01/03/2019


Take It Easy
Give me your cigarette but not your smoker's cough
I want to push your buttons but I don't want to turn you off
I want to be a star and I want to make it rain
So when I burn out I've got ice to cool the pain
That's the problem with people like me
Why make it hard when you could make it easy?


He woke late that Sunday, the first time he had been afforded such a luxury since Gustav Gamp had been found dead on the first of September.

Ginny's side of the bed was empty – she rarely slept late – and so he took his time dressing. He stood beneath the window, looking out into the wide, open field that sat behind Hecate Hall. When he and Ginny had first moved to Godric's Hollow, they had spent their evenings together making plans for what they would do with the backyard; they would put in a courtyard to eat at in the summer and a fish pond full of water lilies and Quidditch hoops at the bottom of the garden.

Today, however, the garden remained untouched: the limbs of the mismatched birch trees were in need of pruning and the garden beds had dissolved into thickets of weeds and the lawn had grown tall and treacherous. Life had gotten in the way of their clever plans – his enrolling in the Auror Programme and she joining the Holyhead Harpies and then James being born and then him being made Head of the Auror Office. None of those things had been planned, and the pretty garden they had envisioned had drifted away.

As he strode down the stairs to the foyer, he could hear voices from the kitchen: Ginny and Ron. When he reached the door, they both looked up at him over their cups of tea; Ginny had her Quidditch notes spread out over the kitchen table and Ron was in his auror robes. Neither of them looked particularly pleased.

'Morning,' said Ron.

'Morning,' replied Harry. 'What's the matter?'

'Are you asking me or Ron?' asked Ginny.

'Whose news is worse?'

Ron and Ginny looked at each other. Ron looked vaguely amused, but Ginny was scowling, and she turned back to her husband. 'We've had a letter about James.'

'What's he done?'

'He was caught down by the lake after curfew with a girl named Marigold.'

Harry stifled a sigh of relief. James being out after curfew was hardly news-worthy. Harry crossed to the stove to set the coffee pot to boil, saying as he did, 'Never would have expected that.'

'It's not funny, Harry,' snapped Ginny.

'I didn't say it was funny. I'm just not surprised,' Harry told her. 'Ginny, he's frustrated. They have to be in their common rooms after eight. There are no more Hogsmeade visits. NEWTs are coming up. Aurors are at the school watching their every move. I'd go crazy if it were me.'

'Why do you always defend him?'

'I'm not defending him. I'm just explaining how he's feeling.'

'I don't need it explained to me, Harry, I understand completely,' Ginny bit back. 'But it's not safe for him to be out of the castle anymore. And he's dragging other people into it too.'

'He's still within the school grounds, though,' said Ron. 'The wards around the school are fool-proof.'

'Worry about your own children, Ron,' Ginny advised coolly.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Well, sorry. I'm just saying he's not in danger as long as he doesn't leave the school–'

Ron stopped talking as Ginny got to her feet.

'Forget it,' she growled, gathering up her notebook and quill. 'You two obviously have more important things to talk about.'

Harry sighed. 'Ginny, look…'

'Don't worry, Harry, it's only your children.' And she picked up her mug of tea strode from the room.

Scowling, Harry poured himself a cup of coffee and crossed the kitchen to sit beside Ron.

'She's just worried, you know,' Ron told him.

'Yeah, thanks, I worked that much out for myself. What did you come to tell me?'

Ron hesitated briefly, before deciding to overlook Harry's mood. 'We've been tipped off about Mundungus Fletcher's location.'

Harry considered this, taking a sip of coffee, before asking, 'Whereabouts is he alleged to be?'

'Sleeping in the Dark Arts quarter of Edinburgh,' said Ron. 'In an inn called the Dead Man's Arms. The witch who owns the apothecary next door to it wrote to us, saying she'd recognised him from the posters.'

This was first revelation they had had in the case for weeks, but he thought he would have preferred it if he hadn't heard it. He didn't have any interest in arresting Mundungus Fletcher. 'Is it definitely him?'

'We've got some hit wizards doing surveillance, but they haven't spotted him yet. We're waiting.'

'And what? If it is Mundungus, what are we going to do?'

Ron shifted his jaw, choosing his words, before he said matter-of-factly, 'Rowle's issued a warrant for his arrest.'

'But he hasn't done anything.'

'He has. He failed to surrender himself for questioning when we first sent out a request interview him.'

'Rowle's interest in Mundungus is completely misplaced,' said Harry. 'The only reason he suspects him is because he didn't have an alibi on Christmas and he just so happens to have been part of the Order. It's totally unreasonable.'

'Mate, I agree with you,' sighed Ron. 'But the Wizengamot agrees with him. Mundungus has a criminal record and the fact that he hasn't agreed to be interviewed doesn't look good.'

'Criminal record,' scoffed Harry. 'Mundungus is the epitome of a petty criminal. The worst thing on his record is being caught with stolen cauldrons.'

'Yeah, well… Rowle wants Mundungus brought in for questioning and now he knows where he's hiding,' said Ron. 'Whether you and I agree with it is irrelevant. What matters now is how we handle things. If we move too quickly and Mundungus evades arrest then the entire country's going to see that as evidence that he's guilty.'

'Alright, so what are you suggesting?'

'I'm going to wait until we have a definite sighting,' said Ron. 'Then maybe keep an eye on him for a bit. Get an idea of what he's doing, so we can work out the best time to approach him, and then you and I can go talk to him. He trusts us.'

'No, he doesn't,' Harry refuted. 'I can count the number I've times I've seen him in the last five years on one hand. He wants nothing to do with the Order anymore, and they want nothing to do with him.'

'Well, he trusts us more than he trusts anyone else in the Ministry,' Ron insisted. 'Look, I need to get back to the office. I just came to let you know my plans. But there's something else – and I don't think it's cause for alarm but we should probably keep it in mind. You know Gryffindor had its game against Hufflepuff yesterday, right?'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'No, I didn't know that. My children don't talk to me anymore.'

'Okay, well Gryffindor won by the way, but one of the bludgers had been cursed,' said Ron, and when Harry looked alarmed he added quickly, 'Nobody got hurt, but they don't know who did it.'

Harry considered this, before saying, 'Sounds like house rivalry if you ask me.'

'That's what I thought,' concurred Ron, 'but Hermione wasn't pleased about it, and I know she'll tell Ginny, so I'm telling you so you can tell her first.'

'Did Aurora Sinistra tell you about this?'

'Yeah.'

'Why is she telling you and Hermione but not me?'

'Because Rose got herself involved,' Ron told him. 'She set fire to the pitch to get them to stop the game. She knew the bludger was cursed.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'How'd she know that?'

'Well, the letter said that she noticed the bludger was acting strangely. But she was with Malfoy's kid. She probably saw him curse the thing and she's too scared to turn him over.'

'That doesn't sound like Rose.'

'Well, I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was Scorpius Malfoy who cursed it,' said Ron gruffly. 'He's just like hid dad – I thought it as soon as I met him when I had to interview him. Entitled, you know? I mean I'd feel almost sorry for him if he hadn't turned out just like the rest of them.'

'Well, not that I don't doubt that, I don't think cursed bludgers are what we should be worrying about at the moment.'

'That's what I told Hermione, but if she asks tell her that I'm outraged,' instructed Ron. 'Anyway, I should go. Rowle wants us to make a move on Mundungus by the end of the week.'

'Right, okay,' said Harry, and he got to his feet. 'So glad you stopped by.'

They left the kitchen, and Harry walked Ron across the foyer to the front door. They stepped outside into the front garden and Ron fastened up his cloak, saying as he did, 'Will you be coming into the office today?'

'Most likely.'

Ron met his eye, before heaving a sigh. 'Look, I don't like this either, but you know Rowle is going to send us in to get him sooner or later. We may as well do it on our own terms.'

'Yeah, I know. You're right. I'm just in a bad mood.'

'How long can you be in a bad mood before it transitions into just being a grumpy shit?'

'Probably about three years ago,' said Harry. 'Getting regular updates on James's misdemeanours doesn't help either.'

'Well, if Hermione asks I'm not happy with Rose,' said Ron. 'But only if she asks.'

'Right. Can do.'

Ron raised his hand in farewell, and Harry mirrored him. He stood watching at the steps of Hecate Hall as Ron crossed the overgrown garden and opened the gate into the street before he disapparated.


'He's just such a… I just can't stand him.'

'He is an idiot, yes.'

'He's just so fucking… so fucking mean,' sighed Albus. 'And you know what's the worst thing? I actually listen to him. I listen to things he says and I just – I just fixate on them. You know what he said to me last night? He said Mei…'

He stopped talking and Rose looked up at him. 'He said what?'

'He just said – he said Mei doesn't like me the way I like her. I mean how would he know? It's not like he and Mei ever speak to each other. She doesn't like him.'

'Does she like anyone?' asked Rose, and when Albus shot her a venomous look she added, 'Aside from you, of course.'

'You're not making me feeling better.'

'Well, I don't know why you're paying attention to what James says. He was drunk – and it's James. He just likes getting a rise out of people.

'Yes, but – but why does he have to be like that?'

Rose gave a sigh. 'Because, as I just said, he's an idiot.'

Rose tried to look bored as Albus continued his assault on James, but in truth she minded very little. The tirade against the Quidditch captain had begun as soon as they had met after breakfast and carried them all the way out to the courtyard. It seemed, much to Rose's relief, that Albus had no interest in inquiring about why she was so late returning to the common room the previous evening.

'… and I know he's not sneaking out to buy drinks, and if he's using another passageway out of the castle then that's really bad, and if Mum finds out she might actually kill him and… oh, hello.'

Chandra had arrived, looking tired and dreary. Her hair was pulled half-heartedly back from her face in a misshapen ponytail and she was still in the dress and tights she had worn to the Quidditch party the previous evening. She dropped down onto the courtyard pavement at their feet and buried her face in her hands.

'Er… are you alright?' asked Albus.

'I'm so hungover I'm going to die,' Chandra whimpered. 'Rosie, where were you last night? You weren't there to tell me when to stop drinking!'

'I was avoiding the common room,' dismissed Rose. 'Did you have any breakfast?'

'I feel too sick to eat. Please don't make me.'

Rose rolled her eyes, but desisted.

'James mixes drinks too strong,' Chandra continued mournfully. 'He gave me a firewhiskey and ginger ale that was like… eighty per cent firewhiskey.'

The mention of James reinvigorated Albus's anger. 'Of course he does. I mean, just because he's a borderline alcoholic doesn't mean he has to force it on other people. But of course he doesn't care…'

Rose allowed Albus to once again launch into a dissection of James's many failings as a human being as she scanned over her Ancient Runes revision, pausing every few minutes to offer an insulting thing to call James. They continued like this, Rose reading and Chandra half-asleep and Albus attacking his brother, before Albus was interrupted.

'And you know if any of the girls he goes out with knew what he was really like none of them would like him and – oh.'

Rose looked up at him over her book. 'What?'

'Scorpius is over there,' said Albus, casting a wary glance towards Rose.

Rose followed his line of sight towards the doors to the west wing of the castle, from which Scorpius had just emerged, hands in his pockets and his book bag over his shoulder.

'He's coming over…' Albus sent a beseeching look towards Rose. 'Rose, please don't start. I told him I'd help him with his potions essay. You guys don't need to talk to each other –'

Rose gave a murmur of impatience. 'I didn't say anything, Albus. Do you mind? I'm trying to read.'

Albus looked unconvinced, but didn't attempt to speak to her again, as Scorpius had come within earshot.

'Morning,' said the Ravenclaw.

'Morning,' said Albus.

