Heads Up (in case the recently uploaded note got missed): I only just realized that I uploaded ch4 twice (so ch3 was missing)! SO SORRY for any confusion! I'm not exactly sure why I suck so terribly at managing stories on this site, but you can search "Trials of Scorpius Malfoy" on inkitt for a less wonky read.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Scorpius tries to stay alive.
As it happens, eleven days is not a particularly long time. Rosie fills most of it being calmer and more supportive than usual. Al continues his campaign of total avoidance. I do what exactly everyone who's ever met me would imagine, and proceed to completely freak out.
In less than two weeks, I've been tardy more times than during my entire career at Hogwarts. At least my professors are sympathetic. They pretend not to notice when I shuffle in late and never ask me where I'm going when I abruptly step out of class. Hyperventilating in the toilettes has more or less become my hobby.
There remains a very real chance that I might genuinely die.
My father still hasn't written, and for the very first time, I sort of wish he would.
On the eve of the first task we dine in the second grandest hall at Beauxbatons. A choir of wood nymphs serenade us again, but they're all but drowned out by the raucous students. Everyone year four and up clutches a flute of champagne and professor McGonagall does not appear amused. As less experienced drinkers, the Hogwarts delegation has grown the messiest. Madley has spent most of the feast wrestling bottles away from my fellows in black and sending them off to bed early.
My own glass remains untouched and has gone flat.
"You gotta eat something, Scorsius," Rosie slurs, pink in the cheeks. "Look at all s' food!"
She tries to push a tray of hors d'œuvres towards me but it clatters off the table. Salmon canapés, mushroom vol-au-vents, and creamy pâté scatter across gleaming hardwood. A knot of House Elves appear to clear the mess and I try for a bite of crusty bread. Chewing seems like much harder work than I remember.
Rosie closes one eye as she sloshes herself another drink. The foam is quick to overflow down her fingers, and she attracts a pointed glare from Madley. Within seconds, the professor is interrogating her about how much she's had while Rosie ineffectively tries to argue her own sobriety.
I let my gaze wander out the windows to the gardens.
Blooming nightshades unfurl to drink in moonlight while the other flowers rest for the evening. Way out at the bench, I see two burning embers bouncing in the dark. Cigarettes. With Rosie distracted, bow out onto the grounds.
"Excuse me, sorry," I call, following the cobbled path. "Do you think I could borrow a smoke?"
"Borrow?" a liquid voice laughs back. "Are you planning to give it back after?"
Horror grips my chest as I make out the shadowy features ahead. Hervé takes a deep pull of his fag, raising one curious brow at me. Beside him sits a stunningly pretty girl with dark-penciled eyes. Her lip curls up into the faintest snarl.
"Sorry, I'm—" I dither, fidgeting with the hem of my pocket. "I'll go. Sorry to bother you."
I turn around to leave but Hervé's voice calls me back. "It's alright. Why don't you come share a smoke with us, pour digestion."
All I want to do is run but I can't well rebuff his offer. Not after I asked in the first place. He slips a cigarette from an engraved silver case and holds it out like a challenge.
"Will you be needing a light as well?"
"No, I…" I pat my robes pockets for my wand.
"Here." He snaps and a flame flickers between his fingers.
My jaw drops. "How are you…?"
"Ah, but I can't tell." He lifts his hand and lights my fag. "You are my competition, non?"
The girl laughs while I gape at him.
"I'm just hoping I won't die," I confess. "You don't have to worry about me."
"Oh but I think I do, Monsieur Malfoy." Hervé sweeps up from his seat and his companion follows. He has a good few inches on me standing and I'm tall myself. His face looms close as he passes. "I think you will prove a formidable opponent."
I open and close my mouth for what feels like a long time. The shadow of a smirk plays over his mouth.
"Until tomorrow." He gently inclines his head before motioning for his friend to follow.
Their robes whisper across the grass as they disappear into the dark and I'm left standing alone. It's a few seconds before I realize that my cigarette has gone out.
I wake up with the sheets tangled around my legs and my neck and forehead feel dewy with sweat. There's a ragged ache in my chest and cold dread coursing through my veins, but for a few confused seconds, I don't remember why.
Then I see Al's empty bed beside me. The red X's on my wall calendar slashing the first twenty-three days of November.
Oh right, that.
