Breakfast was an amazingly chipper affair in the school. Enchanted platters that refilled before amazed eyes banished any thoughts of sleep, and there was something about the way that the wall hangings glittered and shone in the early morning light that inspired. You found yourself sat amongst your classmates, and as one enthusiasm bounced off another, the day ahead appeared to be full of boundless opportunities.
When you were eleven.
By the age of seventeen or eighteen, that star-studded view has waned slightly.
For "slightly", read "entirely."
Each student had their own way of coping with the offence that was seven a.m.
For some of the truly sickening ones, it was a bracing early morning run. Others ignored it entirely, refusing to acknowledge the existence of the universe until at least eight.
Amongst this breed was Hugo Weasley. Hugo was of the mindset that, actually, most crimes committed before nine a.m could probably have been avoided if a good cup of coffee had been available as an alternative to homicide. A good cup of coffee, to Hugo, was basically tar, full of sugar, served immediately and by the gallon.
It was as he was nursing a cup of this gloop that he was pounced on.
"Hu!"
Crap.
"Malfoy." Hugo sighed, resignation colouring his tone. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be crawling out of your girlfriend's bed or streaking around the lake?"
"I don't think you fully grasp the meaning of 'streaking.'" Scorpius hazarded, parking himself next to Weasley #2. Hugo was ginger. Hugo was very ginger. Rose, Scorpius would always be adamant, was auburn. Which is very different, ask anyone, Merlin's beard. "I can't run, mate, they put my legs on wrong. I have two left feet. Anyway, about last night-"
"I saw nothing. I will tell no one. I hope you enjoyed her company." Hugo intoned, looking for all the world as though Scorpius were holding him captive under a bright light whilst pulling out his toenails. "Are we done, Malfoy?"
Scorpius blinked. "What?"
"I said-"
"What."
"Malfoy,"
"Hugo, I'm talking about the fact that you gambled away your sister so that you could play a hand of cards."
Blink. Blink.
And then Hugo groaned, and Scorpius deftly rescued the younger lad's bacon in the second before Hugo sank his head onto the table. "Fuck."
"Now, mate," Scorpius said, mouth already half full of Hugo's bacon. "It's really not that bad. Honestly. Pinky swear. All you have to do is tell her-"
"Are you out of your mind? I am not telling Rose?!"
"Telling me what?"
The Weasley-Granger household was nestled in between two of the famous Cotswold lakes, and the house oozed personality. It had always reminded Rose of a fading debutante, well past her prime, who insisted on holding on to the glitz of a bygone era. It had a splendid balcony that ran around the house, but the surrounding garden had been taken over by wildflowers and whichever wildlife fancied living rent-free in relative luxury. Rose's fat cat occasionally attempted to snack on the feathered residents, but he had a moral standing against exercise so his success rates were low.
On this particular morning, Hermione was settled amongst this wilderness with a cup of Earl Grey and Maebeck's latest from the elvish freedom fighters of the Czech Republic. Ron was loudly debating the merits and demerits of putting petrol or diesel in the car, as if his parents-in-law weren't bona fide muggles.
"Does it only take one?" he was asking loudly, and Hermione flipped a page in the report.
"You know it does, Ronald."
Silence. An ominous glugging. And then a loud bang that vaguely registered on Hermione's radar.
"Fuck!"
"Ronald!"
Hermione paused, halfway through turning another page. A cacophonous scuffling came from the garage, and she was seriously contemplating action, when her husband came stomping out, an owl firmly attached to his ear.
"This is ridiculous," he was fuming. "A bloke can't even put Dettol in the bloody car without the wildlife attacking."
"A bloke shouldn't put Dettol in the car, full stop." Hermione said wryly as she detached the bird, massaging Ron's ear briefly. "That's surface cleaner."
Ron looked nonplussed, before shrugging it off. "Huh. Well. There's surface cleaner in the car, 'Mione."
