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Chapter 38: The Fix
They arrived at the back of the castle in silence.
A dying winter scenery emerged at the end of the tunneled hallway, shrouded in a dense fog frost that chilled Scorpius to the bone. As they approached the open incline, the cobbled path beneath their feet disappeared into the icy dirt. In the distance, Professor Hagrid's humble stone hut rested on a snow-patched slope. Only the plumes of smoke huffing from a chimney stub disturbed the picturesque stillness.
Scorpius frankly disliked having to visit this part of the grounds unless forced to serve detention, usually expeditions led by Hagrid among towering century-old trees. For all his doom and gloom, Scorpius much preferred the parts of Hogwarts that were rife with activity he could understand. Like the Quidditch Pitch, for example. The Forbidden Forest, on the other hand—
It held far too many mysteries. And secrets of any sort made Scorpius uncomfortable.
Poppy had gone ahead of Scorpius, currently crouched on the ground to observe a weedling growing in the cold dirt. Despite her earlier invitation, a stilted silence lay between them now… not unlike the kind that followed a meeting of awkward acquaintances. Scorpius was beginning to wonder if there was a point to this rendezvous when Poppy suddenly spoke.
"Thank you."
He dragged his gaze from the moody scenery. "What for?"
Poppy rose to her feet, her eyes still fixed on the flower cradled between snow-crusted pebbles. "For saving Rosie's life."
She was fumbling for what to say next. Not that he blamed her, of course. They'd barely ever exchanged a word, and neither of them were known to be any sort of conversationalist.
"I must admit thinking it was a terrible idea," Poppy continued tentatively. "That she chose you, of all people, to help her avoid scandal… But she's always followed her instincts, whether or not it made sense to the rest of us. Most boys wouldn't know what to do about her, and I was so sure you'd be the same. But after the incident at the lake…" She trailed off, looking vaguely troubled by the memory.
"I did what I had to," Scorpius muttered, keen to move on from the subject. He did not want to over-analyse his actions—at least, not yet—but risking his life for Rose's safety had come as natural as breathing, overriding even the self-preservation that his parents had drilled into him.
Despite their quarrel, Scorpius was suddenly filled with the selfish longing to see her; to have her sunlit smile chase away the shadows of that unpleasant memory.
He forced his attention back to the present. "Just between you and me, I was scared shitless."
"Which makes it even more admirable, doesn't it?" Poppy worried her lower lip, an obvious discomfort in her expression now. "Scorpius… listen. It happened because of me."
They had never been on a first-name basis, but it was the statement that gave Scorpius pause. "What has Rose's accident at the Great Lake have to do with you?"
"She was only there in the first place because she was investigating me."
Scorpius' eyebrows met in confusion.
"I—I'm the Mergirl she was seeking."
"You?" Scorpius could hardly believe his ears.
"Yes." Poppy's breaths quickened as she struggled to explain herself. "I was carrying out an experiment by Professor Crossley. We'd devised a draft that allowed us to successfully imitate mercreatures—but it's still imperfect, as you saw from the Grindylow attack…" She paused, her cheeks colouring as she wrung her hands. "The reason Rosie hasn't said a word to you about it is because she was trying to respect my privacy. Professor Crossley and I were—we were having an affair."
It was hard to miss the shame in her halting words.
"Though maybe it would be fairer to say I was being taken advantage of," she continued, with some difficulty. "That's… that's why Mr Fawley is here. He caught wind of what we've done, and he's hoping to report Crossley. Not just for the experiment, but also for what he did to me. What happened was unethical and stupid, and…" Her voice cracked slightly as she looked away. "To be honest, I wasn't really thinking at the time. Everything I did was for his attention. I suppose—I got a bit lonely."
This revelation from Poppy was too much—and too intimate—to comprehend all at once. Scorpius stared back at her, grappling with the gravity of this sudden truth… his mind racing to fit the pieces of his knowledge to her story. Rose's almost-drowning. His supposed hallucination of a Mergirl from the bank. Fawley's sudden appearance.
Those casual observations from Tarquin, Albus and himself, of Poppy leaving Crossley's chambers too late, on too many evenings…
Teacher's pet, they'd called her.
A mix of regret and horror reeled through Scorpius then, the unexpected emotion rising from a muddle of half-forgotten moments. How many times had he and the lads heard rumours of Crossley's misbehavior, but ultimately dismissed them? Emery had complained of him when they were younger; Georgia herself had denounced his attentions one time too many. But Scorpius had never taken their concerns all that seriously. The man was a professor, after all—and far less of a perceived threat to Scorpius. He had always been far more jealous of boys their age, completely oblivious to the possibility of a different kind of predator in their midst.
