Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling

Chapter 6: Stolen

Draco Malfoy dreamt of Dementors.

He was standing alone on the Astronomy Tower, as he had so many years before, and they plunged down at him from the air, breaths rattling, scabbed hands reaching - his forearm burned, and then he was kneeling as they surrounded him, and he could see the wide, dark mouths through their hoods, greedily sucking the air from his lungs and the hope from his heart…

"Astoria," he whispered when he woke, gasping, in the dark, but she was not there.

She is miles away. And safe from Dementors, at the very least. They have not guarded Azkaban for years. Draco sat up, running a hand over his face, and reached for his wand on the bedside table. "Lumos." An orb of light spread from the tip of the wand, illuminating the room around him. He stepped out of bed, pulling on his dressing-robe, and made his way across the room, weary in the knowledge that he would not sleep again tonight.

Glancing in the mirror as he passed, he felt that familiar jolt of shock. Why it was that he always expected to see his younger, more handsome self, that self of which Scorpius was now a reflection, and not the tired man with sagging skin beneath his eyes and grey, thinning hair, Draco did not know. He certainly did not wish to be that boy again, crushed beneath his parents and Aunt Bellatrix and… him.

The emptiness of the house around him as he stepped out onto the landing was palpable; it was almost an entity itself. Scorpius was miles away, too, in Hogwarts. He could see the pale hopelessness of his son's face as he told him the news… No. The thought made him cold again, and what he needed was warmth. Comfort.

He needed his wife.

Astoria Beatrice Malfoy, you stand here before the Council of Magical Law accused of a heinous crime. Do you plead guilty of the attempted murder of Hermione Granger, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, founder of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare and co-founder of Dumbledore's Army?

For so many quiet years, Draco had been waiting for something like this to happen… for his past to return to him, making it seem as though nothing had changed since he stood there, trapped and terrified, on the Astronomy Tower, before the greatest wizard who had ever lived. Too afraid to kill him - too afraid not to kill him. At times he wondered if anything had truly changed since that night. If he had truly changed.

I do not.

But he had always thought that he would be the one to be sent to Azkaban. His parents were too old now; too wasted and frail to be a danger to the Ministry. In frightening moments he had even envisaged his son being thrown into a cell to pay for the crimes he had committed. But not Astoria. Never Astoria.

After some discussion of the evidence and testimony brought against the accused, the jury will now present their verdict.

She had done everything right; she had kept her head down during her years at school. During the Battle of Hogwarts, she had been too young to fight, and had hidden away in Hogsmeade with most of the other Slytherins. And after it was all over… she had finished her studies like everyone else, and trained to become an Obliviator. The Ministry had never looked twice at Astoria Greengrass – until she married a Malfoy.

We find the defendant guilty of conspiracy against the Ministry, and attempted murder of a Ministry official.

The light of his wand fell across the entrance to the attic, a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling, and Draco halted. He wondered about the Potters and the Weasleys. Why, after so many years of living in tolerance of his family, would they suddenly change their minds? They knew that he was no threat anymore. Harry Potter knew it, more than any of the others. He owed him his life. So why, after all these years, would they suddenly want to frame his wife (not him, but his wife) and, in doing so, endanger a member of their own family?

I will now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe that the accused deserves fifteen years of imprisonment in Azkaban for her crimes.

He flicked his wand, stepping out of the way as the trapdoor slid open above him, stairs unfolding step by step to floor-level. Someone had sent Astoria a forged invitation. Someone had planted the Bloodroot Poison in their house so that it could be found by the Ministry as evidence. And, much as Draco might like to believe that his old school enemies were responsible for all of that, as a last act of vengeance against him and his family… he did not.

Astoria Beatrice Malfoy, you are sentenced to fifteen years of imprisonment in Azkaban. The Wizengamot will now disband.

The attic was shrouded in darkness. Draco ascended into it, letting the door slide closed beneath him, and moved his wand so that the orb of light soared to the centre of the room, casting shadows in the dusty corners. He advanced forward, uncertain of what exactly he was looking for. The Ministry officials had found the poison here, but they would have cleared all traces away. He knew only that brief nagging at the back of his mind, the distant echo of a forgotten dream where he had stood in this very room, searching for something…

Draco, you don't need to look at me like that. I'll be safe. Azkaban is not the nightmare it once was. All I ask is that you promise me, Draco - promise me that you won't place yourself in danger to find out the truth.

The far corner of the attic bent into a nook where a long ladder was fixed against the wall. Draco crossed to it, turning his face upwards to see the huge, dark shape of the old, disused cistern, tucked right beneath the curve of the roof. His hand reached out to grasp the lowest rung and then, by some crazed instinct, he began to climb.

You know I can never make that promise, Astoria.

His muscles ached as he hoisted himself up the ladder, wand held in his teeth so that the orb of light bobbed before him. He was not agile as he once had been, in long-ago days when he had swooped through the skies on his broom, careless and confident and… happy? Had he been happy then, before the war? He did not remember.

You really are becoming quite noble in your old age, Draco. But we have worked for sixteen years to leave that world behind. Your world. Now you want to undo that hard work?

The ladder held his weight, though it creaked dangerously. As he heaved himself up further, it became more and more difficult to breathe, his lungs drowning in the dank, musty air. He barely noticed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he reached the top rung of the ladder.

It's already undone, Astoria. They all see us as criminals once more. Murderers.

Draco wedged his foot on a lower rung for support and took his wand from his teeth with one hand, casting the light across the surface of the murky, stagnant water that lay in the cistern, upwards - and his breath caught.

No. There is still time for us to prove otherwise. But not in the way you want. If you seek out the truth using the knowledge of your past, you will risk everything we have built together. Our life, our home, Scorpius… You do not want to return to that world, Draco. You have changed, but it has not.

Something had been written on the stretch of wall between the cistern and the roof, in black letters. His name. And above it, a symbol, vast and dark and curling. Draco gritted his teeth.

