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

17. Beyond The Line

Hullo dearies. How are all your summer vacations going? I've been doing some traveling (and writing on the side when I'm faced with a long train/airplane ride) and now here's the updated chapter.

As always, thanks to hphilgreen and SimplyEcho for speedy responses. 3 you guys.

Also special thanks to flame7926 and EraExtrana for constructive feedback.

To recap:

Chp 3 (First Greetings):

"We're the misfits," she said simply, and with a small twitch of her head, she shook the hair out of her eyes. "We've got to protect each other."

"I…" Al stared at her, at a loss of words. This unexpected gesture of frank and unconditional kindness was so sudden that he was unable to articulate his emotions. Not even a simple a thank you.

Chp 8 (Occupational Hazards):

Scorpius exhaled and inched one step closer to the redhead. "Look, Weasley," he said conspiratorially, "Here's something I got into the habit of doing after I realized the simple fact that basically anyone can make their own destiny if they want to. At the end of each day, I take some time to reflect and see if I have made any significant mistakes. If I have I make a motto out of it, so at least I can tell myself that I've simply added on another rule to the set of rules that I live by."

Rose cocked her head, her deep brown eyes wide with surprise. "That's quaint. Do you keep a diary as well?"

Scorpius raised a finger at her. "You know what the motto for today is?"

"What?"

Scorpius folded his arms and sat back. He declared, with a great amount of feeling: " 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks.' "

" 'Don't give a fuck what anybody else thinks,'" repeated Rose, her mouth twitching as though she was fighting down a grin. "Right."

Chp 14 (The Naked Child):

Al's eyes trailed down to her waist, and-just barely above the hem of her trousers—he saw the smallest tattoo of them yet. It was the silhouette of a dragon, completely inked out in black and barely visible. Long and elegant, it possessed a long flowing tail that curled around her hip and disappeared.

"What does this one mean?" Al asked, his voice barely above a breath. The image was quite mesmerizing for some reason.

"It was…" she paused and fell silent. Al watched her back sink and rise with her breathing. "It was the first time I fell in love."

Chp 16 (Previously):

Al says 'I love you' to Isabel, Scorpius gets special recognition from Harry Potter as an exceptional dueler, he and Rose come to terms with the fact that things can't go back to normal, Louis is gay and was kicked out of Beauxbatons due to a bullying incident, Carpathia confronts Isabel about her snogging James and gives her one week to tell Al the truth.

Chapter 17: Beyond The Line

AAA.

"...to the October agenda. As most of you know, the Halloween Feast will carry on this year with several changes…we had so many students complaining about wax dripping over the food in previous years that Headmaster Longbottom has suggested floating light-bulbs as a substitute…compact fluorescent, of course, to be environmentally-friendly…"

Selma ben Malka, Hogwart's resident Head Girl, wore red lipstick. The bright neon-red sort that only coordinated well with dark skin. It was her trademark and everyone knew it, so much that if another girl wore that color you'd still refer it as 'Selma's color'.

She was also quite pretty. If you tilted your head 45 degrees and squinted your eyes, her slanted features gave her the look of a Siamese cat and the droopy tip of her nose almost seemed to disappear. To add were several significant props; she was descended from a Moroccan prince and was extremely intelligent, so intelligent that she'd been regarded as 'The Brain' of Hogwarts for the past five years. Nobody had questioned her appointment as Head Girl.

Too bad she had to be so bloody dull.

Scorpius drummed the wood table in front him. I'm going to hang myself if this carries on any longer. He glanced around at the other prefects, who seemed equally subdued with boredom. Even Rose, who was known to put up an admirable effort, had conceded in defeat. Her elbow was slipping off the table. Scorpius tried not to smile.

"Malfoy."

That's my name. The thought registered, but not before he felt Vera elbow him hard in the ribs. After shooting his partner a glare, Scorpius put on his best drawl and swiveled around to face the source of the voice.

"Yes, your Headship?"

A ripple of laughter went around the room and resident Head Boy, Desmond McCormack, turned puce.

"Your attention seems to be wandering. Why don't you share what's on your mind?"

"Me? Oh just, ah, processing everything. All this riveting information needs time to digest, you know."

Phelby Potts snorted from across the table and Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"I insist. The rest of us would be very interested to hear what you've digested."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Desmond had a nasty habit of bullying Scorpius during prefect meetings. Scorpius leaned back casually on his chair with his hands behind his head and faced the boy squarely in the eye.

"Alrighty then. Well, Wrightman over there is sporting a really nasty bruise of some sort, no doubt having to do with that fantastic Quidditch game we had last week—sorry, Lexie, you better put some ointment on that-"A petite girl with a brown pixie-cut sitting in the corner promptly touched the side of her face with a look of embarassment. "Tremlett and Edgecombe have been glaring daggers at each other since this meeting started, which means that our lovely Fiona Chang over here hasn't been giving either of them the time of day…"

Scorpius smiled beatifically at a pretty Asian girl sitting with her fellow Hufflepuff prefects. The girl opened her mouth in indignation. "I'm all for double-timing, but there's no point stringing them both along if you've really decided on going for Ned Bixby-" Tremlett and Edgecombe both whipped their heads around to regard Fiona Chang with shock and the girl's cheeks reddened.

"Judging by the eye circles under our Head Girl's eyes, she probably hasn't had a good night's sleep in ages. Is that from the N.E.W.T workload or romantic strolls around the Astronomy Tower?"

Selma's lips quirked, and the blinding red hues shone back at him.

"Last but not least," Scorpius rounded back on the Head Boy, who seemed to be steaming from the ears. "I noticed quite an impressive scar on your neck there, McCormack. Either you've got a very angry cat or you and Chantal have taken a huge step in your, ah, relationship. How you've managed to convince her to step foot in the Hufflepuff dormitories is astounding but I suppose all the nagging must have been worth it. I would know." Scorpius flashed him a smile that was all teeth.

"Enough," grounded out McCormack and there were sniggers around the room.

"Diva much, Malfoy? You could've just said you weren't paying attention," remarked Selma dryly.

"Probably. But that would be missing my point," Scorpius turned to address the rest of the faces in the room. "We're in danger of becoming the most boring class Hogwarts has ever seen. What sort of ideas have we come up with? A Christmas book-reading? Celebratory picnics after Quidditch games? Trick-o-treating with the first-years on Halloween? God, even the first-years would prefer jumping into the lake than ask Astrakhan for candy." He exhaled in frustration. "What happened to sodding women and booze?"

"The faculty does not condone such activities-" began McCormack stiffly.

"Didn't stop James Potter," reminded Rowan Thomas quietly. "We had fantastic parties because of him."

"James Potter graduated last year-"

"I highly doubt Potter is the only person in the world with the capability of throwing fantastic parties," said Scorpius dryly. "Look, we're all intelligent people here and we're not the faculty's bleedin' minions. I say the student body would have more respect for us if we could organize something for themunder the radar. In the meantime, we can still have the ruddy Halloween feast like we've done for the past millennia to please the professors."

"You want us to organize a covert event behind Fell's back?" questioned Selma cautiously. "What exactly did you have in mind, Malfoy?"

Scorpius grinned and produced a paper flyer from his pocket. He'd found it plastered on the walls of the Three Broomsticks on his last trip to Hogsmeade about a fortnight ago.

" 'Kneazle Krawl'?" read out Rowan with an amused smile. "I've seen a couple of these lying around."

"Club Kneazle is the hottest place in London, from what I've heard," said Scorpius and several eyebrows in the room raised. "It's a wizarding establishment, of course, but they do let in a sizable amount of muggles before obliviating them on their way out."

"How do you propose we get students all the way to London?" inquired Lexie dubiously.

"From the Three Broomsticks," explained Scorpius impatiently. "That's why it's called a crawl. The Three Broomstick's got an arrangement with Club Kneazle on Halloween night to transport anyone from Hogsmeade through Portkey. I asked one of the managers and he's even allowed Hogwarts students a discount for Portkey fees," he added.

"Right and I suppose the professors are just going to be fine and dandy about students waltzing out of the castle at midnight?" quipped Lexie sarcastically.

"We'll be using the secret passageway, Lexie dearest. The three-legged witch's hump. Haven't you heard of it?"

"No."

"The passageway that leads up to the Honeydukes cellars?" interjected Phelby Potts incredulously. "You haven't heard of that? Everyone knows about that one by now." Lexie shrugged, unperturbed.

"We could always tell the professors the students want to engage in the local festivities," mused Siobhan Urquart, a fellow seventh-year Slytherin.

Rowan barked with laughter. "Right. Pumpkin-carving and story-telling and the lot."

The students were beginning to titter with excitement, shooting out ideas and laughing at the thought of Professor Fell's ignorance to their plotting. Scorpius sat back and watched his handiwork with satisfaction.

Desmond stood up, his face contorted with anger. "Stop!" The prefects in the room fell silent, turning to the Head Boy with quizzical expressions. "Do you have any idea what would happen if the professors found out about this? We're prefects; we're not supposed to—to connive and scheme. You do realize you'll lose points for your own houses?"

"Or a certain Head Boy might lose his badge," muttered Scorpius.

