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Please enjoy this one!

Chapter 39: The Afterhours

The worst part one could play in a mission like this: waiting.

Rose, who was so often the centre of her misadventures, found this to be a most trying task.

Karma, perhaps.

Her agitation was not lost on Fawley, who was once again disturbed from his reading by her insistent pacing in the sitting area. "Dear Circe, Weasley," he finally uttered, dropping his book. "This carpet you tread on is a vintage Persian from the early sixties. It's survived several wizarding wars before it was passed down to me, but you will finish it tonight if you continue to plod all over it. Have a bloody care and sit down, won't you?"

"Sorry," Rose muttered, plopping herself onto the sofa across from Fawley. "It's just—I wish I could be there with Poppy. So much could go wrong. Crossley could catch on and destroy the evidence before they get to it, in which case it's our word against his." She glanced up at him, trying to school her jitters. "How are you so calm?"

"Because we have a plan," Fawley said reasonably. "It makes no sense for you and me to be down in the dungeons, when Potter and Langdon clearly know Crossley's quarters far better than we do. And what's the difference, really, between this and a long wait behind the bushes for a glimpse of a sneaky Jarvey? I'm sure you've faced far worse in the Forbidden Forest."

Rose had to smile sheepishly at this reminder of life-threatening run-ins over the years—Centaurs, Acromantulas, Trolls, and of course… Grindylows. "I suppose it's hard to just sit back and watch when it's someone you care about."

I almost watched you die, Rose.

A heavy lump formed in Rose's throat. She blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the feeling.

Blast, why was she thinking of Scorpius again?

This really wasn't the time.

"Speaking of which," Fawley said casually, as though hearing her thoughts, "I didn't know you and Malfoy were involved until Miss Langdon told me. That explains everything, at least."

Rose shot him a questioning look.

"Why, he was rather possessive about you the other morning. But I was in quite a state—travel lag, you remember. Didn't realise it was a lovers' quarrel."

Rose cleared her throat as the heat crept up her face. "We're not lovers."

"Is he not your boyfriend?"

"Er—"

"Crickets, don't try to explain it." Fawley waved carelessly, scrunching up his face. "Complicated, I take it. Always the case with teenagers, eh?" He tilted his head at Rose as he assessed her. "Our families run in the same circle, you know. So I've seen him around since I was a child. He's exactly the son my father wanted, so we were constantly compared. Though of course, I can only be me. Certainly you must know what the Malfoys are like. His kind can hardly bear to be in the same room as folk like us."

Rose's eyebrows creased. "What do you mean, folk like us?"

"We're similar, you and I. We'd scruff our knees and sleep in the dirt, where it's called for. We apply ourselves to discovering new worlds. Peeking out our little boxes, unravelling the next grand possibility." Fawley gestured wildly into the air to make his point. "But Malfoy and his ilk—my dear family included—they thrive in the old world, one that only exists behind closed doors. Inherited comforts, outdated beliefs, privileges at the expense of those they deem beneath them. They want nothing to change. But you and I both know tradition is the handcuff of new ideas." Fawley leaned in, observing her with cheerful amusement. "I fought hard my whole life to leave that world behind me… and here you are looking to marry into it."

This somehow reminded Rose of her embarrassing conversation with Astoria on Boxing Day. "Fabian. No one's getting married."

"Dating and marriage are really the same thing, according to tradition. Prospecting, my father calls it. And that, my friend, is why I will never date."

"I hear young people date for fun these days," Rose said lightly, as Fawley chortled. "And with all due respect—you're completely wrong about Scorpius."

Fawley merely raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Of course he can be stubborn sometimes," Rose added in a rush, trying not to sound too defensive. "And I suppose he can be quite the snob. But he balks against some of the traditions you speak of. He has ideas of his own, you know." She trailed off, recalling the way Scorpius spoke of his family's demands of him… and how his affectionate nature revealed itself to her, at perfect odds with the austerity that defined his childhood. "He follows his own heart, despite what others expect of him. I know people perceive Scorpius to be a madman because of the papers—"

"Guilty as charged."

"—but he's much more than that. He feels so deeply, and he's far kinder than his reputation suggests. Somehow he manages to surprise me all the time." She tried not to blush as her next words tumbled out of her. "I really like that about him."

Fawley's warm eyes disappeared into his smile. "Even so. That was quite the fight the two of you had the other evening on the pitch."

"We've had a few misunderstandings," Rose admitted quietly. "I'm beginning to realise how jealous he can be of what he doesn't know. This whole thing about Crossley—" She fisted her hands in her lap. "I haven't been completely transparent with him about it."

"And why on earth not?"