Perhaps I have not changed, Astoria. Perhaps I have simply been hiding.

Dear Rosie,

How has your first week at school been? I know by now you've probably heard the news. Your father was glad that the Wizengamot came to such a quick decision, but he and I both agree that you and Hugo still need to be careful at school. Thank goodness Harry sent some Aurors to patrol Hogwarts – it might be strange having them around at first, but it really gives me and your father great relief to know that you and Hugo are being watched over.

I hope you haven't been worrying about me. I'm getting stronger every day, and Healer Goodbody says with a bit of luck, I'll be back to work in a month or so. I was very lucky, Rosie. We all were.

Ginny and Harry have been over to see me quite a bit, though both of them have been so busy recently. Andromeda visited, too, the day after the hearing. She seemed exhausted; I think testifying was really too much for her. But Bill and Fleur are looking after her now, so there's no need to worry.

One last thing to warn you about, Rosie, before I go. Make sure to stay away from Scorpius Malfoy. What his mother did was not his fault, and it must be difficult for him to be in school, so I trust you both to keep your distance.

Well, I trust you to, anyway, Rosie, but Ron's been worried recently about how Hugo's coping with it all. You know he's always been quiet, and he's at that age, too, that if something is bothering him he won't tell anyone. So please keep an eye on him, Rosie, and make sure he doesn't lash out at the Malfoy boy. But I trust you to do that, too – you've always been good to your brother.

Anyway, that's all. Be sure to listen to the teachers and stay safe. Look after Hugo, and tell the cousins I said hello. And do pay Hagrid a visit one of these days; he's been worried sick about you all.

Love,

Mum

Rose folded up the letter, written in her mother's shaky hand, and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, still in her pyjamas, while the other girls in the dormitory chattered as they got ready for school.

Rain battered the windows from outside; the clear weather had broken. Jackie was applying lipstick in the mirror with a look of intense concentration, Penny was kneeling on the floor, scratching the ears of her tabby cat Florian. Only Cassie glanced over at her from the adjacent bed, where she was straightening her red-and-gold striped tie. She gave her a weak smile, and Rose returned it, a kind of simple understanding issuing between the two girls in the wordless exchange.

"Quidditch tryouts today," Carlos Santini announced cheerfully as his fellow Housemates awoke. He was wearing flying gear, his dark hair dripping with rain, and looked rather pleased with himself. Diluted rays of morning light spilt into the sixth-year boys' dormitory through the lakewater outside the windows, falling on the green and silver hangings that draped the walls and the four-poster beds, the intricately woven tapestries, the tacked-up posters of Quidditch teams.

Following Scorpius's gaze, Santini looked down at his broom and grinned. "Birthday present from my uncle Vasco. Pretty cool, right?"

"Won'erful," Torrance groaned, rolling over in bed and throwing the blankets over his head.

"You're going to pay for that, Carlos," Jem yawned, putting on his glasses as he padded across to the bathroom in his Hinkypunks T-shirt. "He had a late night, didn't you, Torrance?"

The sleeper did not answer. Looking around the dormitory with a grin still on his face, Santini seemed to realise that Scorpius, who had stripped to his waist and slung a towel over his arm, was the only dormitory-mate left to listen to him. "It's crazy weather out there," he said seriously, as the sound of a shower turned on.

"Oh. Well, hopefully it'll clear up for later," Scorpius responded tonelessly, leaning against the wall beside the bathroom to wait for Jem to finish.

"I nearly got blown off my broomstick," Santini went on, pulling his jersey over his head to expose his olive, muscled chest. "Thought I'd get up early, get a bit of flying done before school, you know. It's kind of a routine of mine."

"Right."

"Strong wind, lots of rain. Anyone who performs well in this weather will have to be very, very lucky."

"Maybe you ought to re-schedule," Scorpius said automically, mentally willing Jem to hurry up so that he could get out of this one-sided, pointed conversation.

"Not if I can help it." Carlos Santini shook his head firmly. "Potter's got his team scheduled for tomorrow. If they get a team together first, they'll be more confident. It's all psychological, see."

Scorpius refrained from asking where he had learnt such a big word, and merely made a non-committal grunt in reply. He could now hear Jem warbling the Hinkypunks' latest single over the sound of the shower, and inwardly cursed his friend.

Before Santini could continue, the door to their dormitory promptly burst open, and Tobias Greengrass stepped in, hastily shutting the door behind him. Scorpius frowned at his cousin, though he felt a surge of gratitude towards the pudgy, dark-skinned first-year for providing a distraction. "What's up?"

"I needed somewhere to hide," Tobias panted. "Someone set off a Dungbomb upstairs. Professor Nott's going around now, trying to catch who did it - "

"Ah, first year," Santini said with an indulgent smile, though he looked slightly put-out at the interruption. "Those were the days." Behind him, Torrance had sat up in bed, blinking groggily at the new arrival.

"It wasn't you, was it?" Scorpius questioned the first-year sharply. "You know I'm a prefect; if someone's causing trouble it's my duty to - "

"Nina Meyer's already out there, shouting at people," Tobias protested. "Besides, I'm your favourite cousin! You'd never give me away, would you?"

At that moment, the bathroom door opened and Jem finally emerged, drying his short mousy hair with a towel. Scorpius glanced at his cousin, half-stern, half-amused, and said, "You're lucky I don't have to answer that."

As he entered the bathroom, he heard Torrance say to Tobias, "Dungbombs, eh? Are you sure you and Malfoy are related?"

The Gryffindor common room was almost empty when Rose passed through on her way down to breakfast, except for Hugo. He was hastily finishing off some homework in an armchair near the empty fireplace. His auburn curls were tousled with sleep. She leaned over his shoulder and watched him scribbling away at the parchment for a moment, then said lightly, "The plural of Animagus is Animagi."

Her brother jumped, blotting the sentence he had been writing. She fixed it with her wand, and he glared at her. "I knew that," he said crossly. "Just tired, that's all. Did you have to sneak up on me?"