"Shut it, Malfoy, you have no idea how hard I've worked for this position," snapped McCormack, rounding on him. "I'm not about to lose it just because of one stupid idea-"

"Actually," interrupted Rose, her auburn-gold ponytail trembling as she rose to her feet. "I think it's brilliant." Her eyes were gleaming in anticipation and she looked (to be perfectly honest) magnificent. "Halloween's the biggest night of the year for the Wizarding world. Muggles all over England are going to be out that night regardless of the drinking limit so why shouldn't we be allowed some fun? As long as we ensure everyone gets in and out of Hogwarts safely and no one doesn't, erm, accidentally turn a muggle policeman into a lamp-post, I'd be willing to risk a few dozen house points. Do you lot reallythink Fell is going to sack all of us if she finds out?" she added with a shake of her head. "And if this all goes right, we'd be leaving a legacy behind, our own legacy, and James Potter will have nothing to do with it."

Desmond opened his mouth to wheeze another retort but Selma cut him off.

"I have to admit; it would be fantastic to leave something behind in Hogwarts history," she mused. The finality of her decision promptly caused a swell of relief around the room; even Desmond found himself closing his mouth and resigning to the cause. "But we can't have everyone in this room involved…it would completely demolish the integrity of the prefect system."

"I propose that all the seventh-years stay out of it and the fifth and sixth year prefects-" began Scorpius.

"Fifth years?" repeated Selma, snapping back to her usual sternness. "No. At the very least, we'll be respecting the Wizarding drinking age. I don't want to be single-handedly responsible for putting Hogwarts in debt for lawsuits."

There were groans around the room. Even fifth-years like Lexie, who had initially opposed the idea, looked noticeably peeved that they were being ostracized. Selma cast the room an apologetic look. "The sixth-year prefects will be in charge of organizing the event from now on—which means," she shot Scorpius a glare. "That sixth-year prefects will also be responsible for ensuring that the classmates in their year that haven't turned seventeen will not be allowed to participate. Rose," she turned to the addressed, who was calmly holding her ground. "Since Malfoy is clearly going to be calling all the shots on this one, you're going to keep him in line." Scorpius' smile twitched. "And to the rest of you," Selma lowered her voice and pursed her ruby lips. "Secrecy is of the utmost importance."

AAA.

The secret spread (as secrets often did) like quiet wildfire over the student population. Before the week was through, sixth and seventh years were seeking out prefects during classes and mealtimes for details on the Kneazle Krawl—where they would meet, what time the event was supposed to begin, whether they ought to bring their own alcohol and so on. Several fifth-years begged Scorpius if they could steal their way onto the guest list to no avail. Without trying, the Krawl soon became all Hogwarts would talk about and the most delicious part of it all was that no one breathed a word to the faculty. The professors were left wondering what had set their students on such a thrill.

It was Rose who came up with the idea.

"The Graveyard Grouse," she proposed to a skeptical Professor Fell. Rose's earnest face betrayed nothing under the Deputy Headmistress' razor-sharp gaze. "There are some very notable ghosts coming to speak at the Hogsmeade burial this year, including Saint Percival, Dysranna Ravenclaw…and the guest of honor happens to be Salazar Slytherin's general-in-command from the siege of—of—whatsisplace—oh, I can't remember his name either. The point is," she amended herself quickly as Fell's brow furrowed. "The prefects understand that allowing the students out in Hogsmeade past midnight would be well past curfew but we all believe that this would be enriching learning experience for our fellow peers, especially those who are taking Professor Binns' N.E.W.T class. We managed to have him sign off on the idea as well-"

She pulled out a slip decorated with the impeccable scrawl of Binns' signature. It was never difficult convincing Binns to do anything and Professor Fell certainly knew that, but the Graveyard Grouse was a long-held tradition of the local Hogsmeade folk and there really were some notable dead speakers this year, whether by coincidence or stroke of luck. More importantly, the timing was perfect for the Kneazle Krawl.

Then there was the issue of dates.

"Are we meant to bring someone with us?" wondered Phelby Potts as the sixth-year prefects were gathered for their weekly meeting in Vipula's deserted classrooms. "Aren't clubs supposed to be a 'singles' thing anyway? You're supposed to just show up and leave, y'know, not single," he finished off lamely.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Potts?" said Scorpius snidely and the room laughed.

Phelby shrugged good-naturedly. "I've just been seeing people making an enormous deal over who to ask and who's already taken…and I don't see why that's necessary."

"It's Hogwarts. Anytime there's an excuse to mingle outside the castle we go over the top with it," piped up Rose as an answer. It was true; even Al had gone to the trouble of conjuring a bouquet of flowers and asking Isabel to officially accompany him. The entire spectacle had made Rose severely roll her eyes; they were going clubbing, not to a bloody ball.

She was suddenly keenly aware that Scorpius was gazing at her and her cheeks warmed automatically. She kept her own eyes fixated on the parchment in front of her, trying to absorb all the names of the students listed. For god's sake, why did he have to go ahead and drop the bomb that he didn't want things back to 'normal'? Things clearly hadn't been normal for a long time but it wasn't as though he had any inkling why. What on earth was his definition of 'not normal'?

Her head began to throb again and she felt the words pushing up at the lips as they had countless times before. It was becoming increasingly difficult to rein them in, especially since Scorpius had begun unveiling his muggle-loving, dueling-enabled, evil-genius side since the start of term. I think I might like you, Malfoy.

"Are you asking anyone, Potts?" Scorpius' attention was never one to linger; he had reverted his gaze back to their fellow Hufflepuff prefect.

"Well, I was thinking about Katie Milch but she's a bit frightening to be honest…"

"Nah, Katie's only a bitch on the pitch. Just don't mention you're a Puddlemere United fan and you stand a fighting chance, I'd say…"

"You think so? Cheers, Malfoy."

Why oh why did he have to pick nowto be significantly less of a prick? She closed her eyes and the words that were so desperately willing to leave her lips echoed in her mind.

I like you.

I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's changing everything I know about myself.

Don't mess me up.

AAA.

There seemed to be no drawbacks to the plan except one.

The Slytherin Quidditch Captain was on academic probation.

"What?" cried Al in shock as Astrakhan delivered his most recent class assignment (the Alihotsy Draught, ridiculously difficult to brew, supposed to relieve hysteria) on his desk. The paper was stamped with a glaring D. "There has to be a mistake, professor. I got a 'D'—a 'D'?"

"No mistakes," refuted Astrakhan crisply, passing by the boy's table without so much of a passing glance. "Though I can't say the same for your paper. Awful, sloppy work."

"But that means-" Al quickly conducted a mental calculation of his current scores. Charms had just recently slipped into the 'Poor' category; DADA and Ancient Runes were barely scraping by with their own 'Acceptables'; Arithmancy had actually dropped to an abysmal 'Dreadful'; he had been counting on Potions to lift up his school average.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, your Potions grade has plummeted from an 'Acceptable' to a 'Poor'. Paz-drav-lya, I congratulate you."

Al sat back, stunned. His school average had fallen below the 'Acceptable' range, meaning that he was now on probation, meaning he was no longer allowed to participate in extracurriculars until his academics improved, which ultimately meant…

"No Quidditch," he said out loud, almost in wonderment. Bleedin' hell, the match against Gryffindor is in two weeks. "Fuck."

Several heads turned at his proclamation, followed by a round of guffaws. Carpathia snorted beside him and reached out to pat his hand in sympathy.

Astrakhan's beady eyes glinted behind the frames of his glasses. "You can say that again because I'd allow it in your situation, Potter. Now you've got two options; either you visit me after class for some possible extra-credit or, if you're feeling extra hysterical at the moment, you can brew the bloody potion in your spare time and drink ityourself."

Al nodded, swallowing. "I'll see you after class, Professor."

As he expected, Astrakhan was in no mood to joke around. Though the professor had always taken liberty to treat Potter like an apprentice rather than a student, it seemed Al had lost that privilege.

"Potter," the Soviet veteran spat out his name as though he'd chewed on something particularly distasteful. "Care to give an explanation?"

Al shrugged and tried not to reveal too much of his frustration. "You know I could have brewed that potion in my sleep."

"Ah, arrogance. The ever-present weed that grows on talent—and sucks it dry, might I add," said Astrakhan scornfully. He snatched back the paper that Al was holding in his hand and threw it on the table. "That, Mr. Potter, could have been written by one of my first-years. I've seen better English grammar coming from Polish refugees. This," he gestured forcefully towards the desk in front of him, "is an N.E.W.T course. At the end of your seventh year, you will be facing a practical and a written assessment. Does any of this compute in that sluggish, idiot brain of yours?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I really am," explained Al apologetically. "I finished that paper last minute because I was caught up with Quidditch—we've got a match in two weeks and there are scouts coming-"

"What a pity, considering you're now on probation," Astrakhan almost sneered. "And don't think you'll be able to escape this one; I will personally ensure that Professor Fell sees the terms of your activities suspension through."

