Thicker Than Blood

by MissusWitch

Prejudice runs rampant even in a world without Lord Voldemort, but when a Potter boy is sorted into the House of Slytherin, the next generation is set to change forever. This is the story of Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, and how their friendship guided each other in times of love and strife. AL/OC, SM/RW

15. Changes, For Better or Worse

Chapter 15: Change, For Better or Worse

And I'm back. To loyal fans, expect about a two-week update between each chapter. Sorry, that's the best I can do, especially with uni projects piling on.

This is a bit of a filler chapter, though quite an important one since it introduces new characters and plotlines—kind of like the premiere of season 3 of Game of Thrones. Not that I'm saying this fic compares at all to GOT, because GOT is f****** brilliant and incomparably awesome (I may have a problem).

Also, a few of you have been PM-ing me about why this fic doesn't have higher stats. I really don't have the answer to that, but I'm hoping it will!

Generally, I've noticed Next Gen fics aren't as well-received on as some others, but here's to change.

(hint: more reviews, please).

Anyway, to recap:

Scorpius caught his mum cheating on his dad and decided to leave home for a couple days in an angsty fashion. Al wants to know if Isabel would like to have sex with him, but being the awfully naïve boy that he is, doesn't know how to go about it. Rose has real issues on how to deal with feelings. Carpathia hasn't been heard for awhile now, but she and Al are really buddying it up.

Also, Louis Weasley has left Beauxbatons for some mysterious reason and is now attending Hogwarts.

AAA.

Disclaimer: All next gen characters (except for my OC's) belong to JKR; I just tinker-tanker.

At this point, returning to Hogwarts for the sixth time was no longer anything special. There was a term for this; the seventh years during Head Girl Victoire's regime had dubbed such a mentality as the 'Sixth-Year Slump'. A depressing coinage, because it basically meant that sixth year contained all the rigorous workload of an N.E.W.T student with none of the previleges of being an upperclassmen since they were one step down from being top of the pyramid.

As per tradition, the sixth years arrived at Hogwarts with a weary "lets get it over with" attitude. The first few weeks of school passed by in a blur of settling into new classrooms and new responsibilities, the most predominant of which was attempting to absorb the new N.E.W.T syllabuses. It was all very proper and dull.

But change was afoot.

The student body received a pleasant surprise when it was announced that Charlie Weasley would be taking Professor Fenwig's spot in Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Fenwig had apparently decided last-minute to go on sabbatical in efforts to examine a rare fire-sprouting plant growing in the Amazonias. This caused a titter amongst the female population, for Charlie had aged quite nicely over the years and now resembled a slightly older version of famed Dragon-Wrestler, Xavier Ponte (Many were now quite disappointed for having dropped Care of Magical Creatures as a subject).

All the more surprising (and pleasant) was the appearance of Louis Weasley. And if the arrival of Charlie had caused titters, then the arrival of Louis had comparatively created a storm.

AAA.

Louis was handsome. Extraordinarily so.

He had the look of a hero that had materialized out of a romance novel, all wiry build and golden-haired and eyes the color of sea glass. Such colorful accolades were among the numerous descriptions that had radiated across the far ends of Hogwarts since his arrival. Few remembered his sister Victoire at this point, but those who did stipulated that the resemblance was undeniable. For Rose, this was a rather peculiar observation because for years she'd thought Louis had looked nothing like his sisters. While Victoire and Dominique had been all sleek-haired and pale-skinned, Louis possessed a lush healthy tone to his complexion (no doubt facilitated by the hours he had spent lounging under the French sun instead of studying) and his golden locks fell askew around his head in a beautiful mess.

There was something also more human about his expressions too. The way his cheeks flushed easily, for example, and the uncanny twinkle in his eye that never went away. As a male, the supernatural element was much more diluted in Louis's looks.

That didn't stop the Veela blood in him from working its other forms of magic. For days on end, girls of all ages trailed after him in what they assumed was an inconspicuous manner, giggling to each other and bursting into laughter when he shot looks their way. Even the girls in Rose's dormitory would occasionally pause whatever they were working on to bother her incessantly about Louis Weasley's habits and pet peeves.

What sort of girls do you reckon he fancies, that Louis? Or Lou? That's what you call him at home, don't you, Rose? Lou?

With the exception of Carpathia Nott, of course. But even her nonchalance could not disguise the way her eyes flickered unabashedly to Rose whenever her cousin was the subject of attention in the room. Louis simply had that effect on people. He was funny, he was lighthearted (not to mention, he didn't have an ounce of ambition on him to weigh him down) and he occupied space like a burst of light.

So what possible reason did Beauxbatons have for not wanting him around?

Rose had pondered this question excessively over this summer and prodded her cousins about it, but all Dominique had disclosed was that Louis had gotten into a vicious scuffle with one of the boys at school that had resulted in both of them being hospitalized. Which, of course, was puzzling because Louis didn't have a single violent bone in his body.

Naturally, Rose had attempted to bring up the issue up with Louis himself.

"Hey, Lou," she'd said as airily as possible during the last family dinner they'd had before term started. "What happened over there at Beauxbatons? Not saying that you wouldn't like old Hoggers, but we always thought you were too posh for it."

As she uttered the question, Al had lowered his fork and raised his eyebrows inquisitively at Louis. He, too, had been waiting patiently for an explanation.

At the mention of Beauxbatons, Louis had subconsciously tugged down the sleeve of his left arm. Rose had noticed this was a habit he'd culminated lately, which made her wonder if the jagged scar she'd seen on that arm had been a result of the 'vicious scuffle.'

But the boy had simply grinned. "I'd tell you, but it's a matter of national security. Can't have another Anglo-French war on our hands again."

"I'm serious, Lou."

"So am I. It's a godforsakeningly boring story and I wouldn't want Al to fall asleep in his soup."

"You're really not going to tell us anything? Honestly, we're family though-"

"Drop it, Rose." The sharp edge to his voice had caught Rose by surprise. The flash of antagonism in his eyes, too, was something rarely encountered with Louis, which made her think that under these circumstances it would be wise to simply do what she was told. So she did drop it. And never brought up the subject again.

Since then, Louis had assimilated nicely into Hogwarts culture. Beauxbatons had been a very straight-laced, orderly place and he reveled in the castle's odd smatterings of trick staircases, secret passages and rooms behind tapestries. As Rose and Al had demonstrated through the Marauder's Map, these nooks and crannies proved to Louis to be extremely useful when he was trying to escape the attention from his new entourage of females.

There was one cultural disparity Louis had been struggling to cope with, and that the concept of the four Houses. He'd been sorted into Ravenclaw (following Dominique's footsteps) and still could not grasp the idea why sleeping arrangements, house teams, and even the point system had to be so segregated.

"At Beauxbatons, they only had two sections of the school split between boys and girls. Not that that stopped anything from happening, of course," he'd explained with a smirk.

This, above all, was probably the reason why he'd beaten Scorpius Malfoy (much to the Slytherin's utmost fury) as the most fanciable boy of their year. Slytherin girls, once having realized that Louis hadn't grown up like the other Weasleys, now placed themselves along with the other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs in vying for his affections. Because, by Hogwarts' standards, Louis Weasley was now Switzerland.

A very hot Switzerland.

AAA.

"How do you find classes?" inquired Rose, flopping down on the grassy banks near the lake on an exceptionally hot Wednesday afternoon. She scooted slightly towards the shadow of a beech tree, aching for an extra smidgen of shade.

"Stupid," responded Louis, settling himself down in an equal fashion, albeit much more gracefully. "Charms was a waste of time. Vipula's nice though."

Rose snorted. "Nice?"

"Yeah. You don't think so?"

"She's probably in love with you like everyone else." After a beat, Rose speculated: "Say, would you like to swap DNA sometime?"

Louis hooted with laughter. "Right, yeah. Maybe you can take the crazy fan-girls off my hands for awhile." He squinted in discomfort as the sun pierced through the clouds and a scorching beam landed on his face. "C'est incroyable, why is it so bloody hot?" His shirt came off over his head easily, and he slipped on a pair of shades over his eyes without further ado.

Rose watched her cousin bathing comfortably into the sunlit grass with amusement. "Why do I get the feeling your grades at Beauxbatons weren't really up-to-par with Auntie Fleur's standards?"

"Can't imagine why," deadpanned Louis with a faint grin on his lips. "Maman's always been off her rocker."

"Clearly."

"Do you know what class I do like though?"

"What?"

Louis smiled mischievously. "Divination."

Rose kicked him quite hard in the shin, prompting him to yelp. "That's the most bullshit class there is, Lou! You can't honestly tell me you're learning anything."

"Don't kick, Rose, physical tamperament can cloud the Inner Eye. But no, seriously, I'm learning loads. And—wait for it—here's the kicker-" he paused, and then continued on rather triumphantly: "Professor Sarabande is French."

Rose groaned and buried her head in her hands. "You're the worst student I know."

"Who's the worst student?" chirped the voice of Amanda Longbottom. Rose twisted her head and saw her friend looking quite lovely in a cherry-blossom sundress with her short brown hair curled around the nape of her neck. "You're not trying to steal the title away from me, are you, Louis?"

She seemed chirpier than usual, though it probably had to do with the fact that the Louis' shirt was discarded near her feet.