"Got a letter from Mum," Rose said casually, seating herself on the arm of his chair. He put down his quill and parchment and turned to face her, his eyes wide.

"How is she? What did she say?"

"She's doing great." She squeezed his shoulder. "You'll probably get a letter from her soon enough, too, but I thought you might like to know."

"Thanks." Hugo returned to his writing, and she watched him for a moment. In the harsh morning light flooding in from the windows of the common room, his face was pale, and there were shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had not slept.

"How are you?" she asked, more quietly.

"Fine," her brother muttered, shaking off her hand. Then, as she waited, "I really need to finish this off. I have Transfiguration next class."

"I could help you if you want," Rose offered. "Trans-Species Transfiguration, that was one of my favourite parts of fourth year…"

"That's OK," Hugo said, without looking up from his parchment. "I can do it myself."

Rose paused, then stood. "All right… I'll see you later, then." She watched him for another few seconds as he wrote on the parchment, then left the common room, biting her lip. Her mother's words echoed in her mind.

You know he's always been quiet, and he's at that age, too, that if something is bothering him he won't tell anyone.

The sloping grounds outside the castle were sinking mires of mud. Albus Potter and Rory Finnigan splashed along the path to the greenhouses with the other students, their hoods up against the assaulting, horizontal rain. They were soaked through by the time they arrived in Herbology, and Professor Longbottom gave them a sympathetic smile.

"Today we'll be harvesting Fire Seeds," he told the rest of the class cheerfully as they trooped in, trailing mud on the ground. "Should dry you all out fairly quickly, eh?"

There was a ripple of laughter as they took their seats. Professor Longbottom was the one of the most popular teachers in Hogwarts. He was in his thirties, and handsome, which helped, but he also had that aura of mysterious nobility about him. The story of how he had pulled Godric Gryffindor's sword from the hat had been immortalised in legend by now, and was still murmured eagerly by first-years on catching their first glimpse of him at the school.

What puzzled Albus sometimes was why Neville, like his uncle Ron, had chosen to leave the Aurors after such a short time and take up a more ordinary career. Perhaps he had simply been tired of fighting; after all, his parents' generation had spent their entire youth battling dangers, losing friends and family to the Death Eaters and Voldemort. That was the obvious answer – that was what his parents would have told him if he had asked.

But he could not help but wonder… if perhaps it had been difficult to work alongside someone like his father. Knowing that he would never rise quite as high as him, no matter what he did. Maybe that why Uncle Ron had quit, too. No one wanted to live in someone else's shadow, forever limited in their movement. He knew only too well how that felt.

As they pulled on their dragonskin gloves and faced the Fire Seed Bushes – tall, tree-like things with stunted branches and dull bark – the Herbology professor began to shout out instructions. "The instant you touch the roots, flames will shoot up - the bush's defence mechanism against intruders. You need to get through the knot of roots without touching either side to reach the Fire Seeds."

"Sixth year really is different, isn't it?" Albus grinned while his companion stared dumbly at the Fire Seed Bush before them. Nearby, he could hear Rose attempting to reassure Jackie Saunders.

"The chances of actually touching the roots are low enough – and Madam Pomfrey's really good at fixing burns, don't worry. Well, depending on how severe they are…"

"You're in a good mood today," Rory accused, pulling goggles over his sandy hair and fixing them in front of his eyes, then making a sweeping gesture towards the Fire Seed Bush. "Be my guest, then."

"Fine." Albus reached a hand into the dark recess between the thick, red roots. He was suddenly very conscious of Summer Birchgrove's presence at the table across from them, and reminded himself to concentrate. He hoped she was not watching. He hoped she was… He didn't know –

"Shit." He jerked out his fingers out of the sudden, greedy flames that shot up from the roots. The tips of his gloves were singed. A blaze of heat struck their faces, and steam rose from their damp robes. Vapour was already clouding the windows of the greenhouse as flames flared up from the different tables. "Remind me why I took this incredibly dangerous class again? Your turn."

As Rory plunged a hand into the roots, Albus glanced around without thinking, and found himself looking at Summer Birchgrove. Her hair was in two long, loose braids today, which shone gold in the morning light, and was laughing at something her friend had said. He wondered if she had enjoyed patrolling with him last night.

"Subtle," Rory said dryly, and Albus jerked his head back. His friend stood proudly, holding a tiny black Fire Seed in his hand, with a cocked eyebrow.

"How did you…"

"Stop staring at her," Rory advised, placing the Fire Seed on the table before them. "It looks desperate, and she'll notice. Girls always notice, even if they pretend not to."

"Shut up," Albus muttered. "She might hear you. I wasn't staring – I was just thinking about patrols…"

"Right." His sandy-haired friend stepped back to let him try again. "But just so you know, Al, she's way out of your – "

His words were cut off by a shriek from Jackie Saunders. More screams quickly followed, and then people were jostling each other, pushing and shoving to get out of the greenhouse. Professor Neville shouted something inaudible over the din, his wand raised.

Rory's tall frame was blocking his view. Impatiently, Albus pushed past him, and saw that something seemed to be clawing its way out of the dark roots of the Fire Seed Bush on Rose and Jackie's table. Something that vaguely resembled a lion cub, except for the tiny human face it bore, and the pulsing stinger that swung out behind its body in place of a tail.

The creature blinked, made a soft crooning sound, then pounced.

Rose ducked as it leapt at her, firing a hex from her wand that glanced off the creature's yellow, hairy body, and then it was hurtling itself through midair, towards the table behind them –

"Impedimenta!" Albus cried, and the creature froze in midair, large, dark eyes wide, inches away from Summer Birchgrove's nose, who stood stock-still at her table. Professor Longbottom, rushing from the top of the class, jerked his wand, and the creature landed on the ground with a thump, unconscious.

"What the hell was a Manticore doing in your Herbology class?" demanded James Potter.

