Disclaimer: Copyright J.K. Rowling
A/N: My updating is very irregular these days. But this happened to be done, so I'll just leave it here. Enjoy!
Chapter 13: Don't Let Me Down
Snow was drifting over Hogwarts from the slate grey skies above – over the Quidditch pitch, the stands, the Astronomy Tower, the courtyards, the greenhouses, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the Black Lake.
It was a November snow; the kind that did not settle anywhere for long, but turned to slush within seconds of reaching the ground. Only the bleak mountains rearing up into the horizon beyond the castle grounds bore lasting traces of that snowfall.
Rose Weasley stared through her window without really seeing any of it. She traced a delicate pattern on the glass with her finger, then leaned her forehead on her knees and closed her eyes. It was just past dawn, she thought – though she couldn't be sure.
After tending to her various cuts and scratches on returning to her dormitory, Rose had lain in her bed for what seemed like hours, in a strange sort of limbo between sleep and consciousness, where images flashed across her eyelids relentlessly and made her ache all over.
Her dormitory-mates were still asleep, but their presence was vague to her. In that moment, seated by the window of her dormitory high in Gryffindor Tower, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin pressed to her knees, Rose felt utterly and completely alone. It was a relief, in a way.
But it did not last.
A knocking, loud and urgent, on the dormitory door reached her ears. Drowsily, Rose lifted her head from her knees. She watched as her cousin, Lily, entered, shutting the door behind her. The younger girl was still clad in pyjamas, her hair tousled and her face chalk-white.
"Rose?"
She spoke in hushed tones; Rose could not tell whether it was out of consideration for her sleeping dormitory-mates, or something else. Either way, she did not feel capable of answering, and simply looked at Lily until the latter spoke again, with a quick glance around the dormitory.
"Rose, something's happened."
Silence.
"The others are waiting downstairs. We're leaving soon."
At last, Rose felt compelled to speak. "Leaving?" she croaked, confusion stirring in her brain. Hadn't she just returned to the castle a few hours ago? And now she was leaving Hogwarts again… it made no sense.
Lily nodded, hazel eyes regarding her cousin solemnly, almost fearfully. Does she know? But how could she?
"Professor Longbottom is clearing it with the Headmaster. He's escorting us back to the Burrow by Floo."
"I don't understand…" Rose said, her voice low, but Lily had already turned her back on her and was fumbling in her dresser. A moment later, she withdrew a bundle of robes and tossed them to her cousin.
"Wear these."
Rose unfolded the robes and looked at them. They were black.
"No," she said softly, so softly that she thought the other witch would not hear her.
But she did. As she turned from the dresser, Rose saw why Lily had not wanted to look her in the eye. The younger girl's eyes were full of tears, her face screwed up with the effort of holding them back.
"We have to go, Rose," she said, at last, in a trembling voice. "They're waiting."
And slowly, lowering her eyes to the floor, Rose nodded.
(***)
The silence in the Burrow was unlike any she had ever heard.
They waited in the upstairs parlour after Professor Longbottom returned to Hogwarts, on the edges of armchairs and sofas and on the carpeted floor. Through the windows, the sun was rising over the village of Ottery St. Catchpole and the surrounding hills, gleaming in the frost-encrusted grass. But the shaft of light that crept across the dark parlour was cold and unforgiving on their faces as they watched each other and tried to find words – any words, that would break this terrible silence, that would make sense of what had just happened.
James was staring at Rose from where he sat with his knees apart on the floor, his back against an old endtable that had been pushed to the wall. When she met his eyes, he did not look away. His brown eyes were devoid of mischief, solemn and hard and cold. And accusing.
Albus stood suddenly from his armchair, and the others – Lucy, James, Lily, Rose and Hugo – jerked their heads up to look at him. "They're here," he said tonelessly, and as voices echoed on the landing outside, they realised that he was right.
Rose's mother was the first to enter the parlour. It was the first time she had seen her since the morning in St Mungo's when she had left for school, and Rose should have leapt to her feet and rushed to embrace her. She looked healthier than she had then; the colour had returned to her features and she stood straight-backed. But of course, that only reminded her – and Rose's insides gave an agonising twist as she stared at her mother, unable to move.
"No one knows how it happened," Hermione Granger said quietly, gazing around at them. "She was found early this morning in an abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley. All they know is that it wasn't a magical death."
The room should have erupted in distressed gasps and cries of anger. But the shock was so great that everyone simply sat in silence, absorbing what they had just heard. Hugo was looking at Rose now – not with the same accusing gaze as James, but with burning significance. An abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley… She could sense the gears turning in his mind, the unfounded suspicions spawning one another, and it made her feel sick. She turned her face away.
When her father entered the room, along with Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Percy, the others rose to their feet and began to hug their parents. The tension in the room began to dissipate somewhat, and Rose found herself enfolded into her mother's embrace. She was soft and warm, and as she buried her head in her shoulder, Rose should have felt comforted, relieved. Instead, her stomach plummeted.
Her mother pulled away, her eyes bright with tears – just as Lily's had been. Rose's own eyes felt conspicuously dry.
"I missed you, love," Hermione said, in a voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry – I never wanted any of you to experience something like this. Something so horrible…"
I'm so sorry, Rose. You have to believe that I am.
Rose's response died on her lips. Her mother, with one concerned, deeply sympathetic glance, seemed to understand, giving her shoulder a squeeze and stepping away to embrace Hugo.
(***)
Rose had never seen a dead body laid out before.
All of her grandparents were still alive, and in reasonably good health. She had been to funeral ceremonies, of course – of great-aunts, first cousins once removed and the like – but neither she nor Hugo had ever seen an open casket. She supposed that made her lucky in a way… though that word seemed wildly inappropriate for this situation.
She had been to Andromeda's farmhouse only a couple of times before. It was large and rambling, not unlike her own family's house on the Welsh coast. But the difference that she had always noticed, even as a little girl, was the loneliness that pervaded every inch of the building.
When bored by the adults' conversation, she had often gone exploring, poking her head in the door of the various guest rooms. She remembered that they had always been pristine; the beds would be neatly made-up with snowy white sheets and pillows, the shining wooden dressers and wardrobes would not host a speck of dust. But there would be that faint, musty smell in the air that told her no one had slept there for months – years, perhaps – and the complete lack of personal features that gave the rooms a forsaken quality.
What had truly rendered the house so lonely for Rose on her visits, though, were the various moving photographs scattered throughout the house; the ones that she was passing now in the wide hallway as they made their way to the drawing room.
She saw a laughing witch with bubblegum-pink hair, with her arm slung around the shoulders of a younger, more beautiful Andromeda. She saw a ruggedly handsome wizard with drawn features, wearing an incredulous kind of grin as he held a baby with bright green hair in his arms. A stocky, well-built man with a round, kind face dominated most of the photographs; he beamed down at Rose, his eyes following her as she passed. She did not feel worthy of such a smile.
The door to the drawing room was slightly ajar. Rose's mother, who was just ahead of her, gently pushed it open and stepped inside.
Wide and sparsely-furnished, the room boasted one feature that dragged the eyes to its centre: the long oak table, on which the coffin had been laid. Chairs lined the walls, most of them empty. On one of them, however, sat Teddy, his head in his hands, shoulders trembling as he cried. His hair was black and unkempt. Victoire was by his side, her eyes puffy, one hand set on the small of his back. She got to her feet and hugged Hermione tightly when she entered, then Rose.
Teddy did not move or look up. The sound of his tears grew louder as more people entered the drawing room behind them. It filled the silence, and made Rose want to sink to the floor. Instead, she moved behind her mother, towards the coffin, keeping her eyes glued to the wood-paneled floor. She did not want to look; as long as she did not look, this could all remain part of some terrible nightmare.
But Rose could not help it. As they neared the coffin, Teddy's broken sobs still loud in their ears, her eyes lifted, and she beheld the body laid out before her – the sight which had been burned onto her mind since she had left Knockturn Alley last night.