Al's mouth fell open in a mixture of outrage and confusion. He had never encountered such aggression from the Potions Master before. "Sir, I-"

"Do you remember what this is, Potter?" Astrakhan cut him off rather brusquely. He pulled open his drawer and took out a familiar, bluish-grey stone.

"Er…yeah. It's a…uh, anaconda kidney stone. Said to provide immediate relief for cuts and gashes, wasn't it?"

"Glad to see your memory's not as abysmal as your writing. I expect a 1200-word essay on my desk on Friday."

"What? But, sir, that's in three days-"

"I'm throwing you a lifeline, Potter," snapped Astrakhan, "Don't waste it. Now get out and start writing that bleeding essay so that I'm not forced to fail my most talented student."

The last line could have been a skewed compliment but Al still found himself walking out of the Potions classroom with a stunned expression on his face. I'm failing Potions. He never thought that the idea would bother him so much but now that it was actually happening he could feel an odd numbness taking hold of him.

Carpathia was waiting for him outside. "What happened?" she asked in concern at the sight of Al's pale complexion.

"I'm about to fail Potions, that's what," said Al rather dazedly. "And I've got to find a way to finish a 1200-word assignment on anaconda kidney stones by Friday."

"That's the same day Vipula's assignment on dragon-glass charms are due," mused Carpathia out loud. After a beat, her eyes widened and she rounded on Al's aghast expression with an apologetic expression. "Sorry! I didn't mean to put pressure on you…god, forget I said anything-"

"No, you're right—I completelyforgot about the ruddy dragonglass—blast it,"Al groaned, "How am I going to finish all this shit by Friday?"

"What have you been doing this whole time, Al?" demanded Carpathia, putting her hands on her hips.

"I don't know…" muttered Al helplessly. "There was that extra Quidditch practice that Malfoy insisted on having…then I had to ask Izzie if she wanted to go with me to the Krawl…and then she asked if we could go as Merlin and Morgana so I had to find costumes for the damn thing…"

"Ah." Carpathia sounded deceptively neutral but Al knew there was an inner battle wrestling behind her tight-lipped response. "At least Isabel's happy, isn't she?"

Don't say anything stupid. Don't say anything stupid. Lately, Al had adopted a habit of repeating the mantra inside his head every time Isabel came up in conversation between them. The tension always thickened noticeably every-time his girlfriend was mentioned and he wasn't entirely sure whether it was due to Carpathia's animosity or his own defensiveness.

"Yeah, I reckon so. She's pretty excited about the whole thing…"

Carpathia sighed and eyed him levelly. "Well, then you better get all your assignments finished. If you stay on academic probation, you won't be able to leave the castle with the rest of us on Halloween. Your activities are suspended, remember?"

"Shit," repeated Al, and a stream of curse words fell vehemently from his mouth.

"Ho-ho. Cheeky. Who knew Harry taught his kids how to curse like sailors?" Charlie Weasley's voice sailed into their conversation and the two froze in their spots as the owner of the aforementioned voice treaded towards them. "Hullo, you two." Professor Weasley was an eclectic sight for sore eyes in his navy-blue robes and flaming red hair. "Fancy bumping into both of you here, and even more so with Al running his mouth off." He grinned at the pair, who had both turned on rather weak smiles in return. "So there's going to be a party on Halloween, eh?"

Carpathia's eyes met Al's urgently and the redheaded boy fumbled for words. "What, uh, gave you that idea, Charlie? I wouldn't really call the Graveyard Grouse a party-"

"Save it for your dad, Al. I grew up with Fred and George," responded Charlie with a roll of his eyes. "And did you really think that the faculty had no idea what was happening under our noses? Only a complete cad would buy the idea that students are actually interested in listening to dead people griping about the past. Some of us are trying to keep it all hushed up from Neville and Sandra, you know." Sandra was Professor Fell's given name.

"Oh," said Al awkwardly. "Well…er…thanks. On behalf of the sixth and seventh years, I mean."

"No problem," replied Charlie, winking as he walked past them. "Glad to see the Hogwarts I know is back."

Carpathia and Al stared after the flamboyantly dressed professor for several moments and then the two of them shared a look. The bewilderment in each of their eyes was enough to send the two of them bursting into laughter, so much that they ended up grasping at each other for support.

"Poor chap, Uncle Neville," said Al as the final snickers faded out. "This may be the last time I'll ever say this, but Malfoy's a genius for coming up with this."

"In all seriousness, Al," said Carpathia soberly, attempting to wipe the grin from her face. "We have to get you off academic probation."

"Well…Potions is easy enough, but I'm rubbish at Charms-"

"I'll come by your room tomorrow tonight," said Carpathia firmly, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "I know the password; I'll let myself in. We'll finish off Vipula's assignment, then you'll have all of Thursday for Astrakhan's essay."

Al nodded slowly and grasped her hand fervently. "You are the most incredible—the best bloodyperson I've ever known-"

Carpathia had the grace to blush, but she withdrew her hand and forcefully shoved Al's head. "Shut up. You better stop fannying around from now on, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned. He knew he was being difficult but when he leaned over to tousle her hair, he was content to see the smile return to her face.

AAA.

Today was the seventh day.

What was Isabel playing at? Did she honestly believe that Carpathia wasn't going to call her bluff?

I was the one he said 'I love you' to this morning. Who do you think he'll listen to when you accuse me of cheating on him?"

No matter how resolutely she tried to stop thinking about it, the pain of Al's professed feelings felt like a knife-stab to her chest. He'd said it? To her? To that two-faced bint? The thought was so infuriating she wanted to dive into her duvet and scream into the depths of her pillow in a manner she'd so often scorned of her roommates. She had thought she was above the whims of silly teenage girls.

Life liked to play wicked tricks, though. She had felt the electricity of his hand against her hair this morning. She had felt it like a pulse, breathing life to the butterflies in her stomach that she'd thought had been doomed to extinction. His ruddy hand had made her feel like a silly teenage girl.

There was no pillow, but the soft bed of grass seemed to be an apt substitute. Carpathia groaned and buried her face into the ground. She was immediately disgruntled by the amount of soil and tiny rocks that filled her mouth and sat up with a loud cough.

She heard Louis' laugh and turned to see him walking languidly towards her with his hands in his pockets.

"Boy trouble?" he called out. "Did Richie Montgomery finally pluck up the balls to ask you to the Krawl in the cheesiest, most excrutiating way possible?"

"You're late," she replied, promptly taking out a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket. When he bounced into the grass beside her, she added, "Richie was going to ask?"

"Oops," Louis shrugged without a single ounce of regret. "Well, I suppose you should know. He's planning to corner you at dinner tonight; overheard it at lunch today."

"Oh brill," deadpanned Carpathia.

"What's the matter, mon cherie?" prodded Louis in a singsong voice. "Is it Al? Did my cousin strike another ardent chord in your heart?"

Louis' statement hit surprisingly close to home. Carpathia felt her inner resolve suddenly melt away and the words tumbled out softly: "Yes." She leaned her head on the boy's shoulder and realized that she did trust Louis, for some inexplicable reason. "Yes and it feels terrible."

The fact that she'd openly admitted he had been right all this time had broken another barrier. Louis cupped her chin gently with his hand and she felt him smile against her hair. "He deserves you," he said. "Not that fruity twit."

Carpathia let out a sigh against the French boy's shoulder. He really did smell delicious; like a mix of rosewater, vinegar, and—and some silky exotic spice that she couldn't quite place. The overpowering scent made her feel hazy. "Your veela thing is working up again."

"Is it? Sorry," Louis drew away from her with his dazzling grin still in place but at least the haziness had faded. "I've got an idea, Carps."

"What?"

"Well, the Krawl's coming up and seeing as you're coming up with ways to avoid going with Montgomery and I clearly have no options-"

"Now just a minute," cut in Carpathia with a raised hand. "Who says you don't have options? Keegan McCauwley is gay, and I'm fairly certain some of the chaps in the Gobstones Club aren't entirely straight-"

"Oh, aces. Sign me up then," interrupted Louis sardonically.

Carpathia cocked an eyebrow. "Or, if you're looking for something with a huge misunderstanding written over it, there's always Gareth-"

"Ha ha. Funny," Louis stuck out his tongue. "You're not really in a position to be choosy, Carps. How about it then?"

The nickname 'Carps' had grown on her at an alarming rate. She had two coined names now, one for two different members of the same family. Louis and his persistent, resilient charm had grown on her rapidly too—like a parasitic vine that refused to let go of an oak. The difference between Louis and a parasitic vine was that instead of suffocating her, there was ease to his presence that allowed their conversations to flow naturally.

When she was with him, she could forget about her problems. She could pretend for one second that it wasn't wrong to be falling back into the same turmoil of emotions for her best friend. She could pretend that she'd never heard Erin Stormwallis utter words that had placed such a heavy burden on her shoulders. As strange as their sudden and quirky friendship was, Louis could make everything fine and dandy with just a few short puffs of smoke and a couple laughs.

Carpathia tossed the boy a cigarette (Incendium, the ones Devon had liked, and only Louis knew that fact) and lit one up for herself. They were going to quit smoking one day, before one of them became severely addicted, but for now she liked the fact that there was a 'they' to begin with.