"A baby Manticore," Rose corrected. It was a free period, but no one was studying - they sat in a circle of armchairs, the solemn group of Gryffindors: her, Cassie, Jackie, Penny, James and Rory. "Hagrid's taking care of it now. And no one has any idea how it happened. The Aurors are looking into the matter."

"They'd better," Jackie said shakily. "It was meant for me or you, Rose. It must have been – whoever did it must have known the seating plan somehow…" She shuddered, and Cassie slipped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

James's brown eyes were grave as they slipped to his cousin. "Considering everything that's happened, I think we know which of you that Manticore was planted for."

The others followed his gaze, but Rose looked away, trying to forget the words she had read earlier in her mother's letter. "Let's not jump to conclusions," she said uncomfortably. "It may just have been an honest mistake."

"Herbology mightn't be my best subject," Rory said in a low voice. "But I'm pretty sure that baby Manticores don't nest in Fire Seed Bushes."

"And," James continued, his expression darkly significant as he looked around at them all, "It's possible to hazard a guess as to who may have been responsible. I mean, think about it – who in the school would have had access to a creature like a Manticore, and a reasonable motive to…"

"No," Rose said firmly, glaring at her older cousin. "Leave it there, James. Pointing fingers just gets people into trouble. It's up to the Aurors to do that, not you."

James arched a sceptical eyebrow at her, and she could sense what he was thinking. Says the girl who pointed the finger at Astoria Malfoy. It brought an angry flush to her cheeks, and she looked away hastily.

"Are there any more of them?" Penny said suddenly, her face anxious. "The Manticores, I mean?"

"Doesn't seem like it," Jackie said, her voice hoarse. "The Aurors have shut off the area where it happened and are searching the others, just in case. There won't be any more Herbology classes until they've made sure all the greenhouses are safe."

"Thank Merlin no one was hurt," Cassie said quietly, voicing everyone else's thoughts.

In the ensuing silence, they heard the scrape of the portrait hole opening, and then footsteps. James jumped to his feet to greet the newcomer.

"Look who it is! Al, the hero of Herbology!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm around Albus's neck. Groaning, his brother ducked out of the grip, moving towards the group.

"What did Hobspawn want?" Rory asked as he sat beside him.

"He just asked me a few questions about how it all happened… thanked me for acting quickly and all that." Albus shrugged, leaning his chin on his hands. "I don't really want to talk about it."

James opened his mouth to make some witty retort, but Rose cut across him. "We should be studying right now, anyway," she reminded him. "And so should you. Seventh year, remember?"

"I hadn't forgotten, Weasley," her cousin said lightly. "However, I do have a Defence class in a few minutes, now that you mention it." As he rose smoothly to his feet, the portrait hole scraped open once more, and Summer Birchgrove entered.

The others looked at the Hufflepuff with some surprise as she approached the circle of armchairs behind her friend; it was common knowledge that she had been brought to the hospital wing to be treated for shock not long after the Manticore's attack. She was still pale, but it did no harm to her looks – on the contrary, it made her blue eyes all the more striking. Then again, Rose mused, an ailment of dragonpox would probably do no harm to Summer Birchgrove's looks.

Albus had also stood upon her arrival. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, then, seeming to reconsider his choice of expression, continued, "I mean - Professor Longbottom said you'd be out for the rest of the day…"

Summer halted before his armchair. "I'll probably go back to the common room instead of class," she admitted, "But I was just restless in the hospital wing. One of the fifth-years told me the password." She looked at him earnestly. "I had to thank you."

Albus seemed lost for words. As the others glanced around at him curiously, he said uncertainly to the pretty witch, "Well – it was a baby Manticore, and they aren't that deadly a lot of the time anyway, you probably would have been fine…"

The corners of James's mouth twitched upwards. Summer shook her head, her eyes fixed on Albus's face. "You still saved my life," she said warmly. "Thank you. I hope someday I can return the favour."

"You will. I'm sure. I mean - you're welcome." Albus attempted a smile, then stiffened as the Hufflepuff girl stepped forward and embraced him tightly. James rapidly turned a snort into a cough until she had left the room, whereupon he burst into unrestrained laughter.

Albus shot his brother an annoyed glance, sitting down again. "What's wrong with you?" he said wearily. "She was just thanking me."

Through gasps of mirth, James managed to get out, "And here I thought I was the one who inherited Dad's charisma. Baby Manticores aren't that deadly anyway. What a line. Oh, sweet Merlin…"

He wandered away, still chuckling to himself, while Albus scowled. Cassie exchanged a significant glance with Rose, then stood and followed after the Quidditch captain as he exited the portrait hole.

Hugo hurried in after them, heading straight for Rose where she sat. "I heard what happened – are you all right?" he said in a rush, his words tripping over one another. She stood as he embraced her, tightly, patting his back reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Hugo. Don't worry. It was only a baby Manticore anyway…" Realising that she had unconsciously echoed Albus's words, she smiled, and her brother stared at her as he pulled back, bewildered. At his full height, he was just about as tall as her.

"But you could have died, Rosie! Aren't you in shock?"

Casting a glance towards her classmates, who were watching the unfolding scene with piqued interest, Rose took her brother's arm and tugged him away, towards the other end of the common room. "There's no need to worry, believe me. I was able to protect myself, all right?"

Hugo didn't seem to be listening. "It was Malfoy," he said savagely. "He threatened you yesterday, wasn't he? I heard you talking to Lucy. I bet it was him."

"That's absurd, Hugo," Rose said in a low voice, hoping to Merlin that the others couldn't hear him. "How would Malfoy have managed to get a hold of a Manticore? Listen, you should get back to class. I'm fine, and the Aurors are looking after everything. They'll catch whoever did it before long. OK?"

Hugo did not say anything more, but she could see the worry still written all over his face. Silent, he allowed himself to be guided, gently but firmly, to the portrait hole by his sister.

