Ch. 13- Try Try Again

Mornings. If there was one thing in the world Scorpius Malfoy felt was worthy of despising, it was mornings.

Specifically, waking up in them- and the confernal contraptions that made him do so. He groaned and fumbled for his alarm clock, once again tempted to hit snooze before he remembered that he now had the kind that sprayed water. He hesitated, then dropped his hand on the button anyways because he needed the splash if he could hope to be awake.

Thirty seconds later, drenched and now in his own personal pond, Scorpius was still debating if this was worth it. He ran a hand through his now-wet hair and sighed, reminding himself Malfoys keep their words as he pushed up from the soggy mattress and hunted down shoes.

After he had those, he went looking for his quidditch cleats, practice jersey and broom, not caring to keep quiet because he'd learned from three years of experience that his roommates could sleep through anything. Bangs, thuds, crashes, and swear words included.

Picking his way carefully through the mess of clothes on the floor, Scorpius winced when he felt something crunch underfoot. Oh he hoped that was just an escaped ice-mice and not a bug. He firmed his resolve to try and encourage some level of sanitation from his living compatriots.

Once he was out of the door it was easy to get out of the Commons and navigate the dark dungeons, climbing up the many stairs it took to get to the normal levels of Hogwarts. He wasn't sure where the other House Commons were in Hogwarts Castle, but there was no place as out of the way and hard to navigate as their dungeons. It wasn't fair.

There were a number of differences between the Houses- not just in how they were treated but in how they were run. Scorpius was certain no other House had a 'by-invite-only' policy to join tryouts. It was ridiculous.

The stars were still out when he made it to the Main Gate. Scorpius didn't bother to look up at them as he sat down and swapped his shoes for the cleats, hesitating before pulling on the practice jersey.

It was ratty and old- more the color of underwatered grass than a proud emerald green, and the only reason the Team had given it to him was because they would have thrown it out otherwise. And still, Scorpius remembered just how happy he had been about it- little Second Year, ecstatic that he was making progress with joining Slytherin Team.

Now here he was, Fourth Year, and still was little more than a glorified ball-chaser for the team. No, he admitted as he mounted his broom, he wasn't even 'glorified'. He just chased their stray shots and- Scorpius wasn't quite sure how he'd been roped into this- did laundry on occasions.

He arrived at the pitch before any other team and did a few laps to warm up, honestly pretty asleep through their practice. But even in this drowsy state Scorpius Malfoy was still more agile and balanced on his broom than some of the hulking idiots that dominated the field.

The exception being Odetta- fifth year, one of Pricilla's classmates. Though she had only made the team by betting sixty galleons against her membership she could beat any of them in a race, she was still the most skilled player. And, for this new school year, the new captain.

It was painful to watch her try to teach the chasers to actually use a strategy when approaching the hoops. They seemed incapable of grasping the concept.

Scorpius looked away and lifted a forefinger to his temple, certain that he felt a migraine coming.

"Idiots." Odetta murmured as she flew up next to him, checking her watch and finding that most of their morning practice time was already gone. "They have no concept of speed."

She was obviously talking to herself, and he wasn't about to argue with that point, so Scorpius Malfoy didn't say anything.

"Hey, um… Malfoy. I need to talk to you about something." She looked as unsure about what she was saying as he was about what he was hearing. They'd never spoken before.

After an awkward stretch Scorpius realized she was waiting for a response and nodded for her to continue.

"So, I've been with on our Team for a while and, um… you've been around just as long, and… I know you've wanted to be on the team for a while, but Charles never invited you to join the team…"

She was stalling. Trying to pin the discrimination against him on someone else. He narrowed his eyes to let her know it wasn't working, and that if this was her attempt at getting cosy it wasn't going to work.