"Why not?" she said.

AAA.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" repeated Scorpius, two pink spots of rage appearing on his cheeks. He looked as though he was about to whack Al with his broomstick. "Because, you prick, you've been planning our strategy for months now. If I became Captain now, we'd be running plays backwards. And Milch would murder you for putting me second-in-command," he added as an afterthought.

"Pipe down, will you?" said Al through gritted teeth, glancing around the pitch. The flock of greens settling by the bleachers were shooting looks their way. What's the matter with Cap'n and our Seeker? "It's just a precautionary measure. I've got it handled, alright? I'll be off probation by this weekend so that I can make it to the Krawl…"

"What?" Scorpius seemed to be on the verge of exploding. "You'd better show up, Potter. You're supposed to be supplying the fake ID's."

Al folded his arms defensively. "Oi. Just to be clear. It's not my fault you're not seventeen."

"Yeah, well, I'm not missing my own party, am I?" said Scorpius with an air of obnoxiousness, though he was significantly mollified. "What sort of idiot loses points on a Potions essay? Was your mother too thick to teach you the English alphabet?"

"No, she was too busy living happy married life with Dad," Al shot back scathingly.

Scorpius stared at him for several moments, blue eyes somber. "That was low."

Al's anger immediately deflated and his face crumpled. "Sorry, Malfoy. That was-"

"—completely uncalled for-"

"I know, I know. I'm a prick. You told me out of confidence and I threw it back in your face-"

"More like socked it in my face," agreed Scorpius, "Admirable though. I would've done the same."

"Probably."

"I reckon you should let me have a go at your dragontail now, since my feelings have been significantly wounded and all."

Al rolled his eyes and dramatically presented his beautiful, silver-carved-on-blackthorne broomstick to the other boy. "Fine."

Scorpius dropped his own broomstick and grasped Al's without a second's passing, looking quite jaunty and not at all wounded. "Cheers. By the way, does it seem like Montgomery's looking more off-color than usual?"

The Gryffindors and Slytherins rarely held Quidditch practice together, but today was such a rare occasion. On the other end of the pitch, the Gryffindor players were conducting single-file flying drills in the shape of an hour-glass. Richie Montgomery was not amongst the red swallows up in the air; rather, he was sitting cross-legged in the dirt picking at the grass.

Al fought back a smile. "Do you think he's on probation as well?"

"Don't be daft; it has to be a girl. They're half the reason for everything," commented Scorpius, studying the frizzy-haired boy with crafty eyes. Then, in a tone that was so smooth and casual that Al's ears pricked up: "Speaking of girls, is Weasley going with anyone?"

Al's eyes flickered towards the red players. He could spot Rose's distinctive auburn-gold hair amongst the flurry. "I reckon with Rowan, most likely. They've been mates for ages and Drew's going with Amanda so they're stuck with one another. Not that I think either of them mind."

"I see." Malfoy's voice was, again, as smooth as a calm body of water. Al fought to detect any flash of emotion but the boy's waxen, angular face betrayed nothing. Scorpius' nose furrowed slightly. "You're staring, Potter."

"Why do you want to know?" inquired Al bluntly.

"Curiosity is healthy, Potter. Weasley's my colleague in orchestrating this scheme and I want to make sure she isn't distracted."

Al's eyes narrowed. "D'you know there's so much dung spewing out of your mouth I'm surprised you haven't attracted flies yet?"

A twisted smile tugged at Scorpius' mouth and his gaze slid away from Al's. "I think we should start practice. Team's getting restless."

"Malfoy."

Al's tone was dangerous. Scorpius swiveled around, the strands of his blond hair casting a shadow over his eyes. "What?"

Al stepped forward, his voice lowering solemnly. "I'm going to ask you one last time to be honest with me."

There was silence, and then Scorpius replied unfeelingly: "D'you know what, Potter? I'd like some goddamn honesty myself." He turned on his heel and strode off with Al's broomstick in hand.

Al threw up his hands, frustrated over the unfathomable nature of his Quidditch seeker. "So who are you asking then?" he yelled across the distance that Scorpius had already placed between them.

With his back still turned, Scorpius elegantly lifted up his middle-finger in response. "None of your fucking business, Potter."

AAA.

"So has Rowan finally told you he fancies you?"

Rose blinked out of her stupor as Amanda's voice penetrated the silence. She had been sitting idly by her bed, her feet dangling absently over the edge, but now she withdrew her legs and carefully folded them beside you. "You're joking, right?"

"No," shrugged Amanda, her face admirably blank. "Do you mean to say he doesn't fancy you?"

"Obviously," replied Rose, severely bothered by the thought. "What in bleedin' hell makes you think otherwise? " Even Carpathia, who tended to stay out of their chatterfests, had raised her head and was now regarding the three of them with an amused expression.

"Oh, Rosie," hummed Elissa Travers, who occupied the bed next to Carpathia's. The raven-haired girl pulled open the curtains of her four-poster bed and poked her head through. "If you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. Merlin knows it's been a while since anyone's asked me on a date. And Rowan's quite fit."

"It's not a date," Rose said irritably. She looked quickly at Amanda. "Come on, Mands. You're going out with Drew. He knows exactly what I'm on about. If you want he'll recite the entire damn history of our extremely dull, extremely platonic friendship."

Amanda shrugged. "Actually, Drew says Rowan hasn't shut up about the Krawl since he asked you."

"Everyone's excited about the Krawl."

"I mean," she emphasized slowly, "He hasn't shut up about going with you."

Elissa's mouth pursed into a very dramatic 'O'. Rose stared at the two girls with a mingled look of desperation and incredulity then turned to Carpathia for aid. "Please inform these two twits that it is possible for two members of the opposite sex to be mates and stay mates."

Carpathia leaned forward on her elbows, displaying an uncharacteristic interest in the conversation. "Dunno actually. It's a tricky statement."

"Did you two coordinate costumes together?" pressed Elissa eagerly. "I bet Rowan looks cracking in decent threads."

"Er, yeah—we still have our Three Musketeers costumes from last year-"

"It's not the Three Musketeers without the third one isn't it?" pointed out Amanda, "Drew and I are going as Mark Anthony and Cleopatra."

"I—I-" Despite being rendered speechless, Rose still found herself unable to shake off the urge to laugh. She reached over and slapped Carpathia's arm gently. "Oi, bitch, you're supposed to be the reinforcement here. If Al asked you-"

"Actually, I'm going with Louis," said Carpathia with a hint of embarrassment. Elissa's mouth dropped and Rose rounded on her with a startled expression. "But yes, it's definitely platonic," she amended quickly.

"Bloomin' eck, this is so unfair," moaned Elissa, her lips pulling into a pout. "Does everyone in this room have a date except me?"

"Louis?" repeated Rose. "Our Louis? Louis Weasley?"

Carpathia nodded gravely. "That's the one."

"Oh. Well, that's a surprise. Wonder why he hasn't told me or Al…" the confusion in Rose's voice trailed off and she shook her head as if to rid herself of an irksome fly. "You see. There you go," she added on briskly, turning to Amanda with an air of triumph. "Just as Thia said."

Amanda tutted, unconvinced. "Heavens, Rosie. You're probably the thickest clever person I know. One day you'll jump off that cloud you're sitting on and give yourself a great big knock on the head when you hit the ground. Then, when you're rubbing out that painful sore, I'll come 'round and tell you 'that's reality, bitch', and then you'll realize that ditsy old 'Mands was right all along." Elissa giggled, and Amanda turned to Carpathia with a friendly smile. "Congrats, you. Louis is a catch!"

"Just mates," reminded Carpathia.

"Oh yeah, everybody's everyone's friend," replied Amanda with a roll of her eyes. Then, she grabbed her bookbag and trotted to the door, calling over her shoulder: "I'm off to dinner. Elissa, you coming?"

Elissa responded by following Amanda's footsteps, but not before shooting the pair of them a wink.

"You don't believe them, do you?" said Rose, turning to Carpathia. "That Rowan might…you know."

"Would it be so bad if he did?" ventured Carpathia.

"Yes," ground out Rose firmly, "I mean, no, it wouldn't be the worst because Rowan is the best of the best of blokes that I know…but it would be bad because he's…" she found herself at a loss of words again. He was what? Kind, caring, inquisitive, funny as hell, the one who Has Always Been There? No, there was nothing wrong with that, but she would not condone the idea that Rowan was the Rowan she knew and loved because he had ulterior motives. The idea ruinedthe simple purity of their friendship. "He's…my best male friend." Of the year. Of all years.

Carpathia climbed onto Rose's bed with a sigh. She settled down, cross-legged, on the corner of the duvet across from the redheaded girl. "It's not nice being in this position, is it? The best-mate scenario I mean." Rose grimaced, and Carpathia continued on quietly, "Well, let me tell you that it's much worse on the other end of the equation. Every moment you're with that person, it's a war inside your head. You're fighting for control over your heart and your mind, and even then you're not entirely sure what to fight for either. Somewhere along the road that person stops becoming your mate altogether, no matter how hard you try to preserve that friendship, because the moment you have to try it's no longer real." Carpathia met Rose's eyes solemnly. "If Rowan does like you and it becomes clear, I'll give you one solid piece of advice: tell him there's no chance you'll ever fancy him and let him decide whether he still wants to be your friend."