There are only seven short hours left between me and the first task of the TriWizard Tournament.
I shower slowly and with care, as though I'll shatter the bar of soap with my touch, and pull on my uniform robes like my whole body is bruised. Winding down the stairs to the second level, I see Rosie passed out on the chaise lounge. Fluffy red curls flutter while she snores. I tug off her high-heels and lay down a blanket rather than wake her up. Her hangover will certainly be epic.
Unsure what to do with myself, I settle into the rolltop desk I've claimed and slip out my alchemy problem sets. It seems like the best idea to just keep myself occupied. Rote studying leaves less room for thinking, and thinking is definitely a bad idea right now.
I balance equation after equation until my scroll is crowded with ink. When I finish, I flip to the back of the textbook for extra problems to solve. The sun finishes rising behind me and the first showers begin to gurgle from above but I don't look up from my parchment.
"S' bloody cruel," Rosie groans and I start. "Making us go to lessons today before the first task and all."
My back cracks as I face her. "Oh right, because the task is going to be so trying for you."
"Alright, Mr Bitchypants. Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"Sorry," I mutter and try to return to the strings of numbers and symbols.
"Blimey, z'at the time?" she yawns. "We should head down to breakfast because you're not getting out of eating today."
I take her words as a very serious threat. Last night, she spent a good half hour in the dining car drunkenly holding me down and shoving crisps into my mouth.
Note to Self: Rosie resorts to assault if food she deems necessary has been denied. DO NOT ATTEMPT AGAIN.
Besides, she probably right. Going into the first task on an empty stomach is one of the (probably very many) things that could kill me later today.
The energy at breakfast best resembles the morning of a Quidditch game. Students share animated conversations and break into school Fight Songs, not missing a beat to dunk flakey pastries into cups of café au lait. All at once it starts to feel absurd. Everyone is acting like this Tournament business is normal. Fun, even. I choke down a few bites of croissant because the alternative might well be death.
Exactly nothing about this is normal or fun.
Lin steps into the solarium and joins our table without a word. She looks drained and it's a shockingly long time before she blinks.
"You holding up alright?" Rosie asks, nudging the bowl of pastries closer. I sincerely hope, for the Durmstrang champion's own sake, that she accepts them.
"Yes, great," Lin says. "I had big breakfast on ship and nice run around the palace."
"Really?" I cough on a sip of coffee.
"No." She smiles weakly. "I had vomit in shower."
The warm sound of church bells announces the start of the school day. After that, I could swear some tosser messed with the clocks. Our morning lessons blur by much faster than what anyone should ever consider reasonable. I watch helplessly as the minutes slip by like water through my fingers.
Too soon, we're crowding into the ballroom again for lunch. A few owls flutter in and out, but none of them are for me.
Nothing feels real anymore. This just can't be happening. It's too ridiculous. Too impossible. During the last TriWizard Tournament, the first task was dragons. Having established that I'm no match for champagne-drunk-Rosie, there's no question that a dragon could literally eat me alive.
Rosie can't stop biting her lip and nudging me every other second to take another bite. Then, her eyes stretch wide and she falls silent. I whip around to see Albus. He's walking straight for us but he doesn't meet our eyes.
"McGonagall's office," he mutters as he passes.
Then, he's gone - disappearing into crush of students darting merrily between tables.
At first, I'm not sure whether or not I just imagined him saying anything at all. Rosie and I both blink stupidly before she suddenly, and all too violently, punches me in the shoulder.
"Ow!" I cry, massaging the sore spot where she hit me.
"It's a clue!" she hisses.
"What?" I say, more preoccupied by the fact that Al may or may not have just spoken to me for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
"Listen," she lowers her voice further. "Uncle Harry got a heads up about the dragons before the first task happened. I think all the champions knew. And I'm sure he believes you that you didn't enter yourself, so I bet he gave Al a clue to pass along to you! Whatever you're meant to fight, it must have something to do with McGonagall's office!"
I frown back at her and consider what she's saying. "That… makes no sense."
"Come on, think!" she groans, massaging her temples. "What could McGonagall's office have to do with the first task?"
"I…" For the space of a second, I think she might be onto something. Logic quickly overrides that flight of fancy. "Nothing. I mean, how could our headmistress's office be related at all?"