"And- and I never agreed with that," she blustered, even though she had done nothing to stop it. "But, you know, he's not captain anymore- because he graduated- so we… well, I, was planning to… thinking about…"

A Quidditch Captain really should be more confident in themself. No wonder she couldn't convince the Chasers to try any of her strategies- this was almost amusing. Scorpius would be smiling if he wasn't worried that he was being kicked off the team, tentative as his position was.

"...putting you on the Team."

He blinked a few times. "What?"

"I mean…" she fumbled, "You want to be on the team, right?"

"Yes."

"Well… okay." she smiled. "I'll get you a reserve jersey."

Reserve? Scorpius frowned. Slytherin already had a full set of reserves. And he was a better flyer than any of the other clowns on the field, the captain should place him straight onto the team. Unless…

"You're gonna train with the Chasers." Odetta told him, and it all but confirmed his suspicion.

She wasn't putting him on the team- she was just absolving her own guilt for not standing up to him sooner. And doing it by putting him so low in the pecking order that there was virtually no difference other than a name change. He'd never get any playing time unless half a dozen people went out first.

Scorpius Malfoy found himself tempted to push her for a better deal, to call her on what she was doing and show Odetta that he was as good if not better than any of her Team- maybe even race her to get her position. He hated pushovers like her- if she was going to discriminate, she could at least be consistent, stick to her morals, instead of selfishly absolving her own guilt by passing it off as kindness.

Instead he remembered Father's reminders to be the better man and Mother's observation that it was a waste to hate things that never change or go away. So Scorpius Malfoy nodded and said "I'll take it after practice, then."

He spent the rest of the morning reminding himself this was progress, and that it should make him feel better.

A normal person should dislike magical plants after what Zoethia Malam had experienced because of one. But, Zoey was most certainly proud to state, she was not a normal person. She was still fascinated to learn more.

Out of all the testing that she'd suffered before transferring, Zoey was most disappointed that she'd scored low in herbology. As with all of her other low classes, it was her lack of practical experience that held her back, something that was very aggravating. After spending an entire summer reading books, she was still evaluated at much lower than she should have been.

Honestly, she blamed the wands.

Zoey kicked at a pebble on the winding path down to the greenhouses. She was thirteen years old- fourteen at the start of November, hence her year- and her whole life the stupid sticks had always hated her.

Jon frequently chastised her for the notion, seeing as he didn't believe wands were sentient or even 'semi'-sentient, but Zoey was more open minded to the natures of magic.

For three, almost four years now the British Ministry of Magic itself had been trying to find her a wand, sending her from expert to expert with borderline disastrous results. Every wand she flicked, swished, waved or flung released some sort of explosion. Set something on fire. Knocked over shelves. Flooded the room. Shrank Ollivander's glasses.

Zoethia smiled a bit; okay, that one had been funny. The pine wand had made his glasses three inches small and perch on the end of his nose like a cartooned librarian. Gerald Ollivander had been unable to reverse it and been forced to not only help her, but keep them on until they had tried every wand he had in storage. Even he, who learned from his father Garrik, 'best wandmaker that had ever been', claimed that there was no explanation and therefore, no point to them returning to him until he made a fresh batch of wands.

Only one wand had ever worked for her and it had been her mother's. The nine-inch hazel wand had a dragonstring core, and was the only wand that even remotely accepted her. Even then it was a struggle to convince the mule-headed stick to do what she wanted, and she strongly suspected the only reason it did was because of its strong bond to her Mom, who hadn't touched it in years.

Zoey continued to kick the pebble until it hit the door to the herbology professor's office, then she sighed and straightened up. She opened the door and felt a smile forming, hoping Mister Longbottom would listen to her request.

"Please Professor!" Someone was begging, and Zoey found another person already talking to their teacher. "Please I swear I'll work hard!"

"Miss Goyle I'm sorry," Longbottom sighed as he faced his eager pupil. "But with your performance I can't trust you to be in here unsupervised. I'm sorry, you'll have to raise your grades another way."

