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

18. Krawl

I realize that my last update was in 2013, and we have just crossed the threshold into 2015. Here it is; my monstrosity of a chapter. I have to admit, it was an enormous bottleneck towards progressing the story, and the job-hunting doesn't exactly help with efficiency.

Thank you all for those who have been patiently waiting. I wanted to convey this part as precisely as possible to what I had envisioned in my mind, since it does contain a huge transition in character development.

Special shout-out for those who reviewed, and those who stayed adamant followers. You are the motivation for these 50 word-doc pages, truly.

Previously on TTB:

{Chapter 16}

"He knows all about your little crush. He's just too afraid to ruin your friendship to tell you outright." Isabel chuckled humorlessly. "Tell me, who do you think he'll listen to when you accuse me of cheating on him?"

It took Carpathia all she had not to march back and slap the girl.

She came first. She knew it.

{Chapter 17}

" '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. "The Three Broomstick has an arrangement with Club Kneazle on Halloween night to transport anyone from Hogsmeade through Portkey."

AAA.

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 you friend."

AAA.

Rose's 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, "I hate what you're doing to me. I hate this seesaw you've been stringing me along on—from visiting my grandparents 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 just so 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 ot one another again. No, scratch that, we should have just done exactly you said—'I'll be a Malfoy and you'll be a 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. "I hope this will mean something to you so I'll say it again. I like you. And I hate myself for it."

AAA.

"There's a line," said Al hollowly, "There's a line and you have know where it begins because once you cross it, everything changes."

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

"Don't bring Isabel into this," snapped Al.

"She can't be trusted."

"Right now, I don't even know whether I can trust you."

AAA.

Pausing in front of a section marked 'Neuro', next to Astrakhan's flawless penmanship, something caught Al's eyes several rows down. No that's not right. But of course he remembered the exact shape and size of the vial; he had spent hours brewing the Potion that it held.

"Mem-Restor. Potion – A. Potter", the label read, scrawled in his own spiky handwriting. The vial was corked and sealed shut with wax as though it had never been open.

As though it had never been drunk.

AAA.

Chapter 18 – Krawl

AAA.

Midnight:

"…and stay out!"

The wizard in purple robes belted out his last warnings before the doors clanged shut behind him, emitting a faint hiss of smoke.

They stood outside the club, facing the neon sign that read 'Kneazle' while the etching of the animal in question slinked back and forth almost tauntingly at them. The music continued to hum and pulse inside.

None of the boys dared to look at one another. Al's knuckles were bleeding. So was Louis' nose. Gareth sported a scratch from the top of his temple all the way down to his chin.

"So," said Scorpius after minutes of silence, "Care to explain what the hell happened?"

AAA.

8:57 PM

Albus

Scorpius was late.

Al blew out a sigh of frustration. Broom closets were never his first choice when it came to meeting points, but Hogwarts seemed to have an unexplainable fascination with using them for intimate gatherings. Admittedly, Al had succumbed to the notorious snogging trend a few times with Isabel, but now, in the presence of four other sixth-year boys, he suddenly recalled that there was nothing sexy about broom closets at all.

He checked his watch again and then folded his arms. "When do you reckon that tosser's going to show up?"

There were shrugs all around. Jorah Simmons, a Hufflepuff in Al's arithmancy class, sneezed in response.

Al decisively folded his arms. "That's it, then. Malfoy's getting into the club on his own-"

With cosmic timing, the door to the broom closet slid open and light streamed in. Scorpius' face filled the void. "Hullo. Looking awfully chummy in here, chaps. Enjoying yourselves?"

"Took you long enough," griped Lucas, straightening and brushing the dust off his cloak.

"What's this I hear about someone leaving me stranded from my own party?" said Scorpius, stepping into the small space and inadvertently shoving Jorah Simmons towards the back shelf. "Is this how you thank the organizer, Potter?"

Al merely eyed Scorpius scornfully and then turned away to face the rest. "Right. Lets get to it."

Reaching into his pocket, Al pulled out four silver-colored disks, each embedded with a name, a moving photograph, and a series of floating numbers.

"Memorize your ID tags," instructed Al, distributing them to their rightful owners. "The bouncers will expect you to know them."

"Cheers, Al," said Lucas in awe as he held his disk up towards the dim light. "These look real."

"They are real," replied Al a little guiltily. He knew he'd have some explaining to do when his father found out someone had called in a favor with the Auror department under Harry Potter's name.

"We better start filing out before someone catches us in here and things start looking really suspicious," said Scorpius briskly, pocketing his own disc without so much of a thank you. The other boys nodded and shuffled out.

Scorpius turned back towards Al, his eyes narrowing as they flickered up and down the length of Al's bright purple cloak. "Fuck's sake, Potter, do you always have to dress like you haven't got an ounce of creativity?"

"What?" said Al defensively. He knew the robes were gaudy and the hat was hideous, but there was something somewhat fulfilling about the self-magicked auburn beard—

Oh, who was he kidding? His costume was tacky, but he wasn't about to let Malfoy have the upper hand. "Merlin's brilliant. He's the greatest wizard that ever lived."

Scorpius' mouth. "And there's going to be at least ten other Merlins using that sorry line tonight."

Al tugged despondently on his cloak. "It wasn't my idea. Isabel wanted to go as Morgana."

"Mm. Tell me, Potter, does she keep your testicles in her purse or on her nightstand?" replied Scorpius, unfazed.

"Purse," said Al without missing a beat. "This, coming from the bloke dressed like a pretentious ponce?"

"Who are you calling pretentious?"

As well put-together as always, Scorpius wore crisp white trousers, high leather boots, and a dark green tunic. An emerald cloak swept down dramatically from his shoulders and a silver sword lay sheathed at his hip. "Who are you calling pretentious?"

Al couldn't help himself and burst into a fit of laughter. He had caught the silver snake embroidered on the top right corner of Scorpius' tunic. "You're….you're Salazar Slytherin, aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?" said Scorpius in annoyance.

"Typical," said Al, erupting into another round of laughter. "It's just… so damn fitting."

Scorpius, who seemed to have envisioned an entirely different response, was now looking rather peeved at Al's lack of praise. "I don't see the problem. Salazar was extremely stylish."

" Stylish-" Al choked. "I thought wizards didn't own swords anyway."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Uh, magic."

"Of course they had swords," snapped Scorpius, smoothing out his blond hair as though that helped soothe his aggravation. "Those were mad times back then."

"Right."

"Mm, would you look at the time. Why are we standing around chatting? We've got a rave to get to."

Smiling now that Scorpius had been successfully taken down a peg, Al opened his mouth to make another teasing remark. Then, as swift as though he'd been struck by lightning, he remembered that he was supposed to be furious.

Because Scorpius had lied.

The silence prompted Scorpius to turn around. "What?"

Al opened his mouth and closed it, his lips pressing together into a thin line.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Fine, have it your way then. Wizards didn't have swords. We can take it up with Binns on Monday."

"Malfoy," said Al slowly, taking several steps forward. He wondered how exactly he was meant to express himself and thought vaguely of an Auror interrogation scene he'd witnessed once on the television.

Just be direct. You're not the one who likes to play games. He took a deep breath and the words rushed out of their own accord. "You remember everything just fine, don't you? You never even needed a bloody antidote."

For several moments the statement hung in the air, suspended by its arbitrary entry into the conversation. Scorpius' face held only confusion, but the realization of Al's words brought upon a remarkable transformation. His skin paled, his mouth parted, and a spasm of uncharacteristic panic crossed his features.

And then, with masterful grace, the boy's expression was wiped clean.

"Back to this again, are we?" His tone was pleasant.

"I saw my potion sitting in Astrakhan's store-room," said Al levelly. "You never even touched it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Scorpius, turning back towards the door.

His ambivalence triggered a spasm of irritation.

"Right okay, well I do," said Al rather tonelessly. "Astrakhan said your memories would come back on their own, so that's what happened, isn't it?"

Silence.

Al shook his head in disbelief. Was he really going to keep on denying it? "Bravo, Malfoy. That's what you want to hear, isn't it? You made me sit in the dungeons for six hours brewing a potion that turned out to be useless, you got sympathy votes from the whole damn school, and god knows what you said to Rose but it certainly was effective, because she hasn't been the same since."

Scorpius folded his arms. "Seems like you've got it all clued out, Potter."

You bloody prat. I thought we could trust each other. "Why couldn't you just tell me?"

"You were so keen on playing detective," he said sardonically. "I couldn't deprive you the privilege."

"I asked you to be honest," ground out Al, and the disappointment that he'd kept pent-up inside him trickled out, little by little. "I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not the Malfoy I thought I knew."

"Hooray. The Malfoys are liars and cheats again," said Scorpius with a tone that evoked faux-lightness.

Al had enough. His fist pounded against the ball, causing the shelves to rattle behind them. "Will you stopdoing that? Stop evading every question by running a mile around it. I have every right to know-"

"No, Potter. You really don't," cut in Scorpius, his eyes sparking in anger. "Let it go. You're right. I was a twat and now things have changed."

"What are you talking about?"

The broom closet door burst open and Headmaster Longbottom stood in the gap, emitting a small 'oof' of surprise. He was holding a pipe in one hand and his wand in the other, looking just as startled to see them as the two of them were to see him.

"Oh hello Albus," greeted Professor Longbottom, his eyes darting over the two of them curiously. "And…ah…Mr. Malfoy. Awfully cozy in here, isn't it?"

"No," said the two boys dully.

"Well …ah…it is a broom closet." Professor Longbottom's brow furrowed as though he'd just realized he might have barged in on a potentially serious conversation. He realized that Scorpius was staring avidly at the pipe in his hand. With a sheepish cough, Longbottom pocketed the item and said, "Shouldn't you two be heading for the coaches? The Graveyard Grouse is starting in an hour. You wouldn't want to miss it…there's quite a turn-out this year," he paused and winked. "My sources tell me Nearly Headless Nick will be playing the lute."

"Sounds riveting, sir," replied Scorpius smoothly, elbowing past Professor Longbottom and disappearing out into the corridor before Al could say another word.

AAA.

9:08 PM

Carpathia

"Aiiiiiiiiii!"

The shriek of Amanda Longbottom reverberated off the walls of the Gryffindor girl's dormitory, causing all the girls in the near premises to leap up in shock.

"Agrippa…" gasped Rose, putting a hand over her chest. What. On. Earth. She glanced over her shoulder and had to stop herself from squeaking.

Carpathia had just stepped out of the girls' loo, her arms and chest splattered with a bucket's worth of fake blood. She looked positively frightening. The scarlet rivulets shone stark and bright against the white bridal dress underneath.

Amanda rose from the floor and set her elbows on top of her bed. "Carpathia? Morgana's tits, I thought the Bloody Baron was cross-dressing. What are you?"

"An ex-wife," deadpanned Carpathia, trying to put on an apologetic expression. Rose started to laugh, and Elissa Travers—who was sitting, frozen, by the edge of her bed—joined in.

Carpathia had to admit that the costume idea was brilliant. She and Louis had wholeheartedly agreed that they would be the most terrifying couple at Halloween and had pooled their expenses to do just that. Slashing up a bridal gown and applying copious amounts of eyeliner also happened to be well attuned to her artistic tastes.

