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kennahijjaTitle: Little Broken Hearts (1/2)
Author: Hijja (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kennahijja)
Pairing: Scorpius/Albus (of sorts)
Rating: hard R/mild NC-17
Warnings: non-con, a bit of violence
Summary: The fires of the past burn brightest.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_darkfest, prompt: "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." (Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore). Thanks to LN for beta and help way beyond the call of duty! Title and endquote are borrowed from Nightwish lyrics.
Exactly one week and four days after returning to Hogwarts for his fifth school year, Albus Severus Potter went mad.
Scorpius could hear the shouting three corridors away from the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Even the portrait of the basilisk that guarded the Common Room door looked miffed.
Climbing through the portrait hole, Scorpius was painfully aware that all heads had turned towards him – the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, assorted hangers-on and random Snakes just caught up in the fuss. On reflex, he ran through the exercise his mother had taught him to deal with the hot flushes that haunted him whenever people looked at him with intent.
He nodded nonchalantly at the crowd and put his Transfiguration books and notes down on a side table.
Adam Bulstrode, Captain of the Quidditch team, shot him a withering glare and turned back to the slender figure in the armchair before him. Albus Potter had one leg slung over its armrest, slouching at his most provocative.
Scorpius lifted an eyebrow in his best imitation of his grandfather. "What seems to be the problem?"
Bulstrode threw him a look almost as dirty as he'd given Albus. "This little shite says he wants to quit the team," he growled.
Scorpius's eyes widened. Albus had been the Slytherin Keeper since second year, making up for his lack in size with an agility and speed that made his game look as if he had Summoning Charms sticking to his palms. His skill with the Quaffle had resulted in more than one mid-game penalty against Gryffindor Chaser James Potter, caught cursing his little brother at the top of his lungs in mid-air, unable to get anything into Slytherin's hoops. Albus loved flying.
"You can field Parkinson, give him a chance," Albus threw in off-handedly. The full force of Bulstrode's anger returned to him.
"Parkinson's shite compared to you," the Captain snapped, then bit his lip. "Why the fuck do you want to quit?"
Albus's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "I need to concentrate on my OWLs."
That drew snorts of laughter from the onlookers, and Scorpius felt his lips quirk. If there was one thing Albus Severus Potter did not have to worry about, it was schoolwork. Potions and Care of Magical Creatures aside, he usually sailed through assignments and examinations with a blithe, disinterested ease that had probably turned all Ravenclaws in their year into his mortal enemies. He hadn't taken off time to study since first year, and had, Scorpius was willing to bet his trusted Lightning Bolt, no intention of starting for something as inconsequential as OWLS.
Even Bulstrode looked bemused. "Look, Potter... if you want to go for Seeker this year, we can talk about it."
An outraged huff emerged from the green-robed crowd of players amassing behind Bulstrode. Fionnuala Macdonald, their current Seeker, nearly stared a hole into the Captain's back. The team's Chasers had to grab her arms to stop her from jumping him.
Bulstrode ignored the commotion.
"I don't want to play Seeker, Bulstrode." Albus enunciated slowly, all but rolling his eyes. "I just quit the team."
Bulstrode balled his fists, rising to his considerable height, and Scorpius put his hand on his wand. Albus just leaned back, even more insolently, and Bulstrode banged his fist on the delicate standby table beside his arm. The guttering candle on the table top was nearly swiped off by his flapping sleeve.
"You listen to me, you arrogant bastard: you'll get your scrawny arse onto the pitch for next practice, or I'm going to make you hurt!"
Albus' eyes went cold. His face twisted into the subtle sneer that only had its home in Slytherin House. Scorpius was certain that his family – James probably excepted - had never seen it.
"Bulstrode?" Albus asked, almost sweetly.
"What?" the captain bellowed.
"Your robe's on fire."
Indeed, smoke was rising from the sleeve where Bulstrode had taken his swipe at the candle, and tiny flames licked towards his wrist. He let out an unmanly shriek, and flailed until he nearly fell on his arse before managing to fumble out his wand left-handed and down the flames with an Aguamenti Charm so forceful it left his entire right side sopping wet and liberally sprayed the team behind him. They jumped back, cursing.