'Good game yesterday,' said Scorpius as he took a seat beside Albus. 'How was the after-party?'

'Pretty shit,' said Albus, and at the questioning look Scorpius gave him he added, 'James is a prick.'

'Oh, right, yeah,' said Scorpius. 'Didn't we already know that?'

Albus rolled his eyes, and Scorpius turned away to glance between Rose and Chandra, neither of whom had greeted him. 'What's the matter with you two?'

Albus winced, as if anticipating a snide remark from Rose, but she gave no sign of hearing and instead remained immersed in her book.

'The party last night,' murmured Chandra. 'Rosie abandoned me and I drank firewhiskey. I hate firewhiskey.'

'Oh,' said Scorpius. 'Have you eaten?'

Chandra groaned and buried her face in her hands again.

'Rose already suggested that,' Albus informed him. Then, as if in revelation, he said, 'Hey, you didn't tell me what happened to you two yesterday.'

Rose turned the page of her book and said, 'You were busy complaining about James. It seemed more important.

Scorpius stopped himself from laughing, but offered no further explanation. Albus glanced between the two of them, frowning.

'Seriously, though, what happened?' implored Albus. 'We saw the fire on the pitch, and then they paused the game, and then Professor Sinistra led you both away…'

Very quickly, and very cautiously, Rose and Scorpius met each other's eyes. In the hours spent by the lake yesterday, they had neglected to address how much they were willing to tell Albus.

'We thought you were going to get hit by the bludger,' said Scorpius, 'so we… I don't know. Thought we should stop the match.'

'Well, yeah, Madam Robins stopped the game and got a new bludger out,' replied Albus. 'I guess it was over calibrated or something…'

Albus stopped. He was once again looking between Rose and Scorpius, and apparently he knew them both well enough to know when they were skirting around the truth.

'What?' demanded Albus. 'Why are you both looking so weird? What? What did you do?'

Scorpius gave a low sigh and leant forward so he could see Rose around Albus. 'I think we should just tell him.'

'What? Tell me what?'

Rose sigh and snapped her book shut, turning to Scorpius to say, 'Well, we don't exactly have a choice now.'

Albus got to his feet and turned around to face them both. 'Can one of you just tell me what you're talking about?'

'Okay, Al, but it's really not as bad as it sounds,' Scorpius assured him. 'Just don't freak out, alright?'

'Freak out? Why would I freak out? What are you talking about?'

Rose shot Scorpius a warning look. 'You're not helping.' She looked back to Albus and said, matter-of-factly, 'Okay, Al. Goyle and Rosier and Montague and Zabini cursed the bludger to try to knock you off your broom.'

Albus stared down at her, looking as if he hadn't heard her, before he raised a hand, as if calling for silence, but nobody was talking. 'What?'

'You didn't have to say it like that,' Scorpius informed Rose coolly, but Rose looked unbothered.

'That's why Madam Robins replaced the bludger?' asked Albus.

'Yeah,' said Scorpius.

'And that's why you stopped the game with the fire?'

'Yeah,' said Rose.

'But how did you know it was the Slytherins?'

Scorpius gave a sigh, before recounting for Albus the losing of his wand and overhearing Caliber Montague and his friends and what had transgressed in Professor Sinistra's office, as well as the recovery of his wand. To Albus's credit, and to Rose's surprise, Albus seemed to be taking the news rather well. Frowning, he sat down on the pavement beside Chandra, who looked much more alarmed than Albus.

'They had your wand?' Albus said to Scorpius. 'How'd the get your wand?'

Scorpius shook his head to show he didn't know. 'I don't know. Isadora Nott came to sit with Zaina and I at breakfast. Perhaps she took it.'

'Zaina and me,' Rose corrected.

'Yes, thank you,' said Scorpius acidly, but Albus interrupted before they could start arguing.

'Would they involve Isadora in this, though?' said Albus. 'Remember what they were saying in the Forbidden Forest back in September – they don't seem to like her very much.'

'No, but they still keep her around because they all want to shag her,' grumbled Scorpius. 'They wouldn't have needed to tell her why they wanted it. They probably just told her to get my wand because it would be funny.'

'But you didn't turn the Slytherins over to Professor Sinistra?' he asked.

'We thought it might want them to get revenge again or whatever it is they think they're doing,' said Rose.

'Well, you thought that,' Scorpius told her coolly. 'I'd prefer to see them get expelled.'

Albus considered this, before saying, 'Rosie's probably right.'

Scorpius sighed, annoyed. 'Of course. How dare I disagree with her. I should bow down to her authority, as usual.'

'Well, go ahead and tell Professor Sinistra who it was, and if Albus gets murdered then you owe me a drink.' Before she had finished talking, Rose saw Albus and Chandra looking at her, and she added quickly, 'Oh, calm down. I'm obviously kidding.'

'Thanks, Rosie,' sighed Albus. 'I feel much better now.'

'Al, if they had wanted to properly hurt you they would have done more than curse a bludger,' reasoned Rose. 'They just wanted to get back at you and now they've done it. We just shouldn't give them any more reason to try anything else.'

Albus considered this, frowning, before he was interrupted by a loud squeak from Chandra. The three of them looked at her as buried her face in her hands, her shoulders quaking.

'Er… Chandra?' said Albus uncertainly. 'Are you alright?'

'Is she… is she crying?' asked Scorpius incredulously, looking between Rose and Albus.

'She has a name,' snapped Rose. 'Chandra, what's the matter?'

Without revealing her face, Chandra murmured through her fingers, and from her voice it was evident that she had begun to cry. 'I just… it's just… so bad… that this is happening… and – and Al…' Chandra raised her head uncertainly, peering at Albus through her hands, her mascara streaking down her cheeks. 'Oh, I've been so scared since Christmas about somebody getting – getting hurt which is why I got you selenite when I went to France… it's supposed to bring protection… but it didn't do anything…'

'What's selenite? What's she talking about?' asked Scorpius, but Rose and Albus ignored him.

'But it must have done something,' Albus told Chandra. He raised a hand, falteringly, and seemed unsure of what to do with it, before he settled patting Chandra's shoulder. 'I didn't get hurt, after all.'

Chandra gave a choked sort of laugh. 'Oh, I'm sorry, you guys. I just… All this stuff about the Reclamation Army, and OWLs are coming out, and we have to have our careers meetings next week, and now my head hurts so much. I'm just being stupid.'

'You're not being stupid,' Albus assured her. 'I'm worried about OWLs too, and I have no idea what to talk about in careers advice – I bet everyone feels like that, right?' He looked to Rose and Scorpius for support, neither of whom gave it, and so he turned back to Chandra. 'And the Reclamation Army, I mean… The aurors know what they're doing. They'll catch them.'

Rosie watched Chandra give a shaky nod, wiping her eyes, before she looked at Albus and Rose and said very sternly, 'You guys have to promise to start wearing the selenite pendants everyday.'

'I promise,' Albus assured her.

Chandra then turned to Rose and said pressingly, 'Rosie?'

'Yes, I promise.'

'Can someone please tell me what selenite is?' demanded Scorpius.

This seemed to rouse Chandra somewhat, and she launched into an explanation of the crystal and its protective powers and the pendants she had brought for Rose and Albus whilst in France at Christmas. She finished by saying, quite severely, 'I can get one for you too if you like.'

Scorpius stared down at her, seemingly unsure if she was joking or not, but Albus was watching him pleadingly and Rose sent him a warning look that told him to choose his next words very carefully.

'Thanks, but it's okay,' Scorpius told Chandra. 'I think I already have one somewhere. Al, can we get this potions shit out of the way?'

Albus responded more enthusiastically to this suggestion than he normally would, which Rose knew was a bid to distract Chandra. Scorpius and Albus pulled their potions notes out of their book bags and set to work, while Rose continued with her Ancient Runes revision and Chandra sat at their feet with her head against her knees.

Soon, there were two conversations being held in unison.

'Here, is this okay?' Scorpius asked, passing Albus the first draft of his essay.

'I hate being hungover on Sundays,' said Chandra. 'It's such a waste of a day.'

'Well,' said Albus carefully as he scanned over the essay, 'you might need to change the conclusion. You should reiterate why dittany's important.'

'Seriously, if you just eat you'll feel better,' Rose informed Chandra. 'I can't stare at these runes anymore – I'll come inside with you.'

'What do you mean?' Scorpius demanded. 'I spent two paragraphs on dittany.'

'Yeah and they're – they're great,' said Albus hesitantly, 'which is why you should cover it again in the conclusion.'

Scorpius scowled. 'I've said it's integral to healing draughts. What more do you want me to say?'

Albus didn't reply immediately, but rather looked somewhat helplessly towards Rose who was packing away her revision notes into her satchel. Albus held the parchment out to her. 'Rosie, what do you think?'

'Don't give it to her,' growled Scorpius. 'She's going to tell me to rewrite the whole thing.'

Rose rolled her eyes, but took the parchment off of Albus. She unfurled it, scanning over Scorpius's small, sharp handwriting. 'You've misspelt "inherently",' she informed him.

'It's a first draft,' dismissed Scorpius.

'It has two Es, not an A.'

'I know! It's a first draft.'

Rose ignored him, her eyes darting over the parchment, before she looked back to Scorpius. 'Al's right. Rewrite the conclusion.'

'You're just saying that to annoy me,' he told her coolly and he snatched the parchment from her hand.

'Gosh, with those reflexes no wonder you did so well in your match against Slytherin,' said Rose. 'Oh, wait… that's not what happened, is it?'

'Are you done? Anything else?' he drawled. 'Would you like to tell me what you got on the last Transfiguration practical? Or remind me how many books you've read? Or name all the capitals of Europe? I know you have nothing better to do, but seeming I actually have a social life…'

'Oh, fuck off, Scorpius. Learn to take some criticism.' Rose got to her feet, slinging her satchel over her shoulder, and extended a hand to Chandra, pulling her up.

'See you at lunch?' Chandra asked Albus and Scorpius.

'Sure,' replied Albus, but Scorpius ignored her; he was busy scanning over the conclusion of his essay, scouring it for the redeeming features he was sure that Albus and Rose had overlooked.

Chandra and Rose started away, and Albus watched them go until they were out of earshot. He then he rounded in his spot to look at Scorpius.

'What was that?' he demanded.

Scorpius glanced up from his essay. 'What?'

'You and Rose.'

'Oh, come on, she started it,' snapped Scorpius. 'My essay's fine. I don't know why you let her read it. Of course she was going to agree with you –'

'I didn't mean that,' interrupted Albus. 'Are you two friends now?'

Scorpius set down the essay in his lap, frowning at Albus. 'Explicitly not. What gave you that idea?'

'She called you Scorpius. Not Malfoy.'

'She also told me to fuck off.'

'Yeah, but that's not weird – you were being a twat,' Albus informed him. 'Did you two like… make up after the Quidditch match yesterday?'

'Make up. There's nothing to make up for. We haven't fought. We're just not friends.'

Albus looked unconvinced. He raised his eyebrows at Scorpius, probing for more, and the Ravenclaw gave a sigh and relented.

'Okay, fine. We made an… an agreement, and we're going to try to get along,' Scorpius admitted. 'But we're not friends. She was very adamant about it.'

'Why? Did you suggest it?'

'No,' lied Scorpius, perhaps too quickly, for Albus started to laugh, and Scorpius attempted to rectify his mistake. 'I don't want to be friends with her. She's too difficult. She turns everything into an argument. It's exhausting.'

At this, Albus gave a nod. 'Yeah, I get that, but then you…'

He stopped talking at the look Albus gave him. 'What?'

'Nothing.'