The first thing she noticed was that they had closed her eyes. She looked more peaceful, perhaps, than she had the night before. Someone had dressed her in beautiful robes of pale lilac, and arranged her grey-streaked hair in curls that surrounded her face. She looked younger, too – so different that Rose could almost believe she was someone else. Not Andromeda Tonks at all.
The second thing Rose noticed was the burning flicker of something raw inside her, that made her cry out loud. Her mother grasped her hand tightly in hers, thinking it was the shock of seeing the body before her. But it had been something else. Rose knew it had been something else.
The sour guilt came next – heavy and all-encompassing. It stayed her lips, froze her mind, drowned out every other emotion until she felt like screaming. That was why, though her mother leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on Andromeda Tonks' white cheek, Rose hung back, still unable to produce a single tear. When her mother took her arm and steered her out of the drawing room, past the other mourners, Rose squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the terrible sound of Teddy's sobbing: a furious and heart-wrenching lament that seemed directed at her, asking that one, simple question.
Why?
(***)
The day passed very quickly, in a series of comings and goings. Teddy left the drawing room not long after Rose entered, and she was left there with the rest of her cousins, while their parents came and went. No one ever spoke for too long; they spent much of the time just sitting there with Andromeda. Rose grew somewhat accustomed to the presence of the body in the coffin, until it was just a feature in her peripheral vision that was easily ignored – unless she looked at it directly.
She was frequently reminded of that dreadful night at the Burrow, when she and Hugo had not known whether their mother would survive. That night, too, had been a blur of visiting relatives, with hushed, trembling voices and fearful glances. But the difference today was that no one seemed to know how to act.
Everything was so contradictory; it was impossible to pretend that things were normal, yet sometimes things seemed as though they could be. They all donned black robes, just as they did in school; they could very well have been at some dull family gathering – if not for the sound of Teddy's anguished sobbing and grieved shouts that echoed throughout the farmhouse at intervals.
Once, Rose's cousin Fred made a wry remark about her uncle Percy that prompted a ripple of surprised laughter among the other cousins. Then they had all looked at the coffin in the centre of the room, and descended into guilty silence once more. At a later point in the day, Albus and Louis had broken out a pack of Exploding Snap, and the others had watched them play, a few even joining in, or commenting on the progress of the game. It was almost as though they were sitting in a common room back at Hogwarts. Roxanne even took out a cigarette and took a drag through the open window, banishing the smoke with her wand before it spread.
As the shadows grew long on the papered walls of the drawing room, and the light filtering in through the latticed windows began to dwindle, Rose's mother entered once more. Those of her cousins who were on their tenth round of Exploding Snap, seated in a circle of chairs, glanced up as though expecting to be reproached, but Hermione Granger barely glanced at them, beckoning to her daughter.
Rose slowly got to her feet, her throat dry. She sensed James's gaze from a few chairs down, but did not return it – instead, she followed her mother out of the room. She knows. She knows. She knows. She would have to tell them soon, anyway, Rose thought, though the prospect sent waves of nausea coursing through her. After all, she couldn't just let them blunder through the investigation of Andromeda's death when she – she and Malfoy – had all of the answers. That would be wrong - it was all so wrong.
"This came for you." Her mother handed her a piece of folded parchment when they were in the hallway, her eyes solemn. Rose stared at it.
"It's probably from one of your friends at Hogwarts, wondering where you are. Maybe it's Cassie."
"Maybe." Rose did not meet her mother's eye. Cassie would not have written to her yet. She had probably had not even noticed that she was gone. And if she had… she was sure Professor Longbottom had been obliged to inform a few people of the news. At any rate, their classmates would know soon enough when The Daily Prophet got a hold of the story.
"Love, I have to get back – we're trying to contact the officiant for Monday."
"Monday?"
"That's when the funeral will be. The family's decided." By the family, she meant Teddy. What other relative of Andromeda's was left behind, after all?
"Oh."
Despite her words, Rose's mother lingered in the hallway for another moment, gazing at her daughter. She had spoken in that calm, matter-of-fact tone Rose knew so well - the tone reserved for occasions just like this – yet her eyes were full of pain and sorrow and pity. "Will you be all right?"
"Yeah, Mum. I'm fine, you don't need to worry." Rose began to turn away, but her mother reached out and caught her arm.
"This isn't your fault, you know, Rosie."
Rose twisted back to face her mother. "Why would it be?"
Her mother blinked at her sharp tone. "I just meant - "
"I know it's not my fault. It has nothing to do with me."
"Good. I'm glad." Hermione Granger spoke a little coolly now, her eyes still fixed on her daughter's. "Because I know you, Rosie, and sometimes you get silly ideas into your head about being responsible for things that are entirely out of your control. That was all I meant."
"Oh," Rose said again.
"We're all upset, Rosie. We're all shocked." Her mother's eyes were brimming with tears once more. "Things are hard enough without us snapping at each other." She turned on her heel and moved down the hallway.
Rose gazed down at the floor, the parchment crumpled in her hand now. She willed the tears to come, willed her vision to blur before her. Nothing. She rubbed fists into her eyes, but did not even have the energy to feel frustrated. Instead, as she returned to the drawing room, she wondered if the numbness she felt was just more proof that this was all a nightmare. After all, since she couldn't feel anything… maybe it meant that she would simply wake up, gasping, in her Hogwarts dormitory.
Just before she reached the door, Rose unfolded the piece of parchment automatically and raised it. She stopped in her tracks.
One line, in block capitals, scratched by a quill. No signature.
WE ARE WATCHING YOU.
On Monday morning, the copies of The Daily Prophet reached the Great Hall, causing quite a stir among the students eating breakfast there. Many of them had heard Andromeda Tonks' name before in connection with the Weasleys and the Potters. A few knew that she had given testimony at Astoria Malfoy's trial. Fewer still knew her son, Teddy, through older brothers and sisters who were acquainted with him during his years at Hogwarts.
Scorpius Malfoy folded up his newspaper without reading the front-page article, though his neighbours at the Slytherin table were discussing the matter with interest. He left the Great Hall early, went to the common room, and began a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay that was not due until next week.
In class throughout the day, he focused even more than he usually would have on the professor's words, taking notes more diligently than perhaps was necessary. Still, he did not fail to notice Rose Weasley's empty seat in Ancient Runes, in Alchemy and in Potions. He could not stop himself from remembering the way Zabini had thrown her against the wall like a ragdoll with that sickening thud after the Tonks woman had gone down in Knockturn Alley… The way Weasley had peered at him through strands of red hair when he had been urging her to get up, her eyes hollow.
Quidditch training after school was a relief, as Scorpius's thoughts were forcibly directed elsewhere. They gathered in the pitch, a mess of mud and slush beneath their boots as a fresh drizzle began. Santini, after preening himself with a glance towards the faithful Hufflepuff girls watching in the stands, embarked on a lengthy speech about the team's progress which Scorpius suspected was meant to be motivational, but only ended up making him feel more disheartened.
"Potter's team might be faster," the Quidditch captain concluded, staring at each player as he spoke and making them feel equally uncomfortable. "They might be bigger. But they're also complacent. They don't realise that we have the advantage – that we've been one step ahead of them this whole time. And who do we have to thank for that?"
With a vaguely dramatic flourish of his short cape, Santini gestured towards the first row of stands, where Tobias Greengrass sat. Scorpius felt something clench inside of him at the sight of the smirk on the captain's face, and could not help himself. "Proud of yourself, are you, Santini?"
The other players turned to look at him. It was very rare that anyone, much less Scorpius Malfoy, spoke to the captain like that; for all his flaws, no one could deny that Carlos Santini emanated an air of unquestionable authority.
"I'm proud of your cousin," Santini amended after a moment, transferring his smirk to Scorpius. "Toby's helped us out a lot over the past few months, keeping an eye on Potter's team. Like I told you, he has a real talent for spying."
"I remember." Still holding his Starsweeper in one hand, Scorpius took a step closer to the Quidditch captain, ignoring the mutters of the surrounding players. "But that ends now, Santini."