Amanda shivered, prompting the golden cobra carving on her Egyptian headband to hiss in annoyance. The shoulder-length, sleek black wig she wore shone in the light, and her eyes were lined with a shocking blue. "Not even going to ask. At least you're not wearing blackfor once."

"At least she's comfortable," complained Rose, who had spent the last half hour moaning in agony in front of the mirror. "I can't breathe in this ruddy thing."

Elissa giggled. "I think you got the naughty end of the costume store."

Unfortunately, the girl was on point. Rose wore a tight leather corset that squeezed her chest and left little to the imagination. To match, the contours of her buttocks and legs were clearly visible through the tight leather trousers and knee-high boots. The redhead grimaced at her reflection in the mirror and pulled her Hogwarts robes tighter around her. "Right. This is what I get for switching costumes last minute."

"Do you have a whip?" snorted Amanda, "You must have a whip."

With a deadened look, Rose held up a black riding crop with strips of frayed gold at the end. "Oh, look. Free accessory."

Amanda cackled. "Rowan's going to piss himself."

Rose swatted her comment away. "Doubtful. Though I don't think this is what he had in mind when he asked to go as dragon-slayers."

"Did your costumes come as a set?" said Elissa, her eyebrows waggling. "I want to see his half."

Rose gave her the evil eye. "I can't believe you're dressed as my mother."

Elissa shrugged and wound a strand of her frizzy, dyed-brown hair around her finger. "Hermione Granger's an easy one to do…just throw on a pair of old-school Hogwarts robes you might get from your parents. Anyway, don't detract from the subject. If you don't want Rowan, may I have him?"

Rose rolled her eyes and grabbed Carpathia by the arm. "We're going to be late if we continue listening to the two of you prattle on. Come on, Thia, let's go spend a nice, platonic evening with our nice, platonic mates."

Carpathia turned around just in time to see Amanda mouth 'platonic' to Elissa with dramatic air quotes.

"You don't think Rowan's going to mind, do you?" Rose prodded Carpathia on the way down to the Entrance Hall. "It's a little revealing, but I reckon he'd be cool with it."

"I think you're thinking too much," said Carpathia frankly. Her statement was validated by the grin that lit up the Rowan's face when he spotted the two of them enter the vicinity.

"You both look fantastic," said Rowan with a serious nod.

"Really? I'm about to murder you," Rose fired back.

"What are you covering yourself up for?"

"I look like a dominatrix."

"Go on, let's see," Rowan grinned, tugging at the knot of Hogwarts robes Rose had clutched towards her front. "It can't be that bad."

"Yours are alright!" exclaimed Rose, surveying Rowan's leather vest and loose black trousers with horror. "How come yours are alright? And you've got a cool sword and everything!"

"Can't say I don't mind the whip." Rowan's eyes traveled down the length of her riding crop and mimed a slapping motion. In response, she pinched his cheek.

Louis was standing a little ways back, watching the exchange with amused eyes. He looked drop-dead gorgeous as always; the splash of scarlet blood on his cheek made him look like a bloodthirsty angel rather than a terrifying creature of the dead. With the absence of an undershirt, his dusty black suit gaped open in the front and allowed passersby to admire Louis' toned chest.

He responded to Carpathia's appraising eyes by cocking his head slightly. He knows he looks good, thought Carpathia, and vowed not to burgeon his ego any further.

Louis' eyes traveled back to Rose and Rowan and cleared his throat. "What are you two supposed to be?"

"Oh, can't you tell?" responded Rose vehemently. She released Rowan's cheek and he stood back, winced, and rubbed the red marks that Rose's fingers had left. "George and Tilly Tokes. The dragon-slaying duo of the 19th century."

"That's catchy." Louis grinned.

Rowan snapped his fingers and he smiled triumphantly, as if he'd just had a 'eureka' moment. "You two are a zombie bride and groom."

"Not quite. My inspiration was Cadmus Peverell," said Louis with a pleased expression. When the other three shot him quizzical looks, he elaborated: "From 'The Deathly Hallows'? The second brother who went bonkers after seeing his dead bride through the resurrection stone? I thought our take of it might be funnier."

"Don't mind him," Carpathia stage-whispered, "He thinks he's a genius."

"They just haven't seen it yet, my dear," quipped Louis cheerfully. He grabbed her the arm and spun her into a twirl. Unable to find her footing in time, Carpathia let out a small squeak of surprise and tripped over her own heels. Her nose was inches away from the ground before Louis quickly yanked her up to eye-level again.

"Attention-loving wanker," gasped Carpathia, doubling over.

Louis promptly took her hand and placed it to his lips. "You'll thank me in about two seconds."

Carpathia frowned, wrenching her hand away. Did he want to start rumors?

"Don't you two look fetching!"

Though the statement was innocent by itself, the words hit Carpathia like a nasty odor. She swiveled and spotted Isabel standing next to Al, her arm looped around his. I love her. She heard him clear as day, and for that moment nothing else existed.

"Hello you two," greeted Louis politely. He slung his arm around Carpathia's shoulder in a rather purposeful manner. "You look hideous, Al."

Carpathia's shoulders loosened at this tactful choice of topic. The contrast between Al and Isabel's costumes couldn't have been more hilariously planned. Isabel's shimmering forest-green dress was cinched to perfection in all the right places, while Al's neon-purple robes dropped off his arms like a potato sack.

"Couldn't agree more," said Carpathia brightly. His eyes snapped to hers instantly and his mouth twitched. She thought perhaps he might throw back something playful in return-

"Good lord," enunciated Rose, addressing Al with no merciful degree of derision. "This has to be a new low."

"Oh lay off. It's not his fault." Rowan leapt in and tousled Al's hair. "Not all of us have the liberty to escape the repressive regime that all men must eventually succumb to. I'm referring, of course, to that monstrosity known as…" He lowered his voice dramatically and winked at Isabel, "The Girlfriend."

A snort slipped out of Al's lips and he responded in kind, putting on a thick, lordly accent: "I do what I must, for all men."

Isabel frowned at the not-so-subtle jab. "You said you wanted to be Merlin with me, didn't you? Don't act as if I didn't ask first."

"No, I know that…" placated Al, his smile falling instantly. "Don't be like that, love, we're only joking…"

"Bugger," said Rose suddenly, and the redhead's face contorted with dismay. "Selma's coming this way."

"She is?" panicked Isabel, instantly grabbing onto Al as though that would help conceal her. "I'm a fifth-year. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Relax," murmured Al, patting her hand. "She doesn't know that."

Carpathia followed the direction of Rose's gaze. The Head Girl had detached herself from a conversation with Scorpius Malfoy and was now weaving through the throng of students in their direction.

"Get—me—out of here," muttered Rose jerkily.

"Rose!" said Selma rather brashly. The Head Girl looked sleek and glamorous in a navy-blue cocktail dress and silver cloak. Her trademark lipstick winked bright red against the night. "There you are."

"Here I am." Rose placed her hands on her hips.

"I just heard a rather alarming rumor from Malfoy. Someone's been distributing false ID's." Selma's eyebrows rose in criticism. "I thought I told you to keep things in check."

There was a small cough on Carpathia's right and she noticed Al reaching up to rumple his hair not so inconspicuously.

A look of displeasure knotted Rose's features. "I have no idea how people have been getting their hands on false ID's," she responded. "And I doubt Malfoy's just being a good citizen. Have you checked hispockets too?"

The Head Girl hesitated before lowering her voice embarrassedly. "I'm afraid not."

A shadow passed across Rose's face, but she smiled sweetly. "Well, perhaps you should."

Selma's chest heaved dramatically, as though she'd just been informed of a death in the family. "That's the trouble with bad prefects isn't it? At any rate, I'm hoping you'll take the reins of responsibility for the evening and make sure no more underage students will be attending tonight." With that, she gave the group a polite nod and walked off with barely a misstep in her three-inch heels.

"She's so brill," said Isabel irreverently.

"Isn't she," muttered Rose, whose cheeks were flushed with anger as she stared after Selma. Carpathia couldn't blame her; she'd just been publicly berated in front of her friends. "Lets get a coach before we have to queue. Al, you coming with us or not?"

"Oh, I'm not-" Al said quickly.

"We'd love to!" said Isabel brightly, drowning out his words. "Wouldn't we, Al?"

Carpathia met Al's eyes silently. You don't have to. It'll be awkward for the both of us. But Isabel tugged insistently on Al's arm and his face hardened with resolve. "Yeah, alright then."

Louis squeezed her arm as the group began shifting into motion.

"Just smile and wave, love," he whispered.

Carpathia groaned inwardly. She tried catching Al's eye again but he seemed keen on avoiding her gaze. This is going to be some night.

AAA.

9:21 PM

Scorpius

"Oi! Flint! Put that away, you twat," scolded Scorpius, cutting into a group of sixth-year Ravenclaws and snatching away the Firewhiskey bottle Caleb Flint had to his lips. Caleb scowled and made a lumbering effort to retrieve the bottle back.

"Duh-don't spoil the fun, Scorp," said Caleb. "I th-thought this was your party."

"There's not going to be a party if you continue drawing attention to yourself." Scorpius shot back with barely-concealed exasperation. "Sobrietus." A white cloud pulsed out of the end of his wand and volleyed up Caleb's nostrils.

The boy shuddered and instantly took on a look of calm befuddlement. Good, thought Scorpius, at least he lookslike his usual self.

"Watch him," he berated Caleb's companions, who were trying their best not to laugh. "And you lot better get your arses down to the carriages."

Christ. The milling heads and excited chatter of adrenaline-pumped teenagers were enough to make Headmistress Fell frown suspiciously from her position at the top of the stairs. Scorpius took out the metallic identification disk that Al had handed to him only an hour before and fiddled with it nervously beween his fingers.

He heard a chuckle behind him. "You're a bit on edge, aren't you?"

Scorpius did a double-take. The Head Girl was walking towards him in a slinky blue number that, all things considering, made her look like sex on a stick.

"Careful," warned Scorpius, averting his eyes. "Fell's watching everyone like a hawk. You look nice, by the way."

Selma folded her arms. "I just came by to say thank you."

"For what?"

Selma had the grace to look disconcerted, though she masked it with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "The other night."

"Not a problem."

Selma twisted a strand of her dark hair between her fingers, carefully deliberating her next few words. "I thought it would be prudent to apologize. You caught me at a vulnerable moment, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us."

"Yes, Selma. You can trust my mouth is sealed." Scorpius exhaled, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. Fell's narrowed look, which he could spot all the way from here, was causing heart palpitations.

Selma's eyes widened at the metallic disc that Scorpius was twirling between his fingers. "Is that false identification?"

Scorpius froze, his fingers immediately clamping over the flashy disk in his hand. Bugger. "No. Do I look underage to you?"

"Don't start, because I had you checked out." Selma glared. She tapped her foot and her lips pursed in disapproval. "Well, you've got some nerve ratting out your peers, don't you? I specifically said I wasn't going to allow underage wizards-"

"Weren't you just in the middle of thanking me?" inquired Scorpius smoothly, rendering the Head Girl speechless.