Salazar's fucking balls. They'd all been as blind as bloody bats.
Not to mention how entitled he'd been with Rose over a secret that was clearly not hers to divulge.
And here was Poppy, taking it upon herself to share a private matter he had no business knowing. All because of his glaring insensitivity to traumas that weren't his own.
Circe. He was a damn bellend.
"Fuck," was all he managed, too stunned to say more.
"You may find it hard to believe," Poppy added carefully, not quite able to meet his eyes. "We'll have to gather the evidence, but—"
"I believe you," Scorpius said abruptly, startling her. "Langdon. Crossley's been a shit stain for years. I'm only sorry I never thought twice to do anything about what I've heard. If you need someone to back you up, then I…"
"That's kind of you." She offered him another one of her faint smiles, her shoulders sagging from relief. "But I'm already getting help from Rose and Mr Fawley. We have a plan of sorts. I think." There was a firmness in her next words. "You should apologise to Rose."
Scorpius exhaled quietly, too preoccupied to reply. The silence between them now was no longer awkward, the piercing chill in the air now strained by something else completely. The grounds suddenly looked all too inviting—a long walk would him do some good, surely.
But Poppy was not finished.
"Scorpius. I didn't just come here to give you a hard time about Rose," she said quietly. "I also wanted you to know that I understand what it's like. To be cheated on, I mean." She pursed her lips, once more the stern stranger he was better acquainted with. "It's hard for most people to understand, how much it can ruin a person for everyone else."
Scorpius nodded, his eyes lowered to his feet. The guilt over Poppy's predicament plagued him still; he was in no mood to face his own problems, even if Poppy seemed keen to discuss them. "You've dealt with far more than I have, Langdon."
"Nobody wins in a contest of pain," she corrected, a sigh under her breath. "Everyone knows exactly how Plumes treated you back then. What you're feeling… I feel it too. Sometimes I think I will never be able to date someone else without thinking he might do what James did to me."
Her words reminded him of what Rose said… That he was holding her to standards he'd set for Georgia. A girl who lied, cheated, and ultimately broke his heart. Rose had not given him reason to think she was capable of any of those things, least of all with Fawley.
And yet—
He was jealous beyond reason, and pathetically so. It was apparent, even to Scorpius, that his thoughts were dictated by the fear and paranoia he'd cultivated to protect himself from getting hurt again. He did not want Rose to be indifferent to him—refused for Rose to be indifferent to him.
From someone who made him so happy—
It would cut so much deeper.
"Sometimes our pain leads us to the wrong decisions," Poppy murmured, as though reading his thoughts. "I've seen the way you look at Rosie, and I know the way she looks at you. It's—something else." There was a wistfulness in her expression now. "If I found someone who looked at me that way—I wouldn't let go of it. Even if it means I have to do better."
"She deserves better," Scorpius agreed softly. There was the tender squeeze within his chest at the memory of her cornflower blue gaze meeting his. It made him miss her terribly. Her shy little grin. Her sweetly freckled face.
And the way she always let his kisses linger.
"So won't you try?" said Poppy, interrupting his daydream.
Scorpius glanced back at her. "I just don't want to do anything to make it worse," he admitted.
"Look, she doesn't let just any boy get close to her, but somehow she's let you in." The certainty in Poppy's voice brought a flicker of hope to Scorpius. "That's her trying, for your sake—she chose to trust you, despite her experiences. She's already crossed that bridge… You just need to meet her there."
Since the resignation of the last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, the office on the second-floor corridor had remained largely empty. These chambers had housed its fair share of strange characters—ranging between the prideful Gilderoy Lockhart, Teddy's heroic father Remus Lupin, and the infamous Dolores Umbridge.
Needless to say, this cursed guest office had seen a plethora of interior overhauls over the years. The circular room of brick and elmwood was often charmed to reflect the peculiar tastes of its occupant—becoming a gallery of mirrors for the self-loving narcissist, or providing an overdose of offensively pink furnishings to suit the saccharine sociopath. Just a few examples.
Today, however, this particular space looked like a tornado had just ripped through it. Every surface was buried under documents of all sorts—scrolls of unrolled parchment, complex anatomy charts, and stacks of opened books with notes crammed in the margins. Half-dried inkwells were dotted around the room, amid various other curiosities: a jar of squirming worm sprogs labeled "bb floob!", the floating skeleton parts of a Cockatrice, and a large tank of scaly rodents burping in unison at each other.
This endless collection of study material from Fawley's vast travels could occupy Rose for hours, and provided a welcome distraction from the chaos of her own feelings over the past few days. She was immersing herself in Fawley's essay on Polish Skrewts when his cheerful voice carried over.