The student looked crestfallen as she sat back in the chair across from his desk. The girl looked about Zoey's age, and had her black hair pulled away from her face by a green Slytherin headband. Her skin was white not in a pasty way, but more a lack of freckles, and the otherwise attractive girl was a bit too pudgy to be called pretty. Cute by some, maybe, but not pretty.

Zoey coughed, not wanting to get caught spying. "Mist- Professor Longbottom?"

The tall man looked to his door and finally noticed the other student awaiting his attention. "Yes, Miss Malam?" He hoped it would be quick, he had an urgent letter to get back to.

"Actually, I, well, I was hoping for an extra credit opportunity as well. Hands-on, if possible." Her face was flushed, embarrassed to be asking for one in front of someone that had just been turned down. But she needed it if she wanted to pass the reevaluation after Christmas and join the rest of her grade.

The herbology professor seemed to be thinking the same thing as he glanced at the other girl, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid I can't allow students of your skill to be in my greenhouses alone, Miss Malam."

Melissa Goyle passed a Slytherin-gaze over Zoey, then asked "Professor, what if we worked together?"

Zoey caught on quickly. "You did just say the only reason you were hesitating, sir, was because you worried about us being on our own."

Professor Longbottom looked between the two of them, then eventually said "I will consider it." and dismissed them both from his office.

Melissa and Zoey were left blinking at eachother outside his door, surprised by his abruptness.

The Slytherin recovered first and turned to Zoey with a sneer. "If you mess this up for me, transfer, you'll regret it."

"Of course I would. After all, I'd be messing myself up in the process."

Melissa blinked as the words resonated in a Slytherin-mindset, and for a moment she wondered if it had been intentional. "Right, well… I'm Melissa Goyle. Pureblood, of course."

"Zoey Malam," She smiled and spun around, asking as they left "So what is extra-credit like, anyways? What plants will we look after? Do we need gloves- I've got a dragonhide set on it's way, but it hasn't arrived yet. Why do they use dragonhide, anyways? Surely that's a very dangerous way to make a garden accessory. Unless they use shedded skin- do dragons shed? They are reptiles, right?"

Melissa rolled her eyes as she settled in for the long walk back to the castle; Scorpius was right about this girl. Zoey was going to drive her mad by the time they left the greenhouses.

Zambini, with the usual ease, had secured a table in the Slytherin Common room to study on. Malfoy and Nott had dispersed to once again scour old tomes in the library as soon as they finished their essays, but Priscilla had her own homework and he… was having trouble with his own essay.

"Hey Pris, do you remem-"

"Don't call me that."

"-ber the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" He blinked in mild shock at how quickly she'd said those four words, then shrugged it off. "Do you?"

"Yes." She intoned, but obviously had no intention to share. Priscilla was a big believer in learning things yourself.

Grumbling to himself, he was about to pull out another book when the stone door to the common room opened to admit a pair of first years. One was a girl with blond hair and a light complexion, born a natural beauty. The other was a slightly pudgy boy with his robes pulled up to his elbows and covered in ink smudges. They didn't look like a pair that'd get along.

The girl saw him and grinned, waving, before she and the boy tried to sit at another table.

"I will never understand," Priscilla said with a trace of humor, "how someone with your nose could be that cute."

Zamini pretended to be offended as he watched his little sister with some nerves in his stomach. "Oi, our family nose is very distinguished."

For a moment it seemed that her and her friend would be welcomed at the table. Those other first years were smiling, at least- until one of the Quidditch Reserves sat on one of the empty chairs and set his feet on the cushion of the other. Then the table clammed up and motioned for them to go elsewhere.

Zambini could practically hear Priscilla's mental list of 'People to DESTROY' gain a new member, though her only reaction was a light blink and a slight narrowing of her gaze as she watched. She wasn't going to walk up and say anything, though- that wasn't the Slytherin way. Snakes struck best when they were least expected.

