Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling
"Care to come in for a spell, dearie?"
The snarltoothed, green-skinned hag hanging in front of the door cackled malevolently at her own joke, and nudged her companion, a warlock with staring eyes, whose dark gaze Draco could feel burning on his back even after he had passed.
At this time of morning, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was still closed. Twenty-odd years had not changed the building – it still towered tastelessly above the rest of the alley, its garish, out-of-place colours making Draco's stomach lurch to look at. Though he knew that they were only Hallowe'en decorations that had hailed him, just like the ones that draped every other shopfront on the street, he could not help but feel a prickle of unease as he strode past.
There was a flash of movement behind the glass. It was there one minute, and gone the next. He did not turn to see what, or who, it was, simply gathered his cloak about him with one hand, and sped up his pace until he had entered Knockturn Alley.
Draco was somewhat relieved when he stepped into the winding, familiar streets he had not walked for years, depressing as they were in the grey, unforgiving light of dawn. Most of the shops, strangely, were less threatening than those of its sister alley at present, as the majority of their windows were boarded up or painted over. Those few that could still afford to remain open were unadorned with Hallowe'en decorations; he spotted only one crude etching of a vampire on the bare wall of the black apothecary.
He cast a glance at Borgin and Burkes, which had stood derelict for many years now, and was gradually succumbing to that eternal enemy of wizards, witches and Muggles alike – time. The patterned glass of the windows was shattered in many places, the wood of the main door slowly rotting away.
Across the street from the dilapidated pawnshop was a single, faded door set in the plain stone of a building, beside an overturned wastebin through which a starved-looking black tomcat was pawing. Letters were scratched into the wooden surface of the door, messy and almost impossible to read: Moribund's.
Draco stared at it, then raised his hand to knock. The sound of his fist against the wood was surprisingly loud, echoing across the deserted street, and he started, but nothing stirred within. Glancing upwards, he could discern no movement in the filthy windows of the upper storey. Then, hearing a mewling beside him, he turned, cloak rustling.
The tomcat had emerged from the wastebin and was sitting contentedly on the cobbles behind him, head slightly tilted as he stared up at him with dark, dark eyes, like the warlock's. He was rather bigger than he had first appeared, coat glossy and well-groomed. "Oh, I see," Draco said softly, meeting the cat's jarringly human gaze. "Will you lead the way, then?"
With another mewl, the cat slinked past him to the door, and nudged it with his head. It clicked, and swung inwards to reveal a narrow staircase, splintered and sagging, yet somehow still standing. The cat trotted in and leapt up the staircase, while Draco followed at a more cautious pace, lighting his wand and holding it before him, letting the door swing closed once more behind him. He ascended in semi-darkness, step by rotting step, wincing at every dangerous creak as the staircase threatened to collapse beneath him.
He followed the cat across a ruined landing to another door, which already stood ajar. Slowly, his wand still held out, he pushed it open and came into a large, musty parlour that reminded him uncomfortably of the one in Malfoy Manor. Elegant settees and armchairs stood like sentries, their upholstery torn and stained, and an old-fashioned coffee table between them. Dark, heavy curtains were drawn over the windows; the parlour's only source of light was an oil-lamp set in the centre, next to the largest armchair, in which sat a withered old woman wearing old, ragged robes.
"Close the door, please," she said as he entered. Her voice was low and fluid, tinged with a slight accent. He promptly obeyed, coming to a halt before her armchair. She stared blankly ahead, her eyes pale and milky. Her skin drooped in yellowing folds around her hooked nose and mouth, like old parchment. Lengths of dark, grey-streaked hair were piled above her head.
"Are you Moribund?" he said warily, as the cat slinked around his feet and leapt into the old woman's lap. Gently, she patted it, not lifting her eyes.
"Yes," she said quietly. "But I have not gone by that name for many years. Not since I was forced to close down this business… which had been in my family for so many generations. Not since the war. Why are you seeking my services now, Mr Malfoy? Can you not see that I am blind?"
"I know you can help me," he responded quietly. "Why would you have responded to my letter otherwise? You would not have told me to meet you here today if you had nothing to offer."
The old witch shook her head sadly. "Do not be so sure," she whispered. "There is little I can do with my trade if I cannot see what you show me."
"Then what if I describe it to you?" Draco swung off his cloak, folding it over his arms, and took a step closer to Moribund. "Can you help me then?"
There was a pause, during which the door behind them creaked disconcertingly, as though struck by a gust of wind. Then the old woman's eyes lifted to fixate vaguely on his face. "Perhaps. Tell me what you saw, Draco Malfoy."
"I will." The cat shifted in her lap, blinking at him from where he sat, and Draco wondered for a moment if this had been the right thing to do after all. He could hear Astoria's voice in his head, quiet and earnest. If you seek out the truth using the knowledge of your past, you will risk everything we have built together.
But he had to risk everything. He had to help her. He had waited two months to make this meeting, and he was not going to ruin it now. What else could he do?
"It was a circle," he said in a low voice to the old witch, bending towards her. She closed her eyes as though to visualise it. "Like a full moon. Half of it black and half of it white. Three tiny, winding snakes across it."
"What colour were the snakes?" Moribund asked, placing a placating hand on the cat's head as he began to mewl.
"Dark. Black too, I think." Draco straightened up once more. "That's all. Can you tell me what this symbol means?"
"Three snakes… and a full moon," she mused. "Half-black, half-white. Most unusual – yet, I have come across something like it in my work before, Mr Malfoy. The trouble is, I have dealt with so many symbols over my life - it is difficult to recall which one… "
"What's your price?" Draco said measuredly.
The old runologist smiled slowly, her face lit strangely by the harsh oil lamp. "How very shrewd of you, Mr Malfoy. A man of business. Well, I'm afraid mere Galleons will not be enough to pay for the discerning of this particular symbol. You see, it is extremely rare… and dangerous. Whoever left it in your attic for you to find was sending a very particular message."
"And what was that message?" he demanded, feeling suddenly weary. His temples were beginning to pound with one of his headaches. "What do you want for it, if not Galleons?"
"What I want…" The old witch sat up in her armchair, a sudden gleam in her milky eyes. "What I want, Mr Malfoy, is something much more valuable than gold. Something only you can provide me with."
"Which is - "
"Loyalty," Moribund said smilingly.
In the split second after she had spoken, Draco did not really think – that single word had sent a dozen memories coursing through him, of a dark, empty house, and the figure of a wizard – his figure – framed in the doorway, speaking to him in that high, cold whisper. Your loyalty, Draco. I want your loyalty.
