Chapter 4: Second Year Salutations
Second Year Salutations:
Disclaimer: All OCs and canon plotlines belong to JKR; I just tinker-tanker.
The winter of Scorpius' second year at Hogwarts was perhaps the most miserable that the castle had seen in years. The northern winds blustering in from the Scottish moors could not be tamed by the fires and the lake was covered in such thick sheets of ice that even a pickaxe was unable to do any sufficient damage. It didn't help that the Slytherin common-room was located in the dungeons, the coldest area of the castle. As a result, the weather had caused the Slytherins to behave in a manner that was decidedly un-Slytherin. Scorpius had actually witnessed a throng of Slytherin fifth-year boys huddling cozily under the same blanket near the fire. Huddling. And all the more shocking, he had even seen a group of Slytherin girls beckoning Albus to share their spot near the fireplace, though Scorpius later convinced himself that the reason behind it was because Mrs. Potter had sent her son a self-heating winter cloak.
The vicious winter had also prompted the Quidditch season to shut down early, much to Scorpius' chagrin. He'd been looking forward to watching Slytherin pummel Ravenclaw to smithereens in the final. Despite being an avid fan of Slytherin, he hadn't made the team this year. During tryouts he had lost the Seeker position to a 5th year named Farris Cochrin.
Scorpius doubted he would have handled the rejection so maturely if Al had made the team. The Potter boy hadn't even shown up for tryouts, a fact which was a source of puzzlement amongst the Slytherins. There was no doubt that Al was talented at Quidditch, but when tryouts had come rolling around, the bugger had been content to sit amongst the Gryffindors to watch his idiot cousin Rose Weasley, who didn't make the team either.
This all boiled down to one very annoying fact:
Al. Content.
Scorpius felt that he had done a wonderful job of making the poor sod's life hell his first term at Hogwarts, but something had happened to Al over the year. Scorpius could not pinpoint when the change had occurred; maybe it was a result of a healthy summer holiday, or maybe it was when Al and Carpathia Nott started becoming friends. All Scorpius knew was that Albus Potter had returned for his second-year at Hogwarts with his spine a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter, his chin a little higher. He'd even lost a few freckles.
The 'change', which Scorpius felt to be significant enough to embellish with large quotation marks, prompted a new reaction from the Slytherins. It had started off gradually, but over time, they began warming up to him. Talking to him. Laughing with him. Inviting him for trips down to the lake. Al was making friends.
It was so problematic.
AAA.
"You wouldn't mind if I borrowed this issue, would you?"
"Yeah, go on."
"Thanks, mate. Have you seen the latest Nebulus?"
"Yeah. Amazing twig-span…"
Scorpius found himself walking into his dorm-room witnessing Lucas and Al hunched over Quidditch magazines on Al's bed. The two boys were chattering wildly about the latest model in broomstick manufacturing.
God, the atrocity. To Scorpius' fulfillment, Gareth remained on the other side of the dorm on his bed and was staring at the pair of them with a mingled expression of curiosity and disgust. Good old Gareth.
"Hope we're not intruding on your wedding plans," proclaimed Scorpius loudly.
Lucas and Al both jumped at the sound of his voice. Al's excited expression shut down as it always did around Scorpius' presence, signaling caution.
"Scorp!" greeted Lucas pleasantly, "Are you excited for the new Nebulus model coming out?"
"No need. I'm sure Potter has a prototype stacked up somewhere in his mansion," replied Scorpius sardonically.
Al cleared his throat and began stacking his magazines up on his nightstand. "Well, I'm off."
"Oi, hang on, I thought we were going to have a round of Exploding Snap!" protested Lucas, "You owe me three sickles."
"No worries." Al reached into pocket and handed him the coins.
"Oh. I really just wanted to play Exploding Snap, you know. Because it's fun," said Lucas awkwardly.
"Bloody hell, Lucas. If you were a girl, I'd say you were in love," called out Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.
Al's bottle-green eyes met his and Scorpius thought for once that he was about to defend himself.
Not today. Al shot Lucas an apologetic smile. "Sorry, mate. Some other time maybe. I told a few people I'd meet them downstairs for dinner."
"What, you mean my sister?" inquired Gareth tautly from across the room, looking as vexed as he always did whenever he entertained the thought of Al and Carpathia being friends.
Al knew to tread carefully when it came to these waters. "Thia's studying for her midterms in the library." With that, he gave three of them an awkward wave and then exited the room.
Gareth heaved a loud snort of contempt. "Did you hear what he called her? 'Thia'. Bloody prat's on nickname terms with my sister."
"Could be worse. At least he's not calling her 'Mrs. Potter'," offered Scorpius with a slight grin, knowing that the thought would incense Gareth even more.
"That's not funny," growled Gareth, "I hope he doesn't fancy her. I'd have to write to mum and dad."
"Only joking. Nothing personal, mate, but your sister's about as fanciable as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. She's frightened all the blokes in our year to death."
That wasn't the reason why Scorpius doubted Al liked Carpathia. Scorpius had once caught Al staring glassy-eyed at Isabel Marrieto, a first-year Ravenclaw, in Herbology. Al had been so occupied he had nearly ended up drowning his watercress plant, costing Slytherin ten points. The whole scene had been all too comical. Scorpius had a knack for predicting when situatons were about to turn rotten, and Isabel was much too pretty and clever to be interested in a bloke like Al.
"You lot should cool it with him," said Lucas with an edge to his voice, "He's been nothing but nice. And he's got wicked subscriptions."
"He gets them because his dad's famous," said Scorpius.
"Well, you'd never know it, the way he carries on," retorted Lucas, "He keeps his head down, unlike some blokes I know."
Every word was pricking at Scorpius' skin like an irritating tick. "I'll tell you something about Albus Potter. He's a coward and an imbecile. He's never done a damn worthy thing for his house. He's not good at any of his classes so he never earns us any points and he'd rather go make bread with pretty much everyone else besides the people that he eats and sleeps with. He's ashamed of us, of being here with us, when we ought to be ashamed of him."
"He's not ashamed of us."
"Don't be thick, Lucas. When was the last time he came to a Quidditch match wearing green and silver?"
"He doesn't wear Gryffindor colors."
