Chapter 3: We All Choose Our Paths. Sort Of.

~Scorpius~

"I am seen in the water if seen in the sky. In rainbow, jay's feathers, and lapis lazuli."

I fought not to roll my eyes at the preening brass eagle. The riddle was almost too easy.

"The colour blue."

The murmur of the first years behind me, questioning and slightly awed, followed me as the door to the tower swung inwards. Without a glance over my shoulder to ensure my charges followed my lead, I strode through the portal.

Ravenclaw common room was empty as I stepped within. It was a tradition of the students to await their arrival and let them see it in all of its sparse glory before it was invaded and overwhelmed by chatter. I personally thought it had more to do with no one wanting to bother with the first riddle of the year, leaving it up to whichever poor prefect escorted the Firsties to the first night back.

There were faint whispers of continued awe as the eight new students stepped slowly into the room. I allowed them a moment to appreciate their new living quarters. Rowena Ravenclaw had left her mark on the airy, circular room coloured for its namesake with midnight blue carpets and bronze wall adornments. A collection of blue couches and tables with too many stools dotted the open space of the room and bookcases leaned casually against every wall, stationed between long windows framed in silken azure curtains. Though dark outside, I knew that the view from each was spectacular for all angles of the school grounds. I personally liked that of the mountains the most; there's something oddly poignant about the stoic immovability of their presence.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower," I began, quickly drawing the attention of each of the first year students. No doubt the over-confidence of troublemakers and slackers would surface given time, but for now they all listened attentively, eager to hear whatever words of wisdom I could bestow upon them. I was actually quite grateful for the fact; I'd been burdened with the orientation speech once before, and I was already tired of it. "For the duration of your time at Hogwarts, this will be where you will spend much of your time. The common room is always open to the studious; the academic mentors list of fifth years and older will be posted by the end of the week on the noticeboard."

Each head turned towards the corkboard to the side of the Tower entrance, the door still propped open by the waiting Ravenclaws fidgeting on the step beyond. I ignored them; if I had to suffer through the introduction, so did they. "As you can see, there is sufficient shelf space for the storing of any books you may wish to keep on hand when borrowed from the library." Another gesture drew the Firsties eyes to the periodically spaced bookcases. "You will be allocated a shelf by tomorrow afternoon. Don't feel like you have to keep it full; there's no expectations in this regard. Stash whatever you like upon it, though do refrain from including snacks in your selection; we had a bit of a rat problem three years back when someone went a little too far in that regard."

There was an uneasy shiver from the new students and a smattering of half-muffled snickers from the older. I ignored both responses equally. "Behind me," I gestured towards the white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw at the opposite end of the room, "through the archway leads to the dormitories. Boys head down the stairs, girls are further up. First years enter through the first door you come across. You possessions have already been placed within your rooms. Please don't attempt to change your bed arrangement; the house elves get very distressed if you do. If you have any further questions, feel free to approach myself or another prefect."

I paused for a moment, ensuring that each of them nodded their understand. When they each obliged, I made a shooing motion to the clutch of eleven-year-olds and they scrambled as though Kneazles nipped at their heels. Boys and girls divided and disappeared into their dormitories respectively.

As though an invisible barrier had been taken down, the rest of Ravenclaw flooded into the room. Chatter picked up with the volume of wearily enthusiastic and jovial students that fell onto stools and into couches or wandered towards their own dormitories. I offered faint nods to my fellow prefects and received grateful nods in kind, murmurs of "Thanks, Scorpius", before taking myself from the room.

The door to the seventh year boy's dormitory creaked slightly as I opened it. Blessedly empty – all of the other four boys were undoubtedly making merry in the common room above my head – and quickly identified my trunk and the four-poster bed it lay at the end of. I sunk onto the thick mattress, mindlessly tugging the curtains around me and sighed wearily.

Coming back to school always took a bit of getting used to. Not only the coursework, the study load that increased every year, but also the prefect duties and my quidditch commitments. Interacting with people my own age again. All of it was so vastly different to my preoccupations over the summer that it left me slightly unhinged, like waking up to what should have been a winter morning to find a desert sun glaring overhead. It was wearying simply trying to adjust.

All of my friends were older than me, and as such all had already left school. Not to say recently for the most part; save for Hamish and Phillippe, everyone else had at least five years on me and half of them I hadn't even known in school. Call it maturity on my part, but I just found it easier to be around those that didn't waste breath nattering on about inconsequential things like pocket money and whether there'll be treacle tart for pudding that night.

I know it's a product of my upbringing. Father didn't raise me as rigidly as he was reputedly to have experienced, and the traditionalist prejudices that many pureblood families still struggled with today, despite public recognition that, yes, Muggles were people, but even so I was taught what was 'proper'. Who to mix with, how to talk to people, what to say to get in their good books, to make the connections that I'd need when I got out of school. Because, being a Malfoy, it was a given that I'd end up in a position entailing high-staking communication, swimming through the complexities and cunning of dextrous politicians. Just like Father did; he often reminded me he'd done as much, and how scaling the political ladder certainly hadn't been through intimidation. Quite the opposite, actually.

