Chapter 16: Quidditch and Conversations

Rose was anxious over Fred, and anxious to talk to him, but he wasn't released from the Hospital Wing until late the next day. She'd told Al and Scorpius about her suspicions that whatever had happened to Fred and Kimberly might have been related to her run-in with Azalea, and they'd been . . . well, at least receptive to the idea.

She privately wondered if Lucius Malfoy had had something to do with it – but then again, he hadn't been at Hogwarts the day she'd found Azalea. And there was no way she was about to bring those suspicions to Scorpius when it had only been the Fred-and-Kimberly-incident that moved their little spat into the background in the first place.

She kept having to remind herself about what had happened last year – how she (and, in fairness, Al and Scorpius) had built up this whole theory of What Was Going On, how everything had seemed to Fit Together and Make Sense, and then it had turned out they'd been wrong about nearly everything.

She'd been wrong about nearly everything, and she'd nearly gotten them all killed. Don't make the same mistake again.

There was no rule that said there couldn't be coincidences. There was nothing she knew of to link what had happened to Fred, Kimberly, and Azalea with any bigger plot or sinister plans. There was nothing to indicate even that Fred and Kimberly's Obliviation was related to whoever had used whatever spell on Azalea in that hallway. Rose told herself firmly to not let her imagination run away with her.

This logic, of course, did not stop her from practically assailing Fred when he reappeared in the Gryffindor common room late that night, to great general relief.

"I don't know! Really, I don't know," was his answer to each of her questions – and any others that were being thrown his way. There was a bit of a mob of well-wishers and curious onlookers in the common room, a teeming mass of black robes around the two figures just inside the portrait hole. He laughed as he said it, flashing his trademark smile, but his dark eyes were thoughtful. He kept his arm protectively around Kimberly. They both looked drawn and tired. Fred had bags under his eyes.

He really couldn't remember a thing about the day. Not where he and Kimberly were when they'd been Charmed, not who they'd run into – Fred couldn't even remember when they'd been found, or by whom, although Kimberly seemed to have a foggy idea that it was a second-year Hufflepuff. They'd spent the night in the Hospital Wing for evaluation, and it seemed that neither of them were missing major memories. Or skills. The spell had been strong, but not sloppy. Which, at least to Rose, suggested an adult; at the very least, an older student.

Ultimately, as these things do many times in a school for witches and wizards where there is a lot of magic and a frankly shocking lack of oversight, the incident with Fred and Kimberly blew over. The going theory around the Gryffindor common room was that someone had acted out a Quidditch grudge on Fred and Kimberly off-pitch, or that they'd interrupted a couple of seventh years doing who-knows-what on their "wanderings," and been on the receiving end of a somewhat overenthusiastic attempt to ensure their silence. The professors seemed, for their part, largely unconcerned. Even Callister, who was the one professor who certainly knew about both of the memory incidents, didn't seem to be paying closer attention than was his usual. He deducted five points each in class two days later from Willow and Connor for "insubordinate behavior" when they mispronounced the Vera Verto incantation. Everything was normal.

And it was practically Christmas, which made memories even shorter. There was just too much going on – the castle had gone festive with lights and wreaths and fir trees seemingly round every corner. It was snowing properly now, and snowball fights kept breaking out among the students. And of course there was the second Quidditch game looming this weekend. Gryffindor wouldn't be playing, but that didn't mean there wasn't endless chatter and speculation about the game.

"I think I may actually go to this game," Rose mentioned softly during Potions one day. Despite her earlier misgivings – or perhaps, in proof of them – they had started brewing their first Potion of the year only a week previously. And it wasn't even a hard one, Rose thought bitterly. She could have figured out how to make the Swelling Solution on her own.

"So you're only going to games where I'm not playing?" Al said irritably, grinding his pufferfish eyes with unnecessary force.

"Those are supposed to be crushed, not pulverized, Al," Scorpius said, his own pufferfish eyes having already been perfectly homogenized with his nettles. He tipped his mixture into his cauldron as Al rolled his eyes.

"I'm going because I don't think it's worth following Wilkes this time," Rose said, careful to keep her voice low enough that Melisenda, several benches away, wouldn't hear her above the din of knives scraping, pestles grinding, and cauldrons simmering. "She's not done anything strange recently. Palling around with her Slytherin friends," Rose continued waspishly (darting her eyes towards Scorpius when she belated remembered their previous fight; fortunately for her, he just thinned his lips and ignored the jab), "Is perfectly normal as far as she's concerned. Whatever she was up to . . . perhaps she's stopped. And I'm much more worried about," here, she lowered her voice further, "The Book of the Mark."

Al and Scorpius nodded grimly. They had all been a bit unsure what they were supposed to do about the Book. Scorpius had promised to bring it up with his father during holidays, and Rose and Al had promised to do the same with their parents. "It wasn't like there was a list," her father had said, that time she'd asked him in the kitchen if he was sure they'd caught all the Death Eaters.

Well, what if there was?