"Of course not. Can you imagine maroon with that hair?"
The door to their dorm slammed open and Vera Zabini came rushing in, dressed clad in lavender. Her eyes, magnified three times by her red-tinted glasses, darted around the room.
"Have any of you seen Albus?"
"Have you seen the entrance to the girl's dormitory?" inquired Scorpius coolly.
"Don't be snarky. Where's Albus?"
"Not. Here," said Scorpius, spreading his arms widely for effect.
Vera's eyes darted around the threshold for confirmation. She emitted a loud 'hmph' of disappointment and then marched out of the room with her black ponytail bouncing behind her.
"I think we can agree she definitely fancies him then?" said Gareth with raised eyebrows.
Scorpius rolled his eyes, a growl resonating from his chest. He felt like punching his bedpost.
Albus bloody Potter.
AAA.
The winter began taking its toll on the castle. The Hospital Wing was constantly running high on students who had caught the flu and potion storerooms were running empty of figglenut leaves (remedies for runny noses). James Potter and Fred Weasley were making fortunes from selling Temperature Ties (an invention they'd stolen from Weasley Wizard Wheezes which allowed the user to either cool or warm themselves by twisting the tie a certain way) at double the price. The cold had gotten to an extent where Deputy Headmaster Longbottom had to issue a requirement that all students were to wear socks in the evening.
Fortunately for many of the students, professors had begun placing heating wards in their classrooms. Many of the students were glad for the wards, not only because they provided a wonderful source of heat but because they'd discovered that shooting sparks at the wards created mini fireworks. The only professor who was content on letting his students suffer through the cold was the Potions Master, which effectively made Potions the most dreaded class on the timetable.
Professor Astrakhan, said to have been a former mediwizard for the Soviet Union, was every student's nightmare. He was a crooked old man with slick gray hair combed back to his scalp and a gigantic hook of a nose. A pair of spindly lenses obscured the majority of his face, which was thankful, for the odd occasion that a student had gotten close enough to see past them often cited that looking into Astrakhan's eyes was like falling into a bottomless pit.
During one particular Potions class, Scorpius and the rest of the second-years huddled around the only source of heat of the room – a giant, demonstrative cauldron. Scorpius stared daggers into Astrakhan's back, wondering how on earth the bloody old codger could look so snug in his robes.
As soon as he'd finished the thought, Astrakhan whirled around to face his class with an uncharacteristic glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Good morning class," he grinned, showing his canines. His English was impeccable, but his accent contained something faintly Eastern European. "As I am sure you are all aware, your term exams are coming up shortly. While I am certain that many of you are anticipating the next week to be filled with shoving as many charms and spells you failed to pay attention to into your thick brains, I am pleased to say that I will not be giving a potions exam."
There were faint cheers of disbelief at his words.
Scorpius heard Gareth whisper: "Best news I've heard all week!"
"But not to worry," Astrakhan raised a crooked finger, silencing the class. "I never fail to find a suitable replacement. To be frank, I have never understood the purpose of writing essays or answering one-choice-fits-all questions when it comes to this subject. A true Potions Master does not simply brew potions—he knows where to find the ingredients. Ha! When I was a boy, the only way we learned to correctly brew Potions was bydrinking them!"
The entire class was silent. Waiting.
"In short, we will be having a practical assessment. The objective is quite simple: I have assigned a potion for you, and you will brew it in the coming class period. However, I have intentionally neglected providing the necessary ingredients—thatyou will have to find on your own. These ingredients can all be obtained on Hogwarts grounds so there is no need to purchase them from the Potions storeroom. That said, they are your responsibility and you will be marked based on how many you have. You have until the end of the week to collect the ingredients. On the day of the assessment, you will receive instructions on how to brew your potions and will have the entire class period to complete it. Questions?"
The air was immediately filled with groans and raised hands. "Are there bonus marks?" a dejected Hufflepuff asked.
"Bonus marks? This isn't bloody academic charity," Astrakhan barked. His face cleared as though he suddenly remembered something. "Ah, but before I forget… I presume that students always need a little more incentive. The student who receives top marks in this assessment will also receive a reward."
The entire class became still.
"I have spent quite a long amount of time brewing this little nick-nack of a potion. Given the rough weather recently, the winner should find this a delectable treat. I plan on awarding not one, not two, but three flasks of Gulliver's Spring."
Scorpius' ears pricked up in excitement. Gulliver's Spring, also known as Drinkable Light, could ease the cold from a person's limbs as though one were lying on a beach. It was also said to provide sensation of absolute peace and clarity, as if one's bones were filled with sunlight, and Merlin forbid Scorpius needed some of that. His mother Livia liked to frequent Gulliver's Spring every time she got a bit moody and had never once shared.
I've got this, he thought wryly, eyeing the others in the room. Like his performance in other subjects, Scorpius was quite proficient in Potions. In fact, he would have considered himself top of the class if he wasn't always competing with—
"So what is the assignment, sir?"
Scorpius grimaced.
Rose Weasley.
He turned to look at her and she met his eyes breifly with a slight crinkle of her nose.
Scorpius characterised his relationship with Rose Weasley as one constantly straddling the line between hatred and respect. It wasn't difficult to list the reasons why he couldn't stand her. For one, he hated the way she looked—the ostentatious red hair, the way her mouth seemed to be locked into a permanent grimace around him, the childish clothes that made him want to vomit (she was now wearing a maroon sweater with a banana-yellow W emblazoned on its front). He hated how she carried herself in a manner so dimwittedly Gryffindor, like she could recklessly plunge through her actions and back it up with some moralistic intent she'd conjured out of nowhere. Most of all he hated how she was always there, a constant adverse presence battling against him, and-just as potently-he craved it for the wonders her presence did to feed his ambition. With Rose around there was suddenly a reason to fly faster, work harder, spruce up the banter…and there was never a reward sweeter than beating her.
"Ever so patient, Weasley. I was just about to explain," said Astrakhan dryly. "If you all return to your desks, you will find the potion there."
Sure enough, there was a piece of folded parchment on Scorpius' desk. When he unfolded it, there was a twist of shock in his gut.
"Sir!" he called out, "This is way beyond second-year level!" His proclamation was echoed with cries of disbelief emanating from the students in the room.
