Music for writing : Abbey Road Blues - ERA Classic II
2018 – Second Year at Hogwarts
Quidditch World Cup Final
Albus should have been more careful. He promised himself he wouldn't make the same mistake again.
He hadn't waited until halftime to get up. The crowd was packed, the atmosphere electric. He'd always loved the Quidditch World Cup, and just because Brazil had lost in the quarterfinals didn't mean he would skip the final game. His mother's voice echoed over the loudspeakers around the stadium.
He slipped away from the family box, right as the Irish team launched an offensive, so no one noticed his escape.
Or so he thought.
He pulled his hood up, partially concealing his face, and moved away from the crowd and the commotion. He passed by the smoking stalls offering treats and drinks, heading toward the far end of the street market.
He spotted Scorpius waiting by a wooden booth selling pumpkin soup. His hood hid his blond hair, part of his face obscured. Albus stopped jogging, trying to adopt a more neutral pace, careful not to startle Scorpius by appearing too eager.
He had missed him—missed him terribly over the winter break. But it was too early to say so.
"Hey!" he said, coming up beside him, his heart racing when Scorpius looked up.
"You actually came?" Malfoy said softly.
Albus shrugged.
"I told you I would."
Scorpius lowered his head, and Albus saw him trying to hide a smile.
They ordered two hot ciders and sat on a bench, ignoring the noise indicating that halftime had begun. Albus chatted about his holiday, complaining about his brother and the endless family gatherings. Scorpius listened, hands wrapped around his cup, nodding as his friend spoke.
Neither of them saw Rita Skeeter approaching…
Rita was bored out of her mind. Sitting in the reporters' box, she watched the players in the air with a disinterested look.
For her, the real interest lay behind the scenes, in the pre- and post-game moments when secrets were exposed. Which Quidditch star had a grudge against whom? Was the captain planning to kick out one of the players? Was the keeper's wife sneaking around with the Beater?
Matches themselves were of no real value—they only revealed what was happening backstage. She checked her watch and sighed. She was about to order another whiskey when she saw movement near the VIP section.
The youngest of the Potter boys was quietly slipping out of the family box and blending into the crowd. Instinctively, she jumped from her seat and hurried down the reporters' stairway, walking on her tiptoes to avoid her heels clacking on the wood.
From a distance, she watched the boy pull up his hood and weave through the crowd. It was clear the young Potter was trying to stay unnoticed, and his behavior piqued Skeeter's curiosity. She went after Albus, sure her curiosity would soon be satisfied.
She didn't have to wait long. Away from the bustling crowd and prying eyes, she saw the boy talking with a young man, and her heart leapt.
Scorpius Malfoy! Albus Potter had snuck away from his family to meet a Malfoy.
Her article was practically writing itself in her mind. She watched the young Malfoy hand a gift to Potter, who accepted it with reddened cheeks. It was a book, and Albus pulled Scorpius into a hug. The boy stiffened momentarily, then smiled before returning the embrace.
Now was her moment! Rita stepped forward with her swaggering stride.
"Hello, young gentlemen."
The two boys jumped, looking up at her.
"Rita Skeeter, journalist for the Daily Prophet. No need to be alarmed!" she added, seeing the boys' wary expressions at hearing her profession. "I won't bother you for long; I just wanted to get your thoughts on the match."
"Al, we should go," murmured young Malfoy, tugging on his friend's arm.
"You're Scorpius Malfoy, right?" Rita asked.
Scorpius remained silent, squinting his eyes.
"How did you two meet?" she asked with amusement, her notepad and quill floating at head height, ready.
"At Hogwarts," Potter mumbled uncertainly.
In him, Rita saw the boy she'd interviewed during the Triwizard Tournament—the same wary look.
"Oh yes, I forgot you're a Slytherin!" she said, pretending to recall. "Surprising for the son of Harry Potter… But it's wonderful for unity in our society. I think it's important for future generations to rebuild bonds and live in harmony. Don't you agree? And that's a beautiful book you've got there."
"It's a gift from Scorpius," Albus said, with a hint of pride in his voice.
"A token of redemption, perhaps? To make up for the past? To apologize?"
The boys stiffened, and Rita grew bolder. She leaned in and murmured, "You know, young man, when a Malfoy gives a book to someone in your family, it's never a good sign."
Albus wanted to respond but seemed at a loss for words. The quill scratched furiously on the notepad. Rita turned to Scorpius, who looked at her with anxiety, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"How do you feel, knowing your grandfather tried to kill his mother?"
The boy's eyes widened in horror.
"Enough, you viper!" Albus said, finding his voice. He stepped protectively in front of Scorpius. "We have no idea what you're talking about."
"There's so much you don't know," Rita said, adjusting her tiny glasses. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy never mentioned the war to you? You really don't know that they were enemies at Hogwarts?"