Carlos Santini's smirk widened, as though he'd been expecting those very words. "What are you talking about, Scorpius? We haven't even had our first match yet. It's barely begun."
"He's only a first-year," Scorpius said sharply. "You can't just use him like that. I won't put up with it any longer. If he was part of the team, it would be different, but he's - "
"Is that you want? For him to be part of the team?" Santini set his broom down and spread his arms generously. "I'd gladly make Toby an honourary member, Malfoy. It's the least I could do, after all the work he's done for us."
"You can't do that! Quidditch teams don't have honourary members." Scorpius glanced around the other players, wondering if anyone else could see how utterly ridiculous this situation was, but they all simply stared at him. "I just want you to leave him alone. He could get in real trouble if someone caught him spying on the Gryffindors."
"I don't think Toby wants that, though," Santini said in a tone of false apology. "Will I call him down? Let's see what he has to say. Toby!"
"His name is Tobias." The Quidditch captain acted as though he had not heard anything. Looking around, Scorpius saw that the chubby first-year was already descending eagerly from the stands to join them on the pitch, and sighed.
"Toby," Santini said in an easy voice when Scorpius's cousin came to a halt beside them. The first-year seemed perfectly at ease, despite the fact dwarfed by the others in the circle of players; the Beater, Saul Burke, was nearly twice his height. "Would you like to stop spying on the Gryffindors for me?"
Tobias frowned, then shook his head. His eyes alighted on his older cousin for a moment. "No. It's fun!"
"Well, it's not up to you," Scorpius said, through gritted teeth. He could sense the other players' curious gazes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Hufflepuff girls in the stands whisper to her friend. It struck him then that he would much prefer to having this conversation elsewhere… not in public. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Look, Tobias, I promised your mum I'd look out for you this year – and if she knew…"
"His mother?" Santini was watching them. "I'm sure she could be persuaded to accept the situation. After all, isn't she used to having lawbreakers in her family? One more shouldn't make that much difference…"
There was a collective ooh among the players at the insult. "Low blow, Santini," Orchid Ottelby remarked, with a whistle.
Scorpius had gone cold. They thought Santini was talking about his father, he realised. About Draco Malfoy, the former Death Eater. But he wasn't. His eyes met Tobias's, which had widened. How the hell did Santini know?
"Carlos," he began, but the Quidditch captain had taken a swaggering step closer to him, an almost predatory gleam in his dark eyes. Suddenly, Scorpius could see exactly where this was going. Looking around at the intrigued faces of the other Quidditch players, at the Hufflepuff girls who had edged closer to the pitch to witness the confrontation, he felt a sinking feeling deep within him.
"Any of you ever wondered why Toby goes by his mum's name? Greengrass?" Santini addressed the other players, uttering his words in a lethal drawl. "No?"
"Carlos, not now," Scorpius bit out, but, as before, Santini ignored him.
"Toby's mum obviously didn't him to have his father's name going into Hogwarts. Why? My guess is because - "
"Carlos…" Desperately, Scorpius turned to look at his cousin. All the colour had drained from his cousin's face, but he did not look away from Santini as he delivered the final punch.
" – because Toby's father is Blaise Zabini."
Scorpius let his breath out in a single exhalation, directing his gaze to the ground. The girls in the stands gasped, exchanging horrified glances. But the Slytherin Quidditch team were silent, their eyes flicking between Santini, Scorpius and Tobias. Then -
"You can't be serious. His father?" That was one of the Chasers, Martin Hooper.
"Blaise Zabini is your uncle?" Orchid marveled, shaking her head in disbelief as she gazed at Scorpius. "How did I never hear about this?"
"They hushed it up after he went on the run," Santini explained. "Estranged themselves from him, and all that…"
"I'm not estranged from him," the first-year broke in, his eyes flashing with anger.
"Tobias - " Scorpius said warningly, but his cousin did not even look at him.
"Blaise Zabini is my dad," he said with a shrug, facing the Quidditch players. "Big deal. If you think that's something I should be ashamed of…" He turned to Santini, his mouth set in a stubborn line, "Then I don't want to help you anymore."
Carlos Santini's lip curled, but he said nothing as Tobias Greengrass shoved past him and strode off the pitch.
Scorpius slowly turned back to the others once his cousin was out of sight. They were staring at him, fear and apprehension in their eyes. That was nothing new, of course, but he had gotten used to being treated normally when he was among his fellow teammates – so it hurt, just a little.
"Are you satisfied now?" he asked the Quidditch captain, who simply looked back at him with smug, dark eyes. Scorpius felt a jolt of hatred go through him. It made him physically tremble. "Fuck you, Santini." He mustered more venom into those two syllables than he ever had before, and it was still not enough.
Those smug, dark eyes followed him as he turned on his heel and stormed off.
Rose bowed her head as the officiator said his final words. He was a tall, gaunt man clad appropriately in plain, black robes, whose eyes had not met any of theirs for the duration of the entire ceremony. An Impervius shield rippled around him; protection against the strong, driving rain that many of the other mourners had employed.
The rain, aided by the occasional gust of wind, battered the hilltop mercilessly. It was a barren place, scattered with outcrops of rock. Andromeda's farmhouse could be seen in the blurry distance, far below. The mourners stood in a wide circle, staring at the gaping hole in the earth before them, and the closed coffin that had been placed inside it.
Rose lifted her eyes to see that tears were streaming down her cousin Lily's face. Her father stood on her other side, with his hand on Rose's shoulder, but she could not bring herself to look at him. An Impervius shield surrounded them. At the other side of the freshly-dug grave stood Teddy, dry-eyed now, his hair a mousy brown. Victoire had her arms wrapped around him, and both were gazing at the officiator as the latter raised his wand.
A clump of earth rose into the air, and struck the coffin with a mournful, hollow sound. Teddy made a choking sound, then, with a visible effort, raised his own wand. His eyes, already filling with tears once more, met Rose's briefly, and she felt as if all the air had been sucked from her. Oh, Merlin. This was all her doing, and he knew. He knew that she had as good as placed Andromeda in that grave. He knew.
In the next moment, however, his eyes had moved away from hers and he had cast the next clump of earth into the grave. Rose breathed out again. There was a rush of movement all around her as the other mourners – there must have been close to a hundred – raised their wands.
Her father nudged her, and Rose followed suit, swallowing hard. She willed tears to form in her eyes. Why wouldn't they? Why wasn't she crying? This was her fault, and she couldn't grieve for Andromeda properly, not even as countless clumps of earth rose from the ground and cast themselves into the old witch's grave, the sounds of them striking the coffin becoming more and more muffled each time.
Something tore inside her when she heard her own clump of earth hit the coffin, and suddenly she was stepping forward, her father's hand slipping off her shoulder. Out of the protection of the Impervius Shield, and into the rain.
It soaked her in seconds, plastering her thick red hair to her scalp. It pummelled her black mourning robes, and sent its own freezing tears coursing down her cheeks. Rose shivered as she stood on the hilltop, clutching her arms around herself, but still she did not move. She deserved this. It was a small penance, a price to pay for what she had done. But it still was not nearly enough.
(***)
"Interesting, what you did back there."
Rose started, turning from her seat at the end of the table to see James standing before her, his arms folded. He was clutching an untouched Butterbeer in one hand which he had evidently procured from the kitchen. All around them in the crowded dining room of the Burrow, mourners conversed, gossiped, even laughed. After all, they were only human, and most people wanted to cast the bleakness of Andromeda's funeral ceremony from their minds. Steam clouded the windows; the rain was still pelting down in full force outside.
"Feeling the rain like a Muggle, and all that." James himself seemed distracted, his quip delivered in a monotonous voice. Setting his Butterbeer on the table, he fixed her with a hard gaze, and Rose knew that he was cutting straight to the chase. "So, are you going to give me some answers?"
"I can't," she said quietly, avoiding his eye. It was the truth; the note she had received a few days ago in Andromeda's house had made that much clear.
James grabbed onto her arm, held on tightly even when she tried to shake him off. "Come with me now and maybe I won't make a scene," he said in a low voice.