No. Calmly, he raised his wand and pointed it at the old witch's throat. The cat tilted his head and mewled again, staring up at him. "My only loyalty is to my family. Tell me what I want to know right now, and I'll spare your life."
The old witch chuckled, and lifted a single, gnarled hand. A blast of air thrust him across the room at an alarming speed, wand flying out of his grip. His head hit one of the small windows, hard, and the glass smashed into thousands of shining, deadly pieces, cutting at his skin beneath the robes.
He barely felt it as he struck the ground, head spinning. Against the darkening edges of his vision, he saw the cat had leapt from his mistress's chair, body twisting and contorting in the air – and morphed into a wizard. He stood with one hand on the back of the armchair, and stared at Draco. Tall and black, with high, prominent cheekbones and glittering eyes, clad in gold robes.
"I – I know you…" Draco mumbled, not sure if he had really spoken.
"I should say you do," Blaise Zabini said with a smile, as the world began to fade. His last words snaked their way into Draco's brain, before unconsciousness claimed him. "I'm family, Draco."
Autumn had grasped Hogwarts in its crisp, colourful embrace. Every day, students on their way to the greenhouses crunched over brown, rotting leaves fallen from the trees, or sloshed through mud from a recent rainfall. Nights drew in greedily, stealing more of the evening with every passing week. This was much to the dismay of ambitious Quidditch captains, some of whom had not quite reckoned with the change of seasons when they had set out their teams' strict training timetables at the beginning of the year.
Meanwhile, cruel professors piled an ever-increasing workload upon the older years, with the constant, nagging reminder of end of term exams in each class. Instead of sunning themselves in the green grounds to enjoy the last, hopeful echoes of summer, students were forced to shut themselves in stuffy common rooms and pore over scrolls and scripts.
However, Professor Hobspawn's wish was fulfilled. After the tumultuous events of that disastrous first week back – the planting of a baby Manticore in an unsuspecting sixth-year Herbology class, the subsequent arrest of Gregory Goyle and the unfortunate suspension of a certain student for use of a Stinging Hex and theft of Polyjuice Potion – the next eight weeks had been, thankfully, as uneventful and mundane as could be hoped for at a school of witchcraft and wizardry.
The Great Hall was a hive of buzzing excitement at breakfast on the last day of October, the morning of the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. Rose sat at the Gryffindor table, chatting eagerly with her friends about the ripe possibilites of the day ahead, her unruly hair woven into a long, neat braid.
" – I swear, I'm going to buy out all of Honeydukes' when I get there, I have never needed sugar more than in these past few weeks," she was saying when Jackie nudged her.
"One of the Obliviators has been sacked," she informed her, unfolding the front page of The Daily Prophet. "Derek Podmore. The Minister has a statement here – apparently a Muggle journalist whose memory wasn't properly wiped ended up publishing an article about her experiences… Mad stuff. At least they've quieted down about Hogwarts security, though, right?"
"Thank goodness," Rose replied, frowning momentarily at the news, then gave a squeal of excitement as a neatly-wrapped package was dropped in her lap by Duke, nearly spilling her porridge in her eagerness. "It's finally arrived! Finally!"
"What's arrived?" Cassie said curiously from a few seats down, peering around Mark McLaggen, then rolled her eyes as her friend unwrapped the package. "Only you would get so excited about a schoolbook, Rose."
"It's not just any schoolbook," Rose breathed, holding up her brand-new copy of Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science for all to see. "It's an authoritative source on a powerful, little-known discipline. And it's been out of print since the end of summer. I thought I'd never get it."
She cradled the book lovingly, and cast a surreptitious glance across the hall at the Slytherin table, to check if Scorpius Malfoy had also received a copy. It did not appear so; he had his head down and was talking to Nina Meyer.
"So, have you heard?" Jackie said cheerfully, folding up her Daily Prophet. "About the feast tonight," she elaborated at Rose's confused look. "Apparently, Hobspawn's hired the Snarling Sons to perform at it."
"That's rubbish," Albus interjected from across the table before the other witch could reply. "A band composed entirely of werewolves? I somehow doubt that Hobspawn would allow it."
"The trouble with you, little brother, is that you have no imagination," James said lightly as he strolled over to the table, dipping into the nearest free seat. "Do you really think the Snarling Sons would have a successful record label if they mauled their fans on a monthly basis? They take Wolfsbane Potion for their transformations. Besides, it's not even a full moon tonight."
"Even so," the prefect insisted. "Hobspawn's such a safety stickler he'd never risk it. I say it's just a rumour." He frowned as his brother helped himself to some toast. "What are you doing down at this hour, anyway? Breakfast was served ages ago."
"Had a late night, that's all," James said mysteriously. "Never you mind, Al."
As Rose replaced Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science in her bag gingerly, a parchment envelope fell out from behind it. She frowned, picking it up – she must have missed Duke delivering it in her excitement about the arrival of her new book. There was no address on the front, and she glanced around at the others at the table, who were still engaged in eager conversation about the night's entertainment, before tearing it open.
Rose,
I'm working in the Hogsmeade Branch today. There's something I need to talk to you about. Meet me there at twelve. Don't tell anyone else.
Hugo
It was a typical autumn's day – dry, overcast, with a sharp bite in the air that foretold of frost. The high street of Hogsmeade bustled with locals and students alike, the walls and windows of each building plastered with lurid Hallowe'en decorations. Scorpius and his friends were shoved briskly along by the crush of the crowd.
"I can't believe it's been two months already," Jem said contemplatively. "We haven't that long till the Christmas exams."
"Don't remind me," Orchid said, groaning. She was wearing a thick scarf and her arm was looped around Torrance's waist. "I've half a mind to drop out at the end of the year – once I've taken the Apparition Tests."
"That's crazy!" Nina exclaimed, swinging around to stare at her friend. "What kind of job are you going to get if you don't sit your N.E.W.T.s?"
"Plenty," Orchid replied with a scowl. "A lot of high-up Ministry workers dropped out before seventh year. Like Hershia Potts."
"And you wonder why she wasn't elected…" Torrance began, grinning, but was rewarded with a furious punch from his girlfriend, which, naturally, turned into a long, deep kiss.
"We're off to Madam Puddifoot's," Orchid announced as soon as she came up for air. "See you later." She grabbed the front of her boyfriend's robes and dragged him up the street.
"Are we still meeting in Gladrags?" Nina called after her friend, but she did not turn. The prefect sighed, almost inaudibly. A blast of chilly wind pummelled their robes as they came to a halt outside the Three Broomsticks.
"Don't take it personally," Jem told her as he stared after the retreating couple. "You know they've been very – er – exclusive lately. Torrance rarely hangs out with us anymore either."