'What, Albus? Were you going to say I do too? Because I don't – I don't delight in telling people I'm superior the way she does.'

'That's not what I was going to say,' Albus assured him.

'Well, what? You have to tell me now. What were you going to say I do?'

'It's nothing, only… only you can be a bit - a bit defensive – and that's fine!' Albus clarified quickly, as Scorpius tried to correct him. 'It's just… Rose is very critical, and you might not be… you're not the type of person who…'

'I can't take criticism?' finished Scorpius sharply. 'That is not true. I take criticism just fine. Only Rose criticises me for non-existent reasons. I mean, you've heard her, haven't you?'

'Yes, I agree,' Albus assured him. 'All I meant was that – that I can understand why you two might not… you guys might clash. Look, I'm sick of studying – do you want get our brooms and go down to the pitch for a bit?'

Scorpius looked like he wanted to protest further, but Albus put the matter to rest by gathering up his quills and parchment and slotting them into his book bag. Rolling his eyes, Scorpius tucked away the first draft of his essay and got to his feet.

'It's not that I clash with her,' grumbled Scorpius, determined to have the last word. 'It's that she clashes with everybody else.'

'Yeah, exactly, that's what I meant,' said Albus resolutely, but Scorpius was sure he could see him grinning as he turned away and started towards the castle.


She could hear his voice downstairs, and she enacted the course of action she took whenever she was to hear his voice downstairs; she went to her bedroom and shut her bedroom door.

The sound of his laughter drifted up the stairs to her bedroom, but Victoire was laughing more loudly. She wondered what it was they were talking about; she wondered what it was that they spoke about with each other when nobody else was around; she wondered what it was that they saw in each other.

Well, that much was obvious. Teddy saw in Victoire what everybody else saw, and Victoire saw in Teddy everything Dominique saw.

She supposed Victoire would be easy to love: she was pretty and bright and lively and kind, even it was a condescending type of kindness. But it was the longevity of it that Dominique didn't understand. They had been dating for nearly seven years. Surely Teddy Lupin was the type of person who needed more than what Victoire had – more than a pretty face and nice laugh and a gentle kind of confidence. Surely Teddy needed the things Dominique needed.

At the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, Dominque snatched up a book from her bedside table and imitated reading. There was a sharp rap of knuckles at her door and without waiting for an answer Victoire opened the door.

Victoire has an irritating air of disarray about her that morning – the type of disarray that was curated and perfected. A cream summer dress and silver-blonde hair in a messy bun and no makeup on.

'Good morning, Dommy.' And before Dominique could reply, Victoire floated across the room to perch on the end of Dominique's bed. 'Teddy and I are going to go down to the beach for a swim. Do you want to come?'

'It's freezing,' grumbled Dominique.

'Oh, Dommy, don't be ridiculous. It's a beautiful day.'

'I'm reading.'

Victoire rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. 'I knew you'd say no, but I just thought I'd offer. Don't think you can get out of tomorrow, though.'

Tomorrow was something Dominique had been dreading for weeks; the fittings at Madam Malkins for Victoire's bridesmaids' dresses. Dominique had been spared the title of maid of honour – that had gone to Henrietta Chang, Victoire's best friend from school, who was the type of girl one would expect to be the maid of honour of someone like Victoire. In total there were six bridesmaids, all of them much more adept at that type of role than Dominique and all of them thoroughly grating to be around. Dominique had her suspicions that she was only been included in the bridal party to avoid people gossiping about why she wasn't.

'Our booking's at one and then we're going for drinks in Camden with Teddy and his friends,' Victoire continued when Dominique didn't reply. 'So make sure you're wearing something nice.'

Dominique grimaced. 'Why do I have to go for drinks with them? Can't you go without me?'

'No, Dommy,' said Victoire patiently. 'They're the groomsmen. You need to get to know them before the wedding.'

'I already know them.'

Victoire gave a slow, gentle sigh, and without warning she reached across the bed to take Dominique's hand.

Dominique recoiled from her grip. 'What are you doing?'

'Dommy,' said Victoire, in the same even, nurturing voice that didn't disguise the condescension, 'I know it's tricky for you, dear, but the sooner you get over it the happier you will be.'

'Victoire, I don't know what you're talking about-'

'You and Teddy.'

Something awful and heavy and terrifying dropped in Dominique's chest. Victoire didn't look angry when she said it – she looked only pitying, and that made it even worse. How long had she known? Had Teddy told her or had she guessed herself? What was she going to do to punish Dominique?

But there was nothing to tell. Nothing had happened, and she tried to convince herself of this. They hadn't kissed, and in the months since Christmas she had gone to great lengths to keep herself out of Teddy's presence, and she was sure he had done the same.

'Victoire, I…'

Victoire raised a manicured hand to wave away Dominique's stuttering. She was still smiling as she said, 'I know it started as a bit of a crush, and of course I don't blame you, but you know how Teddy is. He's completely oblivious and he doesn't know why you've stopped talking to him. It's making him quite upset.'

Something between relief and guilt caught in Dominique's throat. Teddy hadn't told Victoire anything: as far as Victoire was concerned Teddy knew nothing. But how could he pretend that much after what had happened at the Burrow at Christmas?

She realised, suddenly, that she was disappointed. She was far too cowardly to admit to Victoire what had happened, but she had somehow expected more from Teddy.

Victoire seemed to pass Dominique's silence off as embarrassment rather than shame, for she went on. 'Dommy, you've let this go on much too long. It's not good for you. There are so many boys your age – more suited to you – who you haven't given a chance because of Teddy.'

More suited to you. Dominique ran these words over in her head. In that moment, from some sick, ugly part of her, she felt, for the first time in her life, superior to her sister. Victoire had no idea how close they had come – she had no idea how close Teddy's lips had been to hers.

'Teddy loves you so much,' said Victoire. 'You're like a little sister to him. I don't like seeing you avoiding him. We're getting married in August. I want you to be happy for us. Could you please just try, Dom?'

And like that, any superiority evaporated. There was the Victoire that Dominique so rarely saw – that everybody else seemed to adore. The gentle, malevolent, loving Victoire that Teddy had been with since she was seventeen. She had almost forgotten that this Victoire existed – she was so used to seeing Victoire as the reflection of everything she wasn't.

Suddenly that almost-kiss at Christmas wasn't something to be proud of. It wasn't some cherished, coveted secret; it was shameful. She was shameful. There was something inside her, festering, rancid and toxic. She could feel it deep within her chest, some dark, palpable mass, and the stench of it seemed to coat the walls of her bedroom, leach into her bed sheets, and suddenly she was crying.

'Oh, Dommy,' cooed Victoire, and she felt her sister place her arms around her.

'I'm sorry, Vicky.'

'You don't have to be sorry, darling,' said Victoire gently. 'Just promise me you'll try to make more of an effort with Teddy. Please.'

She couldn't bring herself to speak, and so she only nodded.

'Good,' said Victoire resolutely, and she kissed the top of Dominique's head. And suddenly she was on her feet, prancing across the room, pausing at the doorway. 'See you later, dear.'


'So, you've had what now?' asked Neville. 'Nine detentions this year, is that right?'

James looked up at him from the lines he had been writing. 'Let's not lowball it, Professor. Make it an even ten, I reckon.'

'You're pleased with yourself?'

'Not pleased. It just is what it is. I'm a realist.'

Neville gave him a grim smile. 'You know, Professor Sinistra is very much approving of having students taken off the Quidditch team as a disincentive.'

James looked alarmed. 'You can't do that.'

'I'm not interested in doing so, no,' said Neville. 'But if the head mistress chose to implement the rule, she would most likely have the support from the other teachers.'

James set down his quill down. 'Neville, I have three months left of school. What's the bloody point in taking me off the team?'

'Perhaps to stop you giving us reasons to try to think up new things to make you do in detention,' said Neville evenly. 'James, you must understand that after what happened last month, we can't just allow students to go where they please-'

'I'm seventeen,' said James. 'I can do what I like.'

Neville made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if that's how the world worked?'

'Look, I've been here for an hour,' said James. 'All you made Marigold do was de-weed the plimpy garden.'

'I'm guessing sneaking down to the lake was more your idea than Marigold's.'

'You'd be surprised. She's not as innocent as she looks. Please, Neville, can I go now?'

'Well, I thought that before you leave we could talk about your plans after school,' said Neville bracingly. 'It will save me scheduling a careers meeting with you. I recall that last time we spoke about your plans after Hogwarts, you said you wanted to go travelling. Is that right?'

James set his quill down and slumped back in his chair. He had no interest in discussing his longing to leave Britain and, sighing, and mumbled back, 'Yeah.'

'Okay, and how about when you get home?'

James didn't say anything to this, but merely stared back at his head of house. In response to James's silence, Neville kept talking.

'I remember back in your fifth year, when we spoke before you took your OWLs, that you were hoping to do something involved with Quidditch. Is that still the plan?'

'Not really.'

'Have you found something else that interests you?'

'No, I don't think so.'

James knew he was being insolent, but he didn't care. Neville considered him, looking exasperated, before he opened his desk and withdrew a scroll of parchment. He unfurled it and lay it before him on the desk. James could see his name written at the top of the page as Neville scanned the parchment.

'You're doing well in Charms and Transfiguration,' mused Neville. 'And you've always excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts, haven't you? So, all the practical classes, essentially, don't you think?'

James glared down at the statement of his results. 'I guess.'

'So,' said Neville, and he once again opened his desk, withdrawing a handful of ominous looking pamphlets that he proceeded to flick through. 'All of those skills would be very well suited for the Beast Division, or perhaps the Auror Office-'

'I don't want to work for the Ministry,' growled James, and the force in his voice caused Neville to look up at him.

'Okay,' said Neville slowly. 'Perhaps curse-breaking – '

'See, Professor, the thing is – I don't really want a job.'

Neville laughed. 'You know, a lot of people feel that way in school, but you just need to find something they interests you.'

'Travelling interests me.'

'Yes, but to travel you're going to need an income –'

'I don't though,' James informed him snidely. 'My parents have heaps of money.'

Neville stifled a sigh. 'Do you want to rely on them for the rest of your life?'

'Oh, well, the way I figure is that they'll live to what – say a hundred?' said James. 'So, I'll be seventy-five, or thereabouts, and then I'll just live it up for the last twenty-five years. And until then I can find some doting old witch who would just love to have a handsome young man like myself to keep her company. Can't wait. And when you consider that aurors generally have a shorter life span-'

'James, I get the sense that you're not interested in this conversation,' said Neville sharply. 'If I'm wasting my time with you then I'm not going to keep trying – you can go. But if you have even the slightest interest in utilising this time to find something that might give you some direction in life, then I'm willing to help you.'

'Alright,' said James, and he pushed back his chair, getting to his feet. 'See you in herbology then, Professor.'


The warmer weather and flowering lawns of late March had been dampened somewhat for the fifth-years by the piling up of homework and the prospect of careers advice. A sheet of parchment had appeared on the noticeboard in the Gryffindor common room to declare the schedule for the NEWTs and OWLs to meet with their head of house, and on Wednesday afternoon Rose left Chandra and Albus in the common room to present herself to Neville's office.

She rapped on the door and Neville called to her through the door.

'Come in.'

She did so, finding Neville sitting at his desk, frowning over a pile of essays he had been marking. He smiled when he saw her and levitated the essays away.

'Afternoon, Rosie.'

'Hello,' said Rose, shutting the door after her.

'Come sit. How have you been?'

'Fine, you?'

'Very good, thank you,' said Neville, watching as she dropped into the seat across from him. 'Recovered from the commotion at the Quidditch match on the weekend?'