"Nobody can steal the title from you, Mands," intoned Rowan from behind her, and his brown face appeared as a stark contrast next to the rosy-cheeked girl. His eyes went to Rose first, as usual, and when she smiled at him he smiled back.

Bless him, he keeps growing, thought Rose. Where was that stick-skinny boy she'd known throughout her childhood? His upper arms had definitely filled out, not to mention there was a firm shadow to his jaw that hadn't been there the year before. And—good lord—was that a light peppering of stubble?

"Hey there, Thomas," said Louis, sitting up with a bright look on his face and promptly interrupting Rose's thoughts. Being two Ravenclaws with mutual Gryffindor friends, it was only natural the two of them became quite well acquainted.

"Wotcher, mate," grinned Rowan in reply. "Mands, stop gawking and take a bloody seat."

"I wasn't-" spluttered Amanda, tearing her eyes away from Louis with a tinge of red in her cheeks. She settled down on the grass with a small flump, muttering indiscreetly beneath her breath.

"What was that?" inquired Rowan, pretending to be hard of hearing as he leaned over to her. She shoved his head away firmly.

"I said, I've got a boyfriend and I'm not a tart." She flashed Louis an apologetic look. "Really."

"S'alright," said Louis, unfazed. "It's not your fault." It wasn't a comment generated out of arrogance, as something Malfoy would have done, but more of a truth that the boy was acknowledging.

"Besides," added on Amanda with a smug look on her face. "I don't want to point fingers or anything, but if anyone's a tart, it would be the redhead."

There was a silence as all three heads shifted towards Rose, who was now glaring daggers at Amanda. Louis let out a guffaw.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "I thought there was just the one bloke this summer, Red. You know, the one Louis here had to clean up. What was his name-" He snapped his fingers, to which Louis responded with quirked lips:

"Stanley," quipped the curly-haired boy with a nostalgic sigh. "Stanley the waiter."

"Right. That," nodded Rowan in agreement. "Did I miss something, or did one bloke become tart-worthy status?"

"Oh it wasn't just one-" began Amanda wickedly.

"I'm hungry," announced Rose loudly, glancing desperately at Rowan. "Merlin, it's almost one and I haven't eaten lunch yet. Who wants lunch? Join me for lunch?"

"There was that cute diver she met at the pool," continued Amanda thoughtfully, swatting Rose away rather dismissively as the redhead attempted to smother the girl's mouth. "Then, the Year 13 student from St. Percival's. The bloke she met at Mark's and Spencer's-Grocer Boy, isn't that what you called him? Oh, and Ronny the Biker, of course-"

"You forgot Welsh Winston," noted Louis without moving an inch.

"Oh right. Who could forget Welsh Winston-"

"Are you joking?" said Rowan in disbelief, rounding on Rose with widened eyes. "Merlin's beard, Red. That many this summer?"

"I've had a very long, very hard year," relented Rose with a groan.

"She's long past the stage of getting over Carter now," smirked Amanda, and Rose said nothing in order to mean her assent. She could feel Rowan's inquisitive eyes on her, like a silent question mark, and knew that he hadn't forgotten her words on the train last year. I can't tell you who it is, please believe me. It would make it real.

Her eyes traveling to the distance, she spotted a familiar dark figure and felt a swell of relief.

"Thia! Over here!" she shouted, beckoning the welcome distraction with a wave. The raven-haired figure halted in her tracks at the sound of her voice, indicating that she'd heard. Slowly, it headed in their direction until the fully-fledged form of Carpathia appeared before them.

"Hi?" the girl sounded wholly uncertain about her arrival, her eyes darting between the faces staring up at her from the ground. Rose marveled at the fact how despite the boiling temperatures, Carpathia managed to pull off a skin-tight black cotton shirt without a drop of sweat.

"Hello Carpathia," greeted Amanda cheerfully, scooting over to make more room for their fellow Gryffindor roommate. Carpathia obliged with a faint smile.

"Hi, Amanda."

Louis had finally mustered the strength to sit up from his lying position on the ground to appraise the newcomer. His eyebrows slowly disappeared above his hairline as he registered Carpathia's overall appearance of pale skin, black attire, and the shock of magenta and blue in her hair. Admittedly, no one else at Hogwarts looked like her.

"Where you off to next?" asked Rose.

"Care of Magical Creatures," replied Carpathia, and Amanda made an 'oooh' sound that now often accompanied the class title, courtesy of its new professor. "I know what you're going to ask," the girl continued with a wry smile as Amanda opened her mouth. "And yes, Charlie's quite brilliant. Not just his leather pants."

"Is it true they're dragon-hide?" inquired Amanda in a hushed voice. "Does he wear them every class?"

"Sometimes he altnerates between that and a loincloth," said Carpathia with a dead serious look on her face, and Louis smiled as Amanda's jaw dropped. "I'm joking, you know that right?"

Amanda closed her mouth with a slightly miffed expression. "Rumor mill's gone mental nowadays. You never know anymore."

"Really? It doesn't seem like there's been much happening nowadays. School's just started," yawned Rose, now glad that they were on a subject that had finally strayed away from her illustrious summer endeavors.

"This is Hogwarts we're talking about, Rosie-Red. There's never an era of peace."

"Our walking tabloid's on the loose," remarked Rowan sardonically, earning a hard look from Amanda.

"Oh hush, Thomas. Everybody's interested in gossip, even when they pretend not to be. It's a way of living vicariously through others."

Rowan rolled his eyes. "Have at it, then."

"Well, for starters, Tricia MacDavor finally admitted to slagging it off with Zane Pemberton. That girl has got a terrible habit of going off with her mates' boyfriends, thank god we're not in her year. Anyway, there was a terrible ruckus about it in Transfiguration and Professor Fell was so furious that-" Amanda stopped, exasperated. "Are you lot even listening?"

When silent greeted her words, she let out a frustrated puff of air and continued a little more haughtily, "Alright then, moving on. I got this interesting tidbit from Dominique-"

"Sounds credible," commented Louis cheerfully from the ground.

"—well, I have no idea whether it's true or not, but apparently, Malfoy has finally split up with Chantal-"

"What?" the word ripped out of Rose's mouth before she had a chance to shove it back down her throat. Oh, curse her stupid, stupid mind. Why did it suddenly seem like all her efforts with Stanley, Ronny, Winston, whatever, hadn't mattered at all?

"Scorpius and Chantal have always be rather fickle," said Carpathia skeptically, "Maybe this is just their off-phase."

"No, no, Dominique said this was different," said Amanda earnestly, determined to prove that her information wasn't totally useless. "Everyone saw it happening in the third-floor corridor just yesterday. For whatever reason, the two of them were having a rather keen shouting match and then Malfoy just spouted out that he'd," she lifted up her hands to form two quotation marks for dramatic effect, " 'Had a change of heart' and that he didn't want to continue with whatever it was they were doing because she was a prissy control freak with barely a teaspoon of self-respect. Then, of course, Chantal flew into an absolute rage and told everyone how Malfoy had a lot of nerve talking to her like that… and that he had a lot to live up to, the way he was marketing his own package," Amanda burst into giggles at this point, "It all sounds rather funny. I wish I'd been there to see it…"

Rose had been staring at the same patch of grass for the last two minutes, feeling oddly detached from everyone around her. Had a change of heart? What on earth could that possibly—

"Well, knowing Malfoy, they're probably snogging in a broom cupboard right now," said Rowan lightly.

Yes, that was an excellent point. Rowan was absolutely right. With significant effort, Rose met the eyes of her friends and nodded in agreement.

"Chantal…" Louis mused thoughtfully, deciding to join in on the conversation by sitting up and shaking off pieces of grass from his shirt. "This wouldn't happen to be Chantal Gerhardt, by any chance?"

"You know her?" inquired Amanda with surprise. "Oh right, the whole…Beauxbatons thing."

"Vaguely. I remember hearing the name in my second year…" then, Louis's face smoothed over as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him and a wide, almost incredulous smile spread across his features. "No. I mean, it can't be. She was the one who…" His voice trailed off with a small chuckle, and he shook his head in wonder.
"What?" prodded Amanda eagerly. "What is it?"

Louis shot her a look and his lips curved upwards. "I'd rather not say. It was a long time ago, anyway."

"Oh come on, Louis. Nobody has any dirt on Chantal Gerhardt, and she's a massive c-"

"I think what he means to say," cut in Carpathia calmly, "Is that it's probably better if some things were kept quiet. We don't want to be starting wars anytime soon."

"My words exactly," nodded Louis with an appreciative smile. He finally took off his shades, allowing his eyes-unbeknownst to Carpathia—to furtively glance over the girl again.

Amanda grumbled. "Well, if it's true, Malfoy ought to be thrilled that he's rid of her."

Rid of her. Rid of Chantal. Chantal had never particularly bothered Rose in terms of her relationship with Malfoy (She had disliked the girl for a multitude of other reasons, reasons like, well, her entire personality), but if the rumors for once proved to be true…did it mean something?

Rose felt a slight tickle near her elbow, and looked up to see Rowan holding up a blade of grass with a mischievous grin.

Her face relaxed into a smile. All was normal. It meant nothing.

AAA.

I hate tryouts.