"Maybe they wanted to protect us from you!" Albus cried out angrily, pointing a finger at the journalist.
Scorpius grabbed his arm and pulled him backward, leading him toward the wooden stalls.
"Let's go. Come on!"
Skeeter watched them leave, a smug smile on her face. Albus shot her one last furious look before putting his arm around Scorpius's shoulders.
She gave them a small wave, her grin widening. The quill stopped writing, and the notepad closed, slipping back into her pocket.
Rita was thrilled, practically skipping on the cobblestone path back to the stadium. The match didn't matter anymore; she needed to get to the Daily Prophet's office to have her article printed.
She retrieved her things from the reporters' box and crossed paths with Harry Potter, who had come over to greet his wife before the second half. Their eyes met, and she couldn't resist giving him her most ambiguous smile—a mixture of acid and honey. He did not return her smile; instead, his expression grew troubled. She headed down the stairs toward the exit, aware that Harry Potter's gaze was still following her.
"A Special Friendship, by Rita Skeeter!" she thought as she walked through the stands, the cheers of fans growing louder. "It's a perfect title. This article is going to be brilliant!"
1997 – Malfoy Manor
Scorpius followed the dark figure through the maze of doors, silently observing the man's back as his black robes billowed with each determined step, giving him the appearance of a sinister ghost.
Silent, cold, and resolute. Severus matched the image Scorpius had envisioned—a dark wizard, charismatic yet reserved. A gloomy aura surrounded him, and Scorpius recognized a reflection of his own melancholy in it.
Neither of them spoke during the somber walk until Snape led him to a door, which he opened and held for him. Scorpius took a breath and stepped into a small room that might have once been used as a house elf's storeroom.
A lone chair was placed in the center of the empty room. A single light on the ceiling cast a dim glow, leaving the four corners of the room in shadow—a grim little setup.
Severus motioned for him to sit, and the boy obeyed in silence. Then he closed the door, drew his wand, and cast spells that cut them off from the world. They were alone now, though Scorpius had his doubts.
Seated on the wooden chair, he scanned the walls, peering into the darkened corners.
"Are we really alone?" he asked the professor, his voice a whisper, the sound echoing slightly in the cramped space. Was someone listening, piercing through the walls with some dark enchantment?
Severus scrutinized him with dark eyes, seeming to ponder an inner mystery. His pale face framed by thick black hair gave him an otherworldly look, timeless, and yet his presence filled the room.
"Yes," he finally replied in a deep voice.
Scorpius crossed his legs and his thin arms.
"Then are we really going to play this game?" he asked, assessing the man before him, watching his reactions.
Snape raised his wand, and Scorpius flinched instinctively.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Snape said. "I need to see if I can make you talk."
Scorpius gave a bitter, almost scornful laugh. He knew Snape was a master of Occlumency, and he had no desire for him to delve into his mind, rifling through his memories, especially his more private ones. But better Severus than Voldemort. And he also wanted to know if Dumbledore's spell would withstand the Dark Lord.
"Go ahead," he said coldly, defiantly. "I won't resist."
Snape looked a bit irritated by his defiant tone and took an attacking stance, his wand aimed at the boy's face.
"Legilimens!"
Scorpius felt an icy wind pierce his mind, seeping into every fiber of his brain, leaving a faint, prickling ache. Images flooded his vision—memories of his mother and father, familiar landscapes, the manor and its gardens, then Hogwarts, and finally, Albus. Albus again and again, at every age and every season, Albus's smile in winter and summer, in shifting settings, always near him, always within reach of hand or lips. Were all his memories of the past six years summed up in one face?
Suddenly, Albus vanished, and the icy intrusion left his mind. The small room reappeared, and Scorpius realized he was trembling. Snape still looked at him with the same impassive expression.
"The charm is strong," Snape said, lowering his wand, "very strong. Even without resistance, I couldn't discern anything. Your memories are far too blurred." He seemed to hesitate, then added, "I did feel your emotions, however. A lot of love, a lot of fear. But the Dark Lord won't be able to do anything with that."
Scorpius's heart raced at the thought that his feelings had been laid bare. But he reminded himself that Voldemort would recognize neither fear nor love. He would indeed find nothing of value.
"The spell is strong because its caster is still alive," he said softly, daring to voice one of his fears. "But what will happen later?"
Snape said nothing, but his lips tightened.
Scorpius pressed on. "You know as well as I do that Dumbledore doesn't have much time left."
"What exactly do you know?" he demanded sharply.
"I know he's dying."
"Forget that! That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you know how your father plans to kill him."
Scorpius shook his head slowly. He didn't want to think about it.
"No, I don't know. He never talks about it. None of us talk about the war. What I know, I didn't learn from… our side."
Snape studied him, his gaze piercing.
"The spell may weaken," he finally said. "When the time comes, I'll perform the same test again. I hope you'll be gone before I need to. But since you seem so keen to reveal your secrets, why not give me the names of those who came on this time-traveling escapade that might very well get us all killed?"