Commotion was a funny word for it, thought Rose. She was accustomed to Neville's polite enquiries; he had never been able to separate his students from his best friends' children, and more often than not it worked to her and her cousins' advantage. As she had gotten older, however, she had found herself more embarrassed than appreciative of his concern.

She gave him a shrug. 'Quidditch was actually interesting for once.'

Neville laughed - more heartily than she thought was warranted – before he met her eye. 'Your mum and dad aren't unhappy with you, are they?'

'I think they're a bit preoccupied.'

Neville's smile faltered slightly. He, like her parents, didn't seem to know how to respond to the assertion that she had any concept of the war and the Ministry. 'Probably true,' he said quickly. 'Anyway, I'm wasting your time. We're here to talk about your plans after your OWLs. Have you had a think about what classes you'll continue with?'

She shrugged again, and said earnestly, 'I'll probably decide after I get my results.'

'Well, having seen your grades I'm sure you're going to pass with flying colours, so you'll have your pick of the litter when it comes to what subjects you'd like to take.' He smiled at her, and when she failed to return it he continued talking. 'Your essays are always very good quality. Very good language and expression. I can see you suited to something in ministerial communications. Does that interest you at all?'

'Maybe. I suppose.'

'What would interest you, do you think?'

Rose shrugged. 'Maybe something with Muggles. Muggle correspondence.'

Neville nodded. 'Well, planning ahead for work in Muggle liaisons is difficult at the moment because of… well, depending on how the Ministry plans its budget it may reduce spending on Muggle liaisons. But you could certainly take a pamphlet for it.'

Rose nodded. She knew that what Neville meant was that it depended on who won the election in November. She watched as Neville opened the draw of his desk and begun rifling through pamphlets, before he found one made of blue parchment and passed it to her.

MUGGLE LIAISONS

Helping them help themselves

She looked back at Neville to find him watching her eagerly. 'Okay,' she said.

'But if you're interested in working with Muggles, there are always openings for obiviators,' Neville continued. 'It's three years in the training program, which seems like a lot, but it's a very engaging job. Always something different. Would that be something you'd want to explore?'

'I might just read through this one first,' said Rose, motioning to Muggle liaisons pamphlet. 'Thanks, Neville – Professor.'

'Of course. And there's nothing else you wanted to ask about? I remember when you were younger you once talked about working in the DMLE…'

'I'm not sure I want to do that anymore,' she said, getting to her feet. 'I'll think about any other ideas, though.'

'That sounds like a plan.'

She suddenly found herself wanting to leave very quickly. She hurried to the door, wrenching it open, stepped through, and then slammed it shut after her. She turned back to start down the corridor, and in her haste she failed to notice the tall, lean figure standing beside the door, and she she turned to go she very nearly collided with Scorpius Malfoy.

Stepping away from him, she looked up into his face. 'Hello.'

'Oh, hello,' he said. 'You should watch where you're going.'

'You should watch where you're going.'

This was the first time they had been alone together Saturday night as he leant over the balustrade and she had shaken his hand. He was watching her with his sharp eyes, as if expecting something, and the sight of it irritated her.

'What were you doing in Longbottom's office?' he asked. 'Are you in trouble?'

'Careers advice,' said Rose. 'Why are you here?'

'To ask about the herbology homework. I missed class today.'

'Why'd you miss it?'

'Zaina didn't want to go.'

'That's so sweet. Is that what you're going to tell Neville?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Not exactly.'

'We need to write two pages on the uses of bubotuber puss,' she said. 'Not really worth being questioned by Neville, if you ask me.'

'Two pages?'

'Yep.'

'I'll take your word for it, then,' he said to her. 'Where are you going now?'

'Going back to Gryffindor tower. You?'

'Meeting Zaina in the astronomy tower.'

Rose raised her eyebrows. 'Classy.'

'Always.' He raised his arm and gestured down the corridor. 'So, you're going that way?'

'Yep, and you are too?'

'Yep,' he replied, and they looked at each other in silence, before he said to her, 'I suppose we'll be walking together then.'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

They started down the corridor, Rose clutching her pamphlet and Scorpius with his hands in his pocket, before Rose looked at him, 'So I take it Zaina's not mad about you ditching her the other night?'

'I didn't ditch her. Not intentionally anyway,' he replied. 'But yes, we're fine. Thank you for your concern.'

'She's forgiven you?'

'She never forgives me for anything. She just pretends to forget about it. It works very well. So, what did Longbottom say? About careers?'

'Nothing, really,' she said. 'I asked him about working in Muggle relations. He gave me a pamphlet. It was enlightening. Have you done yours yet?'

'Yeah, I saw Professor Karim yesterday. I told her I'd like to go overseas. She said something or other about internships in Berlin – have you heard of Berlin?'

'Yeah, in Austria, right?'

'Germany, I think.'

'I don't think so. You'll have to check an Atlas.' She held up the pamphlet that Neville had given her. 'Did she give you one of these?'

'No, she didn't.'

'Well, you're missing out.'

'Can I see that?'

In answer, she held out her hand and he took the pamphlet in his hand. He flicked through it, frowning, before holding it up with the slogan facing her. 'Help them help themselves? Altruism doesn't sound like something you'd be interested in.'

'I don't think my head of house is allowed to say that to me, though.'

'I wonder if they get anyone in with that slogan,' he mused. 'It's put me right off.'

She didn't want to tell him it had done the same to her, and so she said nothing.

'It just sounds weird… Help them help themselves,' he said again. 'What does that even mean?'

'It means that the Ministry doesn't think Muggles can look after themselves,' she said earnestly, because that was the first thing she had thought when Neville had given it to her. 'And they think that the only way they can get people involved is by making it into a little martyrdom.'

They reached the stairs that led to the upper levels of the castle, and began their ascent.

'Do you think your best friend Kingsley Shacklebolt approved that?' Scorpius asked her.

Rose eyes him warningly. 'I thought you were going to vote for him?'

'I am.'

'So, I should be absolutely outraged with Kingsley Shacklebolt about some pamphlet, but you're not obligated to be?'

Scorpius gave a sigh before he turned to face her fully. 'What happened to our agreement?'

'What agreement?'

'We're on the same side, remember?'

'Doesn't mean I have to be nice to you.'

'No, but you could try,' he grumbled. 'Did Longbottom get you to decide what classes you're taking next year?'

'He tried to, but I want to wait until my results come out. What about you?'

'Kind of. I said I want to give up potions. She seemed to think that was stupid though.'

'Well, she's right.'

Scorpius gave her a scowl. 'How is that stupid?'

'You can't go through life not able to brew a healing draught or a cleaning solution.'

'I already know how to do that,' retorted Scorpius. 'I don't need to keep taking it for NEWTs.'

'So, you'll have that hair and you will have given up potions. Will your dad survive?'

'Oh, so we're doing it, are we?'

'What?'

'Acknowledging the things I told you about my dad,' snapped Scorpius. 'Look, okay, yes – I talk too much when I drink. I'd appreciate if you didn't go around telling people the things about… about my family.'

Rose looked at him, frowning. 'You know, your stories about inventive ways you annoy your dad aren't as riveting as you seem to think they are. It's a little egotistical to think anyone wants to hear about it.'

'God, you are so combative. You brought it up, you know?'

'I didn't realise you'd throw a tantrum about it.'

'Look, forget it,' he grumbled at her. 'Assuming you get the OWLs you want – and why wouldn't we assume that seeming you're such a genius – ' Rose rolled her eyes and he continued ' – what subjects do you want to take next year?'

'I don't know, but I'm giving up Ancient Runes.'

'You don't like Ancient Runes?'

'It's a waste of time. When will I ever need to read runes?'

'I don't know – academic pursuit or something? Aren't you supposed to be cultured?'

'Ancient Runes has nothing to do with culture,' Rose dismissed. 'So, you're giving up potions – what else? What will annoy your dad more?'

'I'll stick with Charms and Transfiguration and Defence. I'll probably get pretty good marks for them.'

'Very modest.'

'Oh, shut up, you know what I mean – they're just safe options,' he told her. 'But my dad will approve of those, so I'll have to keep doing Muggle Studies too. If I pass, that is.'

'How could you not pass Muggle studies?' scoffed Rose. 'I mean, what do they even test you on?'

'For your knowledge of Muggles obviously,' snapped Scorpius. 'For example, we have to explain what the Chamber of Commerce is and how to send an email and things like that. Or sometimes they make us write about the books we've read. At the moment I've been set an essay looking at how Muggle society has changed since the book we're reading was published.'

'Which book?'

'Mrs Dalloway.'

Rose gave a huff of laughter, and Scorpius looked at her, annoyed.

'What?' he demanded.

'That essay would write itself.'

'Well, most people taking Muggle studies didn't grow up in Winchester or have Muggle grandparents,' Scorpius growled at her. 'It also doesn't help that I haven't read them.'

Rose raised her eyebrows at him. 'Seriously? You can't even manage to read it?'

'Well, it's not like I'm not trying. We don't find out what books we're reading until the month before and they've cancelled Hogsmeade visits so I can't go buy it.'

'Well, what's the rest of your class doing?'

'I think they've written to their parents asking them to buy copies, but in case you can't figure this out for yourself my dad's not going to be willing to go to a Muggle bookstore for me and my mum – I don't want to ask Mum to go.'

His voice seemed to falter someone on the last few words, and Rose decided to pretend not to notice..

'You hardly even need to read them to write that essay,' she told him dismissively. 'It's set nearly a hundred years ago. How could you not know what to write about?'

They reached the landing where the stairs diverged to Gryffindor tower and the astronomy tower , and Scorpius came to a halt to look at her. 'You've read it?'

'Yes. Would you like to remind me that I'm pretentious and nobody likes me?'

'I would, except for our armistice, remember?'

She sighed at this, but didn't refute it. 'Yes, I recall.'

'And seeming we're in an alliance now it seems like it would be a gesture of good faith for you to lend me the book,' he continued. 'Don't you think?'

She cocked her head to the side, considering this, before she said, 'I don't have it here. It's at home in London. You know, in England?'

'Oh, yeah, London – I've heard of that,' he replied. 'From memory, you can send letters there, right?'

'You want me to get my parents to mail it to you?'

Scorpius gave her a shrug. 'Well, if you're offering…'

'It's my mum's book,' said Rose. 'Her books are very precious. She likes them more than she likes my brother and me.'

'Well, I wasn't planning on burning it, Rose,' sighed Scorpius. 'Come on, I promise I'll be careful with it. If I don't pass Muggle Studies then I can't take it for NEWTs, and then how would I annoy my dad?'

Rose pretended to think for a moment, before she offered innocently, 'You could try facial piercings?'

'Well, he would detest that,' admitted Scorpius. 'Quite painful for me, though.'

'I know. That's why I suggested it.'

Scorpius began to laugh but tried to disguise it by sighing. He did his best to look severe as he said to her, 'Look, this is all very amusing, but I'm going to be late to meet Zaina and I'm trying not to invite an argument at the moment, so can we just take the clever insults as read and move on to you agreeing to loan me the books?'

Rose folded her arms over her chest, matching his faux severity. 'And what do I get out it?'

'My appreciation?' he suggested. 'The joy of altruism?'

'I thought you said altruism isn't my thing?'

'You could prove me wrong, if you like.'

'But you're not wrong. I love watching you suffer.'

'Right, that's comforting,' he told her. 'Or perhaps I could just owe you a favour?'

Rose eyed him with suspicion, before saying guardedly, 'Perhaps.'

'So?'

'So, aren't you late to meet Zaina?'