"Wha—oh—fine," she grumbled, tossing her hair over her shoulder in indignation. "Good thing I had a chat with Rose."

The sound of her name prompted a small spasm in his chest. "Now look who's the rat."

Selma sighed and smoothed down her dress, appearing not to have heard. "A few of my friends and I have got champagne bottles set up in our carriage. Join us? You and Gareth?"

Momentarily flattered, Scorpius flashed her a smile. "'Course. Wouldn't miss it."

She blew him a quick kiss and sauntered off.

"Scorpius." Gareth approached Scorpius in a heavy gladiator suit. Scorpius blinked in bewilderment at this somewhat flashy choice of costume. Who is he trying to impress?

"Ye look like yer 'bout to hex someone," observed Gareth. Everything about him was shiny; from the flecks of his tipped hair to his golden suit to the bright red belt tied around his waist. Unnerving.

"The sooner we get as many people off to Hogsmeade the better."

"Yours are alright?" Scorpius started as a familiar female voice reached his ears and, without even thinking, he swiveled towards the source of the noise. "How come yours are alright?"

The unmistakable flash of red-gold hair caused his heart to conduct an unsettling somersault. Weasley. He felt a horrible childish urge to barge into her conversation and pull on her braid just so that he could capture her attention. I like you. And I hate myself for it. He hated to admit that she looked fantastic, but she did. The sight of her in constricted leather clothing, her hair pulled back in a meticulous, shiny fishtail, was altogether confusing and outlandish and yet prompted a sour tightness in his throat to emerge as if someone had shoved a lemon down his esophagus. Why did she have to look so damn fit?

I hate myself for it. Her words. The memory of the utter disgust that had lined her face when she'd looked at him was enough to pause him in his tracks.

Gareth's standing right there, he told himself and he tore his eyes away.

He whirled around and faced his companion with an exultant grin. "Guess what? I've got us an invitation to the Head Girl's carriage."

Gareth snorted in response.

And now…I can finally enjoy myself. Scorpius reached for Caleb Flint's discarded bottle.

AAA.

9:48 PM

Rose

Bang!

Gobstones rained down on Rose, landing with small clunks in her hair and shoulders.

"That's you again, Rosie," said Louis smugly.

Rose groaned, and put the bottle of Ogden's to her lips, wincing as the smoky liquid roared down her throat. She was getting terribly dizzy, though not in a bad way. Her head felt like it was soaring above the clouds.

"You are all awful people," she said resolutely.

There was sudden jolt, and the entire carriage bumped upwards. Rose giggled and felt herself being thrust backwards onto Rowan's chest, prompting him to shift uncomfortably beneath her. The unseen thestrals outside whinnied in discomfort as the wheels dragged along the cobblestones.

"I've had enough of Gobstones," announced Isabel suddenly.

"You're just saying that because you haven't had any to drink," chided Al.

"Well, I can't help it if I'm good at the game," said Isabel with a tint of self-satisfaction. "Why don't we play 'I've never'?"

"I second that," said Rowan. She heard his voice rumble from deep within his chest. "Red starts."

"I start?" Rose raised her head and tossed her friend a dark look. His chin nearly poked her in the eye. "What, am I target practice tonight?"

"No. Just a hilarious drunk," jibed Louis.

Rose moaned and buried her face back into Rowan's chest. "The universe is against me." Her voice was muffled as she spoke from the confines of Rowan's neck. As always, he smelled like an odd combination of soap and soft Indian spices.

"You okay, Rose?" voiced Al, momentarily concerned. "Rowan, take care of her."

Rose let out a 'pff' of air and her head rose defiantly. "You worry too much, dear cousin. I digest whiskey like fiber biscuits."

"Play the game, Rose," said Louis loudly.

"Alright!" She raised a finger. "I have never…kissed someone who I considered to be a friend."

Rowan swiped the bottle of Ogden's lying on the seat. Rose turned to gape at him in amazement and he turned pink. "Who?"

"Amanda," muttered Rowan, "Who hasn't kissed Amanda?" He took a swig from the bottle and wiped his face. "I've never had sex."

There was a pause as everyone swiveled towards Carpathia. She had an oddly contorted expression on her face; her eyes were fixed on Isabel and Al, as though she were waiting for a response.

"Hello dreamy," prodded Louis, chucking a bright orange piece of candy at her face. "Anybody in there?"

"Right." Carpathia blinked. "Sex. Fun stuff." She said this aridly and pressed the bottle to her mouth, taking a sizable gulp so that the liquid inched down at least a finger's width.

It was Louis's turn. "I've never had a girlfriend." Al and Rowan both drank.

"I've never hexed Scorpius Malfoy," announced Isabel. There was a round of laughter all around, and Rose's heart shuddered with shame and anger at the sound of his name.

"Don't know what you're missing out on," blurted out Rose as she took what felt like her umpteenth gulp of alcohol. She felt her eyes sting from the burning sensation that flared in her throat.

"Seems like a rite-of-passage," observed Louis.

"It is," said Al and Carpathia simultaneously. Al cleared his throat in disgruntlement.

"I've never…" His eyes fell on Isabel and a rueful smile bloomed across his face. "Known a year at Hogwarts where I've not been in love with Izzie."

Isabel's cheeks shone bright pink, but not in displeasure. Her fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she smiled faintly as Louis and Rowan began to boo incessantly.

Rose made a motion of sticking a finger down her throat. She looked up to catch Carpathia's eye, thinking that the other girl might share the same sentiment that Al was being an unbearable wuss, but there was no trace of humor in Carpathia's face. On the contrary, she looked like someone had stepped on her toes with a three-inch spike. Oh, realized Rose with a pang of sympathy, poor her.

"Oi," commanded Al, addressing all the protesting occupants within the carriage. "Shut up and consume."

They obliged. "Consume!" Carpathia stayed silent as the bottle was passed from hand to hand.

Urggggh, thought Rose, her head weighing down as the effects of low-quality whiskey descended upon her. She pressed her forehead against Rowan's shoulder, circling both her arms around his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed in her field of vision.

"Alright," she heard him say gently as he stroked her hair. "That's enough for you."

"I've never…" began Carpathia. She took several seconds of silence to ponder her next few words. Then, with an unmistakable tinge of scorn: "I've never strung a bloke along for three years."

The mood changed. Perhaps she hadn't meant to say the words so bluntly, but the impact was monumental. Isabel's mouth hung open and two bright red spots materialized on her cheeks.

"Thia-" said Al tightly and Louis jumped in.

"Fancy that! I've got a pack of Exploding Snap in my pocket-"

"No, it's alright," barked Isabel, whisking the bottle away from Carpathaia's hands and putting it to her lips. Her mouth was a thin line as she regarded Carpathia with barely-concealed rage. "Since we're being honest."

Carpathia rolled her eyes, but she had clearly realized her error. "You don't have to take everything so seriously. You've been doing it all night."

"Good lord, as if I'd ever take anything you said seriously," bit back Isabel in a trembling falsetto, "You're a nobody."

Carpathia folded her arms and fire flared in her eyes. "I'm a Nott. Nott's are not nobodies."

"Not Nott?" inquired Louis weakly, receiving stony looks from all around.

Al quickly grabbed the bottle from Isabel's clenched fist with a deadened expression. "Both of you, stop. We're here."

Perfect timing, thought Rose in relief. She looked out the window, her vision blurring slightly as she registered the familiar cobbled street of Hogsmeade's main square, where the coach had rattled to a stop.

AAA.

9:48 PM

Scorpius

"Mate." Gareth's hand gripped the champagne bottle in his hand firmly. "I think you've had enough."

"Nonsense," replied Scorpius adamantly, aware that his vowels were slurring together. "I've worked hard for this."

Selma and a very pretty seventh-year girl (Yasmine? Jasmine?) next to her tinkered with laughter. "Let him have it, Nott," agreed Selma.

"Haven't you gotten accustomed to Scorpius' drinking habits?" the smooth, silky tones of Chantal drew Scorpius' attention, reminding him of the unfortunate fact that she was also present.

He hadn't expected her company when he'd accepted Selma's invitation to join them. To be frank, he hardly knew the other occupants of the coach all that well; they were mostly just a blur of seventh-year faces that he knew Selma frequently associated with.

The few faces he did know were none too friendly-Head Boy Desmond McLaggen, whose dislike for him was apparently well known, and, of course, Chantal, the new lady in his life. As usual, she looked spectacular in a form-fitting, high-neck red dress. Her hair fell in lush strands around her face and her catty green eyes were lined with gold glitter, which provided them an eerie glow as she stared down at him.

Scorpius liked to make the analogy that Chantal was like a Quidditch game that never ended—exhilarating at first, but nauseous over prolonged periods. That said, paired with the certainty that Chantal had not taken their separation lightly, he couldn't decipher whether the scorching look she gave him was desire or murderous intent.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, Chantal broke her gaze and smiled serenely out the window. "Ah. We've arrived."

Hogsmeade was bursting with eerie beauty. The houses were lined with mist and the streets were glowing with orange lanterns and festive holiday lights. A trio of ghosts floated above a sign that read 'Hogsmeade Graveyard'.

As the group disembarked from their coach, a loud voice bellowed somewhere amongst the din: "Portkeys! Portkeys for the krawl over here!" Clusters of Hogwarts students were making their way up to Three Broomsticks, chattering in boisterous excitement now that they were out of earshot from their professors.

"Fantastic." Selma shivered in anticipation. "I'll see you lot later!" She grabbed Yasmine (Jasmine?) by the arm and raced forward, her dress flashing in the darkness.

Scorpius attempted to lurch after her, only to realize that he couldn't quite figure out which foot to start from. The cobblestones rose slightly to meet him.

"Feck," grunted Gareth, pulling him backwards with the back of his tunic. "You're plastered."

"Desmond, where are you going?" Chantal's characteristic tone of irritation resounded into the night. She was staring at Desmond's retreating back, her hands cupped around her mouth, as the boy stalked towards the Three Broomsticks. Desmond made no move to acknowledge her; his back was rigid and his hands were curled into balls of anger.

"Trouble in paradise?" snickered Scorpius before his brain had the chance to stop himself.

Gareth sucked in a breath.

Chantal turned to face him. "None of your business." Her voice was cool, but her eyes were bright with emotion.

"You shouldn't let your emotions cloud your judgment, cherie." He saw her flinch at the nickname and felt a surge of sadistic pleasure. He knew he was punishing her but felt no shame. Chantal's presence had the terrible knack of turning him into the devil's advocate. "Maybe he's off to find someone who actually likes him."

"You." There was a clack of metal as she marched towards him. He grunted slightly as she pulled him up by the scruff of his robes, surprised by her strength. She was truly exquisite in the lighting; her nose curved and regal, her eyelashes brushing against the glitter on her soft cheeks, but she held a power that was both brittle and explosive, that Scorpius would always be afraid of.

"You're so cruel." Her voice was soft and cold.

Her eyes shifted towards something behind him and he heard the distant tremor of Rose's laugh somewhere in the distance. Calm, he thought, as his restless heart stirred—but there it was, the impossible thrill. She was close by.