Rose gnawed on the bottom of her lip and stared at James's hand on her arm for a moment, weighing her options. She glanced around the table, but no one was even watching them. Finally, she stood from the table, and wordlessly followed her cousin out into the hallway, up the winding, rickety staircase and onto the uneven landing above.
James swung around to face her, letting go of her arm. She put her hand on it protectively, giving him a reproachful look. "There was no need to hold on so tightly."
"Yes, there bloody well was," he said, very coldly. "You'd better tell me what's going on now, Rose. Why the bloody hell you were wandering the castle last night with Malfoy when you promised me you wouldn't try anything dangerous – " he paused, and seemed to utter the next few words with more difficulty, " – and why you were in Knockturn Alley on the same night that Andromeda died."
"How do you know I was there?"
"Hugo told me what he saw, and that you were planning on going there to investigate things. I saw you coming back on the map, and put two and two together."
"So you think I had something to do with Andromeda dying?" Rose demanded. The words sounded terrible to her ears; even uttering them made a cold fist close around her heart. She struggled to keep her expression neutral.
James ran a hand through his black hair. He looked a bit frantic. "I have no idea what to think, Rose. I really don't. I feel like I don't even know you anymore. You lie and you sneak around and then someone dies and you don't even seem that upset about it… what am I meant to think?"
"Don't you dare say that I'm not upset," Rose said icily. "Don't you dare. You have no idea what I'm feeling right now - "
"Because you won't tell me!" James almost shouted. "You won't tell me anything! You never tell anyone anything! Why do you think your best friend won't talk to you anymore? Because she doesn't know how to be around you when you never talk about your mum being poisoned, or anything - "
"There's nothing to say!" Rose protested. "You accuse me of keeping secrets when you do your fair share of spying and sneaking around… well, that's rich."
"It's not the same." James's eyes were blazing. The coldness had completely evaporated; now, he was simply livid. "You know why? Because someone is dead, Rose. Someone is dead because of one of your secrets, and still you won't tell anyone what's going on. It's beyond selfish, it's bloody - "
"This is not my fault," Rose hissed, ignoring the chill that had gone through her at his words. "This has nothing to do with me. What happened to Andromeda was a freak – everyone knows that. She shouldn't have been in Knockturn Alley in the first place…"
"And neither should you! What the hell were you doing there, Rosie? Tell me!"
Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, dropped her head. One tear. Come on. But her tear ducts would not oblige. All she felt was that ever-increasing lump in her throat, and the sour, stabbing guilt – but stronger than all of that, the bubbling fear. "I can't tell you," she said at last, lifting her eyes to James's. "I just can't. Some secrets are better kept - "
"Bullshit." James glared at her, breathing hard. Then, after a few moments, something within him seemed to deflate. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"I can't," Rose repeated, the words burning her throat, clawing it as though trying to escape. "I'm sorry, James. I really can't."
There was a long silence. Then, James Potter took a step back, tilting his head to one side to regard her. The coldness had returned to his voice when he spoke again. "You know what the funny thing is, Rose? When I look at you, I can't see you anymore. I can't see my cousin Rosie. I look at you, and I see a complete stranger staring back at me. An impostor."
He swung away, cloak rustling behind him, and Rose stared after him, then felt herself slowly sink to the floor as her knees buckled. He was right. She wasn't herself. She could hardly remember what life had been like when she was herself – back when her worst nightmare was getting an 'E' in her Transfiguration test.
She had been consumed by the idea of vengeance for so long. And now that she had tasted it, she wasn't sure that she liked it at all. It stank of tears and blood and rotting wood.
Rose rested her forehead against the cool tiles of the hallway and remained where she was for a long time.
(***)
"Be careful, and don't be thick. I mean it, Rosie." Her father was watching her sternly as she stood before the fireplace in the Burrow's kitchen. There was something else in his blue eyes, too – something that looked like pain, that gave her a little twinge in her chest. Rose wondered if it was hard for him to be saying goodbye to her so soon again after what had happened.
"I'll be careful," she said, casting a glance around the kitchen. It was dark now, and most of the mourners had returned to their homes. Only her cousins who were returning to Hogwarts had remained, to be seen off by their parents. James was making a point of not looking at her. Albus's eyelids were drooping closed behind his glasses with exhaustion, and only Lily watched her from where she stood, resting a head on her mother's shoulder, a slight, sad smile on her face. She couldn't know, then.
"It won't be too long till we see you again for Christmas. Only a few weeks." Rose's mother, who had already embraced her and was standing back beside Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, seemed to be partially reassured by her own words. Rose couldn't say the same.
She closed her eyes as Hugo stepped forward and gave her the briefest of hugs, without meeting her gaze. Her brother hadn't spoken a word to her all weekend, and she didn't like to think what suspicions he must share with James. He wasn't returning to Hogwarts until after the holidays.
"We'll see you soon, Rosie," Uncle Harry said warmly, and his green eyes followed her as she scattered the Floo Powder and stepped into the flames. She had one last brief glimpse of the kitchen, crowded with her family, until she was spun away into a dizzying blur of fireplaces, and then Rose felt dreadfully alone. This time, it didn't give her any comfort.
Climbing out of Professor Harris's fireplace, Rose stood for a moment in the empty office, looking around at the darkened windows over which long, heavy curtains had been drawn. She could hear the rain hissing outside. It felt as though she'd been away from Hogwarts for an eternity.
Gathering her cloak around her, she hurried out of the office before the others could arrive, thinking only of the warmth of the four-poster bed that was waiting for her in the dormitory. She could not face James after what he had said earlier; the terrifying truth of his words were something that she could not let herself consider – yet.
Her heart sank when she entered the dormitory to see that Cassie was still awake. She lay on her bed, painting her toenails by the light of her wand, and her eyes widened when she saw Rose.
"Merlin, I wasn't expecting you back! How – how was it?" She discarded the nail polish and crossed the room quickly, pulling Rose into a tight hug. They broke apart and looked at each other for a moment, somewhat awkwardly.
"Fine," Rose said eventually, moving away. "Don't really want to talk about it."
Cassie's voice came from her own bed a moment later as Rose was pulling off her black robes, quiet and unsure. "For what it's worth, Rose, I'm… really sorry. I know Andromeda was important to you."
She should have thanked Cassie, left it at that. After all, her friend was just trying to help. But Rose didn't feel like pretending anymore. Reaching up, she undid her ponytail, letting her hair fall to her shoulders, and did not look at her dormitory-mate as she spoke, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
"She wasn't, really. I never even knew her that well – and she wasn't part of the family." If she had been important to me, I wouldn't have stood back like a coward and let her die, would I?
"Oh," was all Cassie had to say to that. There was a rustle of sheets as she lay back on her bed and resumed her nail-painting. Then, finally, silence. Sweet silence.
Rose stared at her own reflection in the looking glass above her chest of drawers. She was pale and still, her red hair spread around her shoulders, unbrushed, and dark circles beneath her eyes. The sight gave her a strange, hollow feeling in her gut, like she didn't know herself anymore.
Maybe James had a point.
The following morning, Nina Meyer awoke, as she often did, to the gentle lapping of the lake water against the glass of her dormitory window. It made her smile; the sound was so calm, so peaceful.
She couldn't hear the breathing of any of her roommates (Orchid normally snored) but perhaps they had reached that quiet phase of sleep, just before morning. The prospect made Nina smile more, for it meant that she could rouse herself, get dressed and bring a book up to the common room undisturbed.
Straining, she reached for her bedside table, fingers closing on the wood of her wand.
"Lumos." Shielding the light with her wand, she threw back the bedcovers as quietly as she could, shivering slightly at the contrast of temperature, and sat up. A drop fell on her head.
Frowning, Nina put a hand to her matted mass of dark, curly hair. She ducked, and another drop fell, but this time it missed. A little circle of red stained the eiderdown quilt before her. She stared at it, then, slowly, moved her head back, craning her neck to see above.