"Oh what, so you think it's more logical that Al just suddenly decided to blurt that out for no reason at all after avoiding you for weeks?"
It would have hurt less to slap me.
"Sorry, Scor-" She buries her face in her hands. "But come on, think. This has to be important!"
"Malfoy," McGonagall calls, marching briskly for our table.
I'm seized by a moment of blind panic that she somehow overheard us talking. We've been caught trying to cheat, and now I'll be kicked out of the Tournament.
Wait.
That would be fantastic!
"The champions have to come down onto the grounds now," she says instead, and I'm too confused to remember whether I'm meant to feel relieved or not. Probably not. "It's time to get ready for your first task."
Rosie looks flustered as our headmistress steers me away, and I catch her mouthing 'think' at me. Conflicting emotions butt up against one another. On the one hand, Albus talked to me! On the other, What?
Even if Roise is right, and he'd meant to give me a clue, why did he have to be so bloody cryptic about it? As I understand, his father got to see what he was up against with his own eyes. No riddles, no bizarre implications of school faculty. Just 'heads up Harry, motherfucking dragons.'
I'm no closer to understanding what is about to happen. If anything, I'm more scared and confused than I was before. I almost wish Al hadn't said anything at all.
Almost.
But not really.
If it is a clue, then that means Albus is rooting for me. Or at least, doesn't want to see me gobbled up by some unknown evil. Not a lot to rebuild our relationship on, but it's something.
McGonagall leads me to the entrance of a silk tent at the edge of the inlet. Across the water, stadium seats rise against the backdrop of the Pyrenees. The sun has reached it's apex, and everything should be beautiful.
My headmistress holds open the flap door, and I step out of the sunlight.
"And this is Hogvarts?" says a middle aged man with bowed shoulders.
The other two champions are already sat on opposite benches. Lin is staring off into space and barely seems to register that I've entered the tent. Hervé sits still as a statue, chewing his cheek. His intensity is utterly terrifying.
"Scorpius Malfoy, representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," McGonagall announces and lays a hand on my shoulder.
"Viktor Krum." The man offers me a handshake. "1994 Durmstrang champion, and one of the judges for today."
"Oh, hi, yes," I say. His broad hand engulfs mine and I half worry it might break. "Nice to meet you."
"Well, there we have it." McGonagall gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. She seems momentarily like she's fretting, but soon resigns to head back out of the tent.
My throat feels dry and I have exactly no ideas about what to do with myself.
Viktor Krum tells us his spiel about how the first task is meant to judge our daring and quick thinking, so we won't know what we're up against until we're up against it. He doesn't seem very enthusiastic about giving this speech and takes his leave with very little fanfare.
At first I think it's just my anxiety, but soon I decide that there's some sort of silencing charm around the tent. I feel the crowds crossing the grounds but there's no sound from outside. Footfalls radiate and the silken walls quiver, but we three champions are left with only the echoes of our own fidgets and shallow breaths.
When the flap opens again, the noise from outside is like a roar after so much silence. We all start. Krum beckons for Hervé, but the Beauxbatons champion just flashes him an antagonist sort of glare. For a moment, I think he might take a swing at the judge. Then his face relaxes into neutrality and he rises.
Silence swallows us again as the tent closes behind him.
I'm sat on the bench beside Lin, elbows on my knees as I cradle my head, when I feel thunderous tremors shake the ground beneath us. All at once, Lin seizes my hand hard but keeps her eyes fixed on the far wall. Neither of us can help but grip each other's fingers harder every time the earth quakes from whatever is happening outside.
McGonagall's office. McGONagall's offICE.
Over and over again I twist the clue in my mind, probing it for whatever secrets it might contain. My lungs take a sharp breath and Lin jumps.
"Hey, I dunno but…" My voice is cracking and dry. "I think I might have gotten a clue about what we're going to face."
She looks like she might be sick if she tries to speak, but her eyes tell me to keep talking.
"I don't know what it means, but it might have something to do with my headmistress' office?"
There's a long pause, and after, Lin only looks more scared. "What is that meaning?"
"I don't know!" I groan and hang my head. "There are all these arcane instruments, and a bunch of portraits of old headmasters, and this sort of corkscrew staircase thing. And… she's Scottish? Maybe? But her office isn't Scottish-y…"
I babble while Lin nods slowly in a 'you have definitely cracked' sort of way.