But Hermione was unrolling the slim piece of parchment that had been attached to the owl. Their daughter's skidding, untidy hand coated the page- her letters large and irate and "Hugo Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed, furious.
Ron looked up sharply, "What?"
"Your son!" And the letter was thrust in her husband's direction.
The ginger's raucous laughter could be heard by fishermen, a mile away at the lake's shore.
Later, Hugo supposed that he was sort of grateful for the fact that he received the howler. It meant that he was still alive. It meant that despite that icy look in his older sister's eyes, and despite the really quite overly dramatic wandwork and the fact that Rose's voice got steely when she was furious – he was alive. So in a spiritual sense, yes, he could definitely be considered grateful.
The shreds of red envelope fluttered down around him at lunch. His mother's voice still rang in his ears, and his dignity had shredded right along with it. Rose, when Finnegan had slipped in next to her, had said "No." so flatly that really, it hadn't even been worth brokering the question. Scorpius snorted, and the world's karma was restored.
Saluting Rose with a carrot baton, Amy said "I'm totally behind you not letting Hugo sort your dates for you, but this does leave the question of who are you going to go to the World's Ball with?"
Rose shrugged expressively. "Hu did not try and sort a date for me – he gambled me. Anybody could have won! Malfoy could have won?!"
"And you'd have loved every second of it." Scorpius drawled. "I'm a superb dancer. Unless it's something other than the robot – then I'm out."
Rose made a face at him before turning back to Amy. "Can we please focus on the fact that we only have three full days of training before the House Cup, and worry about dances after Sunday?"
Amy seemed to mull over her options before gratifying Rose with a nod. "If we must."
"That's very kind of you, thank you."
Amy allowed for this graciously, waving a hand. "You're most welcome, Cap."
Later that afternoon, Scorpius was making his way to join Albus at the greenhouses. Due to a general sense of hysteria in the school about approaching exams, final year students had been given several hours of free "study time" per week. It seemed to be a strategy to save the mental health of the older students, rather than to have any educational benefit. Accordingly, Scorpius used his spare time appallingly – Albus, as far as Scorpius could tell, used his to dote on flora and fauna that probably loved him as much as he loved them.
It was as he made his way through the cloisters surrounding the courtyard that he heard his name called. The sun was spilling through them, and Scorp had been only too happy to shed cloak and scarf at the promise of warmer days. He wore his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, his tie loose but miraculously present. Really, he thought that he should be awarded house points for that – This continual taking points away was getting sort of ridiculous. His mother didn't bother chiding him in her letters anymore – it tended to be covered in her usual "be good, don't break anything expensive, much love from Dad and me, etc."
"Scorpius!" He turned at the sound. Naya was hurrying towards him, black hair in a high, swinging ponytail. "Merlin, I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Well, you found me." Scorpius said, gesturing. He'd seen her once, briefly, since leaving the hospital wing the day before. She'd rushed past in the corridor, stopping just to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before hastening on. So there was no word of her noticeable absence from the infirmary, no "ah well, chap. Good to see you on your feet."
Not much of anything, really.
"Scorpius," Naya said, catching up. "I've been thinking, and-"
"I try not to, it's painful."
Naya didn't laugh, but she did force a beautifully painted smile. Her lips were a rich creamy burgundy today – the kind of colour that Scorpius had once taken great pleasure in messing up, but the backlash had been too much of a cost recently. Still, Scorp appreciated the effort.
"You okay, babe?" He asked, leaning back against one of the stone traceries.
Naya paused in front of him, fingering the strap of her bag. "I've been thinking about the ball – about the photos that are going to be taken. You know that they're getting Felix Hennequin in to take them?"
"Nope," Scorp answered with an easy shrug, "But I have no idea who that guy is, either."
Nodding, Naya ran a fingernail over an intimidatingly perfect brow. "He shot the wedding of Victoire and Edward Lupin last year, the spread for Magyk Moments, he did the entirety of last May for muggle Vogue-"
"Teddy Lupin?" Scorp interrupted. "Are we talking Teddy and Vic Lupin?" He'd been at the wedding, held last June at a castle in Edinburgh. The wedding had been gorgeous, if you could excuse the groom's hair turning a truly startling shade of pink when told that he could kiss the bride.