So, from the time I could string a sentence together, I was conversing with and befriending people twice my age. Apparently their maturity rubbed off on me, because in Ravenclaw – and to my friends, in fact – I was know as 'quite the gentleman'.

I'd like to think I am. I try hard enough. To excel at school. To put forth my all for every quidditch game. To fulfil my duties as a prefect. To ensure I did what was right. And, generally, I believe I succeeded quite well. I topped nearly every class, with Rose Weasley being my only real competition. I may not be quidditch captain, but I'm the best beater in the school. It's not boasting; everyone says it. And I may not be Head Boy – such a role was given to Jackson O'Donnell, of course, angelic Gryffindor that he was – but I know many of my year mates look up to me and followed my lead.

I'm making a name for myself, as my father didn't expressly say he wanted for me but alluded to nonetheless. People respected me and I even had my own little gang of followers of sorts who seemed to think that copying my style would actually get them somewhere in the world. Why did they even bother? I've been doing this my whole life and even I'm not an expert at what I admittedly can't even fully describe.

It was quite exhausting, really, to push oneself to perfection all the time. It was only mildly gratifying to overhear the oft-spoken exclamation that I'd succeeded in the eyes of many of my fellows.

I rubbed my temples, struggling to ease the growing headache. I have potions for them – not as good as Muggle pills for this kind of thing, I don't think, but I'd never tell Doctor Gillifree as much – and released another sigh. The bed was really quite comfortable, and the only thing keeping me from falling to sleep was the fact that I was still dressed in my school robes and I'd regret sleeping in shoes come morning.

Still, it didn't stop me from drifting into a light doze within half an hour.

A doze that was rudely interrupted by the entrance of Zachariah. Well, not rudely by intention, but any sort of interruption felt intrusive. The throbbing in my head made every sound just a little too loud, a little demanding.

"Scorpius, you in here?"

Squinting my eyes open, I dragged my curtain half-open and half-rolled to peer at the dormitory door. "Zachariah? What's wrong? Do you need something?"

Zachariah, a short, immaculately groomed boy in spectacles too large for his face, turned towards me from where he peered through the doorway. "Oh, hi. There you are."

"Here I am. Did you want something?" I repeated, striving to keep the sigh from my voice.

Stepping into the room, Zachariah drifted towards what I could only assume was his own bed, loosening his tie as he went. We get along fairly well, the two of us, mostly because I find him less immature than the rest of my classmates. It was usually the two of us partnered together when we did group work in class and it was for that reason that I allowed some leniency with his belated reply. Zachariah was like that; he seemed to put a lot of effort into thinking before speaking, an admirable quality if he only thought a little quicker.

"Winona's looking for you."

I frowned, siting up slowly. "Winona? Do you know what she wants?"

Shrugging, Zachariah fell onto his mattress and began unlacing his shoes. "Prefect duty or something, I suspect."

"Prefect duty? At," I tugged my pocket watch – my father's pocket watch – from the pocket of my robes – and blinked in surprise at the time, "twelve o'clock?"

Zachariah shrugged again but made no further comment.

My frown deepened as I considered before realisation hit me. It was slow in coming; I put it down to the swirling headache. I bit back a groan and sighed instead. "I think I know what this is about."

"Yeah, good luck to you with that," Zachariah replied distractedly. It was a little bit of an automated reply, but I put it down to the fact that he was currently intently fumbling with his shirt buttons.

I rose from my mattress with a squeak of springs. "I'll see you later, then."

"See you."

And I went to seek my Head Girl. Not before I'd downed an Anti-Headache Potion, however.

It was what I'd expected. The late night rounds. Ravenclaw always got landed with it for some reason; probably because old Flitwick was too benevolent and eager to offer his own students up for the joys of wandering the halls and ensuring that no late-night party-goers still stumbled towards – or away from – their dorms.

There were still at least a dozen students sprawled about the common room, despite classes starting the next day. Winona approached me as soon as I ascended the stairs from the boy's dormitory, brushing her dark fringe from her eyes and behind her ear in the practiced motion of resignation. Her face was faintly apologetic when she spoke. "Oh, Scorpius, good. I wasn't sure if you'd gone to bed."

"Not quite, Winona," I replied, biting back the comment "Though I was nearly there" before it escaped my lips. "Was there something you needed?"

Nodding shortly, Winona jerked a finger over her shoulder. "We've got late-night shepherding. And seeing as the both of us are seventh years now, the joys of such a duty rest on our shoulders."

"Joys indeed."

Winona smiled slightly, but quickly suppressed it. "Sorry to ask this. I know it's a pain."

At such words, how could I feel resentment towards her? Winona Winfrey was a model student and an exemplary prefect. She was an even better Head Girl. I could recognise such qualities in her even with our rocky past that led to a perpetual state of semi-awkwardness. We'd dated for nearly a year when I was fifteen and it hadn't ended particularly well. My fault, I'd admit. Something just didn't feel right in our relationship, and it had nothing to do with Winona. She was fantastic; intelligent, kind, a dry sense of humour. Pretty, with her dark curls and thin face, wide hazel eyes that seemed eternally filled with compassion and the desire to be helpful. I don't know what my issue was, and told her as much. She'd been hurt, and I'd seen the faint resentment, so uncharacteristic of her, every time we'd spoken for almost a year after. Such resentment had subsided to the uneasy companionability of those forced to work together in perpetual discomfort.

