Chapter 2

Josephine and Sabian Zabini took the meaning of "polar opposites" to an entirely different level. Despite the fact that they both had dark skin, raven hair and greenish-hazel eyes complemented by heavily-set brows, (and the fact that they shared the same date of birth,) they could not be more dissimilar.

Sabian was known for his skill in Potions and Arithmancy, while Josephine excelled in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense against the Dark Arts. She was outspoken and athletic, while her brother usually preferred to keep to himself and his small circle of friends. She was confident, and he was handsome. Jo had once confessed to me that I was the only person who had known both of them long enough to look past their primary likenesses in appearance and see them as two, separate individuals. I couldn't believe that anyone had considered Josephine and her brother to bear any other kind of resemblances, let alone assume that they belonged to the same species.

As Jo and I walked down the corridor together to reach compartment number 115, I realized that I really had no desire to speak with her brother or even to see him again after the long, summer break distancing us from the row we had had at the end of last semester. I had half hopes that he wouldn't return to school at all, and would simply begin his career, putting his embarrassing past at Hogwarts behind him.
Only, he was Sabian Zabini. And what would embarrass most people under normal circumstances didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

Damn those senseless, noble, pure-blooded prigs.

I remembered every detail of the scene like it had just taken place this morning. We had been walking to Potions together, winding our way down the cold, spiral staircase that led to the dungeons, when he suddenly announced that he needed to talk to me for a moment. Privately.

He pulled me behind a tapestry into a hidden stairwell, and with an odd, unfamiliar look on his face, he told me he had a confession to make. He lowered his voice, checking to make sure that we were alone, and then he told me what I had been fearing he'd say ever since our third year at Hogwarts: That he thought he was in love with me. That he loved the way I talked to him, the distinct smell I carried which he claimed was a mixture of expensive cologne and mint leaves, and the way my hair fell into my face, emphasizing the metallic gray of my dramatic eyes…

I told him he was full of shit, and then threatened to curse him into oblivion if he ever approached me again.

I had kept my promise for most of that year too, until one night when we were both drunk in the common room in the early hours of the morning, and I decided it would be amusing to toy with his emotions, luring him into some false hope that I might actually be capable of returning the sentiments he felt towards me. It was all in good fun, just some languid, wet kisses and empty words shared over countless bottles of Firewhiskey…

And then he found out it was all a joke. Well, he found out when he walked in on me screwing a Slytherin witch in our bedroom directly after that little incident. Needless to say, he didn't forgive me very easily for that one. And I didn't care. I yelled all kinds of horrible things at him, saying that he had only been my best friend for the last 6 years because he wanted to fuck me, and finally we just parted ways, vowing never to speak to each other again.

I don't know if he ever filled his sister in on every detail of that story, but she was well-informed of the fact that he wasn't straight. We had all known it for about 3 years now; I just never dreamed that he would go after me.

Stopping briefly in the compartment with the rest of my Slytherin companions to ensure that our belongings were safely tucked away, Jo and I took two seats opposite William, his shaggy, bedraggled hair looking just as it had earlier this morning, and his skeletal limbs sticking out at odd angles, leading one to believe he hadn't been adequately-fed in months; Malcolm , a menacing boy with large muscles and altogether too much chest hair; and Sabian himself, who seemed to be conveniently avoiding eye contact with me.

"So," Jo began, sensing the tension between her brother and myself immediately, and doing her best to alleviate it. "You have practiced Quidditch this summer, haven't you, Scorpius?"

Of course. I had forgotten that she was newly elected the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and she would go to whatever measures necessary to ensure that we never lost another game in our careers.

"Sure, a few times," I lied to her, shrugging off the guilt she was trying to push onto my shoulders. It wasn't as if I didn't want to practice, after all. I wasn't bad at it or anything – I think the only person at the school with more natural-born Quidditch talent than me is Albus Potter – I was only held back by my father, who, like every summer preceding this, kept me under lock-and-key, refusing to let me out of the house. He had done this every year since my mother had left us when I was eleven, and though I had snuck out countless times at night to seek refuge in a nearby muggle village, I wasn't able to find a place secluded enough to fly my broomstick around while escaping his notice.

Jo was looking at me like I had just snapped her wand in half.

"He'll do fine!" Will reassured her, rolling his eyes and lounging back into his seat. "He never practiced last year either."

"And that, Scorpius Malfoy, is your problem," she pronounced, rounding off on me. "Don't think you're getting off that easy this year; were going to have a minimum of ten practices a week. Got it?"

"Is there any way to sack myself now?"

"No, because there's no way were giving up the house cup to that idiot Potter and the Gryffindors again. I'll die before I see us lose to them one more time."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the car, even from Malcolm Schaddler, who had neither played nor watched a game of Quidditch in his life.

"Yeah, why did they beat us last year?" Sabian asked, speaking for the first time in my presence. Anyone else might have interpreted this as a curious inquiry; he had said it so conversationally that they had no reason to believe otherwise. But I glanced past his smokescreen, knowing that he had meant it as a subtle attack on my character. He was contradicting the fact that I had shown any skill on the Quidditch pitch at all to begin with.