"Walk it off, Frazer," declared Al in weary tones, clapping his gloves half-heartedly as a lanky fourth-year with matted blond hair and a bludgeoned nose stumbled off the pitch rather dazedly. "Yep, just hand over the Quaffle to Nyx over there and head straight to Madam Curatis. There's a good lad…"

He wasn't even holding his broomstick right. Al scanned the pitch with an internal groan, noting the range of players assembled before him, all hopeful for the vacant Chaser position. Just by looking he could pick out the good ones. They were posed near the back of the group, their Quidditch kits fitted expertly on, wearing nondescript expressions and looking a great deal less nervous than the amateurs in front. Instinctively, Al would have simply asked these players to stay and the others to leave, but it didn't matter what Al thought. He still had to go through the formality of hosting tryouts even though it was a bloody waste of time.

Fucking school policy.

"Frazer's an idiot," came an oh-so-familiar sneer from his right. "Honestly, what Chaser doesn't know how to do a Cudgel Sweep? It's practically elementary."

"Stuff it, Malfoy," replied Al without looking up from his clipboard. "Next." A frail-looking girl tottered up next to Al, carrying what looked like the newest Cleansweep (they were making a so-called comeback in the industry) that was twice as large as her.

"Um, hi," she murmured softly. "I'm Eva…Wexler."

Al's head snapped up from his clipboard, an irritated expression written all over his face as he apparently hadn't heard. "I said, who's next? I haven't got all day, y'know."

At the harshness of his tone, Eva looked like she was about to piss her pants. She cleared her throat and stuttered at a marginally louder volume, "Um. S-sorry. I'm Eva…W-Wexler. I'm a, um, th-third year."

Having finally caught Al's attention, the redhead was momentarily surprised to see her there. He appraised her once-over with a slight twitch in his eyebrow. "Okay, Eva. Get up there and show me a couple goals, alright?"

The girl nodded, now looking quite green and terrified. She promptly straddled her broomstick and fluttered off the ground in a wisp of air.

Al felt Scorpius' eyes dancing on him. "Look at that. Who knew you could be such a pillock?"

Al fixed his gaze on the blond, who was lounging on the grass and looking highly satisfied with himself. "Do you remember Quidditch tryouts being this bad last year?"

"Well, last year, you didn't see the need to make everyone try-out for their positions again," pointed out Scorpius.

"Dad said it was a good idea to refresh talent every once in a while. He did the same, y'know, when he was Captain." Scorpius muttered something intelligible, to which Al responded: "Why are you complaining anyway? You're still Seeker."

"You should be sodding glad I'm still Seeker."

"Right and Katie and Gareth are still Beaters, Tobias is still Keeper, and even Nyx has progressed to becoming a near-decent Chaser so I don't really see what the problem is, Malfoy."

Scorpius opened his mouth to retort but then thought better of it, knowing that when it came to Quidditch there was nothing but preserverence from their team captain. This was a quality not to scorn, concluded Scorpius rationally.

He walked over next to Al and peered at the clipboard in the redhead's hand. "You crossed off Yaxley? We had a good run with him. He's got a wicked arm."

"An uncontrollable wicked arm. Almost took an eye out of Katie."

"True. And his face looks like it got shat on by a house-elf."

"Malfoy."

"I'm just saying that if I were the opposition, I'd have no trouble aiming for him during a match."

"Trust you to be able to turn even Quidditch into something completely superficial."

Al had finally silenced Scorpius, though not out of offensiveness. The blond seemed content to listen to Al out of his own accord and had even taken to humming a rather chippy tune under his breath. This was no doubt a measure to disrupt Al's concentration, perhaps even to irritate him, but Al found himself strangely unperturbed.

Something had changed between him and Malfoy.

Upon meeting each other face-to-face the first time on the Hogwarts Express this term, they had explicitly vowed never to bring up the content of their letter-exchange that summer ("Talk about my mother again and I'll make sure you never have eyebrows again, Potter" were Malfoy's exact words), but it was hard for Al to repress his growing concern for the boy. There had been an abundance of letters-all embossed with the silver Malfoy crest—dropping by Scorpius' window since term began. Every morning, Al would glance over at the growing pile on his roommate's night-stand, all tossed idly aside, all unopened.

It had to be from home, concluded Al, but Scorpius had been determined not to speak about it and Al knew Scorpius' threats weren't taken idly.

So, of course, things continued as they were. Scorpius was snarky. Al was defensive. They insulted each other's families and agreed upon the facts that Al was rubbish at coursework and Scorpius possessed neither a modicum of respect for others nor a human soul.

But on occasion, they got along just fine. Occasions like these.

"Oho, down she goes," whistled Scorpius, surveying as Eva the Third-year plummeted down the ground with a shriek. She was so slight the impact only produced a bare 'thump'. "That's three sickles, Potter."

"I only agreed to bet on hospital injuries."

"And the five-minute frame. She went down in four and a half. Pay up, lad."

Al grumbled, but nevertheless tossed the coins Scorpius' way. "I should tell Gareth to ease up on the amateurs."

"Nah, look at him. It's the most fun he's had all summer."

Indeed, when Al glanced up at the Slytherin beater—who had his bat cocked against his shoulder—Gareth looked significantly less sour-faced than usual.

"Next!" Al called out to the remaining candidates.

And so it went, for the next twenty minutes. Five players later, both Al and even Scorpius were becoming exponentially miffed at the turn-out of Slytherin options.

"This is ridiculous. Has the Sorting Hat been giving us a good laugh the last four years?" Al cupped his mouth and yelled up at his two supervisory Beaters. "Milch! Nott! We're taking a break." He glanced over at the group of waiting Slytherins, who were now shifting uneasily. Some let out dissatisfied groans. "What are you lot whinging about? Be ready to go in ten minutes and you all better be in fitter shape than what I've seen so far."

With that, he stalked out of their proximity with a frustrated puff of air, ignoring the protestations emanating from the group. He heard Scorpius' measured footsteps trailing after him. "Y'know, if we can't find anyone to fill the Chaser spot, we could always ask Blakeley to come back-"

"After that rubbish Wickerbee Wasp stunt he pulled during the Gryffindor final last year? Fat chance."

"Merlin. You're-" Scorpius paused, causing Al to halt in his footsteps, and then he drilled on with typical Malfoy bluntness: "You're acting like a cunt, Potter."

Al rolled his eyes. "Fine." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "What's this I hear about you and Chantal splitting up?"

Scorpius had evidently not been expecting that at all. His mouth curved into a sardonic smile. "Oh, that's gone around already, has it?"

"You have?" Al was astonished. "Dumbledore's beard, I thought it was just a rumor."

"How many times do I have to repeat this, Potter?" said Scorpius irritably, "You can't split up with someone that you never-"

"She must be fucking pissed."

"How should I know? The benefit of losing a bird is that you don't have to actually see her anymore."

Al grinned. "So what happened then? Did she accidentally mix up your toiletries?"

Scorpius glared at him scathingly. "Take all morning to come up with that one? Clever."

"What I don't understand is why you did it," continued Al thoughtfully, choosing to ignore Scorpius' quip. "The two of you are a match made in hell. I mean, she's hot, stuck-up, pureblooded, lets you walk all over her like a doormat-"

"Sounds charming, doesn't it?" There was a dullness in Scorpius' tone that prompted Al to zero in on Scorpius' expression, and he saw a fierce glint in the boy's blue eyes that hinted of something beyond Al's own insight.

Al hesitated, assessing that perhaps he was touching upon matters too close to heart. He opened his mouth to assuage the situation, thinking of perhaps poking fun at Nyx's new shoulder-pads—

"Al, could I have a word with you?" The two boys whirled around at the voice of the newcomer. Al was surprised to see his sister Lily standing in close proximity with her arms folded. Her red hair, which fell in generous waves around her, complemented the pale-yellow sundress she was wearing and gave her the overall impression of an exotic plant.

To match, she was holding a bluebell-colored flower Al had never seen before, with a stalk that looked to be about half a meter long.

"'Course, Lils," he replied, giving Scorpius a pointed look that suggested that the blond ought to head back to direct the group of Chaser candidates. Scorpius, far from looking affronted, simply shrugged and treaded off without so much of a word. Al suspected he was relieved with the turn of conversation.

Lily watched him go with knowing amber-brown eyes. "Was I interrupting something?" Twirl, twirl. The flower spun in her hands.

"It's Malfoy. What could we possibly have to talk about?"

"Dunno. Matters from Tunisia, perhaps," commented Lily airily, and Al was reminded once more of how acute Lily's perception could be. It was impossible to fool her, and his abashed expression confirmed it. She smirked. "Anyway, I was just wondering if I could…make a last-minute addition to your Quidditch roster?"

Al raised his eyebrow quizzically. "Blimey, I didn't know you were interested in Quidditch politics. Shouldn't you be whispering in Richie Montgomery's ear? He's captain of your house."

"Oh I couldn't give a flobberworm's arse about Quidditch," retaliated Lily brightly, "But I've got a mate in Slytherin who's quite talented. You remember the Scamander twins?"

"Right, yeah. Lorcan, was it?"

"Lysander, actually. Lorcan's the Gryffindor."

"Oh, I see." Under any other circumstances, Al would have disregarded such tidbits, but Lily had abnormally sound judgment. He scanned the list of names that had showed up today. "I don't see a Lysander here. Lily, he didn't even sign up for try-outs. You sure he's qualified?"

