As the Slytherins were dismissed from their potions lab, Scorpius informed Albus that he'd been assigned a detention.
"For what?" Albus asked in surprise.
"For seven minutes," Scorpius grumbled as he scooped up his books and presented himself at the lectern.
"I'm here for my seven cauldrons," he announced with mocked cheerfulness. His teacher glared at him, clearly unimpressed, as he attempted to warm his hands over the blue flames of his cauldron. His classroom was always frigid in the winter.
Professor Schlegel was the youngest of their instructors. His dark hair and beard contrasted with his cold, steely eyes. He would have been a handsome man but for the nearly constant expression of disgust on his face. He had a number of nervous habits, the most obnoxious included constantly rapping his wand on various surfaces as he paced around the classroom and biting at his nails when he thought no one was looking. He seemed to derive no enjoyment whatsoever from his students, only rejoicing in their achievements when they beat another house in one contest or another. Scorpius wondered why he didn't quit the profession of education and go into some less-stressful line of work before he gave himself an anxiety attack. His only attributes as a teacher were a notable passion for potion making and a formidable, if somewhat twisted, sense of humor. Scorpius also reasoned that he was generally fair in that he didn't play favorites. He seemed to hate all of his students with an admirable equality.
He strode to the cupboard and selected a large green vial with a sealed stopper as well as a box of old rags. These he handed to Scorpius and he gestured toward several stacks of cauldrons on a countertop in the corner.
"Off you go," he dismissed him and Scorpius approached the pile hesitantly.
"I thought you said there were seven," he complained edgily.
"What's your point?" his teacher demanded as he hung his muffler from a peg on the back of the door. Scorpius rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Schlegel's back was turned and he didn't notice. When he'd turned round and stood over him with crossed arms, Scorpius gingerly unplugged the stopper. The stench of the agent inside nearly made him retch.
"Well, you'd best get on with it," Schlegel suggested, "You don't want to miss your lunch."
"Where are you going?" Scorpius demanded.
"I'm going to have my lunch obviously. I wasn't the one who flew my broomstick down the corridor."
"What broomstick? I came into the common room seven minutes past nine," Scorpius corrected bitterly.
"Whatever. Get to work." Scorpius sighed at the injustice and began to scrub. After only a few seconds, he could barely keep his watery eyes open from the stench. He covered his nose and mouth with his muffler as he went at the filthy cauldrons. He was nearly halfway done with the first when the door to the classroom came open with a crash and Schlegel burst into the room hauling Jeremy Wright by the collar and followed by a sullen-looking seventh year. Schlegel left them in the aisle and slammed open the drawer of his desk, searching through the contents for something. Wright sat down noisily and defiantly in a student desk but the older boy remained standing. Scorpius noticed that the front of Wright's robe was covered in mashed potato. Schlegel found a self-inking quill and slammed it flat on the table before Wright along with a piece of parchment.
"Sit!" he commanded, angrily pointing to a table in the far corner. The older boy slunk into the corner and took a seat. Scorpius recognized him as Alonzo Rath.
"I want the most contrite letter of apology I've ever read, Rath!" Schlegel demanded as he supplied him with another quill and parchment.
"Yes, professor," Rath muttered. Schlegel turned to Wright.
"What's 'contrite', sir?" Wright asked him. Schlegel drew his breath sharply and gazed at Wright with an expression of disbelief and revulsion.
"Just write, 'I will not throw food'."
"How many times?" Wright asked him.
"Until that quill runs out of ink!" he exclaimed and he marched out the door, slamming it behind him. His departure was followed by several tense minutes of quill scratching and cauldron scrubbing.
"What is that stink?" Rath exclaimed after awhile. Scorpius looked over sheepishly.
"It's some sort of special cleaning agent that he's making me use on the cauldrons." he explained.
"Eugh! It's rancid!"
"Schlegel said it's the only way to get them clean." Rath covered his face with his hand.
"I think I'd just throw them out! What did you do to get that job?"
"I came to the common room seven minutes late last night," he explained.
"That's it?" Rath exclaimed.
"And I back-talked a portriat." Rath rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on his letter.
"Oi…Malfoy?" Wright whispered. Scorpius turned around, expecting to hear more complaints of the smell.
"What?"
"Is there a 'g' in throw?" Scorpius' eyebrows raised.
"Of course there isn't!" he whispered back in a somewhat demeaning tone. Rath snickered in the opposite corner. A short time later, Rath broke the silence again.
"I saw your friend in Knockturn Alley, few weeks back." Scorpius looked at him. Rath had a snide way about him. He'd never had a problem with him, but all the same, he had a certain feeling that Rath disliked him for some reason.
"Who?"