"You're joking, right, Miller? I hope you're joking." James was leaning against the wall, shaking his head in disbelief. They stood in the seventh-floor corridor, beside a tapestry that depicted a group of trolls performing ballet. Crowds of students were pushing past them, on their way to class.

"Do you think I'd joke about something like this, Potter?" Cassie said tersely, ignoring the tight feeling within her chest. "Quidditch is my life. You know that."

"Well, this is bloody… bloody…" For once, James didn't seem sure of what to say. He stared down at the floor for a moment, exhaled loudly, then looked back at Cassie. "This is bullshit, Miller! Slytherin intends to crush us this year, the match isn't that long away and you think I can get another Chaser as good as you? 'Cause I can't…"

"I know – " Cassie started to say, but James bulled over her.

"You said you've known all summer – why didn't you tell me sooner, then? I could have planned in advance, but now you're leaving me in the lurch – leaving all of us in the lurch…"

"Tryouts haven't even been held yet," Cassie pointed out, but he shook his head.

"You would have outflown them all in tryouts, and you know it. So don't give me that modest shit." He exhaled again, then ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, Miller, this is my last year in Hogwarts! We have to win the Cup this time - but with you gone too - I don't like our chances…"

The compliment would have made her smile broadly once, would have made her stomach flutter. Now it just made her feel more worse. She looked down at the ground, swallowing hard as tears formed in her eyes. James, instead of saying whatever he had been about to, simply stared at her in silence.

"Do you think I don't know how messed up this is?" Cassie demanded through her tears. "I've been fighting my parents all summer about it – they took away my bloody broom, Merlin's sake. Quidditch is the only thing I'm good at, and now it's gone, so don't - " She held up her hand as he started to speak, "- don't act like I had any choice in this, like this my fault, because it bloody well isn't."

"Maybe it is, though," James said in a hard voice, and she narrowed her eyes. "Maybe if you'd just worked a bit harder in your O.W.L.s last year - "

Cassie's hand shot up. For a moment it seemed as though she might hit him. Then she simply wiped her eyes, and turned away.

"Fuck you, Potter."

Professor Nott was even later for Potions that day, but no conflict ensued this time around. Orchid and Torrance sat quietly in the back of the classroom, talking in low voices, while Jem and Scorpius occupied the desk beside them. Nina Meyer was sitting alone behind them.

"Nervous for tryouts?" Jem asked him as he pulled out his scales.

"Not really. Santini's been insufferable about it all day, though." Scorpius rolled his eyes. "I get the strangest impression he doesn't want me to do well."

His friend snorted. "You've got that right. I heard him telling Torrance earlier that Orchid's got more of a chance of making Seeker."

"Orchid?" Scorpius glanced over at the witch next to them. "But she plays Keeper."

"Exactly." Jem shook his head. "Don't let him get to you, though."

"I don't intend to." Scorpius rose to his feet. "I'm getting some Shrivelfig. Need anything?" At his friend's shake of the head, he made his way across the dungeon and drew open the ingredients cupboard, reaching for the plump purple fruit.

He sensed someone's gaze on his back, and when he turned, closing the cupboard door behind him, saw that it was Weasley. She was frowning as she watched him, strands of corrugated red hair spilling over her head from the bun it was haphazardly tucked into.

With sickening dread, he was reminded of the patrol this evening. Quidditch tryouts had so occupied his mind that he had forgotten.

It's not that big a deal, patrolling with someone, Nina had said, but she did not understand. Scorpius had managed to restrain himself from confronting the Weasleys over the past few days (just about). He had made a promise to his father – but how was he expected to patrol with the girl who was responsible for his mother's arrest and 'keep his head down' at the same time? Perhaps, if tryouts went on late enough, he would be able to avoid the patrol tonight. But there would be more after that…

As he returned to his desk, Professor Nott entered at a quick stride. His face pale, lips pressed tightly together, it was not difficult to tell that something had happened. He swung around to face them all as he reached the front of the dungeon.

"Before we begin," he said, and his voice was slightly higher than usual, as though it was a strain to speak, "I would like to apologise for the delay in arriving. I have a habit of checking the personal store of ingredients in my office before each class. And today, I discovered that some of my Polyjuice Potion has disappeared."

Beside him, Scorpius heard Jem suck in his breath.

Nott looked into each of their faces, one by one, as he continued, "I have informed Professor Hobspawn that, until the thief is discovered and my Polyjuice Potion recalled, I will keep each of my classes for an extra half-hour as punishment."

There was a collective groan around the class, and he raised his voice over it, "You may think me severe, but the loss of this ingredient is more than an inconvenience to me. It is worrying. Polyjuice Potion is incredibly valuable… and dangerous. It is rarely used for innocent purposes."

"Well, that's just great," Orchid said in an undertone, looking mutinous. At the sound of her voice, Rose Weasley turned her head from where she sat and looked back at the group of Slytherins deliberately, her eyebrows delicately raised. Only a moment passed before she turned back again, but Scorpius knew, by the sudden tension at their tables, that they had all seen it.

"Silence, all of you!" Professor Nott held up his hand. "Now, today we will be brewing the Baneberry Potion, one of the strongest known poisons in the wizarding world…"

"Something goes missing, and she assumes it's us," Jem muttered as Nott began to list the ingredients they would need. "Who the hell does she think she is?

Scorpius smiled humourlessly, staring at Weasley's back. "Someone who can point the finger without a shred of evidence," he responded quietly. "And she's right."

They were climbing the stairs after Potions when Rose stopped abruptly. "Damn it. I forgot my Advanced Potion-Making. Can you tell Professor Broadmoor?"

Without waiting for Albus to reply, she hurried back down the steps, her bag bouncing off her hip, and through the crowded Entrance hall to the dungeon entrance.

Her footsteps were loud in the cold, deserted corridors, as she strode along briskly. They were dimly-lit, with torches burning in brackets on the walls. The grey stone roof of the dungeons soared over her head. Every other student had left for the next class by now; she hoped she wouldn't be too late.

