Chapter 12: Scared, Potter?
Rose squirmed in her wheelchair, stealing glances at the other children sitting in a semicircle around the Physiotherapist. Most of the children had casts, slings, bruised skin, and arms wrapped in bandages. She looked relatively fine in comparison, except for her crooked smile. The whole right side of her body felt slightly numb, like someone had wrapped a ribbon too tightly around her arm and leg. She'd asked her healers if they could regrow her muscles so they'd come back new and she could return to Hogwarts. They'd smiled sadly, voices too gentle when they'd told her the problem wasn't with her muscles, nor with the nerves directly innervating her muscles. The problem, her healers had said, was much higher up. Upper motor neuron pathways in her brain had been damaged.
Mind Healers had made phenomenal advancements in recent years for helping magical patients with strokes recover their functions. However, the surgeons had already operated on her brain, attempting to untangle whatever curse had caused her stroke before deeming the unstable magic too risky. They couldn't guarantee her safety or her life without knowing the details of the malformed curse. Any attempt at removal may cause more damage.
Her heart had felt like someone had constricted it between two hands at the thought of someone attempting to hurt her. She wanted to go back to Hogwarts, go back and make whoever cursed her pay.
Both the intensive care and step-down units had been relatively quick stays but harder work than she'd ever anticipated. She'd always thought hospitals were for rest. How wrong she was. Rose's Medi-witch had woken up at all hours of the night, casting spells that took her heart beat, blood sugar, oxygen saturation. She'd been rotated onto opposite sides to prevent pressure injuries and told to swallow her potions, preventing any restful sleep. The noise was another issue, beeps and zings of spells alerting Medi-witches and Medi-wizards rang in her ears. The cries from other children on her wing did not help either.
She was determined to go back to Hogwarts. She needed to know why someone had wanted her dead. Needed to know if it had to do with the reason her parents had sheltered her all these years. If it had something to do with blood purity or the hate that Voldemort had awoken within the Wizarding World.
Rose zoned back into the steady onslaught of commands spouting out of the Physiotherapist, who walked around the room carefully handing out critiques.
A girl, smaller than her, lifted up each leg slowly, one arm still in a sling. The girl's narrowed eyes stared into the depths of her knees, as if willing them to lift her legs up and down.
Rose bit her lip, jealous of the girl's success despite the pain clearly etched into her forehead. She wanted to talk to the girl. Anything to pass the time, maybe distract their combined pain. She had the words in her head, but getting then to come out was a different matter.
"Um… yuh.. yeah," Rose searched for the word, cheeks flushing as the girl's attention turned to her, eyes confused. "Yeah… me… no. Me…ugh."
Rose stopped, sighing and biting her lip. "You okay?" She could have melted in relief that something out of her mouth came out right to a stranger.
The girl smiled, reveling slightly thin, pointed teeth. Rose started; she hadn't noticed the pointy ears behind the mop of perfect blond curls. The small, beady eyes stared back at her, features pinched and thin. She'd never met a Goblin child before. The girl had looked like a witch, small of stature, face pleasant and round. Rose stared a second longer, finding the pinched features and pointy teeth suited the girl well.
"I don't believe I'm okay, do you?" the goblin asked, tilting her head.
Rose swallowed, taking a deep breath before letting her response make its way out of her mouth. "No."
The goblin nodded and tuned back to her leg lifts.
"Rose," she placed a hand over her heart. "You name?"
The girl looked at her, lifting a brow. Rose felt the flush of embarrassment sink into her chest.
"Names have power, take care in sharing such information freely."
"No… power," Rose said, gesturing to herself and smiled.
The goblin raised a brow. "I sense that's not true, you do not bear the hollowness of that squib there." The goblin inclined her head slowly to the Physiotherapist on the opposite side of the circle. "Has your kind cursed you, Rose?"
Rose shrugged. "Stoke… Soke… No. Stroke."
"I see. My grandfather had a brain injury before I was born. He speaks like you. Tells the best tales…. They're always worth the wait and words." The goblin gave her a ghost of a smile, black eyes shining.
Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd never felt so entirely accepted and understood since she'd woken up at St. Mungo's.
"Miss Bodrog, time to lift that other foot," the Physiotherapist called.
The goblin flattened her lips in displeasure.
"Um…" Rose, lifted her good arm, wiggled it, and brought it close to her torso as if in a sling.
"Are you asking about my injuries?" the goblin glared at her, still careful to keep her speech slow.
Rose shook her head, unperturbed at the death glare the girl gave her. "Yes, injuries."