"Oh, Sanders has always been shy. It took ages for me to convince him even to show up," said Lily with a sigh, her eyes flickering towards a solitary, hunched figure on the pitch.

Al followed her gaze and noted the presence of a lithe, sandy-haired fellow with his hands clenched tensely in front of him and a surly expression over his features.

Great. Another Slytherin with an attitude problem.

Al grimaced at his sister, prompting Lily to lean over and pinch Al's cheek as she had always done when they were little. "Come on, Al. May I remind you that you didn't sign up for try-outs either? Give him a chance to make some friends with his house-mates. You ought to be the first to sympathize."

"Ow—alright, Lils—get off—fine!" conceded Al, rubbing his reddening cheek with a scowl. "What's that flower you're holding, anyway?"

"Oh, this? It's spectica fornias. Beautiful, isn't it? Lysander found it. Apparently, they only grow from Hippogriff droppings."

"If you give it to me, I'll let him try out."

"Deal." Lily shoved the long-stalked specimen into Al's hands and stepped away with a lovely, content smile. "You won't regret it. He's brilliant. Even I can tell and I'm rubbish when it comes to Quidditch."

"Oh, and is it true that Malfoy's split up with Chantal? The girls in my dormitory are going out of their minds."

"Erm. Yes."

"Has he really?" exclaimed Lily with widened eyes. Al's scowl deepened. "What, Al? Malfoy's fit, there's no doubt about it. I've got my family loyalties in place and all that, but I can't ignore what I see."

Al was silent for a moment, and then: "Lil?"

"What?"

"Just…tell your mates to lay off for a bit. I don't think he's as pleased about it as he seems."

"Nonsense. Chantal is a nightmare," said Lily briskly, then reached over and petted him on the shoulder. "Anyway, thank you!" she sang, and like a fresh summer breeze, spun away and trotted off lightly towards the spectator stands.

As always, Al was left a little dumbfounded in Lily's wake and merely trodded back to where Scorpius was standing. The blond looked thoroughly frustrated; his cheeks were flushed a light shade of magenta and his blond hair was fraying out of place.

"I put the rest of these idiots up for passing practice," Scorpius growled by way of greeting, and Al noticed that the remaining population of the try-out candidates were now hovering in mid-air and tossing each other Quaffles with no little amount of joviality. "They were so pathetic with one-on-one drills I was getting a migraine."

"Hang on," said Al. He looked over his shoulder and called out to the solitary figure. "Lysander Scamander! That's you, right? You're a fourth-year?"

The surly-faced boy started at the sound of his name and instinctively turned towards the stands, where Lily was perched. When she flashed him an encouraging smile, he dropped his tense shoulders and then trudged heavily towards Al, looking as though he was being sentenced to the chopping block.

"Yup," the boy said listlessly, his bright silver eyes flashing alternatively between Al and Scorpius.

"Right, get your kit on and join the others," said Al sharply.

The boy shuffled uneasily. "I don't have a kit."

Scorpius let out a 'puh' of air, prompting Al to elbow him swiftly. "Okay. Just get on your broomstick then."

Lysander was sporting a cheap, somewhat dilapidated Nebulus 2.0, one that seemed to lack both the care and diligence of an avid Quidditch player. By instinct, these were negative attributes Al would have picked out, but he felt Lily's gaze on him and give way to a sigh. Lysander shot off the ground.

Scorpius turned to the redhead with an accusatory expression. "So your sister gives you a ruddy flower and you let her weigh in on Quidditch decisions? She's a Gryffindor, if it hasn't escaped your notice."

"Not all Potter-Weasleys are cheating scoundrels, you know," was all Al had to say on the matter.

"Prove me wrong, Potter."

"What about, I dunno, me?"

"Well you're a special ickle Slytherin, aren't you?" emphasized Scorpius in a manner that, amazingly, still sounded like an insult.

"Louis isn't so bad either."

"Frenchy is a self-absorbed wanker," responded Scorpius matter-of-factly, and Al snorted at the irony of the statement. "And he's got stupid hair."

Al suppressed a smile and then turned his attention onto matters at hand. "Right!" he roared out across the pitch, and the scattering din of laughter instantly died down. All the floating heads on broomsticks rotated towards the Quidditch captain.

"I have half in mind to take your stupid arses back to the dungeons with what I've seen today. But unfortunately, we're still a player short for our first string team, and as much as I don't want to spend another second with you sorry lot, I'd still prefer upping our chances for winning the cup. That said," he paused and regarded them sternly. "You drop the Quaffle once, you're out of the running.

"We'll be doing a scrummage exercise without Beaters or Keepers. This is to test out your ball-handling skills and the teams pitted aginst one another will have ten minutes to score as many points as possible. Winning teams get to sit out for the next round." He pulled out his clipboard and consulted the names, "Right. Team One—Carrow, LeDonchard, and Callaghan. Team Two—Avery, Zavi, Duvant. Team Three—Goyle, Matsuka, and…" He paused again, and his eyes fell on the sullen Lysander boy. "Scamander. Alright, Team One and Team Three-up you go."

And with that, Al headed for the bleachers and settled down with Katie, Scorpius, and Gareth. Katie and Gareth were thoroughly soaked through with sweat and seemed to be grateful for the respite out of the sun.

"So we've been flying our arses off and our Captain's been picking flowers?" commented Katie with her eye on the blue-bell plant in Al's hand. Al merely shrugged in reply.

"You look hot," smirked Scorpius as he eyed Katie's damp uniform.

"Shut it. I'm boiling," sighed Katie, fanning herself as she slumped down on the metal benches. "Gareth, your aim's improved."

"Been practicing at home. Loads of time being cooped up, y'know," shrugged Gareth flatly.

"And Scorp," said Katie with a teasing grin. "Is it true what we've heard, that you've broken up with your girlfriend?"

"So it would seem."

"Well, congratulations for finally shaking that bird off! I think it's marvelous you're out in the dating—er, singles—scene again."

"I think the Daily Prophet should have a branch out here at Hogwarts, looking at the rate we circulate information," responded Scorpius dryly.

"Malfoy's too young for you, Katie," chided Al with a good-natured smile.

"Oh for Agrippa's sake, you make me sound senile. I'm only a year above you all. Besides," she sniffed dramatically. "Scorpius isn't my type. He's too…"

"Breathtaking?" quipped Scorpius.

"…Stoic, I was going to say. You can hardly tell what Scorp's thinking half the time. I'd much prefer that French cousin of yours, Potter," added Katie with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Scorpius grumbled to himself.

There was an uproar from the pitch, and Al sat up as he observed Team Three performing a customary celebratory lap. "Did somebody get the Quaffle in already?"

"I think it was that Scamander boy," said Katie with a squint. "He's not bad at all. Terrible taste in broomsticks but look, he's up and at it again…nice, long passes…"

Before long, there was another wave of applause and then another, and within ten minutes, Team Three had pummeled Team One with a total of sixty points to ten. Al threw Scorpius a look that clearly read 'I told you so' and the blond responded with a stubborn roll of his eyes.

"Well, well. He just came out of nowhere, didn't he?" remarked Katie with a pleased expression.

Al glanced over at his sister sitting on the opposite end of the bleachers with a smile on her face, and felt his heart tighten in gratitude. For once, it seemed his own Quidditch instinct had been proven wrong. "I reckon we just found our new chaser."

AAA.

"Oi, there you are. I've got something for you."

Carpathia spun around to the sound of Al's voice and was surprised to see him still dressed in his Quidditch gear, sweat stains and all. The green set off his red hair quite nicely, and for a fleeting moment, Carpathia thought he looked very handsome.

"What is it?" she inquired, glancing down at her watch. "I've got to go to your uncle's class soon."

"It'll only take a moment, I promise," insisted Al with a suspiciously wide smile on his face. He wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her to the side of the corridor so that the two of them wouldn't be waylaid by students entering the Banquet Hall. "So you remember when you were going on about those flowers…forias, forinthians…"

"Fornias, you mean?" corrected Carpathia with a roll of her eyes.

"Right, yeah. Grown from hippogriff droppings. Hard to forget." Without another word, Al reached into his Quidditch duffel bag and presented an exquisite flower with navy-blue petals and a long, curving magenta stalk.

Carpathia's eyes widened, and her hands closed around the stalk instinctively. "Oh, Al…"

"Apparently, Lily's got another ardent admirer she's not too keen on. She gave it to me on the pitch this morning and I thought you might like it." Al grinned and his green eyes sparkled at the delighted look on Carpathia's face. "Happy…um…twenty-third of September, is it?"

"I don't even—you remembered…" Carpathia put a hand to her mouth and she gazed at Al rather fervently, which prompted him to grin. Then, a thought occurred to her and her lips turned down reproachfully. "So you got in the way of another of Lily's boyfriends again?"

"Bloody hell, are girls all so difficult to please?" said Al indignantly but the smile never left his face. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, of course," Carpathia said softly and reached out to pat his shoulder. "And all I got you was old toast." She handed him the aforementioned object wrapped in a paper napkin, which he accepted happily.

"Well, you know," quipped Al, biting into the bread with a drawn-out crunch. "Old toast can do a lot for a bloke after keen exercise."

"Not if you've been picking flowers." Carpathia watched the redhead relish his snack with a groan of satisfaction and the sight made her heart pang sadly in a manner that hadn't in years. "How were tryouts?"

