Most Slytherins, or anybody really, would be muttering curses as they walk outside in late October to retrieve a quill. Then again, no other Slytherin (or anybody really) would be quite so keen on retrieving one quill.

He watches his breath float up as crystals into the atmosphere. The grass is frozen in the early morning chill, and each step he takes crunches pleasantly underfoot. The small interruption from his drawing session has lead to a surprisingly lovely walk upon the grounds of the old Hogwarts castle.

A glint of silver from his pen's nib catches his attention, and he stoops to collect it. He's hesitant to look up at the tower. That strange girl with her wretched, vile snake could be looking down on him.

Clenching his jaw, he thinks, No one looks down upon me. I am Scorpius Malfoy. But he lacks conviction.

It seems every day he loses more and more of his confidence.

Letting a breath slip past his lips as a sigh, he straightens out and musters of the courage to stare upward. His eyes meet nothing out of the ordinary: No girl, no snake, no girl being swallowed whole by a snake. . . .

On his way back to the main entrance he rounds a sharp corner and abruptly slams into someone much smaller than himself. He glares at the top of the girl's hand-knit hat as she gathers her fallen items and says, "Watch where you're walking, you complete waste of goblin—"

"Save it for someone who cares, Malfoy," her voice interrupts.

Bright hazel eyes capture his grey ones. Electrocuted by the connection, he quickly flicks his eyes away from her face. Instead he pretends to be interested by how her fiery red hair, which looks soft as silk, tucks neatly from the bottom of her hat to the top button of her cardigan—even after taking a fall. A spray of light freckles frame her round cheeks and dance across the bridge of her little nose. Scorpius barely notices how her books lay splayed out across the ground.

"Rose," he acknowledges simply.

She tucks her hair back behind both ears as she scrambles to organize her papers. He knows her ears are pierced twice at the lobe with two thin metal hoops each, but she has added more tiny charms in the past few years. He counts seven total. They jingle softly together, ethereally quiet like tiny bells in a silent snowstorm—and only then does he realize he has been holding his breath while he watches her.

He shifts his gaze away completely.

"So, uh . . ."

"Don't bother, Cory. I really don't want to deal with you today."

"That's fine by me."

Rose gives him a sarcastic smile as he breezes past her. But at the last moment he can't help but notice that she's sniffling quietly into her sleeve. Her shoulders are hunched tight around her ears as she picks up her books, papers, and extra quills—when normally her posture is almost elegant. There's only one proper lady at Hogwarts who also cusses like a basilisk, and her name is Rose Granger-Weasley.

To see her like this . . . It isn't right.

He's transported back a few years ago, when Rose was his closest friend and only confidant.

"I think maybe we could stop with the whole enemies thing," he says slowly, forming the words before thinking out the consequences. "It's sort of played-out."

"That is so offensive, after what you've done." She pauses in her efforts. If she looks up at him he doesn't know, as his eyes are anywhere but on her. "You're a serious twat. I'll never befriend you again."

"OK, so we don't have to be friends or anything. That's not even what I was saying." Scorpius kneels down and places his fingers around an Herbology textbook. "But I knocked your books down. It's only fair I pick them up."

He's too afraid to look at her, especially when she says: "Am I so insignificant to you now, you don't even want to be enemies?"

"It's not that. You just looked so . . . unlike you, Rose. Like something is wrong. And I just wanted you to know I could . . . listen. As a lending ear."

Rose snorts, and rolls her eyes. "You think that's supposed to make me feel better because you're just so great."

"Uh . . . Is it working?" he admits.

"Oh, definitely." Rose oozes with sarcasm. "Thank you for noticing me, Cory. Can you be my friend, please, Cory?" She turns away from him again. "Don't act like you know how to read me. What is it you really want?"

Well? he asks himself. What is it?

The moment of tense silence weighs especially heavy on him. He almost thinks he has an answer, but he doesn't understand it. So instead of thinking it out, he reverts to what he always does when he feels backed into a corner: He imagines what time slowing down would look like.