I shook my head. "It's fine, really. We only need, what, half an hour, an hour at most?" Winona shrugged, then nodded affirmation. "Why the professors feel they can respectably shunt such duties off to their students at these hours is beyond me."

Winona smiled at me over her shoulder as she led the way from the tower. "I know, right? Though to be honest, I'd rather I was up until one in the morning chasing kids into bed than Flitwick. He's so old, he needs ever moment of rest he can get, and you know that if the students didn't do it he'd put up his hand to take the duty in an instant."

I nodded in agreement. Flitwick was really old. He'd been a professor at school when my father had come through – and was no spring chicken then – and didn't appear to be leaving any time soon. An ancient amongst elderlies, he was. The only person who approached him in years teaching at Hogwarts was Hagrid and he had giant blood in him that hid his years a little better.

Winona and I agreed to split the prescribed routes between us to cut down the time; she'd take the western and northern sectors of the castle, I the eastern and southern. We parted ways outside at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower steps with brief words of 'good luck' and a muttered Lumos before heading on our way.

I found three. Not three students, mind, three caches of students. All up, they were nearly fifteen still out of bed, and none of them even with the excuse of being in seventh year that extended their curfew a couple of hours. When the school bell tolled one o'clock, I'd paced just about the entire length of my assigned route, sending the last gaggle of giggling fourth years scurrying in various directions with a reprimanding scowl. I shook my head; didn't they know they had classes tomorrow? No, of course they knew, but didn't they care?

I was making my way back to Ravenclaw Tower, down a shortcut along the sixth floor, when it hit me. It was very faint, so faint that I almost didn't smell it at first. But I've been mocked for the sharpness of my nose, and it's not entirely inaccurate, though said mockers were more prone to describing its physical sharpness than any keenness of olfaction.

Following such keen senses with soft sniffs, I was drawn along a short branch from the main corridor. It was musky, faintly sweet, and smelled… really nice.

There was only one door I could possibly stop at and it was at the end of the truncated corridor. There was absolutely nothing about it that screamed 'OPEN ME', nothing remarkable at all except for the smell that was definitely coming from inside. And call me cynical, but I'm fairly certain I knew at least a little of the nature of the aroma.

Hefting my wand slightly, I raised my hand to knock on the heavy wood before pausing with a frown. In the unlikely event it was a teacher inside then it was hardly my place to intrude. If it was a student then their actions deemed them unworthy of the courtesy of a knock. My hesitation sorted out my brief stint of indecisiveness, however, for a moment later the door swung inwards.

I took a half step backwards to avoid the stumble of a tall boy before he caught himself. He gave a slight yelp and nearly crashed backwards again into what I could see was a small, shadowed room beyond. It was smaller than my parlour at home. There was a grunt and a muffled shriek of indignation. The light from my wand illuminated the hallway yet cast the student who had fallen backwards – apparently onto at least one other student – into darkness.

Taking a resolute step forwards, I too immediately found myself with the abrupt need to stumble backwards, though for an entirely different reason. It had a slight delay, the smoke drifting from the room, but as I raised my wand once more there was a faint purplish discolouration in the darkness of the hall.

Smoke.

They were smoking.

In school. At one o'clock in the morning.

I bit back a sigh of exasperation at the very notion. Honestly, if you're going to get high, why not at least make it during the day rather then when you should be sleeping? We were at school. I waved my hand before my face to dispel the lingering smoke. Not that it smelled bad or anything; it was actually quite a pleasant aroma. I was simply reluctant to inhale any unknown substances, especially from slackers.

Slackers of whose identity I was already fairly certain.

My suspicions were confirmed when what turned out to be a trio of seventh years untangled themselves enough to clamber to their feet. I lifted my wand again slightly higher, illuminating the surrounds enough to notice that none of them looked even slightly shameful at being caught out after curfew. Smoking.

Oscar Ipping, Rhali Hamphyn and Albus Potter. The three stoners of the school. It was a generally acknowledged fact about the three, a fact that was unanimously coveted by the entire student body so as to keep their secret from the professors. I don't know why everyone sort of just agreed to assist them in their endeavours Maybe it was because we all similarly unanimously acknowledged them as being a little weird; they were not unapproachable people any of them – well, except for maybe Rhali – but there was a very pronounced otherness about them all that pronounced them as 'outliers'.

One only had to take a look at them to see as much. Though in terms of appearance they were about as different as three people could be, there was definitely a characteristic theme running through the trio.