Laughter tittered around the Common Room and the Captain's face turned dark with embarrassment. Albus didn't even try to disguise his smirk. He got up, nodded at Bulstrode, who looked close to apoplexy, and sauntered towards the door.
Bulstrode glared around until his eyes landed on Scorpius. He reached out as if to grab him by the collar of his robe, then noted Scorpius' hand resting on his wand, and settled for pointing a finger.
"You better set the little shite's head straight if you know what's good for him, Malfoy," he snarled.
Scorpius shook a few drops of water from his hand with an exaggerated grimace, trusting that Bulstrode, no matter how furious, wouldn't dare deck him in the middle of the Common Room. With a stare that could wither primroses, the Slytherin Captain stormed towards the door for the seventh year dorm, followed by most of his team like a squadron of battle dragons. A few angry looks landed on Scorpius, and he sighed inwardly. That's what you got for keeping Potter's company. It wasn't as if father hadn't warned him.
Lingering for a few seconds so he wouldn't look as if he were actually running after Albus, he left through the portrait hole. When he saw that he had the corridor to himself, he started to jog. After two corners, he caught sight of Albus.
"Potter!" he called out, more harshly than intended.
Albus threw a look over his shoulder and slowed until Scorpius could fall into step beside him.
"Well, are you?" he asked.
"Am I what?" Scorpius huffed.
"Going to set my head straight?"
Scorpius let out an undelicate snort. "Don't be daft!"
Albus's stiff back relaxed a little, and he slowed down to a more casual stroll.
"But why?" Scorpius asked. "You love flying."
Scorpius himself had never tried out for the team, although he wasn't a bad flier. Father hadn't been happy, but Scorpius knew that compared with Al's unselfconscious grace on a broom, he was as clumsy as a puppy with over-large paws.
"Sort of." Al shrugged. "But Quidditch bores me and I guess it's time to leave Dad's legacy to James and Lily."
"But your Godfather - won't he be disappointed?" There was little that filled Scorpius with as much dread as disappointing his family. Albus just shrugged again.
"Uncle Ron will get over it. It's not as if I was planning to play Keeper for the Cannons after school or something."
"Bulstrode will give you grief," Scorpius warned. "And the rest of the team."
There was the House Cup to consider. Slytherin wasn't cut out for earning points for good behaviour or general likeability, and not for academic excellence that would outshine Ravenclaw either. Quidditch wins made their reputation, and the House was prone to turn against anyone who looked as if he was sabotaging the team.
"Don't worry. I can handle them." A side glance. "Are you worried that Bulstrode will give you grief?"
A quick, warm surge ran through Scorpius. "Not really." He looked sideways at Al and grinned. "After all, I'm not your keeper."
Dark green eyes met his for an instant, eerily sharp. "No, you're not."
"So-" Scorpius asked, nodding in passing at a portrait of Herpo the Foul shifting a huge, ugly toad to check on the egg beneath to play over the awkward moment. "Is Quidditch off because we're looking for the Room of Requirement?"
He'd spent part of his summer holidays after they'd returned from Switzerland in the Manor's library, trying to decipher grandfather's rare 1532 edition of Hogwarts, a History, not that he was about to tell Albus. It never did to encourage him in his obsession of the day.
Albus shot him another one of those looks that made Scorpius wonder what exactly he'd done wrong, then slowly shook his head.
"We were children last year." He waved dismissively. "And my dad says the Headmistress and the Governors blocked the Room off after the Battle, because it was too dangerous inside and someone could get hurt. Anyway, I'll probably have to spend time in the library over the next weeks. I did none of my schoolwork - things were mad at the Burrow with Bill's and Percy's families over too."
Scorpius nodded slowly, fighting back a rush of disappointment.
"And Prefect duty should keep you busy," Albus added.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and groaned. It wasn't that he'd doubted he'd be made Prefect, being one of the few sane members of Slytherin house, but shepherding around awestruck, clueless first years had become old really quickly. His expression wrung a grin from Al after all. Then Albus cocked his head, and his delicate dark eyebrows drew together.
"Malfoy?"
"Hm?" Scorpius asked.
"I think you left your notes and books in the Common Room."