Scorpius sees a tall, heavy grandfather clock being pulled and twisted. It looms over him, as menacing as a human who's mid-process of morphing into a werewolf. He wishes time could go this slow so he could have enough of it to answer Rose. But then he sees a silhouette of a young boy, oddly familiar in his reverie, standing in front of the towering timekeeper and craning his neck back to look up. The boy is meek and scrawny. The lines that mark time begin to pull and peel from the face of the grandfather clock, floating down toward the boy, and he throws his hands up and screams.

It's Rose's voice that snaps him back to reality.

"I don't trust you," Rose mumbles.

If she means for this to hurt, it does.

As she reaches for her book, Scorpius holds it high above their heads. He isn't sure why. He thinks it might get her to stay long enough for him to figure out what he wants to say.

"Malfoy," she spits, smacking his arm. "You are an absolute pig. I'm so tired of you, acting like this . . . this arrogant pinhead without a single clue where your mouth would be if ever you stopped spewing shit from it."

Usually up for a battle of wits with Rose, he ignores all this and asks, "Why are you crying?"

Rose steps back, her gaze smoldering and her breath coming out in foggy clouds, looking much like a small dragon. She seems to provide her own warmth with her rage, as she doesn't shiver in the cold. Already Scorpius has started wearing gloves and his emerald, Slytherin scarf wrapped once around his neck (which Rose looks just about ready to grab each end and throttle him with). Instead, she breathes in and seems to count to three in her head.

He, on the other hand, fixates on a stone in the castle right behind Rose's head. It isn't a special stone. It looks like all the other stones around it.

"Is it Justin?" he asks the wall.

"His name is Jason."

"I don't care. Did he do something?"

Rose scoffs. "You're so pathetic, Cory."

"You're the one crying."

She clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes. "The things I wish I could say to you," Rose says, scathingly. "I hope it keeps you up at night."

Scorpius brings her book down and she snatches it from his hands. Then she turns and leaves.

By the time Scorpius makes it back to the school for breakfast, he feels queasy. Finally he pulls the heavy door open and steps into a trickling crowd of students.

"Are you OK?"

Scorpius turns his head slowly, feeling vague, as he looks for whoever just spoke to him. There is a girl staring at him, with concern on her face—though he isn't sure why. Then he recognizes her as the one with the snake. She must have just come down from the tower.

"You are looking ill. Do you feel OK?" she repeats.

"Yeah."

He tries to appear menacing, gaining strength as he senses the direct presence of his Slytherin friends Emmalee and Henry joining behind him. The girl, sensing danger, starts walking again toward class.

The Slytherins behind Scorpius sneer at the girl, talking to each other about the way she speaks, and Henry bumps Scorpius's shoulders as though cheering him on. This reminds him to sneer as well. At first he was only bewildered by the stranger, but fueled by the watching eyes of his peers he finds himself sticking out his arm and blocking the girl's path just as she's about to pass. She stops obediently and he turns his head sideways to look down on her—she is already gazing upon him with her curious eyes.

Her eyes.

"Oh," he breathes out before he can stop himself.

Some strange force isn't allowing him to tear away from her incredibly soothing, dark eyes. He's frozen, unable to move his arm; unable to speak; unable to think. For a moment he feels as though he forgets everything about everything.

The sentiment startles him back into reality. He wonders briefly what the hell he thinks he's doing, blocking her path when she's just trying to get to class. His arm drops back to his side lamely.

But she holds his eyes hostage.

Emmalee sidles up behind him, pushing her body flush against his and leaning forward to scrutinize the girl. But Kiara doesn't look at her. With each passing second, Scorpius feels more and more shame. She is fierce and unflinching. He finally puts two-and-two together: This must be the "daft, ugly French girl" that Emmalee has some classes with. He hadn't ever realized that she was the same peculiar girl he'd watched get Sorted, years ago.

"You're here, Kiara," Emmalee sneers. "So learn English."

"I learn more English every day, Emmalee," the snake girl named Kiara says, without breaking her eye contact with Scorpius.

"What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at that other school for preppy Frenchpeople?"

"Yes. I am Belgian, after all."

"Whatever. So why aren't you there?"

She does not look away from Scorpius's eyes once while she says "Maybe I should be. I think even the French would be much friendlier to me."