Rose sighed forlornly and her body slacked in defeat. "Why do you always make it sound easy?"

"It is and you're not as complicated as you think you are," replied Carpathia frankly.

"Neither are you," Rose tossed back affectionately. "You can't tell me you're not still jealous over Al and Isabel. That's the reason why you said yes to Louis, isn't it?"

"Maybe," said Carpathia shamelessly. A mysterious smile appeared on her lips, reminding Rose that there would always be things the girl knew that she didn't.

"Just be careful," she said with a tinge of anxiety. "Louis has his heart in the right place but he can cock-up an awful lot—one minute you'll be dandy and the next on a boat halfway to Sweden with a bottle smashed over your head. And," she added gingerly, placing a hand on Carpathia's arm. "As your friend, don't put yourself back in the same place with Al again. I love him to bits, but he's…he's stuck on that Ravenclaw bint and it's not worth the trouble."

"I'll be fine," said Carpathia with a trace of sad humor. She patted the redheaded girl's hand. "You just concentrate on how to make the Krawl the best buggering party Hogwarts has seen in years." The girl swung her legs off the bed and headed towards the door.

"Right…" mumbled Rose dazedly. "Where are you going?"

"Slytherin dungeons," replied Carpathia, tossing a quick farewell glance over her shoulder. "I've got to get Al off academic probation."

"Academic—what?" Rose got to her feet, her voice resonating with outrage into the stairwell. "Why am I the bloody last person to hear about anything?"

AAA.

The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was approaching the Slytherin table, something that was practically unheard of at Hogwarts.

Admidst the 'boos' and hisses that shot his way, Richie Montgomery remained relatively unruffled as he stepped into the seat across from Al, who was busy scribbling away about the properties of anaconda kidney stones in close proximity to his dinner.

"Hullo," greeted Richie, his voice deadened from gloom. "Potter, can I have a word?"

At the sound of Richie's voice, Al started and found himself dripping ink onto his mashed potatoes. "Uh, yeah, hi, Rich."

Richie was a friendly and non-discriminatory bloke; a quality rare in Gryffindor Quidditch captains, who tended to strut around the corridors like peacocks. A stark contrast to James, he tended to abide Quidditch laws and employ clean strategies. Al rather liked him. "Did we clash booking times again? I could swear I told Hopkirk that we were rescheduling to next Tuesday-"

"I didn't come to talk about Quidditch."

Malfoy had been right; he did look severely off-color. His face, which normally housed an extremely wide, toothy grin, was now pursed into a tight knot. Even the frizzy strands of his hair seemed to droop despondently around his shoulders.

"Oh, er, righty then," said Al awkwardly, "What's the matter?"

"You're best mates with Carpathia Nott, yeah?"

Al set aside his parchment carefully. "Yeah."

Richie let out a forlorn grunt and slumped over the table. Over the boy's frazzled mane, Lucas shot Al an inquisitive look. "So, honestly, what's her deal? Does she have a certain type of bloke or what?" As Al's look morphed into one of surprise, Richie continued, "I mean, I'm a nice bloke myself. We get on quite spiffingly in class and I might not be the cleverest or the most assertive or anything, but I'm funny and I play some damn good Quidditch….normally, you'd think that being Captain of the Gryffindor team would help with the birdie situation…" he was babbling and he knew it. The boy shook his head as if attempting to revert himself back on track, "Anyway, I asked her to the Krawl and she said no. Then, a couple hours later, I find out that she's going with Louis. Always knew he sported a bit of a crush on her, stupid tosser-" he emphasized vehemently, and then corrected quickly, "Shit. Sorry, Potter. I forgot-"

"Hang on a minute. You asked herto the Krawl?" the words strangled themselves out of Al's throat. "And she's—she's going with Louis?" Something warm and feverish was creeping up the back of his neck. His feelings towards his cousin seemed to drop a couple dozen centigrade.

"Oh. Yeah, thought you knew-"

"No," said Al, and the coldness in his tone seemed to be resonate from a distance. "No, I didn't." Louis should have given him a fair warning at least. What on earth was he playing at anyway? He knew perfectly well that Carpathia was his mate, his—

What, exactly? The rationale in his brain piped up. Your mate. That's right. Not your girlfriend.

"I didn't think she'd go for him either," continued Richie glumly. "I suppose it's not a terribly big surprise or anythin', what with Weasley's smarmy looks and charm. He's the same sort as Devon Lynch and they were an item-"

"Devon has nothing to do with it," Al interrupted briskly, and he leveled his gaze with Richie. "Carpathia doesn't have a type. She doesn't want anything from anyone really, except kindness. That and someone to let her know that they'll always be there even if she does muck up." He instinctively reached for his parchment and quill, feeling as though if he didn't busy himself with another topic soon he'd bloody explode. Isabel, he thought to himself, think about Isabel. She'd been wearing peach-colored ribbons and a gorgeous white blouse today. 'You're the sweetest ever'; he could still recall her exact words when he'd invited her to the Krawl with a bouquet of daffodils several days ago.

"Yeah, I reckon there's always next time…" Richie trailed off on a slightly more optimistic note. "Blimey, Potter, how'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How'd you stay her mate all this time and not have any…y'know…feelings?"

There had been a time when him and Carpathia were the misfits at school that nobody else wanted to be mates with. Blokes like Richie, who'd been popular or at least somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, had been so frightened of Carpathia that they had rarely spoken to her. With a twinge of resentment, Al reflected that things had seemed much simpler then. "Dunno, Rich. When did you have this epiphany?"

Richie's eyes brightened. "It wasn't an epiphany…more of a slow realization, y'know? The professors used to sit us together all the time during lessons 'cause of our surnames…and one day she turned 'round at me and said, 'You're not doing that right. This professor's rubbish' and it sort of hit me that I liked her." He let out a long, dreamy sigh. "D'you know how there's people who get great marks but aren't clever or anythin'? She's one of those that don't need the marks…she's brilliant on her own…" His voice trailed off and then picked up again with new fervor, "And she's pretty. Cor, so pretty, but not in a conventional way, yeah? She's got these gorgeous gray eyes and this sort of, like, quiet beauty to her face…I mean, yeah, she wears an awful lot of black but I don't even think she needs all that color to begin with. And blimey," a wicked grin crossed his face, "Don't get me started on her legs-"

"Right," said Al, bolting out of his seat and feeling suddenly sick to the stomach. "Well, hang in there, Rich. I, uh, have to be off."

He heard Richie utter a faint protestation behind him but he didn't care. He strode along the length of the Banquet Hall with his heart hammering in his chest. When he swung around the corner and into the corridor, he collided forcefully into the person he just wanted to see.

"Ow," said Carpathia with a brief laugh, rubbing the spot on her forehead where Al had accidentally elbowed her. "Merlin's beard. I was just looking for you."

Al swatted some lint off his shoulder and avoided looking at her directly. "What for?" You couldn't have spared one moment to tell me that you and my cousin are getting awfully friendly?

Carpathia stared at him incredulously. "What for? We're finishing off Charms homework or have you already forgotten?"

"Oh," the memory crashed down on Al on a hot wave of embarrassment. He glanced over his shoulder to see Richie gazing at his best mate in a manner that was entirely too doting for his liking. "Right. Sorry. Lets get going then."

AAA.

I like you.

Somewhere in the midst of her attempting to finish off Professor Wrathe's assignment on divine command, the words had oozed out of her quill on their own accord. Rose sat up with a start and stared at them in horror. Then, with a furtive curse, she balled up the parchment and threw it in the rubbish bin next to her.

She cast a look on the clock at her table. 8:47 pm. The library was essentially deserted, save for a few frantic seventh-years and…well, a lovely snogging couple behind the Basics to Transfiguration section. Yep, time to leave.

Shouldering her bag, she wasted no time treading quickly past the shadowed halls and silent, tall torches. As she approached the first set of stairs towards Gryffindor tower, she heard her name echoing behind her.

"Rose."

She turned and saw Carter walking towards her, carrying what looked like an equally hefty bag with parchment siplling out its sides. Her shoulders stiffened automatically as her mind instantly flashed back to their last encounter (a not-so-smooth break-up) but he put his hands up as though to signal a sign of truce.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said lightly. There was something different about him; happier, tanner, a more genuine smile perhaps. "I was on my way back to the Hufflepuff common-room when I saw you. Busy revising, eh?" His eyes darted down briefly to his own bag chuckled.

"How have you been, Carter?" Rose inquired tentatively.

Carter shrugged. "I've been…good. Brilliant actually," he admitted. "I know the two of us used to take the piss on Easy Ellie quite a lot but actually she's…great. Really great. 'Course she's just 'Ellie' now," he grinned.

She nodded. "So everything's jolly-happy-farm then."