Scorpius quickly killed the flush that started to rise in his cheeks. So much for trying not to look as if he was running after Albus!
"I did, didn't I?" he said, coolly. "How silly of me."
Al nodded. "I'll see you in the dorm, then?"
"Yes... later."
Slowly, Scorpius turned and walked back towards the Common Room. Only when he couldn't hear the pat-pat of Al's footsteps any longer and had made sure the corridor was empty, did he pause to deliver a sharp kick to the marble plinth that held the bust of Lungold the Ungentle, one-time Hogwarts House Beater. It made his toes sting, nothing more, and Lungold's marble face looked as if it was laughing at him.
Something was up with Albus Potter, Scorpius thought darkly, and he would find out no matter what it took!
***
"Oi, Potter! Is it true you were kicked out of your Quidditch team?"
Julius Smith leaned over the aisle that divided the Hufflepuff desks from the Slytherin side. He didn't even whisper particularly quietly as Professor Slughorn sat in his armchair at the front of the classroom with his feet propped up on a cushion and his eyes closed, sucking happily on a piece of chocolate-dipped pineapple. He was also quite deaf.
Scorpius sighed and added another small lizard liver to the slimy green pile on his scales, while Smith's Hufflepuff hangers-on tittered. Smith had always hated Albus - well, the entire Potter clan, really - the result, if Scorpius understood correctly, of an old family feud and Julius's firm belief that descending from a Founder should override your father saving the world from the Dark Lord. And of course Albus trouncing the Hufflepuff in a midnight duel in third year after he'd made Lily Potter cry hadn't improved matters either.
Albus put down the recipe parchment and looked over his shoulder, a slow, tense movement.
"I see why this would make you unhappy, Smith," he drawled in that special way that never failed to make Scorpius grin, because Al had so obviously learned it from him just as he had learned it from his father. Al did it better, though. "Now you've got one less excuse for missing the hoops."
Smith, Hufflepuff's star Chaser and another one of those constantly frustrated by Albus's Keeper skills, flushed to a blotchy pink that was doubly noticeable against his fair complexion.
"Ah, won't your daddy be disappointed in you?" Smith snarled, and Scorpius could see Albus' knuckles go white around the heft of his root knife.
"I don't know," Albus shot back. "But I doubt it. He doesn't determine my worth by what I can contribute to the family fame."
More stung than he would have liked to admit although Albus's eyes were firmly on Smith and Smith's father was well-known for expecting the near-impossible, Scorpius wiped powdered asphodel off his hands, ready to go for his wand should Smith blow up.
"Boys... boys!" Slughorn looked up from his chair, less than pleased to be distracted from the piece of pineapple he'd been contemplating. He raised a pudgy hand for emphasis. "Less talk and more attention on your cauldrons please. I'm looking forward to a roaring fire and a whisky toddy tonight rather than to supervising detentions."
Smith grudgingly returned his attention to his cauldron, and Scorpius took the root knife from Albus's stiff fingers to undo the damage he'd done to the St John's Wort. Weird, how dainty operations like chopping ingredients or catching small Snitches were so far beyond the capability of a boy who was as agile as Albus when it came to wandwork or Quaffles. Even when he wasn't seething.
With a last rude gesture, Smith reached for his brush to sweep powdered Graphorn horn into the simmering mixture bubbling in his cauldron.
Preoccupied with ladling equal portions of lizard livers into his own potion, Scorpius only caught a flash in the corner of his eye as some of the iridescent powder was caught up in the flames that licked out from under the Hufflepuff's cauldron.
Smith screamed and jumped back, dropping the wooden ladle that had ignited like a dry twig. He had the presence of mind not to drop it into the cauldron, but hit out wildly at the flames that reached for his bare arms where he'd tied back the sleeves to stir.
Scorpius caught sight of Albus, leaning back in his chair and observing the scene. An amused little smile curved his mouth and glittered in his eyes.
Slughorn jumped up from his armchair and waddled over faster than Scorpius had ever seen him move, waving his wand at the powder-blue flames that bit at Smith's arms.