Oscar Ipping was a tall boy. Taller than me and probably the tallest in our entire year. With dark skin that someone with the sun-cursed fairness of myself could only envy – I'm sure he never lit up like a red pepper when he spent more than five minutes in direct sunlight – he kept his hair cropped in a crew cut so close to his scalp that it was barely a skin cap. I remember at the end of last year he'd grown something of a fuzz on his strong jaw, but evidently had disregarded such attempts for he was clean-shaven now. From what I knew, his mother was a bit of a nomad, never settling down in one country for long enough to 'go native' and dragging Oscar along with her wherever she went. When he was not in school, anyway. When I spared it a moment's thought, I would consider that the constantly rumpled look he favoured embodied the life of a wanderer. He always seemed a little detached and, though he was friendly enough to just about everyone, never seemed particularly close to his classmates. Except Potter and Hamphyn, that was.

Rhali Hamphyn was at the other end of the spectrum. A relatively tall girl herself, I almost cringed every time I saw her for the matted braids she seemed unwilling to expose a brush to; they looked to have morphed even closer towards dreadlocks over the summer, something that nearly made me nauseous at the sight of. She had thin, sharp features and always wore a glare that had initially made me consider her to be a rather unhappy person until I realised that it was simply the way her face rested. Maybe she needed glasses or something. She was curt in a way that made her unapproachable, but I'm not completely oblivious to the fact that Slytherin gossips claimed she could actually be quite a nice person on the rare occasion. The trick was actually getting her to talk to you.

The Hamphyns were a mediocre Wizarding family, with several generations of wizards and of middling class. Nothing particularly special, save that I think it was Thomas Hamphyn, Rhali's uncle, who wrote 'The Wonders of Modern Magical Medicine', a bit of a revolutionary book both for those who hadn't the foggiest inkling of medicinal terms and the experts in the field. It made him a millionaire practically overnight. Even five years down the track I'd heard of people wondering if Rhali, his only niece, would follow in his footsteps.

Then there was Albus Potter. He was quite a bit shorter than the other two, but that wasn't saying much. One would think he was an eccentric, maybe even what was commonly referred to as a 'hippi' if the twins Lorcan and Lysander Scamander didn't so entirely outshine him in that department. A rather pale boy with big green eyes and thin cheeks that made still managed a dimple on the rare occasions he actually smiled, he had messy tresses of black hair loosely brushed back and just long enough to be tied in a half updo that it was always held in. Somewhere around Christmas last year he'd charmed a lock of his hair to grown green – his sister, Lily, abashedly preached that it was 'Lorcan who made him to it' to anyone who would listen – that always hung beside his face. It almost perfectly matched the shade of the vibrant parrot that he carried on his shoulder most of the time out of class hours. The parrot that was currently cradled in his hands.

He was an odd one, was Albus Potter. May speculated as to just how he had become so odd, born into such a reputable family. I'd wondered myself, once upon a time, in the early years of my schooling when I'd been feeling out potential connections in everyone, but such interest had rapidly died. He was strange, and that was about all there was to it.

Different they may be, and from entirely different families and backgrounds, but then there was the Feel of them. I couldn't place a name to it, except that if one looked at them all standing beside one another, the Feel was very apparent. All of them were rather waifish, the thinness that came from doing too little exercise but not eating quite enough to put on an ounce of fat. Coupled with the general rumpled appearance – Hamphyn and Potter weren't quite as bad as Ipping, but it was still a distinct characteristic – and their quietness around people unless directly spoken to, and it created a overall aura of… Feel.

Yet even with this distinguishing characteristic, one could hardly call any of them extraordinary. They may have some element, some aspect of their family background, which many would call 'exceptional' yet none of them had anything particularly special about themselves. There were far more exemplary students at school; Julia Thomas for one was an incredible artist, just like her father, while Nathaniel Atkins was a registered Animagus at the age of sixteen.

None of these three were 'special' by comparison. Not in the least. And I knew this because… well, because it was sort of my unallocated assignment to know as much about every other student at Hogwarts as possible. I'm not a gossip, of course, and would never stoop to such, but I do know.

As I looked upon them all, wavering slightly on their feet, I couldn't quite contain my sigh of exasperation. Bleary eyed as though they were on the verge of sleep and seeming to yawn in turns – nearly triggering one of my own – I could have maybe even accepted the excuse that they had been sleepwalking if they weren't all three together. And if the lingering scent of smoke didn't still hang in the air.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

The three blinked at me in something close to surprise, as though in the few seconds of silent observation they'd quite forgotten I was there. I don't know how they managed that really, seeing as no one had moved an inch since they'd all heaved themselves to their feet.

Ipping was the first one to gather his bearings enough to reply. Quite intelligently, too. "Um… what?"

"You're smoking. In school. After curfew." I kept my words slow and deliberate. I don't know how off their faces they were. I wasn't familiar with the smell of the smoke and couldn't pinpoint the effects. Not that I can claim any knowledge of recreational drugs at all, but still.

"Yeah. Yeah, we were." Hamphyn replied in a mimic of my slow enunciation. She wasn't glaring for once, but maybe that was because her eyes were nearly drooping shut. If it were possible to stand and talk while sleeping, Hamphyn was making a pretty good attempt at it. "Your point?"

I frowned at the girl. "My point being that I'm a prefect and there are rules. And it just so happens that it's my job to enforce those rules."