It had been careless of her to forget her book, and she wasn't usually careless. Perhaps the confusion of events had simply thrown her off. The Manticore attack, which hung all too vividly in Rose's mind, and the Polyjuice Potion… When had everything grown so complicated? Ever since the wedding, it seemed that everyone and everything was working against her in some way or another.

There were voices ahead, echoing in the emptiness. It sounded like people arguing. Startled out of her musings, Rose paused at a twist in the corridor, pressing herself back against the wall, and listened. Words floated back to her.

"- irresponsible…" The familiar, throaty voice she heard first was that of a boy trying hard to whisper and not quite managing. Torrance Bole, who had taunted her yesterday in Potions. "That's what he said. The danger - "

"It worked, though, didn't it?" a girl retorted defensively, whose high, sharp voice Rose recognised instantly as Orchid Ottelby's. "We got their attention. And it's not like anyone suspects…"

"I'm not so sure about that," Bole said, but then he lowered his voice and Rose could not make out the words. She did not need to. She knew exactly what they were talking about. It had all clicked together – Nott's announcement that his store had been raided, Ottelby's angry whisper in Potions, and now this argument…

The voices faded up the corridor, and Rose relaxed against the wall, thinking hard. So Ottelby and Bole had stolen the Polyjuice Potion. But why? What did they need it for?

These questions puzzling her, she straightened up, turned – and looked straight into the face of Scorpius Malfoy.

He was standing before her in the corridor. How had she not heard him creeping up on her? Trying not to show her shock, Rose simply hoisted her bag back onto her hip and raised her eyebrows at him. His sharp grey eyes were fixed on her, narrow and suspicious. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same question," she replied with dignity, though her heart was thumping. Did he know who she had been eavesdropping on? Was he covering up for Bole and Ottelby?

"No, you couldn't," he replied calmly. "The Slytherin common room's nearby, and I was on my way there to study. You, on the other hand, have no reason to be down here."

"In case you've forgotten, the dungeons aren't reserved for Slytherins," Rose informed him. She made to step around the turn, the corridor now empty before her, but he moved to block her, folding his arms over his tall, lithe frame.

"I hadn't forgotten, Weasley," he said coldly. "But what with Potter's outburst at the feast the other night, Professor Nott's stores being raided, and then you sneaking around here during class – it all seems to add up strangely, doesn't it?"

"Let's get one thing straight here, Malfoy," Rose said, struggling to keep her voice even. How dare he turn it around on her? "I'm not afraid of you, or your threats, or whatever twisted little plot you and your gang are involved in. Why I'm down here is my own business, and you're in my way." She drew her wand, pointed it at his chest, but he simply looked down at it, without drawing his own.

"I disagree, Weasley," he drawled. "I think it is my business when you're planning to accuse my friends of something they didn't do. Because you've done that already, and frankly, I'm growing tired of it."

Rose snorted. "Who said I was planning to accuse your friends of anything?"

"Maybe I imagined that look you gave us earlier in Potions, then," Malfoy said calmly. "But this much I know. You think you're on to something, Weasley – you think you've uncovered some twisted little plot to bring you down. You think everything revolves around you and your family. It hardly surprises me – narcissism is a common trait in Gryffindors."

"And you, as a Slytherin, could hardly be accused of the same trait," Rose shot back. Her grip tightened on her wand, and she could feel the indignation turning into something else colder and harder. Lily was wrong. She wasn't angry anymore. "I will hex you, Malfoy, and I will enjoy it. I don't care about getting in trouble. So move."

After a moment of staring her down, he took a step backwards and held up his hands in mock surrender, his tone icy. "Go on then, Weasley. Do what you do best. Ruin people's lives."

Rose took her time passing him by, tucking her wand into her pocket, then turned abruptly. "I was getting my bloody Potions book. Not that it's any of your business, but it might set your mind at ease." Shaking her head, she walked on. "See you tonight, Malfoy."

Scorpius flattened himself on his Starsweeper Thirty. The wind tossed his hair as he moved higher and faster, surging through the air until Santini's figure below was no more than a dot in the pitch, between the two huge hoops. He could see the grounds spread out all around below, the lake, rough and grey, the towering vastness of the castle, the dark, marching trees of the Forbidden Forest. Far beyond were the mountains, rising dark and indistinct against the horizon.

There he hung, above the world, his face turned upwards to feel the gentle drizzle in the heavy evening air, until the whistle blew far, far beneath him, and he knew that they had released the Snitch.

He swung his broom around and brought it swooping down until he could see the pitch clearly again. His eyes flicked around and around searching among the green, searching… There. The glitter of gold, dancing from one edge of the pitch to the other. Scorpius watched it for no more than a moment, but what seemed like much longer, until he discerned a delicate pattern in the Snitch's movements – front, left, then right, then back, then left… His mind struggled to work ahead of the tiny golden ball, to predict where it would land next, as it had done so many times before.

Then he plunged, his stomach leaving him behind as the wind pounded at his ears, the pull of gravity dragging him down towards the pitch, faster and faster, until he could have counted every blade of grass, could see the drops of rain clinging to each one, could hear the gasps of the onlookers that made him feel so truly alive…

Pointing the broom-handle up at the last second, Scorpius let the momentum drive him towards the nearest Quidditch hoop. There it was, fluttering a few feet away. He stretched out his gloved hand, squeezed his eyes shut until he had grasped the golden Snitch tightly, and held it up in the air. A cheer went up across the stands from those who were watching the tryouts, and he brought his broom to a halt in the centre of the pitch, stepping off and brushing his blond hair off his forehead.

"Well done, Malfoy," Carlos Santini said briskly, clapping him on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. "I'll let you know tonight if you made the team."

Scorpius found himself grinning as he strode across the pitch to the locker rooms, Starsweeper tucked under his arm. His muscles were tingling as they always did after flying, his breath short. Casting a glance towards the stands, he saw that a group of Hufflepuff girls from the year below were eyeing him intently and giggling amongst themselves. Well, that was new. He was used to Santini's regular fan club showing up at Quidditch events, but he hadn't been aware that he had one too.

