Thank you to Matisse Gacioppo for Beta-ing this, even if it's really long and stuff.

18 August 2024

Potter Residence

Godric's Hollow

12:00 A.M.

Things I Know About Scorpius Malfoy

He took ten 'Outstanding' OWLs,

he wasn't on the Slytherin Quidditch team,

we took roughly the same classes in school,

he scowls constantly, which some girls find adorable, in which case, I'm no girl,

their family is filthy rich (emphasis on 'filthy,' Dad would say), and

they also have a very public animosity towards our clan.

I put my pen down and sigh. The last one, I don't understand; we're a lovable bunch. Except when, you know, we're hurling gnomes at each other because of wagers gone sour. Or when the boys are playing Horntails and Dragon Breeders right inside The Burrow. Otherwise, we're not so bad.

Scorpius Malfoy, and probably his mother and father, think otherwise. Although I dunno for sure. He seems to be hostile towards James, Albus, and Lily, too. But he doesn't go out of his way to sneer at what they're wearing, or what their hair looks like, or what they're doing looking for Aquarius in the January night sky.

It's like he received the same talk I did from Dad before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time. ("Make sure you beat her in every test, Scorpie, thank goodness you inherited my brains," or something similar. No, his father probably doesn't call him Scorpie. He's probably still Scorpius Malfoy at home.)

Only, he took the words to heart.

Gran Molly poked her head into the room, saw me awake, and told me to sleep because of my "big day tomorrow," the reason why the entire family's spent the weekend at the Potters' in the first place. Because for all their ribbing about my latent interest in being an Auror, they still threw me this party. I even forgot about the test for a while.

And yes, there are only still two souls who are aware that I am partners with Malfoy, and I want to keep it that way. If dad finds out, he might not let me take the test at all—or worse, he might come in and "have a chat" with the Head Trainer.

I'm sure it will only be slightly less embarrassing than the time he visited Professor Longbottom and found out that our teacher was breeding bubotubers. The professor just had to give me the bottle of bubotuber sap right in front of the class. And during Double Herbology too. And he practically announced to everyone that backside acne is normal (for the record, I had back acne), and curable by the diluted sap. I wanted to shrivel up and turn to dust on the spot.

I opened the packet that the acceptance letter came in. There's a sealed letter for the head trainer, the letter for me containing information on my would-be training partner, and a map of the London Underground, with instructions for the departure area.

Charing Cross, 8 A.M. No address for the training center, no point person, nothing. Apparently, I just look for the poster of some band called the Luckless Leprachauns and wait. Malfoy will be there, certainly. But I don't know who the others will be. Or how many of us are testing.

I eased out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The house feels a lot larger without the noises, almost alien, with the lights all dim and no chatter or music filling the halls. I brushed my hand against the wallpaper, past snoring portraits of Weasleys and Potters. I can sprint this house in my sleep. I rounded the corner leading to the kitchen, and gave a start. My father was perched on one of the seats around the kitchen table, brows scrunched at the stack of papers in front of him. He was twirling a pencil in one hand and didn't see me almost die of fright. I headed for the fridge.

"Work keeping you up, dad?"

"Oh, hi, Rose." He rubbed his stubbly beard and squinted at me. "What time is it?"

"A little past midnight. I can't sleep too." I walked up to the table; he has cleared the papers away.

"Excited for tomorrow, my late blooming law enforcer?" he said.

"Oh. I think I have a stitch in my side. Ha. I can't stop laughing. Dad."

"Seriously, you came out of nowhere with that career choice."

I asked him if he could give me a hint what the test would be, but he shook his head and chuckled, mussing my hair. I swatted his hand away, and he laughed. "Don't worry, Rosie. It's not academic at all."

"I can handle academic," I protested, slightly hurt. "So it's not a paper test, eh?" I said, perking up.

"Nope." Dad stood up, files under one arm, and headed for the door. "That's all you'll get out of me."

He smiled and left. I sat in the kitchen, alone; paper or no paper, I'll kill this exam.

I think I fell asleep in there at some point, because next thing I knew, mum was shaking my shoulders and telling me to pack my bag and hurry. I peered out the kitchen window. It was still early.

"Mum, it's the middle of the night," I mumbled.

"It's half past seven, Rose, you'd do well to get to London right now," she said briskly. She had her wand over a frying pan, giving the wand a quick flick, the eggs inside sizzling merrily. She turned to me, and her eyes had a strange manic glow. Uh oh.

I know that look. Hugo knows that look. It appears one of three ways. First, before she opens one of those novels featuring dashing but flawed Healers working on preventing incurable wizarding diseases from becoming pandemics. Second, after she opens fan mail for her house elf rights organization. Third, right before she starts quizzing either Hugo or I about something she is passionate about.

"Did you crack open any of the books I said would help you prepare?" she said.

"Uhh..yeah."

"Don't lie."

"Okay, no."

"ROSE!"

"What!"

She wrung her hands. "You prepared for your OWLs and NEWTs. This isn't any different. How do you suppose you'll fare?"

"Mum, dad says it's not academic." My mother shot me a look so dark, the dawn inched back a bit.

"You are Ron's daughter," she said, exasperated. I grinned and hugged her, and she sort of patted my hand awkwardly after we broke off.