"Your point, Mr. Malfoy?"
"We don't touch Memory Restoration potions until O.W.L's."
"A flaw in the curriculum. Second-years are perfectly capable. Next."
"Sir," jumped in Rose, looking as though she'd swallowed a toad. "I don't think it's very fair to ask so much of second-years. We've hardly-"
"Quiet," interrupted Astrakhan without even batting an eye. "I fail to see why the two of you are so worried. You are both among the top three of the class."
"Hardly, Professor," Scorpius drawled, "I can certainly handle amateurs."
Rose glared at him. "I beat you on the final term exam last year, don't forget."
Oh, did that fact sting.
"Competition forges the path to excellence," said Astrakhan, pleased. "Now all of you get out. You will need all the time you can get."
Rose shoved forcefully past Scorpius, taking great care to knock his shoulder so that she could whisper in his ear: "I've worked much too hard to come in second. You're overconfident. Don't say I didn't warn you."
A flash of adrenaline rushed through Scorpius' veins. He could already envision it; the thrill of winning the chase, and then the overwhelming satisfaction of tearing that smug look of Rose Weasley's face.
"Bring it bloody on," he whispered back. She threw him a last dirty look before disappearing out the door.
There was a cough to Scorpius' right, and when he turned, he saw Albus standing there with a faint smile.
"What are you smirking about, Potter? Shouldn't you be writing a letter to your mum explaining why you failed Potions?"
Al shrugged, brushing past Scorpius in a manner that was much too nonchalant for his liking. "Good luck on your assessment, Malfoy."
AAA.
The next two days passed as a frantic haze of dusty books and parchment as students rushed to cram knowledge in preparation for their term finals. Despite Scorpius' usual nonchalance to that sort of thing, he found himself queuing up in the library to rent out The Cavaliar's Guide to Potions, and now prioritized Astrakhan's assignment with religious fervor.
Rose had been right when she'd said that second-years were hardly equipped to handle Memory Restoration Potions. Scorpius had barely heard of half of the ingredients that were listed under Memory Restoration potions or how to use them, which gave him huge doubts that the entire year would do well. The easy thing to do would have been to purchase the unknown ingredients at the Potions storeroom, which eventually became the fate of many students who had given up acquiring the ingredients through 'natural' means on the school grounds but Scorpius was determined to rise to the challenge. It didn't have anything to do with the money of buying them (though Lucas had complained that the ingredients had been incredibly costly). It didn't even have anything to do with his conviction that he was too clever for school. Rather, it had to do with Rose Weasley, whom he'd heard eavesdrop the day after the assignment, boasting loudly to her mates:
"There's no need to worry; Astrakhan was quite right when he said they're all attainable on the grounds. You've just got to read your books properly and take a good look around. I've already got all my ingredients."
So Scorpius labored. He trekked down to the gamekeeper's hut and dug up pumpkin vines. He visited the kitchens and asked the House-elves for their fattest, juiciest beetroot. He conjured up a spell that created a makeshift web, trapping a horde of lacewing flies, which he then kept in a jar. One by one, he conquered each ingredient, until there was just one: Bowtruckle wood-lice.
Scorpius had a faint idea what Bowtruckles were but had no idea where they lived or how on earth a human was supposed to establish contact with them. He knew they were twig-like pixies that collected wood-lice and harbored them in their nests in preparation for the winter, but he also knew they were incredibly protective of their spoils. It frustrated him to no end. Finally, on the day right before Astrakhan's practical exam, he acknowledged his defeat. He treaded to the Potions storeroom and lined up behind his classmates, paying a Galleon for his wood-lice.
That afternoon, Scorpius heaped all his ingredients in a beloved pile and took them with him to the library. He was determined on doing some research on how to use them properly, with a dreamlike vision of Rose's horror as Astrakhan proclaimed him top of the class. As the sun slowly sank over the horizon and the lines grew wavy before his eyes, Scorpius heaved a huge yawn and decided that it was time he headed up to bed. He closed the hefty book of potions and got up from his seat to return it to its proper shelf.
Perhaps it was the exhaustion of studying potions, or perhaps he'd just gotten less paranoid over the years, but it was only when he'd returned to his seat that Scorpius realized he had made a huge mistake.
They were all gone. Bowtruckle wood-lice and everything.
Scorpius froze in rage and horror. Who on bloody earth would be so desperate? Wasn't Hogwarts supposed to preach student integrity? Scorpius let out a loud growl of rage and kicked the nearest book-shelf, which prompted a cough from the librarian.
"Quiet!"
Furious that all his hard-work had been undermined, Scorpius packed up his papers in a flurry. It was all the more frustrating that it was deserted so that he wasn't able to yell at anyone.
Then, he stopped, realizing that his eyes had registered something.
A flash of golden-red hair disappearing behind a stack of books. Rose Weasley.
Was it a coincidence? Would she have stooped so low just to make sure he failed Potions completely?
The answer crashed down with both rational and irrational clarity. Scorpius remembered that barely two months ago Rose had poured hot soup over his head in the Great Hall, nearly confining him to a week at the Hospital Wing because his nose had nearly melted off, in relatiation to him jinxing Al's clothes to take themselves off whenever he was in public. Rose did everything for Al, even if it meant losing a bit of her iron-clad 'goodness'.
Scorpius gnashed his teeth, his fists clenching. Oh, he'd show her. He'd show her good.
AAA.
He returned to the dormitory still in rage. The only person in the room was Al, sitting cross-legged over his covers and poring over the latest Quidditch issue.
At the sight of his familiar red hair (that ridiculous family gene), Scorpius stormed over and ripped away the issue from Al's fingers.
"What-" Al started, his mouth opening in shock and confusion.
"You," seethed Scorpius, his white blond hair falling out of its neat shape in tendrils around his face. "I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be moral and all that."
Al's confusion morphed into irritation. "Fully appreciating the random outburst. Can I have my Quidditch magazine back?"
"Don't piss me off, Potter, I mean it," snarled Scorpius, "I actually worked my arse off for this ridiculous Potions assessment and your bloody cousin goes ahead and nicks everything. That cow!"
"Don't call her that," said Al sharply. Then, after a long pause: "And Rose wouldn't."