"Look, it's not –" Ipping paused for another jaw cracking yawn that ended in a sleepy groan. "It's not like everybody doesn't know we do it."

"Yeah, even you can't be that oblivious, surely, Malfoy." Hamphyn blinked rapidly as though straining to keep her eyes open.

I rolled my own. "Just because everyone knows doesn't mean it's right. And besides, you've never actually been caught before; everyone just knows what you're up to." I couldn't keep the faint trace of smugness from my tone as the realisation dawned. It was true; though everyone knew the trio frequently engaged in such activities, no one had ever actually caught them in the act before. Which would make me the first.

"Look, Malfoy," Ipping attempted to placate me with a mellow tone and a pat of the air before him. I don't know whether he actually meant to pat me on the shoulder or what, but it was faintly amusing to watch the hazy gesture. "We only ever do it in our own time, and away from everyone else. S'not like we're hurting anyone or anything."

"No, not hurting. Just asphyxiating any poor soul that happens to walk along the sixth floor corridor." I raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"At midnight?" Hamphyn replied, raising a wobbly eyebrow of her own.

"Actually, it's one o'clock," Potter mumbled, speaking for the first time. I spared him a glance and… he didn't even look to be paying attention to the conversation. His head drooped in what I assumed was his drifting into sleep as he stroked the parrot in his hands. What in Merlin's name did he even have the parrot with him for?

"One o'clock, whatever," Hamphyn continued, waving the comment aside. "Point is… oh bollocks, I don't even care." She sighed and seemed to swim out of her drug-induced haze – with remarkable efficiency, I must admit – to finally shift her famous glare upon me. "Are you going to turn us in, Malfoy, or can we go to bed now?"

I felt my eyebrow creep further up my forehead. "You're just going to go to bed?"

"Pretty buggered myself, actually," Ipping said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over one eye each. "And shit, we've got class tomorrow."

"That we do," I agreed, pursing my lips. Maybe they weren't as oblivious to their crimes as they seemed. The resigned nodding of the trio's heads added credit to the assumption.

I don't know what it was about them, but that immediate inclination to keep their secret a secret rose within me. It shouldn't, I knew. I always played by the rules, do what I'm supposed to, but for the life of me I couldn't see myself going to any of the Head teachers. Longbottom would probably treat it pretty well, but Killian and Yeong would most likely blow a fuse and express their hearfelt displeasure respectively. Especially Killian. He was all about upholding the standard of Gryffindor, whatever that meant.

So instead of scowling and directing them to the nearest teacher's office, or assigning them each a detention, I lowered my wand and sighed in exasperation. "And, if you want to get any sleep at all tonight, you should probably make for your dormitories post-haste. I'd suggest running but I doubt any of you are up to that."

Aren't I nice? Not even any deducted house points, though that was more because I suspected that none of them would care a wit no matter how many I took from them.

The three turned their faces towards me, blinking owlishly in confusion. Or maybe that was just the lingering effects of whatever they were smoking. Even Potter paused in stroking his parrot to regard me questioningly. "You're just letting us off the hook?" Ipping's tone was incredulous.

I shrugged one shoulder, turning to face down the corridor so they wouldn't be able to see the discomfort struggling to make itself known. "Just so long as I don't catch you doing it again." Which, I realised after I said it, was not a request to not partake in the act itself.

Leading the sleepy trio back onto the wider, adjoining corridor, I paused to gesture them onwards. They divided, with the two boys heading one direction and Hamphyn in the other, though I doubt even they knew if the routes they took would actually lead them along the swiftest path to their dorms. I stood rooted to the spot until they disappeared into the distance.

Or at least until just before turning the corner. Potter paused and glanced over his shoulder at the last minute. "You know, if you ever want to join us, Scorpius, you're more than welcome to. You do seem a little tense, and seriously, it takes the load off."

"That's true." Ipping added after a moment. "Besides, we're always safe and careful with our methods." The casualness of his tone suggested they were referring to a hobby that was very not illegal. I blinked at them, slightly stunned, before whipping my head towards the other end of the corridor as Hamphyn chimed in.

"Yeah, that could work. Fill out our little party and all. I always thought we were lacking a Ravenclaw." She made a sound that could have been a snicker before disappearing entirely from the circle of light my Lumos illuminated. Potter and Ipping smiled in tandem before similarly disappeared.

I didn't move for a good couple of minutes after that, lost in the unexpectedness of the suggestion. Maybe I was just tired, but they weren't really making sense to me.

Shaking my head, I rubbed a weary hand across my brow and started back for Ravenclaw Tower. Whatever. I could think about it tomorrow.

The next morning I was out of bed at the crack of dawn even with my admittedly late night and wandered down to the Great Hall to scavenge some breakfast before the masses descended. As I dropped onto the bench at Ravenclaw's table and bit into my toast… maybe it was the silence of the hall, but my thoughts immediately drifted back towards last night. I don't know what made it linger, but the words of the three outcast students still rung in my mind. Potter's particularly, actually. Did I really look tense? Was that how I appeared? I often felt as such, but no one had ever commented as such before.