She speaks articulately. Her English is perfect, if not a bit formal and enunciated. Rather, it's her mild Belgian accent—almost like a drawl—that gives anything away. And she says every word as if they're meant only for Scorpius.

His shame increases tenfold.

"Transfer to Beauxbatons for next year, mmk?" Emmalee says with a sweet smile that drips with poison. Her fingers are wrapped around Scorpius's arm. Usually he'd be happy to just be near her, but right now he feels . . . embarrassed, almost. Like he's outgrown these Slytherin games.

"Yes," Kiara intones levelly. "The idea sounds suddenly very appealing."

Behind him, Emmalee and Henry laugh obnoxiously—but it sounds faraway, like a distant train rumbling down the tracks.

Scorpius just stands there, long after Kiara has walked away.

-o-o-o-

It's been a long match of Quidditch, yet the crowd and players are too pumped up with adrenaline and tension to even yawn. A Hufflepuff by the name of Peter Palmer (who's definitely bias toward his own team, but consistently denies it) has just filled in for Michael Sean's game commentary, as he's stepped down due to his voice being too hoarse for anyone to understand anymore.

"Denholm blocks Vega's shot.—Oh, Creek's just dodged a Bludger hit by Jefferson; impressive. Not many miss one of Ed Jefferson's Bludgers.—Slytherin's Captain, Albus Potter, hits it back, and . . . slams the Hufflepuff Beater Zachariah Price straight in the gut. Ouch, that's gotta hurt!—A shot made by Henry Haddock; ten points to Slytherin.—Jackson has already gone after the Bludger.—Quaffle gets past Denholm, ten points to Lucy Price! As you all know, Price has lead her team of Hufflepuffs to victory over and over! Current score, three hundred and twenty to three hundred and ten, with Hufflepuff in the lead.—Potter nearly falls off his broom, with a foul committed by— Wait . . ." There's a slight pause. "Is that the Snitch?"

All four Houses strain their eyes, trying to see out through the quickly darkening sky. Some use their omnioculars, and most leap up and stand on top of the benches. Players, students, and teachers alike spy the Snitch and point at it, turning their attention to Scorpius who has spotted it just a few seconds before everyone else—including his rival Seeker, Stewart Brand.

Scorpius is unstoppable. He flies so fast against the chilly night air that his hair slicks back. He's high enough so that the audience's upturned faces look like hundreds of glowing lights; he is surrounded by the stars above and below, and right in this moment he is the brightest as he shoots across the sky. It's his favorite feeling, to be the center of attention. And everyone can see Brand doesn't stand a chance. Scorpius races so fast toward the Golden Snitch that he nearly passes straight by it, snatching it with his right hand reaching long behind him. All at once, he pulls up hard to stop and raises the caught Snitch high above his head to the audience.

"One hundred and fifty points to Slytherin, thanks to Cory," Peter the Hufflepuff announces, and though he's difficult to hear over the cheering, he does sound obnoxiously glum for an 'ambiguous' commentator. "Slytherin wins, with four hundred and sixty points. Well, good for you."

Even though Scorpius is still high enough that Peter's broadcasted voice sounds tinny in its distance, the uproar from the crowd—full of both positive and negative shouts—reaches his ears just fine. He's surprised that it doesn't make him feel the way it usually does. He pushes his goggles up against his hairline, his adrenaline finally depleting and leaving him exhausted.

Students have now either crowded the field to greet the players touching down, or turned—grumbling—back toward the school. Scorpius heads toward the ground at a slow descent, rubbing his thumb in circles against the Golden Snitch. He slides the other glove off with his teeth, rubs his tired eyes, and surveils the field. A little group of his friends wait for him, but in his delirium they blur together into a single mass.

For some reason, Scorpius shifts his gaze to the otherwise empty stands and sees a girl still sitting with a black snake wrapped about her shoulders like a scarf. Distracted by his unsettlement toward the vile creature, he finds that his feet touch the ground without his knowledge and he nearly stumbles off his broom and face-first into the pitch. Embarrassed, he looks around to see if anyone has caught him.

Of course, Albus Potter stands right there.

"Well done tonight, Cory!" Albus cheers, slapping Scorpius between his shoulder blades in a congratulatory manner.