"Ah, you know, the usual-"

"Al!" cried out a light female voice, and Carpathia's shoulders stiffened slightly as she registered the patter of footsteps and the sight of Isabel prancing towards them with cream-colored ribbons in her hair.

"Hello Iz," Al greeted in surprise, his green eyes softening into limpid pools as his girlfriend leaned over with a light kiss on her lips. "I thought you had Binns."

"Oh he still thinks I'm called Agnes, so I reckon my attendance doesn't matter. I had to come see the Quidditch captain on his first day of a brand new season," said Isabel brightly before turning to Carpathia with an ecstatic smile. "Hullo, Carpathia. Haven't heard from you all summer! That's a lovely plant you've got there."

"Thanks," replied the addressed with a polite smile. "You looked like you had fun in Greece. Great tan."

"Oh you think so?" said Isabel, her light blue eyes beaming at the compliment. "Al hasn't really said anything about it…"

"Oi, Potter!" an unfamiliar call emanated from the entrance of the Banquet Hall, prompting the three to pause momentarily in conversation. "You left your roster out on the table."

"Shit," cursed Al and promptly shouted back, "Be right there, Nyx!" He turned to the two girls with a grimace. "Sorry. I've been a clumsy idiot these last couple days." He kissed Isabel on the cheek and broke into a jog in the opposite direction.

"He adores you," observed Carpathia, watching how Al's head swiveled over his shoulder a few seconds later to flash Isabel another grin.

"Yes, and I'm grateful for that," replied Isabel quietly. She gave Carpathia a meaningful look and then explained, "I've got a terribly dysfunctional family, you know. Mum lives in Italy and Dad's here so I rarely get to see them together, but this summer before we went off to Greece on vacation I spent an awful lot of time with the Potters…and it made me realize how lucky I am, to have someone who cares for me so much."

Her fingers went to her hair and she twisted several long strands around her index. Her smile faltered slightly. "I've been so stupid. I can't believe it took so long for me to come to my senses…blokes like Al are only a handful nowadays."

"He fancied you for ages," nodded Carpathia wryly.

"I know…" sighed Isabel, and then her eyes fixed on Carpathia haltingly as though she wanted to ask a question but wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. Then, after several moments, the words trailed. "Carpathia…on the train…I saw…" She took a deep breath. "What I mean to say is, are you alright?"

Carpathia blinked, taken aback by Isabel's concern. The school would've known by now that Devon was expelled, but had Al told her surreptitiously about her relationship with Devon? She hadn't expected him to, nor did she particularly mind, but it surprised her that Isabel cared.

"I'm fine now," she replied the girl with a firm smile. "And I definitely won't be doing anything like that again."

"Yes, you didn't seem like you knew what was happening…"

"I was fucked," said Carpathia bluntly, prompting a faint chuckle from Isabel. "But it's really nice of you to ask. Thank you."

"Oh no problem…I mean, I suppose we ran into each other and I had to know…"

There was an odd edge to her tone and Carpathia wondered if it was because her reply hadn't been sufficient enough. Yes, so they had run into each other, but what did the girl expect? She could barely remember what had happened on the train, let alone remember the details of meeting each and every person.

She did distinctly recall Isabel's presence…but it was represented in her mind as a set of arbritrary details, like a strand of cascading ribbons and a brightly-colored blouse with two of its buttons unbuttoned…

The last thought suddenly stuck, like a rock refusing to budge in a river of conscious thoughts. What had been so significant about that detail? It must have been important otherwise her mind wouldn't have chosen to encapsulate it the memory…

"Marietto!" cut in the same voice that had beckoned Al earlier (Nyx, was it?), and the two girls swiveled to face the Banquet Hall. Al was trodding back towards them with his cheeks flushed. Another bloke with a dark slash of hair across his forehead was skipping behind him with a mischievous grin.

"Oh for Morgana's sake, the team loves poking fun at him," muttered Isabel embarrassedly.

"Oi, Marrieto, don't you have a Potter to get back to?" catcalled Nyx again. At that point, Al turned and determinedly flipped him the bird, prompting several people in the corridors who were watching to laugh.

Isabel then met her boyfriend halfway and, ignoring the comments and cheers now echoing from the walls, kissed him on the mouth. For several long seconds, there were continued woops of 'Naughty Potter!' and Al smiled against Isabel's lips.

Carpathia stared. Not because she wanted to, but because the phrase had triggered a hot wave of alarm through her veins.

Don't you have a Potter to get back to?

She tore her eyes away and strode off with her heart beating fast, the wheels of her mind churning, and her fingers clenched around the fornias stalk in her hand.

AAA.

Rose found Louis wandering around the lake near sunset. She was surprised to see that he had changed his clothes and was now donning a rather stylish fedora with matching Ferregamo leather shoes. He was leaning against a tree, with a cigarette in hand, and his head was tilted upwards to survey the spiraling motion of the smoke.

"Charlie told me you never showed up to Care of Magical Creatures. Is that true?" demanded Rose, her hands on her hips, and the boy started. When his eyes registered that it was his cousin, his shoulders loosened and he promptly ashed out his cigarette.

"Maybe," said Louis nonchalantly.

Rose exhaled and leaned against the tree next to him. "Louis. You can't…these are your N.E.W.T's. They're important."

"Relax, Rosie-Red. Here," he held out the box of cigarettes and she raised a hand to decline.

"Quidditch," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh. Quel dommage."

"If you want a smoking partner, you should ask Carpathia," deadpanned Rose.

"Oh right, the girl in black. She's an interesting character."

"Louis, why don't you take anything seriously?"

"I do take…." Louis ended his sentence with a frustrated sigh, and when his clear eyes fixed on Rose she remembered all the times she'd played with him as a child in Uncle Bill's sandbox. No, Rosie, we can't build a castle the same way everyone else does. He'd been so creative, so genial, so lively. "I couldn't think about classes today, alright? I had other things on my mind."

"Like what?"

Louis looked at her sideways and offered her a beatific smile. "The usual. Life, death, and impossible love."

"Are you in love, Lou?"

"Are you, Rosie?"

Rose said nothing, and Louis simply took that to mean another drag. When he expelled the smoke out of his mouth, the conversation was already wiped from his mind. "Anyway, what's that you have there?"

Rose blinked, bringing her attention down to the envelope stuffed in her right hand. "Oh. I was about to send off a letter to mum. Do you want to come to the owlery with me?"

"Sure."

Louis finished his stub and, with a clearing spell, dissipated the contents back into the earth. Afterwards, the two treaded silently to the Owlery, chatting about bitchy girls, less-than-adequate Quidditch captains, and Ravenclaws that had grown marginally attractive over the summer. When they reached the stone tower that nested Hogwarts' owls, Rose headed inside and left Louis out on the terrace to smoke another cigarette.

Ignoring the soft hoot of indignation that Gideon made as he was woken from his sleep, Rose tied the letter gently to the owl's leg and sent him flapping out on the blood-ridden sunset. After several moments of watching him become a mere speck in the distance, she turned.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she found herself gazing at the tear-ridden face of Chantal Gerhardt.

The French girl looked exquisite in a slim, violet jumper, but her eyes were screwed and tinged with red. She was glaring at Rose with unspoken words, save for the wobble of her lower lip.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she said, her voice low and deadly.

Rose folded her arms and slowly settled back against the wall. "Writing to my mother. Have you been sitting here watching me the whole time?"

"C'est incroyable," muttered Chantal bitterly, shaking her head. "Believe it or not, not everything is centered around you."

Rose opened her mouth in confusion, and then closed it again. "…Okay."

"Why did you come here? To torture me some more? To laugh?" Chantal rose to her full height, her hands shaking. "Or could you not even allow me the dignity of shedding some tears over the fact that the boy I fell in love with told me that he didn't want me anymore!"

Rose felt as though a hand had reached inside her and was squeezing her gut like a bottle of mustard. She took a deep breath and faced the girl squarely in the eye. "Look, I didn't even know until this morning. And you seemed…"

Fine. All throughout the day, Chantal had been the picture of perfect, peppermint happiness. She had raved about her exquisite summer in Paris, where she had apparently dined with the French President and his sons. When the subject of Malfoy had been brought up, she'd shaken it off as daintily as she would have shaken off breadcrumbs with a handkerchief.

"To be honest, I expected to have to take off points for catching the two of you tonguing each other's throats in the middle of Transfiguration again." Rose rolled her eyes inwardly at the memory, but kept her face quite neutral. "I thought it was just a silly rumor."

"A rumor you hoped would be true?" sneered Chantal in a silky voice, and when Rose met her eyes in shock, Chantal allowed herself a brief, watery smile of triumph. "You think you're so clever, don't you? But you're so very…transparent." She took a step towards Rose, her dark intense eyes flaring.

"I know what you feel for him, and I think it makes you nothing but an ignorant, selfish bitch. You loved to pretend you were above us, Scorpius and I, but you couldn't help yourself, could you? I know your sort. Rich and famous, always getting what you want but never enough so you have rebel to make yourself feel better. Scorpius fit that label perfectly, didn't he? So you had to go ahead and turn him into a lesser version of himself by making him consort with a whore like you even though there might have been others-" her breath shuddered in her chest, and a fresh wave of tears pooled over in her eyes. "Others who have been there since the beginning, others who care deeply for him."

