Scorpius trudged through the mud, broom in hand, trying to ignore the feeling of his overgrown hair sticking to the back of his neck. He was sweaty and filthy, and probably long overdue a haircut, but he was happy: Slytherin had come out on top, beating Ravenclaw two-hundred-and-thirty to seventy in an unsurprisingly gruelling Quidditch match. It lasted longer than he would've liked, and he was almost cleared off his broom after a rogue bludger collided with his right shoulder, but he was feeling alright and they'd prevailed. In the end, everything worked out just fine.
After huddling, celebrating with his team, and shaking the hands of their opponents, he was happy to slip off on his own to clean up. Even in fifth year - his third year of playing Quidditch at school - he still felt incredibly nervous whenever he took to his broom in front of a chanting crowd. Everyone knew his name and his family, much to his discomfort; fame and publicity always set him on edge. He much preferred keeping himself to himself, and enjoyed a close friendship with Albus Potter and their dorm-mates, sticking to a small circle of acquaintances to offset his notoriety. The last thing he wanted was to give off the impression he liked being known.
He was quiet and kind to those who knew him, but still a Slytherin nonetheless, and a Malfoy to boot, so there would always be people looking for reasons to hate him: including one Connor McLaggen, sixth year Ravenclaw keeper, his upperclassman and opposing goalie. They didn't interact very much outside of Quidditch, but Scorpius had heard Albus muttering about him once, after Connor loitered around the Gryffindor table with one of the Weasley cousins for too long to be comfortable. Scorpius never really paid him any attention, and avoided most of the Potter-Weasley brood despite his close friendship with Albus, so he saw no reason to interfere.
That being said, he wasn't expecting to find McLaggen waiting for him outside of the Slytherin cloakrooms. He slunk away before Slytherin had finished rejoicing and Ravenclaw had picked themselves up off the floor, absolutely sure that he wasn't followed or overtaken.
Still, he was nothing if not diplomatic. He squared his aching shoulders and smiled pleasantly, nodding at the hulking Ravenclaw- really, he should've gone for beater instead of keeper. That would get him out of Scorpius' hair, mostly. "McLaggen," he greeted, stopping a few paces away from upon realising he was blocking the Slytherin changing rooms on purpose.
McLaggen sneered, but nodded back. "Malfoy."
For a minute, Scorpius hoped that might be all- an unpleasant but short acknowledgement of one another, with McLaggen perhaps waiting for someone else- the Slythern captain, maybe? But no.
"What the hell do you call that?" McLaggen spat, looking Scorpius up and down as if he'd just cursed his mother. He pushed himself away from the door and uncrossed his thick arms. "There's no way you lot pulled your heads out of your arses so suddenly. We crushed you by two-hundred points last time, what are you playing at this time?"
Scorpius frowned, taken aback by McLaggen's sudden and drastic change in demeanour. He knew Connor's father, McLaggen Senior, sometimes did business with his own father- mostly procuring Skele-Gro by the pallet for his local Sunday league Quidditch team- and he knew enough to know they did not get along. Perhaps that put a sour taste in Connor's mouth, especially when he'd just been outclassed by a younger, scrawnier keeper, and a Malfoy no less. Scorpius was by no means bulky, rather on the long and lanky side, but he was still decent at blocking shots. He honestly thought McLaggen would be better at his job, just by sticking his massive body in front of the hoops.
He kept his head even when he heard the anxious murmurs of the Slytherin team crowding around them.
"You win some, you lose some." Scorpius offered with a nonchalant shrug, hoping that no one would notice how he gripped his broom handle a little tighter. "Come on, McLaggen, you should know that much. Sometimes, it's just down to the luck of the day."
"Luck of the-" McLaggen hissed, eye narrowing, but then he stopped to peer over Scorpius' shoulder.
"Steady on, mate!" Albus jogged to Scorpius' side and gave him a well-meaning clap to the shoulder. Scorpius chewed on the inside of his cheek and bit back a grimace at the flash of white-hot pain that wracked his collarbone. He glanced at Albus, and then to his left, as he was flanked by a mane of unruly copper hair that barely reached his shoulder.
"McLaggen." The girl frowned, and Scorpius recognised her as Rose Granger-Weaskey, Albus' cousin and overall, the worst type of Gryffindor.
It wasn't that Scorpius intentionally avoided the Potter-Weasley brood, he was just unaccustomed to so many people so intimately aware of one another in one place, and so they made him flighty. Due to the sheer size of their family, the Gryffindor table more closely resembled a family gathering devoid of well-behaving brain cells and sensible adults, rather than a school dinner table, and Scorpius often wondered if non-Potter-Weasley Gryffindors felt overshadowed.