The magic doused them quickly enough, and Slughorn pulled the Hufflepuff away from the crackling cauldron to cast a Vacuous over the concoction before it could explode. Then he disentangled Smith, who was still shaking and tearful, from the clutch of Hufflepuffs that had descended to fuss over their leader, picking one at random.
"Miss Finch-Fletchley, please take Mr Smith to the hospital wing." He peered at the reddened skin on Smith's arms and tutted at the hovering Hufflepuffs. "It's not serious, but Madam Pomfrey should have a look just in case."
Supported by pigtailed Emma Finch-Fletchley, Smith limped out of the potions classroom, and Scorpius belatedly threw his quartered flobberworm tails into his potion. It came round to the textbook shade of lavender just as Slughorn started to make his way around the room, ladling spoonfuls into the testing bottles.
When the Professor had passed their desk, muttering approval at their potion's colour and consistency, Scorpius turned to whisper in Al's ear. "Did you do it?"
Al's forehead crumpled a little. "How?" he hissed back. "I didn't even have my wand out." He shook his head as they stuffed books and parchments into their bags, then filed out at the tail end of the last group of Hufflepuffs.
"What made you think I did it?" Al inquired, one inky eyebrow raised, as soon as they were safely back into Slytherin territory.
"Well..." Scorpius hedged. He couldn't very well say, 'I didn't like the way you smiled'. "It just was such of a coincidence after Smith was asking for it so badly."
The smile reappeared at the corner of Albus's mouth, more Albus this time. His eyes sparkled. "He did, didn't he?"
Only when Scorpius was back in the Common Room, filling in curious house mates about Smith's misfortune and trying to silence his stomach with the promise of an early lunch did he realise that Al hadn't really given him an answer to his question.
***
He saw little of Albus in the following days. Mentoring first years turned out to be more time-consuming than Scorpius had expected, and Prefect duties in a serpents' coil like Slytherin required constant attention, not to speak of diplomacy and the occasional show of force. They still studied together some evenings, amiably enough, but Scorpius missed the strolls around the grounds at weekends, the whacky study sessions in the library when Albus pursued his obsession of the month, and sneaking around Hogwarts after lights out under Al's infamous Invisibility Cloak.
Like the night they'd gone into the Forbidden Forest in second year because Al wanted to see the unicorn foals splashing in the forest pools under the moonlight. After falling into the brook twice and slipping along the muddy path, it had been Scorpius whose dripping hair the foals nuzzled first before one of them cautiously nudged Albus's shoulder. Scorpius had blushed like a mad thing there in the dark, but Al had laughed, happy for his good fortune, and never cracked any jokes about excessive purity. Yes, they'd been silly children, but Scorpius missed in those times.
He could still hear Albus sneaking out at night, being attuned to the familiar sounds from the neighbouring four-poster as he waited for a rap against his bedpost that didn't come. Not that this, in itself, was unusual. Albus was the only Slytherin in living memory who had the freedom of every Common Room at Hogwarts, visiting siblings and cousins, and even those who were grumbling - particularly in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff - seemed to regard him more like an annoying Gryffindor who had been mis-Sorted than as an enemy. Scorpius didn't begrudge him it. Not really.
It was only when he ran into Rose Weasley in the library, ensconced behind a wall of books at her regular table, that he realised he'd allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of comfort. Some weird impulse made him stop to ask whether Al had been around to see her recently.
She sniffed and shot him an accusatory look before pointing out, in a very snappish tone of voice, that Albus hadn't dropped by the Ravenclaw Common Room since the beginning of term.
"Well, we're not chaining him to the dungeon walls, you know," Scorpius snapped back, sharper than intended. It wasn't so much anger at Rose, more the question of what Albus was up to every night if he wasn't seeing the Potter-Weasley clan.
Rose huffed and waved her hand at him as if he were an obnoxious house-elf - which, honestly, was a bit rich coming from a Weasley. Still, she was Albus's cousin and had quite a temper if pushed, so Scorpius prudently limited his response to a scowl at the back of her head and beat a quick retreat.
Even then, he had no actual plans to spy on Albus - after all, Albus regarded sleep as an amusing irrelevance and might be out snooping around after Hogwarts secrets, or just using the hidden passageway into the Restricted Section to follow some eclectic research impulse. It wouldn't be the first time. If he didn't want Scorpius with him, Scorpius wouldn't try and tag along.
