A/N: I've edited this about a million times, and it's still not quite right. Ah, well. Please enjoy. Next update should come more quickly.

Disclaimer: All belongs to JKR.

Chapter Eight

Scorpius

The office was a mess. It was clear that Bert had been working late, as he was wont to do. This was not out of the ordinary. What was shocking to Scorpius were the multitude of loose leaf papers scattered about the room, and the long streaks of blood trailing across several desks. Bert's blood, the Aurors had already determined. He had put up one hell of a fight.

There were several scorch marks around the room, which Scorpius'd overheard the Aurors talking about. They'd examined Aubrey's wand for previous spells cast, and the brilliant old man had defended himself valiantly. Scorpius officiously rubbed at one such mark on the wall behind him, wrinkling his nose at the smell of scorched metal where the spell had hit the lantern that hung upon the wall. When he noticed one of the investigative wizards frowning at him, he quickly removed his hand from the burnt material and averted his eyes.

Scorpius slowly sipped one of the teas he'd gone out and fetched for the office, just to have something to do as the Aurors persisted in their investigation. He'd already been subjected to a round of interrogation when he'd shown up for work by a particularly gruff Auror called Robertson. He wryly wondered if anyone bat a eyelid if he just turned and went home, but he wanted to be here in case there were any further questions that needed answering. That, and he was perversely curious about the whole thing.

Bertram Aubrey was not a controversial sort of bloke. As far as Scorpius knew, he mostly kept himself to himself. He had no partner, no children, no immediate family that he had ever spoken of. The only thing Scorpius knew was that the man loved his work.

As evidence of Bert's intense dedication to his job, there were his books and various notepads, still open on the cluttered desk. Curiously, they seemed to have been left largely untouched in the scuffle. Scorpius could see from across the room that the book he'd lent Aubrey with the American runes was face down on top of a large stack of papers.

"I think we're just about done here," a tall ginger Auror had emerged from the next room and was speaking to Hawkins, Scorpius' boss. The man turned so that his profile was in view, and Scorpius realised with a start that it was none other than Ron Weasley. All in all, he didn't mind Ron. The older man'd always been kind enough to him when he'd attended various Potter-Weasley functions with Albus, and there was no denying he had a good sense of humour. Merlin, was he a large bloke though. Though he himself was taller than the average wizard, Scorpius was willing to bet Weasley had several centimetres on himself. Not only this, but he had a presence about him that couldn't be ignored. Perhaps it came with being a celebrated war hero, but there was no escaping notice that every other Auror in the room stood at rapt attention the moment he entered the room. He had an easy dominance over others, a trait that the Slytherin in Scorpius noted and envied.

Weasley continued in his booming baritone, "There's not much more we can do without getting somebody from the DoM down here, and they're not the easiest to pin down without advance notice."

Hawkins, a short and rather portly man with a ruddy face raised his eyebrows, looking like a caricature of himself in his indigation. "Why's the Department of Mysteries involved?" He demanded. "This is a place of work, we must be allowed to do so."

Me. Weasley fixed him with a hard stare. "One of your employees was attacked on work premises," he said flatly, indicating no room for argument. "We need to conduct a thorough investigation before determining that it is a safe environment for your staff."

He turned at this and caught the eye of Scorpius, who quickly pretended not to be listening.

"Malfoy!" Weasley called, and Scorpius quickly slid off from his perch on an abandoned desk in the corner. Ron's eyes were intensely blue, just like his daughter's. The older man's gaze softened, just a fraction, as he regarded Al's best mate. "Get yourself home for the day," he said. "We'll send an owl if there are any changes you should know about." He turned away, then doubled back again. "Oh, and Malfoy? When you see that scrawny nephew of mine, tell him I'm still waiting for his owl about dinner Thursday night."

Scorpius nodded, smiling quickly at him, then turned to gather his things. He was all set to go when he turned back impulsively. Perhaps it was the dread of catching up on several lost hours of work, or perhaps it was pure masochism, but as Weasley called the aurors into the back room, Scorpius quickly sidled over to Aubrey's desk and grabbed the book of runes from Boston. He shoved it in his bag and walked out.

Scorpius had fully intended on heading home, putting his feet up and reading a good, long mystery novel to take full advantage of his time off of work. He was no more than five minutes into his trek back to Dillyd Alley, however, when he thought of Bert, all alone in the hospital, his mind completely wiped blank. Before he had even fleshed out a proper plan, he was turning on his heel and apparating to the hospital.

