.

"How was I supposed to know?"

Georgette still hadn't sat down, and was beginning to attract attention, which she either didn't notice or didn't care about,

"I sent out memos!"

Rose's face flushed, not enjoying her public ridiculing, "You know I have detention on Tuesdays—why did you even ask?"

"I asked because I assumed you care about the success of this team as much as I do!" Georgette was practically frothing now, drawing herself to full height, eyes flashing dangerously under her fringe.

"Of course I do, Georgette! Why would you think—"

"Because," Georgette accused, all but pointing a finger in her face, "I know that you were off shagging Selwyn on Saturday, who happens to be seeker for the team we're playing this weekend! And don't even try deny it—" Georgette continued, as Rose's mouth opened, "because his friends told me directly."

"Georgette, that's—!"

"So now you're trying to sabotage the team, all because you're flustered by a boy!"

Though Rose had tried desperately to recognize that Georgette was stressed by Quidditch—a pressure placed on her by her father's ridiculous expectations—her patience was wearing thin,

"Don't be so bloody ridiculous, Georgette, why would I—"

"Not that it matters anyway," Georgette snapped with an air of finality, "because it's not like your position matters. You can barely put the Quaffle past Malfoy, so why would I need you? It's going to be up to me to win the game for Gryffindor. As per usual. Don't bother coming to tomorrow's practice."

And after that announcement she marched from the hall, leaving Rose opening and closing her mouth in shock, looking somewhat like a goldfish. The parts of the hall that had been silently watching the argument unfold now began to talk again, and the volume of chatter increased back to a steady buzz.

"She can be a right bitch sometimes!" Rose said finally, "I know she's stressed and all, but bloody hell!"

Magda winced sympathetically, "Her Dad wrote yesterday, confirming he could make it to the game. Look," she said gently, "I'll talk with her. But don't take what she said to heart—she doesn't mean it. Heat of the moment."

Tessie snorted, "I've been saying for six years that Georgette McLaggen is a colossal bitc—"

"Not helpful, Tessie!" Magda interrupted.

When Rose went back to her dorm that evening, she found the memo. It was a little paper aeroplane, circling around her pillow. The sight of it triggered a burst of frustration in Rose, and she snatched it out of the air, screwing it into a tight little ball. But this movement did little to abet it, so Rose flung the little ball in the direction of Georgette's bed. The girl had her curtain closed, so it bounced off the hangings harmlessly.

Wednesday 7th December

Albus met with Scorpius in first period Herbology, as his friend had cleared the dorm early for a run.

"Alright, Al?" Scorpius nodded at him.

"Alright, Scorp."

The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs entered Greenhouse Two in two separate parties, a clear line between the green ties and the yellow.

"Two today? I guess today's going to be a slow one." Scorpius commented, and Albus shrugged. He liked working with any plant—he didn't need the excitement of wrestling Devil's Snare to make his Herbology lessons worthwhile. Clipping the harmless excess off a Flutterby bush was just as rewarding.

He wasn't sure why Scorpius had decided to continue with NEWT Herbology—it wasn't a popular course. His friend had made faint mumblings of being a Healer, but it was generally assumed he'd just keep living off his family's fortune, perhaps giving to charity, like his father was known to do. Scorpius had picked up the aristocratic posture and elocution his family was known for—the kind that Albus could picture moping around in a Manor and day-drinking expensive brandy. Though the sharp lines of the 'Malfoy' face was softened by his mother's genes, his chin was still an echo of his father's pointiness.

Admittedly—if Albus was really being honest with himself—he'd nurtured a small crush on Scorpius, in the days before he'd been able to recognize it. It was Scorpius' fault—he walked the charming line between confident and arrogant, able to turn the charisma to full when he needed to. But the crush had died years ago, smothered by too close quarters and a strong platonic friendship. Not to mention that Scorpius was straighter than a wand made of steel.

Professor Longbottom quieted the class down, and welcomed them to the lesson,

"Nothing too exciting today I'm afraid—we're just repotting these baby Shrivelfig plants. But, as you know, they are very resistant to being uprooted or moved, and the roots can attack if they sense sunlight. So, be careful to keep them largely covered by their original soil."

The class were free to start their repotting, and Longbottom milled around the room, occasionally asking questions about the plant and engaging a few eager students in conversation.

Though Albus had always liked Neville anyway—he'd always been a regular fixture in the Potter household—his more relaxed teaching method was one Albus preferred. He always got nervous when put on the spot, stuttering and stumbling when asked a question in front of the class, so Albus liked the way Neville asked the questions one on one, turning it into a conversation rather than an interrogation. Once Albus had asked him why he taught so differently to their other professors, and Neville had shrugged,

"I used to hate being put on the spot, so why would I do it to my own students?"