The ceiling of her four-poster bed was smeared with blood. The rusty smell filled her nostrils now, overwhelming. The curtains of her bed were smeared, too, she saw as she pushed herself out of bed. Her feet, expecting the soft, dry carpet, recoiled from the sticky wetness beneath.
"Orchid? Laura?" Nina said uncertainly, wondering if this was some kind of prank gone wrong. Her wandlight fell on empty beds, neatly made-up. She was alone.
It must be later than she'd thought – she always found it hard to tell this far beneath the lake. Maybe they were already at breakfast. Maybe she had overslept, even missed some class by this stage.
Decisively, she crossed the room to the windows. This would make more sense in daylight. Reaching up, she tugged open the curtains - and stopped dead.
Her stomach plummeted as she stared at the glass. She couldn't remember ever feeling like this before; she wasn't the queasy, fainting type. But at that moment, a weakness flooded Nina Meyer's limbs as she was overcome with an emotion which she was not entirely accustomed to. Fear.
MUDBLOOD. Spelled out – more like messily smeared - across the glass of the window, bright red against the calm green of the lake beyond.
There was frost on the grass when Scorpius Malfoy set out for his morning run. The sunrise had been obscured by clouds, casting the grounds in a grey, unforgiving light, but at least the rain had stopped. A slight mist lingered around the edges of the lake, its swollen waters a deep, cold green.
Clad in his Quidditch gear, Scorpius did not feel the bite of the morning air. He followed the line of trees, through the mist, reveling in the silence all around him, the emptiness of the grounds – he loved being up at this time of day. His worries about Santini and Tobias and Blaise Zabini seemed distant, somehow. It was the same feeling that he had when he was flying.
Several shapes loomed out of the mist before him as he neared the edge of the Forest. Scorpius slowed his pace when he saw that they were Thestrals. The large, skeletal creatures were grazing contentedly, unaware that they had just brought his worries flooding back to him. Scorpius cursed inwardly and was about to turn back when he saw a figure standing with them.
Rose Weasley was facing in the other direction, tentatively stroking the neck of one of the Thestrals. He came to a complete halt and looked at her for a moment. She was clad in black, and her red hair tumbled halfway down her back.
"So you can see them now," he heard himself say, his voice breaking the silence as he wiped sweat from his brow. "The Thestrals."
Weasley turned. She did not seem particularly surprised to see him. Her face was grey with exhaustion, her blue eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Yes." She went back to stroking the Thestral.
Scorpius stayed where he was, though he did not quite know why. "I didn't know you were back."
"Well, I am."
"Clearly." He was silent for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling as he got his breath back. Hearing a faint splash behind him, he glanced around to see that one of the giant squid's tentacles had broken the surface of the lake, and watched it undulating in the water for a moment before turning back to Weasley. "So… how was the funeral?"
"Lovely."
"Your sarcasm is certainly improving." But Scorpius's heart was not in the jibe, and he uttered it tonelessly. Staring at Weasley's back for a moment more, he then moved forward, coming to a stop on the other side of the Thestral, which did not shy away from his presence. "Did you tell them what you found out?"
"I told no one." Then Weasley gave a strange, humourless little laugh. "You're the only one who knows the whole truth. The only one I can talk to. How sad is that?"
The words made Scorpius uncomfortable. "I don't think I'm the person to whom you should be talking about this, Weasley."
"Who else can I tell?" She shrugged. "Andromeda died because of me. No one can know that."
"There was no way of telling what Zabini was going to do," Scorpius argued. "We had no warning."
"But if we hadn't been there in the first place, she wouldn't have died. And it was my idea." Weasley's voice was still frighteningly calm. "What happened that night was my fault."
"Are you even listening to me, Weasley? Zabini killed Andromeda. He probably would have done it eventually, regardless of whether we were there or not."
"You don't know that." Weasley twisted around to face him suddenly. "I have been wondering, though. Why did Zabini let us escape? Was it because he knew you somehow?"
Scorpius shrugged, meeting her gaze calmly. "He knew my father. That was probably it."
Weasley nodded, but she did not look convinced. Still, she did not press the matter. Instead, she fished in her pocket and drew out a piece of parchment, handing it to him.
Scorpius unfolded the parchment. "We are watching you," he read aloud, and had to suppress a shudder. "How comforting."
"That's why I can't tell anyone." Weasley snatched the parchment back. "You can't either. They'll know if we do, and they'll hurt us, or our families. So our journey was pointless. We have no way to let the Ministry know what really happened, to prove that your mother is innocent. They won't let us."
"And who's they?" Scorpius couldn't help but ask.
"I don't know." All of a sudden, Weasley's voice was very quiet against the rustle of trees behind them. "Whoever threatened Teddy at the wedding. Whoever forced Andromeda to do… what she did. Whoever ordered Blaise Zabini to kill her."
"You think he was ordered to kill her?"
"The way it was done… so clean. It was an execution." Weasley suddenly shook her head, stepping back from the Thestral. Her face had blanched, and Scorpius cast a sidelong glance at her.
"You know, Weasley, we might not have gotten any proof, but I don't think our journey was pointless." She looked at him, faint surprise written on her features, and he continued, "I have some idea now where my father is, and what he's doing. And I know who framed my mother. That's worth something."
"Is it worth a life, though?" They were both silent for a moment, then she spoke again, so softly that it was almost as though she had forgotten Scorpius was there. "I thought I was so brave, you know, running around and investigating the mystery of who poisoned my mother. So clever. Like a game. But these people don't play around." She shook her head, staring down at the grass. "I got angry at Hugo for taking mad risks, like he was in one of our parents' stories. You're not them, I told him. You're not a hero. But then I went and did the same thing. I thought I could have my own adventure, like the ones they always told us about. And now someone's dead because of it. Andromeda's dead." She sucked in a breath, as though she were about to cry.
Scorpius did not know what to say to that. He simply stood with Weasley as the mist around them began to clear. She stared out at the lake now, her eyes distant. It struck Scorpius that he should finish his run and leave her in peace, like she seemed to want. After all, this was not a conversation he was particularly keen on having.
But for some reason, he did not move. Perhaps because he needed to talk about what had happened, too. He had been shoving it to the back of his mind all weekend, and now, he knew that some form of closure would do him good. And Weasley was the only one who could give that to him.
"You know what the worst part is?" she said at last, without dragging her eyes away from the water.
He was not sure he really wanted to know, but still he obliged, and said, "What?"
Rose Weasley finally turned to look at Scorpius, and he saw that her clear blue eyes were filled with unshed tears. "I hate her. I'm sad she's dead, of course, but I still hate her for what she did – or what she tried to do. And when I saw her body, that was all I could think about. How angry I was at her for what she had done, and why I stood back and let her die. It wasn't just because I was scared of Zabini. A part of me wanted…"
"What?" Scorpius said again, his voice much quieter this time.
Her eyes left his once more, as though she were ashamed. "A part of me wanted her to die. To punish her, to make her pay for what she did to my mother – for nearly tearing my family apart."
"Well, she betrayed you." Scorpius shrugged, though he did not feel quite as nonchalant as that. "She let you down. That's an understandable reaction."
"Is it?" Rose Weasley was staring at him now like he had two heads. He forced himself to look at her, to let her see the anger in his eyes.
"Yes. Because I feel the same way." His voice was hard. "And Andromeda Tonks didn't just try to tear my family apart. She succeeded."
"Orchid."
Nina Meyer rose from the carved armchair where she had been waiting as her friend entered the Slytherin common room, whistling. Orchid Ottelby stopped short when she saw her, looking taken aback. "Oh, Nina. I was just on my way to breakfast. Do you want to go up together?"
"Where were you last night?" Nina asked measuredly.
Orchid raised an eyebrow. "With Torrance," she said, in a voice which clearly implied that Nina was more than a little thick. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"So you didn't come into our dormitory at any point?"
"Er, no…" Her friend's face showed nothing but mild annoyance – no guilt, or smug satisfaction. But still, Nina wasn't sure.
"Someone wrote Mudblood on the window in the dormitory," she said abruptly. "I was wondering if you knew anything about it."