It was much more their manner to smile politely and greet his rejected sister as though she had not just been given a cold shoulder. "Marianngela," Priscilla greeted with a warm smile, "Who's your friend?"

"Avery." The boy piped up, holding out his ink-stained hand. "I'm an Avery."

Zambini and Priscilla shared a knowing look before welcoming him to their table as well. The Avery's were another True Pureblood lineage from the Sacred 28 Families- and he too had ex-Death Eaters in his Family Tree. Suddenly his friendship with Marianngela made a lot more sense.

"We've got a lot of homework from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Can we work here?"

"Of course, sis." Zambini pushed a seat back for her. "Need any help?"

"No," Marianngela Zambini shook her head as she pulled out her homework while Avery pulled out a sketchbook, getting more ink on his hands as he drew. "Zoey gave us her notes."

"Zoey?" He asked in surprise, "Do you mean the Transfer?"

"Yeah, she's in our class." Avery added in, "Gets along real well with Professor Sybble though. It's great; she always gets him to veer off on tangents."

"A first-year class?" Zambini asked in shock.

Marianngela nodded. "Not her only lower-level class. She's got no natural talent at all."

"She told me she grew up with muggles," Avery pipped up, looking up from his sketchbook. "Has no experience with the world of magic."

Zambini looked at Priscilla to see what the other girl thought of this.

Their oldest friend was showing a rare expression on her face: total shock. Priscilla was lost in her thoughts, remembering the snippets of Zoey's mind that the Sorting Hat revealed to her and the other House Representatives. A lot of it had become blurry as time went on- she suspected that was part of the enchantment that had allowed them to see her memories in the first place- but Priscilla Parkinson was certain of one thing- Zoey Malam was not new to the world of magic.

Her gaze narrowed a touch as she considered the situation. As a Ravenclaw of wit and learning, most students were bound to take the transfer's words at face-value. But Priscilla knew exactly how strongly the Hat had debated putting the girl in Slytherin and had to wonder… Was Zoey cunning enough to fake incapability?

"Ronald," Hermione Weasley sighed in her best honey-you-know-I-love-you-but-you-are-being- ridiculous-right-now voice, "Hogwarts is a school, not a public library. You can't invite yourself along just because your best friend is visiting."

"And my wife," Ron added to that list, having learned a bit about how to argue in their many years of marriage, "And my kids. I do pay for Rose and Hugo to go to that school, after all."

Hermione looked at him meaningfully. "You pay?"

"We pay for our kids to go to school, honey." he corrected with a tone of defeat. He slumped on their couch with a groan, then groaned again at how uncomfortable it was. "Really Hermione, did you have to ruin the cushions when you made our couch Hagrid-proof?"

Hermione adopted a tone of defense. "Well I didn't exactly have much help, now did I?"

"As I remember, you wanted no help because I was 'absolutely useless'!" Ron quoted with a trace of bitterness, running his hands down his face.

"And whose fault is that, Ronald?"

"Mine, of course!" He threw up his hands in frustration. "Blimey, ain't it always?"

Hermione turned so he wouldn't see her lip quiver. "Of course- because I'm too critical and a mean old witch."

"Mione-" Ron sighed and got up from the uncomfortable seat, pulling her to him in a hug. He rested his chin on her head and patted her curls- he'd long ago learned that to run his fingers through his wife's hair was comparable to a chinese finger trap. "Mione I'm sorry. This wasn't what I wanted to happen on my day off from training."

She returned his embrace after a moment. "This is why I worried about you re-training as an Auror," she admitted in a soft voice. Ron's decision to retire from a Ministry position hadn't just saved his brother George in his shop- it had probably been what saved their marriage all those years ago. Between her stress working in Wizengamot and his frequent visits home or Mungo's with injuries, their fighting had become unbearable.

"You know I had to," he reminded her just at gently, kissing the top of her head. "I want to keep you safe."