On the last syllable, the French girl reached out and pushed Rose sharply on the shoulder, and that's when Rose's blood boiled over.

The redhead straightened, allowing herself to be half a head taller than the other girl. When she started speaking, she felt as though there was a hot ball of light ready to burst out of her mouth. "I don't have to stand here and listen to this because you've got some fucking nerve, Chantal. I have never once 'made' Scorpius Malfoy do anything—in fact, I don't think anyone can make Malfoy do anything he doesn't already want to do. So before you go around calling other girls bitches and slags, take a look at some of the things you've done that make you downright unbearable. Maybe that might explain why Scorpius never bought you that diamond ring, or maybe why he never bothered writing you about his summer, or why he pretty much makes it damn clear to the whole world that you're not his girlfriend. Because you—Chantal Gerhardt—are ignorant of how your behavior affects others and selfish to assume that anybody who isn't in love with you ought to be."

When Rose had finished her tirade, her cheeks were flushed with adrenaline. She felt as if her blood was a mixture of ice and heat. "For fuck's sake, you've ruined a perfectly good day."

Chantal lurched forward and Rose immediately tried to duck, which resulted in the French girl grabbing a fistful of her hair. Rose counteracted by sinking her nails into Chantal's soft skin, prompting the girl to shriek.

"Le putain! Vous êtes égoïste, vous êtes chienne! J'espère que vous pourrir en enfer-"

"Shut up!" Rose yelled, struggling to shield her face from Chantal's swinging hands.

"What the fuck is going on?" With a loud yell, Louis had entered the room and was staring in shock at the two screaming girls. He came to his senses seconds later and strode over, wrenching the two girls apart.

"Alright, alright. Get off, Louis," Rose spat, pushing Louis away from her. She was quivering in rage, her fists aching not only from contact but also from the desire to rip Chantal's face off.

But Chantal had already fallen apart. The girl let out a stream of French wails and knelt down to the floor as a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. With shaking hands, she covered her face and attempted to compose herself, and in those few moments, it was as if all the world seemed to halt for the sorrow in the girl's shaking shoulders.

She loved him, Rose realized with a pang. She really loved him.

When her hands finally lifted away from her face, her eyes were running with mascara and her nose was bloated from phlegm.

"Louis," she addressed the boy in eerily calm tones. Louis was still standing in his original spot, looking quite stunned. "Qu'est-ce que tu fous là?"

A surprised look flitted over Louis' face. "Vous souvenez de moi?"

"Bien sûr, je me souviens."

"Comment il a fait?"

" Je suppose que vous êtes tout aussi inutile comme avant." And with that, Chantal got to her feet and assumed a familiar, haughty expression. Managing one last scornful snort directed at the pair of Weasley cousins, she pushed roughly past Rose and left the owlery in an admirably graceful manner. The only hint that her emotional episode had occurred was a periodic sniffle echoing from the stairwell.

Rose stared after her and, without truly understanding why, felt a wave of shame well up inside her over what had just happened. Avoiding Louis' curious gaze, she shook her head blankly and headed out of the owlery, more lost than ever.

AAA.

A few days later, a friend was found, feelings were addressed, and a lie was uncovered.

First, a friend.

It began with Louis Weasley. When the disillusioned sixth-year finally decided to attend Care of Magical Creatures after skiving off two of its lessons, he didn't anticipate the fact that he might actually enjoy it.

Upon entering the classroom, he spotted his uncle immediately. Louis had to admit, Charlie looked fantastic. Despite the fact he was nearing his mid-fifties, Charlie looked young, with his graying red hair cropped short to match the stubble peppering his jaw. His gray vest and pale-blue button-up emphasized the strength in his arms (as well as the lingering tan from the summer holiday in Majorca), and he was wearing the brown leather shoes Louis' mother had given him last year in Christmas. Often, Louis had to wonder why his father had never attuned to current fashion tastes as Charlie had, despite being so close in personality.

As he crossed the room, he noticed several heads (mainly female) turning his way. There weren't many people in this class, he realized, approximately ten or twelve. And about three-quarters of them were female.

When he swiveled his head around slightly, he met the eyes of a round-faced Hufflepuff girl who was avidly gawking at him. She blushed furiously at his gaze and reverted back to the conversation with her friends, whom had now all collapsed into giggles.

Louis sighed, wishing for once that a giant mole would suddenly sprout out of his arse so that they would looking at his backside when they thought he didn't notice. He knew the denim pants he was wearing were immaculately fitted and that he looked good, good beyond anything humanly normal. It was that something that couldn't be helped.

He trained his attention back to his uncle, who seemed to be in deep discussion with Carpathia Nott. That was interesting.

"…riveting read. Never imagined dragon heartstring was so rare nowadays that they had to resort to such extensive poaching," the girl was saying rather animatedly.

"Yes, you'll be shocked to know how much magical folk in the market nowadays completely disregard the Wands-Choose-Wizards rule just to possess a heartstring wand. But, you know, that's precisely what Price of Magic wants you to think…that if we don't act now, they'll all be extinct in a couple decades," replied Charlie with a somber smile. "You know, Carpathia, if you were interested in that one, you ought take a look at another book I fancy. 'A Cauldron's Worth of Sorrow', by Graham Featherstone…"

She had to be a favorite student of his, thought Louis, and he appraised Carpathia Nott with new eyes. It was damn hard to impress Charlie.

"…Brilliant talk, Carpathia, but I think Montgomery's waiting for you to head back and finish mapping out the werewolf tracker-" Charlie's cheerful tones suddenly plummeted when his eyes found Louis, who was leaning casually against the desk opposite his. "Louis. Bleedin' hell, did you just get here?"

The class fell silent and several heads turned to witness the spectacle.

"Sorry," apologized Louis with a poor attempt to conceal a smile. "I was lost, Charlie."

Charlie stood up and regarded him sternly. He was quite a different picture as a professor than he was as the goofy uncle who accidentally lit the Christmas tree on fire. "Were you lostthe last two lessons as well? I'd have to assume you were lost in time because you're two weeks late for your first assignment."

"I've been trying to get to know the place. Really, I mean, Hogwarts grounds are massive," said Louis rather earnestly, prompting several giggles from the girls in the front row. Carpathia was gazing at him, looking less than impressed.

"Honestly, Louis, I don't want to take marks off you before you've even started but I don't see how I have any choice. Your mum's going to murder me," said Charlie irritably. He exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Alright, you'll form a group of three with Nott and Montgomery. You've missed a lot, and they'll put you up to speed."

There was the barest twitch on Carpathia's lips, which might have signified some sort of negative emotion, but Louis followed her back to her station nevertheless.

She was quite pretty, Louis observed, in a unique, eclectic way that a person couldn't quite pinpoint until after long periods of time. He respected her stylistic elements; the way she'd draped her black jacket elegantly over her black v-neck, the chic-ness that the leather boots and sleek short hair gave her, and the splash of magenta dye in the front few strands. Louis appreciated art, and Carpathia was walking art.

On the other hand, her partner Richie Montgomery was a sloppy disaster.

"Hi. You're James' cousin, aren't you?" greeted the brown-skinned boy, whose hair stood up on all ends like a nuclear ball of frizz and whose trousers sported a generous mud stain. It was a good thing he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, speculated Louis. That undoubtedly made his life much easier.

"Yup. Louis Weasley," the French boy responded and turned to Carpathia: "I've met you already, haven't I? Rose introduced us a couple days ago."

"That's right," she replied, giving no indication that she cared and settling down on the workspace. "So did you manage to list out the exact bio-diversity specifications we got from the paw prints?" She addressed Richie with cool, calm eyes, and he fumbled slightly.

"Yeah, they're right over here. Couldn't get the name of this specific type of moss-leaf, though-" Richie broke off and a blush spread over his dark cheeks as Carpathia bent over his arm to get a closer look at the petri dish on the desk. He was clearly flustered by the closeness of her presence, and Louis smiled.

"So what are we doing?" Louis inquired, swinging over one of the chairs to hunch over the petri dish like the other two.

"Tracking werewolves using Locator spells and star-maps," answered Carpathia without looking up. She thinks I'm an idiot, mused Louis briefly. "This isn't moss-leaf, Richie, it's silverbranch…which means," she tapped the desk speculatively with one finger, "that this paw-print has to be from the eldar sector of the forest. The eldars is the only place that still has an intact colony of silverbranches."

"Right yeah, I totally agree," nodded Richie fervently. He glanced at Louis and said, rather proudly, "Carpathia's brilliant, you know."

Carpathia's head snapped up. "Don't flatter me, Richie. We work well together." Her brisk tone seemed to imply in the professional sense, but a broad smile spread over Richie's face. Sad, thought Louis, sad, sad, sad. "Now we just need to separate the origination's bio-diversity composition with the preceding compositions…"

"Use pixie dust," interrupted Louis, and Carpathia turned to look at him in surprise. She had very serene, gray eyes for such a hard personality. "Pixie dust is a cleaning solvent, as you know, but it changes color based on how old sediment is. You can separate the two compositions based on your timeline and the color change."