Orchid blinked at her. "What? No. Who would be sick enough to do something like that?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking." Nina's dark eyes flashed dangerously. "But the thing is, the boys can't get into our dormitories. And none of the girls in the other years have any grudge against me, so…"
"You think I have a grudge against you?"
"I don't know anymore." Nina did not look away from Orchid. "You've been angry at me for something these past few months, and I stopped wondering what it is a long time ago. But if this was you, Orchid, then that is just… sickening."
"I can't believe this, Nina," the other witch said, her muddy green eyes revealing nothing. "It actually hurts me that you think I could be responsible for something like that. Even as a joke. You know no one has a problem with that kind of thing anymore. Muggleborns, half-bloods – we're all the same, aren't we?"
"What am I meant to think?" Nina demanded. "Who else in our dormitory could have done it? Laura? Hilda? Melanie? You clearly have had a problem with me recently – I mean, you didn't meet me in Gladrags last Friday…"
"Of course it comes back to that." Orchid rolled her eyes. "Look, Nina, I'm not angry at you. I just - don't really like being around you anymore. It's not anyone's fault, really, it just happens in school, you know, people drift apart…"
"Who did it, Orchid?" Nina was unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. "If they wanted to scare me, it's working. I'm properly spooked. Who painted Mudblood on our window?"
Orchid looked her straight in the eye and shrugged, her dyed blonde ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so. "I have no idea, Nina. I'm sorry. But I can tell you that you're wrong about the boys."
"I – what?" Nina narrowed her eyes at her. "What do you mean?"
"They can get into our dormitories. At least, some of them can. I should know." Orchid reached back, tightened her ponytail, gave Nina something that looked like a cross between a grimace and a smile, and started towards the common room door. Nina followed behind, feeling cold seep through her all of a sudden.
"You don't expect me to believe that one of our friends did it, Orchid, do you? Jem or Scorpius or… or Carlos?"
The other witch shrugged again, a careless gesture. "You thought I did it – so why not them? After all, aren't we supposed to be friends?"
Try as she might, Nina Meyer had no answer to that.
"Tobias!"
Scorpius caught up with the first-year in the dungeons after breakfast, a few corridors away from the Slytherin common room. The torches were lit, and cast a harsh glow over his cousin's face as he turned. Students were streaming past them on their way to Potions, a few giving the pair suspicious glances.
"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," Scorpius said with an effort. Tobias simply looked up at him. "If I hadn't provoked Santini - "
"It's the only thing I'm actually good at, you know," his cousin interrupted, folding his arms. "Spying. I've failed every test I've gotten this year. I'm no good at Quidditch, either – otherwise I would have made the team."
"Most first-years don't get onto Quidditch teams," Scorpius pointed out. "And as for your classes – first year's always tough. You just need to apply yourself."
"You sound like my mum," Tobias grumbled. "Besides, that's easy for you to say; you've gotten straight 'O's since you started school."
"True." Scorpius paused. "But spying isn't all you're good at, Tobias. Santini was just using you."
"I liked working for Carlos I don't care if he was using me or not." Tobias set his jaw, his eyes darting away from Scorpius's. "It made me feel... important, I suppose. But now that's over."
They lapsed into silence as a skinny second year hurried around the corner and turned to goggle at them, hissing to his friend quite audibly, "That's him! Blaise Zabini's son!"
"Things are going to get tough now," Scorpius said quietly once the second-years had rounded the corner. "You realise that, don't you? A lot of people are talking about you – about our family. But eventually it'll all blow over. It always does."
"I don't care what they say," Tobias scoffed. "They don't know me, and they don't know my dad."
Scorpius watched his cousin for a moment, his lips pursed. "When you said to Santini that you weren't estranged from him," he said at last, lowering his voice even more. "What did you mean by that, exactly?"
"What I said." His cousin refused to say anything more, and Scorpius frowned at the awful suspicion that was beginning to take root inside him. It couldn't be – he had to be wrong.
"Tobias, you know what your father did. You know he's a dangerous criminal – very dangerous. He has killed people." Unbidden, the memory of Andromeda Tonks' snapped neck returned to him, and Weasley's ashen face; he felt slightly sick. "And if he ever… tried to get in touch with you, you'd know not to meet him, wouldn't you?"
"Of course," Tobias said quickly – too quickly, Scorpius thought. "But I don't care what he's done. He's still my dad, and I'm proud of him."
Proud. Scorpius knew only too well the conflict between pride and shame that came from having a father who had done terrible things. He felt it constantly… but maybe things were simpler for his younger cousin. "You know you can't rely on him, Tobias. He deceived us – he left you, before he had to go on the run. That was his choice."
"I know." The first-year spoke through gritted teeth, and he seemed to find it hard to meet Scorpius's gaze. "I should get to class – Professor Shaw said he'd give me detention if I was late again."
"Go on." Scorpius did not say anything more as he watched Tobias walk away. The guarded look that had passed over his cousin's face moments ago was one that he could not forget. He only hoped it didn't mean what he thought it might have meant.
Merlin knows I have enough to be worrying about already.
Rose had forgotten what a haven the Alchemy classroom was. Situated at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, the musty, high-ceilinged room was blessedly empty today, and had an air of remoteness to it that set it apart from the rest of the castle. Three students had dropped the extra class already, leaving only Rose, the Slytherins and a pair of Ravenclaws.
The sound of their quills scratching away on parchment as weak sunlight spilled in through the open windows was comforting to Rose, and she bent her head over the essay she was writing on panacea. Professor Nott sat at the desk, his brow furrowed as he studied some curious-looking liquid in a vial. Across from her, Malfoy and Sharpwood were silently working on their own essays.
Rose found herself wondering what Malfoy had thought of their earlier conversation. He had caught her off guard, coming out of the mist like that in his green and silver Quidditch gear with his white-blond hair falling over his forehead, not neatly combed the way it normally was. She couldn't believe she'd said so much – there had been something so easy about confiding in someone who didn't care about her, who wasn't blinded by affection and whom she could trust to be honest.
His words still echoed disconcertingly in her mind, the way they had a habit of doing.
Andromeda Tonks didn't just try to tear my family apart. She succeeded.
Rose shook herself and returned to her essay. She had barely written a sentence, however, when the door of the classroom scraped open. Turning, she saw that Nina Meyer had arrived late. She looked pale and shaken. Muttering an apology to Professor Nott, she closed the door behind her. Rose looked back at her parchment. She didn't have the energy to worry about what was wrong with Meyer.
A moment later, however, she sensed movement beside her and saw, to her immense surprise, that Nina Meyer had set her books on the adjoining desk. Her eyes met those of the other girl's briefly, then skipped away again. What game was she playing?
Rose managed to write a few more sentences as the Slytherin girl beside her pulled out her own quill and parchment, placing them on the table. She scribbled something, and Rose wondered, vaguely, how Meyer could be writing when she hadn't even asked Nott what they were doing yet.
She blinked when Meyer shoved a piece of parchment right under her nose, and her writing hand ceased its movement as she read what it said. I'm sorry, the note read. A note. Nina Meyer had written her a note. How very… first year of her. And it was an apology, of all things.
Rose glanced up at Professor Nott, who was still staring at the vial as though it might change form underneath his gaze, then back at the note. She wasn't actually considering writing back, was she? It was such a juvenile thing to do… as well as that, Nina Meyer hadn't given her any reason to be nice.
Still, against her better judgement, Rose found herself delicately inking back a response. What about, exactly?
Nina Meyer did not take nearly the same amount of care in scrawling: About your relative. The one who died.
Rose actually snorted aloud when she read that. It was so delightfully blunt. Only a Slytherin… no, only Nina Meyer could have put it so baldly. Then, biting her lip, she remembered where she was and looked around. Malfoy and Sharpwood had cast her slightly irritated glances, and Nott was watching her with raised eyebrows from his desk. She made an apologetic face, then resumed writing her essay, suddenly fighting to repress a smile. That was – strange.