Chantal's lips quirked upwards. "You shouldn't wear your heart on a sleeve," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "It doesn't suit you."

From what he could remember, Chantal had always tasted unbearably sweet, as if she'd just swallowed sugar cane. For a moment, Scorpius caught that the taste lingering just barely on his lips, and then her tiny, strong fingers unclasped him and she was gone.

AAA.

10:01 PM

Carpathia

The Three Broomsticks was stuffed to the brink with students. Portkeys! Portkeys to the Krawl over here! Sweat trickled down the back of Carpathia's neck. It was positively suffocating.

"Thia!"

Carpathia started and turned to see her brother threading through the crowd. His golden gladiator suit glimmered under the light.

"Thank Merlin's arse. There you are-" He stopped rigidly in his tracks and his face turned immediately puce at the sight of Louis.

"Yes. Jaw-dropping. I know," said Louis, his voice dripping with irony. He gestured to the rest of his body as if he were opening an invitation, and Gareth let out a puff of disgust, immediately turning away.

Carpathia rolled her eyes. "Have you just gotten here? Where's Scorpius?"

"Here," grunted Gareth, pushing the aforementioned person rather roughly towards her. Scorpius stood falteringly on his two feet and greeted them with a lazy smile. His blond hair fell in disheveled strands across his face.

" 'wotcher," said Scorpius, his eyes oddly bright as they met Carpathia's. "Best Halloween ever, wouldn't you say?"

Carpathia shot Gareth a deadened look. He shrugged. "I did try to stop him."

"I spoke to the manager," bragged Scorpius, oblivious to this exchange, "I've gotten ten of us a Portkey."

"Christ. How many has he had?" Al's voice materialized behind them, and Carpathia felt the hot flume of his breath tickle the back of her neck.

"That depends if ye count shots or by the bottle," said Gareth sardonically.

Al pushed past Carpathia gently so that he was standing in front of Scorpius. After pausing a moment to give Scorpius a once-over, he stated: "You look like shit."

Scorpius grinned and made an obscene gesture.

At this point Rose and Rowan had managed to jostle through the crowd and join them, their delay having been caused by the former leaning heavily on the latter for support. They seemed to be engaged in a rather one-sided conversation, with Rose chattering in an overly animated to fashion to a rather amused-looking Rowan, who was far too entertained to stop her.

"…so then I said to Hugo, 'Well, the reason why mum's roast tastes so rotten is because I saw her put doxy droppings in the mix'…you should have seen him…he turned positively green…"

She froze in her tracks as she spotted them, her face taking on an odd spark of determination as Scorpius Malfoy appeared on her registry. Carpathia knew what was coming next. They all did.

She lurched forward, detaching herself from Rowan, and announced blatantly: "Oh look, it's the world's most responsible prefect here to chaperone us for the evening."

Scorpius' eyes blazed to life at the sound of her voice. "Is that a bottle of Ogden's? I was under the impression you hated the stuff."

Rose swatted the air as if she'd just encountered a particularly irksome insect. "I do hate it. Just because it's poison doesn't mean I can't drink it."

"Awfully contradictory of you, isn't it?" replied Scorpius, his eyes glittering, "To hate something and still want more out of it?"

"Am I the only one who finds it hilarious that the two people organizing this event are completely pissed?" remarked Louis.

"We're not pissed," snapped Rose and Scorpius simultaneously.

The moment passed comically as the other members of the group attempted to conceal their snorts. Scorpius blinked several times, and then nodded at Rowan. "What are you two supposed to be? Lethal in leather?"

"George and Tilly Tokes," explained Rowan, looking down at Rose with an apologetic grimace. "I thought it would be cool to go as dragon-slayers."

"There's nothing cool about dragon-slayers," said Scorpius a matter-of-factly, "No one should be cutting up dragons. Dragons are abso-fucking-lutely brilliant."

"Er," said Rowan awkwardly, "I liked the sword."

Scorpius took a moment to process this, and then patted the emerald-studded sword attached at to his hip. "Aye."

Al stepped forward, his brow furrowed with a look Carpathia couldn't quite fathom. "Malfoy, could I speak to you for a second?"

"I've got a Portkey!" The revelation sparked in Scorpius' eyes with newfound fervor. "Bloody hell, we've got to get to our Portkey. We're going to a RAVE!" With an uncharacteristic whoop, the boy blew the strands of unkempt hair out of his face and dove back into the crowd.

"Thanks, you lot." Gareth beelined after him.

"Hm, there goes our Portkey," stated Rose flatly. "Come along, George Tokes, we'll get our own." She towed Rowan's arm and cut straight through a crowd of seventh-year Ravenclaws. "Excuse me, Jenny."

"Malfoy!" called out Al in an exasperated voice, craning over the heads of other students. When it became clear the other boy was in no mood to listen, Al resigned and stopped in his tracks.

"Is he alright?" inquired Carpathia. He's worried, she realized, and she reached out and placed a hand on his arm without thinking. His eyes suddenly registered what she was doing and he jerked his arm back.

She stared at him for several seconds. She knew she ought to have been somewhat ashamed by her behavior on the coach, but surely he wasn't going to be angry because of it?

"It's not fair," her voice broke. The truth was dangling on the tip of her tongue, so precariously close to emerge fully-fledged. "You have no clue what's really going on-"

"I don't want to know," said Al fiercely, his eyes flitting toward Isabel only a few yards away. "Just…give me some space, alright? I need some time."

This felt different, somehow, from their other quarrels. Carpathia's heart sank in her chest.

"Yes." Her eyes blurred and she let him walk off.

AAA.

10:15 PM

Louis

Seconds before the Portkey launched off into nether-space, Louis became aware that Carpathia's eyes were full of tears. He turned his head towards his companion, opening his mouth to inquire what the matter was, when-

Bang! The wind knocked into Louis like an iron clog and lifted him off the ground. For several seconds, he grappled at empty air as the world spun before his eyes…before realizing that he was headed for a hard fall. He braced himself just as his body slammed into the pavement.

Pain shot up his side. Swearing profusely, he got to his feet and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Well, then. Gone was the charming, quaint scene of Hogsmeade, which was now replaced by the smoke and dust of Muggle London. Cars squealed and neon lights flashed. A faint bass pounded from a distance.

There was a cough to his right and Louis turned to see his cousin brushing dust off his robes, looking equally disoriented as he helped Isabel to her feet.

"Old Portkey," said Al. His voice was devoid of any humor.

"You don't say," agreed Louis, carefully studying his cousin. Carpathia was a silent stone next to him. "Now where is this place?"

As if to answer his question, there was a loud crack. Al's eyes darted down towards the pavement, widening in alarm. A strange bluish-white light was piercing through the cobblestones, like the image of sunshine pouring through a sieve. "Get back!"

Louis pushed Al and Isabel out of the way just in time. An enormous blue-tinted building burst out of the ground and carved itself into the Muggle road like a vicious drill. Blissfully unaware as always, the muggle cars on the road promptly switched directions and skirted around the building.

"Good lord," said Isabel, stunned. Louis shared her sentiment.

A stream of muggles that had crossed the road into their side of the street were now filing around them, though none seemed to notice the giant nightclub that had appeared out of thin air. A sign marked 'Club Kneazle' framed the doorway and the silver etch of a feline creature began to pace over the sign with an air of impatience.

Louis stepped forward.

There was a growl. The silver creature above the doorway leapt to the ground, sprouting mounds of ginger fur in mid-air. The rest of its body somehow expanded and seemed to fill out with color, and when this had finished, the creature rose up silently on hind-legs. It stood at a startling height of two meters and peered down at them with a look of immense dislike.

"IDs please." The kneazle leaned in so close that its stony, black-colored eyes seemed to peer into Louis' soul.

He raised his eyebrows and pulled out his ID tag, motioning the rest of the group to do the same. The kneazle inspected each metal identification disc with narrowed eyes. Isabel shifted agitatedly.

"All in order." The Kneazle handed back the ID tags and instantly shrunk to the size of a house-cat. With a content purr, it began rubbing its tail against Louis' leg.

"Okaaaay, thanks," said Louis, carefully stepping around the kneazle. Its freckled face grinned in reply.

Carpathia snorted and spoke up softly, "You weren't joking about Veela magnetism."

"Mm," grunted Louis, scanning the milling heads of Hogwarts students that were crowded around the entrance. "Are you alright?"

Carpathia swallowed, her eyes darting towards Al and Isabel, who were walking a little ways ahead of them with their retreating backs pasted side by side. "Fine."

"So…" he attempted a stab of humor. "Your brother's gone all out with his costume, hasn't he? Do you reckon he brought a sword so that he could murder me in secret?"

A spasm of laughter echoed across her face. "God, Louis, I'm sorry. I don't know what his problem is with you."

"…absolute bollocks!"

Scorpius' inebriated tones echoed ahead of them. They saw the familiar silver-haired boy looking deeply infuriated, his hands gesturing wildly at a wizard in a bright magenta suit. "You promised me a good time, Lance, and there's barely any people in there. The DJ's half-pissed and no one's having a good time. This is false advertising, that's what this is. We've got Harry Potter's son coming here, you know-"

"Christ," Louis heard Al say in disbelief. "What's he gone and done now?" He watched his cousin rumple his auburn hair in exasperation and murmur something imperceptible to Isabel, before leaving her side to march over to the commotion. Isabel waited several moments before heading into the club.

"Let him sort it out," said Carpathia tautly, pulling him in the direction of the entrance.

They slid past the bouncer and entered the darkness. Club Kneazle. For a moment, all he could see were a spread of laser lights. The hiss and steady bass of the club felt like the heartbeat of a heaving, excited animal. The walls were covered in steady, neon-blue lines, creating a sort of halo effect that made it seem as though the ceiling were raining stars. Louis felt the adrenaline build slowly inside him.

"Louis…" Her hand detached from his arm and he whirled around on the spot. Her eyes silently told him not to worry as she melted away into the myriad of bodies, leaving him alone.

I'm here. It hadn't been since he'd left France that Louis allowed himself to go to a decent party. The sweat and the heat of bodies moving threw his mind into a form of momentary ecstasy. He felt as if he could have leapt into the crowd and allowed the multitude of arms and legs to sweep him away. Slowly, he felt the familiar rhythm creep up his limbs. His arms and legs, to their own accord, began drifting to the music.

Then he felt a force clamp down on the spot on his arm where Carpathia's hand had been. He whirled around, his heart momentarily clenching in anger, but the sight before him forced the words back down his throat.

You.

The music was too loud for his voice to be heard, but he was certain that his lips had transmitted the message.

Sorry, the other mouth replied.

Feelings, feelings, so many damn feelings…some of which Louis couldn't even begin to process. But there was one emotion he was certain of, and that emotion meant everything. He clutched the hand that reached out for him and let himself be pulled away.

AAA.

10:47 PM

Rose

"Shots!"

Despite Rose's weak protests, Amanda and Elissa placed three neon-blue vials of clear-colored liquid in front of her. After a series of obligatory girlish screams, they embraced, clanked their vials and downed their liquids.

"Dance with us!" Amanda's blusterous voice had been reduced to a mere ringing at this point.