Clearing his throat and straightening out his emerald robes, Scorpius mutters, "What else would you expect?"

He can feel Albus's curious stare as he strides away from him and toward Emmalee and Phoebus, both Slytherin Chasers and both cruel. Albus is always so nice. It can't be genuine. He's just trying to prove a point about Slytherins, Scorpius thinks. Albus must fancy himself one of the 'good ones'.

Scorpius pockets the Golden Snitch as he watches the referee who's just wrestled the second Bludger into its straps. Finally he says to the pair, "I'll meet you in the common room. Think I'll take a lap around the stadium before heading back in." He looks to Emmalee, hoping she'll ask to come along. But she's busy talking to Finley Creek, the other Slytherin Beater besides Albus.

She doesn't even notice him there.

Scorpius glances behind him. Albus has walked away with Hugo Weasley and Lily Potter. In the distance he sees Rose waiting at the edge of the field with a one-cheek grin and arms crossed as her family walks to her.

Letting out a foggy breath, Scorpius mounts his broom and kicks off into the cold air. He slides his goggles and gloves back into place and heads straight up. He ignores the sting against his face, knowing his nose turns into a red beacon against his pale face. Scorpius is reminded of a ridiculous Muggle Christmas tale about a reindeer with something like a torchlight for a nose.

He flies about until the stadium lights shut off, the field and stands completely deserted. Until, far below, he hears muffled conversation and the low hiss of a snake. It's too dark to see much of anything. Scorpius drags the goggles back up on the top of his forehead and squints, searching the stands for the snake girl.

"We lost track of time," her soft voice says. Scorpius finds himself flying closer to the voice, straining to hear her clearly. "I can't seem to find the stairs, Basil. I will meet you down back at the school. Go along, now. It is too cold for you to be out much longer." A peculiar sound that could only be a snake slithering and tumbling down the stands paralyzes Scorpius until it fades into the night. When he hears her footsteps, he hovers over to where the girl is and clears his throat.

"Can I help you?"

The footsteps freeze, and he blinks hard in the dark trying to find her silhouette.

"Who is there?"

"I'm up on a broom. Do you want a ride back?"

"That is very chivalrous of you," she says. "You are like a knight with a gallant steed."

Chivalry. A known trait of Gryffindor students. Scorpius clears a lump in his throat. When he was eleven, the Sorting Hat told him he could be a Gryffindor. But with a legacy like the Malfoys, this idea terrified him. He begged the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin, and a Slytherin he became. It's a damning fact that he's never told anyone, especially not his family.

Although the moon shines brightly, it's masked by a moving layer of thick clouds. Still, Scorpius starts to make out her details. He sees the whites of her eyes reflect back at him as she holds a ghostly hand up. It's harder to see the rest of her. She appears in and out of the shadows as the clouds carry forward across the light, and he assumes he must look the same way to her. Barely visible—protected identity.

"My name is Kiara, by the way," she says politely.

Scorpius brushes his fingers down hers until his palm touches her palm, and their hands embrace warmly. The contact turns his cheeks hot.

Then Kiara says, with a soft giggle, "Why, thank you, Sir Scorpius."

He jolts back, as if he's been burned by her touch.

"How did you know who I am?"

"What could you possibly mean? I can see your hair. It is very bright, like silver, in the moonlight."

"What were you still doing out here?" he asks, his tone suddenly scolding. "Anything could have happened." He's put distance between them now, and the divide grows. "It's dangerous to be out here after dark, alone like this."

"But you are here."

"Kiara!" a new voice joins them, and Scorpius shoots up into the air on his broom. A circle of light begins to fill the area as Headmistress McGonagall comes closer. "Out a half hour after the match ended!"

"I'm sorry, Headmistress McGonagall," Kiara apologizes, holding a steady gaze with her.

"Have you seen Scorpius? He's the only other student unaccounted for." Her tone sounds softer as she herds Kiara closer to her wand's light.

"I did not see Scorpius," she lies. "I am out here alone."

Scorpius watches the pair walk back to Hogwarts together, the circle of light growing smaller as they retreat. Kiara doesn't look back once.