He sighed again, more convincingly annoyed. 'Jesus, Rose, I don't know why you have to make everything so difficult – '

'God, relax. You're so sensitive,' she told him. 'I'll write to my mum tonight, okay?'

Scorpius frowned at her, taken aback, before he said, 'Seriously?'

'Yes, seriously. Can we stop this now?'

He stood stationary, staring at her, his brow furrowed as if bracing for another argument, before he managed to say, 'Well, thanks.'

'Don't thank me – you're going to pay me back,' she assured him. 'I'll see you later.'

She turned away from him and started up the steps to Gryffindor tower, waiting for his footsteps to begin, and a few seconds later she heard him start up the stairs towards the astronomy tower.


'So,' said Neville bracingly, 'Your mum tells me you're interested in potioneering, is that right?'

Albus was briefly stumped by this. He didn't like to think that he was a topic of conversation between his mother and his head of house – or a topic of conversation between anyone, for that matter.

'Yeah, maybe,' Albus sufficed. 'I guess so, yeah.'

'Any particular area of potion making?'

Albus hesitated once more. His interest in potioneering was something he told to very few people, and Neville's directness made him uncertain. He was interested in potioneering, but if he were to start telling people that's what he wanted to pursue then that would be presuming that he was capable enough to do so.

'Anything, I suppose,' he mumbled. 'I guess I just like brewing potions.'

'Well, it's a very useful skill,' said Neville. 'Tricky to master, but you're doing very well in it. Your grades are high enough to apply for research positions, you know?'

Albus hadn't known this, and so he said nothing and let Neville continue.

'There are usually openings for apprentices in St Mungo's research department.' Neville retrieved a selection of pamphlets he had in the draw of his desk. 'Take a look – what do you think of these?'

Albus did as he was instructed, thumbing through the pamphlets. He could feel Neville watching him expectantly over the desk and Albus looked up to meet his eye.

'Yeah, they look… cool. Thanks.'

He hesitated to thumb through the pamphlets again, frowning as if he was far more interested than he was. He was considering his next words very carefully. If his mother and Neville had already discussed his interest in potions, then they would certainly discuss his careers meeting.

Trying to sound careless, Albus began. 'I was actually wondering if you knew of any – any type of potioneering apprentices in France?'

Neville raised his eyebrows in interest. 'France? Yes, I'm sure there would be, but I'd have to get back to you with a list.'

'Oh, yeah, that would be great… thanks.'

'Not at all,' said Neville. 'Why France, if you don't mind me asking?'

Albus shrugged. He wasn't prepared to admit – especially not to his godfather – that his interest in France depended completely on Mei's interest in France. 'I just like France,' he offered.

'Fair enough. It's always good to have worked abroad, and France is close to home,' reasoned Neville. 'Now, for a lot of potioneering positions it's helpful to have a sound knowledge of herbology. You're doing well, of course – an E average, but if you're looking to work overseas – especially in a paid apprenticeship – it's very advantageous to have Os in potions and herbology. Do you think you'd be comfortable aiming for that?'

'Er… potions, yeah. Herbology, I'm not sure…'

'Well, I think you can definitely manage it,' said Neville certainly. 'Your written work is very good – you might just need to push yourself a bit more in the practical aspects of class, but I can work on that with you before you sit your exams. How about that?'

'Yeah, I – I guess so. Thanks.'

'Well, excellent.' Neville gave him a broad grin. 'And I can have a look into openings in France. Is there anything else you wanted to ask?'

'Er, not that I can think of. Thanks, Professor.'

'No problem, Al.'

The corridors were mostly empty on Albus's walk back from his head of house's office. Dinner was being served downstairs, but Albus's careers meeting had been scheduled for the evening to fit it in around Quidditch practice in the afternoons, and the quiet of the corridors made it easy for Albus to dwell on his meeting.

It seemed as if he was stepping out of himself by inquiring into apprenticeships in France. He had never he thought he would want to work overseas: that was something for people with confidence and interesting stories and cool hair, but here he was doing it. He had never thought he would be with somebody long enough to plan ahead with them, and he never thought somebody like Mei would like somebody like him.

A familiar voice echoing down the corridor brought Albus to a halt, and he was able to catch Finlay's last few words. 'She says she's getting back with Stebbins.'

'Christ,' he heard James reply. 'Her standards are low.'

Their footsteps were drawing nearer to him, and his first instinct was to turn on his heel and walk away to keep up his efforts of avoiding James that had been going on since the Quidditch party last weekend.

But instead of turning and walking away, Albus stood his ground: they were wondering the empty corridors while the rest of the student body were downstairs eating dinner and of late Albus had found himself acutely conscious of James's behaviour.

'Yeah, well, she shagged you so I guess they must be,' retorted Finlay.

'Mate, you're the one dating her.'

'Didn't you listen? I'm not anymore.'

Albus had very little time to decide his course of action, and so, feeling like an idiot, he ducked behind the nearest tapestry to conceal himself. He heard Finlay and James found the corner and start along the passageway.

'Yeah, well, don't let it get you down,' James told him. 'You don't want to be stuck with a girlfriend when we're travelling.'

Albus heard the sound of scuffling feet and got the impression Finlay had aimed a kick at James.

'Oi, watch it,' said James. 'You want that to be my last memory of you?'

'Not funny.'

'Whatever. I've got to go.'

'Where is it tonight?' asked Finlay. 'You know. Just so I know what to tell the aurors in case there's an inquest.'

'Edinburgh,' replied James. 'Some pub called the Dead Man's Arms.'

'Auspicious name.'

'Yeah, well, what do you expect? I'll see you later, yeah?'

Finlay gave a brief hesitation, and when he spoke again his voice had cooled somewhat. 'I'll be asleep when you get in.'

'You always say that but you never out.'

'Well, forgive me for wanting to stay up to make sure you're not dead,' grumbled Finlay. 'Be careful, okay?'

'Fin, come on – who are you talking to? I'm always careful.'

Finlay gave a loud, unhappy sigh, before saying, 'I'll see you later.'

'See you, Fin.'

And both sets of footsteps started away in opposite directions. One was trailing off towards the staircases, while the other set was going back the way Albus had come towards the hospital wing. Albus knew the second was James because of the slow, rhythmic way he walked – easy and unhurried. He waited long enough to be sure that neither James or Finlay would hear him and then he slipped out from behind the tapestry. Finlay and James were both out of sight, having rounded the corner at opposite ends of the passageway from each other.

Albus hesitated in the empty corridor; he knew what he was going to do, but he kept up the pretence of trying to talk himself out of for a brief moment. Chandra and Rose would be wondering what had kept him; he had a Charms essay to finish; he had no idea where James was going or how dangerous it would be. He was well aware of these things, and a further list of disincentives, but he had had enough of wondering, and so, careful to keep his footsteps quiet enough, he started down the passageway in pursuit of James.

It was hard to follow his brother while keeping enough distance between them so as not to risk being seen. He waited for James to turn each corner before he himself did so, allowing a whole length of corridor between them. When they made it to the first floor, James started towards the east wing's entrance. An auror was standing guard, leaning heavily against the doors, looking thoroughly bored.

Albus remained back in the corridor, concealed in the shadows, but it was quiet enough for James's voice to echo back to him.

'Evening,' his brother said the auror as he neared him.

'Evening,' replied the auror. 'Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?'

The auror seemed unsure of himself when he said that. He was young – most of the aurors stationed at the school were – and he seemed like he didn't want to have to be the one to tell James to do anything.

'I've already eaten,' said James.

'Alright, well… do you need something?'

'Just wondering if you know the way to the library from here. I don't really come to this part of the castle.'

Albus knew this was a lie (the transfiguration classroom was just around the corner) but the auror seemed unaware of this.

'Er…' began the man, and he glanced towards the mouth of the passageway where Albus was standing in the shadows. 'I think it might be…'

What happened next happened very quickly. The auror turned away from James, putting his back towards him, and suddenly James had his wand in his hand. He aimed it at the back of the auror's head, gave it a sharp twirl, and the frown on the auror's face disappeared. His eyes glazed over, and he stood unevenly in his space, staring unseeingly towards where Albus was standing.

James had cast the charm nonverbally, but Albus knew from the auror's blank expression that he had been confunded. James stowed his wand away and raised an arm to clutch the auror's shoulder, easing him a few steps away from the door.

'Scuse me, mate,' James said, as he leant the auror against the wall.

'No problem,' mumbled the auror pleasantly, and he smiled somewhat.

James raised a hand to him in farewell, aimed his wand at the now-unguarded door, and it swung open. Albus watched his brother stand in the doorway and from the pocket of his jeans he pulled out the folded invisibility cloak, which he shook open and disappeared beneath, and then the door swung shut.

Albus stood watching the auror lean unevenly against the door. He knew that if he was too quick to leave that James would hear the door, and so he waited several minutes before he approached the auror. The man seemed unaware that another student had arrived, and it wasn't until Albus spoke to him that he managed to focus his eyes on him.

'Er… are you alright?' asked Albus.

'Oh, yes. Fine, thanks,' replied the auror.

'Right, er… do you mind if I go outside?'

'No, not at all.'

'Right. Thanks.'

Albus gave the auror an apologetic smile. Had he had his choice, he wouldn't have left him lolling there alone, but he reasoned that the confundus charm wouldn't have any lasting impact, and whatever James was heading out of the school for was far more sinister.

Albus pulled the door open – James had left it unlocked – and Albus stepped outside. He turned back and sealed the door with a simple locking charm; he knew this wasn't particularly secure, but it was at least more than James had done.

Standing on the top of the ridge by the doors, he looked out across the grounds. He hadn't expected to actually see James, but instead glanced around the grounds, and his eyes came to pathway through the grass had been made by recent footsteps and, deciding to trust that they were James's, he started along the path.

He followed trail of flattened grass down the slope and through a thicket of young elm trees for a few hundred metres, keeping a keen eye out for any sign of where James was headed, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary until he reached the edge of the trees and saw something he had never seen before. James was nowhere in sight, but on the peak of the next slope was the whomping willow, its long, heavy branches standing perfectly still.

In his five years at Hogwarts, Albus had never seen it be still; it wasn't even twitching in the wind. He started forward cautiously, drawing closer to the willow that he normally would, but not close enough to risk being beaten if the willow came back to life.

And then he saw it: at the base of the tree's trunk, within its mottled roots, was an opening into the earth. He had never seen it before, but he knew instinctively that if he were to find James he would need to go through it.

He looked back up at the willow's rigid branches; still as they were, he didn't particularly want to draw nearer to them. But it had all been coming to this – the months of wondering where James went and what had given him his bleeding lip and what had happened to arm, and Albus was sick of wondering.

He withdrew his wand, gulped down a lungful of air, and dashed forward. He lunged towards the hole in the tree's trunk, but the willow gave no sign of movement, and he climbed inside.

Lighting his wand, he looked around him. He was in a tiny, narrow tunnel, extending beneath the tree. He could see nothing at the end of the tunnel except blackness where the light of his wand didn't reach. His heart pounding, he crawled forward, holding his wand aloft.

It was a long, difficult crawl. He almost wished James would find him following him, only so he wouldn't have to do it by himself, but he refused to let himself relent. He had come this far – he wasn't going back.