You see, you sort of had to be there for the final Quidditch game at the end of last semester. That was the one that the two leading houses contended in, and the winner of the game earned their team a House Cup as a disbursement for their efforts. We should have won last year. However, several complicated factors all stacked on top of each other ensured that we didn't. And part of that was my fault.

I brought my eyes up to meet his, seeing nothing but the guise of false interest standing between us. He had definitely become an expert at hiding from the others that he felt anything towards me but a brotherly attraction that had been in place ever since he had first met me.

Before I could clobber him sufficiently, however, the train lurched forward and began chugging steadily, picking up speed as it left Platform 9 ¾, the mothers and siblings at the station waving at us, wishing us farewell as they faded into the exhaust fumes emitted by the departing train.

Jo gave me a look that clearly communicated "Just give it up, Scorpius," and for her sake, I did. Besides, it would look odd to the rest of the people in the car if I pulled out my wand and hexed her brother's face off for no apparent reason.

An odd, inexplicable silence followed this, and all five of us did nothing but relax in our seats a little, and gaze out the window at the passing scenery: the buildings and crowded streets surrounding the station transitioning into rolling hills and long, winding streams weaving about the countryside in snake-like knots…

And then out of nowhere, the compartment door slid open and a student interrupted our peaceful excursion. My nose automatically wrinkled in revulsion.

"The prefects are meeting in compartment 12, and we've already started without you."

I didn't reward the annoying, red-headed witch in the doorway with so much as a glance in her direction, though I knew that she was obviously speaking to Josephine and me. We were the only prefects sitting within the vicinity of the compartment. I almost groaned aloud when I remembered that she had been awarded the position of Head Girl at the end of spring term. This meant that, in addition to being an insufferably irritating presence in my life, she could now upgrade her haughty, entitled temperament to another level, and rub it in my face that her marks were better than mine.

"You two are prefects, correct?" She said, motioning to me and Jo as though we might not have heard her the first time.

"No, Weasley," I drawled back sarcastically. "We just demoted ourselves to Hogwarts janitors,"

She scoffed in my direction, her eyes hitting the ceiling of the compartment.

"Well I'm glad you've made some use of your broom now that we've all seen what a brilliant seeker you are," she spat back quickly, delivering an unexpected blow to my pride. Nobody said anything. Will squirmed a little in his seat across from me, and Sabian looked away from us as though trying to suppress a hearty laugh.

My fists clenched automatically.

"I'd rather lose one, bloody Quidditch match than have to wake up every morning and look in the mirror to see that staring back at me." I gestured to her still unaffected expression, and was surprised to see that she again took no personal offense to my statement.

"Funny, Malfoy, how you're so convinced everyone cares what you think of them."

"Funny how, despite what everyone has been telling you since you were born, you still haven't adapted a sense of personal hygiene."

"It's funny how you think you so on top of things, but there's a meeting going on right now in Compartment 12, and you're not in it."

"Yes, but neither are you, you dimwitted banshee."

"Oh, that's really mature, Malfoy…"

Jo surprised me by standing up quickly, her head nearly hitting the luggage rack of our compartment. She granted me with an intense glare, narrowing her eyes and gritting through her teeth, "Scorp, just leave it."

I raised my eyebrows at the tyrant in the doorway, as if daring her to continue our argument. She merely turned on her heel and, with a fleeting glance at Jo, stalked down the corridor to rejoin her perfect little prefect meeting.

Good riddance.

What surprised me even more was when the silence after her departure was shattered by a loud wolf-whistle.

"What the fuck, Will?" Jo demanded, looking more irritable than usual.

"What, you don't think she's sexy?" He asked her, and she promptly threw a Quidditch catalogue laying on her seat into his face.

"What are you even talking about?" I groaned, wondering if my best mate was going to be any fun to hang around with this year. "She's a troll. A half-blooded, red-headed, scum-sucking excuse for a human being. Personally I don't see what you could possibly find sexually appealing about that."

"She's the hottest troll I've ever seen." He was staring in the doorway like she was still standing there, like he was still ogling her body from head to toe. "I'm serious. She wasn't this good-looking last year. Something happened."

"Breast implants?" Jo suggested bitterly, folding her arms and looking out the window.

Will shrugged, as though he were seriously considering this possibility.

"Oh, come on, Will," I sighed again, getting up from my seat and pulling my jacket off. "You're being stupid. She's a Weasley; by definition, you can't go out with her. It's unethical."

"Since when do you give a shit about ethics, Scorp?"

I supposed he had a point. When it came to sexual relationships, I really didn't give a shit. I had never cared before what kinds of girls I slept with, or even what kind of blood background they were from. There was just something… incredibly screwed up in my best mate finding that… thing attractive. It was like imagining professor McGonagall in skimpy clothing, or any of the Potters without superiority complexes. It just wasn't right.

"Are you ready, or no?" Jo said, clearly agitated. Something had definitely struck a nerve with her at some point in the conversation.

"Probably not," I replied, glancing up and down the hallway. I really was in no mood to sit in a stuffy compartment and be lectured by a mudblooded shrew my best mate found attractive. "Those meetings are all the same anyways. How about we go find a drink?"

Jo seemed to perk up a little at that. "Yeah, alright," she responded, putting down the set of robes she was about to change into. "I could go for that."

"Only if you stop giving me shit about Quidditch."

"No guarantees."