"This isn't a bit of light news or gossip, Fabian. Reputations are at stake. Poppy's, Crossley's… even yours, if you can't prove your accusations. I would have told him everything in time—I just needed him to trust me." Rose swallowed, trying to ignore the soft pang of hurt in her chest. "I know he tried to give me space. But perhaps he didn't try hard enough."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Did you try hard enough, too?"

Rose stared at Fawley, confused by this turn in the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"Hmm." Fawley got to his feet then, raising his arms over his head for a languid stretch. "…Have you ever met a blind Hippogriff?"

"No."

"Well, when you do, you'll realise they can be doubly territorial. A friend of mine in Spain has one on her farm. Beautiful, skittish thing. Got his eyes pecked out by a Flitterby when he was merely a newborn."

The mental image was heartrending. "Poor darling."

"Poor darling, indeed. Wouldn't come to heel, of course—constantly terrorising other Hippogriffs and creatures he came in contact with." Fawley blew out his cheeks thoughtfully. "For a blind beast to find his bearings, he needs to understand his environment completely. So my friend had to carve out a safe space for him. Taught him to hear the difference between a butterfly and a darned Flitterby, lest he be defensive for the wrong reasons. Walked him through the pastures for months until he'd memorised the terrain."

"Has he improved, then?"

"Hardly." Fawley laughed, making himself comfortable on the sofa once more. "I almost got run into the ground during my first visit. But he turns into a real sweetheart when my friend comes round. He trusts her completely."

Rose couldn't help but suppress a smile. "This sounds suspiciously like relationship advice."

"It's Hippogriff advice," Fawley corrected cheerfully. "But aren't man and beast ever so similar? I'm not saying you need to tell Malfoy everything, if you don't want to. Certainly we are entitled to our privacy. But if he's a blind Hippogriff, then maybe he needs a little help to know what safety looks like."

Before Rose could answer, a sharp clatter sounded by the entrance. Rose and Fawley clambered to their feet, alert at once.

Albus and Poppy had burst in, the doors groaning shut behind them. There was a flushed quality to their appearance, as though they had bolted the entire way here. Poppy's fair hair was coming undone from her tight chignon; Albus' brilliant green eyes were glazed over, the way they were wont to do after he'd just pulled off one of his prank missions.

"Close shave," Albus was saying. "The Dungbombs chased the old fart out of his chambers, but he returned far too quickly—"

"Good thing I had the Cloak," Poppy cut in breathlessly. "But he caught Potter at the door and gave him a hell of a lecture—"

"Two weeks' detention," Albus added, almost too proudly. "Almost took my ear off with his screaming."

"I snuck out just as Professor Crossley came back in," Poppy finished, holding up her loot. "He almost tripped over the Cloak but—anyway. This should be enough evidence."

"What's this?" Rose asked, noticing an intricate timbre case atop the stack of documentation in Poppy's arms.

Colour rushed into Poppy's cheeks. "Proof," was all she said, but she was no longer looking at them. "We—we must go to Headmistress McGonagall at once."

"Hold on, Langdon. Maybe this can wait till tomorrow morning," Albus interjected. "If you don't feel up to it yet…"

"I actually agree," Fawley said, shooting Albus and Rose a tentative glance. "Perhaps we can all use a bit of time to digest what we have here—"

"No," Poppy said. "It has to be now. Before I lose my nerve."

After decades of service to Hogwarts, few would challenge Minerva McGonagall's devotion to the school and its students. Despite her strict nature and proclivity for rule-setting, she was flexible with her time as Headmistress. Most of her after-hours were spent counselling students and professors alike, all the while addressing meddling Ministry owls with an acerbic wit that made Dumbledore's portrait chortle.

Even so. She had a limited tolerance for call-ins as late as this one. It usually meant students were caught out of bed by Filch. Otherwise, it was likely a matter of great consequence… and unpleasantness. When Potter and Granger-Weasley materialised in her office at the stroke of ten, she could not help but think: What have I done to deserve a third generation of trouble?

Never mind the fact that she had first met Rose and Albus close to two decades ago, at a Christmas gathering at Kingsley's. They were merely toddlers then, each one giggling in the arms of Ron and Harry—two wizards she happened to be excessively fond of.

Though now there were no giggles to be had. The pair of them stood before her with solemn expressions, most unexpectedly with Poppy Langdon and the visiting Magizoologist, Fabian Fawley.

Frankly, McGonagall could not fathom an unlikelier bunch.

"Miss Weasley," she intoned, stepping away from the back of her desk as she addressed them. "You have yet to submit a report of what happened to you a week ago at the Great Lake. To what do I owe your sudden appearance? At—" She glanced pointedly at the ticking clock on the wall across from them—"five past ten, no less."

For some reason, all of them turned to look at Poppy. But the Head Girl had gone chalk white, her arms tightening around a crumbled stack of parchments. When the silence persisted, Weasley shuffled forward, a gentle plea in her blue eyes.