"Yeah. Look, I…" There was a pause and his foot shifted awkwardly to the side. "I wanted to apologize. I was a complete berk, the way I treated you. Never thought I'd say this but Malfoy was right to beat me senseless. I was …stuck. I suppose. I know better now." He offered a wan smile and she responded in kind, though she felt as though it had suddenly become rather difficult to swallow. "I did a lot of growing up. I faced up to a lot of emotions and had a second glance at certain things…and I was wrong. With a lot of it."

"I see," said Rose diplomatically.

Carter rubbed his hands nervously. "So anyway, I just wanted to say that I'd, um, really like it if we could part ways on good terms, yeah? Just to set the record straight again."

Fancy that. Rose exhaled, her throat still tight. "That sounds perfect, Carter."

"Good." He shifted again, a little more hesitatingly, and then closed the space between them to give her a small peck on the cheek. Rose drew back hurriedly, trying not to get lost in the nostalgic effects of his pepperwood aftershave. After all, he was the first boy she'd ever loved. "I'll see you at the Krawl."

"Yeah," she heard herself say, "Bye." She watched his golden-brown cowlicks catch the light as he turned away from her and strode off. He's changed, she thought, and I've changed. It was always for the best.

"Now that's oneperson I forgot to cross off the guest-list."

She felt her heart swoop with dread and joy simultaneously. Of course he'd be there. I like you. The words sang through her mind instantly like a broken record.

"You broke his nose," she replied without turning around. "I think that merits an invitation."

"Really? I think it merits a violent kick to the testicles."

A snort slipped out of her before she could force it back in. "So what's your excuse for sneaking around this time, Malfoy?" She rounded on him. He was sitting at the top of the staircase, his face framed in shadow with the torchlight hovering above his white-blond hair.

"Sneak? I prefer skulk. It's got more character," he replied, casually easing forward so that his sharp features hit the light. "Did you know that this is the exact same staircase that we were stuck waiting for that one time?"

"Oh." The realization came as a surprise. "So it is. I recall you were being an angry wanker then."

"And you were bawling your eyes out."

"I was not."

She heard him chortle and his silhouette promptly rose to full height. Like an unresisting magnet, she felt herself move towards him until she was standing barely a step away. I like you. Shut up, she told herself.

"You were," he replied with a hint of a tease, "And it was a godawful sight."

"Always doing wonders for my self-esteem, I see," she retorted, though she was smiling.

"Let me rephrase," amended Scorpius, taking another step towards her so that that her nose could almost touch his chest. "Because it's always a godawful sight to see you cry, Weasley. It's like watching the Whomping Willow burst into flame."

Scorpius' eyes were a soft dim blue as they looked down on her. He was now so close that Rose could see the small ridges in his elegant roman nose. He was really beautiful in that rare refined way, she thought, and this—oh, this has to be some sort of cruel fantasy.

"Do you still remember the motto of that day?"

I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's changing everything I know about myself.

"Something about not giving a fuck, was it?" she recalled lightly. "Not exactly the bible verse but at least it's hard to forget."

She waited a beat, and then another, but Scorpius didn't answer. With a sigh, she placed her bag down and sat on the step.

His long, thin frame settled down beside her. "What's your motto for today, Weasley?"

I like you.

"I don't make mottos."

"Really? Shame."

She could practically hear him grin and just when she was about to utter her own retort she froze, because suddenly his fingers brushed against her own.

She looked down. Their hands were barely an inch apart; one small and pink and the other pale and long, fingers spreading towards one another like a misshapen spider's web. "Malfoy-" she murmured, embarrassingly breathless.

"Don't ruin it," he said quietly.

He was looking at her, really looking at her with an expression that made her knees knock together, and when his hand closed over own she realized-with a burst of clarity that hit her like a clap of lightning-that there was no going back.

I like you.

That's when she saw it.

Tucked neatly into the dark crevasse between his neck and chin, like a gem sparkling between two rocks, was a ruby-red lipstick stain. The same red that she had seen countless of times glistening on the Head Girl's lips.

She yanked her hand out from under his, her mouth trembling. "What the hell?"

Scorpius' brow folded inwards at her reaction. With his other hand, he reached for the spot on his neck that her eyes were horribly fixated on. When his fingers smudged the stain, the color drained out of his face. "Shit." His lips formed silent movements, as though he couldn't quite pinpoint what to say. "It's not—what it looks like." His voice trailed off into a low frustrated mutter, as though he too realized how lame of an excuse it sounded. "Wait, just listen-"

"No."

She was tired of playing games, especially having just ended one with her ex-boyfriend. She was tired of ignoring the protests of her own body and mind everytime she felt the heat of his presence and did nothing about it. She was tired of hearing the words 'Scorpius Malfoy' and debate over whether to hate or love them.

The words cascaded out of her mouth in a waterfall of emotion, powerful and uncontrollable. "I like you."

It was like an out-of-body experience. She was assailed with horror and exhilaration as she registered Scorpius' eyes widening, but she couldn't quite connect the emotions to her own body. Her physical self seemed to be shaking out of control and still, the words continued flowing out.

"I don't know what you're playing at. I don't know what normal is for us anymore. I don't know if this whole thing has been some sort of sick head-fuck you orchestrated. I just—don't know, but I have to tell you before I blow myself up-"

She grabbed the railing and pulled herself to her feet. Scorpius followed, his mouth opening, but she motioned for him to sit. "Don't move. Don't fucking move." Oh sweet Merlin, her voice was watery. "I like you."

I'm trying so hard not to like you but it's there, and it's—

"—It'schanging everything I know about myself." There was so much despair inside of her she didn't know where to put it—"And I'd hoped that at the end of this I wouldn't turn out all angry and broken-up but I have."

Please don't mess me up.

Her fist slammed the railing so hard that her palms smarted and even Scorpius leapt slightly. "You want to know what happened the day you lost your memories? You went ahead and said some pretty words, snogged the living daylights out of me and then forgot all about it afterwards. It was an absolute prick move," she spat and continued on, her voice wobbling precariously. "I hate what you're doing to me. I hate this fucking seesaw you've been stringing me along on—from visiting my grandparents to picking up rando muggle bints and then dropping cheeky hints that I was stupid enough to fall for and now this." A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it loathsomely away. "Did you plan the Krawl justso that you could get into Selma's pants? I wouldn't be surprised. You're a tossing, prick-head, fucker, Malfoy, and I should have stood by what I said to you outside the watch-shop—about us never speaking to one another again. No, scratch that, we should have just done exactly what you said—'I'll be Malfoy and you'll be Weasley again'—isn't that right? Oh wait, you don't remember," she let out a loud snort of irony and wiped more angry tears from her eyes. Then, in a moment of pure honesty, she said softly: "I hope this will mean something to you so I'll say it again. I like you. And I hate myself for it."

She grabbed her bag off the floor and walked away. Despite the wrath coursing through her, there was still some part of her heart that shamefully hoped he would stop her.

AAA.

It was 10 pm when Al finally worded off the last paragraph to his dragon-glass essay. Carpathia, who had spent the last thirty minutes poking around the boy's dormitory, entered the Slytherin common-room at the exact moment Al put his pen down.

"All done?" she asked, eyebrows raised high. She collapsed on Al's favorite green pouffe near the fireplace, brandishing two bottles of Wylmby's Cherry Sparkles. "Look what I found in Scorpius' trunk."

Al's lips twitched. "Funny. Never pegged him as a fruity drink sort of bloke."

"Do you think he'll miss them?"

His eyes widened as a mischievous smile spread across her cheeks. "What…now? It's almost midnight. And you said it yourself; I shouldn't be fannying around until I'm off probation-"

"Which is why I waited until you finished," she interrupted, stretching out her hand. "Give the paper here; I'll have a look."

Al silently handed her his finished work and watched her appraise it with careful eyes. Her lips moved silently as she drank in his words. The glow of the green fabric behind her and gleam of yellow from the lamps hanging above them cast a lovely shade of cream on her pale features. Several loopy strands of raven hair fell into her eyes and her dark lashes fluttered in discomfort.

She's got this, like, this quiet beauty to her face…but that was Richie, not him. Richie didn't have the most fantastic girlfriend on the planet…and Richie certainly wasn't in love with someone else.

"Al," she said suddenly and his cheeks flushed with color as though he'd been caught wanking off. "This is actually really good work."

"Oh, er, thanks. You're a good teacher," he said, his voice pitched a little higher than normal.

"I had to edit a couple grammatical errors, and I'm not entirely sure if Valeria the Wretched invented dragon talon molding in 1216; you'd better check with Rose. Otherwise," she gave him a warm smile. "All sorted. Shall we celebrate?" She tossed him one of the bottles.

Al caught it neatly. "For what?"

"That your Quidditch activities have been reinstated," she replied, uncorking her own bottle. A sweet sigh of relief echoed from the bottle-hole and she sniffed the rim with a look of surprise. "Oh, this one's been capped for years now. You can smell it. Come on, live a little."

Live a little, she'd always told him since they were first-years, and don't look back. Al uncorked his own bottle with an inward pop of satisfaction. He knew Malfoy would be pissed as hell that his stash had been broken into, but Al didn't care. Here's to all the times you nicked my Map, prick.