Neville was on the other side of the room, chatting mildly with a dark-haired Hufflepuff, when Scorpius leaned over to Albus conspiratorially, and muttered,

"So, what are we going to do?"

Albus quirked an eyebrow, "Repot these Shrivelfigs, I hope."

Scorpius shook his head, and huffed impatiently, "No, you idiot. I mean about that prat, Selwyn."

Albus dropped his voice, cautious of his housemates—who were notorious for eavesdropping, "Selwyn? Did Rose tell you?"

Scorpius hesitated, but it was so slight, that anyone else but Al wouldn't have noticed, "In short, yes. But I was suspicious anyway, after you asked about the tights."

"Christ," Albus groaned, "I knew I shouldn't have asked you about the tights, Nancy Drew."

"I'm assuming Nancy Drew is one of those Muggle references you like to make, so I'm going to ignore it. But, yes, she told me. After I asked her." Scorpius looked a little sheepish at that, and Albus made an educated guess,

"But you didn't really ask—you probably just wound her up enough so she'd blurt the truth, like she's prone to do when indignant. Correct?"

Scorpius shuffled a little, his polished shoes out of place amongst the dirt, "Yes, but—"

Albus sighed, "Sometimes, Scorp, you can be such a manipulative little—"

"Slytherin?" Scorpius cut in.

"Touché." Albus allowed.

"And anyway, I'm not 'little' anything. You've seen me in the showers and—" his eyes glittered mischievously.

"This is getting ridiculously off-topic." Albus cut in quickly, not wanting to hear the end of Scorpius' sentence, "You know, for two people who claim to hate each other so much, you and Rose know each other alarming well." He remarked, and Scorpius cheeks went a little pink—only more visible because of his natural pallor.

"So, back to the original topic." He said quickly, "How are we going to ruin Dick's life?"

Albus had seen this dangerous look before, and he didn't want to see where it went, "'Dick'?" he quoted.

"A nickname for dear Richard. I happen to think it fits him quite well."

"Right." Albus cleared his throat, "Well, as Rose's friend and confidant, I think I," he emphasized it as a solitary action, "will encourage her to go to McGonagall, or at least Zhou—Rose's head of house—so Selwyn may be punished appropriately."

Scorpius frowned, "That doesn't sound satisfying at all."

"Justice is always satisfying, Scorp."

Professor Longbottom was nearly at them, so Albus concentrated on shifting his plant into the bigger pot, watching cautiously as the roots gave an ominous little wiggle at the transfer. But Albus quickly heaped soil over them, packing it neatly, so that the Shrivelfig was snug and happy. Al made a satisfied noise, and Scorpius scoffed derisively.

"I happen to think that a well-placed boil charm, right on Dick's—" he continued.

"How's it going? Albus?" Professor Longbottom had reached them, a smudge of dirt on his cheek, grinning broadly.

"My transfer went well, Professor." Albus nodded at the repotted plant, and Neville patted him on the arm,

"Perfect as always, Al. Scorpius?"

Out of all the professors—and his father's friends—Neville was the one who'd always treated Scorpius exactly the same, not once turning his nose up at Scorpius' last name. Even Albus had noticed how some adults were a little cooler towards Scorpius when they learnt his last name—and some people were outright scathing.

"Not transferred quite yet, sir."

"No rush, Scorpius," and then Neville leaned a little closer, "I don't suppose you two heard about the issue we had with these plants last year?"

Both boys shook their heads,

"Well," Neville continued, "you know how the juices from the fig are used in brewing Euphoria Draught?"

They nodded.

"Well, a whole lot of the figs were stolen about a week before graduation. It apparently coincided with a huge party thrown by seventh years. Do you remember anything about that?"

Both shook their heads.

"Ah, well," Neville shrugged, "But on that—how is James doing, Al?"

"He's good, sir. Loving curse breaking training. The basta—"Albus cleared his throat, "I mean, the boy keeps threatening to send me cursed artefacts."

Neville laughed, "Sounds about right. Keep at it, boys." And he moved onto the next cluster of students.

"That party was insane," Malfoy reminisced, when Professor Longbottom was out of earshot, "I accidentally drunk half a cup of that Euphoria Draught—I thought it was wine. I was so off my tits, I went around the Gryffindor common room smelling all the colours."

Albus laughed at the memory, "But speaking of red...you're the last person I'd expect to be championing Rose." They'd circled back around to their earlier topic, mostly because Albus had forced it there. He could be a dog with a bone, sometimes.