"Wipe that grin off your face, Malfoy," said an amused voice behind him, and he turned to see Nina Meyer descending from the stands. She was wearing Muggle clothes: faded jeans and a white T-shirt that stood out against her dark skin. "I think they prefer when you look dangerous and brooding," she explained in an undertone as she came to a halt beside him on the pitch, jerking her head towards the girls watching him. "Nice flying, by the way."

"Thanks. You trying out at all?"

She shook her head. "Nah. I'm more of a Gobstones girl, you know."

"Who actually plays Gobstones?" Scorpius asked sceptically as they resumed the walk across the pitch. "No offence, but I don't know anyone other than you who's actually kept it up since first year."

"None taken, I assure you," Nina said dryly. "Most of the wizarding world, inexplicably, does not see the attraction of playing with stones that squirt putrid liquids at the losers. The Daily Prophet rarely even covers the National Tournament."

"Can't think why."

"Now that was offensive, Malfoy." But she grinned as they reached the door to the locker rooms, turning to him. "Are you going to stay for the Keeper tryouts? Orchid's going first, I think."

"I have to patrol soon," he said grimly. Nine o'clock at the Head Offices. "Unless I can find some way to get out of it… but I don't think I will."

"Ouch. Well, try not to kill Weasley. I don't think Hobspawn would like it." She patted him on the arm in a vaguely sympathetic way and started to walk back to the stands.

"Seen Sharpwood?" he called after her. His fellow prefect glanced over her shoulder, frowning. The sun was sinking behind a white wall of cloud behind her, casting faint streaks of pink across the dull sky.

"No, sorry. Didn't he say he'd come to see you fly?"

"He did," Scorpius said, trying to quell his disappointment. "Must have been busy, I suppose."

(***)

Jem was waiting outside the common room when Scorpius reached the entrance, facing the blank wall and straightening his glasses. He turned to Scorpius with some relief as he joined him. "I can't remember the password."

"It's Basilisk," Scorpius said curtly. As a stone door appeared in the wall, swinging open to reveal a passageway, he glanced over at his friend, who had already stepped inside without another word. "So where were you?"

"Library," Jem replied with a shrug.

They passed through the common room, which was scattered with lively students, laughing and chattering amongst themselves in the carved chairs. Some first-years stood by the windows, pointing and gasping; the Giant Squid was floating in the water outside, peering in at them through the glass.

"The tryouts went well, anyway," Scorpius said at last as they entered the sixth-year dormitory. The lanterns had been lit overhead, filling the room with a soft silvery glow. "Santini wasn't happy when he saw me fly, though. I think he was hoping I'd gotten worse over the summer."

He was expecting some concurring remark from his friend, but got none. Jem was standing by the door, looking at the empty dormitory while Scorpius laid his broom and Quidditch gear on his four-poster bed. "Where are you going now?"

"I've got to patrol with Weasley," Scorpius said grimly, fastening his prefect's badge onto his robes. "She was sneaking around the dungeons earlier, you know, trying to eavesdrop on someone. We'd better watch out for her, Jem – the Aurors will listen to her if she brings them any suspicions."

"You're not patrolling with her," Jem said, and there was an edge to his voice that had not been there before.

"I have to." Scorpius bent to root in his canvas bag for his wand, where he had stowed it during tryouts. "The Head Students won't let us swap."

"You're not patrolling with her," the other repeated, a little louder, and Scorpius glanced up at his friend, startled. He had closed the door and was leaning against it, arms folded, and there was something wrong about his eyes as he watched him…

"Are you feeling all right, Jem?"

"I'm fine," his friend replied shortly. "Just fine. But you're not patrolling with Weasley."

Scorpius nodded slowly. "OK. What's your favourite band?" His fingers reached his wand and wrapped around it. Jem blinked.

"What?"

"Your favourite band," Scorpius repeated, eyes searching his friend's calmly, though he could feel a rising anxiety within him. "You were singing one of their latest hits this morning. What are they called again?"

Jem did not reply at once, simply stared at him for a moment, an unmistakeable panic in his eyes. Then he blurted, "Phoenix Tears."

There it was. Scorpius straightened up from the bed and raised his wand, but Jem was faster. "Expelliarmus!" Before he could block it, his wand had flown out of his hand and landed in Jem's.

"It's the Hinkypunks," Scorpius said quietly, backing away. "Jem's favourite band is the Hinkypunks."

The other wizard shrugged. "It was a good guess." But there was no humour in his voice.

"It was you. You stole Nott's Polyjuice Potion and used it to get into the dormitories – to get to me. Why?" Forcing himself to remain calm, he reached out a hand and clutched the bedstead, staring at the stranger across the room who wore his friend's face. He tensed. "Where's Jem? What did you do with him?"

"You ask a lot of questions," the impostor snapped. "Keep your voice down. I don't want anyone to hear us." Directing his wand at the door, he said, "Muffliato." Then he turned back to Scorpius, indicating a chair beside the bed. "Sit. Sit."

Scorpius obeyed wordlessly, not taking his eyes off the strange wizard before him.

"Now, Malfoy," the impostor said sharply, brandishing his wand again. "I want you to stay where you are, and answer my questions. Is that clear?"

"Not until you answer mine," Scorpius said calmly. "Who are you? And what do you want?"

"I have your wand!" the impostor reminded him angrily. "I don't need to answer any of your questions! You're the one who has to answer mine!"

"And what exactly are you going to do if I don't?"

"This!" The impostor jerked his wand, and the world tilted upside-down – Scorpius was hanging suspended in the air, as though by an invisible rope tied around his ankle. His robes flapped down over his eyes, blocking most of his vision of the dormitory, and he could feel the blood rush to his head, his heart pounding as he grew dizzier and dizzier. It was not like flying – not a bit like flying.