Meyer retrieved the note after Rose had been writing her essay for a few minutes and scribbled something else. With a little, impatient sigh, Rose pushed her essay aside again and read it. Also sorry for being a bitch.
This time, she had the self-control not to snort, but Rose did allow herself a little smile – just a little one. Glancing around at Nina, who simply shrugged at her, she shook her head and wrote: Who are you and what have you done with Nina Meyer?
It's been a strange day, Meyer wrote back. That's all I'll say.
Care to talk about it? Rose inscribed.
No.
Wonderful. Can I get back to work now?
Of course, Meyer scrawled back, then, a moment later: What are we meant to be doing?
The rumble of a few hundred pairs of feet echoed through the stone ceiling of the dungeons from above, and Torrance Bole cast a careless glance upwards. Most people were heading to the Great Hall for dinner now, he reflected. Most sane people. His own stomach was rumbling, but he ignored it, turning his attention back to his girlfriend, who was facing him, arms crossed.
"They haven't been responding to my messages or anything," she was saying, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know what they think they're playing at. After what happened on Friday, we have no reason to trust them anymore."
"Clearly, they want us to prove ourselves before they can let us in on all their secrets," Torrance said lazily, stretching back against the wall of the corridor.
"We've proved ourselves a hundred times over," Orchid said, her green eyes hardening. He loved it when she looked like that. Her hard eyes, the stubborn set of her mouth, her cheeks flushed with anger – suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be kissing her. Torrance moved towards her, a smirk turning the corners of his lips, but was stopped by a hand on his chest.
"Not now," she snapped. "We're waiting, remember? He said he'd be here."
Torrance put his hand over hers. "I don't see anyone," he said softly. Pointedly, he looked up and down the deserted corridor, then met his girlfriend's eyes again. "No. No one." He pulled her hand up to his mouth and began to kiss each of her slender fingers in turn, maintaining eye contact.
"Not now," Orchid repeated, but her voice did not sound quite so firm as before. She closed her eyes for a moment as he pressed his lips to the soft underside of her wrist, letting out a little sigh. When she opened them again, they were bright and hungry. With a cursory glance around the corridor to check that they were still alone, Orchid grabbed her boyfriend's collar and yanked him to her, covering his mouth with hers.
The kiss was fast and aggressive, their hands roaming over each other, impatient with the barrier between them provided by their robes. Torrance was pushed back against the wall of the corridor again, and he groaned as Orchid's lips left his to trail kisses along the length of his jaw.
"I think we've been waiting here long enough," he managed to get out when her lips reached the skin of his neck, her hands moving much lower down. "He's not going to show up." But Orchid shook her head.
"A few more minutes." She nipped the skin of his neck, then pushed herself up on tiptoes so that her eyes were level with his. Her voice, low and breathy, made him ache with a familiar hunger. "This is serious, you know, Torrance. We thought we were going to die in that carriage, remember? No one told us what it was all about – why werewolves attacked us. They can't put us in that position."
"There must be a reason. And they'll tell us soon enough." Torrance's arms closed around her, then he twisted so that she was pressed up against the wall instead, and smiled into her surprised green eyes. "My turn."
He ducked his head, kissing her collarbone, his fingers lightly tracing over the swell of her breast. Teasingly, he lifted his head again and met her lips with his, but only for a moment, before pulling away. She pushed herself closer to him with a little moan that sent another rush of desire coursing through him, his hips hard against hers.
"I hate it when you do that," Orchid whispered, then breathed in sharply as he stooped and pulled her robes up, his fingers closing on the bare skin of her thigh. "Not here."
Torrance raised his eyebrows. "Everyone's at dinner," he murmured. "We won't be disturbed, if that's what you're worried about." And then he kissed her roughly, his fingers moving provocatively inward on her thigh, for so long that when he broke away, her muddy green eyes were sure.
"You're mad," she hissed, but still, her arms looped tightly around his neck, nails digging hard into the skin of his shoulder as he hoisted her robes higher, his hands cool on her waist. "Make it quick, then."
The only sound in the empty corridor was their heavy breathing, which took on its own unique rhythm. Her legs wrapped around him, strong as steel, and the meeting they had been hoping to make was utterly forgotten as Torrance crushed his lips against Orchid's.
Tobias quickly turned back when he rounded the corner of a corridor in the dungeons and saw two figures closely entwined against the wall – Orchid Ottelby and Torrance Bole. He'd come from the Owlery, having skipped dinner, and he could not suppress the crushed dismay he had felt on seeing that there were no letters for him there.
I'll be in touch, his father had said the last time he had seen him, that day in Hogsmeade when Torrance had managed to sneak him into the village, to a pre-arranged meeting-place in one of the old cottages. Very soon, Tobias.
But he hadn't heard anything. Torrance might have made good on his promise that Tobias would see his father, but he hadn't given Tobias anything else to do for more than a month – not since that night that he had traced the symbol on the wall in invisible ink and Scorpius had almost caught him.
Scorpius suspected that he had been in touch with his father. Tobias had seen the fear in his cousin's eyes – and he had kept reminding him how dangerous his father was. It was a bit rich, considering Scorpius's own father was a former Death Eater. He has killed people. Well, so had his uncle Draco.
He wished Scorpius would butt out and stop interfering. After all, he had already ruined the thing with Santini. Tobias had nothing to do with himself now – unless Torrance decided to give him more work. But he seemed a bit… preoccupied at the moment.
Tobias's thoughts returned to his father as he made his way to the kitchens in the hopes of scraping some leftovers from dinner. Why hadn't he written? Was he in some kind of danger that necessitated lying low for a while? But he would have mentioned it when they met on Friday, or at least hinted at it. So what was it?
You know you can't rely on him, Tobias.
That was what Scorpius had said. The words, though cruel and hurtful, might be true. Tobias didn't want to believe it – that his own father was using him, in the same way that Santini had. That the only reason he had contacted Tobias all those months ago was to get his help.
Maybe it was. But even so, that meant that his father needed him. He needed his help, and Tobias would provide it. He would wait.
"I come in peace," James Potter said, holding his hands up as he entered the prefects' office. It constituted a wide room with plush armchairs and numerous desks. Rose often came here when she wanted to finish off some homework, on nights when the common room was too crowded or when the library closed early. Tonight, thankfully, it was empty of students, though her cousin Lucy had been here earlier, shuffling through papers.
Rose looked up from her Herbology assignment but did not move from her desk. "I find that hard to believe, considering everything you said to me yesterday."
"I meant it all," James said earnestly. His brown eyes were serious and concerned as he pulled a chair up beside hers. "Well... most of it. I haven't come here to apologise."
"Then I have nothing to say to you."
"I think you do." Her cousin spoke quietly. "I think you have a lot of things to say to me."
Rose returned to her parchment without a word. For a few minutes, there was no sound in the prefect's office except the scratching of her quill. She did not look around, hoping against hope that James would give up and leave.
But, of course, he did not. He sat in silence, and she couldn't revel in being alone. Eventually, when she turned over her scroll and began another, he relented and spoke.
"Right. So I'll tell you what I found out. A mass Obliviate charm was cast on us all when we returned from Hogsmeade last week, so that we remembered being attacked by werewolves. But a few students drank a Memory Potion made by Professor Nott that made them remember what actually happened in the carriages. In other words, there were no werewolves that night. The remembering potion only worked on Muggleborn students."
"What?" Rose gaped at her cousin. He gave a little smile.
"Well, that got your attention."
"Because none of what you just said makes any sense," she muttered.
"How often do I make sense?" James leaned back in his chair, still watching her. "But believe me, this time I'm serious. This is what I – well, Miller and I – found out while you were gone on Friday. So now I believe it's your turn."
Rose dug her nails into her palm. "This isn't a game," she said at last.
"I know that," he said quietly.
"No, you don't understand." She swallowed. "I can't just tell you what I found out because they'll know – and they'll hurt you. Or me, or Hugo, or Albus, or Lily, or my parents, or Uncle Harry…"
"OK," James said, holding up his hand. "I get the picture. Our family's in danger, I get it."