Or maybe they resounded because it was a Potter who said them.

I've never had much to do with any of the Potters, but that didn't mean they didn't interest me. That I didn't want to know about them. Or, at the very least, that I had once upon a time been a little curious. I blame my father for my curiosity, for the way that he talked about their family. About Harry Potter in particular. It's strange, to hear him speak; he has mentioned on more than one occasion that they used to be rivals – more than rivals, I suspect, but never questioned his use of the term – but even so, whenever Father spoke of Mr Potter it was with respect that wasn't begrudging or resentful. That in itself was surprising. Draco Malfoy rarely expressed respect for anyone and when he did it was always begrudgingly.

So of course I was interested about the Potter family. More interested even than their still-continuing celebrity status warranted.

That's not to say I leapt at any opportunity to potentially befriend one of them. That was not the way I was taught – or had learned – to best approach people. Gather knowledge about the subject, then slowly ease oneself into the position of a peer, a companion, a friend. My decisions were always slow in the making, ensuring I'd hashed out every possibly disagreeable aspect of proceeding before doing so. I gathered knowledge. And what I learned was remarkably dull. They were a reputable family and my father respected them. And that was about it. Who knew, maybe such a relationship with the Potters would eventually be beneficial?

James Potter was about as far from the type of person I would be likely to befriend as I could think of. Loud, obnoxious in front of his friends, popular to the point that I had to question whether he was capable of leaving a room without half of the rest of its occupants immediately rising to trail behind him. He was in the year above me and from the first day of his second year was drafted onto the quidditch team. He made a formidable chaser; I could attest to that, as I'd played against him enough times to gauge his skill. I had to admit that his decision to pursue a career as a sportsman was suitable. Following in his mother's footsteps, to be sure.

Lily Potter wasn't at school until I was in third year but to be honest I don't think that even had she been my age we would have gotten along. About as popular as her brother, she was loud and demanding in a way that somehow didn't irritate those around her. Suffice to say that, when the Potter daughter was in a room, attention better be on her or everyone would hear about it. And yet even with her set of lungs and apparent callousness, there was talk by the time she was twelve that, as James followed his mother's career path, Lily would definitely fall into her father's footsteps. She seemed quite happy about the assumption,; from what I'd heard, 'I'm going to become an Auror' was something of a catch-cry for her.

No, Lily and I would not have gotten along well. Which left Albus.

Albus was in my year, but in Hufflepuff and seemed rather closeted so I didn't spare much thought for him. Not to say that he wasn't noticed. He was a Potter after all. One could hardly help but notice. And noticed even more because, though it was slow in becoming apparent to the world, Albus evidently did not conform to the formula of 'Potter Child' at all. He wasn't popular – rather far from it, but more due to his oddities than anything else – and he wasn't a star quidditch player. He wasn't even on the team. He was generally mediocre in classes, except for Herbology, which had baffled me a little until I heard from someone that Professor Longbottom was his godfather. Apparently he'd sown a green thumb in his godson from a young age. Whatever reason, though it astounded me when I discovered he was top of the class. He didn't make noise about it. None at all.

For that alone, that straying from the expectations of 'Potter', I found a mild curiosity stir within me. His attitude was so far from anything I'd considered for myself; the Malfoy family had a societal role to fill, those curse-damned 'expectations' that seemed to be tagged onto only certain families while everyone else was allowed – expected, even – to chose absolutely whatever they wanted to do with their lives. Albus, for some reason, appeared to be following that general rule of the Wizarding public. People were uneasy with the realisation, but that soon died down slightly to the naturally unfolding exclusion of the 'odd' boy.

It made Albus intriguing. An intrigue that had lasted for all of about a week, I think, before I decided that friendship wasn't on the cards. Albus was a self-imposed outcast as far as I saw it, and didn't make any effort to pursue friendships. Rather the opposite, actually; he seemed to tuck himself away from people. It was surprising to realise at the end of first year that he had, in fact, nestled himself firmly between Hamphyn and Ipping. The three were a tight-nit group in the way that a knife, a fork and a spoon differ yet inevitably match one another. They just… fit. There wasn't any place for anyone else, as far as I could see it.

Yet other than his slight strangeness, his deviance from the expectations of just about everyone in the school, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Nothing that overtly drew me to the other boy. Nothing that would be beneficial to me in the long run, should I desire to pursue 'friendship'.

So I didn't attempt it. I didn't really need to, nor see what function such a relationship would serve. It's not like I avoided the other boy, but he was the sort of different that inevitably led to a scant exchange of words. I think we've maybe spoken about five times throughout our entire schooling year, and even then it was mostly in monosyllabic replies to short questions. Another reason why last night's… invitation was so unexpected.

It wasn't until the beginning of fourth year, however, that I firmly decided that no, it wouldn't be a good idea to be associated with Albus Potter, even on a professional level. I can pinpoint it to the exact date, the exact class even, in which I made my decision.

It was in our second week of first term. Divination. Ten minutes into the lesson.