"Right, I forgot. She's a Weasley. You're all bloody saints, aren't you? Too busy knitting socks for orphan children and saving kicked puppies from Death-Eaters. That's right. Weasley would never sabotage a fellow student to be top of the class. She's too clever and good."
Al exhaled and comically reached under his trunk to retrieve another Quidditch magazine. "You know she didn't do it, idiot. And anyway, there's a way to solve all this. Can't you just go buy a fresh set of ingredients by, I dunno, selling one of your shoelaces?"
"The Potions store-room is closed, you dimwit. Midterms start tomorrow and students aren't allowed to receive any extra help." Scorpius closed his eyes, the gravity of the situation falling on him. He was actually going to fail. He was going to have to repeat second-year bloody Potions. Bloody Astrakhan.
"Great. Am I supposed to care, Malfoy?" said Al, his voice dripping in disdain, and in that one phrase Scorpius was instantly replayed of all the tortorous morning wake-up calls and intentional hexes over the last year. He tried to drown out the sudden onslaught of guilt.
"I need those ingredients. I actually tried." It was excrutiating admitting this in front of Al but Scorpius was too exhausted to hide it. He flopped onto his bed, head burrowing into the deep recesses of his pillow, letting the dread seep in.
There was a silence and then Al coughed. Something about it seemd intentional and Scorpius raised his head to look at the boy. A strange expression had settled on Al's face, reminding Scorpius faintly of someone waiting for gas to pass.
"Bad digestion?"
"No, there's-" Al started, and then his mouth twisted into a grimace. "I can't believe I'm saying this."
"What? What is it?" Scorpius prodded. Why are you asking, a small voice in the back of his mind taunted, he's the class idiot.Scorpius shook his head slightly, clearing the thoughts away. "Spit it out, Potter."
Al gritted his teeth and clenched his hands. "Alright, fine. Merlin, can't believe I'm—for you of all people-" He got to his feet and knelt before his trunk, rummaging through his clothes and continuing to mutter to himself.
"What are you on about?"
Scorpius heard a dry click resonate from Al's trunk and the redheaded boy stiffened from the sound. It didn't sound like an ordinary lock, but something more. Something secretive.
With an air of resignation, Al turned around and exhaled. "You swear that you'll never tell anyone about this."
Scorpius frowned. Now, what an odd dilemma. Something potentially embarrassing about Potter, and not being able to speak about it? "Do you really trust me to do that?"
"I mean it, Malfoy. Or say goodbye to fine Italian footwear."
Scorpius blinked. "Fine, Potter. Mum's the word. What in Merlin's name do you have there? A weapon?"
Al murmured something under his breath, and the faint sigh of a spell being cast echoed quietly through the room. The boy turned around slowly and presented what he'd had clasped in his hands. At first, Scorpius was disappointed. It was a moldy, dry shit of a parchment, but then he registered the thin blue lines racing across the page and his eyes widened, watching the lines intersecting and conjoining with one another, until they became constructed illustrations of corridors and rooms and—
"How about a map?" said Al.
AAA.
"The Marauders' Map? It exists?"
"Keep your voice down," commanded Al quietly, consulting the parchment with trained eyes before he ducked around the nearest corridor.
"I thought it was just a side-story the tabloids picked up—to paint the all-good-and-mighty Chosen One into some sort of rebel."
"Well, it's very real and Dad wouldn't want it being common knowledge that an item like this is still around. He'd have all sorts of people crowding around his doorstep begging him to sell it to them."
"Fine, fine. I did promise not to tell, didn't I?" said Scorpius, slightly irate, "Are you as unreasonable as your pajamas?" He'd added the last jab because he felt it was deserved. They were some long, furry maroon thing that hung off the boy's skinny limbs, trailing along the stone floors. Thankfully, most of it was concealed by the oversized jacket Al had put on. Did the boy own anything that actually fit his size?
"And another thing," said Al. He halted and whirled around abruptly, staring Scorpius down with stern, bottle-green eyes. "Just because we'll be able to know when someone's heading this way doesn't mean we don't have to be careful. It's not like we've got an invisibility cloak so it'll certainly be a problem for us if we draw attention. Ergo, shut up."
Scorpius saluted in reply. "Where to then?"
AAA.
The secret passageway was hidden behind a tapestry somewhere near Ravenclaw tower. Scorpius, having passed by this tapestry on countless occasions without a second glance, was certain his jaw had fallen to the floor the minute Al ducked underneath to reveal a small hole, lined with cobwebs, and a series of steps leading downward into darkness.
"Lumos," muttered Al before stepping into the hole. He turned back to Scorpius expectantly. "Are you coming or what?"
Scorpius, realising he had begun to drool, promptly shut his mouth and scrambled after him.
They shuffled along the tight corridor, which sometimes drew so impossibly narrow that the walls would press against both sides of their shoulders. In the darkness, which was only illuminated by the tip of Al's wand, Scorpius could see countless cobwebs strewn across the low ceiling and a dim, blue light etching in through the cracks.
After what seemed like eternity, the walls lengthened and drew apart, relieving the boys of their claustrophobia. They wounded the corner and, suddenly, snow began to fall softly around Scorpius and he realised that they were on the grounds. The freezing night air immediately began to permeate through his sweater.
"Right," said Al, his teeth chattering, "What's the first thing on the list?"
One-by-one, as meticulously as Scorpius had done it the first time, the two boys passed by all the stops to collect each ingredient. They raided the gamekeeper's pumpkin patch, broke the lock on Greenhouse 3 for roots and leaves. The icy temperatures forced them to work fast and efficiently, and between intervals, the cold would be so unbearable they would have to warm themselves up by taking respite back in the castle's passageway. It was a rather surreal experience for Scorpius, who had to convince himself multiple times during the night that this was reality, that he really was sneaking off on school grounds and doing something remarkably rebellious with a boy he never would have considered rebellious at all.
The hour passed with minimal chatting, as both of them had it in their heads that the sooner they could get this finished, the faster they'd be back in their snug, coal-heated beds. It was only after they had managed to locate a nest of lace-wing flies and had trapped the winged buggers that the reality of what they were doing descended upon them. The two boys looked at each other with the same thought in their heads.