He lost a sense of how long he had been crawling; he didn't know if it was ten minutes forty minutes, but it was long enough to make his knees and his arms and his back ache. And then, as he edged forward, his light fell on something new: a tall, rickety ladder, leading upwards. He crawled towards it, finding the tunnel widen enough for him to stand on his knees, and he raised his wand upward to see floorboards above, from which a square had been cut

He held his wand between his teeth as he put a foot on the ladder, testing its weight, and then he climbed up.. With his wand shining light on the floorboards, he saw now that what he had climbed out of was an open trapdoor, and he reasoned that it was James's who had left it open. He found himself in a dark, empty room of what seemed to be an ancient wooden house; there was warn, splintered furniture lying overturned and scattered around the room, as if there had been some kind of altercation, but the thick layer of dust told him that whatever had broken the furniture had done so a long time ago.

He climbed out of the trapdoor and went to the door that was handing off its hinges. He stepped through it and found himself in a dank, dusty passageway, and he realised now where he was; the Shrieking Shack. Not wanting to stay there any longer than he needed to, he hurried along the passageway and out through the broken door that he had come through with Scorpius when they followed the Slytherins into the empty field.

James was nowhere to be seen, but Albus knew where to go now. He strode across the empty field and climbed the fence to the road, stepped forward, and raised his wand.

Instantaneously, he heard the screech of tires and the rumble of engine breaks and he jumped back from the road as a violet triple-decker bus appeared before him. The doors swung open and the conductor stepped out, , a cigarette in his mouth.

'Where to?' asked the conductor.

'Edinburgh, please,' said Albus. 'It's a pub, er… the Dead Man's Arms?'

'Yeah, I know it,' said the conductor. 'Only we're not supposed to take students from the school.'

'I'm not from the school,' Albus assured him. 'I live in the village – my parents teach me from home.'

The conductor eyed him, dragging on his cigarette, before he gave a shrug and waved Albus forward. 'Alright, hurry up then.'


Zaina Faheem was pretty in a way that seemed to obliterate everything else in the vicinity. Black ringlets falling down her back and eyelashes that fanned out like flower petals and plump, pink lips. There was nothing not to like about the way Zaina looked; there was nothing to stop you wanting to look at her.

'And Professor Karim says that if I get an O in charms and transfiguration I can apply for an internship at the Department of International Magical Cooperation,' Zaina informed him, in her high, lyrical drawl as she sliced up a baked potato. 'As long as my application is good enough – but I don't see why it wouldn't be.'

Her looks weren't the reason he had liked her, but they had certainly helped. He had liked her for her brashness and her wit and her forcefulness, but now, ten months into their relationship when these things were becoming less admirable and more grating, he could still indulge himself by looking at her.

She was very pretty, and very smart, and very popular, and she had chosen to go out with him. That had to be worth something – that had to reflect something of his own worth.

'And then of course I might apply for the Department of Magical Transportation,' she continued, 'just for safety – even though I don't think I'll need it.'

He had a spoonful of soup before he gave her a nod. 'Good plan.'

He said this with very little attempt to sound interested, and he knew she knew this, and he knew she didn't care. That was something else he liked about Zaina: nothing quelled her ego, which suited him just fine because he was past the point of wanting to stroke it.

'And have you thought anymore about your plans, darling?' she asked him.

His ego, on the other hand, couldn't withstand so much. 'I told you,' he grumbled. 'I'm looking at those internships in Germany.'

She gave a laugh at this. 'Oh, yes, sorry, darling. I keep forgetting about that.'

'Thanks, Zaina.'

'Oh, dear, it's not that I'm not interested,' she told him. 'It's just so unlike you.'

'How is it unlike me?'

'Well, it's just a little clichéd.'

'How am I clichéd?'

'Oh, you know. Sulky teenager wants to run away to another country to forget all their problems,' Zaina dismissed. 'But don't worry, dear – I find it very endearing.'

'I'm not running away,' he refuted. 'I just want to go overseas.'

'Well, yes, so do I,' said Zaina. 'But I wouldn't think of actually moving out of Britain. You know, whatever you don't like about yourself here will still be there no matter where you go.'

Scorpius didn't know how to reply to this – all he could do was feel angry. 'That's not why I want to go overseas,' he told her forcefully. 'And even if it was, you can't… I mean… that's not it.'

He stopped talking – he didn't know how to go on. Zaina was looking at him beneath her long, fluttering lashes. She looked unbothered by his irritation – unbothered because she knew that she was right.

He knew, as he said it, that he ought to be above it, but he said it anyway 'What do you want to work for the Ministry for anyway? To make daddy proud?'

'Daddy doesn't care what I do – he's not as insane as yours,' Zaina replied, still placid.

'Alright, so why do work for the Ministry?' demanded Scorpius. 'You know what's happening there at the moment. The ridiculous laws they've been passing – the curfew and everything. And it will only get worse of Rowle wins the election. You actually want to be part of that?'

Zaina gave a docile sigh, and said evenly, 'Oh, darling, calm down. You don't need to pretend to be so concerned. Potter isn't here.'

'Everyone should be concerned,' he bit back. 'They're taking away civil liberties.'

'And how does me taking an internship in international cooperation have anything do with that?'

'It… it has everything to do with it.'

'But how, darling? Do you think that if I don't take the internship that Rowle will pull out of the race?'

'No, but – God, Zaina, you're being purposely stupid.'

'Don't call be stupid, please, Scorpius.'

'I'm not calling you stupid. I'm saying you're intentionally missing the point to annoy me.'

'Oh, what point? You never cared about the Ministry until you became friends with Albus Potter. Is this all just some new, elaborate way to annoy your dad?'

'I never cared about the Ministry because up until a few months ago there wasn't anything to care about,' he snapped. 'Even you can see something wrong with Rowle and the laws the Wizengamot are passing then.'

'Even me?' repeated Zaina. 'I had no idea you thought so little of my intelligence.'

'Zaina, you know I don't think that,' he snapped. 'What I mean is that – is that we all need to stand up to the Ministry – '

'No, what you mean is that it's bothering you that you've announced you're moving overseas and you're waiting for me to beg you not to go,' Zaina informed him. 'Well, you're going to be waiting awhile, because I, unlike you, have other prospects in life. Unlike you I don't need to run away to Germany to make myself feel important.'

Scorpius gazed at her – her perfect eyes, her perfect lips, her perfect nose. It was despicable to look at in that moment. Without thinking about what he was doing, he jumped to his feet, pushing back his chair, and marching away from her.

He could feel the eyes of students darting towards him along the Ravenclaw table. He didn't know how much of his conversation with Zaina had been overheard by the nearby students, but he thought that had they heard any of it at all then that was enough to be embarrassed about.

He left the great hall and crossed the entrance hall. He wasn't thinking of anywhere in particular he wanted to go, only that he wanted to leave the castle, but his options were limited by the auror patrols. The only place outdoors that students were currently permitted in after dark was the courtyard, and so that was where he took himself.

It was empty as he stepped outside, and he made his way to the bench beneath the old magnolia tree that sat in the courtyard's centre. It was budding with young, pink flowers, and he gazed up at them as he drummed his fingers against the bench, working over all the things he was angry about. There were a few too many to count.

He and Zaina knew each other. Perhaps not as well as they could, and perhaps not as well as they should, but they did know each other. They knew enough to know what to say to rile one another, but she was much better at it than him.

He heard footsteps approaching across the courtyard, and he quickly tried to compose his face into something, if not unbothered, then at least less angry, before he looked around to see who it was.

Of course, was the first thing he thought, because he seemed to have a knack for attracting bad luck, and having Rose Weasley come towards him when he was already seething with anger was the height of misfortune.

'Hello,' she said when she was close enough to talk, and then she didn't come any nearer, standing in the centre of the courtyard with a few metres between them.

'Come to gloat?' he asked her, because of course he did: of course he couldn't stop himself picking a fight.

She raised her eyebrows at him. 'Gloat about what?'

He rolled his eyes and looked away from her, back at the magnolias overhead, and he could feel her watching him.

'Alright,' said Rose slowly, 'I'm not going to ask. I'll just leave you to sulk.'

And as she turned away, he bit at her, 'Well, why'd you come out here if you weren't going to tell me again how evil my girlfriend is? Just because I argue with her doesn't mean I want to hear you insult her. Whatever you have to say about her, she would have a lot worse to say about you.'

Rose rounded on him, and now she took a few paces forward so they were within arm's reach of each other. 'Jesus, Malfoy, I actually have no fucking clue what you're talking about. And he saw her reach into the bag she had over her shoulder and snatch something out of it. 'Just take it, would you?'

His frown deepened as he looked at what she was offering him. It was a book, and he knew it was a Muggle book by the static image on the fron, and over the image, written in chipped gold ink, were the words Mrs Dalloway.

He looked back up at Rose, who was looking down at him. She looked just as annoyed as he felt.

'Right,' he said, and he took the book from her hand. He lay it in his lap, inspecting the cover, mainly as a means of not having to look Rose in the eye. With difficulty, he gave a muttered, 'Thanks.'

'Just give it to Albus when you're done,' she told him curtly, and she started to turn away again.

He got quickly to his feet. 'Rose, wait, look, I – I'm sorry I'm in a bad mood. I just… I had a fight with Zaina.'

She turned back to look at him, still frowning. 'Another one?'

'Yeah.'

'You two must be setting a new world record.'

'You don't need to rub it in, okay?'

'And you don't need to bite my head off,' she growled. 'I'm not Zaina. I haven't done anything. If you want to fight with someone go fight with her.'

'I don't want to fight – I'm trying to explain what happened, okay? She just… she basically – she wants to go work for the Ministry.'

Rose watched him, considering this, before she prompted, 'And?'

'What do you mean and?' he snapped. 'The Ministry's turning into a fascist dictatorship, and she's going to be a part of it.'

Rose sighed. 'Oh, don't be so dramatic. Do you honestly think every Ministry worker needs to quit in protest of Rowle? The country would stop functioning.'

'Yeah, but she doesn't have to actively sign up.'

Rose rolled her eyes. 'Merlin, alright, if you want to be angry over nothing go ahead.'

'It's not nothing,' he insisted. 'She – she should care.'

'If I work in Muggle liaisons then I'd be working for the Ministry too. Does that mean I support Rowle?'

He shook his head in dismay. 'No, but – but that's different.'

'How?' pressed Rose.

'Because you…' He realised he didn't know how to explain it to her, and so he said firmly, 'God, can't you just let me be angry?'

Rose looked half amused at this, but she rolled her eyes none the less. 'Go ahead, but don't expect me to feign sympathy. If you don't like it stop dating her.'

'Rose, you're an emotional sinkhole,' he snapped. 'I don't want to stop dating her. I just – she's just really good at saying things that she knows will bother me.'

'So she doesn't actually want to work for the Ministry? She's just saying that to annoy you?'

'No, I didn't mean that. She does want to join he Ministry – and I don't understand why, but there are other things she says that I know she's saying just to be difficult.'

'Yes, you'd never be difficult, would you?' drawled Rose. 'Ever heard of tit for tat?'

'It's not tit for tat,' Scorpius grumbled. 'I mean, okay, maybe sometimes I – I say things to her that I shouldn't say, but it's not the same as the things she says to me.'

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. There was a dimple between her eyebrows that appeared when she looked angry. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking up at him, before she said very coolly, 'Men are unbelievable.'

'Excuse me?'

'You think you should be allowed to insult her but when it comes to you she should have nothing but respect for you? I don't know what you said to her but if your ego can't take it then maybe you shouldn't give her a reason to insult you.'

'It's not – I didn't – you don't get it,' he refuted. 'What she said – she shouldn't have said it.'

'What did she say?'

'It – it doesn't matter.'

Rose glared at him, the dimple between her eyebrows deepening, before she turned away, muttering as she did, 'Men… honestly.'

'Okay, wait, stop…' he insisted, and he stepped forward to impede her bath. 'What she said was that… well, she basically told me she doesn't care if I move to Germany.'