"Oh, of course you know them – Edward is your cousin." Scorp's posture stiffened slightly where he leant against the stone. There was something about Naya's tone – the snobbish way that she said "Oh, of course." that rankled with Scorp. So his tone was sharper than the usual lazy drawl when he went:
"Teddy is, yeah. Second cousin or something. But Weasley invited me to the wedding – my side of the family isn't exactly chummy."
Naya crossed her arms. "The World's Ball is bringing together nations, so it's going to be featured most everywhere. The Daily Prophet will obviously run it, but Beauxbatons are attending – and you know what the French are like – and Durmstrang and the Americans; The photos will be seen by thousands, and you know they'll want a shot of you. The Malfoy heir. You and the Potters and the Weasleys – you'll certainly be photographed."
Scorp felt a sick dread grow in his stomach, and he was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with the potential for a wardrobe malfunction. "It's ages away, Nay. Surely we can put of talking matching outfits until a bit closer to the time? I don't do suits."
There was a flicker in Naya's gorgeous dark eyes, and it left Scorpius with the certainty that things were about to get much worse. He childishly wanted to put his hands over his ears, or to stop time – anything to stop Naya before she could rip the ground out from underneath him.
"Scorpius – I can't go to the ball with you." She said beseechingly, and Scorpius found that the world had turned bitterly, bitingly cold. "I'm leaving you."
"And it's not-" Naya carried on in response to Scorpius's shell-shocked silence. "It's not that you've done anything wrong. I – Merlin, this is so difficult, you know? There's somebody else, Scorpius. I don't want you to have to cut me out of all of the lovely photos that are going to be taken of you. Scorpius? Merlin, don't just stand there staring. Say something."
But he couldn't. The blood was rushing in his ears. Someone had thumped him in the stomach, driving the air out of his lungs. "That's very considerate of you." He said flatly, lifelessly. "How kind."
Naya pursed her lips, pulling her shirt sleeves down around her wrists. But they fell perfectly – of course they did. There was no need for adjustment. "I'd hoped this could be - if not friendly - then at least amicable. Don't be difficult, Scorpius. You know that we both want very different things from life."
Shocked, Scorpius laughed once, harshly. "Sounds about right. I have never wanted anyone but you, and you want – who is it, Nay? What's his name?" Scorpius found that he had to know – betrayal swam through his veins, made his crisp accent sharper and harder. "Shit - Oh God, it all makes sense. All of this time you've been in the library. Who, Naya? Why?"
"Oh, don't pretend that you're the wounded party, here." Naya's voice was rising, and it echoed around the stone cloisters that she'd sequestered them in. "Don't you dare claim that you have only wanted me."
Scorpius stared stiffly at her, breathing shallowly, fingernails stabbing into his palms. "And just what," he said darkly, "do you mean by that."
"Making me look like a fool." Naya spat, venom in her voice. "Because everyone can see that you and Rose Weasley are nothing but friends."
"We are!" Scorpius cried, the ludicrousness of the situation doing nothing to diminish the heat coursing through his veins. "Fucking hell, Naya. Have you, what, slept with this other guy? Has this been going on behind my back? Have I been totally blind?" All at once, it was like his energy was spent. He deflated, tall frame somehow looking small. He sounded tired when he said, "Naya, please." He sounded broken.
The Hispanic girl nodded mutely, reaching out to take Scorpius's hands. He let her, a puppet with cut strings. "I hope we can move past this and be friends."
Scorpius took his hands back, eyes turning steely at the word "friends". "Yeah, I doubt it. I really doubt it. I want my shit back, Naya. All of it. The key – All of it. Leave it outside the common room. Merlin – I thought you'd have cared enough to tell me if you wanted out. Not just because of fucking photos. "
Naya looked angry again, the momentary softness gone. She was always, Scorpius realised with a pang, going to be the princess in her ivory tower. You played the game her way, or off with your head. "Fine."