Honestly, I'm not a Divination person. I don't know why I picked it, save for the fact that it was that or Ancient Runes and I could see no future benefits of studying extinct alphabets; at least in Divination I could study some of my other course work, given that the professor was well-known for her autonomous teaching style. It was that or fall to sleep, which I would never allow myself to do, not even in a class I despised. Which Divination was pretty close to coming.

Some people loved it, strangely enough, but I tend to think that those people walk a different road in life. One that wades through the bushes searching for pretty bugs rather than following the perfectly paved footpath.

Madame Verne was one such character, though I think she rather searched for dinosaurs and the extra-terrestrial than bugs. An eccentric that put the Scamanders to shame, she was apparently on par with her nutter of a predecessor and, according to Father, Trelawney was hard to beat. She always dressed in a headache-inducing clash of colours with her incredibly long hair worn in a ponytail so high that it fell over her face as much as it did down her back. She wore her nails ridiculously long to match and seemed to make a point of changing their colour for every lesson.

By the second week of school, I was already well and truly sick of Divination and Verne's eccentricity. Her voice was hollow and low in what I assume was her attempt to sound mysterious and all-knowing but instead gave her the impression of sounding on the verge of a coughing fit. I tended to tune it out and instead turned my attention to my History of Magic textbook, heaving the heavy tome to my bookmark halfway through. It was because of my distracted attention that I didn't notice when Potter and Hamphyn stumbled into the tower classroom, very obviously late, until Verne spoke.

"Ah, my dears, if there something the matter? Class has already started." Her voice was a little higher than the usual grumble, perhaps indignant that her students would dare be late. "We were just beginning to review our dream diaries in a progression around the class. Please take a seat."

Both Potter and Hamphyn, still standing over the trap door into the room, stared at her blankly for a moment before the Slytherin girl turned towards her friend and blurted out a "Fuck, I forgot my diary!"

Verne visibly flinched at the cuss. "Miss Hamphyn, you will refrain from such –"

"Oh bloody hell, I forgot mine too. Actually, I don't even know where mine is."

By this point, every single person in the classroom was straightening on their floor cushions – as much as one could straighten on floor cushions; whatever happened to good old-fashioned chairs? – and blinking incredulously at the two latecomers. The pair were well-known, alongside Ipping, for being silent both in and out of class, even under the direct questioning of a teacher. The fact that they'd both spoken quite loudly, and cursed at that after interrupting the professor, was astounding.

Verne looked on the verge of having a fit. "Mr Potter, Miss Hamphyn, you will cease the use of such language in my classroom at once! What abominable behaviour." The brightly clad woman swept an arm through the air in a slash as though such would serve to silence the pair of them.

It didn't.

"Terribly sorry, Madame, it just slipped out," Hamphyn apologised, her face an exaggerated wince that was more expressive than I'd ever seen it. "I was just so horrified at the thought that I'd misplaced my diary before coming to class that I…"

She glanced towards Potter who was regarding her solemnly and nodding his head in agreement. It would have been comical it wasn't so bloody out of character. I found it altogether disconcerting to witness.

"Me too, Madame, me too. But don't… don't worry, 'cause I've got this covered." Potter raised both hands before him, as though cautioning Verne 'not to worry'. "I'm a whizz at remembering my dreams. Just ask Rhali."

It was Rhali's turn to nod fervently in agreement. Their faces were the picture of sincerity, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. I'm sure I wasn't the only one thrown for a loop. Verne seemed to be in the same boat as I, for her quickly sparked anger seemed to dissipate into confusion, then thoughtfulness. She still huffed in disgruntlement, however, and hitched her orange-knitted shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "You did not bring your diaries?"

"That's, you see, that's what we're trying to tell you, Madame," Hamphyn enunciated in words so fast that she nearly stumbled over herself. "But don't worry, I'm pretty good at remembering too, though Ally's better. Don't ask him to tell you about anything like past experiences or anything, 'cause he'll be able to tell you every detail down to the exact minute it happened." She shared a glance with Potter, who shrugged and nodded acknowledgement of the fact. "There was this one time when he went to Ireland when he was three –"

"- three and nine months and thirteen days."

"Yeah, three and nine months and thirteen days, and Ally says he was awake the whole ferry trip over 'cause you they wanted the Muggle experience of going by boat, you know, so they took the ferry. And there was this spider who was crawling on the bottom of his brother's bed –"

"- It only had five legs!"

"Five legs, five, but it was still crawling fine, and it started to dig into the mattress –"

" – I tried telling James, 'cause he's terribly afraid of spiders – "

" – terribly afraid, you have no idea, I mean, pissing his pants afraid –"

"Miss Hamphym, Mr. Potter, please!"

Verne wasn't the only one rocking back slightly in shock at the torrent of words. I personally had never heard Hamphyn or Potter speak so much in my entire life. I had to physically clamp my jaw shut from where it hung open; it was only slightly mollifying to notice that I wasn't the only one.

Swallowing and touching her index finger to her brow, Verne waved a hand towards the two now-silent and watchful disruptions. "You…" She seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say. I couldn't blame her. "You will both find a seats and hasten to write a description of at least one dream that will serve as your focus for this lesson." Clearing her throat, she seemed to reassert her control of herself once more. "You will bring me your dream diaries by this afternoon so that I may ensure you have conducted your assigned tasks appropriately. If you should fail to do so, you will both be seeing me for detention."