In under an hour, I was able to eat, bathe, dress up, and pack my things. Standing in the Potters' living room, I looked around to those of my family who woke up to see me off. They were all talking at once—mum, gran and gramps Weasley, Aunt Ginny, Hugo, Dad, Uncle Harry—all of them had suddenly become experts on London, the Auror exams, or both.

"—keep your eyes peeled—"

"—Trafalgar Square shops—"

"—do not jump those transtiles—"

"—called turnstiles, I think, gramps—"

"—that wand! Ron, I told you she might need a new one—"

I smiled. For a couple of seconds, it's like a length of cord has slinked around my feet and tethered me to the Potters' old Turkish carpet, and I had to wiggle my toes inside my shoes to brush the feeling off. "Well, I'll be off now," I said. "See you all in a bit." I waved uneasily, and Disapparated.

I arrived at an empty alley beside the Leaky Cauldron, and strode towards the station. The air was nippy with a chill unusual for this time of the month. In Charing Cross, I scanned the faces for Malfoy, or anyone I might recognize from school, but the number of people made it near impossible. I had to hold my bag in front of me as a swell of commuters pushed towards the platforms. And then, I saw it—a square of green poster a few feet from where I was. There's no way I can get there at the moment, so I waited for the crowd to thin out into the train cars, and then I walked up to the poster.

Is this really a Muggle band? I peered at the members—they look like actual leprachauns. Also, when you squint, one of them looks like our current Minister of Magic. I hope someone I know comes here soon; I feel a bit stupid contemplating a poster with such intensity.

"First time in London, Weasley? Don't strain your eyes, country bumpkin," an unfortunately familiar voice drawled. Mental—I ask for anyone, and he shows up. I wanted to put off this meeting for as long as I could. I turned to smile at Malfoy, who stood beside me and had an impassive look on his face.

"Hullo. That slur was so weak, even you were bored by it."

"Only because I'm talking to you. Floor shine is much more exciting."

"You know what would be exciting? Wiping the floor with your face, you arrogant git."

"Tsk, tsk. So typical of a Weasley girl. So unladylike."

"I suppose you'd know much about being a girl, seeing as you are one."

He grabbed at his chest in mock pain, and I rolled my eyes. Anyway, a (very, very) small part of me is glad that he's here. At least he's a familiar face. I sneaked a look at the profile so many of my peers have gone crazy for at some point in their stay at Hogwarts. Frankly, I do not see the big fuss; blond hair, pointy features, gray eyes—pretty standard issue Malfoy. Right now, he was scanning the people coming in and out of the train cars, a frown on his face. He turned to me, and I pretended to be engrossed in the map of the Underground.

"Any of this seem odd to you?"

"Well, the trousers and jacket make you look very much like a Muggle, if you'd forgive me for saying. But that hat—"

"Not that," he snapped, "The departure area. We're the only ones here. Are we lost, or something?"

I rechecked the letter, asked to read his, and shook my head, biting the inside wall of my cheek. He's right. At least one more person ought to have showed up by now. I turned back to the poster and touched. Malfoy laughed. "Are you even trying? It won't be a Portkey, it's in a place with high traffic."

Why him? Of all the students I went to school with, why Scorpius Malfoy? "I knew that, okay. I was looking for something we might have missed." I started to sweep the poster's surface, checking for bumps, fine print, anything. Malfoy started checking the other notices. We probably looked like a couple of idiots, and I was starting to feel self-conscious, when my fingers brushed a strangely lumpy bit of paper. I lifted it aside and pulled out what looks like a note written on some parchment.

"Congratulations on finding me. You won't become an Auror by standing around," I read from the note. "I'd gladly point you to the training center, but I don't know where it is. There's just one person in this entire cross who knows where it is, though, but you're going to miss him if you keep reading. I'll give you a hint: make a dash for it."

"There!" Malfoy cried, pointing at a man looking our way but moving quickly towards another direction. I stuffed the parchment in my jacket and followed Malfoy, weaving through the traffic, never letting the man out of my sight. When we reached the sidewalk, the man broke into a run.

Malfoy seemed to have a plan. He overtook the man and pushed him to a side street, and when I got there, he has jinxed our fleet-footed friend, save for the head.

He looked like he was middle-aged, with a mop of blond hair and a shock of blue eyes. In the dim light of the alley, I made out a bunch of freckles on his face. He was laughing, and Malfoy looked about ready to punch him in the face. "Malfoy and Weasley," he wheezed. "Flintlock thinks of the most curious pair-ups."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Malfoy said. The man cackled even harder.

"You tackle me, drag me to a dark place, bind me, and now you ask me what I want? Aren't you cheeky."

"Sir," I ventured, "May I ask what your name is?"

"Aurelius Urquhart," he said. "And good job for advancing this quick to stage 2. Most initiates take about an hour to figure out no one else is coming."

"Well, we found you now," I said. "Tell us where the training center is."

"Won't be that easy, dear girl," he said. "You have proven your capacity to think for yourselves, but there are many other things you need to manifest before we waste precious department time and resources training your sorry bums. For instance, there's stage 2." He undid the jinx with relative ease. Malfoy and I whipped out our wands.

"That is right," he said, laughing again. What is wrong with him? In gasps of breath, he said, "Stage 2 is, you have to fight me."

A/N: Thanks for reading and stuff. Will update soon.