There was a pregnant pause as Carpathia considered it, and then her expression cleared. She nodded slowly. "That's actually…really…clever." Louis grinned inwardly to himself. "I suppose we'll just have to ask Charlie if…"

"I'll do it," said Richie, throwing Louis an edgy look as though Louis had done something massively untrustworthy. "Be right back." He strode off, leaving Carpathia with a rather quizzical expression.

"He fancies you," explained Louis, settling into the seat originally occupied by Richie.

Carpathia blinked in surprise. "No he doesn't."

"Like hell. I've barely been here for two minutes and it couldn't be more obvious. He hangs onto your every word like his life depends on it, he looks like Christmas come early every time you so much as breathe on him, and—let me guess—has he been your partner every lesson since term started?"

A smile flitted briefly over Carpathia's face at the last statement. "Yeah, but I just assumed that mathematically the odds were in my favor. We've got about ten people in this class."

"Blokes don't do anything by coincidence," said Louis, raising a finger at her pointedly. "Your surname's Nott, right? Any connection to Gareth Nott?"

"We shared a womb."

"Cool," nodded Louis in appreciation.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I just thought it was rather peculiar to see how brother and sister could be in two opposite houses."

There was a beat of awkward pause, and then Louis proceeded rather casually: "I think we should be friends."

Carpathia opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "That's…sweet?"

"I mean, I understand how this might come off a little strange," elaborated Louis with a roll of his eyes. "But I think you and I would be well-suited as mates. Plus I need a mate."

"But you've got mates," said Carpathia slowly, as though she wasn't entirely certain how to respond.

"And who would you consider to be a mate of mine?"

"Rose, Al, Rowan…" said Carpathia, casting a look around the room as if she were trying to derive further inspiration. "Um. You know, the lot."

"First of all, Rose and Al are family. Not friends. The ideas mutually exclusive," corrected Louis with a grin. "Second, Rowan's not really my friend because he's always been a friend of Rose, and everyone with common sense knows that friendships are prioritized with a time reference-"

"Naturally," quipped Carpathia sardonically.

"—and third, even though this has nothing to do with anything else I've said, I have an uncanny judgment of people and I think you're wicked. Ergo, we should be friends."

There was a smile threatening to bloom over Carpathia's face, but she was doing a remarkable job of reining it in.

"Since we're being honest," she said carefully, leaning in closer to the French boy, "I think you seem like an intelligent bloke with sound observational skills. From what Al's told me, you're probably quite nice as well. The problem is you're one of those social butterflies and I prefer friends that fly under the radar, if you know what I mean."

At Louis' quizzical expression, the raven-hair girl emphasized: "I'm not a fan of attention."

"Which totally explains why you're besties with Harry Potter's son," remarked Louis genially and when Carpathia said nothing on the matter, the boy ploughed on. "Would it be better if I told you that I never asked for any attention? That I don't really enjoy it all? That I find your ability to ignore my natural Veela magnetism very refreshing?" He paused, allowing that to sink in.

"I'll be completely honest. I find you fascinating, and I get along with fascinating people. They're more likely to be open-minded." He didn't further elaborate, but he took Carpathia's silence to mean that he should continue.

"Al's told me a lot about you, you know. How the two of you found one another, how you helped him through that awful time in his first year, and how kind you can be despite the fact everyone thinks you're a bit of an oddball. And you probably don't believe me, but I've been through that. There are some secrets I've kept that I can't…share with people easily and I have a feeling you'd be a good listener." He added as an afterthought: "Plus Rose tells me you'd make an excellent smoking partner and I've got the best collection of premium cigarettes in the whole of Britain. So what do you say?"

The smile Louis had been waiting for finally appeared; it burst upon Carpathia's solemn expression like a ray of sunshine. Then, she opened her mouth and said, quite simply: "No."

"No?" repeated Louis incredulously, thrown off for the first time since that conversation had started. "Why not?" Several heads were turning towards them.

"I already have a friend," replied Carpathia with a laugh, pulling out her wand and returning back to the task at hand. "His name is Albus Potter."

Louis exhaled and leaned in so that the tip of his chin brushed her dark hair. She smelled like wood-oak and cigarette smoke, a charming combination. His mouth whispered tantalizingly into her ear, "But he's not really your friend, is he? Because you're in love with him."

He heard the clatter of her wand as it fell on the table surface and the soft woosh of air as she gasped. She whirled back on him, eyes burning, most likely prepared to retort with an angry comment when—

"Alright, I'm back with the pixie dust," Richie slid easily into their proximity, looking significantly more cheerful than he'd been before he left. "Did I miss anything?"

Louis fixed Carpathia a cheerful look and her distraught expression morphed back to its original calm. What are you playing at? Her narrow eyes seemed to echo silently. "Nope. Not a thing."

It looked like he'd found a favorite class after all.

AAA.

Second, feelings were addressed.

The start of Muggle Studies had been postponed several weeks behind other classes because there hadn't been enough students to fill the minimum requirement of ten people. Like Care of Magical Creatures, it was one of those throwaway N.E.W.T electives that were often neglected in favor of popular choices such as Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.

So when Rose received notification that Muggle Studies would be up and running this week due to a last-minute addition, she was pleasantly surprised.

Professor Wrathe was a vegetarian and a lover of peace. A muggle-born himself, he was devoted to researching links between magic and religion and had previously spent six years in the Himalayas meditating with Buddhist monks. He looked the part too, with his tall, thin bone structure and calm gait.

"Namastay, and welcome to Muggle Studies," was how he began class. His eyes twinkled behind the round frames of his glasses. "I am very pleased to see that we have managed to retrieve a sizable crop of students for this year's class." There was a ringing silence as the students snuck glances at one another. Sizable?

"Muggle Studies at the N.E.W.T level is quite different from Muggle Studies as you have known it from previous years. We are not here to memorize the names of countries and significant historical events. Nor are we here to tinker with various Muggle inventions. That is all behind you," he smiled serenely. "So put away your maps, for we have no need to navigate the tangible structures of the Muggle world. Instead, we will be focusing on the map of the Muggle mind."

Rose sat up a little straighter in her chair and leaned in closer out of interest. Professor Wrathe had turned to the board and begun writing something in chalk. The act itself was rather peculiar, for most professors opted to charm their writing utensils into dictating their words as they were saying them.

Philosophy. That was what he'd written. Wrathe stepped away from the board and regarded the class inquisitively. "What does this word mean?"

A Hufflepuff in the front row raised his hand (Quentin? Rose distinctly recalled) and said, "Existentialism?"

"Too specific, Mr. Crawley."

Rose raised her hand, and the professor fixed his gaze on her. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"The origin of thought," she replied.

"Only thought? And what about emotions? A fundamental aspect of human nature is our most basic reactions—anger, fear, happiness. Isn't it important to understand the origin of these reactions and how to control them?" Forrester turned towards the rest of the group, eyebrows raised. "Anyone else? Ah yes, Mr. Malfoy."

Smack. The shock prompted Rose's elbow to slip off the desk and her hand collided with the surface of the wood. Thankfully, no one else noticed. Had he said Malfoy? She must have been dreaming.

Had to be dreaming.

"To find what forms our beliefs," responded a voice Rose recognized immediately. Only time, the voice was devoid of any mischief or misbehavior.

Wrathe's eyes glinted behind the glasses. "Good. Ten points to Slytherin."

He treaded back to the board and scribbled on another word. "Mr. Malfoy touched upon a key word. Belief. What shapes you to see the world the way you do? Religion? Literature? Cultural values? Or perhaps it is the relationships you form day to day with your family and peers. Our beliefs and attitudes are the result of endless combinations of these factors, and philosophy fuels our knowledge and willingness to explore such combinations. Think on this for today's lesson."

Silently, he flicked his wand and a stack of papers scattered into the air, landing neatly on each student's desk. "That was just the last piece of magic performed in this room. For thousands of years muggles pondered the meaning of their existence without magic and now we will do the same. Put away your wands and start by reading Plato's Cave."

Muggle Studies was surprisingly enthralling. Wrathe liked the idea of fervent discussion so for the most part, the class was prodded with ambiguous questions and forced to debate among themselves. All in all, Rose would have enjoyed it very much if her mind hadn't been so fixated on the presence of a certain Slytherin.

It drove her mad to see Scorpius so invested in the class. She'd expected him to mock the professor on several accounts. She'd expected him to speak out of turn and flirt with the girl sitting beside him. She'd expected him to contradict her at least twice, in the same scathing, infuriating manner he had done in so many other classes before.

But Malfoy behaved like an exceptional student. He was inquisitive and polite. His comments were concise, intellectually on-point, and insightful. When Rose ventured her opinion in class, he never once interrupted her, never even once bothered to acknowledge her with a look. In fact, he seemed to be keenly ignoring her existence.

It drove her mad.

Only because she knew that she'd asked for it.

Rose swallowed her misgivings and waited for class to end. When the bell rang, she shoved her books in her bag and was the first one out of the room. She was barely ten strides away when she heard him.

"Weasley!" Her feet stopped in their tracks at the sound of her name and she turned with trepidation. When he caught up to her, she realized it was the first time she'd seen him up close since their encounter in Muggle London.

There was a healthier flush in his skin from spending more time out in the sun at Hogwarts than he had at home. His hair was also fuller, less waxy, and there was a shadow of stubble around his jaw. As always, his lips naturally formed a half-constructed smile that wasn't quite a smile. "You forgot your book."