Rose shook her head, gesturing at her own contorted expression. This is going to be death of me.

"Fair enough," sighed Amanda. She dragged Rowan away by the arms, though he seemed reluctant to depart with them. "We'll be back for you."

Rose nodded and clutched the lone seat at the bar like it was a lifeboat. She heard Rowan say in her ear, "Don't go anywhere." Then he was gone, and she was left with her own two, unsteady legs.

"Blimey." A hand caught onto her shoulder and steadied her. "Are you alright?"

She turned and saw an unknown freckled face staring down at her. He's got nice hair, she thought dimly, but awful spectacles.

"Fine," she said as lightly as she could manage. "Bugger!" Her elbow had knocked into a glass and upturned it, causing the frothy scarlet liquid to gloss over the bar table.

"Hey, careful," snapped one of the barmaids. Her face momentarily transformed, sprouting a beak in the place of a nose and mouth, the pupils of her eyes widening until they were black and vicious. "That's premium mahogany."

Rose made a face. Veelas.

The bespectacled man who had caught Rose stared at the barmaid/Veela in fascination. "That's an amazing mask. Is it digital? How do you manage to turn it on and off?"

The barmaid instantly reverted to her exquisite self. Nervously, she tossed her shimmering blond hair over her shoulder and proceeded to move on to another customer.

"You can see her face change?" asked Rose, temporarily forgetting her intoxication. "How is that possible? You're a mug-"

She stopped herself just in time. Luckily, the man didn't seem to notice. He was fairly young, she surmised, with extreme curls framing the side of his rather chubby face. He also happened to be donning a long, ostentatious trenchcoat.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," he replied, noting her gaze. "Fitting, eh?"

He might as well have been speaking Troll. She could only nod, and the man frowned and adjusted his spectacles. "You know, the detective? You might know the TV series…everyone's gone mad for it."

She just looked blankly at him.

He coughed. "Anyway. I go to the university here in London."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You're studying at a University?"

The man shook his head. "I was meant to be placed after my final year, if I hadn't botched up my grades. I've only just decided to start my PhD." He made a face. "Anyway, whereabouts do you study?"

Rose blinked. "Oh, I'm still in…boarding school."

"Brilliant!" said the man, promptly deciding to finish off the statement with a large swig of Firewhiskey. "This drink's on a whole new planet. Are you thinking about applying to any universities?"

"No," she said automatically, and then mentally slapped herself.

"Wow!" the man said, looking taken aback. "Free-thinker… I like it! Nothing like the school of life, eh?"

"Yep. What's your name?" said Rose loudly, changing the subject.

"David," he replied. There was a loud roar and they both turned towards the noise. A fully-fledged tiger had pounced onto the dance platform and was proceeding to romp obnoxiously amongst the female dancers, its tail flickering behind him. Moments later, the tiger transformed back into the inebriated form of Caleb Flint.

"These costumes are amazing!" exclaimed Muggle David, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "What sort of rave is this anyway? I've got to get some people from the IT club in on this."

Before Rose could fix up an appropriate answer, Rowan thankfully swung into the conversation.

"Hellooooo there." He stumbled clumsily into her shoulder, clearly the result of a few added shots. Without allowing space for her response, he leaned forward, cupped the back of her head, and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.

Rose froze, icy shock racing through her veins. Rowan pulled away and beamed at her as though he'd just won a marathon. "You look rather newly sprung, Red. Or Tilly, I should say. I like the sound of that. Tillyyyyyyy!"

He's drunk, she realized, better not think too much of it.

"Shall we do another round?" Muggle David was asking, having now finished his glass.

Rowan regarded the new entrant of their conversation with a perplexed expression. "Who areyou?"

Rose's stomach did a flip. Predator sighting, she thought silently, as Chantal in a sparkly red dress stumbled through the crowd and launched herself onto the bar table.

"Mai tai," the girl said imperiously, tossing her hair back so that a few loose stands proceeded to smack Rowan in the face. The bartender raised an eyebrow, gave her an once-over, and motioned at her male counterpart with a disgruntled expression.

"Hi," said Muggle David, looking quite stunned. Chantal regarded his outstretched hand with a faint sniff.

"The proper response is usually to repeat the word," said Rose without thinking.

Chantal's head snapped to the direction of her voice. Rose prepared herself for an earful of curses, but the other girl's face simply smoothed into recognition.

"I'm very very drunk," Chantal stated, as though this was a brand new revelation, and the bartender chose that moment to place a tall frothy glass in front of her. Chantal swept the drink up in her hand and walked rather shakily towards Rose, an unsettling smile creeping up her lovely face.

Wish I could manage heels in that state, thought Rose, before Chantal planted herself right in front of her.

"So you're dressed rather skimpy tonight."

Rose grimaced. "That did not just sound lesbionic in my head, did it?"

Chantal burst into a round of giggles and her spidery (Rose had never realized how tiny she was built) fingers clutched the table until they became white.

"You alright?" inquired Rose, trying to clear away the haze of the alcohol.

"I cannot find Desmond anywhere," burped Chantal, and her green eyes widened as though this was the worst thing she could have done. "Mon dieu, zat was very rude. I will be making a mess later."

"That's okay." Rose patted the girl's back awkwardly. "Better out than in." Where's Desmond? She mouthed at Rowan, who instead gave her a goofy smile.

"Ze last time I saw 'im 'e was with Sarah Jenkins," continued Chantal, albeit with a lot more distaste. " 'ufflepuff…nice face, but impossibly stupid. Zey were togezzer for seven months before 'e 'ad an affair with me." She said this as though she were commenting on her day at the grocery store and Rose had to suppress a flare of anger at this clear sign of blasé selfishness. "Don't I look nice?"

Flat-out gorgeous. "Yes, you're still the fairest girl in the kingdom." She tried in vain not to let the sarcasm bleed through.

Chantal grasped Rose's hands suddenly. "But I'm not! Nobody wants to be with me!"

"Oh no…no…everyone wants to be with you!" amended Rose hastily, prying the girl's fingers off her own. I can't believe I'm doing this. "Right, lads? Wouldn't you like to go out with Chantal?"

Rowan and Muggle David, who had clearly no idea what was happening, nodded their assent.

"You're lying," Chantal shook her head fervently, her voice hitching up to a wail. "Even Desmond's made it clear he hates me, and I don't even like 'im zat much. He's so dull, I could fall asleep just listening to 'im speak…do you know he clips 'is nails better zan me." She raised her head and Rose was amused to see tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. "Perfect crescents."

"That's awful. Maybe there's hope in facials."

"Don't you dare laugh!" said Chantal, raising her head and fixing Rose with a narrow venomous look that drove the smile from Rose's face.

"You stole 'im from me. If it were not for the fact we are in proper company, I 'ould rip your 'air out…I loved 'im, I loved 'im…" She slumped back onto the table. "But zat is not what everybody thinks."

Just like that, the topic had taken a turn for sobriety. "I didn't-" Rose cast a wary eye in Rowan's direction and lowered her voice, "Listen. Malfoy doesn't…he doesn't love anyone. Certainly not me."

"Perhaps," mumbled Chantal. "But 'e treated you different. I wanted zat."

"You wanted to be psychologically worn down at every golden opportunity?" queried Rose with a small, bitter laugh. "I don't think so."

"I thought it was just a family fued. Old 'istory, old war…" she waved her hands dismissively, "But 'im and Albus became close…and now I know 'zere 'ad to be ano'zzer reason why 'e chose you. Then, when you cursed 'im, all he wanted was you…and, oui, zat hurt terribly."

She sniffed again, this time more for drama's sake than sadness, and for that Rose was thankful. "I knew zat it was you. Always you."

Rose felt an unprecedented wave of guilt. How easy it had been to assume that Chantal was as vapid as she projected herself to be. She put a hand on Chantal's arm.

"You're basing this off of what?" she asked quietly. "He didn't ask for me. He'd lost his mind. He didn't know what he wanted."

Chantal stared back, her lips quivering slightly. She had gone quite pale. "Surely you don't still believe that."

Rose held those green eyes with her own for a moment, daring the other girl to speak what was on her mind. Her rational told her that Chantal was drunk, but there was something about her misery that felt entirely full of conviction.

"Baise! 'Scuse moi, I'm going to make a mess." Chantal swayed and doubled over, a retching noise coming out of her throat.

Rose moved to help, but the girl shoved past her and tottered as fast as she could into the dark.

"Blimey," stated Muggle David, mouth hanging open.

"Rose! Rose!" Amanda's dulcet shriek made its way to her as the girl appeared before them, flushed and exhilarated, her raven wig askew over her bright blue eyes. "You love this song! We've got to dance!"

Rose had caught the glint of white-blond hair that she hated and loved so much out there in the crowd. He was standing barely ten meters away, and the urge to jostle through the milling heads of her fellow students and slap him in the face (or kiss him, came the fleeting thought) was unbearable.

"Right," she said, turning to Muggle David. "Join us?"

AAA.

10:42

Scorpius

Scorpius was certain the manager of Club Kneazle was about to give him a good beating, and he was certain he would have enjoyed it.

"You know, Lance." The wizard he was addressing almost seemed to shiver with suppressed hatred at his condescending tone. "Seeing as you probably scored this gig from being not too bright and good at following orders, it surprises me that you could botch up something so simple as the number of champagne bottles that need to be distributed around the room."

"Mister Malfoy," replied Lance with gritted teeth. "Ye know very well s'not club policy to be givin' out summat posh like champagne to regular clients… and I know fer a fact yer not of age."

"Who are you calling underage?" demanded Scorpius suddenly, and the two bouncers in near proximity shifted closer to Lance in response. "Do you know who these bottles are for?"

"King Triton? Or another of yer make-believe friends?" grunted Lance. The wizard clacked his teeth and Scorpius caught a flash of gold. "Escort 'im out, lads."

Scorpius grinned and rubbed his palms together. "Excellent." He reached for his wand and felt a hand tighten on his shoulder.

"Stop it." Al's voice. Scorpius found himself surprisingly relieved as the redheaded boy shouldered past him and faced the three wizards squarely. "Is he causing trouble?"

Lance gave him a dubious once-over. "Who are ye 'spose to be?"

"Merlin," replied Al instantly.

"He means your name, twat," said Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh." Al blinked. "Albus Potter."

Lance's head snapped back and his jaw fell open, revealing the golden gems glinting in the crevasses of his yellow teeth. "Blimey, 'e is! I seen 'im in the papers! Thas' Dumbledore's grandchild, that is."

"What?" coughed Al indignantly, and the hat on his head fell askew across his red curls, "Are youactually serious?"

Scorpius elbowed him. Get to the point. The two boys locked eyes for a brief moment, and then Al pinched the bridge of his spectacles and heaved an overdramatic sigh. He fixed Lance an impressive, uncharacteristic sneer. "I was promised champagne. Where are my champagne bottles?"

"Ah…erm," Lance fiddled with his thumbs for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged in resignation. "Righ' this way, Mister Potter."

Ho ho, thought Scorpius with a satisfied smirk as the two of them were led inside, he can definitely wear fame rather well when he wants to.

AAA.