Scorpius gritted his teeth. The professor's tone irritated him.
"We didn't do anything to make this happen! There's no need to make us out as reckless!"
"I know. Dumbledore told me as much. But it doesn't make it any less dangerous. So lower your tone, if you please."
"But Dumbledore didn't tell you our names, did he?" he sneered. "Maybe he doesn't trust you after all."
The wand point pressed into his throat, and Snape's face was close to his, looming.
"Who are the others?" he growled, threateningly.
Scorpius straightened, the wand digging further into his skin, but he didn't care. He wouldn't let anyone threaten him like that.
"Lower it. Now," he hissed, teeth clenched, nearly face-to-face with the professor. "I was going to tell you anyway. And you don't scare me!"
Snape didn't flinch, but he finally pulled his wand back from the boy's throat. Scorpius sat back down, rubbing the sore spot under his jaw as he glared at the man, then tried to speak.
"James…" But his voice froze in his throat.
"Just the first names," Snape said with a weary gesture.
"James, Rose, Hugo, Albus."
The professor grimaced in disgust.
Potters, Weasleys, or any other such spawn, obviously.
He made no effort to hide his contempt. This man was complicated, and Scorpius couldn't quite grasp him. Severus looked up at him and said in a bitter voice, "Why are you telling me all of this so easily? It seems no one has taught you prudence."
"Unlike others, you wouldn't use this information to alter history. Like Dumbledore, you've poured enough scheming and cunning into letting things run their course. You'll do nothing with whatever I might reveal."
Severus smiled, but it was a joyless smile—a mask, always tinged with irony, devoid of warmth.
"You seem very sure of yourself," he said. "How can you be so certain?"
Scorpius considered, weighing each word. How could he be sure? Why trust this man, one who worked in the shadows for the forces of good, but who had sacrificed so many along the way, without remorse, driven by a singular purpose, his own ultimate quest? Perhaps he, too, would become a casualty if it served Severus's goals. Malfoy let out a bitter laugh. Severus was so much like him—they shared the same curse.
"Because I know you," he said gently, offering a sad smile. "I know that you and I would do anything for love. And it just so happens that we are... in love with the same eyes."
Scorpius saw the man's head lift, his nostrils flaring. Struck to the core, the shock and then sorrow passed through his eyes before understanding returned his cold composure.
"You truly know too much." His voice dripped with bitterness, each word a reproach. Without warning, he raised his wand. "Let's begin again. Legilimens!"
Scorpius felt an icy gale pierce his skull, and he cried out in pain. His head was in a vise. More images—joyful memories and terrible ones. Embraces and kisses, arms holding him tightly. And teasing, arguments, shouting, violent fights. Albus's tears.
The cold vanished, and the images faded. Scorpius bent forward, his head between his knees, fighting the urge to vomit. He retched twice, then lifted his gaze to see Severus watching him.
"What did you see?" he asked, straightening up in his chair.
"I only glimpsed it," Severus said, lowering his wand. "I knew what I was looking for. I found the thread of your love; I clung to it as one would follow the weave of a web, and at its center, deep in your mind, he was there."
Scorpius felt his throat tighten, a single tear sliding down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand.
"Am I a danger to him?" he whispered.
"The Dark Lord could not do what I've done. You are not a danger to your companions. But you may well be a danger to yourself!" he replied, and Scorpius knew what he would reproach him for, even before the words left his lips. He knew them all too well. "You have the sharp tongue of a little devil. The Dark Lord seems to enjoy that, which is not to your advantage, despite what you might think. And you've already made enemies within these walls. You should think about your own survival."
"My fate depends on his," Scorpius replied without hesitation. "I have no intention of surviving him."
"Foolish words from a young, ignorant man! One can go on living after a tragedy—you're too young to understand."
"And become a body in motion with no warmth? A living corpse? Didn't you die with her, sir?"
For the first time in his life, he regretted his audacity. In that moment, he saw so much sorrow in those dark eyes that he turned his own gaze away. He heard the Potions Master sigh, and there was an edge of anger in it.
"We will try again." At these words, Scorpius closed his eyes, feeling he was being punished for understanding too well. "And again, and again!" Snape said darkly.
"Until I collapse at your feet?" Scorpius asked, defiant, his body tense, chin raised. "Is this a necessity or just your sadistic idea of punishment? I wasn't captured alone, so why fixate on me for your experiments?"
"Because you are the most reliable one—the only one whose mind is... unclouded."
Scorpius felt fear seeping through his entire body. Why was Snape only questioning him? He asked the question that had been burning on his lips since he'd woken up in the manor's cellar.
"Where is Sila?"
End of Chapter 7
Next chapter: Meeting with Sila.
For more chapters quickly (free!): My P.a.t.r.e.o.n: TiffanyBrd