"The passwords are always sweets?" I finish, saying the last possible thing I can think of.
"Thank you," she says, but I know she doesn't mean it at all.
An almighty sonic pulse rents the air again and she and I jerk our heads to see Krum stood against a sliver of blazing sky.
"Scorpinus Malfoyle," he says. "It is you now."
Lin's fingernails rake my hand as I rise mechanically to my feet. At this point, my body seems to be functioning automagically.
"To complete this task, you must-" Krum gulps, as though annoyed. "'Go for the Gold.' That is what they have me say. 'Go or the Gold.' It vill be important clue for next task."
Ok.
Wait, not ok.
What?
Fearsome sunlight assaults and I blink, stepping into the cacophony outside the tense bubble of our tent. The crowd cheers and stomps across the water as Krum leads me to the shore. Beside me, the judges platform rises, and I see four members of the panel clapping me on. I'm vaguely aware that the panel's identity has been jealously guarded; it's been meant as a Big Surprise. A kickoff to the 'festivities.' There have been whispers and speculations for weeks, both among students and in the newspapers, but I haven't had enough space to care about the pomp and circumstance, what with my impending peril and all.
Giving a cursory glance upward, I see the président de la magie, a curtain of white-gold hair shimmering in the sunlight, and… green eyes.
Because, wait-
Duh.
There are three living TriWizard champions. One happens to be the most important figure in the history of European Magic. And sure, he's busy. But his son is here.
I am an actual fool. A self-absorbed, can't see past my own nose, fool.
Harry Potter beams as he brings his hands together. Then, my foot catches on jagged rocks, and I'm tumbling forward into a creaky wooden rowboat. Krum begins to frame something like an apology, but the boat takes off. I barely have time to right myself as it skids across the water at breakneck speed.
Brackish flecks spray my face as the boat cuts a course across sparkling surface. At the centre of the inlet sits a small wooden platform, and I'm only surprised that my boat knocks against it because everything feels surprising right now. Taking care not to capsize, I climb onto the structure because that's what I'm probably meant to do now.
The audience's excitement swells. I can only assume it's because some medieval fascination public execution has come back into vogue.
I pull myself upright in the middle of the platform and… stand.
Okay.
So.
Oh no…
The gently rippling surface of the water begins to agitate. Reflected sky fractures. Something is coming up.
FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.
Wicked black spikes brake the surface, curved like scythes. Something pushes against the tide with tremendous strength and I take several unconscious steps back. There comes a sudden, unholy sucking sound as an inky beast emerges. It's furious growl sends a shudder through me and my hairs stand up on end.
The scythes top black, batlike wings. They beat as it rises into the air. It is pure nightmare swathed in a waterfall. The more I see of it, the more horrifying it becomes. It's skin is slick and amphibious. It's head, still thrown back, boasts horrible, yellowed fangs. It is mammal and frog and man all at once. Clawed feet like paws. Muscled arms like a beater. Leather wings raising it higher, higher, higher. Each push creates a burst like wind that cuts me to my core.
Then, something yanks at it, and there's a jostle of inertia. I spy a manacle gripping its ankle and chain disappearing into the waters below.
The beast is angry. Furious.
It jerks its head to face me and white eyes eyes meet mine. An uncanny face, like a human made horrible. Heavy brow. Eternal snarl. Two twisted horns crown his head. One, just as shadowy as the rest of him. The other, sparkling.
Go for the Gold.
McGonagall's office.
Now I understand, and I'm quite certain that naming the correct brand of sweets won't satisfy it. This is a gargouille; the monster what inspired the statues. A demon of the sea.
And I'm meant to wrest one of his horns from his head.
Well.
That is definitely not going to happen.
The gargouille hovers in the air and fixes me with a milky stare. All at once there's a peal of everything horrible - nails on chalkboard, yarn through teeth, and a sound like I imagine the apocalypse would sound like. I throw my hands over my ears and stagger back. One foot slides over the edge of the platform. Wavering on the spot, only my panic-heightened nerves save me from tumbling down into the water. I lurch forward, which unfortunately happens to be the direction of the beast.
He lunges towards me but the chain pulls taut. His reach only extends so far.