10:47 PM

Albus

Al had to admit, the champagne was an excellent idea. With the bubbles on his tongue and the buzz finally starting to kick in, he felt at ease with himself.

"Malfoy," said Al, swiveling to look at the other boy. Much to his amusement, Scorpius was pumping his fists in the air in time with the music, his cheeks blown up like pink balloons. Al grinned at this unaccustomed sight of stupidity, and just like that, as though a switch had been turned off in his brain, his anger vanished. "Look. I don't…care."

Scorpius stilled, his fists frozen mid-pump, and Al thought perhaps he'd heard him wrong. "Did you hear me? I don't care that you lied about losing your memories. You're an idiot, but that was months ago and I trust you, so for whatever reasons you had, it doesn't matter-"

The words died in his throat when he realized that the boy wasn't looking at him, much less listening to him. Scorpius had fixated his eyes on the bar at the far end of the room, and when Al followed his gaze, he was just in time to witness Rowan planting a firm one on his own cousin's mouth. He heard the loud splinter of glass to his right.

The champagne bottle had fallen off the table-no doubt as a result of one of Scorpius' own fists. Al's first instinct was to kneel down and collect the shards in his hands. He gazed up at the Scorpius, preparing to ask him what the hell his problem was.

And then he realized. The shattered look on Scorpius' face was filled to the brink with suppressed rage and self-deprecation. Al could have recognized that emotion from anywhere, having practically lived in it himself, and only now—he could kick himself for not knowing sooner—now did he finally understand whyit existed.

"Malfoy," said Al. Scorpius didn't move.

"Malfoy," he repeated, standing up and grabbing Scorpius roughly by the scruff of his green tunic. A memory flashed; he was back in his fourth year, and Scorpius had just thrown a Quaffle straight to his head. Al would have never gotten on a damn broom if it hadn't been for that stupid Quaffle.

"I'm glad you're finally doing it, but now's not the time to sit on the sidelines."

A smile flitted across Scorpius' face and his eyes unfocused momentarily. "You're right. I think I'll join Carpathia. She seems to be getting it on with the entire male population in the vicinity."

Al's head snapped around, his hands letting go of Scorpius, and spotted the familiar streak of magenta flashing wildly in the crowd, surrounded by a sea of tall figures and thick moving bodies. "Don't distract me-"

By the time he turned back, Malfoy was gone.

AAA.

11:10 PM

Carpathia

"Ladies and gentlemen! Are you having a good time?"

Typical hype-man ruse. A cheesy move on the club's part, but at this point, the alcohol was thumping through her veins and she didn't care. She grinned and stretched out her arms, following the others around her.

The bass roared up again and trickles of blue light raced up the walls towards the ceiling, gathering into one blinding white spot. She stared, her senses afloat with hazy wonder.

"Hi," murmured a voice by her ear. She turned and caught the glimpse of bright red hair in the flashing strobe light, thinking, Al, it's Al. Her heart raced and she pressed herself against him, elated by the music and his touch, and then realized of course that it couldn't be Al. The red hair tugged loose into her fingers, stiff with artificial glue, and an unfamiliar voice whispered in her ear,

"Whoa. You like that?"

She swiveled around, mouth open to snap back a reply, but then noted that his jawline and cheekbones were well-defined and his eyes held an attractive glint.

The red wig in her hand was drawn to look like fire. The bloke took it back and placed the wig back on his head, covering his black hair. Cute Muggle boy, she thought, why not, then firmly grasped the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. He let out a surprised groan, muffled against her lips, and then placed his hands on her waist, holding her tightly against his pelvis as he swerved to the music.

For awhile this continued pleasantly, successfully taking her mind off of things, and then she realized another body moving up against her. Breaking off from the muggle boy, she realized another bloke had snuck up behind her. He was substantially less attractive, with floppy brown hair caked in blue paint, and he seemed keen on partaking in the fun. He grinned at her and then shouted something to the muggle boy she'd been dancing with.

They're friends, she thought with distaste. She stopped and indicated with a motion that she wasn't interested, but the other boy persisted, running his fingers up her stockings. She firmly shoved him away, but he caught her hand and stared back at her with smile.

A hand snaked out of nowhere and gripped her shoulder, yanking her away from the two boys so that she fell back stumbling. She took several seconds to regain her footing.

"She's my girlfriend," she heard Richie state firmly. Surprised, she could barely make out the boy in his all-black costume, except for the trademark brown afro struggling from underneath a bright red bandana.

"Didn't seem like it," said Muggle Boy One, reaching for Carpathia again. Richie's palm slammed into his chest.

"She's my girlfriend," repeated Richie in an uncommonly dangerous tone. "Got it?"

The muggle boy's eyes processed Richie's athletic form, and then made a noise and pulled his companion away with him. Carpathia studied this exchange with interest, noting Richie's clenched jaw and the sweat dripping down his brow.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder. "You don't have to do that."

The skin on his neck rippled at her touch and he glanced at her briefly. She sometimes wished that he could look at her for two seconds without blushing.

"I just thought…" The music started up again, hammering out electro notes with obnoxious gusto. Richie raised the volume of his voice as the crowd around him began to cheer. "I like you. Everybody knows it. You know too, don't you?"

In all honesty, she was flabbergasted. "But why?"

"Because—" shouted Richie, grinning slightly as he joined in jumping with the others around him. "Because you're unlike anyone I've ever known!"

Carpathia stifled a laugh at the sight of his ridiculous hair bouncing with every step. "I came with Louis."

"Right," shouted Richie, and he grabbed her hands and prompted her to jump with him. "But he doesn't like you the way I do."

"What makes you so sure?" She laughed as the bodies around them shoved into her and glanced off.

Richie shrugged and his lips curled upwards. "Otherwise he'd be here instead of me."

Carpathia smiled faintly; it was sweet, though inherently undeserved. Her heart had skipped the moment she'd spotted Al from across the room, his gaudy purple robes unable to escape distinction even in the speckled light. He was looking directly at her with his head cocked to the side. She knew what that meant; it warranted a conversation.

"All the same," she said definitively, stepping closer to Richie. His throat gulped visibly. "I'm not your girlfriend."

A rueful groan escaped Richie's lips, but when she backed away, he was still smiling and shaking his head at her. His hopeless adoration always came hand-in-hand with her own guilt, she thought as she made her way through the maze of people towards Al, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that his confession had helped ease her heart.

AAA.

11:15 PM

Rose

"That was amazing."

Rose gasped, registering the dull ache throbbing in her calves after having danced non-stop for five consecutive songs. Strands of hair had been yanked out of her braid and were now falling unevenly across her face. Her forehead glistened with sweat.

Already the beat of the next track was swelling and she felt herself keen to stay on the dance floor, though Amanda had already begun to grumble that she was in need of another drink.

"You want one?" asked Rowan, extending the invitation to Rose. In response, Rose laughed in exhilaration and flung her arms around him, her hips shifting to the music. A wide smile bloomed over his cheeks, and she found herself staring at his lips, wondering: Had he really just kissed me a few moments ago?

Then, as if someone had punctured a nail in his foot, his face twisted in pain. "Ah, Red."

He said this full of riddled emotion. Did he look sad, or was that just her imagination. She disentangled herself away from him, not knowing why, but instinctively understanding that this was probably the better thing to do.

"Better take Amanda for another swig before she throws a tantrum," she said, throwing a knowing look at their companion. The brightness in her tone had become oddly forced. "I'll be here."

He nodded at her assurance, his eyes falling in disappointment. He took Amanda's outstretched hand and led her in the direction of the bar.

Alone, thought Rose. She was alone.

The haziness of the alcohol and the undulation of the music made her feel as if she were flying. A high female voice swooned in, and she jolted in recognition—I know this song! She felt triumph last for about a second, and then she closed her eyes.

AAA.

11:17 PM

Scorpius

Ironically, the next track was an old favorite of his mum's. The powerful, albeit tiresome, wail of Celestina Warbeck detailed the surprisingly tender account of a love affair with a Colombian Quidditch player that had ended badly.

They got eyes on me, they do-o-o-o

But you, it's you, all I crave is you.

Scorpius mouthed along to the words, remembering a time when 'All I Crave' had made listening to the wireless network a living hell.

An electro flutter scattered Celestina's warbly voice into a more bearable pitch. The crowd screamed collectively as a thunderous bass began to pulse with the melody.

He gazed into the sparsely lit darkness and his heart hammered against his ribcage. There she was again. How terribly unfair it was that what elusive light particles remained still gravitated to her sunset hair. Her bloody hair…

As the spotlight drew close, the light created a crescent over her face, illuminating the curve of her nose, and the outline of her cheeks and eyes. He stared…his muscles slack, no longer moving. All that mattered was that she was there, and he could hear her words coursing through his head, 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. He recalled the image of Rowan Thomas swooping down and putting his lips on hers and a sizzling heat radiated from his chest to the tip of his ears.

They got eyes on me they do-o-o-

But you, it's you, all I crave is you.

AAA.

11:17 PM

Rose

Merlin, yes. Whoever had put together this track was a godsend. She'd never been a terribly good dancer, but she'd always enjoyed throwing all caution to the winds when it came to feeling the music. Her blood pulsed as the track climbed, and she cast her eyes across the room in ecstasy, wondering if she was the only one—

The screech of brakes in her mind prompted her to stop in her tracks and her heart seized. The strobe-light glanced off his pale hair and skin like crystals, shattering into smaller pieces and then fading into the dark.

Scorpius. He stood meters away, his posture and his face posing a direct question to her without even having to say a word. The look in his eyes, a culmination of frustration and naked longing, struck her to the bone.

No. She hated him—yes, she thought furiously, she had said this before, but now, surely now, it was for real. Selma had been the last straw. How could she even for one second entertain the idea of—

Only she could.

The sensation of his hand on hers by a marble stairwell, the memory of his lips touching hers on a night filled with cool wind and the smell of the freshly mown Quidditch pitch…they flooded her thoughts with abandon. Of course she could. Merlin, that was all she'd been doing the last few months.

She swallowed and her throat bobbed. As if a switch had somehow been triggered, Scorpius' expression changed and he moved towards her, prompting Rose to feel a singular, deep-seated need rise with painful urge -

AAA.

11:18 PM

Scorpius

He pushed through the crowd, firmly and without care, and in consequence saw her move toward him. Like two magnets coming together from inexplicable directions.

He could see the tension in her jaw and the shine in her eyes. The hairs on his neck stood and his blood became frothing, boiling water.

They got eyes on me they do-o-o-

The music was climbing, reaching its climax; the beat shuddered and poor, warbling, Celestina was unable to keep up.

And there she was, in arm's reach. She looked impossibly beautiful; her cheeks smeared with the war paint of makeup and sweat, her eyes glinting with feral anticipation.

There was a space of silence. He couldn't hear her, but he saw her lips move. "What are you doing?"

AAA.

11:18 PM

Rose

"What are you doing?"

He gave her a look full of intensity. Don't stop, she wanted to say, and then a muscle quivered in a jaw and he took one last step forward. Her hands reached for him without even thinking, and she felt a simultaneous jolt in her gut as she felt his hands cup her face.