She stared down at the object in his hand, registering quite dimly that it was her copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain. She couldn't even remember taking it out.

"Right…thanks." She accepted the book and gingerly placed it back in her bag.

"Right," replied Scorpius noncommittally. "So…I'll be off now."

He had passed her by a margin of an inch when Rose couldn't bear it anymore. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I always only think about myself," she blurted out, and he paused. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was a completely bitchy of me. You were going through a lot at home and I had no idea what it was like and you're probably still going through a relatively hard time with the aftermath of the Ministry investigation and breaking up with your girlfriend—at—at least, I think you two are broken up-"

"We are," said Scorpius evenly.

"Yes, that's what she said," replied Rose softly, more to herself than him.

Before Rose could say anything else, Scorpius took a step closer and grasped her wrist, rotating it gently so that it faced upwards and towards the light. There were a set of deeply-engrained nail marks, remnants of her and Chantal's ickle catfight up in the owlery.

"What else did Chantal say to you?" Scorpius questioned coolly, and Rose marveled at his acute sense of observation.

"Nothing of consequence," she admitted, gently pulling her hand out of his grip. His blue eyes glinted with unspoken emotion and she continued insistently, "Really, it was nothing." Just that I might like you much more than I should, which is the horrible truth. "You ought to take a look at her; I might have left a couple marks as well. And she might be missing some of her extensions." She grimaced at the thought, and to her surprise, Scorpius' mouth twitched.

"She's bizarrely strong, isn't she?"

"It's weird. You'd think she was more of a cut-out-letters-and-death-mail sort of girl," replied Rose, shaking her head.

"Didn't last long, apparently. Someone caught her at it behind the bookstacks with Desmond McCormack," responded Scorpius with a shrug.

Why did he have such an innate ability to drop bombs in the middle of casual conversation? Rose opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off, "One apology's enough, Weasley. You don't have to feel sorry for me. It was my decision." He smiled craftily. "Though this is a momentous occasion, isn't it? You, feeling remorseful over me?"

"Lets hope no one takes away your memories this time," remarked Rose. "It's a new year, Malfoy. I would hate to think there was bad blood between us."

"Bad blood? Between us?"

Rose shook her head ruefully but she was smiling too. "Besides the occasional punching of ex-boyfriends and memory erasing and general awkwardness, I suppose it's time we went back to the way we used to? It'd be for the best."

Yes. The relieving thought circulated and her heart beat in consent. It would all go away, the butterflies, the gut-wrenching feelings, maybe even the memory of his lips on hers with given time. And he would never have to know. Perhaps all those blokes over the summer had done her some good.

For the best.

"For the best," repeated Scorpius in agreement, and an odd shadow passed through his face. He cleared his throat. "Well, then. Sounds spiffing. Now if you don't mind me, I've got another class to head to and another teacher to impress."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved past her with his typical smooth gait, and then something occurred to Rose and she called out after him: "Wait!"

He turned halfway, eyes glancing out beneath silver-blond strands. "What is it, Weasley?"

"Why'd you pick Muggle Studies?" she asked, surveying his closed expression with folded arms. "Of all classes, why this one?"

Scorpius quirked his eyebrow. "It might've had something to do with a couple scones and a pair of Muggle dentists."

And with that, he swiveled on his heel and tread off nonchalantly, leaving Rose to wallow in thought in his wake.

AAA.

Third, a lie.

But he's not your friend, is he? Because you're in love with him.

Louis' words had circulated in Carpathia's head all throughout the day like unrelenting buzzards. And the problem wasn't even the words themselves, but why they had been said in the first place.

How had he known? Was she that obvious? And if she herself had vehemently stipulated over the last three years that she was no longer in love with Al, why did her behavior make it so?

The night had come to its peak and curfew was up in thirty minutes. Carpathia's eyes wandered towards the moonlit window, and an idea swum into her mind. There had been something else on her mind the last few days, something that had eaten away at her thoughts like a worm with no beginning and end. A puzzle that needed deciphering.

Louis' voice promptly became replaced with Isabel's. You didn't seem like you knew what was happening…

Why make the statement, thought Carpathia in frustration. Had it been Isabel's test, to ensure that Carpathia could verify it? Was it because Isabel hoped something had escaped Carpathia's notice?

Don't you have a Potter to get back to?

God, she was being ridiculous. No wonder Louis thought she was in love with Al. She was being unnecessarily paranoid over his girlfriend, always jumping to conclusions about her, when Isabel had clearly done nothing but be the sweet, delicate bird Carpathia could never aspire to be. She wore ribbons, for Merlin's sake.

A friend, concluded Carpathia, would be nothing but supportive. Her eyes drifted towards the vase on her nightstand, which held the solitary specticus fornias. A friend would go out of their way to accept situations they didn't entirely approve of, because friends didn't make things more difficult.

But then again, friends didn't keep secrets from one another either. It was like what Louis had said this morning, that there were some secrets that couldn't not be shared if the other person was willing to listen. Perhaps if Adara and Erin had shared with Carpathia about how much of an absolute prick Devon Lynch really was, maybe she wouldn't have made such a complete fool out of herself—

With a jolt, Carpathia leapt out of bed, her heart ringing in her chest.

Don't you have a Potter to get back to?

There was only one person who could put the nagging in her mind to rest, and she'd just figured it out.

AAA.

It had been a while she since she'd treaded down this path of the forest, but she remembered the clearing well. Clumsy the baby hippogriff was no longer situated in her old location, but Carpathia supposed it was because she'd gotten too physically demanding and had needed a thicker tree for habilitation. Like all living creatures, she had grown up.

But some things remained as they were. There were three lanterns in the clearing and three laughing, slurred voices that accompanied them. Erin and Keegan were lying flat on their backs, clothes tousled and covered in grass, and their faces were scunrched in mirth and inebriation. But there was another girl sitting amongst them. She was mousy-haired and looked a little more timid than the rest, with an uncertainty in the way she was holding her bottle of Firewhiskey. Catchlove, recalled Carpathia, Simone Catchlove.

Keegan was the first to spot her. He leapt up from the grass and paled as though he'd seen a ghost. "Christ, Thia! You scared us shitless!"

At the sound of her name, Erin stopped laughing and rotated slowly, her eyes narrowing at Carpathia in disbelief under the mane of bushy hair.

"Don't worry. I'm not staying," said Carpathia emphatically. "I've just got a question about what happened on the train."

"Pretty pathetic to come all the way here to talk about things long past," said Erin tersely. "Adara's gone, in case you haven't noticed. We've all moved on with our lives."

"Right, I'm sure," nodded Carpathia, glancing around at the familiar scene around her with an amused smile. "Well, I don't want to spoil your fun. You'll have till the crack of dawn, since I know that's how this normally goes, so I highly doubt I'll be taking much of your time."

"Oh, so you've become like everyone else then? Narrow-minded, boring and too bloody good for us?" mocked Keegan bitterly.

"Look, Thia, we're all tired of feeling guilty about happened. So just get on with it," snapped Erin, getting up (albeit a little wobblingly) to her feet.

Carpathia shrugged. "Alright. Do you remember when you ran into me in the prefect's compartment and I was talking to Isabel Marrieto?"

"Marrieto-" Erin frowned, mulling over the name for a moment. "Oh, right. The stuck-up cow with the ribbons." She snorted in reminiscence. 'Fifth-years and up only.' "

"Right, her," said Carpathia slowly, and the aforementioned strands of memory flashed through her mind, piecing together in fluid, logical sense. "And then you said, 'Don't you have a Potter to get back to?' Do you remember that?"

"I-" Erin rolled her eyes in irritation. "For Agrippa's sake, I was sloshed. Why on earth are you making me recite damn details?"

"What did you mean by it?" asked Carpathia, ignoring Erin's protest as she fixed her eyes on the girl. There was a tightening sensation in her ribcage, as though her body was getting ready to be battered by an upcoming storm.

"Honestly, what the fuck does this have to do with anything? That party was old news-"

"What did you mean by it, Stormwallis?" repeated Carpathia with heightened intensity, a flash of anger sweeping through her and roiling the blood in her veins.

Erin let out a puff of air and met Carpathia's gaze flatly, and when the words left her mouth Carpathia realized she'd known them all along: "Who she was snogging her pants off with, of course. James bloody Potter."

Not all changes were for the better.

AAA.

Dun dun dun. Some of you totally called it and I hope you're glad that it's out in the open. Hooray for Carpathia for figuring things out.

For some of you who are disgruntled that James is being portrayed as a total dick, I assure you that somewhere along this story, he will redeem himself.

Also, what do you think about the portrayal of Louis Weasley? He's quite a happy-go-lucky guy and I know his sudden interest in Carpathia is a bit random, but there's a reason for it (I promise).

For those of you annoyed at the lack of Scorpius/Rose interaction, there's quite a bit of internal contemplation going on between the two of them. Rose has been feeling confused for the last few chapters and now has it in her head that the best thing is just to go back to normal. Scorpius isn't so

Favorite scene to write: Chantal and Rose's catfight. Love it when two strong female characters come into conflict.

Special thanks to SimplyEcho and hphilgreen, you're the best! :D

Upcoming events:

More ScoRo goodness

More internal struggles with Carpathia

More bromance

Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts

As always, reviews are much appreciated.

Love,

~MissusWitch