From what he knew of her, Rose Granger-Weasley was among the worst of them. According to the stage whispers of Professors during breakfast (upon which Scorpius did not eavesdrop; he simply existed near them at mealtimes), Rose was everything they didn't expect from the union of her parents, but was instead everything they should've expected. Loud, headstrong, and somewhat temperamental, she did things her own way or no way. Gifted in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but absolutely dreadful at Potions and Transfiguration, she was the bane of his existence in the classroom: either showing him up by knowing every answer by heart, or distracting him by being a complete disaster, he mourned the days Slytherin shared Potions back-to-back with Defence Against the Dark Arts alongside the Gryffindors. She excelled where he struggled, socially and academically, and so he quietly disliked her. Not that he would ever tell Albus; she was, reportedly, his favourite cousin.
When she stood next to him, he realised that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. McLaggen had never confronted him before, and he'd never stood beside Rose either, shoulder-to-shoulder. He blinked at her, quite vacantly and stupidly for a second or five. He also realised she was quite short- he'd seen her with Albus at King's Cross in the past, shadowed by her abnormally tall father, and her somewhat short mother, and supposed she'd taken after her in height as well as hair. Her position as Gryffindor beater showed in the confident set of her shoulders, and her broad stance didn't look quite as strange as he'd expected on such a short girl.
Perhaps, subconsciously, he didn't like her because trouble followed her like a stray dog.
McLaggen's lip twitched upwards. "Malfoy, Potter, and Weasley," he cackled like it was some kind of joke. "Not the kind of trio your parents would've hoped for, I'm sure."
"Come off it, Connor." Albus rolled out his shoulders, playing off the tension like he couldn't be more relaxed, like he wasn't staring down a beefy sixth year from beside his best friend and cousin, whilst the younger members of Slytherin team hung back and watched with quiet discontent. "He hasn't done anything wrong, it's just a game."
"Luck of the day," McLaggen echoed, like he wasn't listening to Albus at all. "You're fifth years, so you're covering Felix Felicis in Potions- so that's how you rigged it-"
He skulks forwards again, and before Scorpius can wrap his head around his baseless accusations, he and Albus are stepping back out of self preservation. There's a collective swell in the muttering around them, and Scorpius swallows down his nerves upon realising the Ravenclaw crowd are here now too. They've been shepherded into a circle of muddy, sweaty bodies and broomsticks that continue to block the door, stepping into the space McLaggen leaves as he stalks towards Scorpius, all craning for a better view of the action.
Albus mutters an exasperated "Merlin's Beard", and holds up his hands in surrender; they're not a threat, and he absolutely does not want to fight. Scorpius supposes it's no wonder why neither of them are in Gryffindor.
But as they step back, Rose steps forward, all four-foot-eleven of her standing rigid and firm as she plants herself right in front of Scorpius. He's gobsmacked for a second, and supposes that it's the thought that counts, but McLaggen would still have a clean shot at him from right over her head. His brain short-circuits.
He absently wonders if she's grown since second year.
McLaggen hesitates briefly, but grins down at Rose. He looks wolfish and predatory in a way he probably thinks is charming, and Scorpius feels Al tense up at his side. "Come on, not you as well," McLaggen fake-pouts, but Rose doesn't budge. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. This is between me and Malfoy- not you, Rosie-"
He reaches for his wand, lightning quick to the pocket of his Quidditch Jersey, but Rose is faster than he ever could've hoped to be. Her arm snaps upwards as she clocks him right on the nose, smashing her fist against bone and cartilage without a hint of remorse on her face.
"Call me Rosie again and it'll be your bollocks next!"
McLaggen careens back in pain and drops his wand. There's a collective gasp before the crowd erupts into shouts and jeers, and McLaggen's teammates pull him away to lick his wounds and recover from the pain. Al runs his hands through his hair in disbelief.
"Bloody hell," he mutters. "Aunt Hermione is gonna kill her."
Scorpius pulls a face, and a story from his father surfaces in his mind. "I don't know. Dad says she socked him in the nose, once."
All of a sudden, Rose is turning on her heel and grabbing Scorpius and Al rather roughly, pulling them along by the arms. She starts running and drags them behind the cloakrooms, vaguely heading in the direction of the castle. "We need to leave." She tells them, bluntly. "Too many witnesses- McLaggen will tell McGonagall, of course, but we should get you to the hospital wing first." She looks up at Scorpius, and for all his grace on the Quidditch pitch, he makes a fool out of himself by stumbling over thin air. Al cackles into the wind.
"Hospital wing?" Scorpius mimics. She looks at him like he's grown a second head.
"For that bludger hit." She explains, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, but he hadn't expected her to have noticed or remembered, not in the heat of the moment with McLaggen, but then she grins wickedly. "My knuckles kind of hurt, too. Wouldn't hurt to have Pomfrey check them over- it was like punching a brick wall!"
Perhaps that's the first time Scorpius really looked at Rose, and saw her as an individual, rather than just as a Weasley or a Gryffindor, or his particularly annoying schoolmate.
Either way, that was the first time he realised he was absolutely fucked.