"That's sweet, Ronald." She looked up at him and felt obliged to point out "However, we've no idea if combative spells will even work against it! Or what 'it' even is!"

"It's more likely than a patronus," Ron pointed out, pecking her nose with a quick kiss. "But you and Harry are still going to instruct that special class, aren't you?"

Hermione rubbed the tip of her nose with a touch of a blush. "We'll, it can't hurt. And there really are a lot of dementors escaping from Azkaban, Ronald, so it's a circumspection."

"Hermione, in English- please."

"Sagacity," she told him, smiling lightly. "Disconcernment. Fabian policy. Preemptive-"

"Now that word, I know." Ron held up a triumphant finger.

"-measures," Hermione finished and shook her head lightly. "Really, Ronald, how many times have I told you to expand your vocabulary?"

"What do I need words for? I got myself a private lawyer."

She rolled her eyes at the old joke and limited herself to single-syllable words with a pause in between. "It, is, a, good, spell, for, them, to, know,- regardless."

Ron knew exactly what she'd attempted and chuckled. "You just couldn't do it, could you?"

"Oh hush Ronald. We're having a conversation here."

"Really? We weren't comparing brain size?"

"Ron."

"Right, right- and bollocks. You're going to check on Hugo and Rose, and precious little else."

"I am not!" Hermione said indignantly.

"So you're not going to go out of your way to check on Hugo, even though you're only going to be teaching Rosie's class?"

"What- well- so what if I do? Any mother would, wouldn't they?" She defended, folding her arms over her chest. "I mean, with an unknown something going about for the past nine years that none of the Ministries have been able to figure out, what else should I do?"

Ron smiled and tapped his fingers on her waist. "Take me with you?"

"Ronald…" she sighed once again, "Think about it for a moment."

"About what?" He asked, blinking in confusion.

"The 'Big Three'?" Hermione used the term for her, her husband and Harry Potter mockingly. "Back at our old school? At the same time…?"

He sighed as he finally caught on. "In fly the jackals, eh?"

"Reporters." Hermione corrected, but not without her own exasperation. "They'd line us up for portraits all day long and interrupt the class and the students wouldn't learn anything." She sounded most upset about the last point.

"Not to mention, you'd lose a chance to check on the kids and nieces and nephews."

"Right. It's all about priorities." Hermione nodded, glad that they were working from the same page. She missed his smile as she went to the kitchen to finish cooking their dinner.

"And?" Ron asked with a smile, "Have you learned anything new?"

"No. Kingsley hasn't shared anything else." She set the plates down. "I think it's because they haven't learned much. Sounds to me like the only person who made any progress was Zelina Avery."

He had almost succeeded in stealing a bite of dinner, but the name made him pause. "Who? Ow!"

Hermione pulled back the ladle she had just used to smack her husband's thieving knuckles. "Zelina Avery- Patient Seven. She was the first person to posit that there may even be a problem at all."

Ron rubbed his bearded chin in contemplation. "That name sounds familiar to me. Not a new familiar, mind, more like… an old familiar. Know what I mean?"

"Not at all."

"Imagine that," He laughed at himself lightly. "Did we know her at Hogwarts?"

"There were a lot of Avery's during the Second War. You're probably thinking of them right now."

He grimaced as he did recall. There'd been at least three Averys under Death Eater robes, in full, open support of Voldemort. Ron still wasn't sure about it though as he reached for another bite, only to have his hand smacked away again. "Did we know this Zelina girl in class?"

"No." Hermione said with absolute certainty, then stopped thoughtfully. "Then again, that doesn't mean she wasn't there at the same time. Why?"

"Just a feeling- I'm pretty certain I'd heard her name before. Her first name, I mean."

"Is that important?"

"Is it not?" Ron pointed out, and pulled his hand back from the tray as his wife held up the ladle warningly once again.

Hermione lowered the ladle lightly, then shrugged as she finally gave Ron his food for him to eat properly with a fork and knife. "I'm mention it to Kingsley."