"Let – me - down," he gasped, catching a glimpse of the impostor's feet beneath the robes. It was growing warm now; he could barely breathe properly. "Let me down and I'll – I'll answer your questions."

The next moment, Scorpius had crashed back onto the floor, striking his head against the corner of the bedside table on his way down and wincing. He came up into a crouch and the spinning of the room slowed. Before him, the impostor stood, his face tight with anger.

"Why did your mother poison Hermione Granger?" he said loudly. "Was what happened today with the Manticore part of her plan? Are you supposed to target her children next, is that it? Or were you getting revenge for your mother being thrown into prison?"

Scorpius blinked, putting a hand to his head to check if it was bleeding. "Weasley?"

A muscle in the wizard's – or witch's - neck jumped. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but he sounded uncertain for the first time.

"I knew it was you," Scorpius said, shaking his head. He almost smiled. "Snooping around the dungeons during class, trying to pin the blame on me and my friends, stealing Polyjuice Potion – just to ask me a few questions? Or was it to avoid the patrol? Either way, you must be desperate."

Desperate. The word echoed strangely in his mind after he uttered it, though he did not quite know why. There was blood on his fingers when he took them away from his head, and the sight of it made his head swim. He bit his lip to control the sudden wave of dizziness, glancing up at the impostor, whose wand-hand was now trembling slightly.

"I – I'll do it again," he – or she - said, glaring at Scorpius. "I'll do it again unless you stop talking that way."

"I'm not so sure you will," Scorpius said, attempting to compose himself. He wiped his fingers on his robes and took a deep breath. "But I'll tell you anyway, Weasley. My mother did not poison Hermione Granger. I had nothing to do with what happened with that Manticore today, and there is no 'plan' to bring you down, as I told you already. At least none that I'm aware of."

"Of course you'd say that," he – or she - spat. "You're liars, all of you Malfoys, covering up for each other… but I know what you're all capable of. I've heard the stories. Your Death Eater father shouldn't be walking the streets after what he's done."

Anger reared within him – hot, uncontrollable – and Scorpius half-rose from where he crouched, lashing out at the impostor. "Impedimenta!" He felt himself freeze on the spot. It could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but when he was released from the hold, reeling backwards and colliding with the wall, he could not catch his breath. His head was throbbing.

"Stay where you are." The impostor was still pointing the wand at him. "You should know that I don't care about hurting you, Malfoy. I want to hurt you." His teeth were gritted, whether from fear or anger, Scorpius could not tell. But there was something familiar in his eyes as he looked at him – those dark hostile eyes, filled with desperation, that did not belong to his friend. The mousy brown of his hair was gradually lightening into auburn.

"Of course you do," he said softly, moving his gaze to the wand pointed at his chest. He was feeling rather light-headed now - the room was threatening to spin again, but something had become clear. "Your hour's up. Hugo. That's your name, isn't it? Now tell me - how did you manage to raid Professor Nott's stores? Did you create a diversion, or were you just lucky?"

"That's none of your business," the Weasley boy snarled, yanking off his glasses and tossing them away. There was a shattering sound as they fell to the floor. His form was changing now, becoming taller, more awkwardly proportioned than Jem's – long limbs and big hands. "Tell me the truth, Malfoy! Why are you attacking my family?"

"I have no reason to lie to you, Weasley," Scorpius said, attempting to sound patient. "My mother was framed. She never poisoned anyone."

"You're lying!" Hugo Weasley repeated frantically. He was in his real form once more, and towered over Scorpius where he knelt. "I know Astoria Malfoy did it. Everyone says so!"

"Maybe it's just easier to think for you all to think that way." His attacker stared at him, and he continued, though he barely knew what he was saying anymore, or why he was saying it. "You refuse to acknowledge that anyone else could be to blame for what happened. It's made me realise just how terrified everyone must be, to ignore the truth that's staring them right in the face..."

"I'm not listening to you," the Weasley boy insisted. His wand-hand was shaking again, his eyes frozen on Scorpius as though he could not tear them away. "Every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie. Every word!"

"…the truth that whoever or whatever tried to kill your mother is still out there, biding their time and planning their next move. That this unknown, unseen threat is very good at covering their tracks. That you and your sister are their targets now, and throwing my mother in prison hasn't changed it."

"Shut up!" There were tears in Weasley's eyes now. He blinked them away furiously, pushing his wand closer to Scorpius's chest. "I can hurt you," he repeated. "I want to hurt you for what you did – teach you a lesson - "

"Hugo," Scorpius said calmly, "Hurting me won't make your situation any better. Instead of standing here, threatening someone who knows nothing, you should be trying to find out the truth. That's what will help your mother the most. So give me back my wand, and get out of here. You don't want to get your family in trouble, do you?"

"Don't threaten me too!" the boy said fiercely, but the tears were slipping down his cheeks, mingling with the mess of blood. He was trembling all over. "You threatened Rosie too – and then you tried to kill her today - "

"I never tried to kill anyone," Scorpius said firmly. "Now, if you hand over my wand I can get you out of here and make sure no one sees you. I'm very good at Disillusionment Charms. Just give me my wand and I'll cast one."

Hugo Weasley stared at him for a long moment, his eyes bright with tears, and then, very slowly, he reached into the pocket where he had stowed the wand. "You promise you'll help me?" he said.

"I promise," Scorpius said, his eyes fixed on Weasley's hand. "Go on – just give it to me -"

Weasley drew out the wand, and clenched his jaw stubbornly. "No."

"Hugo – "

"I can't trust you! I won't trust you!" He tossed the wand away so that it slid across the floor to the far end of the dormitory. At the sound of voices outside the dormitory, he looked back at Scorpius, panic in his eyes, and raised his wand.

"Weasley - "

Bang. White light shot from his wand, then blackness swallowed Scorpius.

A.N: Don't hate me. Or Hugo. Reviews would be much appreciated!