"That's because she doesn't let him spend time with anyone else," Nina said. There was a casual snideness to her tone, and a dull flush in her cheeks that had not been there before. Scorpius glanced at her, and then away again; the rare look of hurt in her eyes made him uncomfortable.
"He still seems to find time to hang around my cousin, though," he said darkly, pushing open the door with his shoulder. "And I don't think it's a coincidence that Tobias already has more detentions under his belt than any of the other first-years."
Though it was early in the day, the pub was crowded with students who had come in, like the three Slytherins, to escape the bitter wind outside. They passed a table full of sixth-year Gryffindors (Scorpius caught sight of Rose Weasley among them and felt a rush of relief that there was no patrol tonight; they had become just about bearable, but only if neither of them spoke much, which was a startlingly rare occurrence) and took a corner table facing out onto the high street while Jem went to queue for Butterbeers.
Scorpius leaned back in his chair and looked across at Nina. She was glowering out the window at the passing shoppers, her hands clasped tightly together.
"Jem was right, you know," he said abruptly. "You shouldn't take it personally. Orchid mightn't have even heard you call after her…"
"Oh, it's not just that." She folded her arms, clearly reluctant to speak. "Lately it's like she's just been angry at everyone. It's the same with most of the other girls in our dormitory, though… maybe it was something I said."
"It could very well have been," Scorpius said dryly, allowing himself a smirk. "You can be rather… blunt, at times."
She glared. "Well, that's harsh."
"When we met in first year, you asked me if I was an albino."
"It was a reasonable question!" But she was chuckling to herself, and he joined in. Glancing around the pub, he saw that Weasley had looked up from her table to glance over. Her eyes flicked away after he met them, but that didn't stop him from feeling suddenly uncomfortable. His smile faded.
"Is everything all right?" Nina said. Then, leaning in closer, she asked more quietly, "I meant to ask – how's your mum been doing?"
Scorpius lowered his voice, as though afraid that Weasley might hear them from across the noisy pub. "Dad's gotten a few letters from her. All censored of course, but she seems to be doing all right, considering. We won't be able to see her before Christmas, though; it takes ages to get approval for visiting forms."
She nodded slowly. "And… what do you think about Derek Podmore?"
"The Obliviator bloke who was sacked?" He shrugged, though he could see straight away what she was hinting at. "Never heard of him."
"He wasn't just sacked," Nina said seriously. "He's facing a court case for a violation of the Statute of Secrecy. They're saying he did it on purpose, see – that he deliberately left the Muggle journalist with her memory intact so she could write an article about the wizarding world. Only they have no proof against him, yet. Doesn't it seem a bit strange to you?"
"Why should it?" Scorpius said, rather wearily.
She made an exasperated noise, watching the line of shoppers passing on the street outside for a moment, hunched against the wind, then looked back at him. "Your mum was an Obliviator, too, and she was arrested just two months before. Do you really think that's just a coincidence?"
"Yes," he said firmly, as Jem returned to the table. "Maybe if you contact The Quibbler, though, they'll listen to you. They might even make it an article, if it catches their fancy."
"Oh, sod off," Nina said sourly, taking a sip of her Butterbeer, wrapping both hands around the goblet for warmth. "God, it's like talking to a wall."
"What's this?" Jem asked with a grin as he folded himself into the seat. "Another of Meyer's conspiracy theories?"
"I would have thought you, of all people, Scorpius…" Nina began reproachfully, then at his glare, changed tack. "I have another theory, you know. Do you want to hear it?"
"No," Scorpius said, at the same time that Jem said, "Yes." Taking that as sufficient encouragement, Nina propped her chin on her hands and stared at them both.
"Orchid and Torrance are up to something."
Neither of the boys replied for a moment, the buzz of conversation around them loud in their ears as they looked into their goblets. Then Scorpius said, quietly,
"I could have told you that."
"So why didn't you?" the Slytherin girl asked impatiently. At their continued silence, she sighed. "All I'll say is this. I bet you a Galleon that if you go into Madam Puddifoot's teashop right now, you won't see either of them in there."
"Yeah, because they'll be off shagging in the back," Jem said with a shudder.
"No," Nina said, with a meaningful glance at Scorpius, "Because they lied to us about where they were going. What they were doing."
Scorpius was silent. Unconsciously, he glanced over at the table full of Gryffindors where Rose Weasley sat again. She wasn't looking at him, but in his head, he heard her spiteful words, uttered almost two months before on their patrol. Whatever you're planning, they're in on it too – it's obvious.
Lifting his cloak off the back of the chair, he rose abruptly from the table. The others blinked at him. "Where are you going?"
"To Madam Puddifoot's."
"I didn't mean straight away," Nina protested. "It's bloody cold out…"
"You haven't finished your Butterbeer, either," Jem said, looking slightly annoyed. "I queued for ages to get it."
"Sorry, Mum," Scorpius retorted, rolling his eyes. "Look, these are our friends we're talking about. If they're in Madam Puddifoot's, as they said they'd be, then you owe me a Galleon, Nina. If they're not, well… either way, I'm not going to sit here and listen to any more of your theories – because, frankly, I'm sick of them."
He sensed gazes on his back as he left the pub, but neither of his friends followed him. Outside, the wind had picked up even more, sweeping through the main street, which was considerably less crowded than it had been when they had entered the Three Broomsticks; turning his face upwards, Scorpius soon saw why. A dark, ominous cloud had appeared from nowhere and was looming above the buildings, causing most of the shoppers to retreat for cover.
Quickening his pace, he strode past the post office and produced his wand as the first drops began to fall. "Impervius." Within moments, the dark cloud above had opened, battering the street below with a violent, solid shower. The glistening white stones were gently deflected by Scorpius's wand as they crashed down, so that only the hem of his cloak became damp. It was a bizarre feeling, he reflected, advancing through the hailstorm untouched, moving in his own dry bubble.
Pointing his wand ahead, a gap formed in the shower ahead, allowing Scorpius some visibility. The gaudy shopfront of Madam Puddifoot's soon appeared before him, and he ascended the steps, pushing the door open and muttering the counter-spell to the Impervius Charm in the same instant.
A cheerful little bell tinkled as he entered, and he was hit by a wave of soggy warmth. The dainty, frilly teashop was currently host to about a dozen couples, all of whom were entwined in some way or another as they sipped steaming coffees and teas. Scorpius scanned the tables, but he could not spot anyone he recognised…
Heavy condensation clouded the windows, which were hung with pretty little lace curtains, and the stout, black-haired proprietor skilfully manoeuvred her way around the tables to greet him. "Hello, dear! Would you like some tea?"