St. Mungo's had always freaked him out. Ever since his mother's death, he'd avoided the hospital like the plague. The building was too white, too clinical, and by contrast the lime green healers' robes always had given him a headache. He still remembered the day his mother had passed in minute detail, her failing body looking small and frail on the large hospital bed as blurs of lime green rushed around her, several magical machines whirring by the bedside, all unsuccessful in their key purpose - to keep Scorpius' mum alive. His Aunt Daphne had finally ushered him from the room and sent him back to the big, cold, empty mansion in the countryside. He'd spent hours crying to his house elf, Pipsy, while she'd lovingly pet his hair.

Now, however, he strode into the lobby with purpose, determined not to dwell on unhappy past memories of the place. There was that same smell of magic and cleaning potions in the air, mingling with a slightly acrid scent that Scorpius couldn't quite put his finger on. This alone made him pause in his mission. Merlin, he hated this place.

He skirted the reception witch by saying he was visiting a family friend in the spells damage ward (he'd heard Mr. Potter once talk about an old Professor named Lockhart and had filed that information away for later use), but once he'd reached the ward, he abruptly turned at the end of the corridor when he was meant to carry on. He bypassed a sign that warned visitors there was no public access any further, and found himself in an empty hall. Feeling rather foolish, Scorpius hid in a small alcove, and finally stopped to breathe.

What was he doing here? He wasn't entirely sure he could answer that question himself. Only, he'd had a clear intent upon arriving at the hospital. Find Bert. Find out what happened to him. In a strange way, he felt almost responsible for the old man who had no family. He'd left him alone in the office last night, said his usual goodbyes and left without making sure his colleague would get home safely. A cold wave washed over him as he realised he'd likely been the last to see Bert before the attack. The trouble was, he had no idea where in this maze of a building to find him.

Scorpius peered around the corner and into the hallway. A rather drab row of doorways lined the wall opposite him, all closed. There was a portrait of a rather stern looking witch on the wall between two of the doors, but she was sleeping and reminded him far too much of his old Professor McGonagall for his comfort. He surely couldn't ask her for directions. Why hadn't he thought this through? How was he meant to find Bert in this labyrinth?

He was ready to set off in one direction or the other when he heard somebody approaching. Scorpius pressed himself against the wall, knowing that he'd be escorted back to the public visiting areas should he be caught. Footsteps were clicking rapidly along the hall now, two pairs of feet with accompanying low murmurs. As they came closer, Scorpius strained to hear.

"-so awful to find him like that." One was saying, a woman's voice. "Irreparable spell damage, they're saying. He has no memories of who his is at all. No memories or traces of magic." Scorpius realised with a start that they must be speaking of Aubrey and his breath caught in his throat. He shouldn't have been surprised, to be fair. The attack on Goyle had shaken the community, and a second one would be much worried over.

"Merlin," whispered the other voice, a male's. "Do they know what they wanted with him?" The footsteps stopped just beyond where he was hidden in the alcove, and Scorpius leaned against the wall so far he thought he may sink into it. The voices continued.

"He's an old man, no family or enemies as far as we're aware. Goyle - he was affiliated with You Know Who, so that makes sense, but Aubrey…" the woman's voice paused. "It's far more likely he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The footsteps retreated down the hall, echoing in Scorpius' head. Why had the attacker targeted an old man? Or had he? What if, like the healer said, he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Aubrey was simply in the way? With a shuddering breath, he realised it could have just as easily been himself in that room. His father's previous remarks about being a target simply due to his surname resurfaced suddenly, gripping his stomach so that it cramped and made Scorpius retch. What if Bert hadn't been the target at all? What if the target had been him?

Scorpius backed up against the the wall, his breathing coming fast and shallow. He gripped at the collar of his robes, yanking them free to expose his pale neck. That was slightly better. Concentrating on breathing slowly and evenly through his nostrils, he finally regulated himself back from his near-panic attack.

When he'd run his hands through his hair several times and told himself to pull it together, Scorpius left the alcove in the direction the healers had come from. It was eerily quiet down this end of the hospital, far from the busy wards with people coming and going. On one wall, he read "Permanent Spell Damage - Bonham Research Ward" on a rather worn placard.

He tried the knobs on a couple of doors to no avail. Muttering a quick Alohamora did the trick, and he quickly slipped inside a door at random. Glancing around quickly, he determined that Aubrey wasn't inside this one. In fact, this looked like an office, rather than a hospital room. The room was small and cramped with several large bookshelves and a desk that were far too large for its size. In one corner, there was a camp bed shoved up against a wall that was still rumpled from its last use. A cauldron sat steaming on a coal fire in its grate in the centre of the room, bubbling away with some dark and sticky-looking substance. Feeling strangely as if he'd intruded on somebody's personal space, Scorpius backed out of the room.