It didn't stop him from holding his breath that night when he heard Al's soft footsteps on the carpet, then the tap-tap of his Muggle trainers moving towards the door. It shut behind him with the softest of clicks. Scorpius rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy of his four-poster in the darkness, fighting the impulse to follow. He'd not been invited, and mere curiosity shouldn't make him try and spy on Al's secrets.
When he slid into his shoes and pulled his robe over his pyjamas a heartbeat later, it was only because those thoughts were unworthy of a Slytherin, even more so a Malfoy. He wanted to know what Al was up to. He would find out tonight. If Al was meeting a girl, or wheedling a plum tart out of the kitchen elves, he could always sneak back into bed with no one the wiser.
Sneaking out the dormitory and through the corridor wasn't any effort, even without lighting his wand so as to not alert Albus to the fact that he was being followed. The dungeon corridors were dark, with only a few torches lighting up stone and the occasional wood panelling on a door.
Scorpius trailed Albus at a safe distance, wondering why he hadn't taken his Invisibility Cloak. It wasn't like Albus to forget that - the thing was pretty much part of him, a gift of mercy from his father after Al's nightly wanderings in first year had cost Slytherin more points than even his performance in class could make up for, and the house had turned on him in anger. Tonight, though, his black robes were almost camouflage enough.
Almost. Scorpius didn't see it happen; he'd stayed back when Albus slipped into the little stone antechamber that barred the way out of the dungeons in order to keep out of the light of the torches there. He heard a flurry of footsteps, a scuffle cut short by the telltale hiss of a spell, and then the dull thud of a body impacting against stone.
Scorpius cursed inwardly and drew his wand, creeping forward on soft soles until he could peer around the corner.
Albus was pinned to the wall with Rupert Bode's arm pressed against his windpipe. The Beater's wand dug into Albus's chest where his robe gaped open to reveal bare skin beneath. The left side of Albus's face was swollen, and a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.
Behind Bode stood Adam Bulstrode, holding both his own and Albus's wand with a triumphant expression on his face. A quick look around revealed two more members of the Slytherin Quidditch team - Gabriel Harper, the second Beater, and the lithe, dark-haired figure of Seeker Fionnuala Macdonald, who had obviously made up with Bulstrode to Albus's detriment.
Scorpius could see Al fighting against Bode's grip with bare-toothed rage. He'd never been much prone to physical violence, Albus, but now he kicked at Bode's shins and awkwardly tried to beat him in the head with his fist.
Biting his tongue, Scorpius forced himself to wait. If Albus's struggles focussed all attention on him, hitting them unawares would be more effective considering the odds.
Bode winced at a particularly sharp kick and hissed a spell. His wand tip lit up, and blue light spilled over Albus's chest. For a moment he writhed, letting out a noise like an angry cat. Scorpius recognised the signs of a pain curse, one of the myriad little brothers of the Cruciatus. This one, and stronger ones, Scorpius had learned from Grandfather years ago.
Still, he wasn't quite prepared for the surge of rage that rushed through him. He was through the door in a heartbeat, hitting Bulstrode, who stood between Scorpius and Bode, in the back with an "Expelliarmus!" so strong it not only ripped both wands from his grip, but also knocked him backward several steps.
Bulstrode caught himself against the wall while his cronies snapped around, wands raised.
"Malfoy!" Bulstrode growled. "You should've sided with your house instead of your little boyfriend for once." His face twisted in an ugly way. "No matter - you can watch."
Scorpius gripped his wand tight, adamant not to betray any outward sign of the moths fluttering in his stomach. He ducked a sluggish Petrification Hex and fired another back at Bulstrode, who dived out of the way and for his wand. He came up way too fast, snapping over his shoulder at Bode, "Don't let Potter get away! We'll take down Malfoy."
Scorpius swallowed when he found himself facing three wands, but a sharp cry from the wall made them all turn. Bode was stumbling backwards, clutching his arm where a raw, red burn ran up from wrist to elbow, covered in oozing blisters. Bode stared at it with a horrified whimper. His eyes went, uncomprehending, to the spot several feet away where Albus's wand had been flung by Scorpius's Expelliarmus.