"Professor," she said earnestly. "I am here to report what happened to me at the Great Lake."

"Then it's not an emergency," McGonagall returned sharply. "I have survived your late report the past week, Miss Weasley, and I can surely wait to receive it in the morning—"

But Albus Potter and Fabian Fawley had now spoken up on top of Rose, their raised voices filling the chamber in a mishmash of too-much-information. McGonagall's narrowed her eyes, struggling to catch the cacophony of words as they went over her head:

"—is an emergency, Professor McGonagall—"

"—Crossley is planning to give an illegal presentation—"

"—Langdon's being taken advantage of—"

"Quiet," boomed McGonagall, making them all jump. "One voice at a time, please. Miss Langdon, you look like you've seen a ghost. Surely you can explain the meaning of this?"

She was, by this point, becoming concerned about the obvious fright in Poppy's pallid expression. Rose reached out to take the load off Poppy's arms, but Poppy held fast, refusing to relinquish the documents. After a terse moment, she dropped the stack of them onto McGonagall's deck. Then, in a shaky voice—

"I'm here to report Professor Crossley. He's been using me for an illegal experimentation the past three years, and…" Her breath hitched, the misery plain on her face now, "he's taken advantage of me. Emotionally and physically."

And just like that, the air was sucked from the room. McGonagall was suddenly assailed by a distant, pitchy ringing in her ears. She'd lived long enough to know this was a symptom of her own oncoming shock—for Crossley had been a dependable colleague and confidante for years. If young Poppy was accusing Crossley of what McGonagall thought she was, then…

Poppy lowered her gaze, unable to meet McGonagall's stunned expression as her fingers moved over the clasp of the timbre box perched at the top of the stack. It took a few moments too long; the girl couldn't seem to stop trembling.

"I'm not the only one, either," she continued, so softly that they all had to strain to hear her. "He collects from every student he's been with."

"Collects?" McGonagall repeated blankly, moving closer to peer into the box.

And in that shiny timbre box was a meticulous display of shiny locks of hair; pretty curls of all shades and textures. Someone had taken great pains to knot each one with a delicate little ribbon, along with little paper tags that contained the names of students past and present.

Nettie Fables… Lina Chan… Rosamund Batworthy…

Good Merlin. She knew these names.

McGonagall suddenly felt faint.

There were so many.

And right on top of them… a lock of pale gold tied in a cloud pink ribbon. Poppy Langdon.

It was hard to miss the sheer disgust in Albus' face as he turned away. Rose looked completely stricken now, her arm slipping into Poppy's to support her friend.

"Heavens, Miss Langdon," McGonagall uttered, her voice cracking slightly. "I must ask again. You're saying this belongs to Professor Crossley?"

"It's true, Headmistress," came Fawley's voice. McGonagall turned abruptly to him, frazzled that he was even present in the first place—for what could a distant, creature-loving stranger like Fawley possibly know about Crossley and Langdon?

But any response she had was thwarted by the crumbling sound of the stone entrance twisting open once more, revealing none other than—

Emery Nott and Georgia Plumes.

Georgia's mouth dropped open at the sight of the crowded office. She gave Nott a sideways glance. "Oh," she muttered audibly. "I didn't think there would be so many people."

"You'll have to come back," Albus said, glowering at them. "We're in the middle of something."

"Hello to you too, Albus," Emery said, slipping coolly past him. She turned to Poppy, who was looking more and more bewildered by the second. "Good, you're here too, Langdon."

"Wait, wait," Rose blurted out then, looking between Emery and Georgia in growing confusion. "What's going on? Why are the two of you even here?"

"That's what I'd like to know." McGonagall pursed her lips tightly, her eyes darting between the girls. "Miss Nott. Miss Plumes. I'm currently occupied, in case you haven't noticed. Unless the two of you have good reason to be here—"

"We're here for the same good reason as Langdon, I suppose," Georgia said, an unpleasant twist in her mouth as she arrived on Poppy's other side. "To report a creep."

"Best if you're seated, Headmistress," Emery said with a humourless smile, as McGonagall gripped the side of her desk with a hand on her heart. "This will take awhile, I'm afraid. I plan to be very detailed."

The air was damp and stale; the last of a dead winter at dusk. Rose exhaled quietly, watching her breath turn grey in the dim of the hallway. Her fingers reached beneath the cloak beside hers, finding Poppy's icy hands with her own.

"It'll be okay," she whispered.

Poppy met her eyes then, a faint smile crossing her face. She merely nodded.

Fabian and Albus stood across from them, leaning against the bricks as they waited in silence. They didn't have to be here, but Rose couldn't help but feel thankful for their presence.

She was beginning to realise that it helped to have allies.