"No, thanks," he said, feeling uncomfortable as some of the customers cast scrutinising glances at him over their partners' heads, matching that of Madam Puddifoot herself – being currently single, he clearly had no place here (and, of course, it didn't help that he and Diana Turpin had held a shouting match in the teashop last year, bringing their brief romantic entanglement to a clumsy halt). "I'm just looking for a… friend."
"Scorpius?" Orchid was there – of course she was, he had known all along - leaning out from one of the tables, and had disengaged herself from Torrance's embrace to beckon him over. Their table was tucked away in a corner, half-visible from the door, which explained why he had not noticed them before.
"Is something wrong?" Both of his classmates seemed, understandably, irritated at having been interrupted when he reached the table, and looked up at him expectantly from their seats.
"Nothing." He lied quickly, and smoothly. "Nina just sent me to ask if you were still going to Gladrags with her."
Orchid sighed loudly, exchanging a disbelieving glance with her boyfriend. "Merlin, she can't leave me alone, can she? I never met anyone so clingy. Tell her I'm a bit busy at the moment, will you?"
"I will," he said, turning to leave as quickly as he could - but not before his gaze scanned over Torrance, who was looking at him strangely, one eyebrow raised. He smiled when their eyes met, and said cordially,
"See you at the feast, Scorpius."
As he hurried out of the teashop and back into the hailstorm, producing his wand once more to recast the Impervius Charm, Scorpius sighed with relief that Nina had been proven wrong, more than a little cheerful at the thought of being a Galleon richer (if she held her end of the agreement).
The only thing that gave him pause was the look Torrance had given him before he left – had he known he was lying? Did he think Scorpius had been checking up on them?
Hugo Weasley was sorting through boxes of Decoy Detonators when Rose entered the storeroom at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It looked like a tedious process, as he labelled each individual box carefully, sealed the top, then placed it in a specific pile, then moved to the next. He paused and looked up from his work as she closed the door behind her. "Hi."
"Hi," she replied quietly, leaning her back against the door. They looked uncertainly at each other, the din of the shop providing a distant background. "Er… I'm a bit early."
"That's OK," Hugo replied, setting the last box down and moving out from behind the table. "It's been really boring, shut back here all morning. I'm not allowed to use magic since… well, you know – but back in Diagon Alley, Dad's usually around to speed things up."
"Oh. Good." Her conversational skills were really on top form today. "Er… do you want to go somewhere quieter?"
Her brother nodded briskly. "Yeah, come upstairs."
He led the way through another door and up a narrow, tightly-winding staircase, into a space cluttered with huge parcels, boxes and dozens of little envelopes, all of which were quietly sorting themselves into neat piles. Several owls sat contentedly on perches in the corners, and the wide windows overlooked the low, thatched rooftops of the village, giving the room a bright, airy feeling.
"This is where the orders come in every morning," Hugo explained, seating himself on the nearest cardboard box. "We won't be disturbed here."
His sister followed suit, dropping onto a long, low parcel that shifted indignantly for a moment before consenting to be sat upon. She took off her cloak, folding it in her lap.
"How come you didn't want anyone to know we were meeting?"
He fidgeted. "Well… I'm not really supposed to be in Hogsmeade. I'm allowed to work here every now and then, but not on a school visit. Professor Hobspawn sort of said I should stay away on those days, just in case."
"But -" Rose narrowed her eyes. "Does Dad know you're here?"
"N-n-o." He dragged out the single syllable as nonchalantly as possible, avoiding her gaze. "But I'll be back before he notices I'm gone, anyway. He's not working in Diagon Alley today. And the manager here's been really cool about it, he promised not to say a word, as long as I did some work for him."
"Hugo. Do you realise how much trouble you'll be in if anyone finds out?" But Rose could not summon the energy to admonish him any more, particularly at the memory of their last meeting. Sighing, she said, "What was so important, anyway, that you had to see me today? That you couldn't write to me about?"
Her brother's face took on a very serious expression. For the first time, she noticed that he looked different, somehow, than when they had last met – older. Was it because his auburn hair was a little longer? Or was it something else, perhaps… in his eyes, so earnestly fixed on her face?
"I couldn't risk writing to you," he said at last. "Mum and Dad are always saying we shouldn't put important things in letters, just in case someone else gets a hold of it. And… I wanted to tell you as soon as possible."
Rose's mouth was suddenly dry with apprehension. "Merlin, Hugo, what is it?"
"Nothing really bad," he assured her hastily. "Just… I was in the Diagon Alley shop really early yesterday morning, putting up decorations, and I saw Draco Malfoy pass by outside. He was heading for Knockturn Alley."
"Are you sure it was him?"
"I'm sure," Hugo said soberly. "He had his hood up, but I got a brief glimpse of his face. So then I followed him - " he ignored his sister's sharp intake of breath, " – and I got to the corner just as he was going into one of those old abandoned shops, across from Borgin and Burkes. And I waited there – a full half-hour, Rosie - but he didn't come out again."
Rose was quiet for a long time, resting her chin on her hands and staring at her brother. When at last she spoke, her voice held a quiet, trembling quality, half-frightened, half-angry. "You shouldn't have done that, Hugo. You shouldn't have just run into Knockturn Alley like that, when you know how dangerous it is – and at that time of day, too! What were you thinking?"
Hugo clenched his jaw, like he always did when they were arguing. "I was thinking that if Draco Malfoy was up to something, I needed to find out what. That some of us might be in danger if I didn't."
"And by following him, you put yourself in definite danger!" Rose exclaimed.
"Look, none of that matters. What matters is what I saw." He stressed the last word, looking at her urgently. "Don't you see what it means?"
"All I see," Rose responded carefully, "is that Draco Malfoy might be in the habit of making shady dealings. Which is something we already know, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't," Hugo contradicted. "The Malfoys haven't visibly involved themselves in anything like that, not since the war, have they? That's what Mum and Dad said. And after his wife being arrested, don't you think Draco Malfoy would be trying not to rock the boat?"
"I do, but this isn't your job, Hugo. Sneaking around and seeing what people are up to. That's what people like Uncle Harry and the Aurors are for. You don't have their experience, you can't be running off following people without a second thought for your own safety!" She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, then went on, "Draco Malfoy is dangerous, Hugo, and you attacked his son. Did you really think following him was worth the risk, just to get a glance at him sneaking into Knockturn Alley?"
Her brother stuck his lower lip out stubbornly, shattering the illusion of maturity that had struck her a moment ago. "That wasn't all I saw."