"I say. Are you a terribly disagreeable person, Weasley?"
Rose blinked away from the text, finding Fawley relaxing across the room from her, his legs propped up on his desk. "I don't think so," she said, tilting her head in question. "Why?"
"Because you seem to have a talent for getting people mad at you, and I'm tempted to join them," Fawley explained serenely, as though what he said wasn't at all insulting. He gestured to Albus, who was pilfering through the bookcase on the other side of the office. "Once more, with feeling—why is he here?"
Rose winced at the reminder. Albus had arrived right after she did awhile ago, but hadn't said a word to her despite her meek greeting. It was clear he was still sore about Rose keeping Poppy's experimentation with Crossley from him.
Rose had initially wanted Albus in on their plot against Crossley in order to access his Invisibility Cloak and Marauder's Map. But Albus had insisted on showing up for the actual planning, which—raised an eyebrow. But this behavior over a lack of information that frankly had little to do with him in the first place…
Well. Whatever his motivations, this had to be dealt with.
With an inward sigh, Rose manoeuvred carefully through the haphazard office, trying not to knock anything over as she approached Albus. She cleared her throat. "Hey, Al—"
Albus chose that moment to turn abruptly in Fawley's direction, holding up one of his leather-bound travel diaries. "You saw a Grim last week, Fawley?" he said incredulously, completely ignoring Rose. "Doesn't it mean you're dying or something?"
"How can Dumbledore's namesake make such an uneducated claim?" Fawley asked with some alarm, looking thoroughly offended by the suggestion. "That is merely make-belief, Potter. Heed the facts, not the opinions—"
"Albus," Rose repeated, but Albus went on as though he didn't hear her.
"Omen of death," he affirmed, flipping the page. "Sorry to say this, but you only have a few days to live, Fawley. Lily would definitely prescribe an aura cleansing ritual—"
Oh, if he was going to be such a child, Rose was all too happy to return the favour.
She closed in and stomped an angry heel on Albus' foot.
Albus yowled, dropping Fawley's diary with a satisfying thump. "Ow! Fucking hell, Rose!"
"Oh, so you can see me," Rose said, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes at her cousin. "Why are you ignoring me?"
"I'm not bloody ignoring you!"
"Yes, you were!"
"You were," confirmed Fawley, as he poured himself another cup of tea.
"I'm not," Albus snapped. "But maybe I just didn't feel like talking to you because, oh, I don't know—you didn't think it important to let me know the identity of the Mergirl I've been going on about for months—"
"I only saw the transformation for myself the day you found out!" Rose cried, losing her patience. The emotional stress of past few days was finally coming to head; she was on a far shorter fuse than usual. It was absolutely ludicrous to her that both Scorpius and Albus were constantly trying to stick their noses into her business. Why couldn't they respect her privacy when she respected theirs?
Bloody hell, the whole thing was doing her head in.
"Oh, come off it," Albus retorted, visibly fuming. "You always get up to all kinds of inane shit without telling anyone anything. You were the one who needed my help, in which case you should have found the time to tell me the full story!"
"How could I possibly have told you the full story when even I didn't know the full story—"
"You could have shared your theories! I suspected her situation with Crossley and I told you, didn't I? None of this would even be possible if I didn't bring that up!"
There was a heavy silence as Albus and Rose glared at each other. Rose turned away then, trying to curb her flaring temper. It was a rare thing for her to get into a quarrel with Albus, but damn if she didn't want to throttle him right there and then.
"I read somewhere that open communication is key for successful relationships," Fawley piped up earnestly. "Not that I know for sure, of course. I don't have friends. But it does sound wise, doesn't it?"
"Respecting the privacy of others is just as wise." Rose took a deep breath as she regarded her cousin once more. "Look, Al, this really shouldn't even be about us—"
"No, with you there's always some cause of greater importance," Albus muttered crossly. It was clear that he was in no mood to see reason. "I don't know why I bother, Rose. You always get all righteous whenever we call you out on something."
Well, that stung. Albus was so rarely critical of Rose—but he could be right on the mark when he was. Rose bit her tongue, her cheeks suddenly hot as his words sank in. Did he have a point, somehow?
Was she being overly righteous about the whole thing, at the expense of Albus' feelings… and Scorpius'?
Fawley, finally looking quite like he'd seen enough, suddenly set down his tea cup with a noisy clink.
"Alright, the two of you," he harrumphed. "Enough is enough. Let us not forget the real reason we're here. We all want justice served tonight, and we'll need clear heads for that."