The past two hours had been excruciating—for Poppy, most certainly, but also for Fabian and Rose, who took turns to explain every detail of Crossley's plans to present and commercialise his experimental brew on the black market. McGonagall had looked positively livid by the end of it. But Rose sensed the woman's fearsome strength in the way she conducted herself throughout their questioning. Despite her growing fury, she somehow managed to keep her tone gentle with them… as though to reassure them of their decision to come forward. After she and Fabian were finished, McGonagall had requested for group of them to wait outside as she took down Emery and Georgia's statements.

Speaking of which. They should be out any minute.

"How did they know you were reporting Crossley?" Rose murmured, squeezing Poppy's hand. "Not that I'm complaining, but…"

Poppy started out of her reverie, suddenly reminded of some crucial fact. "Oh, right. I wanted to tell you, Rosie. I spoke to—"

But the sound of incoming footsteps drowned her out. Georgia and Emery appeared from the spiralled staircase that led to McGonagall's office, both looking somewhat withdrawn. Not that Rose blamed them. It was well past midnight, and any recollection of their experiences with Crossley was surely draining. The two girls looked surprised to spot the rest of them.

"I'll walk back with you," Albus said to Emery, who shot him a little smile.

"How kind of you, Al. May I have your cloak?"

Albus gave up his cloak to Emery, who shivered as she wrapped herself in the heavy fabric. He paused where he stood then, craning his neck to look back at Rose. "Will you be alright?" His gaze shifted to Poppy, hesitation touching his next words. "Both of you?"

"Yeah." Rose gave him a reassuring smile. How odd it was, she thought, that they were fighting only a few hours ago. And yet now she felt nothing but grateful for her cousin's unending patience. "You should get some rest."

Poppy stole a glance at Albus, but Emery had already slipped her arm into his, dragging him down the dimly lit hallway as they murmured to each other.

"I don't need company," Georgia said nonchalantly, making Fabian shirk sheepishly back against the wall before he could offer. "Good night."

"Georgia—wait." Rose caught up to her, trying to match the other girl's long strides. "Let me walk with you."

"You should accompany Langdon," Georgia said, not slowing in her step. "She needs it more than I do."

Rose grabbed Georgia's arm, pulling her back to face her. "Listen—Georgia. I just wanted to thank you."

Georgia arched a dark eyebrow as their eyes met in the flickering lamplight. "What for?"

"What you did… it'll really help our case." Rose glanced back to where Fabian and Poppy were talking some distance away, and a soft ache arose in her chest at the reminder of everything Poppy had gone through. "We might have had trouble bringing Crossley to justice without other testimonies." She worried her lower lip as she met Georgia's oddly impassive expression. "I'm sorry it happened to you, too."

"Don't be. Not your fault. Not anyone's fault but Crossley's, really. I'll be suing him for every knut he's got, just watch me." Georgia tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, her jaw tightening. "I'll skewer him in court."

The casual venom in Georgia's response was more dangerous than funny, but Rose found it hard to hide her amusement. Georgia's pretty face softened then, and she huffed under her breath as she looked away.

"Look, Rose," she said, her tone measured once more. "I really should let you know that it was Scorpius who told me about Langdon's predicament. I wouldn't have come forward otherwise."

Rose's breath hitched at this information, her eyes going wide from disbelief. Somehow, the thought of Scorpius possibly being the one to orchestrate this for Poppy's sake brought a tender skip to her heart. "Scorpius told you to do this?"

"He was the only other person I told about Crossley back then, so." Georgia grimaced, looking quite like she'd rather be pulling teeth than discussing the matter. "I didn't think anyone else would believe me, because… well. People would say I deserved it, probably." She gestured haplessly at herself and shrugged. "And though I did feel an urge to hex the messenger, I do think this was the right thing to do. If not for myself, then for Emery and Langdon."

"You didn't deserve it, Georgia," Rose said, more forcefully than she intended. "Nobody does."

Georgia studied Rose thoughtfully as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Then, unexpectedly—"Is he treating you alright?"

"What?"

"Scorpius. How are the two of you doing?"

The look on Rose's face must have given it away, because Georgia merely gave a dramatic roll her eyes. "…He's still being a bloody prat, isn't he."

"Not all the time," said Rose, but that only made Georgia snort.

"Listen. My mistake was going back to him after our first fight," she said, keeping her voice down as Poppy and Fabian approached. "I know now that I really shouldn't have. It made him think we had a chance. So take it from me when I say you should only make up with him if you mean it… because you'll never shake him off after that."

Rose blinked back at her, unsure of how to respond. Behind her, Fabian had released a loud, pointed yawn. Georgia shot Rose a knowing look as she turned to leave.

"Only if you mean it, Rose," she repeated. And then she was merely a receding silhouette in the looming darkness of the hallway. Rose watched her disappear.