Rose considered this, her dark eyes looking blackened beneath the night's sky, before she asked shrewdly, 'And what did you say to her to make her say that?'

'I didn't say anything! We were just talking about our plans after school, and she told me that – that my wanting to work overseas is naïve, and I said that it's not as bad as her going to work for the Ministry – '

'Okay, but how did you say that?' pressed Rose. 'Knowing you it was condescending.'

'It wasn't! All I said was… I think I said…'

He stopped talking, trying to recall what choice of words they had thrown at each other in the heat of the moment. It had all come up very quickly – too quickly for him to map out the wrong turns they had both taken.

'All I said was that even she should be away of what Rowle is doing, and then I think she said that – that her working for the Ministry has no effect on the election, and then I said something like…'

He stopped, wavering under Rose's shrewd glare, and he found he needed to look away from her to say that next part. 'And then I told her she was being purposely stupid –'

Rose gave an incredulous laugh. 'Purpose stupid? God, you're a prick, Malfoy.'

'Okay, fine, I shouldn't have said that,' Scorpius told her very quickly, before Rose had the chance to turn away. 'But it's not like I meant it. And she knows I didn't mean it. But what she said is – is personal.'

'But did you actually want her to tell you not to leave?' asked Rose. 'It's like two years away. Do you seriously think you'll still be together then?'

'Well, no, but even if we break up I still don't want her to want me to leave,' he told her. 'Look, it's – it's not even about that. It's the fact that she said it knowing it would annoy me.'

'Then just don't let it annoy you.'

'Oh, thank you, amazing advice,' he snapped. 'I can't choose not to be angry.'

'You could try thinking a little less about what other people think of you.'

'No, I just… look, I just… alright, fine,' he snapped. 'Fine, you're right. I'm wrong and you're right. You were right as per bloody usual, and I'll go crawling back to Zaina begging for mercy, and I'll tell everyone that Rose Weasley is a brilliant genius –'

'God, can you stop please?' Rose ordered. 'You are so bloody dramatic. She shouldn't have said what she said, but you shouldn't have had a go at her about the Ministry. You can stay out her feeling sorry for yourself or you can go apologise. I don't know what else you want me to tell you. Can I go now, please?'

They stood looking at each other beneath the magnolia tree. Rose had her arms folded, watching him with sharp, harsh eyes that almost made him want to apologise, but not enough to actually make him do it. To fill the silence, he raised the copy of Mrs Dalloway, and grumbled out, 'Thanks for the book.'

'You owe me, remember?' Rose told him. 'And if you lose it my mum will kill both of us.

'And you say I'm dramatic,' he mused. 'I'll give it back by the end of the week, okay?'

'You can't read that quickly.'

'Yes, I forgot you're the only person as school who knows how to read.'

'I know, I'm very intelligent. I'll see you tomorrow.'

She turned away, and this time he didn't try to stop her. He watched her stride away, her bright hair glowing beneath the moonlight. Her quick, purposeful walk annoyed him; she was so self-assured, so self-righteous, so quick to dismiss him and act to superior, but he knew that she was just as petty as he was.

He looked down at the book he was holding. He told himself not to feel ashamed of himself; it's not as if lending him the book was at her own expense, and it's not as if she had made any effort to be civil with him. She had told him exactly what he didn't want to hear – it was a very Zaina thing to do.

He heaved a sigh and raised a hand to rub his eyes. Rose Weasley was a difficult person; he didn't think there would be anybody who would refute that. She was combative and insensitive and impatient but, at least tonight, she had been right. Zaina shouldn't have said what she said, but he shouldn't have had a go at her about the Ministry.

He tucked the book under his arm and crossed the courtyard back into the entrance hall. He would check the Great Hall first, and if Zaina had finished eating he would go find her in her dormitory, and he would do his best to apologise, and he would be careful to assure her that he had come to that conclusion without Rose Weasley's help.


The Dead Man's Arms looked exactly as he had expected it to. It looked like all the places he met Mundungus Fletcher; old red bricks; dim, grimy windows; patrons in dark, hooded cloaks passing in and out of the door.

There was one thing that surprised him, however; as he pushed the door of the inn open, he stopped to inspect the sign that had been plastered in the window. Printed on it was an old photo of Mundungus Fletcher, branded with the Ministry seal and the words Have you seen this wizard?

James decided not to linger over the wanted poster, and so he strode inside to the bar. The inn was dark and dreary, and the innkeeper behind the bar had a face mottled with scars. He eyed James up and down, before he grumbled, 'What do you want?'

'Here to meet a friend,' said James. 'He told me to come to the bar.'

The innkeeper gestured roughly along the bar. 'The loos are through the door. Give the portrait of the druid witch a tap.'

'Cheers, mate.'

He followed the innkeeper's directions down the passageway through to the bathrooms. They were just as dank and dim as the rest of the inn, and every inch of the mouldy walls was covered in graffiti, spare for a space beside the basins where a floor-length portrait of a witch was hanging. She was perched beside a stream in a sparse meadow, a garnet in her long hair, and she smiled at him when he looked at her. He stepped towards the portrait, raised his wand and giving it a rap against the witch's chest, and the painting swung forward from the wall to reveal a set of narrow stairs leading into darkness.

He started forward and the portrait swung back to conceal the staircase. He found himself stepping into a dark cellar, dimly lit by a few candles levitating beneath the ceiling, and he could make out only few familiar faces amongst what he guessed were thirty wizards in total, sitting perched on casks of mead bottles and beer barrels. They waved their hands in greeting, and the one closest to James got up to greet him.

'Alright, Dung?' said James.

'Alright, Jim?' said Mundungus Fletcher, offering him a bottle of ale.

James accepted the drink, uncapping it and taking a deep swig. 'Saw your picture upstairs.'

Mundungus gave a yellow-toothed grin. 'Yeah, the Ministry likes to put my photos up.'

'When did that start?'

'Oh, it's been a couple of weeks now. Not to worry though, lad,' Mundungus assured him, and then he turned to face the rest of the room and called to the wizards, 'Alright, who first tonight?'

'I'll go,' said James immediately.

'Need to get back before bedtime?' asked one of the wizards, a young man of nineteen with a face full of acne scars.

James gave a sniff of laughter and took a swig of ale, before he looked the man in the eye. 'How about it, Fortescue? You keen?'

Fortescue seemed to consider then, watching James closely, before he set down his bottle of mead and got to his feet. 'Right, then,' he replied. 'If you want me so badly.'

'Come on then, put in your money,' said Mundungus, gesturing to James and Fortescue. 'And anyone who wants to bet now's your chance.'

There was the usual scuffle as Mundungus took their money, and then James and Fortescue began clearing a space in the centre of the cellar. Mundungus made a round of the room, taking the offered galleons from the wizards, noting down who they were betting on.

'Okay, then,' said Mundungus, thumbing through the handful of galleons he had acquired. 'Get in your places, then.'

'Take care of your arm this time,' said Fortescue. 'You've got exams, coming up, don't you?'

'And I'll mind your face,' said James. 'Did I do that or has it always looked like that?'

Fortescue eyed him as he pushed back his sleeves. James flexed his arms, stretching out his muscles; his elbow was still tender, but not enough to affect his spell work.

'When you're ready, boys,' said Mundungus. 'Give us a bow.'

They did as they were instructed. It was a tradition that they maintained, more in jest than in sincerity, but James made a show of bowing deeply, before he straightened back up and raised his wand.

He allowed Fortescue to throw the first curse, and James was expecting it; his shield charm did its job. He ducked away, raising his own wand, and he conjured out a string of thick ropes that wound their way around Fortescue's legs, but the wizard severed them with a slash of his wand, and raised his arm back towards James.

A dozen daggers materialised from thin air and flew towards James, but he whipped his wand forward, vanishing all but one, which ripped across his cheek. He heard a cry of surprise and delight from the spectators, but James was undeterred. He felt the pain of the cut throb through him and the blood spill down his cheek, but he pushed through it, focusing on the rush of it, allowing it to rile him. He spun on his spot and aimed his wand at Fortescue.

'Brachium captionem!'

Fortescue's arm was ripped back as if an invisible force had seized hold of it. Se gave a cry of pain, dropped his wand as he fell to his knees, trying to bend forward enough to stop his arm from snapping. James strode towards him, keeping his wand on the man, holding his arm back as Fortescue had done to him at Christmas.

He came to stand over him, eyeing him, listening to him grunting with pain. 'You look good on your knees, Fortescue.'

Fortescue met James's eyes, shuddering with pain. 'Let go.'

'You yield?'

'Yes, I yield! Stop!'

'How boring,' sighed James, and he gave his wand a flick.

The bind lifted and Fortescue gave a cry of relief, slumping onto the ground. James stood gazing at him, listening to the murmurs of congratulations around the room, and he felt Mundungus clutch his shoulder.

'For you,' grumbled Mundungus, passing him a conjured handkerchief for his bleeding cheek, 'and for you.'

James looked down at the handful of galleons Mundungus was offering him. He took them from him, along with the handkerchief, which he raised to his face. 'Thanks, mate.'

'This is getting too easy for you, Jim.'

'Oi, Fletcher,' came a call from across the room, and both James and Mundungus turned back to the staircase that led upstairs to the bar. The innkeeper was leaning into the cellar, but James wasn't looking at him; his eyes were fixed on the person beside him.

'Got a lad here looking for someone called James,' said the innkeeper. 'You got a James down there?'

James felt all eyes around the room swivel towards him, but his remained fixed on his brother, who was hanging by the innkeeper's side, looking much smaller and younger than he usually did out of uncertainty. He was refusing to meet James's eyes.

'Is that Albus Potter?' said Mundungus with interest. 'Look at you. You're getting tall, lad.'

Albus didn't have time to respond to this, for James started forward. He shoved his galleons in the pocket of his coat and tossed away his bloodied handkerchief and leapt up the staircase in a couple of short bounds, seizing his brother's arm. Albus gave a cry of surprise as James took hold of him, but James gave him no mind as he dragged him away from the innkeeper's side back through to the bar.

James pushed him out through the front door of the inn into the street, giving him a rough shove forward. Albus stumbled to keep his footing, before he turned to face his brother.

'James…' began Albus.

'What are you doing here?'

Albus hesitated, glancing up the street, before he turned reluctantly back to James. 'I'm sorry but – '

'Did you follow me? You seriously followed me?'

'Wait, James…'

James took a step towards his brother, and Albus backed away instinctively. 'You realise you still have the trace on you, right? If the school realises you're gone and come looking for you –

'Can I borrow eight sickles?'

James stopped in his tirade, eyeing his brother's pale, peaky face, before he said very sharply, 'What?'

In response, Albus gestured rather helplessly down the street, and James's followed his pointed finger to the Knight Bus that was parked in the mouth of the laneway running alongside the pub.

'I don't have any money with me,' mumbled Albus. 'The conductor's going to kill me. I'll pay you back.'

James considered this, glaring at his brother, before he once again seized hold of his brother and, ignoring Albus's protest, dragged him down to meet the Knight Bus. The conductor was leaning in the bus's doors, reading a copy of the Evening Prophet, and when he heard them approaching he looked up.

'About bloody time,' grumbled the man, taking his pipe from his mouth to brandish it threateningly at the brothers. 'Eight sickles, thank you very much.'

With the hand not holding Albus, James reached into his pocket and withdrew one of the heavy gold coins he had won that evening, which he tossed to the conductor. 'Take a galleon,' said James gruffly, and he gave Albus a rough push towards the bus's doors, 'and take him back to Hogwarts.'