The goblin paused her leg lifts, looking Rose over head to toe. "It is unusual for those of witch or wizard blood to care."
"Is it?" Rose asked, still eager to push the conversation.
"Indeed, it is."
"You speak… switches?" Rose grimaced at her error. She wanted to ask if the girl speaks with many witches.
To Rose's surprise, the goblin smiled again. "You'd be the first witch I've spoken to, alone at least without my parents."
Rose smiled back and wiggled her arm again.
"Ha! Alright then, persistent-one of witch blood," the goblin spoke, breathing slowly out through pursed lips. "I was attacked by a mountain troll on my way to school. Escaped with my life. Took a bit of a fall down a cliff when the troll swung at me."
Rose winced and felt her mouth go dry. "T… troll?"
"Yes, my community was shocked too. It is unusual for trolls to find where we goblins hide our homes, let alone attack us, even children, unprovoked."
Rose felt herself nodding, wishing she could say more. Ask about goblin communities and trolls.
"My sister is still missing," the goblin whispered, face paling.
Rose felt the lump return to her throat. "Um… when?"
"A fortnight ago," the girl whispered. "I was found after three days of hiding in the bracken."
"Merlin!" Rose hissed. She'd been at home during that time. No one had talked about trolls on the rampage. Did her parents know about this? "How… er… sound? No… found?"
"Well, my sister and I never turned up for class. They alerted my parents." The girl kept her gaze on her shoes, good hand clenched tightly by her side.
Rose let surprise wash over her at the concept of goblins attentind school. She felt ashamed at her ignorance. She'd never given any thought to goblin society.
"School?" Rose asked, curiosity getting the better of her embarrassment.
"Just because we are banned from wielding wands doesn't mean we don't learn how to wield our magic," the goblin said, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Rose blushed, "School?"
"We tend to go to schools in our own communities before apprenticing into a trade," the girl stated, shrugging her shoulders. "It's really only within the past thirty years that female goblins have been allowed to attend institutions of education. It's a privilege to learn."
Rose felt herself nodding.
"My school happens to be one of the best amongst the Goblin Educational Consortium. I've been attending since I was seven."
"You.. learn?" Rose stated, biting her lip at the way her sentence sounded. She wanted to ask so many questions – the name of the school, the subjects that were taught there, and whether it was for goblins only.
The goblin laughed, eyes crinkling. "Do you witches learn nothing at Hogwarts?... It is Hogwarts, no? Though I assume you could join a coven of learning if you don't meet Hogwarts standards."
Rose hung her head and let out a sigh. She could do this, speak. Maybe. "Day…" she held up her index finger to indicate the number one. "Hat sort." She brough her hand to her head, as if tipping a hat. "Slythering." She held up two fingers on her hand and said "Day… Stroke… Corse, no... um… cursed."
The girl nodded, raising her feet up and down as the Physiotherapist walked by with a tight smile. "Let me confirm. You just started at Hogwarts. You were sorted into the house of Salazar Slytherin?"
Rose nodded, grateful the girl understood her jumbled words.
"Thank the gods. That house has a legacy of sense. The house of Godric Gryffindor on the other hand… what a lying bunch of cheats!" The goblin emphasized her point with an unnecessarily loud drop of her foot.
Rose laughed, she hadn't realized goblins disliked Gryffindor.
"Then you were attacked too… cursed. And you had a stroke that stole away your words and physical strength?" The girl stated slowly, as if tasting each word on her palate before speaking.
The smile fell off Rose's face. She nodded, staring at her numb foot as she tried to lift it lamely. The hospital smelled of stringent potions and putrid wounds. She cleared her throat.
"How are you going to let your magic out through a wand if you cannot control the fine movements with your right hand or speak the incantations?" The goblin bit her lip, concern etched into her grimace.
Rose felt hollow as the blood drained from her face. Her foot drooped midair. "I… I…." She swallowed as the tears welled around the corner of her eyes. She hastily wiped them with her strong hand. "I don't know."
The goblin nodded, unconcerned with Rose's display of emotions. "It will make it hard. Not all magic requires wand work though, does it? Just look at us goblins… We've gone almost 400 years without a wand. Yet we've managed to refine our work, our magic."
Rose knew nothing about goblins. For all she'd read, she'd never really bothered to learn more or care about the "creatures." They had just been the beings who dominated the banking sector and kept attempting to rebel against wizarding kind every few hundred years.
"How?" Rose finally asked, curious how goblins survived without a wand. Maybe she could learn too.
