A/N: For once in my life where the prompt is literally: write ScorpiusRose, my brain chose to do something else… Also, I very literally understood the prompt. Hope you enjoy!

For QLFC - Round 8 - special rule: next-gen character!

Team: Puddlemere United

CHASER 3: Write about being nervous to take an opportunity or next step.

Optional Prompts: (object) leather jacket, (word) reality, (word) unexpected

For Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)

House: Ravenclaw

Task/Assignment: Photography: Task #12: Camelot - Hy Peskin (1953): Write about a summer vacation.

WC: 1,654

Betas: Ash Juillet, The Dark Enchantress Ruhi

~~ Espionage and Hesitations ~~

Hugo's breath comes out in shallow pants as he sprints through the tall grasses.

It's excruciatingly boiling today. The sun beats down upon the earth mercilessly, and Hugo can barely make out the landscape just a few feet in front of him, the heat making everything slightly blurry.

Sweat drips from his forehead and into his eyes and he wipes it away, his hands and face sticky. The leather jacket had seemed a good idea at first, trying to mingle amongst the French tourists, but now he knows it's far too hot for those sort of clothes. He's already whipped it off and rolled his sleeves up.

He wishes he could stop for just a moment to calm down, to take a deep breath, perhaps in the shade even. But there is no shade for miles around, just endless frying grass everywhere, not a soul in sight. And even if there was, he can't stop. Not now.

He's painfully aware of the car chasing him through this endless prairie. He can faintly hear the sound of its engines roaring as it rushes after him, but the sound of his beating heart, shallow breaths and slapping feet is omnipresent.

Hugo desperately hopes they don't catch up with him. He knows they have guns and other dangerous things that could kill him, but he needs to make it out alive. It's not just for his own personal survival. The entire country needs him to make it out alive because the papers tucked in his trousers' back pocket are essential to the survival of more than one of the world's most influential leaders.

It is a risky mission. His superior warned him when he presented it to Hugo.

"Several of our other agents have already lost their lives," he said.

"You can count on me, sir," Hugo promised.

"I know. That's why I'm entrusting you with this mission."

Hugo was slightly offended that they hadn't come to him before, but then again, he had been busy on another mission when this one had started. Still, the urgency in his superior's voice was palpable. Now, Hugo knows it's one of the most dangerous missions he's ever been on.

They supplied him with a bunch of really nifty gadgets. A nice car (which had blown up several hours ago), a gun that always shot true (lost in a fight just yesterday), and this nice parachute-thingamajig he's forgotten the name of (currently at the bottom of a lake).

"Take good care of them, won't you?" the gadget master said, when he gave them to Hugo.

Hugo frowns slightly as he thinks about what the gadget master will say when he finds out Hugo has managed to wreck all of his precious bits and bobs. But, in his defence, they were quite useful to Hugo's survival, and therefore they weren't a complete loss.

Either way, now is not the time to ponder on such things. He is still unfortunately being tailed by a bunch of furious terrorists. A quick look behind confirms what he already knows: they're still there, but there's some distance between them.

Although he's positively exhausted, Hugo doesn't slow down. The small distance he's managed to put between himself and the jeep is a small victory, but it's not enough to grant him a dearly-wished break from running. Quite the contrary, he needs to push forward, distance himself as much as possible.

But as Hugo focuses on the grass in front of him, he suddenly realises something he's forgotten to see. They're rushing him straight towards the edge of a cliff, barely one hundred metres. How could he have missed it? True, the grass seems never-ending, but he can see the blue of the sea in the horizon quite clearly now.

Hugo pales and desperately attempts to stop himself, but his speed is too important, and his feet continue to carry him despite his efforts to stop. The edge is looming closer and closer, and Hugo prays that he will finally come to halt.

Quite like a cartoon, he skids on the grass and falls backward just a few meters before the edge of the cliff. Finally, the world stills and Hugo lets out a deep breath, relief flooding him in gigantic waves. It's not over yet, but at least he hasn't plummeted to his death.

At least his cold sweat has cooled him down slightly.

Hugo gets up quickly, brushing off his trousers, checking that the papers he stole from the terrorist group are still there. Identity papers, money laundering, and secret codes are all there, and he smiles just a little.

Taking a few steps forward, Hugo peers over the edge of the cliff.