Albus stepped away from the wall, his black hair a tousled mess around a face whose pallor set off lips and eyes as splashes of opposing colour. Any other time, the sight would have plucked a string deep inside Scorpius's stomach, but that subtle, scary smile was back around Albus's mouth and his green eyes flared with rage.
Around his fingers danced what looked like little sparks, although the skin beneath them was as unblemished as ever. So the little bugger had lied to him about the potions incident after all, was Scorpius's first, irritated thought.
Al shook his fingers at the Slytherins circling Scorpius as if trying to rid them of excess water, but bright orange flames leapt away instead. Harper cursed as some of them licked at his robe, dancing up the black fabric as easily as mischievous Pixies. He beat at the smoking wool, then cursed when the flames singed his fingers and dropped his wand in his haste to get the robe off.
Albus sent another handful of fire at Macdonald, who jumped back, her mane of glossy black hair whipping behind her. The flames missed her, but kissed a few of the flying strands and set them alight. Macdonald screamed in fright as she caught sight of it and the acrid smell of burnt hair filled the little chamber. Before Scorpius could douse her with an Aguamenti, Harper recovered his bearings and tackled the flailing Seeker to the ground, throwing her wide hood over her smoking hair to suffocate the flames.
Scorpius waited until her sobbing subsided and Harper let her up. She touched the remains of her locks, singed off at the ends into molten clumps, and let out a shriek of pure rage. Almost lazily, Scorpius hit them both from behind with a Stunning Spell.
It distracted him for a few crucial seconds. Enough for Adam Bulstrode to let fly another pain curse at Albus. It slammed Al back into the wall where he convulsed with a scream that went through Scorpius like a knife.
Bulstrode, in seventh year and one of the stars of the duelling club, blocked Scorpius's Expelliarmus with ease, but gave Albus time to recover. Without quite looking, a move of Albus's hand sent more flames slamming into Bode's chest, who'd been groping to retrieve his wand with his uninjured hand. He collapsed with a groan, and lay still.
When Albus raised his head, his eyes seemed alight as if pale green flames burned in them too. He looked very cold, and very angry.
He clenched his hand into a fist, and the flames around it weren't merry and orange any longer, but a garish white and blue that gave off heat Scorpius could feel several feet away. A ball of crackling fire shot through the air towards Bulstrode like a sentient creature. Bulstrode dived out of the way of the howling flames, saved only by Quidditch reflexes. The fireball impacted on the wall of the chamber in a hissing conflagration that left scorch marks on the stone.
Albus gasped. Bulstrode, caught by the fallout, was thrown to the ground on his back, the right side of his face flushed red from the heat. He was staring up at Albus. The tight, alien smile was back on Albus's face, and Bulstrode's disbelief turned to an expression of pure terror when Albus raised his hand again. This time, there was no chance he could miss.
"Al, no!" Scorpius screamed, throwing himself forward despite the sick lurch of fear in his stomach. He reached Albus and grabbed his arm. "Don't! You'll kill him!"
Albus tore his eyes away from Bulstrode with apparent effort. Scorpius shuddered when they focussed on him. He let go of Al's arm and jumped when Albus's fingers closed around his wrist. A wave of sickening agony shot through Scorpius as Al's fingertips burned into his skin. His mouth opened, but no sound came out except for a shocked exhale. Tears shot into his eyes and it took all of Scorpius's considerable self-control not to fall to his knees writhing in pain.
His eyes unreadable, Albus let go. "They shouldn't have attacked me," he said calmly. Turning his attention back to Bulstrode, he left Scorpius to stare at the five dark burns that dotted his wrist.
His heart hammering inside his chest, Scorpius stepped between Albus and the Team Captain. "We're Slytherins, Al," he said. "We don't turn against our own. Not like that."
It was as if he'd slapped Albus physically. His face crumbled into a grimace of hurt, shock almost, an expression of vulnerability that Scorpius had never, ever seen on him, not even as a small, harassed first year railing against being Sorted into the wrong House.
It lasted only for a moment before the cold mask descended again. Albus took hold of the fingers of Scorpius's injured hand very carefully, lifting it up and studying it as if he contemplated to kiss it better. A shudder ran through Scorpius at the gentle touch.