"I can't believe we did all that in just under an hour," said Al, capping the jar of flies with a satisfied clunk, "We were lucky with this lot. They don't normally nest openly in such cold weather."
Scorpius raised his eyebrow at this unexpcected tidbit of knowledge. "We've still got one more." He angled the list of ingredients towards Al and pointed. "Bowtruckle wood-lice. Wouldn't for the life of me know where to find a Bowtruckle."
"Oh. Hm," Al scratched his head. "Funny. And you were always the know-it-all git."
A grin tugged at Scorpius' mouth. "Thanks."
"Why do you care so much about this assignment, anyway?"
"So I can beat Weasley."
Al snorted. "That's really stupid."
"No it's not."
"You shouldn't do anything because of someone else's opinion."
"It's not her opinion, Potter. I couldn't care less. I just need everyone to know that I belong here." The words left Scorpius' mouth before he even had a chance to think and he frowned, pondering over what he had just said.
Al was silent. His eyes studied Scorpius' defiant expression for a few moments and then he cracked a smile. "What if she's not the one for you to beat?"
Scorpius let out a pfft of air. "Does it matter? In my head, she is."
Al shook the dark red strands out of his eyes, still smiling. "You're mad." He reached into his pocket and drew out a watch, glancing briefly at its surface. "Well it's half-past one, and I reckon I know where we might be able to find a Bowtruckle nest."
Scorpius eyed Al up and down in disbelief. "Are you some sort of ninja wildlife whisperer?"
Al shrugged. "No, but I've got a friend who basically is."
"Right…so where is this nest?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Where?"
"In there." Al exhaled unhappily and gestured with his chin towards the dark winding path leading straight into the Forbidden Forest. As Scorpius' eyes focused into the darkness, the naked black trees and their spindly branches seemed to rise up, standing out starkly against the silvery night sky. It was a haunting picture.
Scorpius shook his head, ignoring the prickle of unease that came with the raised hairs on his neck. "We'd better get on with it then. I'm freezing." He took his wand out of his pocket for good measure.
Al simply exhaled again and pushed past him, holding the map up for guidance. The darkness of the forest immediately enveloped them in its embrace. Scorpius found himself slipping on the black icy path and had to right himself quickly so that the Potter boy wouldn't notice. Al, on the other hand, navigated the road with ease, barely stopping to look away from the Marauder's Map. It was as if he had trekked down the path many times before.
A howl sounded out in the distance.
Scorpius' blood ran cold and he inadvertently put a hand on Al's arm. The two boys tensed, feet in mid-step.
"Probably just a regular wolf," said Al casually, his voice slightly airy. "Werewolves are practically extinct or in treatment."
"Never said I was alarmed in the slightest," said Scorpius, attempting to sound equally nonchalant. They resumed walking. "Did you know they used to hand out detentions in the forest?"
"Might have heard about it, yeah."
"My father got in trouble once for sneaking out of bed and they punished him by sending him out here in the middle of the night with some sorry bloke. He said it was one of the scariest nights of his life."
"My dad had detention out here too. But he's never really talked about it."
Silence.
"S'not that freaky though, is it?"
"We're here," said Al suddenly. The ice under their boots cracked as they grinded to a stop.
They stood before a grove of tall oak trees, so impressive in height that even when Scorpius squinted he could not see the tips of their branches.
Al walked up to a particularly gnarled oak and pressed his ear up against the wood. "Yup, they're still in there."
He tapped the wood gently with his knuckle, his ear still pressed against its surface. After several long moments of nothingness, in which Scorpius struggled not to burst into a fit of sniggers, there was an ominous creak of wood that seemed to resonate from—inside—the tree, and then a sizable, fast-moving object whizzed out of nowhere, accompanied by a sharp cry of glee, nearly colliding into Scorpius' head.
He gasped and ducked away, trying to stay on his feet. A creature was now perched on one of the trees branches, overlooking the two boys with its beady, black eyes. It was an elfish looking thing, its bones and sinews so finely crafted out of wood that it was as if a simple bat of the hand could shatter it into a million tiny twigs. It held up one spindly hand and Scorpius realised the bowtruckle's fingertips were lined with thorns. Delicate indeed.
Al bowed deeply and motioned with one hand for the Bowtruckle's attention. The Bowtruckle's eyes snapped towards Al, registering his presence for a few seconds, and then it leaped off its perch, fluttering down next to Al's ear on thin, silvery wings. The redheaded boy whispered something unintelligible for several long moments, and Scorpius watched them from several meters away, unaware that his mouth was hanging open. The Bowtruckle abruptly flashed the two of them pointy looks and then fluttered back to its hiding-spot within the giant oak.
Scorpius cleared his throat. "Well, nice try, Potter. Good-"
"Shh," interrupted Al, shooting him a warning look. And then the Bowtruckle was back, bearing what seemed like a dozen, golden pieces of caramelized wood. Al raised his hand again, this time holding what looked like a single Knut coin in between his fingers. The bowtruckle regarded it for several long moments then cackled gleefully and snatched the offering into its long, spindly fingers. The creature then fluttered over to Scorpius, eyeing him with beady eyes, and then dumped the pile of wood-lice into his palm. Scorpius flinched slightly as its thorny fingertips grazed his own skin. With a small whistle, the Bowtruckle darted back into its hiding-hole once more.
Scorpius let out the breath that he was holding.
"Carpathia says they love anything made out of copper," said Al, wearing a smile of content. "They like to rub themselves against it. Gives them some sort of high. Weird, eh?"
"Right," replied Scorpius, nodding slowly even though he was still feeling rather disoriented. "Carpathia. Should have known." He pocketed the handful of wood-lice and relief descended upon him. Only six hours left until his exam and they had, by all miraculous accouts, made it.
Suddenly, there was a rumble beneath them and the sound of thudding growing consistently louder. Under the faint moonlight, Scorpius could make out a large, bulky silhouette rushing towards them between the thicket of trees, veering like a bullet towards Al.
"Potter, watch out!" he yelled, throwing himself at the boy and shoving Al to the ground. Without thinking, he whipped his wand out in the direction of the noise and shouted: "Protego!"
The spell, which was meant to have cast out a scarlet jet of light, instead exploded into a haze of red shimmers, rebounding harmlessly off the surrounding trees.