"Finishing what that prick started." The words ripped out of his mouth.

The music plummeted and waves of sound rippled across the room. Several seconds passed before she realized that they were clinging to each other, their mouths pressed together like their lives depended on it.

Malfoy… She had expected some form of familiarity, but this was nothing like last time. They rose above the sound, the movement of their lips falling into a rough, tumultuous rhythm.

One of his hands gripped her hair tightly and she twined her fingers through the other, guiding him down her back. He groaned. The noise vibrated against her mouth and somewhere deep down she responded. Months of longing and expectation had accumulated into this one moment.

Scorpius pulled away, his hands reaching up to frame her face. They were hot and trembling against her skin. She looked at him, her mouth open, and he looked back at her with shaken eyes. "Rose." Above the chaotic noise around them, she heard the low, reverent sound and was surprised by the shape of her name in his mouth.

AAA.

11:17 PM

Al

His first thought had been a twang of jealousy when he saw Carpathia tiptoe to whisper in Richie Montgomery's ear. His second thought was one of guilt; at Carpathia, at Isabel, at himself.

"Al."

She had waded through the crowd and now stood beside him, her eyes tentative and questioning. Her tattered, white dress cast a haunted glow to her skin. He looked at her and the memory of her warm body waking up beside his stirred an emotion that prompted him to recoil. No, he said sternly. No.

"I'm sorry," he said, and before she could ask him what, he pulled her into an embrace and held her. Just go back to normal, please, he thought, feeling her soften beneath him, whatever it was in the past, it's not anymore. "I'll make it work between us and Isabel. It wasn't your fault that I got cross with you. It was—it was mine."

Because it had been. Even now, his mind reached for immediate suppressants as he breathed in the scent of her hair and felt the sensation of her smooth skin against his. It was his own bloody fault. She nodded into his shoulder. "I'm sorry too."

It was a truce, finally, in what seemed to a turning point in their relationship. His mind flashed to the dragon tattoo on her hip and he closed his eyes. We're both operating on uncharted ground. Could they even be considered friends anymore? They had to be, because the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn't have been more grateful when she uttered the next few words, and the sweeping relief that came with them:

"I'll never cross the line again."

AAA.

11:25 PM

Carpathia

I'm not going to tell him.

It was for the best, she told herself, as he held her and her heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird.

He pulled away and gave her a smile full of thanks, full of love that was their own kind of love and would never be anything more, and she accepted that it was better to have him this way than have him regard her with doubt from then on. Surely, this was better.

I'm not going to tell him.

"Find Isabel," she said, her mouth working around the name as if trying to figure out how to best chew and spit it out.

He nodded and kissed her forehead. Then, he was gone.

Am I really just going to let it go? She felt undeniably frustrated and was now acutely aware she needed to pee. She spotted the neon-pink sign of the ladies' room down the nearest corridor and ventured into one of the stalls.

Merlin. Her head slammed against the wall as she sat on the toilet, her mind spinning with what was right, and what was easy. He'd forgiven her and essentially told her they were back to normal, but how normal was bloody normal?

She could see the two of them five years down the road; Al, still stuck in his own head and aiming for self-fulfilment in whatever career he pursued (in Carpathia's imagination, she'd always thought he'd have a broomstick around in his future occupation), and Isabel—yearning, selfish Isabel—who would drain Al of his mental and emotional faculties. Their quarrels would fly off in opposite trajectories; hers about status and finances, and his about personal understanding. Al would rather self-deprecate than blame the love of his life, and Isabel's ego would be happy to let him do so until he was nothing but a husk of self-esteem.

Their relationship was either going to end, or Al was going to suffer heaps because of it.

She gritted her teeth, groaned, and stood up. No. You're drunk, Thia. You're not going to tell him. She zipped up her dress and pushed open the stall door.

The door clanged against the wall. Carpathia halted in her steps, flabbergasted.

"What do you think you're playing at?" said Isabel, absolutely livid.

AAA.

11:20 PM

Scorpius

"Rose." It had been such a long time since he'd last uttered the word, like a buried treasure in his mouth that he could suck on. What a goddamn pity it was that they'd resorted to spitting out each other's surnames like cannonballs, because he would have been happy to say her name, over and over again.

He looked at her parted lips and the flushed band of freckles on her nose. His heart was beating so fast he thought she might hear it, and then he leaned in again, unable to stay away from the sensation that had provoked his senses to unimaginable heights –

Her hand stopped him, erecting a firm barrier on his chest.

What—

"You remember," she said, her eyes wide with shock.

She said it the way Al had said it, and Scorpius felt his defenses slowly rise up at the accusatory tone in her voice.

"Yes," he said, shaking his head, "I can explain-"

She tore herself away from him, her expression mingled with horror and disgust, and he knew what was going to happen next before the moments even unfolded. He had seen too many scenarios like this play out between them; someone fucking up, someone getting angry or hurt, someone leaving.

"Rose." He tasted her name again, and the next words rushed out desperately, "Don't-"

"You liar." She shoved him so crudely that the back of his heel stumbled. Without allowing him time to speak she had cleared a pathway into the crowd and disappeared, her hair flickering behind her—

Leave, finished Scorpius in his head.

AAA.

11:37 PM

Carpathia

She let the water flow over her hands, watching Isabel cautiously through the mirror as though she were viewing a deadly animal. "What do you want?"

"I saw you." Isabel's voice trembled. "You and Al…he was holding you like…"

"Like what?" Carpathia rounded on her and slammed down the sink tap, more infuriated than ever. "Like we've been friends since he was eleven years old? Like there's other people in his life besides you?"

"You're not taking him from me."

"You're pathetic," stated Carpathia coldly, wiping her hands on the towel hanging by the mirror. "I was going to keep quiet, you know. I thought I'd at least give you another year, but this is just—you're mad," she started laughing. "You've ambushed me in the toilet, for heaven's sake. Are you so insecure that you have to sleep with one Potter, and then feel better about yourself by essentially trapping in the other Potter you're supposed to be dating?" She shook her head, and her resolve steeled. "Merlin, what was I thinking? I can't allow this. Al is not going to end up with an insane person."

Carpathia moved towards the door, and Isabel gasped and slammed herself against it, blocking the doorway. "What do you think you're doing?" the girl demanded in hysterical tones, her cheeks sporting two bright spots of pink.

Carpathia stared. "Get out of my way, Isabel," she said in even tones.

"No." Isabel's face was white and unwavering. "Not until you swear you're not going to tell him."

Carpathia uttered a feeble laugh. "Merlin."

"Swear."

"No." Carpathia's tone was solid now. "You are insane," She enunciated this with no degree of mercy, "And I'm going to tell Al right this second."

Isabel shrieked and, before Carpathia realized, the girl had thrown a punch to her chin and was now dragging her to the floor. There was a searing pain in her head as she realized that Isabel hadsunk her hands into her hair and was now pulling on it.

"You bitch," Carpathia spat, shoving the girl off her so that Isabel rolled over and hit the stall door with her head. "This is your plan?"

"I'm going to rip those stupid rings out of your ears," screamed Isabel, launching on top of her again, this time with renewed vigor. "You awful, black-magic nobody." She let out a stream of curses that were impressive of a girl her size. Carpathia reached up and cuffed the girl on the side of her head, prompting her to squawk.

Scrambling to her feet, Carpathia shoved open the door and raced out of the girl's loo and towards the dance floor. Have to find Al, have to find Al. She scanned the room for the flash of red hair, still unable to comprehend that this was to be the remainder of her night. This is what happens when straight-laced Ravenclaws are fed a bit of alcohol.

She felt wearied and yet oddly composed, realizing that the weight of concluding whether or not to end Al's relationship had been taken off her. Fucking Isabel. She massaged the side of her temple where Isabel had socked her, knowing that a bruise would emerge the next day—

"Thia."

Al's voice radiated with cold fury, and before Carpathia even twisted around, she knew exactly what awaited her.

"What the buggering hellis this?"

"We got into a fight, Al," exposited Isabel in quivering tones, her eyes dark and bitter as she stared at Carpathia with barely concealed hatred. Blood trickled down the corner of her head, and Carpathia noted with a sickening sort of satisfaction that it was her who hadinvoked that level of damage.

Still, whatever feelings of contriteness she might have had evaporated instantly. Her wrath rose like a tidal wave. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't listen to her. She's mental," Carpathia spat, and his face slacked with shock. "She attacked me-"

"I attacked you?" interrupted Isabel shrilly. The bulbous sleeves on her green dress trembled as she raised her arm in the air. "You started it!"

Carpathia stared at her, not quite believing her own ears as to how far she was going to go. "You lying slag," she breathed. "You're not going to pin this on me."

"Don't call her that," retorted Al, but his voice faltered as he turned to regard Isabel with a look of flat disappointment. "Tell me the truth, Iz."

Isabel took a deep shuddering breath. "We were in the loo. Just—making polite conversation. I asked Carpathia whether she knew where you were, and she just threw a punch-"

"Why?" shouted Carpathia, feeling rage shake her all the way to her bones. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because you're in love with him," spat out Isabel. The words fell, resolute and resonating with truth, and Carpathia made no move to protest, perhaps too exhausted to do so. A spasm of pain crossed Al's face as Isabel grabbed Al's hands and pulled them to her chest, her eyes gleaming with spite. "She's in love with you. You know it, I know it…the only reason why I've allowed this to keep going is because of your friendship, but this has gone on long enough-"

"You've got some nerve," whispered Carpathia through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing. She rose up and lunged at Isabel; the maddening hunger to tear off all the ribbons in the girl's hair boiled in her veins, but Al grasped her firmly by the shoulders and shoved her back. "Thia, don't." His voice was muted and thick.

"So help me, Al-" said Carpathia in strangled tones, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. "If you don't move back, I'll hex you."

"And I'll hex you," said Al icily, and the tenacity in his voice prompted her to retreat in shock.

"You believe her." It came out as a soft, wretched wail.

"I don't want to!" shouted Al, his eyes screwing up. "I'm so…so disappointed."

She knew from his tone that he wasn't simply referring to the moment. He was talking about Devon Lynch, about her prickly and antagonistic view of his relationship, about what had transpired between them barely two nights ago.

"She's lying to you!" shrieked Carpathia, and the anger built up over the last three years, anger that had stemmed from her own faint suspicions about Isabel's character and affirmed with the revelation from the last few weeks, released in one explosive instant.

"Why would she lie?" Al yelled back, gesturing at Isabel like a madman. "Tell me. Why would she-"

Carpathia lost it. "BECAUSE SHE CHEATED ON YOU WITH JAMES!"

AAA.

11:31 PM

Scorpius

There were a multitude of scenarios he'd once conceived how Rose might have exposed his dishonesty, but none of them involved the aftermath of an earth-shattering snog. He couldn't tell whether this was better or worse, really. The taste of her lingered tantalizingly fresh in his mind.

What was he supposed to say?

It wasn't really a lie; I'm just a really good actor.

No, she would pepper him with examples that exhibited the fallacy of that logic, and they would row over who was cleverer, or had the moral high ground, and of course the subject he'd really been getting at would be abandoned entirely as they retreated into their usual stance of animosity.