"Miss Weasley. Miss Bodrog. Fair work this session. I'm happy you two have managed to find your conversation more important than the exercises intended on healing your muscles properly." The Physiotherapist said, hands on both hips, voice cool and dry.
Rose blushed and remained silent, not bringing her eyes up to the Physiotherapist. She could have sworn the goblin whispered "witch" under her breath.
"Wait…" Rose reached her hand out to the goblin, bringing it back to her chest when the goblin didn't shake it. "Rose Weasley."
The goblin hesitated, sharp teeth nibbling at her lip before nodding. "Mairwyn Bodrog. We shall talk more, Rose Weasley."
Rose smiled as her wheelchair rolled itself back to her room in the rehabilitation unit of St. Mungo's. Her eyes were now open.
"Will!" Albus gasped out between the pounding of his footsteps. "Stop!"
He steadied a hand against cool stone wall and leaned over, drinking in large gulps of air. Will was a fast runner and nearly at the end of the hall already.
"You've got this, Albus! Hurry now or we'll be late!"
Albus' sides cramped and his lungs couldn't get enough air. He grimaced as he pushed himself off the wall and jogged after Will, feet dragging on the ground like lead weights.
Will had woken him up in the hospital wing, where he'd learned Madame Pomfrey had given him a dreamless sleep potion. Now he and Will were about to be very late for their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. They'd run up multiple flights, made a few wild jumps to catch the correct moving staircase, grabbed their rucksacks and books from the empty Gryffindor dormitory, and turned around to do it all again.
"Here it is!" Will waved his arm towards a large, wooden door and flew up the remaining spiral stairs, skipping every other step.
The ground looked like such a nice place to fall face-first and just think about breathing. Or maybe to give up on life and just resign himself to haunting the halls forevermore. Either way, one more flight of stairs would be the death of his lungs.
"You… go… ahead…" Albus wheezed, glaring at the stairs. "Legs... jelly… can't… breathe."
Will ran a hand down his face in exasperation and quickly pounded his way back down the flight. He felt Will position himself under a shoulder and wrap his other arm around his waist.
"If we're going to be flayed alive for being late, we go down together, no?" his friend flashed a grin, freckled cheeks lightly flushed.
Albus was pretty sure his own complexion was currently that of a giant, great red lobster in a frying pan.
Will swung the door open and they entered arm in arm. Will poised, and he, gasping for air. Their Gryffindor and Slytherin classmates' eyes fell on them, jaws tense and eyes wide.
"How good of you to join us… let's see… Mr. Potter and Mr. Locksly," a woman in flowing, bright blue dress robes snipped each syllable dryly, peering up at them from a sharp, bird-like nose. "What is fifteen minutes after all, no?"
He heard Will audibly gulp.
"That will be fifteen points from Gryffindor," the professor smiled tightly. "Each."
Albus bit hard down on his tongue. The professor looked like a stern ostrich in dress robes, whisps of graying, dusty hair sticking out at all angles.
The room remained silent. What in the world had this professor done to scare their classmates already?
He sank into the empty seat at the front of the class. A Slytherin boy sitting next to him with white-blond hair and a pointy chin lifted an eyebrow at him. Albus rolled his eyes. The Slytherin just lifted his aristocratic brow even higher.
The chalkboard had "Professor Spierling" and "categories of defensive magic" written in miniscule, tightly scrawled cursive.
"As I was saying, please open your books to page five, read silently, and answer the following questions on the board." Professor Spierling flicked her wand and a small piece of chalk screeched out a series of questions in the same tight cursive. "Please hold any questions until the end of class… and as I said earlier, any talking will be cause for punishment."
Looks like his dad's favorite class would definitely not be his favorite.
The sound of quills scratching and rain patter filled the room for the rest of the hour. It didn't help that the Slytherin boy next to him finished his work within ten minutes flat and spent the rest of the hour perusing through the textbook like he was browsing a catalogue of new brooms. The boy occasionally glanced over in his direction, silver eyes scanning his barely-legible answers with a condescending, questioning look. Albus spent the rest of the class second guessing and changing his answers, only to find out that his original answers were correct.
He glared at the Slytherin boy, observing the carefully blank face of pretense as he answered Professor Spierling's questions.
Professor Spierling had one of the worst voices Albus had ever heard. It fizzled like hot oil frying on a pan. She'd follow each sentence by cracking her knuckles with a series of loud pops. He flinched every time.
Leaving the class, he could barely recall the categories of defensive magic they had discussed. It had seemed so obvious during the lesson, why the need to categorize?
The morning passed in a total daze.