"You – wait, it wasn't?" Rose paused; she had been on the verge of embarking on another rant, but now looked at Hugo curiously. "What else did you see?"
He scowled at her. "What do you care? You're just going to lecture me again."
"Hugo – I'm not. I promise." She lowered her voice, moving closer to him and grasping his arm. "Tell me what you saw."
Hugo watched her warily for a moment, then nodded. "I told you I didn't see Draco Malfoy come out of the abandoned shop again. But there was… a cat."
"A cat," Rose repeated flatly, then blinked. "Wait, was it - "
"It was an Animagus," Hugo said quietly, finishing her thought, and she shut her mouth again, reluctantly. "I saw it transform when it was halfway across the street. A wizard. Couldn't see his face. He disappeared into what used to be Borgin and Burkes."
"Did he see you?" Rose stared at Hugo, her heart pounding.
"No. I was careful. He didn't even look around." There was an impatient edge to his voice. "Who do you think it was?"
"How am I supposed to know?" She ran a hand through her braid, undoing it with her fingers as she thought hard. "Animagi are rare these days. If he's living in Knockturn Alley, chances are he's unregistered, and that means he's not on any list…"
"Which means he's breaking the law, and Draco Malfoy's dealing with criminals."
The room suddenly seemed very quiet around them, though downstairs they could hear the distant laughter and crashes as the customers tried out new products. The brother and sister sat close together, both staring down at the boxes that lay between them.
"Should we tell Mum and Dad?" Hugo said eventually, his voice hushed.
Abruptly, Rose straightened up decisively. "No. Not yet. You should get back to work. Forget about all of this for now, yeah?" She stood, but Hugo remained where he was, looking up at her.
"What about you? What are you going to do?"
"I'll check the list of registered Animagi tonight, see if he's on it," she said measuredly. "But it's probably nothing, Hugo."
"You don't believe that." She swivelled back to look at him, shocked at the slow calm of his voice. "You're just saying it because you're afraid I'll do something stupid again, like hex Malfoy."
"Hugo, I - "
"You don't trust me." Her brother stood, he was at a level height with her now. There was unconcealed anger – and hurt – in his brown eyes. "You'll take everything I just told you and make it yours, make it about you, the way you always do."
The harshness of her brother's words stung, unexpectedly, and Rose drew herself up, feeling a growing tightness within her.
"No, Hugo," she spat. "I don't trust you after what happened. How can you expect me to? And as for making it about me – well, that's what I have to do, because I'm the only one who can actually do something about this whole thing."
"I was the one who saw what happened!" Hugo reminded her hotly.
"And you took a huge risk doing even that!"
"It's what Uncle Harry would have done…"
"But you're not Uncle Harry!" she snapped. "He risked his life going up against Voldemort and the Death Eaters because he was the only one who could. Mum and Dad helped him because they were the only ones who could! Those adventures they always tell us about? They were lucky to escape alive in most of them." She glared at him, breathing fast. "You can't go stealing Polyjuice Potion and hexing people just because they did. You're not them, Hugo."
A long, heavy silence followed her words. Something had hardened in her brother's face as she spoke. Rose mentally kicked herself – she had exploded at him yet again, despite everything her father had said the last time they met. And she had promised she wouldn't lecture him… What was wrong with her?
"Hugo -" she began, in a quieter voice, but he had already turned away.
"I should get back to work."
"Hugo…" She followed him down the stairs, not sure what she wanted to say but just sure that she didn't want to leave him like this, not again. Back in the storeroom, he ignored her, returning to the boxes of Decoy Detonators as though she were not there. After a moment of watching him, her lips pressed together tightly, Rose's pride won, and she left without another word.
Maestro's music shop was deserted, except for the young green-haired wizard who stood behind the counter, fiddling with a gramophone. Messy stacks of albums lined the walls in one corner, while an assortment of odd-looking musical instruments was scattered on the other.
An oversized flute was playing itself, rivalled by several lyres and one rebellious guitar. Along with the disjointed scratchings of old music emanating from the gramophone, the collective sounds resulted in a strange cacophony, its harshness familiar to Cassie's ears as she approached the counter, Hobgoblins album in hand.
"That'll be five Galleons," the wizard said without looking up from the gramophone.
"Five Galleons? Really?" Cassie repeated, taken aback.
"It's vintage," the green-haired wizard said with a shrug, not even bothering to take off his headphones as he held out his hand for the cash.
"This is their revival album," she protested. "It's ten years old at most; that hardly counts as vintage."
"It's worth five," he retorted stubbornly.
"Three. I'm not going any higher than that."
"I can't change the price! I'm not the manager, but if you'd like to speak to her -"
"There's no need for that." Cassie rolled her eyes. "Look, you might be the only music shop around, but I'm the only customer who's going to want that album. Nobody else even listens to the Hobgoblins anymore – I'm not so sure anyone ever did..."
"I beg to differ." The bell above the door tinkled as James Potter entered, grinning, hands in his pockets. He was alone, his black hair even messier than usual as the wind outside had tossed it mercilessly, donning a blue Kenmare Kestrels T-shirt paired with jeans. "Haggling, are we, Miller?"
"Trying to, yeah," she responded rather grumpily, leaning against the counter. "But it seems I've been interrupted."
"Oh, don't let me interfere," he said with a wave of his hand, making his way over to the instruments. "I've decided that I need a creative outlet. Would you recommend the flute?" This last was addressed to the green-haired wizard with an inquiring lift of his eyebrows, who merely blinked, baffled.
"Quidditch isn't taking up enough of your time?" Cassie said dryly, as she watched James seize up the over-sized flute and turn it over, examining the workings closely.
"Don't talk to me about Quidditch," he said with a groan. "I'm trying to forget about being captain right now. Too stressful."
"The troops rebelling, are they?" An involuntary flash of memory returned to her – of sitting with Albus in the common room, listening to him as he talked earnestly. The truth is, I haven't played since second year because of James. She shook it away.
"Not quite as bad as that yet," James said glumly, setting the flute back on the shelf, where it resumed its reedy melody. "No, they're all too bloody complacent. I keep telling them again and again that Slytherin will crush us if they don't change their attitude, but it makes no difference." He frowned. "And I think Santini's been spying on our training sessions."
"Wouldn't put it past him. Slytherin will do anything to get the Cup this year."
"How he's managed it is beyond me, though. I never let Slytherins watch." The Quidditch captain gave a shrug. "Ah, well. Just shows Santini's desperate enough to stoop to spying – he clearly isn't confident enough in his team's abilities."
She opened her mouth to reply, then, at the sound of the shop assistant clearing his throat behind her, turned swiftly to face him once more. "Oh yeah, sorry. Three Galleons and a half."