I seriously consider just swimming away and giving up, but I can't actually swim. My doggie-paddle is okay best, but I have to hold my nose if ever I dunk my head under. And entering a water demon's natural habitat can't possibly be the smart move right now.
But.
Okay.
He can't get me where I'm stood. So think.
Water thing; try fire.
"Incendio!" I shout, whipping my wand into the most dangerous augmentative maneuver I've ever read about.
The fireball explodes into a shockwave of heat and and I recoil. All moisture on my person evaporates and I smell burnt hair. The creature shrieks and its batting wings stoke the flames. And then-
A deluge of water. I gasp and splutter under the torrent. It's just as brackish as the inlet, but thicker. Like saliva. While dragons spit fire, the gargouille spits water.
Apparently.
In retrospect, that should have been obvious. I'm on a crickety wooden platform in the wettest possible place save the Pacific. There isn't fire enough in the world.
The smoke is thick from my extinguished spell and I can no longer see the creature. Instead, I hear it. Or rather, the sound of its chain, moving. Deep below, there comes an unsettling creak. The beast is circling around the platform. Whatever it's anchored to can rotate.
No part of the platform is safe. So long as I'm at the far end from it, it can't get me. But it can loop around.
I consider clearing the smoke, but that would mean I'd have to see it. I feel like a child again, afraid of the monster in the closet, and so sure that burying my head under the covers will keep me safe. Or at least, spare me the terror before it takes me.
But closing my eyes won't make this go away.
I lash my wand in a spiral and the smoke falls into ash. Now I can see it again, and it's a lot closer than I thought it would be.
Another roar sends me scrambling to the further edge of the structure. But the gargouille is faster now. It's learned how to navigate its bondage. There comes another cascade of something like water but more terrible and I'm blinded.
Spitting, hacking, and choking for breath on all fours, sharp pain cleaves across my back. Even as drenched as I am, I feel my own thick blood blooming from the gash marks of its claws. I scramble, slipping in the mix of red-tinged water and not water, but the monster is too quick. This time its hand hardens into a punch. I'm winded, sliding over the uneven boards until I almost topple off the edge.
Sucking in a desperate breath I pinch my fingers over my slick nose, and let myself fall.
Water in my ears dulls all sound. I try to open my eyes but it stings too much. As far as I can tell, it's too murky to see anything anyway. Lack of oxygen brings panic and it takes all of my self control not to gasp for air until I break the surface. The gargouille has followed me into the water, and its impossible body is better adapted than my own. My arms crash through the gentle tide as I paddle away, away, but it's faster than me. I change course, and duck into the shadows beneath the platform.
I know its talons tear at my leg but the pain is dulled by the water so I press further. Just as soon as I clear the platform, it roars behind me. My hand catches splinters as push myself off the support beam but it gives me a burst of speed. I cut a diagonal under the platform again.
I'm reminded of my cousin Phoebe chasing me around the kitchen table. I would race away only for her to switch directions, but we more or less kept the same diameter of distance.
That was Phoebe. Two children in a dining room. She was definitely the more athletic than I, but it was a closer match.
The diameter between the gargouille and myself continues to shrink.
My arms ache from paddling and my lungs can't get enough air. I feel claws grasping at me. Every deluge from it's mouth stops me in my tracks.
Around and around I go until-
Yes.
The chain tightens under the water with a sound like a rubber band. The monster has run out of slack. I've roped his binds around these poles a dozen times, and now he's stuck to untangle the knots.
It takes every strength I have to hoist myself up onto the platform. I collapse, winded, on my back.
I haven't won. I don't know how to win. But I'm still alive, and I've bought myself some time.
It's not a lot, but it's something.
I gulp air and gaze into the fierce blue sky above. Below, I hear metal grinding against metal.
BOOM.
The platform lurches.
BOOM.
Wood splinters.
BOOM.
The monster's head breaks through. Lodged in the wreckage, I see one glittering horn. My drenched fingers slide over its surface as I struggle to keep hold of it.
Then-
Boom.
The platform groans as it collapses. There's no time to think. No time to plan.
My panicked lungs gasp for air but find only water. There's a sting as it invades up my nose and the headache is instant. The more I try to breathe, the more I continue to drown. One monstrous hand seizes my ankle, tugging me deeper, deeper, into a place where no human was ever meant to be.
The shimmering world above disappears as we descend.
And then everything is dark.