Albus tore into the letters his family had sent him at lunch, opening one after the other and nearly crying with relief to hear Rose had not been hurt during the attack, that she was now on the rehabilitation floor.
"Bloodbath!" Kai read, slapping his copy of the daily prophet on the oak table. "Eighteen wizards and witches dead and thirty injured at the attack last night on St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Reports claiming werewolves responsible. Five wizarding children missing. Draco Malfoy, notorious ex-Deatheater, returning to Azkaban to await trial for colluding with attackers and spotted using unforgivable curses. Many questioning if the recalcitrant Malfoy heir continues to follow the dark practices of his former lord and master, Voldemort. Possible involvement of goblins and giants in other attacks based throughout the United Kingdom. Fifty-four muggles dead and fourty-eight injured. Actions attributed to gas explosions."
Albus' heart dropped as he watched a shadow pass across Will's face. The muggle casualties were no more than a footnote. His stomach clenched in disgust.
The broom lay at his feet. All it would take would be a quick command "up!" and he could escape to lands unknown and never have to return.
"Do you think Scorpius is involved in his father's practice of dark arts?"
"Surely he must know something!"
"His father killed people… look at that pinched face, bet the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"How long do you think it'll be before all the Malfoys will be reunited behind bars in Azkaban?"
"Can't believe he was accepted into Hogwarts. What a discrace."
No, the scrutiny was nothing new. Just the darkness. He was here at Hogwarts to secure his future in the wizarding world. To redeem his family's name. Running would just add kindling to their fire.
Straightening his back, Scorpius coolly commanded "up." The sense of freedom surged through him as the smooth broom made contact with his hand.
"Show off," a boy in Gryffindor robes hissed next to him.
Scorpius hadn't realized who he'd been standing near. His eyebrows shot up as Albus Potter furrowed his thick eyebrows.
"Surely the son of a renowned Hollyhead Harpies player and former Gryffindor seeker knows his way around a broom?" Scorpius winced internally, realizing how snappish his remark must sound. At this point he should really just consider digging his own grave.
"Ha! My parents have been asking me that same question since before I could walk. The quidditch gene is strong in my siblings but somehow decided to skip over me. Unless you count going really fast and without-fail crashing into things 'knowing one's way around a broom'." Albus grinned and Scorpius felt his stomach do a summersault.
Why was a Potter talking to him? Especially when everyone was two steps away from burning him at the stake. What was the Gryffindor playing at?
"I'm Albus by the way," the boy extended his hand, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Scorpius hesitated, feeling a fog push against the fortress of his mind. Interesting. It felt innocent enough, but he couldn't shake the sense of distrust.
He grabbed the boy's hand and squeezed, eyes narrowing,"Scorpius."
Albus held his hand for a heartbeat longer before gesturing to a tall boy in Gryffindor robes on his other side. "This is Will. It's his first time with a broom."
"Hey!" Will flashed a quick smile, freckles standing out across his face. "Maybe you have a trick up your sleeve for to how to get this bloody thing to turn on?"
Scorpius looked around. Only one other Slytherin girl had managed to get the broom to her hand. The rest of the class was a cacophony of shouting "up." He breathed out, grateful the chatter and attention had been temporarily cast away from him.
"It's not really a matter of turning it on." The boy must be born from muggles. How amazing it must be to make a memory of getting on a broomstick for the first time! He'd begun flying as soon as he could crawl. "Strip down magic to its essence and it's all about the feeling behind it. So want is more powerful than a command or request, no?"
He watched as Will's eyes scrunched in thought. "A want?"
Scorpius smiled, uninhibited. "Exactly. Desire. Your magic is going to respond to you because your call to it is a desire… a bone-deep wish. Not just any old command to do your bidding. That's mostly what wandwork is for."
Albus placed a hand on one hip, green eyes glowing. "Bit of a know-it-all, aren't you?"
Scorpius felt the blood drain from his face, knuckles whitening around his broom. He'd give anything to take to the skies immediately.
"Nevertheless," Albus continued, gaze piercing, "That's one of the most concise and best descriptions I've ever heard to sum up magic."
Scorpius dipped his head, humbled and strangely pleased as a tickling of warmth eased the tightness he'd been carrying in his chest.
He coached Will through the mental considerations until the Gryffindor had his broom up three tries later. Albus, on the other hand, remained reluctant to try until nearly all their classmates had brooms in their hands.
"I really just hate flying," the boy confessed, running a hand through the jet-black waves of his hair, causing it to stand up on end as if struck by lightning.