Worse, what if there was, and her parents didn't know about it? Certainly none of her cousins did; at this point, having had a chance to talk to all of them about it in one way or another, she was certain of that. Molly had kept looking over her shoulder, as though just talking about Death Eaters was a crime. Roxy had narrowed her eyes speculatively and said no, she'd never heard of such a thing being real. And, as she pointed out, she was in Slytherin, so that probably meant something. Dom had fiddled with her very, very short fringe, concentrating fiercely as though there were something hovering just out of reach in her memories – but ultimately said that no, she didn't think she'd ever heard anyone mention the Book of the Mark.

But if there was a Book . . . where was it? And why did searching for it bring Lucius Malfoy to the Hogwarts library?

Uncharacteristically, Rose found herself longing for holidays to be over – and they had yet to even start! But there was no way they'd learn anything more about the Book until after Scorpius had talked to his father, and his growing obsession with it kept it at the forefront of her mind and Al's. He'd already make the both of them practically memorize Theodore Nott's testimony about the list.

Wizengamot records, some copies of which were conveniently housed in the Hogwarts library, showed that Nott had strenuously insisted that the Book of the Mark was real during his trial. This, apparently, was the origin of any rumors and whispers that had gone around since about a book of Death Eater records. He had heard about it from his father, who had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. The only other people who could confirm its existence, according to his testimony, would have been the original gang of Slytherins who gathered around the young Tom Riddle – Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber, and Rosier. By the time the Second Wizarding War ended, all of them except Mulciber were dead. Mulciber would be quite old now and had been in Azkaban for several decades; his testimony was unlikely to be reliable. The younger Nott did not claim to know where the Book was, saying only that his father, one of Voldemort's earliest Death Eaters, had spoken of it and had known where it was kept. Nott's father, supposedly, kept information on how to access the Book in his vault at Gringotts.

This all seemed incredible to Rose. How convenient for the younger Nott that everyone who might have confirmed the existence of the Book was dead or otherwise non compos mentis at the time of his trial! Clearly, the Wizengamot felt about the same way she did, as they had refused to take Theodore Nott to his father's vault and Gringotts to retrieve the information he claimed lay inside. But because Theodore had only joined the Death Eaters for the Battle of Hogwarts, he had served a comparatively minor sentence in Azkaban, and had already been released.

And that was it. That was where public record ended. That was all they would know, at least until Scorpius talked to his father.

. . .

True to her word, Rose was up and breakfasted and outfitted for the Quidditch game that Saturday morning before they all went home for holidays. Well, outfitted might be a bit of a stretch. She'd been sure to dress warm, but as she didn't have much of a favorite for the game, she'd just worn her usual Gryffindor gear. The second year Gryffindors were pretty united on who they'd be supporting; Connor and Annabelle had enthusiastically donned the yellow and black of Hufflepuff, and even Willow seemed to be sporting some paraphernalia. In her case, it was a small and tasteful golden badger pinned to her robes – but from Willow, that meant a lot.

It was funny how jovial Al could be on Quidditch mornings when he knew he wouldn't have to play. Rose was used to him nibbling morosely at his food, kicking his heels against his chair with excess energy and anxiety. The Al of this morning, the one who was going to watch a Quidditch match rather than play in one, was infinitely more talkative. He was practically bouncing, and flashed a wide smile at Roxy as she left the Slytherin table with an intent look on her face, no doubt off to do some last-minute preparation for her game against Hufflepuff.

"You know," he said quietly, as Roxy strode away, "Hufflepuff have a real chance at the Cup this year. If they can beat Slytherin today – which, mind you, they haven't been able to do in ages – they could win it all."

"Hmmm," Rose hummed in what she hoped sounded like agreement.

"Who're you for, Rosie?" Al asked, still bouncing slightly in his chair.

Rose looked around the Great Hall and happened to catch Zeke Smith's eye. To her irritation, he waved broadly at her and got to his feet, apparently taking their brief moment of eye contact as an invitation. "Definitely not Slytherin," Rose muttered, stabbing her eggs viciously as Zeke made his way over to the Gryffindor table. She didn't miss the way Scorpius's mouth tightened, but she was frankly too irritated about the impending Zeke invasion to apologize.

"All right, Rose? Al?" Zeke said too loudly, nodding to them both and roundly ignoring Scorcpius, who looked rather pleased about it.

"Er, yeah, thanks Zeke," said Al. "Excited about the game?"

"Am I!" Zeke exclaimed. "We're gonna win it all this year, I just know it. Hey, I was thinking about trying out for the team next year. I'm a Keeper, myself," he added seriously. "What d'you think?"

"What do I think?" Rose asked with some confusion.

"Isn't your Keeper Barnabas Cooper?" Al said dubiously. "He's only a fifth year right?" Even Rose, who enjoyed Quidditch but didn't follow it rabidly, knew what Al was implying. The position of Keeper was well-suited to someone . . . well, someone solid with a long reach. A third year was unlikely to beat out a sixth year for the position, even if the third year was exceptionally skilled.