There was a roar and the thudding promptly stopped. Blinking away the light, Scorpius realized that he was staring up into the massive black form of a four-legged horse topped with the long, slender torso of a man. The figure was so large that it blocked the moonlight entirely above them, obscuring its face.
"Do you dare to use magic in our sacred burial ground?" The voice emanating from the blackened figure echoed ominously, tinged with an ancient and lethal power that prompted Scorpius to shiver. "If you were not wizard fawnlings, my kind would descend upon you with the vengeance of our forefathers and all of our fallen kin."
Scorpius turned to Al, who was lying shell-shocked in a mountain of snow, and then back at the centaur. "Bowtruckles! We were looking at Bowtruckles," he said, rather weakly, "It's for a class assignment."
The centaurs legs trodded several times against the earth restlessly. "This is an unholy place. Many of us died in this glade fighting the Dark Wizard. It was here where…" The centaur's obscured face shifted slightly and Scorpius had a feeling it was looking at Al. "Where the eleventh hour struck and the Chosen One fell."
Al continued to stare at the centaur with his mouth agape, clearly clueless.
Scorpius held up his hands. "Sorry. Really had no idea. Must have been a reason this wasn't in the student handbook."
The centaur began to lope towards them, its towering form casting a long shadow across the white snow. Scorpius, terrified, willed himself not to make any sudden movements or give any indication that he was reaching for his wand. All this for a bloody potion.
"It has been years since the two of you ventured into this forest. A great evil was present then," said the centaur, and for the first time, Scorpius was able to make out its gleaming eyes and hollowed face in the moonlight. "And now you are both here again in a time of peace." The centaur leaned forward and its teeth flashed white in the darkness. "But the stars speak of another peril, one of words, not wands. In time it will be made known to you."
Without another word, the centaur turned and the sound of its hooves thudding against the earth rose up again and faded into the night, until all that remained were its tracks on the snow. Scorpius' legs had turned to jelly.
"He said 'the two of you,'" said Al hoarsely from the ground. "Like he knew us. You don't think he was talking about…"
"I think our hooved friend has had too many kicks to the head," interrupted Scorpius, making a twirly motion with his fingers. "Merlin. What a night." The cold and the fright was beginning to hit him now; his body quivered violently. "Get off your arse, Potter."
The two boys trekked back to the castle soundlessly, keeping a good look-out for any professors. The warmth of the corridors had melted the chills off their bones, but it was only after they had reached the Slytherin common-room and the familiar green walls closed in on them that Scorpius allowed himself to experience any sense of fatigue.
"Mischief managed," muttered Al as the common-room door closed behind him, and the Marauder's Map folded itself back neatly up, indicating the close of nighttime adventures.
Scorpius yawned widely and stretched out his arms, the comfort of his own bedroom stripping away all his heightened emotions from before. "We better get some sleep, Potter."
"Yeah," murmured Al, already down to his pajamas and looking as though he was going to collapse on the spot.
"And Potter?"
"Hmm?"
Scorpius' mouth curled into a wry smile. "I guess you're not such an idiot after all."
Al scoffed, but even that was half-hearted in the midst of his exhaustion. He settled for waving an arm dismissively at him, accepting Scorpius' version of a thank you, and then disappeared behind his four-poster bed curtains, no doubt already on his way to unconsciousness.
Scorpius stared at Al's bed for several moments, reflecting on the night's events with a small grin. Albus bloody Potter, indeed.
AAA.
On the day of the Potions practical assessment, Scorpius found himself strangely revitalized despite the grey circles under his eyes. The events of last night felt like a distant dream, as if the harsh glare of the winter morning light had evaporated all traces of him and Al's late-night excursion. The two boys barely exchanged words, save for a quick murmur of apology from Al when he bumped into Scorpius on the way to the bathroom.
"Potter looks tired," commented Gareth as he slipped on his school robes.
"Poor sod probably stayed up all night studying," replied Scorpius and just like that, all seemed to revert back to normal.
He wasn't the only one. Scorpius noted the haggard faces of his classmates as they filed into Astrakhan's classroom with him. Good grief, had second-years ever worked so hard? The only face that stood out from the crowd was Rose Weasley's, fresh and wide-awake, her hair pulled back into a crisp bun. Scorpius' mouth tightened as a hot flash of fury reminded him of the incident at the library yesterday.
Ironically (though Scorpius suspected that Astrakhan had intentionally placed it that way), he found his name tag on the seat next to hers. Good, he thought as he settled into his place. She acknowledged his presence with a small exhale of exasperation.
"Good morning class," grinned Astrakhan, waving a hand over the class to silence the last-minute revision chatter. "You will find the instructions written on the board." He waved his wand and instantly white lines of impeccable cursive etched themselves onto the blackboard.
The class groaned. It looked disastrously complicated.
"Now, take out your ingredients."
There was a clumsy clattering of jars and bowls as students placed their collections on the desk. Astrakhan slowly went around the room counting the number of ingredients all the students had managed to acquire, making a small note on his clipboard as he did so. Most students had undoubtedly purchased most of their ingredients at the Potions store-rooms, as evident by the insignia of the Hogwarts crest on their jars.
"I see many of you are now walking around with lighter pockets," smirked Astrakhan. Amanda Longbottom flushed as the Potions Master tutted after noting the fact that her desk only contained four of the ten ingredients required. "And some of you are going to have to ask mummy and daddy to Owl more pocket-money."
Rose chuckled quietly to herself. Scorpius eyed the complete set of ingredients on her desk and scowled.
When Astrakhan had returned to his place at the front of the room, he placed the three, golden-green flasks of Gulliver's Spring on his desk as a reminder to the entire room as to what their incentive was. Then, he turned to the class and pointed towards the clock. "You have an hour." He waved a hand, and then: "Begin."
Cauldrons materialized in front of them and immediately the room fell into a hushed rigor of slicing, mixing and liquids sloshing back and forth. Scorpius raced through the first three lines of instruction with ease. Chop pumpkin vine into quarters. Pluck wings off flies. Measure three teaspoons of essence of moonroot. Gradually, his shoulders relaxed. It's not so bad, he thought, despite the nagging awareness at the back of his mind that Rose was consistently ahead of him.