Nothing else. Just "fine."
Scorpius shook his head once, lips twisting. His footsteps resounded around the cloisters as he turned away - his palms bled from eight crescent-shaped puncture wounds.
Scorpius never made it back to lessons that day. He was barely aware of other students calling his name as he strode back through the castle grounds. He acknowledged each "Malfoy, mate!" with a raised hand and a tight smile, and each time he wondered if they already knew. He had already decided that he wouldn't try to work out who had replaced him in Naya's affections, in her bed. But still, the thoughts came to him unbidden – Her head thrown back, mid-laugh, for someone else. Someone else's hands gliding up her smooth thighs, someone else sighing her name, her fucking name.
He found himself at the foot of the quidditch pitch without thinking about it. It was deserted. Scorpius had bitten the inside of his cheek – he could taste the bitter, coppery tang of blood. He could see the arch of her back.
He rasped a hand over his face, and pulled his tie from around his neck. He'd been warned of damaging new bones, but he didn't think he had any fucking heart left, let alone bones. He craved the mindless roar of the wind in his ears – The last time he shattered it had been on a broom. He might as well do it agai
"Weasley?"
"Mmm?"
Rose had a quill stuffed in between her teeth, another clamped in between her fingers. Amy's transfiguration essay was crammed under her elbow, and she'd paid the younger girl three chocolate frogs to be allowed to copy (borrow) half of Amy's research and to work it into her NEWTs coursework. Rose had done no revision, voting instead to focus on the upcoming House Cup and more pressing coursework. Times were desperate, and needs must.
"One of your players is on the pitch."
Rose looked up and saw a Hufflepuff fourth year standing in front of her, twisting their fingers.
"That's cool, Hinkley. It is Hinkley, right? Right. Could be a free period – we've got a match coming up."
The fourth year nodded impatiently, as if to say "uh, yeah, the whole school knows that."
"He's been flying since three o'clock. He's doing this." And Hinkley made a fast, jerky diving motion with his hand.
"Oh." Pause. "What time is it now?"
The Hufflepuff's eyebrows shot upwards. Rose wanted to gesture at the piles of parchment around her and to say "Don't judge!"
"They just started serving dinner."
"Shit."
Hinkley looked a little disappointed in her.
Rose came onto the pitch at a jog. The sky was starting to turn dark – streaks of ochre shot across the sky, and as she shaded her eyes against the remainder of the sun, Rose picked out a lone figure high, high above the regulation flight space. As quickly as she found them, the flyer was gone, lost in the sun.
"Don't be Malfoy." Rose moaned, having visons of plummeting bodies and gruesome recoveries. "Or just don't be Gryffindor, Merlin."
But of course, it was. And it was.
Scorp was doing amazingly, actually. Thanks very much for asking. He hadn't bothered kitting up and the wind chill had done a number on him, pressing his white school shirt against his body. A happy side effect of this was that he was so concentrated on actually staying on the broom and going as fast as possible, that he hadn't seen Naya's face in his mind for at least twenty minutes.
Oh, wait, no. Nevermind – that undid that.
The obvious solution to that particular problem was to fly very, very fast at the ground. He could handle this! He was an adult, adults handled shit.
So he tilted his broom downwards, pulling it out of it's nightmarishly fast straight. His muscles screamed as he and the broom hurtled towards the ground – and he did, too. He opened his mouth, and let the wind tear Naya's name from his lungs one final time.
He came to a shuddering stop, mere meters above the short, cropped grass of the pitch. Scorp's chest was heaving, his eyes burning and dry.
"I'm okay." He muttered, doing slow, lazy loops. "I'm o-"
"Scorpius?"