Zeke's face fell. "I could be a Beater too, I bet," he said with a sullen expression. The degree to which his face had crumpled suggested Al had ruined his entire week. Scorpius coughed lightly into his hand; Rose was sure he was hiding a smirk.

"Of course!" said Al with forced brightness, clearly trying to make Zeke feel better. "Hey, maybe I'll see you on the pitch next year, right?"

This seemed to cheer Zeke up. And puff him up too. "You'd watch, right, Rose? If I were on the team?"

Rose wasn't sure how to respond. "I'm watching today," she said, but Zeke was already continuing as though she hadn't spoken. Scorpius narrowed his eyes slightly, but since Zeke was still pretending he didn't exist, this did nothing to stop him.

"Only I noticed you weren't at the last game," he was saying, "I guess you had more important things to do. Can't imagine what's more important than Quidditch though."

"Er," said Rose. She certainly wasn't going to tell Zeke Smith of all people why she'd missed the last Quidditch game. But there he was, standing there with an expectant look on his face like he thought they were best friends and she'd just tell him everything. The silence stretched a little too thin. Rose shot Al and Scorpius a desperate look. Scorpius shrugged; since Zeke was determined to ignore him, it didn't seem there was much he could do.

"Hey Zeke," Al said into the silence, "What's your broom?"

Rose heaved an enormous sigh of relief as Zeke took the bait eagerly. He and Al chatted about brooms all the way down to the Quidditch pitch, which was arrayed today in Hufflepuff's yellow and black and Slytherin's silver and green. Above the Slytherin stand, green sparks twisted in a serpentine shape, borne aloft by dozens of the Slytherin sudents' wands beneath them.

Rose and Scorpius followed Zeke and Al at a safe distance, mostly digesting in blessed, blessed silence.

"Zeke seems to really like you and Al," Scorpius said blandly at one point.

Rose shot him a look. "But he doesn't much like you, does he, Malfoy?"

Scorpius clutched his heart. "The cut direct, he gave me. And, oh, but woe is me."

Rose just rolled her eyes.

. . .

Hours later, they trudged back towards the castle under darkening skies. The game hadn't lasted a particularly long time – at least, not by comparison to some of the record-breaking games Rose had read about – but night came early at Hogwarts in the depths of December.

The Hufflepuff crowd ahead of her was raucous; they had practically wiped the pitch with Slytherin's team. Hufflepuff beat Slytherin. According to Fred, Slytherin had been a vicious powerhouse for a least as long as he'd been at Hogwarts. Rose remembered that he'd been beyond proud of Roxy when she'd made the team last year, even though it meant they'd be playing against each other. Making the Slytherin team as a second year was no mean feat. According to Al, though, they'd graduated their previous Keeper, two Chasers, and a Seeker last year. The reign was over. Or it might be, if the young team couldn't get its act together.

Most of Slytherin House was behind her, and Rose fancied she could almost hear the malevolent whispers. "Rose Weasley," they seemed to be hissing. At first, she brushed off the feeling that she was being followed – how could she be followed in this massive crowd? Of course there was someone following her. Half of Hogwarts was behind her.

But after a few moments of an eerie sensation in her gut, Rose looked around and found that someone really was close enough to whisper her name almost directly in her ear – a rather large, hulking figure. Rose yelped, but the noise of the crowd covered her. Al didn't even turn around.

Author's Note: "The cut direct" is a phrase from the Regency era (c 1795-1837), defined as "To stare and acquaintance in the face and pretend not to know him." So, like, Regency-era Silent Treatment. Apparently this was a thing so common that they gave a specific name to this type of insult. We love some historical pettiness.

You'll notice that "the cut direct" as a phrase or a behavior originates from after the Statute of Secrecy went into effect (1692) - nevertheless, in my imagination, this is a thing Scorpius has heard before from his parents. I think it's fairly safe to assume that Muggle slang often eventually makes its way into Wizarding society; after all, there are at least a few Muggleborns in each year at Hogwarts. So you would have had some Muggleborn students in the early-mid 1800s who had familiarity with this phrase. At first, of course, Purebloods would never use it, as they would have considered using Muggle slang beneath them. But then those students would have grown up, some percentage of them would have married and had children . . . and now there are half-blood children who have passing familiarity with the phrase . . . and you can see how, eventually, it would become entirely unmoored from its Muggle roots and become a perfectly acceptable turn of phrase for, say, Lucius Malfoy (who by his own account was at Hogwarts from 1965-1973, plenty of time for the phrase to no longer be associated with Muggles or Muggleborns, for whom by that time the phrase would have been something their distant ancestors might have said if they were particularly snobby). By the time Scorpius uses it here, it would be considered an antiquated turn of phrase even in the Wizarding world (think, akin to someone saying, "You're a cool cat, Daddy-o!" now), and practically medieval in the Muggle world.

Anyways. Isn't language fun? As usual, feedback in any form is appreciated and valued. Thanks so much for reading!

Love always, bbh