He'd always secretly preferred Cherry Sparkles over Firewhiskey—anything was better than Firewhiskey, to be honest. The sweet scarlet liquid sparked and sizzled on tongue and lips before he swallowed and he immediately felt the rush of heat in his throat. He looked at Carpathia, who was staring back at him with a gleam of delighted wonder in her eyes. "This stuff's really great, isn't it?"

She'd knocked his inhibitions down again. Conceding to defeat, he set aside his papers and met Carpathia's expression with a grin. Her smile dropped. "Al—no, this is my seat—"

"Woo!" he shouted in glee, jumping full-speed onto the tiny, green pouffe. Her legs circled out of the way just in time as his bottom hit the cushion, and the furniture piece rocked under the added weight. Carpathia cursed, trying to shift out of the way as Al's limbs knocked into her face and neck.

"You twat—I was here first-"

"This is my favorite chair and you know it-" Al began laughing as Carpathia whacked his head profusely with a grey-silk pillow. When it was clear that her attempts were fruitless, she groaned and pulled her knees up to try and fit herself into the small space. "Here," smiled Al, pushing her head gently against his shoulder to support her neck. "What do you want to drink to?"

"Mmpf," her voice was muffled against the fabric of the chair. Her body shifted as she readjusted her position. When her face reappeared near his shoulder and her eyes flickered up to meet his, he felt an odd shiver run through him. "To best mates."

"To best mates," repeated Al softly. The two of them clinked bottles and there was a silence as they downed a sizable swig.

Carpathia squeezed her eyes shut when she withdrew the bottle from her lips. "Oof that's strong."

Al coughed as a trail of sparks emitted from his ears and she laughed. "There's no way in hell we're finishing that," said Al with grimace, "I have no intention of getting myself trashed tonight."

"No, absolutely," agreed Carpathia.

An hour and two empty bottles later both of them were collapsed on the serpent-patterned rug of the common-room, giggling furiously and severely inebriated.

"Oh f-fuck my giddy aunt. I've d-done something terrible."

"And what's that, luv?"

Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "I do believe that I got the two of us unbelievably sh-smashed."

Al leaned his face in close to hers, his cheek rubbing against the carpet. "D-does that mean we're skiving off Charmstomorrow?"

Carpathia burst into such violent laughter that her complexion turned puce instantly. At this point (though Al wasn't entirely sure if he could trust his own account on this), he heard the door to the girl's dormitory slam open and Chantal's dulcet tones shouting over them.

"(Series of French words, nasty no doubt), do you have any idea what time it is? Some of us need to sleep, for goodness's sake. If you two are going to snog, could you take your ridiculous (insert French word) somewhere private like the rest of us?" Then a male voice (Desmond, remembered Al faintly) interjecting rather embarrassedly: "Chantal… lets just, ah, leave them to it-"

Then, amidst the haze, Carpathia's eyes (gorgeous gray eyes) reentered his specter of vision and were fixed on him very seriously indeed. She was saying: "I reckon Miss Ch-Chantal Gerhardt dunnit like us very much." Then, she added with an air of increased sobriety, "I—I should be h-heading back-"

"No," he heard himself respond and his hand instinctively gripped her arm because for whatever reason, her leaving at that very moment seemed like an awful, awful idea. "Dun be th-thick. Hogwarts is no place for someone wast-who's sch-waysted," she chortled at his mis-pronounciation, "And ye can barely walk. Nah, you're sch-schtaying with me tonight."

Then they were stumbling towards his dorm-room, each whispering (in very loud, failed attempts at being quiet) to one another that they had to hush up, because they had both realized there was one very crucial obstacle to this plan: Gareth. Thank goodness that Gareth was an extremely sound sleeper because they entered Al's dormitory with no small amount of conspicuousness, prompting Scorpius and even Lucas to wake and groan at them to shut up. To their credit, no one gave an indication that it was Carpathia that Al had brought to the room that night, least of all Gareth, which put a rest to their (somewhat dim) worries.

When they crawled into Al's sheets, Al drew the four-poster curtains shut and clumsily cast a sound-proofing charm. Carpathia followed with a faint 'lumos', so that their faces were illuminated in the darkness.

"Al." He felt himself sink into the warm cover of drowsiness under the tent of their covers. "Al. Al. Allie. Albus."

"Mmf?"

"It's aw-awfully hot in here. D'you mind if I take my top off?"

"No," he said dolefully. He heard the rustle of fabric and suddenly registered the satin feel of her soft skin against his and the blood rushed to his brain in a burst of sobriety. "Thia-"

But she was clearly in no state to put her inhibitions back up. Carpathia settled in a fetus position across from him with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging slightly open, and Al couldn't help but look; look at the yellow glow that the wand-light gave to her unblemished skin, the dark fringe of her lashes on her cheek, the contrast of her black lace against the curve of her breast…

Isabel. He told himself firmly, drilling the name into the confines of his mind. Isabel, Isabel. I love Isabel.

"Thia," he whispered, his voice ringing in his ears and clearing his mind up momentarily. "Why are you going with Louis to the Krawl?"

He'd never imagined he would feel any form of dislike towards his cousin, who he'd always held in the highest regard since early childhood. Louis was a quirkier, more likeable version of James and had no trouble flocking girls to him like bees to honey…that's how it had always been and the best part was that Louis didn't flaunt it…

"Gah." She rolled to her side and scooted herself closer to him so that his lips were barely inches away from the back of her neck. He heard her yawn softly. "Juh-just mates. Louis is lovely…annoying, but lovely…"

Did he really think that he would be the only person in his family to be somewhat attracted to her (because, he had to admit it, that he was attracted to her—whether it was her eclectic personality or her funny habits or her face, which was quite a pretty face now that he opened his bloody eyes). And after Devon, what better than to have Thia end up with someone in the family…

"Thia," he said again, his words still rather slurred. "Y'know when I thought you were guh-going to jump off the train last year…I dunno if I-I've ever been so scared in my life. Never th-thought, really thought, that I'd lose you….and if that happened," he stared at the smooth surface of her neck. "What would I do? You were always there, since the sodding beginning of it all…ye always were the one to tell me how to get what I wanted…how to stop being such a—a bloody coward. You're…" he was at a loss of words now, and the alcohol began to take toll on him. He closed his eyes and dizziness overcame him.

He heard her body heave and sigh and her fingers grasped his. She pulled his arm around her torso and replied in drowsy tones. "I'll kill Isabel if she hurts you, Al, I swear I'll do something…"

He rolled his eyes and everything at that moment felt right; the pounding in his head, the warm body tucked next to him and the soft swaying of alcohol in his bloodstream…

He heard her murmur, "I really bloody love you, Al." Then the black settled in and he nodded off of to sleep.

AAA.

She woke up that morning in his arms.

The first sensation was a clammy sort of giddiness, as though she couldn't quite believe it, and then her stomach dropped. Whether it was from alcohol consumption or the hazy memories from last night, she stared at the beam of light piercing through his curtains with a dawning sense of horror. What did the hell did I do?

She thought of Isabel. I'm not a hypocrite.

A breath of air tickled the back of her neck. She turned her head sideways and Al's face loomed alarmingly close to hers, so close that she could count every lovely freckle on his ski-slope nose and the number of auburn lashes on his eyes. Al…she thought in despair…I haven't ruined anything, have I? It felt so good to be the one tucked against him, so good in fact that it was sickening.

"Al," she said softly, her fingers curling around his hand resting on her abdomen. The moment suddenly seemed so fragile and she wished she could clutch it to her chest and never let go. She rolled on her side again, gazing at the light streaming into their pocket of darkness and allowed the seconds to tick by.

She didn't know how long time had passed by when Al shifted and his arm momentarily tightened around her. His mouth opened and he let out a silent aching yawn. " 'morning."

"Morning," she replied, her back still to him.

"Misfits." She heard him read out, in quiet wonder, and knew what he was looking at. She had memorized the sight after spending painstaking hours drafting and scrapping the design. Afterwards she had given it to Silky and allowed the woman with her expertise to turn her art on paper into art on skin. The newest addition to her collection of tattoos.

The effect had turned out better than she expected. Between her shoulder-blades lay the dark silhouette of two hands clasped together and the word 'misfits' in tiny script etched above them. A memory, as it was, that had shaped her life; 'We're the misfits; we've got to protect each other.' She could recall the moment of helping that confused, frightened boy out of the snow like it was yesterday.

"This is the tattoo I didn't get to see?" said Al, and she felt his fingers trace the outline on her skin. "I didn't think it would be…about…" He swallowed andshe knew the unspoken ending of his sentence. Me.

She turned to face him and saw his brow furrowed as though he had suddenly encountered a troubling thought. "Now you know," she said.

Al sucked in a breath and his eyes traveled down to the dragon on her hip. She knew—by the sudden light that flickered past his features—that he had figured it out. "The dragon," he said, sitting up with a start and closing his eyes. "Third-year. Valentine's day-" He drew his hand back as though he'd been stung and Carpathia e sat up quickly, mirroring his position. I was the first person you fell in love with. Isabel had been right after all when she'd said he'd pieced it together, but Carpathia knew that mental contemplations was not the same as an actual confrontation and Al…Al's face was stricken with guilt.