"Five, take it or leave it," he said irritably, returning to the gramophone.
Cassie narrowed her eyes.
"Well, you certainly drive a hard bargain," James said lightly as the door swung shut behind them a few minutes later.
"I know when I'm being cheated," she replied, grinning smugly. She dropped the Hobgoblins album into her shoulder bag and looked up the street. "Four Galleons was still a ridiculous price, but I could see he wasn't going to budge. What way are you going? I'm meeting some friends in the Three Broomsticks."
"As am I, now that my creative outlet has been taken care of."
They began to walk, booted feet splashing in the puddles that had already been churned into mud by passing villagers. Cassie eyed the messily wrapped flute he had tucked under his arm. "You were cheated, too. I wouldn't have paid more than a few Sickles for that."
James shrugged. "I just bought it to give that poor bloke a break. It can't be easy, dealing with demanding customers like you all day." He grinned slightly as she shifted her gaze to a half-hearted glare. "The lack of Quidditch in your life has taken its toll on your conscience, undoubtedly."
"I won't deny it," Cassie said darkly, shifting the bag to her other shoulder. "Though if you hadn't loaned me your sister's broom, I think it'd be a whole lot worse. How's training been, anyway, apart from the complacency?"
"Pretty good. A few temper tantrums here and there from our new players. Rory Finnigan's been giving me the least trouble out of everyone, though." He caught her eye. "And before you ask - no, he's not better than you."
"I wasn't going to ask that," Cassie said indignantly as they passed the Hog's Head. "Rory's one of my best mates."
"Which must make it even worse, doesn't it?" When she didn't reply, he continued, "It can't be easy, having a mate replace you on the team. I'm only thankful I never had to deal with anything like that."
"Yeah." She was quiet as she stuffed her hands in her pockets for warmth, thinking of Albus again. Did James have any idea that his behaviour had forced his brother off the team? Would he care if he did?
"Anyway, he's a good, solid Chaser. A fine addition to the team." As her eyebrows unconsciously lifted, he chuckled. "You know, you remind me so much of my cousin sometimes, it's uncanny. I suppose it's no coincidence you two are friends."
"What do you mean?" She turned to look at him inquisitively as they walked. He was striding confidently, his cloak slung over his shoulder. "Rose and I aren't that alike. We're nothing alike, actually…"
James snorted. "Right. Apart from both being the two most fiercely competitive people I know."
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," Cassie pointed out. "Anyway, she's competitive about grades. When I'm competitive, it's about Quidditch."
"Well, it's the same -" The Quidditch captain's sentence was cut off abruptly, and she turned again to see that he had stopped dead at the corner of Gladrags.
"Er… what are you - "
"Look," he said, pointing past the alleyway between the two buildings. A sliver of a smaller lane could be seen at the other end of the gap between the buildings, lined with thatched cottages, and a thin, cloaked figure was hurrying along it, head bent against the wind.
She looked, then frowned, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. "Is that…"
"Nott." James stared at the figure. "Let's see what he's up to, shall we?"
The next moment, he had leapt lithely over the wall, disappearing over the other side. Cassie stood for a few seconds in bewilderment, glancing around at the street. It was largely empty, apart from a knot of third-year witches emerging from Dervish and Banges, but they were deep in conversation and did not look her way.
Biting her lip, she threw a leg over the stone wall and hauled herself over. There was a steep drop over the other side – she landed in a crouch to compensate, and straightened up in the narrow, cobbled alleyway between Gladrags and Scrivenshaft's, whose old rooftops curved towards each other so closely that she felt, uncomfortably, as though she were in a tunnel.
Advancing quickly, she emerged into daylight seconds later, on the grassy lane behind the buildings of high street, to see James leaning nonchalantly against the side wall of a whitewashed cottage. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her. "Didn't expect you to actually follow me, Miller."
"I was curious," she said, shrugging. "And we were having a conversation."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that." The Quidditch captain hazarded a peek around the corner of the cottage, down the lane. Hilly countryside stretched beyond it, scattered with the outliers of Hogsmeade, cast with the greyness of the overcast sky. Cassie watched James as he retreated behind the wall once more. There was a sudden solemnity to his expression; his brown eyes no longer glinted with mischief.
"I've lost sight of him," he said in a low voice. "If only I had Dad's cloak…"
"Your dad's cloak?" Cassie frowned, perplexed. "Why would you -" At the impatient wave of his hand, she shut her mouth and leaned around the corner, peering over his shoulder. Professor Nott had re-entered their line of vision, and was opening the creaking gate to one of the cottages. After a few moments' fumbling with it, he drew out his wand and flicked it; the gate opened soundlessly, and he entered the garden.
"Now, why didn't he use magic in the first place?" James wondered quietly.
"Didn't want to bother?" Cassie guessed.
"Maybe."
"Why are you so suspicious about him, anyway?" She tucked her scarf tighter around her neck, suppressing a shiver. "Is it the whole Death Eater-dad thing?"
"I've had my eye on him for a while." James relaxed back against the wall of the cottage, meeting her gaze. "He's been increasing Auror security around his office since Hugo broke in there – makes me wonder what he's got to hide that's so important he can't risk any student finding it. And now he's running around the village when any sane professor would be tucked away in the Three Broomsticks, out of the cold."
Cassie did not ask how he knew all this. The rumours – as there always were in Hogwarts – maintained that James Potter knew everything there was to know about the castle, more than any other student. From years spent on the Gryffindor team with him, she conceded that there must be some truth to them. So, unfolding her arms again and wrapping them around herself instead, she merely said, "He's probably just visiting a friend."
He snorted derisively. "I wasn't aware our dear Professor Nott had any friends."
"Well, chances are he does." She raised her eyebrows as the silence stretched on between them, then sighed. "You're going to wait here until he comes out again, aren't you?"
James looked around the corner once more to check that Nott had not emerged yet, then met her gaze again, the humour returning to his eyes. "Would I be living up to my name if I didn't?"
"I suppose not." Cassie blew on her fingers to warm them, then stuffed them in her pockets. "Unfortunately, I have a lunch to get to. Listen -" She forced the words out before she forgot to say them, " – thanks again for the loan of the Firebolt. It's just about kept me sane these past few weeks."
"That's good," the Quidditch captain said vaguely. "No worries, Miller." He was not looking at her, but peering around the corner again. Cassie gave him a nod and, turning on her heel, made her way back along the alley to the high street, unable to identify the momentary twinge of disappointment she felt as she went.