He was about to try another door when a voice in the hallway made him jump.

"Can I help you?" He turned to see a woman, so diminutive and slight it was no wonder she'd easily snuck up behind him without making a sound. Her mousy brown hair was rather unkempt, a wand wound into a top knot that was falling out of place. Her face was rather unremarkable save for a pair of eyes, so light-coloured they appeared translucent.

"Er- no.." Scorpius spluttered while she watched on with a frown. "That is, I was, erm, looking for my colleague? Bertram Aubrey?" Caught so off-guard, he hadn't the chance to come up with a viable lie. The woman flinched at Aubrey's name, her mouth thinning to a straight line.

"Mr. Aubrey is not accepting visitors at this time," she said. Her voice was surprisingly steely for someone so physically fragile, and he was surprised to hear she spoke in a bright and clear American accent. "You should not be here."

"Right," Scorpius said, feeling quite foolish for thinking he could just waltz into the highly guarded ward of the victim of an open case. "Of course. I'll just be going then." He smiled at the woman, who did not return it, and turned on his heel to head back the way he'd come. At the end of the hall, he glanced back to see the woman slip into the same office he'd just explored with a resolute click of the lock.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Where a couple of weeks ago, summer lingered in the air, now London had officially and resolutely begun its descent into its long and grey winter. Though it was only mid afternoon, the sun had begun to creep past the tree line, and there was a still, thick blanket of fog in the air. Having no office to get back to, Scorpius walked leisurely along the south bank of the Thames, staring out at the dark water, wondering if he still had a job. Weasley has given no indication of when the Department of Mysteries would be our to clear the crime scene. Surely the Aurors' investigation would be over soon, they'd catch the attacker, and he could get back to work. They were dark wizard catchers, after all. This was what they were best at.

When he came to the next bridge, he crossed the water, heading up into the heart of London and Diagon Alley. The cobbled streets were almost quiet in the daytime, with most witches and wizards busy at work. He stopped to admire the owls at Eeylops for a moment, petting a large tawny through the bars until it snapped at his fingers with its beak. He'd only just bought a pumpkin juice and had decided to head back to his flat when a voice called him over from the pub on the corner.

"Malfoy! Oi - over here!"

It was Rose.

A rather tipsy Rose, he realized, feeling as if he were experiencing some sort of déjà vu. He quickly glanced around, wondering if he could perhaps make an escape, but she'd already bounded up to him, a smile on her freckled face. She'd been outside the smoking, but threw away the muggle cigarette as she came over to him, the butt smoking between the cobblestones on the street. He threw his arms out impulsively as she reached him, expecting her to stumble as she was wont to do after a drink or two. Surprisingly, she was steady on her feet, grasping his outstretched arms and beaming up at him as though they'd never quarreled at all.

"Alright?" He managed to get out, wondering what her motive for speaking to him could possibly be.

"I quit my job," her statement came out rushed and breathless, as though she'd been waiting to tell him since the moment she saw him. "I quit my job and I'm never going back." She had a hard look in her blue, blue eyes.

"Oh, erm - congratulations?" He said, unsure.

"Thanks," she rewarded him with a splitting grin. "I'm really chuffed." She shook a tumble of curls out of her face and looked back towards the pub. "Why aren't you at work?" She asked frowning, glancing at his robes, probably finally clocking that it was mid-afternoon still.

"Oh, erm, your dad sent me home."

"My dad?" Her nose wrinkled adorably.

"Yeah - there was an… incident at work. Aurors are investigating." He replied, unsure of how much he was strictly allowed to say.

"Oh," she said, her voice small. She looked sad for a moment, but soon her vigor returned. She waved the air, as if physically vanishing the unpleasant circumstances that allowed Scorpius to be there. "But you're off work! Brilliant! Come and have a drink with me, then."

"Oh, I don't know-"

"Come on, Malfoy. I don't bite." She wriggled her eyebrows at him, already heading back towards the pub. "Not hard, at least." She laughed and winked over her shoulder.

Scorpius stayed where he was. When she realized he wasn't following, she turned, her freckled forehead creasing.

"You know, I'm all right," he said, though a part of him itched to join her in the pub, to lap up all the attention she seemed to be offering. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot. "I'll catch you later, Rose."

Before he could change his mind, Scorpius walked away from her. She said nothing in reply, and with an admirable display of self-control, he didn't turn back to watch her expression as he went. Had he done so, he might have laughed at the incredulous look on her face, for Rose Granger-Weasley stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, looking for all the world like Scorpius Malfoy had been the first man to ever turn her down.