"Little Albus Potter."
"Why would he be in Knockturn Alley?" Scorpius asked disbelievingly.
"Why not?"
"Because, people like the Potters don't generally frequent dodgy places like that." Rath frowned at him disapprovingly.
"He was in my father's shop." Scorpius shrugged his shoulders dismissively.
"So, your father's moving up in the world. Attracting rare celebrities…"
"Faster than yours ever will, I dare say!" Rath spat. Scorpius glared at him and Rath glared back.
"Can't say I can see why anyone would be interested in your father's old shop," he said finally.
"You should come down and find out some time, Malfoy."
"What for?"
"Look around. Learn something. Maybe have your genealogy done." The last suggestion was ridiculous to Scorpius. His pedigree was painstakingly recorded back scores of generations on both sides of his family.
"You never know," Rath continued with a deliberately snide timbre, "Maybe my father will find some surprises in your bloodline you didn't know about." Scorpius bristled at the insinuation.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Nothing. It's only that some wizarding families aren't always as pure-blooded as they like people to think they are. My father says…"
"Everyone in my family knows who their daddy is, Rath!" Scorpius spat, "If my grandmother was any prouder of the purity of our family tree she'd have it embroidered on all our knickers!"
"I tell you, don't be so sure. My father can uncover all sorts of secrets with his new methods. He can even trace the families of muggle-borns now. He can trace anyone, no matter how well their secrets are covered up." Scorpius snorted.
"I wish my parents would lie to me about my ancestors. If they were going to claim a family that wasn't their own, I'm pretty sure they would never pick mine."
"He couldn't trace my family," Wright interrupted suddenly. Both Scorpius and his adversary turned around to look at him. They'd forgotten he was there.
"What makes you say that?" Rath asked defensively.
"My mum turned me over to the system," he explained, "I don't even remember what she looked like."
"Do you know her name?" Rath asked him. Wright shook his head begrudgingly.
"If you could find out her name, it'd be much easier," Rath admitted, "But, there's still a good chance. If you're from any of the ancient families, he can find you. Even if there's only one connection." Wright looked back at his paper. Scorpius could tell that he was quite curious about what Rath had to say.
Suddenly, they were interrupted by the return of Schlegel, carrying a lunch tray. Everyone scrambled to look immersed in their work. The potions master gave the boys a disapproving look as he made his way to his desk, set down the tray, and turned on the wireless. His face contorted at the stench in the room and he looked over at Scorpius.
"Aren't you done yet, Malfoy?"
"No, sir."
"Well, how many have you done?"
"Just one, sir," he replied sheepishly. Schlegel sighed in exasperation.
"Get out of here," he demanded, "That smell is killing my appetite." Scorpius scrambled to his feet, corked the bottle, and went to lunch.
Later that evening, Albus and Scorpius made their way into the crowded common room. It was just before dinner and the students were returning from their classes to drop off their school things and get ready for the evening. Professor Schlegel was present amongst the hubbub and was delivering a tirade about how unkempt the common room was getting.
"What are these bottles doing left all over the table? Who brought in butterbeer? Someone had better pick those cushions off the floor and put them back where they go! You girls need to pick up all these little hair thingys! This isn't a beauty salon and whose bloody socks are these? Dwayne, your mother does not work here! How did this burn mark get on the carpet?" The students were scattering left and right trying to avoid his fury.
"Check the bulletin board, Quidditch team!" shouted Octavian Bell, the prefect, when he saw Albus and Scorpius. They scurried over to the board.
"It's the pitch schedule!" Scorpius exclaimed excitedly, "Our next practice is tomorrow, right after breakfast! I hope it won't be too cold."
"Not for you, Malfoy," Schlegel broke in irritably as he yanked some out of date notices from the board as well as someone's lost underpants which had been hung up for a laugh, "You're going to be in the dungeon cleaning the six cauldrons you still owe me!" Scorpius' mouth hung open in disbelief.
"But, you told me to go to lunch!" Scorpius complained.
"Yes, so I could enjoy mine."
"But…professor…it's Quidditch!" he cried in exasperation.
"And they can do without you until you're finished. Perhaps you'll work much faster without Wright and Rath there to distract you." Schlegel strode across the room and deposited the notes and dirty drawers into the fireplace.
"The rest of you had better keep this room reasonable or curfew will be nine o`clock for everyone!" The older students groaned while the younger students jeered. With that, he departed for his own quarters. Scorpius let out a wild howl and began kicking the sofa.
"It was…just…seven…bloody…minutes!" he screeched in between blows.
"Calm down, Scorp!" Albus advised him, "You'll just get in more trouble."