As evening drew in around Hogsmeade, the shopfronts were lit with grinning orange pumpkins that glowed eerily in the dusk, moving cut-outs of ghouls and vampires looming out of nowhere to startle students on their way back to the carriages. The darkening sky was streaked with the smoke of bonfires that had been lit by the villagers, like the breath of clouds.
Albus leaned against the doorframe in the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Rory to emerge from the bathroom. The inn was nearly empty; Madam Rosmerta was hovering empty goblets and plates off the tables with her wand. He stared out at the darkening street with a sense of building excitement. What was in store for them tonight at the feast?
When someone entered from outside, Albus stood aside to let them pass into the inn, then did a double-take when he saw who it was. Over the past month, he had grown more accustomed to being in close proximity to Summer Birchgrove, due to their regular patrols together, and he was not quite as tongue-tied as he once had been in her presence. But still…
Today, she was clad festively in orange robes. She dropped her dark hood, lengths of blonde hair rippling over her shoulders, and beamed at him. "Hi, Albus! How are you? I thought everyone had gone to the carriages. I left my gloves here earlier - I'm sure I'm going to be late now…" She advanced forward a few steps, forehead creasing as she looked around the pub.
"Er…" He moved from the door to aid her in her search. "Wait - " he ducked down beside the nearest table and fished out a pair of damp black gloves. "Are these them?"
Summer gave a sigh of relief, reaching out to take them, her fingers brushing against his in the process. "Oh, thanks so much!" She pulled out her wand and passed it over them. As they dried, little puffs of steam rising into the air above them, she looked up at Albus, still smiling. "Did you hear about Nipper?"
"Er – oh, the Manticore, no, I didn't - what…"
"He's adjusting really well," she said eagerly. "Hagrid says his new owners seem like really good people – they really appreciate Nipper for what he is. When I think how the Aurors were going to -" She broke off, as if the sentence was too painful to continue, and shook her head. "And it's all thanks to you."
"What is?" Albus said, rather too hastily. He ran a hand through his black hair, a gesture more worthy of his brother, and shuffled his feet.
"I don't want to embarrass you or anything," she said gently, putting her wand back in her pocket and pulling on her dry gloves. "But I know it was you. Your dad's the Head Auror – you must have asked him to stop Nipper being put down. I should have put two and two together long before now, but…" She looked rather sheepish. "Well, I didn't think you could have - it just didn't occur to me. You're a really good person, Albus."
He cleared his throat and tried not to get lost in her lovely eyes. "It's nothing, Summer. Really."
"It is, though." The Hufflepuff girl placed a gloved hand on his arm, her smile vanishing, and his heart skipped a beat. "No one else really cared about what happened to that Manticore, no one apart from me and Hagrid. But you did, and I'm grateful for that. I just want to know if there's anything I can do in return."
"Er…" You can go out with me. C'mon, Albus, don't be such a bloody coward. Ask her. "I…" He stared at her, then looked away. Just one question, one simple question. Her blue eyes blinked up at him, wide, expectant. She was chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully; the action filled him with longing.
"Right, let's go!" Rory said briskly, striding out of the bathroom and coming to a halt when he saw his friend standing with Summer by the door.
"Yeah," Albus said after a moment, with an awkward, desperate gesture as he looked from his friend to the Hufflepuff. "Do you – er – want to come with us?"
"Thanks, but I'd better find the others," she said with an easy smile. "See you at the feast!" She pulled up her hood again, and hurried out of the Three Broomsticks.
The two boys stayed where they were for a moment after the witch had left, listening to the squeaking of the goblets being scrubbed by a hovering rag and the humming of Madam Rosmerta as she bustled around the empty pub. Albus had half-expected his friend to start sniggering, but Rory simply stood with his arms crossed, head slightly tilted as he looked at him.
"What?" Albus said impatiently, after a few moments of silence. He thought he could detect something like pity in Rory's eyes, and did not like it.
His friend simply shook his head. "I hate to say it," he said uncomfortably. "But someone should. She's out of your league, mate."
Albus's face warmed. "Shut it," he snapped. "I don't think of Summer like that. She's just a friend."
Rory snorted, but before he could reply, the indignant voice of Madam Rosmerta came from behind the counter.
"Are you two going to clear out or will I have to fetch the Aurors?"
The path to the station that wound along the edge of the forest was dark and narrow, half-overgrown with grass, and treacherous with slippery mud after that afternoon's hailstorm. Students picked their weary way along in little clusters, talking excitedly about the feast. Dark pine trees rose ominously on either side of them, the occasional candles propped in the lower branches of one to light their path.
Nina Meyer rolled her eyes as a group of high-spirited girls behind them let out a series of high-pitched squeals. "It's just the Hallowe'en feast," she said pointedly. "The same one that happens every year. What's the big fuss about?"
"Show some holiday spirit, Meyer," Santini said cheerfully. "I don't think we've ever had werewolves perform at it before, have we?"
"The man's got a point," Torrance supplied, raising his eyebrows at Nina while Orchid dropped a kiss somewhere on his neck, her arm thrown around his shoulders. "Hobspawn's really put himself out this year. You'd think he'd opt for some tamer entertainment after everything that's happened, but…"
"Maybe it's because of what happened," Scorpius said quietly. "There's been so much in the Prophet about Hogwarts security lately - maybe he wants to prove that it's as stable as ever. That he's not going to lie down and stop taking risks just because a few journalists want to discredit him."
"There's no risk anyway," Nina scoffed. "He might as well have just gotten a bunch of ordinary wizards to play. It's not like the werewolves are going to transform or anything."
"No, but there's still the potential danger," Jem argued. "Everyone gets a thrill out of it, and a few people get properly spooked. That's the whole point of Hallowe'en, after all."
As the trees to their left parted, a rectangle of orange light spilled across their path from the window of a nearby thatched cottage, and they were offered a brief glimpse of a dark living room lit with a single, hovering jack-o'-lantern, around which the dark shapes of a family were gathered. Scorpius looked away quickly, swallowing hard.
The sight had sent a vivid memory coursing through his mind - of his mother one Hallowe'en night as they sat huddled together in the darkness of Aunt Daphne's porch, holding a candle up to her face so that strange shadows played across her pale skin, and recounting, in a soft, chilling voice, the tale of the Warlock's Hairy Heart.
He couldn't have been more than seven, and Tobias, little over a year old, had started bawling before she reached the end. Scorpius distinctly remembered, when his aunt had brought his cousin inside, crawling into his mother's lap and begging her to tell the story again. Don't leave out any of the scary bits, this time. I like them.
She had laughed, ruffling his hair. My brave little boy. I'll tell you when you're older, and I know you won't get nightmares.