The elmwood doors of the office swung open, and Poppy burst in, looking windswept and harried. "Sorry I'm late," she said, only to stop short at the sight of Rose's reddened face and Albus' grim expression. She glanced swiftly at Fawley in askance, but only received a helpless shrug in return. "O-kay," she murmured cautiously, shutting the doors behind her. "What did I miss?"
"Evening, Miss Langdon," Fawley said pleasantly. "We're about to go through the plan. Potter, your map, please."
Albus brushed past Rose, grudgingly producing the Marauder's Map from his robes and flattening it on Fawley's cluttered desk. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," he muttered.
Beneath his wand, the aged parchment unfolded itself to reveal the plan of Hogwarts. They zeroed in quickly on Crossley's chambers by the Slytherin dungeons, where the professor's inked footprints paced about.
"So cool," Fawley said, a manic glint entering his eyes. "Now it feels like an adventure, doesn't it? Now, listen closely… our mission is to expose Crossley's unethical experimentation on a student, and his intent to make his services known to the black market through an underground Potioneer Conference. Tonight, we shall work on gathering the evidence of any documentation indicating his plans. Of course, Miss Langdon, only you know where he could have stored them, and so you must lead the charge."
"There's one problem," Rose pointed out, observing the map. "Crossley is still in his chambers. Shouldn't we wait for him to leave, or at least create a distraction?"
"Indeed," Fawley agreed sheepishly. "Certainly it's a better idea to infiltrate Crossley's chambers while he is away or preoccupied. Unfortunately for us, he rejected my invitation for a drink this evening. I had offered up to him the rarest of Poached Horn wines—"
"What the hell is that?" Albus said, looking repulsed.
"It may only be appreciated by individuals of discerning taste, Potter," Fawley said promptly, as Poppy bit back a laugh. "But no matter. He's never quite liked me very much, so—" He gestured at Albus. "You will have distract him the old-fashioned way. Dingbats, Dumbpops, or whatever you children call it nowadays—"
Albus cracked a grin. "Consider it done."
"So Al will create the distraction," Rose said, going through the plan in her head, "and Poppy will gather the evidence once Crossley's out. Just…" She regarded her friend carefully, trying to find the right words to approach the topic. "We want to get Crossley for more than his experimentation, don't we? We need Headmistress McGonagall to know about his advances on you." There was a steel in her voice now. "He needs to be fired."
The four of them ruminated on this for a few moments before Fawley spoke up. "There's also the possibility, Miss Langdon… that you may be perceived as complicit in these experimentations, once word gets to the Ministry. I will do everything in my power to ensure otherwise, but—"
"Of course," Poppy cut in, taking a deep breath as her gaze fixed itself on the map. "I'm prepared to give up my Head badge and accept the consequences."
"What?" said Albus and Rose at the same time.
"You absolutely should not," Rose shot back indignantly, grabbing her friend's arm. "Poppy, why on earth should you take the heat for Crossley—"
"I'm not, really." Poppy squirmed where she stood, looking uncomfortable with their attention. "Listen… the only reason I wanted the Head badge was because I thought it would—validate me. Or maybe Professor Crossley was the one who made me think so. Anyway, I just decided that not having the badge wouldn't make any great difference to me." She glanced up awkwardly at them, her voice faltering slightly. "And I… have a way of proving my relationship with Crossley. If it—if it comes to that."
Albus and Rose exchanged a troubled glance. And just like that, the animosity between them was forgotten. Perhaps out of habit, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. As though to say, I don't like this either.
Rose felt a sudden surge of affection for Albus, and his willingness to help despite her resistance to his involvement. No matter how mad they were at each other, they would sort it out eventually, she told herself. They always did.
Fawley looked between them, gauging their reactions, then straightened where he stood. "Good. Then we can proceed," he said. "Potter and Langdon, you're up."
"Wait, wait—we're not done here," Rose protested, as Albus secured the map and shoved it into his robes. "How can I help?"
"I've got this," Albus said, giving her a brief smile. "Save yourself the detention, Rosie."
"We can discuss how to explain this to McGonagall over the Poached Horn wine," Fawley said hopefully, reaching for a bottle of suspicious content by the console.
Rose tried not to make a face. "Er, maybe I'll just have the tea, Fabian."
Albus approached Poppy, holding out a handful of bunched up silk. "Be careful with that," he said, but there was no bite in his tone. "Come by the dungeons in half an hour."
"Where are you going?" Poppy asked, glancing at the Invisibility Cloak in her arms with some disbelief.
"Getting the Dungbombs," Albus said simply. "See you, Langdon." And then he was gone.