"What? Run into one too many trees?" Scorpius quipped, voice coming off more snobbish than he intended.
Why was he actively trying to sabotage himself? It bothered him that he couldn't seem to stop making jabs at these classmates who were being nothing but kind to him.
"More like I've had one-to many run ins with a lake and window-pane," Albus grimaced, unperturbed by Scorpius' airs.
"Ouch," Will grimaced. Scorpius agreed, eyes narrowing.
"What, you've never run into anything before? Surely there's got to be some tree out there or good plot of soil with a Scorpius-shaped dent in it." Albus smiled ear to ear.
He laughed. "Me? A Malfoy? Sacrilege." He wrapped his leg around the broom. "I'm a natural flyer… it's practically a reflex, like breathing. Though I'm sure my grandmother's hydrangeas may think otherwise."
He winked and both Albus and Will as they laughed.
How in the world was this happening… was he being chummy? With Gryffindors? A Potter and muggle-born nonetheless? What would that do for his family's name?
His mind should be going on red-alert trying to figure out what motive Potter had for conversing with him, especially in the thick of having his name run through the muck. Everyone had been gossiping. Except Albus and Will.
Instead, he took off on his broom, first to hover in the air as Madame Hooch blew the whistle. Will joined him a moment later, clutching onto the broom handle and squirming restlessly as the broom tilted to and fro. Albus remained firmly planted on the ground, sweat beading on his forehead.
Unable to resist, Scorpius called down to the Gryffindor, "Scared, Potter?"
Albus glared back up at him, hand shaking on his broom. "No, I'm dandy as a daffodil… git."
"It's not so bad, Albus," Will called, broom still trembeling midair.
Scorpius smiled, biting the inside of his cheek. "Really Potter, what's the worst that can happen? You tumble off from the oh-so-scary height of what... five feet? What absolute horror!"
"Just you wait until I'm in the air Malfoy, then you'll have something to be scared about," Albus called from below, a quiet smile on his face.
Will's broom started to settle. Scorpius watched as the Gryffindor's muscles visibly relaxed and bright eyes widened into a sense of wonder at his first time flying on a broom.
"I'm quaking in fear, Potter," Scorpius bit out, a small grin poking out despite his resistance. "Word around the castle is that you can use wandless magic to make objects levitate now. 'The great son of Harry Potter.' Such as shame you can't manage that with your own broom."
The smile fell off Albus' face and Scorpius watched in horror as Albus shot off the ground, broom not stopping to hover at Madame Hooch's requirement of 5 feet. The boy's wild black hair whipped about as the broom spiraled towards the Ravenclaw tower at full force.
Scorpius' stomach dropped at the realization that Potter was about to dress the stone tower with his guts and innards. He soared after Potter, flicking and swishing his wand, shouting "Wingardium Leviosa" at the broom.
A hair's breath before the inevitable impact, Potter's broom soared upwards, scratching the roof of the tower. The force of the spell caused Scorpius' broom to flip upside down. Quickly, he righted himself, watching as tiles from the Ravenclaw Tower broke loose, tumbling and smashing on the ground. Albus' body rolled across the turret, fingers fighting to grasp and steady himself. Scorpius pushed his broom forward quickly, wind biting at his cheeks. He ignored the shouting and piercing whistle below. Albus' tumbling body was close to rolling off the tower. His stomach dropped as he watched Potter's body fall, cloak whipping out right below his reach. He'd been so close.
Scorpius was on a broom though. A broom with more speed than gravity. He willed the broom to shoot straight down, arm outstretched as he caught Albus around his torso. They'd smash into the ground any second and forevermore become fodder for worms. The tales of his father flooded back to him, a memory of watching his nemesis stand and pull up on his broomstick at the last second while catching a snitch in the mouth.
Scorpius pushed his broom down with his feet and pulled up with all the strength his left arm could withstand. He flipped himself and Potter over backwards, inches before certain death upon the ground. The sharp pain of biting his lip surged through his system as his teeth clattered and his limps tangled with Potters. Rolling onto his knees, Scorpius fought to force air into his lungs between the constricting spasms in his chest. Coughing hurt his throat and gasping for air remained a battle for what felt like hours. As the burning quieted in his lungs, he felt the hot tears and snot run down his frozen cheeks. A group of students, black cloaks billowing in the wind, circled around him, shouting questions and clapping. He swallowed, throat scratchy, as his ears rang. Slowly, he turned his head. Potter was already standing, leaning on both Madame Hooch and Locksly. Scorpius closed his eyes, content, as the sight of Potter, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide in shock locked onto his own.