"This was a mistake," he muttered, putting a hand through his rumpled red hair and evading Carpathia's gaze. She was keenly aware that she was half-naked. "I shouldn't have—we shouldn't have-"

"Al, it was a long time ago, I promise," she swooped in hurriedly, grasping his hand but he withdrew it from her. "Last night, I wasn't trying to-"

"You weren't?" Al half-snorted, and for the first time, she heard a note of disbelief seep into his voice. "Seems like you were trying something when you took your top off."

His sneer hurt. "Flattering yourself much?" she replied with darkened tones. "It takes two to get here and you were the one who invited me up to your room."

"You got us plastered," Al shot back.

"You had every opportunity to refuse a drink!"

"Oh Christ. Why the hell did you offer to come over last night in the first place?" shouted Al.

"To help you!" she threw back with a filthy glare. "To helpyou with your ruddy assignment because I'm your mate. I've always been your mate and I would have never compromised that-"

"There's a line," said Al hollowly, and she closed her mouth when she saw the regret in his eyes. He could never want what I want, she realized with a painful twinge of her heart. "There's a line and you have to know where it begins because once you cross it, everything changes."

"I know," she said, shutting her eyes. "I'm sorry." I have to tell him before I lose all my credibility. "Just—forget everything, please—and listen to what I have to say. Isabel, she's not what she seems-"

"Don't bring Isabel into this," snapped Al, anger flaring up in his eyes. "I love her. She hasn't done anything wrong and I feel shit enough as it is."

Carpathia's hand fell limply to her side. "She can't be trusted," she stated quietly.

Al stared at her and his mouth twisted bitterly. "Right now, I don't even know whether I can trust you."

The silence was so thick between them that Carpathia could swear her elevated heart-rate was loud enough for Al to hear. Then, in a burst of ironic comic relief, the emerald four-poster curtains around Al's bed were drawn open with a clatter and Scorpius' vexed expression filled the gap.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, if you're going to bring your girlfriend back here you could do your roommates a spare one and not nick all the booze and make a big buggering noise about it on your way in—Morgana's tits, I've got to get some bloody sleep before class and I can't do it with you two bickering like a pair of old ladies—Oh," his eyes enlarged in shock as he registered Carpathia's bare chest. She instinctively covered herself with a pillow. "Shit. This is a, uh, surprise."

The blond boy shot a wry smile towards a stony-faced Al. "Count your lucky stars that Gareth woke up early today."

"I've got to go," forced out Al abruptly, and he threw his legs off the bed and reached for the closest shirt hanging on his nightstand.

"Al-" began Carpathia quite desperately. "Can we just-"

"No, not now," he said vehemently, and Scorpius' eyebrows raised at the boy's icy demeanor. Al slipped on his trousers and marched over to Scorpius' bed, where he pulled out an odd, wrinkled piece of parchment from underneath his pillow.

"Ah, Potter, I was just going to use that-"

"It's my bloody map," Al barked.

Scorpius closed his mouth, clearly taken aback. "Where are you going?"

"To get myself sorted," he replied quite viciously, striding for the door with bookbag and papers in hand. "Then you'll have your sodding fake ID's, Malfoy."

The door slammed behind him, and Scorpius rounded on Carpathia with a gobsmacked look. "Did you two have a bad shag or what?"

Carpathia returned back to Gryffindor Tower with what felt like an empty pit inside her. She had known, of course, from the moment that they'd woken up together she had made a colossal mistake. And yet she had hoped it wasn't the case.

When she entered the girl's dormitory, the first thing she saw was Rose Weasley's hair sprawled over Carpathia's own cushion, her face buried into the sheets. Carpathia froze in the doorway, and a second later, Rose's head raised up and she saw that the other girl's face was drawn and pale.

"Thia," she greeted hoarsely, sitting up quickly and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be back until later-"

Carpathia knew the ashen look on Rose's face all too well; the toll of unrequited love. "It's fine," she answered faintly, flopping down next to her. Her head still spun slightly from the hangover, but she reached out and took Rose's hand in her own. "Everything's fine."

AAA.

He was a shitty person.

Though he had never considered himself to perform supremely well in much of anything and had been called bare short of 'useless' on more than one occasion, Al never thought his morale conscience would be in jeopardy.

Yet here he was, having just had a go with his best mate and very nearly entertaining second thoughts about the one girl he had proclaimed to be 'head over heels' with. And he was still sulking over himself.

It wasn't all Carpathia's fault, as he had so eloquently made it out to be. No. To be perfectly truthful, Carpathia may have crossed a line but it was him who pushed it closer to her. He should have known better than anyone that beyond the line was a whole pathway paved to heartbreak. And perhaps he would be able to stand the journey there (and he was certain that Carpathia already had), but he refused to put Isabel in any position that she might experience anything less than devotion from him.

I've got to be a better person, thought Al miserably as he stood outside Astrakhan's office, wondering what his next course of action ought to be. He had slept with Carpathia all night; he had smelled her hair, breathed in her skin, looked at her breasts for crying out loud. She doesn't deserve this. I don't deserve her.

And where did that leave Carpathia?

I can't lose her either.

Grounding his teeth, Al pushed the door open to Astrakhan's office and strode up to the professor's desk. It was early to be sure, and Astrakhan certainly did not expect Al to be so punctual.

"Your report," said Al in grey tones, dropping his paper in front of Astrakhan's whirring record player. The professor swerved on his wheelie chair and appraised Al with admirable indifference.

"It's not my report," he corrected, stirring a smoking cup of what looked like dark green mush. He reached for his glasses and placed them on his nose, then sniffed at his concoction and downed it in one go. "But thank you, Mr. Potter, for doing yourself and my sanity a favor. I can breathe easy knowing that I no longer face the prospect of teaching a class full of imbeciles. You were their one saving grace."

Perhaps it was too early, but Astrakhan offered him a crinkled smile that gave no indication that the elder man was harboring any other meaning. And that's when Al paused and said:

"Sir? If you don't mind me asking, but did you ever have…a…y'know, girl?"

For a moment, Astrakhan simply zeroed in on him with austere eyes and stirred his cup. Al thought perhaps he would be flayed alive, but the professor set his potion down and responded in even tones: "I was married. Once. It ended…brokenly." He grasped a red pen on his desk and twirled it among his trembling fingers. "Women are tricky creatures, Potter. They possess an unfathomable amount of layers, far more than us I can assure you. My one piece of advice to you is that time is the only determinable factor that allows you to pick out the ones who are worthy of your trust. You, my dear boy, have had far too little time to pick out much of anything."

Al said nothing and simply absorbed the words in with new clarity. Astrakhan exhaled and handed Al back his paper. "I can tell you've done your work just by your bleedin' eye-circles. Now be a good fellow and put your essay with the others in the cupboard. And while you're at it grab some Pepper-up for that hangover; your breath smells like an ox's poopenshaften."

Al felt his mouth lift up at the professor's bludgeoning choice of words and promptly obliged. Astrakhan's infamous storage cupboard, which was an Aladdin's cave for every Potion imaginable, glittered with the kaleidoscopic colors of the vials the Potions Master had used over the years. It was an intricate organizing system—from the alphabetical order of the Potion name to the body system the Potion's function corresponded to. Al had mastered the system in his fifth year when Astrakhan had decided the boy was worthy of entering his lair.

Pausing in front of the section marked 'Neuro', Al reached for the vial, which was marked unmistakably with Astrakhan's flawless penmanship as 'P-Up', when something caught his eye several rows down and he froze. A vial. A very familiar vial.

He leaned forward and stared blankly at it, trying to work through the confusion that was spiraling through his mind. No, that's not right. But of course he remembered the exact shape and size of the vial; he had spent seven hours brewing the Potion that it held. There was no chance he was imagining it.

'Mem-Restor. Potion - A. Potter' the label read, scrawled in his own spiky handwriting that was such a stark contrast to Astrakhan's calligraphy. The vial was corked and sealed shut with wax as though it had never been open.

As though it had never been drunk.

AAA.

DUNNN DUNN DUNNN

Hope you all aren't tired of cliffies yet. I had to take some time with this chapter because there were some scenes that frustrated me to no end, particularly the ones that held the, ah, major confrontations. The dialogue had to be constantly written and rewritten because I was quite iffy about it, but as you can see, now I'm rather satisfied.

Anyway, I love the chemistry between my star couples now. I do realize that Al did become quite a conflicted arsehole in this one, considering he did just confess his undying love for Isabel in the previous chapter, but the poor boy is going through a lot. I can sympathize.

For those of you who are wondering when Louis is going to make an actual impact to the story, he will. Soon.

And I know someone will ask me why Scorpius doesn't seem to have a reaction to Rose's outburst of feelings but keep in mind that I'm writing from certain POVs of characters in some scenes and that (normal) individuals don't really have an idea of what's going on in the head of other characters.

Again, reviews are my bread and butter. I really want my stats to go up (I realize I might need to be a faster with updates) so if you've been enjoying the story so far and you think it's worth recommending to others, do pass it along.

Next up:

Kneazle Krawling time.

Love,

~MissusWitch