He tosses the leather jacket off the cliff (with some regret, it was a nice jacket) to see how deep the drop is. A quick calculation tells him it is one hundred meters at least. It isn't sure death—at least he doesn't think it is—but land in the water incorrectly and things could get ugly. Something cold and oppressive pools in his stomach, and, quicker than he thought was possible, everything but the drop disappears.

The world becomes violently still as he peers over the edge of the cliff, and it's almost as if the height is magnified. One hundred feet becomes three, and his rationality flies out of the window. He can't jump off. It's just not possible. It's a sure death.

But, suddenly, the sound comes back. It's the roaring of an engine, this time much closer than anticipated. Hugo swivels around and sees the jeep so very close to him. They're going to be on him any second.

But if he jumps off the cliff, they can't get him. There's no way they'll follow.

Hugo turns back to face the sea and stares at the drop.

It's just one step forward, just one more. It's basically nothing. If he'd just rushed off the cliff as he almost had, he'd have taken that next step without a single thought. Maybe he would've died, but at least it wouldn't have felt as if his entire nervous system was seizing up and begging him not to jump.

Hugo is completely still. He wants to move his feet forward, but he can't. It's almost as if he's stuck to the ground. There's nothing to do; he just won't jump off. He feels like he's going to vomit, acid already burning the back of his throat.

It's completely absurd. He's jumped out of moving cars, air-planes, helicopters! He's not scared of heights at all, and yet… here he is, completely paralysed.

He's dimly aware of the car stopping, and people coming out of it. The car doors slam and Hugo shudders. Is he more afraid of the jump or of the terrorists?

Remember, he tells himself, you're doing this for England, for the Queen. They need you to survive.

And just as he's about to finally move himself forward, just take that next step, the unexpected happens.

A rough pair of hands shove him and send him flying over the cliff.

Hugo screams for his dear life, all pretension of calm and coolness completely gone. Please don't let me die, he prays silently to a deity he didn't even know he worshipped. He's flirted with death more than once—actually, he constantly flirts with death, it's his job—and yet now that he rushes towards the water, he doesn't want to die, he doesn't—

SPLASH!

Hugo fumbles around in the water for a moment or two, desperately trying to find the surface. Once he finds air again, he splutters. Somehow, he's managed to survive! Oh, he is blessed, oh thank goodness! Now, he needs to swim to a safe-place and contact his agency and—

"What took you so long, Hugo?" someone asks him.

Hugo turns around to see his cousin, Dominique, smiling brightly, slightly giggling.

"Dominique?" he exclaims, shocked to see her, but truthfully, the illusion is broken.

There is another loud splash as someone else jumps from the cliff. Well, maybe 'cliff' is a slight exaggeration. There's a drop, but it's only about three meters, five at most. Hugo grumbles slightly. The hundred-meter drop was much more dramatic.

"You took ages up there, you scared or what?" Dominique continues to tease.

"I wasn't scared!" Hugo exclaims. "I was just…" The words fail him.

"Lost in another reality?" Lily Luna, who is swimming nearby, suggests. "You always are, Hugo."

"Daydreaming about being a spy?" Dominique joins in. "Let me guess, your name is Weasley, Hugo Weasley."

The teasing isn't mean, but Hugo still blushes slightly.

"Oh, leave him alone," Molly, another one of his cousins, chides, splashing water at the two girls, who swim away screeching joyfully and trying to splash Molly back.

She ignores them and turns to Hugo once more. "Sorry for pushing you, Hugo. But you were taking quite some time."

"No worries," Hugo assures her. After all, he isn't too sure Hugo Hunt (that's his spy name. Not Hugo Weasley. He isn't going to use his real name; he isn't stupid) would've jumped off. Hunt's quite shy, and though he pretends to be brave, sometimes he struggles to be as fabulous as he should be.

A small plastic ball hits him on the head.

"Come play with us!" Roxanne, yet another of his cousins, yells, motioning for him to send the ball back, and Hugo begrudgingly complies.

He is no spy. He's actually just on holiday in France with his entire family. He's not wearing a leather jacket, but just some swim trunks. Shame though, he quite liked his imaginary leather jacket, even though he had to toss it into the sea. His life definitely isn't as dangerous in reality as it is in his imagination.

So, he joins his cousin, tucking Hugo Hunt in a corner of his mind for when he needs a little bit more adventure in his life.