Can't you just see this as a good laugh, Weasley? The important thing is that you feel the same way as I do.

Definitely not. She'd skewer him alive.

Scorpius closed his eyes and drowned out the music until it had been reduced to a watery hum. He was nearly entirely sober now, save for the incessant drone in his ears and the thick taste in his mouth.

Merlin, he could use for some air. He ambled towards the corridor of the club, excusing himself as two angels collided into him. With a sizable exhale, he crumpled against the cool black walls of the club, feeling suddenly fatigued.

A loud retch broke into his brief moment of peace, prompting him to straighten. Was there someone there with him? He caught the faint glimmer of red, and recognized the polished, expensive hair glinting in the darkness.

"Chantal?"

He'd never seen her in a more deplorable posture; she was on her knees, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the other cushioning her forehead against the wall. Scorpius was thankful that the cover of darkness had blotted out the grotesque mess she made.

"Fuck," she moaned, sniffling. The vulgarity slipped out comically from her lips. "I drank too much."

"Evidently," Scorpius knelt down and gently combed aside her hair. "Come on, we'll get you cleaned up outside."

She nodded and her fingers gripped his as she rose shakily to her feet. Upon placing her weight on her heels, though, she swayed and Scorpius reacted instantly, knowing what was coming next—

"Don't fall asleep!" he shouted, but she folded inwards like a paper mache doll, and slid into unconsciousness.

Scorpius swore as the weight of Chantal collapsed on him. He shuffled forward, grunting with effort as her heels dragged on the floor. Then, suddenly, he felt the weight lessen, as though someone had pulled up Chantal's legs. Blowing strands of hair out of his face, he peered over Chantal's sequin-stitched shoulder and nearly dropped the girl entirely.

"Shut it," panted Rose before he had the chance to speak. She was holding up the bottom of Chantal's calves with her hands and there were still sweat-stains on her cheeks, but her eyes reflected cool rationale. Explain, she expressed silently to him. And Scorpius smiled.

AAA.

11:40 PM

Al

"I'm sorry." Carpathia took long, shuddering breaths. "I couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

No.

Al swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The languid, peaceful haze from earlier cleared instantly, as if he'd been hit by a sobriety charm. His first instinct was to look at Isabel, his beautiful Isabel, and she stared back, the whites of her eyes mirroring the paleness in her cheeks.

"Al, it's not true," she whispered. Her hands were clasped in front of her, hands he had held and touched for the last two years. He'd been so damn happy the moment she'd said yes to him, as if he had finally done something right. "You know how I feel about James."

That was all he needed. He snapped back and regarded Carpathia, whose flushed, maddened expression conveyed the last final break on turbulent ground.

Her face fell before he even spoke. "Al," said Carpathia, her voice hitching, "Believe me."

He supposed some part of him did. She looked so earnest and heartbroken that there was no possibility of faking it. But some part of Al also had seen Carpathia's lack of judgment in people and another part of him, the majority of him, was livid over what his friendship with Carpathia had done to him.

"No," he forced out, "I can't. We're done, alright? We're done."

AAA.

11:38 PM

Louis

"Do you hear that?"

They were in a closet filled with knocked over, empty glass bottles. Most likely storage for tomorrow's clean-up crew. Amidst the constant thump of the electro beat outside, Louis caught the shrill shriek of what was undeniably Carpathia's angry tones cutting into the air:

"Because she cheated on you with James!"

The arms that encircled him loosened. "Blimey. Is that…?"

Louis gently detached himself and peered through the crack in the doorway. There was a commotion outside; two figures standing head-to-head, or was it three? He recognized Carpathia's white gown.

"We've got to go." Louis hiked up his trousers and zipped the front. He heard his companion inhale sharply.

"I, er…"

"It's alright," said Louis gently, turning to face him. The bloke was just a few centimeters taller than him, but he seemed to shrink under his gaze. "We'll figure this out later." Louis slipped his shirt on over his head and paused before he pushed open the door and dragged reality back in. "Don't forget your sword."

AAA.

11:42 PM

Al

The astonishment splayed over Carpathia's face for an instant, and then hardened as though someone had poured marble on her features.

"What?" she echoed. He could hear the fissures of bitterness and disbelief bleeding into her voice, every syllable cutting through the air like a paper knife, "You'd give up our friendship for her? For her, Al?" Her voice annunciated the last word in a hysterical pitch.

"It's not a friendship!" snarled Al, slamming his fist against the wall. "It hasn't been for awhile. You're…you don't even realize how difficult it was being your friend. All the trouble you got into. All the times I had to cover your arse and make sure you weren't lying dead somewhere with some pillock who had daddy issues. I mean, honestly, Carpathia. What justifies you to go to such heights to feel something? We've all got family problems and we all want love and friendship and acceptance, but no one I know has ever abandoned everything so recklessly, and for what?"

Was she crying? He could see the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. An inner voice leapt inside him, urging his tongue to screech to a halt. Don't do it, Al. But he was so conflicted and so damn confused; there was simply no more room for guilt.

"I've got to think about other people in my life. Other people who don't give me an anxiety attack when they disappear or who don't sneak up on me with ulterior motives. I love you, Thia. I did. But I'm not in love with you, alright? I never will be. So if that's not enough for you, then just—just-" He was going to regret this. He was going to regret this and he knew it, but his own wretched mouth betrayed him. "SOD OFF."

The finality of what he'd said belted him to the bone like a hefty, iron hammer. He could feel the blood swimming in his head, as though he'd just clambered out of the Great Lake, and when he mustered the courage to look up, he barely caught the tail of Carpathia's tattered white dress dwindling into the darkness. A dreadful, hollow feeling descended upon him.

"Git."

The quiet word uttered behind him was filled with compressed incredulity and fury. Before Al could properly rotate to see who had uttered it, he caught the flash of Louis' contorted expression before a fist rose to meet him.

11:43 PM

Louis

Louis had always assumed that the first cousin he would throw a fist at was James. Not because he didn't like James, but because everything that James did warranted the high likelihood of a fistfight. Al had always been the quiet one, the sweet one, the kind one.

But Louis hated bullies, and the moment Al had uttered those words and carved up Carpathia's emotions onto a slick, silver platter, Al had become a bully. He lunged at Al, catching the flicker of bewilderment across his cousin's face, before they landed on the smooth floor, sliding several meters before coming to a stop.

"You—idiot-" seethed Louis, and something snapped behind Al's confused eyes. His face twisted, and he roared and shoved him back. Louis felt something rigid ram into his jaw.

"I'm not everyone's bloody pushover, do you hear me?" Al's voice staggered in pain.

There were cries of alarm around them and staggered footsteps as people attempted to skirt around them. They rolled over, attempting to exert as much force and destruction on the other, when suddenly, there was another body that broke into the din.

"What the bloody hell is this?" bellowed Gareth, wrenching the two of them apart. He fixed Louis with an incredulous stare, and then shot a look at Al. "Potter, what's gotten into ye?"

"Fuck off, Nott," spat Al.

"Should have heard what he said to make your sister cry," retorted Louis through gritted teeth.

That was all Gareth needed to hear. His face transformed and he grappled for Al's throat, a growl rumbling in his chest. Al instantly shielded his face with an arm, which Louis took as a golden opportunity to knee him in the thigh, prompting Al to howl in pain.

"Oh, no you don't! Fight!"

There was a thunderous yell, like a clanging war cry, and Louis was jammed backwards onto the cold floor, the wind flushing out of his lungs. He gasped, and found himself staring up at the hard-edged face of Scorpius Malfoy. Where in Dumbledore's beard did he come from?

"Stupid French twat." His voice was laced in contempt. "You alright, Pot-" But Gareth was busy throwing punches at Al, who was blocking him at every turn while attempting to kick Gareth in the knees.

"Don't—ye—dare—disrespect my sister-"

Scorpius jaw fell quite comically as his head whipped between the two parties in confusion.

"Hang on, I don't—who's fighting who-"

"Impedimenta!"

Jets of purple light shot towards them and split them apart like dominos, causing the four of them to ricochet off the walls of the corridor and slam onto the ground.

Lance the club-owner strode towards them, his lustrous magenta robes dangling from his warm-arm, which was pointed directly at Scorpius' forehead. "Out. Out. I don't care who ye are. Ye caused 'nuff trouble. Out with ye." His moustache quivered in rage, and the enormous bouncers from earlier circled around Lance and picked up the boys by the scruff of their clothes as if they were sacks of meat.

Midnight:

"…and stay out!"

The wizard in purple robes belted out his last warnings before slamming the door shut behind him.

They stood outside the club, facing the neon sign that read 'Kneazle' while the etching of the animal in question slinked back and forth almost tauntingly at them. The music continued to hum and pulse inside.

None of the boys dared to look at one another. Al's knuckles were bleeding. So was Louis' nose. Gareth sported a scratch down from the top of his temple all the way down to his chin.

"So," the word strung out of Scorpius after minutes of silence, "Care to explain what the hell happened?"

There was staleness to the air that was broken only by Al's heavy breathing. Gareth let out a disgruntled mutter and walked off in the opposite direction, hands stiff by his gleaming gladiator suit. Louis continued to glare holes into the pavement.

Scorpius tentatively reached out towards Al, whose face was drawn and ashen. As the other boy registered the movement, he quickly snapped to attention and shoved away Scorpius' hand.

"I don't want to talk." The words came out tense and abrupt.

"I-"

"Where did you go, anyway?" Al cut in bitterly, and then he shunted past Scorpius before he had a chance to speak, his long, loping gait casting a shadow as he walked across the moonlit pavement towards the stack of Portkeys that would take him back to Hogwarts.

AAA.

"He asked that?"

"Yes."

"And then what did you say?"

"Nothing, of course. We took our Portkeys back to Hogwarts and the sod passed out as soon as he got to his bed. Gareth hasn't returned, which is just as well, because the whole trip was so bloody awkward I would have rather sat through a trial at Wizengamot than go through that again."

"Shh. You'll wake him up."

"I doubt even ten Cheering Charms would get the poor bastard out of bed."

"And you have no idea what happened?"

"No. He wouldn't say, though I reckon we'll find out soon enough."

There was a silence. The moonlight streaming in through the top of the emerald bed curtains created an ethereal halo to the space where they lay.

His breath hitched. "How are you feeling?"

There was a warm, soft pressure on his abdomen as Rose rolled over and placed her hands on his chest, her hair softly brushing against his chin. Her features and the color of her hair faded against the silver light, almost disappearing entirely, but to Scorpius she looked perfect.

"Like I'm about to pay the piper with a head-splitting hangover tomorrow. Thank you for letting me sleep here. And lending me a shirt."

He touched her cheek with one solitary finger. "We won't tell anyone about this."

"No." She leaned in and kissed him. "We won't."

AAA.

AAAAAAAAAND that's all I'm going to leave you off with.

I'm sure all of you are burning with questions over that abrupt ending—all will be explained soon enough.

This was a LONG chapter, so I'm assuming I get more reviews (?) (fair assumption?)

As always, I welcome any feedback and questions you might have. Hope you enjoyed!

Love,

MissusWitch