He glanced up from his broom, and was oddly unsurprised to see Rose – similarly dressed in a white button down shirt and no flight kit, although she'd had the foresight to grab a pair of goggles. She pulled them off and let them hang loosely around her neck, red hair flying around her face in careless, haphazard waves. Scorpius sort of knew that she'd always been beautiful. He'd known it the second that he met her when they were eleven, with that wall of paternal distrust between them. It had just become a fact over the years; It had been lost under the way that she snorted when she laughed and went through that phase of flicking off everybody when she was fourteen and never stopped moving her hands. It seemed like a peculiar time for it to raise it's head again. But then, Scorpius, supposed, he had just had his heart trampled on. He wasn't seeing anything objectively. And Rose was wearing warm compassion in her eyes – and that goddamn hair.
"What are you doing?"
It was a very simple question. But it all seemed a bit much, really.
"She's been sleeping with someone else, Rosie." Scorp hadn't meant to say it, it just came out. He'd meant to be glib and unbothered and Scorpius but he didn't know who that was, anymore. He dimly noticed that his hands had turned blue, that his muscles had started quivering, exhausted. "She's fucking sleeping with somebody else."
He didn't hear Rose's sharp intake of breath, but he saw the hand that gestured towards the Gryffindor stands. "Give me five minutes." Rose pulled her goggles back over her eyes. "Wait for me there."
The stands were more sheltered than the rest of the pitch, the brisk wind hitting the red and gold panelling and dissipating. Rose climbed the wooden stairs and saw Scorpius huddled at the far end. His broom was abandoned by his side, and the whole picture had a bleak air about it. Rose was furious. Rose was absolutely furious.
Scorp registered Rose sliding in next to him dimly, as if it were happening and he were watching from a distance. She was giving off a kind of heat and he found himself drawn to it, coming back to reality with a jolt.
Rose said nothing. She simply held out a bottle of fire-whiskey, before saying "You alright, Malfoy?"
Scorpius reached for the bottle. "I have absolutely no idea."
They were still there an hour later.
No more than ten sentences had been exchanged. Scorpius sat staring out over the pitch, trying not to remember and failing. Rose's arm pressed into his, the warm weight of companionship doing something to keep the tall boy by her side grounded. "It's all coming back to me." He said at last, and Rose started. Her mind had been wondering – murder seemed like the obvious solution to Scorpius's shattered face.
"What is?"
Scorp gestured vaguely around the pitch, at the school; "The memories. From the beginning. We were fine, right?"
Sensing this wasn't a question that needed an answer, Rose just leant closer in to Scorpius and waited.
"And I had no idea," Scorpius carried on, the tide of anger that had been a quiet hum since he'd blindly grabbed hold of his broom turning into a full bodied roar. "Absolutely no idea. How did that happen? How was I so fucking blind to miss the fact that she wanted out? All she had to do was say. I'd have understood. I just – I don't understand."
Rose said nothing, and Scorp glanced at her to see if she was still listening to his pity party. He should really have provided finger food. Rose was biting her lip, clearly debating. "What?"
"No, it's just – I think you do. I think you do understand, and that's what's wrecking you."
"I really don't. Why not fucking say if you're unhappy? Just 'Oh, by the way babe, I think I'll nail somebody else instead. No offence.'"
Rose snorted. Scorpius looked wounded, before raising one eyebrow. "That wasn't supposed to be funny, Weasley. I'm in pain, here."
"Right, sure." Rose waved a decidedly unapologetic hand. "So sorry."
Scoffing, Scorpius took another slug from the crystalline bottle. As the level of golden, husky liquid dropped, the world took on a softer light. "Scorp, Scorp."
"Huh?"
"That's not even the worst part, is it?"
"It's not the best part, though."
"No, but what I'm saying is – It's like you come out the other side and you don't remember the person that you were before."
Scorpius reached between them and silently linked their hands together. "Thank you for-" understanding, saying that, not telling me to get over it "being here."
Rose shrugged. "Wasn't like I had anywhere else to be."
Silence fell around them again, and Scorpius unconsciously ran his thumb over the back of Rose's hand. "Let's destroy Ravenclaw on Sunday."