Spoonful of lacewing flies. Sir counter-clockwise. Boil wood-lice to a simmer. Chop beetroots. Strip away the pumpkin vine. Add in lacewing flies. Stir.
As the clock ticked past the three-quarter mark of an hour, the nagging steadily grew more persistent when Scorpius glanced over at the desk adjacent to his and realized that Weasley was still pulling ahead.
The girl was mumbling to herself as she worked, her red hair spilling out of its bun in agitation. How on earth was she doing this?
"Eyes off, Malfoy," she snapped, keeping her voice low. She hadn't even bothered to look up from her station.
Scorpius gritted his teeth. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Really? It looked like you were sneaking a peek there. Should have known you'd resort to cheating." The words were muttered under her breath so that Astrakhan, who was pacing between the desks, would not be able to catch.
Scorpius' hand tightened around his carving knife, picked up a beetroot, and replied in equally low tones: "You weren't exactly preaching a moral code when you nicked my ingredients the other day. Nearly got myself trampled to death by a centaur last night trying to get them all back. Is that what you wanted?"
"I—what?"
"Get off your horse, Weasley. You know exactly what I'm talking about," hissed Scorpius. He slammed the beetroot on his table and began hacking at it viciously, imagining it to be that ruddy, freckled face.
"No I don't. I would never-" spluttered Rose, finally turning back to face him with an indignant expression.
Don't look, Scorpius, he thought, keeping his eyes fixed on the potion. He stirred. Added in the beetroot. Squeezed juice. Stir again.
"I can't believe you'd think I'd stoop so low."
How many stirs was it again? Nevermind that. Add beetroot. Squeeze juice. Counter-clockwise.
"Just because it's something scum like you would do-"
That did it. Scorpius whirled to face her and his elbow caught the glass vial of lace-wing flies on her table. There was a splinter of glass as the jar hit the floor, exploding shards everywhere.
Rose stared at the broken vial in horror and cried out: "You did that on purpose!"
She knelt on the ground, touching the scattered lace-flies with shaking hands.
Scorpius stood over her, his gaze cold. "Sorry." No, I'm not.
"Nevermind that, Weasley," snapped Astrakhan, striding over and observing the spectacle. He sighed exasperatedly and glanced at the clock. "Accidents happen in the potions room. It was foolish to place your vials so close to the edge of the table. Now chop chop, you've got five minutes left."
As the assessment came to a close, Scorpius found himself unable to concentrate. He supposed he should have experienced some guilt but all he felt was a knot of cold hatred in his heart. He glanced up once to see Al's eyes zapped onto his, intensely disapproving. It only made Scorpius all the more frustrated and he turned back to his cauldron, strands of his hair falling in his face in the midst of all the steam rising from his potion. They're all the same, really. All part of the same bloody family.When Astrakhan called time, Scorpius was relieved that his potion looked the way it was supposed to. It was the right color, at least, and only smoking lightly.
He sat back on his chair, cheeks flushed, and wiped the sweat from his brow. All around him students were chattering in excitement and nervous anticipation.
Scorpius didn't want to look over at Rose Weasley but he could feel her body shaking from outrage. Good riddance.
Astrakhan made his rounds in the classroom, stopping by each students' desk and dropping in his criticism now and then. He scribbled notes down on his clipboard as he did so. Scorpius barely heard any of it.
Finally, the Potions Master had arrived at his and Rose's station. Scorpius dared to sneak a peek at Rose's face. It was contorted in a tight grimace, like she was trying not to burst into tears. A light flush had crept across her cheeks.
"Finally – our favorite quarrelsome couple. Both of your Memory Restoration potions are adequate," commented Astrakhan, sniffing the cauldrons alternatively, "Of course, you both failed to complete one task amongst the instructions I provided. For you, Mrs. Weasley, it was the lacewing flies. As you can see, without that particular ingredient, your potion lacks that faintly olive hue of one that is perfectly brewed." Rose's flushed face turned all the more redder. Astrakhan continued: "Mr. Malfoy, I am surprised by your carelessness. Your potion would have been flawless had it not been for the fact that you forgot to stir clockwise after adding beetroot juice. A minor detail but a pity, as this now makes the potion less than half effective than it could have been. Hardly anything I'd send over to St. Mungo's."
Scorpius felt his heart drop to his stomach. Idiot! He cursed himself, both shamed and outraged at how easily distracted he had been.
"So who gets the reward, sir?" blurted out Scorpius, unable to hold back any longer. "Was Weasley or I better?"
Astrakhan snorted and exhaled impatiently. "Pity's sake, Malfoy, does it really matter all that much? Neither of you two will receive the reward. As for the top student of the class, I am afraid he has remained undefeated since last year's final exams. Mr. Potter, if you would please collect your reward."
Scorpius thought that he had heard incorrectly. "Potter?"
Al walked tentatively up to where Astrakhan was standing, collecting the three silver flasks of Gulliver's Spring in his arms. Unbelievably, the Potions Master flashed him a look that was almost akin to a smile. The entire class murmured words of respect. Some of the Slytherins, including Lucas, were looking at Al with faint smiles on their faces. Vera leaned over to shake Al's hand, her eyes glazed over in admiration. Al himself was the picture of humility; his face seemed to close in on itself in embarassment. Only when he passed by Scorpius' desk did he show any sign of registering his victory; his face lit up with what was the faintest of triumphant smiles and it was at that moment that Scorpius remembered the boy's words from the night before:
What if she's not the one for you to beat?
Bloody hell, Scorpius thought, watching the boy pass by his peers and out the door as if there were a carpet laid out for him. He vaguely realized that his mouth was still hanging open. He's fooled us all.
AAA.
As the Winter holidays begun, the student population in the castle gradually thinned out as more and more returned home for the holidays. For his second year in a row, Scorpius opted to stay at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the only other Slytherin boy to also do so in their year was Albus. This resulted in a rather odd situation.