"James," Rose Weasley sighed in her best I'm-being-reasonable-but-my-patience-is-wearing-thin voice, a worthy impression of her mother, "You have got to stop believing every rumor you hear. There's no way a teacher could be hexed by a student. At least not without someone noticing."

"It's been done before. Remember Crouch Jr. in our parents' 4th Year?" her cousin reminded her, "And someone did notice, dummy- how else would the word have gotten out."

"That sort of things doesn't happen in Hogwarts anymore, James." She chided as she tucked a red curl of hair behind her ear, upset that this silly conversation couldn't have waited until after she'd finished studying in the library. "The biggest 'news' Colleen ever finds is about relationship drama and you know it."

"Aha," James held up a finger, "That's only because she hasn't found proof that Zoey is going to Orion's office after curfew practically every night."

"She what?" Rose asked in surprise, then shook her head. "No- no, stop it James! Don't say that kind of thing if you don't know it's true."

"But I do!" James assured. "Anyhow- Locran heard from Dominique who was told by Hugo who overheard Goyle and Creevy discussing Zoey's frequent nightly visits to Orion's staff office. So how do you explain that? Or the way they constantly smile at each other in the hallways? Or the-"

"Okay, so they're more friendly than usual... But look at Uncle Nevi- Professor Longbottom! He's that friendly with all his students."

"I'm not talking about Uncle Neville! And," James pointed out like this damning evidence, "He calls her by her first name!"

"He calls everyone by their first name; he's probably more friendly because he's younger than the other Professors, and just an Assistant to boot." Rose plowed through his protest, feeling obliged to point out "And I always greet Professors in the Hallways. That does not mean I am secretly hexing teachers or doing something surreptitious."

James's face scrunched so much it moved his round glasses. "Something what?"

"Surreptitious: underhanded, deceitful, unscrupulous…" The Weasley saw his continuing confusion and sighed at his piteous vocabulary. "Sneaky?"

"Ah." James looked down the hall, then leaned closer. "Okay then- why do you think someone would sneak into a teacher's office after hours?"

"Remedial lessons? Extra credit? Pet sitting? I don't know!" Rose stopped to shift the armful of books she'd taken with her from the library. "For all we know Zoey's just getting some tips from Professor Orion- he's a brilliant wizard." He had adapted a number of muggle contraptions into History of Magic, managing to make the class much more interesting. In addition to the projector he'd enchanted an interactive history map that would talk and demonstrate important scenes of the past to any student that asked. He said he'd based the layout on various comtutor games he'd played.

"Or she could be walking toward the Astronomy Tower where Orion was alone for hours." James suggested.

"An oddly specific idea..." Rose had a sinking feeling as she looked up to find James' nose buried in an old piece of parchment. "Bloody hell James, you didn't-"

"Use the Maurader's Map to find out what Zoey is up to? Yes- yes I did." He smiled at his own ingenuity.

"James Sirius Potter, that is an incredibly rude invasion of privacy!" Rose hissed, looking down the empty hall with gratitude. The Map was one of Uncle Harry's few remaining secrets about how he'd won the Second War. She peeked over his shoulder, telling herself that it was to see if there was anyone nearby that might catch them. "Why is a History Assistant in the Astronomy Tower?"

James cocked an eyebrow, "Now who's prying?" he chastised, but he knew he'd caught her elusive curiosity and took advantage of it. "Not yet- bloody hell," he cut himself off in shock, only have Rose tisk disapprovingly.

"Language!" She chastised, but when she saw the name that accompanied another pair of feet atop the Astornomy Tower she was taken aback as well. "Woah…"

The cousins stared at the parchment for a few long moments, then looked at each other. "What-" Rose coughed around her dry throat, pointing to the curling label that read 'Kingsley Shacklebolt', "-what is Orion doing with the Minister of Magic?"

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-E