'Oh, nuh-uh, we've been sat out here fifteen minutes waiting for our money,' snapped the conductor. 'And we're not supposed to be taking Hogwarts students anywhere. He had us thinking he lived in the village.'

'I'm his brother. I'm seventeen and I'm giving you permission,' grumbled James, and he gave Albus another heavy push forward.

'Got nothing to do with your permission, mate, it's the rules,' snapped the conductor, and he straightened up. 'Get him back yourself if he's your responsibility.'

James gave a low, angry sigh, raising a hand to push his fringe out of his eyes. 'Fine. Give me back my galleon then.'

'Nuh-uh, fair's fair. Eight sickles to get him here and we'll keep the other nine as reimbursement for the time we wasted parked out here,' refuted the conductor, and he straightened up. 'Take care, lads.'

James stepped forward immediately. 'Oi, don't you bloody dare –'

But the conductor slammed the bus's doors closed in James's face. In an instant James whipped out his wand, aiming it at the doors, before Albus caught his arm and pulled him back, just in time for the bus to lurch forward and disappear into the dark.

James let out a cry of anger and threw Albus's off and did a turn in his spot, forcing his hair back from his face. He paced deeper into the laneway, seething, looking for something to take his anger out on, and he sufficed to aim his wand at an overturned garbage bin, which shattered into glass.

He felt Albus try to take his arm again. 'James…'

He rounded on his brother, throwing him off. 'Don't you start.'

'I… I'll pay you back as soon as we're back at school – '

'It's really none of your business, you know, Albus?' spat James. 'It's not anybody's fucking business.'

'James, I just…' Albus stopped. He was looking up at James with a face full of uncertainty, and James heard him draw a low sigh before he continued. 'Are you okay?'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, don't. Don't do that. You sound like Dad when you do that.'

'You face is still bleeding.'

James didn't have anything to say to this, and so he gave a growling sigh and reached into his pocket for his tobacco. He could feel Albus watching him as he rolled his cigarette. He was waiting for it to start – for Albus to call him an idiot and try to drag him back to school and ask what the fuck he was thinking – but he looked only pitying. It was somehow more infuriating than if he had yelled at him, because James at least had a response to be yelled at, which was to yell back.

He heard Albus ask in a very small voice, 'Is it a duelling club?'

James lit his cigarette and took a drag. 'Excellent deduction.'

'And that's how you broke your arm?'

'Oh, don't fucking start up about that again.'

Albus gave a low sigh. 'James, I wasn't, I just… I just want to understand. So all of this time, all this sneaking out was – was to come out and duel? I just… I mean, how did it even start?'

'Mundungus,' he said in answer. 'I ran into him in Nocturn Alley last summer with Finlay, and I told him I need money, and he said there's money to make in duelling clubs if I know how to duel. So I learnt.'

'But the money, I mean… I mean I saw what happened to your arm at Christmas. Is it… is it worth it?'

'I've got two thousand galleons in a vault at Gringotts that Mum and Dad don't know exist.'

'Two – wait, two thousand?' repeated Albus incredulously. 'From winning duels? How is that – I mean, how did you… Fuck.'

'You'll find I'm very good at it.'

'Jesus, James, what do you even need the money for?'

Albus still wasn't sounding angry – in fact that only thing James could discern from him was worry. 'I want to travel when school's done,' James replied.

'Why didn't you just tell me about it earlier?'

The older Potter looked at the younger, frowning. 'Why would I tell you?'

'Because you knew I knew something was going on,' said Albus. 'And I thought – I thought it was something… something really bad. When I saw your arm at Christmas… I got all these stupid ideas.'

'Like what?'

'Like… like awful things. Like you had hurt someone. Like the Reclamation Army…'

Albus stopped. The horror of what he was suggesting was too immense to fully articulate. He knew James was watching him, glaring at him, and so he forced himself to continue. 'I wondered if you were a part of it.'

'You think I'd get involved in the Reclamation Army?'

'I don't know. I suppose maybe I did.'

'You think I want to kill aurors? Please. My daddy issues aren't that severe.'

Albus managed to laugh at this. 'No, not – not kill anyone. But I thought maybe – maybe you had started off just trying to protest Rowle, and then it got out of hand, and then maybe you couldn't get out… It sounds ridiculous now.'

James sighed heavily and the smoke of his cigarette billowed out over his chin. 'You should know I have absolutely no interest in protesting Rowle. I'm not going to throw my life away on a war the way Mum and Dad did.'

'I know, but, I mean… I mean there are other ways. You could get a job or… I mean, Mum and Dad would just give you the money if you asked –'

'No,' spat James, and the harshness in his voice seemed to catch Albus off guard. 'No, I'm not asking them. I'm not owing them anything.'

'Uh… well… You could pay them back…'

'Can you imagine what they'd say?' demanded James, and he almost laughed. 'Can you fucking imagine that? If I told them I need money to go travelling?'

'Er… I don't know…'

'Because they don't fucking get it,' said James. 'They want us all to be just as fucking self-righteous and self-sacrificing as they are, and the fact that we're not joining the Auror Programme and throwing our lives away on the same bullshit that they did kills them. They think we're spoilt fucking brats.'

Albus looked at him, alarmed. 'You think they really think that about us?'

'Well, not about you, because they're your favourite.'

'No, I'm not. I… I can't do any of the things you can do. I didn't even know how to fly a broom until last year.'

'They don't give a shit how good I am at flying or Defence,' snapped James. 'They want us to be like them. They're so martyred because of what happened to them when they were young. They had their lives fucked up, and then because they were fucked up they went and got married after like five seconds, and then Mum got pregnant without meaning to, and then they were stuck together, and now they hate their lives.'

'That's not true,' said Albus. 'They don't hate their lives. They… They're just busy, and with Dad's work... I mean, I know they fight, but… but everyone fights.'

James gave a hollow laugh. 'Albus, I know you're not that stupid. If it weren't for us they wouldn't be together anymore. And if I hadn't been born they probably wouldn't have stayed together at all. And when they look at me that's all they think about.'

There was a silence after that, in which James smoked his cigarette and Albus watched him smoke. A weight of what James had said seemed to settle upon them. It was such a solid thing – heavy and immoveable – and until now it had been unspoken.

Albus had felt it nagging at him for so long, and now James had forced it forward, and a part of Albus was furious at him for it, but another part of him felt somehow relieved: relieved that he wasn't the only one who saw it. Relieved that there was something shared between them; that beneath James's harshness and awfulness there was something akin between them. That there was more to James than he thought there was.

'What do you want to do after school?' Albus asked him.

'I want to live my fucking life,' said James.

Albus didn't have anything to say to this, and James tossed away his his cigarette butt into the darkness of the laneway. 'I'm going back inside.,' he said. 'You can use the fireplace inside to Floo back to the Hogs' Head.'

Albus hesitated. 'Er… but Aberforth…'

'Aberforth doesn't give a shit, Albus,' said James tiredly. 'Fin and I used to use his fireplace all the time before we could apparate. How else are you going to get back?'

'Right, yeah… I guess. Will you come with me?'

'No, I need to keep going.'

'I… Yeah, alright.'

They started back towards the mouth of the laneway, not looking at each other, and they rounded the corner onto the street. It was dim and deserted and the only sound was that of the voices coming through the door of the inn. Albus didn't want to be the first one to enter the inn, and so he came to a stop to let James pass him, and as he turned back to look at his brother he heard a shout, and he twisted back to look at the inn.

He realised now that the muffled voices weren't the usual chatter of a pub, but something closer to shouts, and as he stared through the pub door he saw the dark room within illuminated briefly by the red light of a stunning course, and for an instant he recognised the face of somebody within the pub.

'Wait,' said Albus, 'that looks like –'

But Albus didn't finish, because James had seized hold of him and wrenched him back from the pub's window, and Albus gave a cry of surprise as he stopped himself falling, and then he felt the lurch of apparation beginning.

'James, wait, no – '

But James tightened his grip on him to the point that it hurt, and the pain of it blended with the pain of apparating, and Albus felt himself being seized back, and the dark Edinburgh street began to shrink away, and he forced his eyes shut to focus on blurring out the pain, and the weightlessnessdescended upon him, and the only thing other than his own body he could feel was James's hold on his arm, and then all at once he felt cold air broke over him and they hit the earth heavily and awkwardly and he stumbled forward and James caught him in time to stop him falling.

Apparating was never pleasant, but apparating with James was a lot worse than apparating with his parents. His head was swimming and he felt his stomach turning and he shut his eyes, focusing on filling his lungs with air.

'Don't you dare throw up,' James told him, still clutching his arm. 'Sit down.'

Albus dropped down onto the damp grass and murmured back, 'You're really bad at that.'

'Okay, next time I'll leave you there.'

He waited a moment, kneeling on the grass, before the nausea began to recede and Albus opened his eyes again. They had landed in an empty paddock. The road on which Albus had hailed the night bus earlier that evening snaked along the next hill. The shrieking shack loomed over them, dark and misshapen and somehow welcoming.

Albus looked back at James. 'I thought I saw Ron through the window of the inn.'

'Yeah, it was him.'

'How did he… I mean… what?'

'Someone must have told the Auror Office where to find Mundungus.'

James seemed strangely calm as he said this. He was standing over Albus with his arms folded, looking out over the field with the moon behind him. His composure was doing nothing to soothe Albus, and he scrambled up onto his feet.

'He could have seen us,' said Albus. 'James, he could have seen us – he could have seen you – he could have…'

James rolled his eyes. 'He didn't see us, Al.'

'But if Mundungus gets arrested – if he tells Ron or Dad – '

'He wouldn't,' said James. 'He would have disapparated as soon as the aurors got in, but some of those other fucking idiots would have fought back. It's not a big deal. Mundungus is used to this type of shit.'

'Well, he shouldn't be,' said Albus. 'You shouldn't be either, James! It's really bad, okay? It's – it's not normal to have aurors looking for you!'

James raised a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 'You talk too much, Al.'

'James, you can't keep doing this,' insisted Albus. 'You really can't. I just… please.'

'Al,' said James, and his voice was harsh, but not cold, 'it's my life. It's my fucking life, alright?'

The wind rose over them, and James's messy hair was whipped back from his face, and Albus stared at him. His olive face was calm, and his brown eyes were watching him, and the cut across his high cheekbone was still oozing blood, and his sweater had droplets of blood down the chest, and in the darkness of the night it was hard to discern what James was thinking by the look on his face.

'If anything happened to you in a duel they'd take you to St Mungo's, right?' asked Albus.

James rolled his eyes. 'Nothing's going to happen.'

'No, but if it did you'd – you'd be okay?'

'Yes, I'm sure they'd find a very nice gutter to abandon me in,' said James. 'It's a good thing none of them can duel for shit.'

'Alright, but… er… your arm…'

'I still won though.'

There was a silence, in which Albus searched for more of an argument, but came up short, and so he instead gestured towards the shrieking shack and said, 'Did you and Finlay make that passageway?'

'It was already made. We just lifted some of the charms on it so we could get out.'

'But if anyone found out about it…'

'Well, no one's going to because we're not going to tell anyone,' said James. 'Are you?'

'No, of course not.'

'Well, then it's sorted. You want a smoke?'

Albus shook his head. 'I want to go back to the castle and have something to eat, I think.'

'Yeah, alright,' said James, and he raised an arm towards the shrieking shack. 'Come on then.'


Song credit: Take It Easy by the Vaccines.

A/N: The word count of these chapters are starting to blow out, but I'm reluctant to break them into smaller chapters as I'm conscious of keeping the storyline (vaguely) in tact.

If you got through this enormous, enormous chapter thank you much! Please let me know what you thought in a review!