"I hate that man!" he seethed. He walked around to the front of the sofa and collapsed into it, tossing a pillow defiantly across the floor.
"Malfoy!" grumbled Jasmine Whitney, the female Slytherin prefect, "Schlegel said to keep this room clean!"
"Schlegel can kiss my hairy big toe!" he responded. Whitney stood over him, hands on hips, and began whacking him with the sofa pillow.
"All right, already! Stop! I'm sorry!" he grumbled amid the hysterical laughter of his housemates. Whitney let up and after replacing the pillow on the sofa she went about her business. Albus sat down beside him. The room was clearing out now that their head of house was gone. Most the students were either getting ready for dinner in their rooms, or already assembling in the great hall. The only students lingering were a large group of girls who were chattily collecting their beauty products from the table and Jeremy Wright, who was slouched in the chair across from them.
"It's only six cauldrons," Albus offered, "You'll be done in no time."
"This is all your fault!" Scorpius accused, looking in the direction of the mantle.
"What? My fault?" Wright exclaimed in outrage.
"No, not yours," Scorpius corrected, "His!" He pointed at the portrait above the mantle. Snape looked down at him with a severe coolness in his eyes.
"I fail to see how. I don't have a curfew."
"You had to say something when I came in! It was only seven minutes! He wouldn't even have noticed if you hadn't been such a big mouth." Snape clicked his tongue in mock sympathy.
"You're so mistreated, Mr. Malfoy. You're going to be the first wizard to have his whole life ruined by a piece of wall art." Scorpius crossed his arms and continued complaining.
"Stupid curfew. Why do we even have to have that rule? I bet the other houses don't have a special curfew for first and second years. Does he think we're little kids?"
"Well, if he could see how mature you're being now, I'm sure he'd see the error of his ways," Snape retorted.
"I can't stand his potions class," Wright added supportively, "I can't understand a word he says half the time!"
"Mr. Wright, I don't think it fair to assign all the blame for that to Professor Schlegel," the portrait responded, "The fact is, you simply aren't very bright."
"Well, he's my teacher!" Wright retorted, "What does that say about him?" Snape rolled his eyes.
"I don't see a point in his class either," Scorpius agreed, "It's only interesting when someone messes up and blows their eyebrows off or something. How is that going to help me in real life? If I want a bloody potion, I'll just go to the apothecary and buy one!" Snape considered the three boys for a moment and said,
"Mr. Malfoy, I'm going to tell you a parable."
"What's a parable?" Scorpius demanded, still sharp over the perceived injustice he'd suffered.
"Probably some sort of lie," responded Wright tartly. Snape shot him a hard look, but otherwise ignored his presence.
"A parable is a story which illustrates a point of morality."
"So, it is a lie," Scorpius concluded.
"Be quiet and listen for once," the portrait commanded coldly, "There was a boy about your age who for the most part was reasonably intelligent and attentive to his studies. However, there was one subject that he did not take at all seriously and that was Appreciation of Magical Music. This boy refused to participate in the class and was often disrespectful to his professor and disruptive to the learning process. When the other students were learning to charm snakes with flutes he rolled his eyes and declared that he thought the whole class was stupid."
"Charm snakes with flutes? That sounds kinda cool!" Albus exclaimed.
"Well this boy thought it was pointless and he was rude to his teacher and got a detention and low marks as a result of it." The boys looked at each other in confusion.
"Is that all?" Scorpius asked.
"That's not a very memorable parable," Albus commented.
"I'm not finished," Snape insisted, "Then the boy grew up. He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. He became a teacher himself and his own music professor got his inevitable revenge in the form of scores of horrible, rude little children who didn't listen and didn't obey. Then he got bitten by a snake and he died and if you don't listen to your teachers the same may happen to you. The End."
"Now that's more like it," Albus cheered at the justifiable and ironic demise of the immoral music student.
"Is that a real story?" Scorpius asked suspiciously.
"I've already said, it's a parable," Snape's portrait snapped irritably.
"So, it didn't actually happen?"
"It might have happened," Albus argued, "My mum says sometimes legends are based on something real."
"Like what legend?" Scorpius challenged.
"Like my dad's old invisibility cloak," Albus explained, "He says it's the same one in the story of the Deathly Hallows." Scorpius snorted.
"Oh, Merlin's big toe, it is!"
"That's what he says," Albus defended.
"Well, I don't believe it! That story is older than sand!"
"My dad doesn't lie to me," he argued.
"Grownups don't think it's lying if it's a story," Wright commented dryly, "I'm going up to dinner!" He rose from his armchair and made his way through the portal.
"I think it's pot roast tonight," Albus commented as they followed him. Behind them, the portrait of Snape became engrossed in his book once again.