The pair nodded vigorously, Hamphyn even going so far as to proclaim "Of course, Madame, of course we did our homework. I love Divination. Always super keen for your classes." I had to bite back an incredulous snort at that. So keen that you turn up late for the lesson.

Verne ignored the comment, however, waving them to find their seats. They mumbled another string of nearly unintelligible words – the tone was gratuitous so I could only assume they were thanking her leniency – before moving towards where Ipping was already seated on an over-large, pink floor cushion at the very back of the room. Which just so happened to be right behind me.

They sunk into their seats on either side of him just as Jillian Wilkins continued reading aloud her dream from where she'd been interrupted. I don't know what it was about and hardly cared to listen. I would have gone back to reading my momentarily neglected textbook, except for the not-quite-hushed exchange before me from the three 'silent' students. Almost compulsively I shifted my attention towards them, cocking an ear. Apparently I wasn't the only one either, for nearly half of the class were glancing over their shoulders with continued bafflement and more than a little shock. I doubted anyone could hear them, though; I was the closest and I could barely make them out myself.

Close enough to pick up most of the words, however.

"…can't believe you actually went and took them," Ipping hissed, and though his words were a reprimand they sounded more amused than scolding. "You're making bloody idiots of yourself." I'd never heard him speak much before, so the act of him actually talking nearly overwhelmed me to the point that I didn't comprehend his words.

"Now, now," Hamphyn began loudly, before being hasty hushed by both Ipping and Potter. Half glancing over my shoulder I saw the girl clamp a hand dramatically over her mouth, her shoulders shaking slightly in suppressed giggles as her friends attempted to mute her loudness. When she continued a moment later, if was markedly quieter. "Now, don't be jealous. Ally and I saved you some and everything."

Really? Ally? I rolled my eyes as much at her tone as the ridiculous nickname for Potter.

"I'm not jealous," Ipping hissed back. "You two are just idiots for popping them right before class!"

Dropping my chin to pretend that I was concentrating on my book rather than the conversation behind me, I frowned. I didn't like the sound of that, and unless I was completely off the mark I had a very distinct suspicion as to the cause of Hamphyn and Potter's abrupt chattiness.

A suspicion that was confirmed a moment later when Potter spoke in a stage whisper.

"You should be jealous. It's bloody fantastic; you have no idea. I didn't think they even made Jojo Beans this clean. We took them nearly two hours ago and I'm still buzzing just as strong."

I bit back a snarl at the words. Jojo Beans? Seriously? How did they even get their hands on them at school? I'm not a party-stopper or anything, but I do have my standards, and avoiding stimulants that can otherwise cloud the mind right before class is one of them.

Clamping my jaw more firmly, I resolutely tuned out the rest of their words, fixing my eyes on the pages of the history textbook and seeing but not reading. I shouldn't be surprised, really. No one had found evidence of the fact that the three used, not as far as I had heard, but it was common knowledge that they definitely did. This was just confirmation of a hypothesis that I'd already encountered.

It was the final nail in the lid of coffin of what could have potentially been a friendship between myself and the only Potter child I would consider approaching. He'd quickly dropped to the bottom of my list, actually. I think I'd rather try Lily, though I wasn't particularly inclined in that direction either.

I try to think that I'm not being derogatory for thinking that Potter, Hamphyn and Ipping are lesser, lower, than I for their drug habit. For habit that it is, I wouldn't expressly say it's a problem. Besides that one incident in Divination – an incident that apparently triggered extra precautions from them all in future situations – it never seemed to disrupt their learning. That one incident was unusual in more than the revelation of their superfluous taste for Jojo Beans; it was remarkably out of character for the three of them, even accounting for their high. They simply weren't disruptive. And while none are Outstanding students, they were far from the bottom of the rung.

They weren't aggressive, or intentionally disruptive. They didn't try to encourage or corrupt their fellow students. I think their natural exclusivity prevented as much; no one was close enough to them that the trio would offer, and they projected a elusiveness that immediately deterred anyone from expressly asking them should they seek to take a hit.

It's not a problem. Not really. Just… not how I'd spend my teenage years. I'd rather throw myself into my studies, making the most of the opportunity I've been given.

Biting into the last corner of my toast, I dusted my fingers on the plate. In the distance, just within the auditory range, I could make out the bell chiming. Seven o'clock. Which meant that more than the specking of bleary-eyed students that had somehow made their way into the Great Hall at dawn would shortly flood through the doors.

I rose from my seat. I was a little tired, admittedly, from only five hours of sleep last night, but I wouldn't let that slow me down. School was for studying, and seventh year especially so. I pushed thoughts of Potter, Hamphyn and Ipping from my mind, very forcibly thrust memories of the invitation along with it, and departed through the double doors.

The library would be open now. I'd put in the hard hours while I had the chance.

A/N: Please leave a review if you get the chance. It would be really appreciated to hear your thoughts. Thank you!