"Who says I'm championing her? Maybe I just want to get Selwyn back for being creepy. Maybe I just needed the excuse. It could've been any girl." Scorpius was avoiding his eye, busying himself with his Shrivelfig—or least pretending to be busy with it.

"But it's Rose." Albus pointed out.

"Don't remind me." Scorpius replied, ripping his Shrievlfig from its pot. But a root slipped out from the cluster of soil, and whipped Scorpius in the face.

"Shit!" he hissed, shoving the plant into its new pot, frantically heaping soil on, as to not expose the roots to light—again. It stopped wriggling immediately.

"I don't know why I still take this class." Scorpius sighed.

"An extra hour a day with me?"

"Yeah, well, I'm regretting it."

Albus rolled his eyes, healing the tiny—practically invisible—cut on Scorpius' cheek, and helped him make sure his Shrivelfig was tightly packed.

Albus found his attention slipping once they'd repotted—as there was nothing more to do but water the plants. Scorpius—who was still dark on his plant—was muttering threats at it, something about a sunlight charm and a magnifying glass. The plant didn't seem to notice, or care.

The door to the greenhouse opened, and the movement caught Albus' wandering eye. A figure stepped into the heated space, eyes searching until they landed on Professor Longbottom.

Albus didn't recognize him immediately—the person wasn't wearing school robes—but there was something familiar about the breadth of their shoulders, a little darker than olive skin, and that dark crop of hair—

He was moving now, politely stepping around clusters of students, before Neville spotted him and beckoned him over. Albus' eyes lingered—as they tended to do around fit boys—as Neville started chatting with the stranger, laughing at something he said. The stranger smiled, revealing a row of very straight and unnerving clean teeth, before something clicked into place, and Albus recognized the body of his mystery swimmer—the person in the lake of questionable sanity.

"I suppose," Neville was talking to the class now, "I should introduce you all to our guest. This is Arataki Lockridge—he's my apprentice of sorts. He's helping Hagrid and I weed out the recent Venomous Tentacula infestation in the Forbidden Forrest. If you see him around the castle, don't be shy."

"If you see me around the castle I'm probably lost—this place is a labyrinth." Arataki laughed, and Albus' curiosity increased tenfold. The implication was obvious—he hadn't attended Hogwarts, and his accent indicated he wasn't even local.

"—all the way from the other side of the world," Neville was saying, but Albus found himself very distracted by those straight white teeth, and he threw his hand in the air. Scorpius looked at him like he'd gone mad, and Neville looked at him confusedly, as though he'd not been expecting questions,

"Uh, yes, Albus?"

"I was wondering,"—he hadn't been wondering—"why would you be clearing Venomous Tentacular in the middle of winter? It's a bit cold for gardening, isn't it?"

Arataki laughed, and Neville nodded at him to answer, so he did, "VT actually goes into a sort of hibernation in winter—it makes it easier to destroy them without being attacked." Albus had already known the answer to his question, but the strange mantra of please look at me, please notice me that was suddenly occupying his mind had apparently driven him a little mad.

"You two," Neville was saying, "would get on a treat. Albus is quite the keen Herbologist—"

Arataki was watching Albus curiously now, and the attention had ignited something like a warm glow in Albus' stomach.

"Albus Potter." Al introduced himself, stepping forward to shake Arataki's hand. The swimmer took it briefly—his skin was so warm!—before smiling. Albus realized he wasn't used to introducing himself—most people took one look at the mop of hair, the green eyes, and knew who he was.

"Nice to meet you, Albus Potter." Arataki nodded, his eyes lingering a little too long on Albus to be professional curiosity. And that was it. No 'are you Harry Potter's son?' or 'could I meet your Dad?' or 'have you got the scar too?'—as though the things were genetic—but just 'nice to meet you'.

Just a completely ordinary introduction—and one that Al had never had the likes of before.

"I better be off," Arataki said—presumably to Neville—but his eyes were still on Albus, "but I'm sure I'll be seeing you all around."

He said 'you all' like he meant to say 'Albus', and Albus tried to hide a ridiculous grin.

Then he was weaving his way back to the entrance, tightening his scarf, before stepping out of the artificially warmed humidity of the greenhouse.

"You're acting right weird, you know." Scorpius commented after a minute, as Albus' eyes seemed frozen to the door.

But for all Scorpius liked to think he knew, he didn't know that. So Albus just shrugged,

"Don't know what you're talking about."

A/N: Again, thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, they really help with the motivation to write everyday and get this fic finished! At this point I'd say we're about a third of the way into the story. I do have all the main plot points and everything planned out, which is unusual for me, so I know where this story is heading. But I'm still undecided on where I'm going to end it, and I might ask you (lovely readers) for your opinions as we approach it. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!