Whether or not he'd managed to persuade her to tell him the full story, he could not recall. But he could still smell the smoke of Muggle bonfires in the distance, and see his uncle striding across the dark lawn with a wide grin, pointing upwards to the sky as it exploded in a thousand different colours: fresh, vibrant, pulsing.
"Scorpius?" Starting, he realised that he had come to an unconscious halt at the gate to the cottage. The others had stopped too, turning to look back at him. Orchid raised her eyebrows.
"Is something wrong?" Torrance asked, beside her. He was watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face. It reminded him uncomfortably of when he had encountered him earlier in Madam Puddifoot's, and Scorpius met his gaze with some difficulty.
"No," he muttered. "I just… remembered something."
"Well, we'd better hurry on," Jem said briskly, looking at his friend briefly as though to say: tell me later. "Or we'll miss the carriages."
Before they had fallen back into their rhythm, however, the group of girls overtook them on the path. They looked like fourth-years, and a few glanced back at Santini, giggling amongst themselves. Only one of them, a girl with waist-length red hair whom Scorpius recognised as Lily Potter, regarded the handsome Slytherin without a smile on her face.
"You've got a fan, Carlos," Orchid said out of the corner of her mouth.
A slight grin had crept over the Quidditch captain's features, but he said nothing, simply winking at the Potter girl, who flushed to the roots of her hair. She turned away hastily, picking up the pace with the rest of her group until the path rounded a bend around the trees, and they disappeared into the darkness ahead.
Torrance snorted, while Jem wheeled around to look at Santini, perplexed. "Isn't she a little young for you?"
Carlos Santini shrugged, still grinning. "Potential danger. You said it yourself, mate: they lap it up."
(***)
"I told you already, I don't have a Galleon on me," Nina muttered. "Besides, it wasn't a bet I was expecting to lose."
"That's your problem," Scorpius insisted in an undertone. "Cough up, Meyer."
The others, overcome by weariness after the walk, paid little heed to their whispered conversation as the carriage rattled away from the station. Torrance was dozing on Orchid's shoulder, Jem was rubbing his forehead tiredly, and Santini had sunk back against the moth-eaten cushions like a prince, smiling to himself.
"But you still didn't prove I was wrong," Nina hissed. Her brown eyes met his, earnestly. "Did you?"
"I believe the terms of our bet were quite specific," Scorpius said, giving her a warning look as the carriage ran over a bump in the road, and rattled them all in their seats. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Santini had stirred, and seemed to be listening in. "Let's continue this later."
"Fine." Groaning, Nina stretched out her legs and turned to stare out the window. Torrance mumbled something onto Orchid's shoulder. Scorpius gazed down at the floor of the carriage, dingy and littered with straw. He thought about his parents, wondering what kind of Hallowe'en they were having, each of them alone for the first time in years. At least he had the feast to distract him…
"Your cousin's doing a good job." Santini was watching him from the opposite side of the carriage. At his blank look, he continued with a smirk, "Potter doesn't suspect a thing. He must be pretty dim, not to have noticed Toby tagging along to their training sessions for the past month. The magic of the scarf, I suppose."
"I told him ages ago to give that back." Scorpius met the Quidditch captain's gaze, saw the smugness there. He was goading him. Smoothly, he added, forcing calm into his voice. "But if it's for the good of the team, why should I object?"
Santini grinned widely. "Good you're finally seeing sense, Malfoy. After all, Toby has a real talent for spying. It'd be a shame to waste it."
A real talent for spying. Scorpius tensed, looking away from Santini quickly so that he would not betray his outrage. What did he mean, talking about his cousin like that, so confidently, as though he…
As though he knew something about him.
The carriage rattled once more, alarmingly - then, with a groan, they were jerked to a sudden halt. Torrance roused himself, blinking confusedly. "What's going on?"
Scorpius, who was the nearest to the door, moved to push it open. Up and down the forest path, the line of carriages had stopped. The Thestrals stood impassively as ever, but shadows of students flitted against the lit windows. A few were leaning out of the doors like he was, shouting back to each other. Then they all heard it: a bone-shivering howl echoing from the darkness of the trees.
The night air was suddenly sharp with screams. Rough hands grabbed Scorpius, hauling him back inside the carriage. It was Jem, the whites of his eyes clearly visible. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he demanded, his voice shaking as he slammed the door behind him.
"It's them," Santini was saying loudly. The colour had drained from his face; Scorpius had never seen him so pale. "It's got to be! The werewolves! The Snarling Sons!"
"That's impossible," Nina was saying, her gaze fixed on the door. "It can't be – it's not a full moon -"
Orchid and Torrance did not say anything, simply clutched each other tightly. Scorpius could feel his stomach plummeting as another howl tore through the air, this time nearer… much nearer.
"We should cover the door," he said suddenly, reaching for his wand, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt as he indicated himself, Santini and Torrance. "You three take the window." Not that it'll do much good, he added silently. If all four tackle us, we don't stand a chance.
But the others nodded, and the six Slytherins moved into position, their wands pointing in two opposite directions as they waited.
Another howl, then someone was screaming wildly in the carriage behind them – Scorpius felt sick. His heart was thundering in his chest. No one was going to die, he told himself. This was Hogwarts. They were safe. They were strong.
Those words did not do much to calm him, however, when a vast weight dropped onto the ceiling above them, causing the entire carriage to shudder.
"What's that?" Santini said, his voice rising in panic. "What the hell is that?"
Jem grabbed his arm, his fingernails digging hard into his skin. Orchid was making a high, quivering noise of terror deep in her throat, and Torrance was muttering something that could have been a prayer or incantation, over and over. Scorpius simply sat with his wand held out uselessly, and tried to feel – tried to think – but everything seemed to have gone numb - growling filled his ears…
A grey shape flashed past the window, there was a resounding thump, brief silence, then something – or someone – was pounding at the door. Scorpius surged forward as it opened, and looked into the face of a young, fair-haired Auror. He shrank back into his seat, his wand falling to his side, too shocked even to feel relieved.
"Is anyone hurt?" the Auror said urgently, casting his wandlight inside the carriage. It fell on the faces of the Slytherins, still frozen in blank terror. He moved it around in a full circle, then breathed out in relief. "Thank Merlin. You're safe now, don't worry. The werewolf was on your roof, but I Stunned it."
"What about… about the others?" Orchid asked hoarsely.
Something twitched in the Auror's face. "They're being taken care of," he assured them quickly. "My name's Alderton. Everything's going to be all right."
A.N. Happy Easter! It's been a while, I know! This one's a two parter, though, so hopefully that makes up for the delay in posting. Enjoy and review!