"It's worse than that." Rose shut her eyes for a moment, her hand tightening on the crumpled piece of parchment in the pocket of her robes. Then, with a sigh, she drew it out and practically threw it at James. "Read it."
He did. Malfoy was the only other person to whom she'd shown the piece of parchment, and he had simply made some dry comment. By contrast, James's reaction was dramatic. His eyes widened – he reread the piece of parchment again and again – he went pale – and then he stared at Rose, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long have you been carrying this around with you?"
"Since the wake. I got it at Andromeda's house." She glanced at him, then looked away again; the evident sorrow and pity in his features made her uncomfortable.
"That's why you couldn't say anything." James frowned, biting his lip. "You thought it would put us all in danger."
"I probably have already, by showing it to you." Rose shrugged, defeated. "But you weren't going to leave me alone."
"No." James sat still for a long moment, considering. At last, he said in a hushed voice, "Whoever these people are, Rosie, I know there are some of them in the castle. Nott might be one of them. But there's a Muffling charm over this room. They can't be everywhere at once."
She shook her head, but he pressed forward, taking her hand. "Rosie, unless they're eavesdropping on us right now, which I know isn't possible, they can't know that you've said anything yet. And as long as we're careful, it can stay that way."
Rose met his gaze, tightening her grip on his hand. "Do you really think so?"
James nodded, his brown eyes solemn. "You can't just bear this burden all by yourself. It's not fair on you. I can help you, Rose – I can help you find out who these people are and what they want, before they target our families again. You don't have to be alone in this."
She sighed, opening her mouth to speak, but he continued, "I know it's dangerous, Rose. People are dying. I understand that, and I promise I will not involve anyone else needlessly. Whatever you tell me, I will keep to myself."
"What about Cassie?" Rose pointed out. "You said she helped you find out what you did about the Potion. What about involving her?"
James's face changed, became more guarded. "That was an accident. She doesn't need to know any more than what we found out. I won't tell her."
Rose nodded slowly, tapping her fingers on the desk and thinking hard. The thought of sharing what she had found out was comforting yet terrifying at the same time. Even if it didn't place James in unnecessary danger, she didn't know if she was ready.
She was surprised when James resumed the conversation with: "You know, you never answered my question yesterday, about Scorpius Malfoy."
"What?"
"I saw you on the map together, coming back to the castle. Why did he come to Knockturn Alley with you?"
Rose paused. "He was looking for his father," she said uncomfortably. "We struck up a kind of deal, to go together. I wanted to get answers, and – I did, but…"
"But why Malfoy? Since when do you make deals with each other?"
"Well… Malfoy's not – he's not the worst." Rose's brow furrowed as she tried to explain it. "I mean, he's not exactly a nice person, but - "
"So? Does that mean you trust him?"
"Well…"
A look of alarm crossed James's face as she hesitated. "You have to realise how this looks, Rosie."
"I know," she said, rolling her eyes, "I just – wait... How does it look, exactly?"
Now it was James's turn to hesitate. His eyes darted left and right, around the deserted prefects' office, and he seemed reluctant to elaborate. At last, he said, his expression pained, "You and Malfoy…sneaking around the castle together in the dead of night, not telling anyone – you know…"
Rose cocked her head thoughtfully for a moment as she attempted to decipher his meaning, and then it dawned on her. She couldn't help it – she began to snort with laughter.
"Really, James?"
"It isn't funny, Rose," he said, scowling, but that only made her laugh all the harder.
The idea of her and Malfoy conducting an illicit romance was so ridiculous that it almost made her forget everything that had happened – the funeral, that terrible night in Knockturn Alley, the weeks and weeks she had spent puzzling over her mother's poisoning… Rose laughed and laughed, the sound filling the prefects' office, alien to her own ears while James watched, perplexed. It was a kind of blessed release.
At the same time, the longer Rose's laughter went on, the more she felt herself begin to spiral out of control, until something hysterical entered her giggles, tears streaming down her face. Then, suddenly, she was crying, her aching head between her knees as she bent double. She covered her wet face with her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. At the funeral, she hadn't been able to summon a single tear for Andromeda – so why now? Why here?
Her weeping intensified when she felt James's arms go around her. "I killed her," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I killed Andromeda. I killed her."
"Sssh. No, you didn't, Rosie. I know you didn't." He held her tightly until her sobbing quieted and she was able to regain enough control to pull away, wiping her eyes.
It was then that Rose told James. She started at the beginning, when Andromeda had given her Astoria Malfoy's name at St Mungo's hospital. How Torrance Bole and Orchid Ottelby had threatened her in Potions, how she had thought they were responsible for stealing the Polyjuice Potion and it had turned out to be Hugo. How her brother had met her and told her what he had seen in Knockturn Alley. How she had decided to go there with Malfoy to investigate.
When she told him what Andromeda had done, James sucked in a deep breath and drew back from her. He cast his eyes over the prefects' office around them – the plush armchairs, the carpeted floors, the bolted windows that now revealed only dark outside – looking anywhere but at her. But he did not protest, or accuse her of lying. He did not speak at all.
It became harder to go on. Rose's voice cracked when she tried to tell him about Blaise Zabini. She left out the details – how he had snapped Andromeda's neck – simply saying that he had killed her, but it was enough. James stood from his chair abruptly, striding around the office and running a hand through his hair.
"I stood there," Rose choked out, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat. "I stood there and watched. I could have stopped him, but I didn't."
James swung around to face her, his brown eyes blazing with anger. "This was not your fault, Rose. Don't let me hear you say it again. It was not your fault."
Filled with some relief at his words, Rose continued. She did not tell him what she had told Malfoy… what she had felt when she saw Andromeda's corpse laid out. He didn't need to know that.
When she had finished, there was a long silence. James had his back to her now, facing the wall. She suspected he might have been crying, for when he spoke, there was a funny catch to his voice.
"So it was Blaise Zabini who killed her."
"Yes." Rose stared down at the carpet as it blurred before her eyes.
"I'm assuming you've heard the rumours around the school?"
Her head snapped up. "No, I haven't."
James turned. Sure enough, his eyes had a suspicious sheen to them, but he did not seem to care anymore. "Blaise Zabini is Scorpius Malfoy's uncle."
Rose blinked. She had not thought it was possible to feel any more shocked than she had at Andromeda's revelation. As usual, she was wrong. Exhaling loudly, she shook her head as the room seemed to spin around her. "Well, that explains a lot."
(***)
All of the other witches in the dormitory were asleep, the sound of their snores filling the room. As she set down her wand, extinguished the light and climbed into bed, drawing the covers over her, Rose realised something.
She felt lighter than she had for a long time. The guilt she had felt at Andromeda's death was still there, of course – squeezing at her heart when she least expected it, sending a chill through her – but it had lessened, somewhat. Talking to James may have been the most dangerous thing she could have done, but it had taken a weight off her shoulders. You can't just bear this burden all by yourself, he had said, and he was right.
It gave her immense relief that someone else in her family knew about Astoria Malfoy's innocence now. James had found the truth hard to take, but he had believed her. The question was whether anyone else would.
The information that they had could vindicate Astoria Malfoy, have her released from Azkaban. That was no small thing. But they had no proof except their own word, and as well as that… neither Rose nor James knew what Astoria Malfoy's freedom would bring them if they revealed what they had learnt to anyone – even their parents. Whose life it would cost.
We'll figure something out, James had said wearily, and, bizarrely, Rose had actually believed him.
They would figure something out. In the meantime, she knew that Andromeda's death was something for which she would always carry partial responsibility, regardless of what anyone said. She had brought herself and Malfoy there that night, and she had cowered before Zabini instead of rushing to Andromeda's aid. Her cowardice could have cost her and Malfoy their lives, too, if Blaise Zabini had not allowed his nephew to escape.
But she would not make the same mistake again.
Rose smiled savagely in the dark. The next time she met Blaise Zabini, things would be very different indeed.
A/N: A rather Rose-heavy chapter, I know. It was needed though. We should see more of Scorpius in the next chapter, and a good bit of Draco as well. Please review!