In the privacy of their own room, Scorpius found himself reluctant to exercise any sort of torment on Albus. He realized that his antics had seemed all the more satisfying when there had been an audience around to witness it, but more importantly, the entire Potions incident had caused Scorpius to feel a grudging sense of respect for Al. This began a manner of coexisting that required them to interact with each other as minimally as possible. Al and Scorpius would roll out of bed in the morning, grunt their morning greetings in passing before leaving the dorms, and then return at nightfall just to acknowledge one another with brief nods before falling asleep. They never spoke of their late-night adventure or the Marauder's Map. All in all, quite a functional system.
On Christmas morning, Scorpius woke to find his windowsill empty. He sat in bed for several long moments, his eyes fixed on the spot where his mother's owl should have been perched with a gift tied to its leg. Then, without so much of a sign except a blink or two, Scorpius headed to the common room.
All around him were signs of Christmas. The tree in the center of the room complemented the emerald walls perfectly. Laughter and sounds of teeth munching on snacks echoed throughout the threshold. Wrappings and broken plastic boxes lay scattered across carpet. From the floor Scorpius fished out a strip of silver wrapping paper and watched his own contemplative expression, flickering against the firelight, as thoughts of home flashed through his mind.
He heard a thump to his right as a body settled into the armchair beside him. He didn't even need to turn to register the glare of red hair.
"Alright, Potter?"
"Hullo," replied Al, his mouth full of food. "Would you like a candy-cane?"
Scorpius opened his mouth to retort but then he turned and immediately snorted. Al looked completely ridiculous. He was wearing an oversized maroon sweater that was identical to Rose's—with a huge yellow W plastered on its front—and dangling around his neck were an assortment of presents, from omnoculars to a giant gold locket shaped like a heart. He held out an array of candycanes, displayed in every color imaginable, with an expectant look.
"Look what the holiday season threw up," said Scorpius sardonically.
"I have a lot of cousins," muttered Al abashedly.
"Obviously. What a dashing gold locket. You'll be the talk of the town I'm sure."
"That was my sister."
"And that hideous sweater?"
"Mum."
"Ah." Scorpius felt a hot prick of jealousy. "You could have at least had it made in green. The maroon is terrible."
"It is," admitted Al dejectedly. "Do you want it?"
Scorpius found himself laughing unexpectedly. "Bloody hell no." He cocked his head and eyed the presents in Al's arms. "But if you're in the giving mood, that looks wicked." He pointed at what looked like a collection of tiny glass domes that Al was holding in his other hand.
"Absolutely not," replied Al firmly and his grip tightened.
"What are they?"
"Kindlechime eggs." At Scorpius' quizzical look, Al added with a pleased smile: "When they hatch, they're songbirds made out of glass. You feed them some glass shards from time to time, and they're meant to live about a month or two before they shatter. Thia gave them to me."
"Cool," said Scorpius quite sincerely. Bowtruckles, and now kindlechime eggs. What's next? Dragons? "Trust Carpathia to find something completely out of the ordinary."
"Where are your presents?"
Scorpius spread his arms around him and replied with a twisted smile: "I don't need any, obviously. I was blessed with the gifts of good looks, charm, and intelligence, and my mother thinks that's enough."
Thank goodness Al had the decency not to look sympathetic. If Scorpius had detected even a smidgen of pity, he was sure that he would have punched Potter in the face. Instead, Al shrugged once in that ambiguous way of his and continued snapping off a piece of his candycane.
"Thanks, by the way."
"For what?"
"For not telling anyone about the map."
"Oh. Right."
"And if—you know—" Al continued with a stutter, turning slightly pink, "If you ever need to use it, you can just-"
"I got it," interrupted Scorpius. He felt slightly embarrassed over the fact that Al's words had lightened the dark mood in his heart just a little.He's too kind for his own good, the unbidden thought rose in his mind. A gift was still a gift, regardless of how strange and trivial it was, and it was the only gift he'd received this lonely Christmas.
"Thank you, as well. For everything." The words were clumsy and foreign to his ears as he uttered them. He wasn't one to be sentimental.
"It's alright."
"This has been a strange winter, hasn't it?" quipped Scorpius, a weak attempt to inject some humor.
"I think we're better off being enemies again when term starts," commented Al with a slight chuckle. "Friendly doesn't quite suit us."
"Agreed."
"But since it's still winter, and we're the only two Slytherin boys left in our year, I thought maybe…" Al hesitated, and then drew out his next words slowly: "…maybe you'd want to share a flask of this." Al drew out one of the silver vials of Gulliver's Spring that he had won from Astrakhan's potions assessment. The shimmering liquid swirled and danced in the vial like a pale, translucent serpent.
Scorpius glanced sideways at Al with a frown. "You're not going charitable on me, are you? Because if you are, I'd be happy to hex you just to remind you where we still stand."
Scorpius' acidic comment seemed to straighten Al up. The boy snorted and rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Malfoy. Just think of it as a nice gesture for a fellow classmate in the spirit of the holidays."
"I seem to be getting that a lot from you lately."
Nevertheless, Scorpius waved his wand and summoned over two goblets. Al poured the potion into the goblets in measured, even doses. Like a proper potioneer, thought Scorpius dryly. The two boys raised their goblets, and above the sparkling liquid, their eyes met. Green and pale-blue.
"Merry Christmas, Potter."
"Merry Christmas, Malfoy."
&&& Fin
I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update! I've been having a really rough year, and I finally had some space to breathe after getting into Uni (which you can probably tell, judging by the heavy focus onschoolin this chapter).
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and people who have followed the story (despite my long hiatus, I hope it doesn't recur again). For those of you wondering why I had Al written as a redhead and not dark-haired as it is the book, it was mainly to emphasize how ordinary he felt being a member of the many, many redheads in the Weasley family (unlike James, who constantly stands out as the only dark-haired boy, which also reflects his personality as always having to be in the spotlight). Also, the whole idea of Malfoys feeling contempt for redheads kind of made the Scorpius-Al enmity thing stronger, although I may have just forgotten in the first place. There may be more inconsistencies in the details between the story and the book, so you all will have to bear with me. I particularly wanted to bring the Marauder's Map back into the Potter Universe, because I've always loved having it around and it becomes relevant in the story later on.
Anyway, chapter 5 will be up soon depicting the boys' third-year at Hogwarts! I'm skipping ahead the early-years so that all that delicious, adolescent drama can really drive the story on.
Thanks again, everybody!
Love,
Missuswitch