"Where did you learn that spell anyway?" Scorpius blurted out, somewhat light-headed from pain and adrenaline.
Al cocked his head. "Why? Do you want me to teach you?"
"Not really!" It came out a lot more dismissively than Scorpius had intended.
"No, I didn't think so." Albus shook his head. "You shouldn't spy after me," he whispered, stroking Scorpius's palm with his thumb. "It's dangerous. You could get hurt." He brushed his fingers over Scorpius's. "Do you understand?"
Scorpius understood indeed. In a flash, he recalled Albus in the corridor, telling him about the Room of Requirement in almost the same words. He buried the thought at the bottom of his consciousness and pulled his hand free of Al's hold.
Albus didn't try to stop him. He just called his wand to him in a flawless feat of Summoning and walked away without another glance back the chaos he had wrought.
Scorpius rushed over to Rupert Bode's limp form and felt his pulse, trying not to look at the older boy's burns. He was breathing, and groaned when Scorpius accidentally brushed his side. Relieved beyond measure, Scorpius took a deep breath, then strode over to Bulstrode, who was still on the ground, looking more shaken than Scorpius had ever seen him.
"I saved your life," he pointed out, in a voice that sounded so cool it sent a shiver down Scorpius's back. "You will never go after Albus Severus Potter again."
"You know he's mad, don't you, Malfoy?" There was a rasp in Bulstrode's voice, the aftermath of terror. "Practising Dark Arts like that, attacking his own house mates." The coarse features hardened. "How long until he turns on you, what do you think?"
"He won't," Scorpius ground out, trying to ignore the steady ache of the marks on his wrist.
"Yeah, try to tell yourself that when he burns you to a crisp."
Scorpius drew in a shaky breath. "Just leave us alone, Bulstrode," he repeated and turned away to escape back towards the Slytherin dorms - the opposite direction in which Albus had taken off - leaving Bulstrode to clean up the mess.
Dreading the oppressive dark of his dormitory, Scorpius hid himself in the Slytherin Prefects' lounge. He retrieved the potions kit that the Prefects used to deal with scrapes and hexes that needed looking to, but didn't quite warrant Madam Pomfrey's attention, and helped himself to some ointment. The burns faded to a dull ache that left Scorpius's head clear for the first time after the panicked muddle of the fight.
He knew he should go to Slughorn, or the Headmistress even. Something was very wrong with Albus. But their Head of House was old and exhausted, and McGonagall a Gryffindor with a Gryffindor's prejudices. If only her predecessor Severus Snape had survived the war! Scorpius wouldn't have hesitated to tell him about his young namesake's antics. For a moment, he wished he could owl his father or grandfather and ask their opinion on the spell Albus had used. Dark wandless magic... grandfather would know, but neither Malfoy was fond of Albus and they wouldn't bother looking beyond the fact that injury had been done to Scorpius.
No - he had to do this alone. Scorpius curled up on one of the leather armchairs in the lounge, feeling the cool film of ointment on his wrist and tried, in vain, to go to sleep.
***
The days following the clash in the dungeons were tense. Bode had to be taken to the Hospital Wing for second degree burns on his arm and chest, the investigation of which had revealed the damage Albus's fire had done to the antechamber wall. Scorpius sat through three Prefects' meetings with the Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster Flitwick. They did their best to flush out the culprits, and the six Slytherin Prefects had a very unpleasant time protesting their innocence and ignorance.
Scorpius lied along with the best of them. Slytherin House prided itself on its infamous cover of silence towards the outside world. Bode claimed to have been memory-charmed and to have no recollection of what had happened. From all Scorpius knew of Bulstrode's ruthlessness, he might be telling the truth. Macdonald sported a new hairstyle, a sleek cap of black silk framing her face, claiming it was easier to maintain, especially during matches. And Scorpius himself wore long sleeves to hide the burns on his wrist, grateful for the dull, wet days of the Scottish autumn.
Inside Slytherin, however, rumours buzzed like flies - the Slytherin team had attacked Albus and lost, Albus had used Dark Magic and tried to kill Bode and Bulstrode, Potter and Malfoy had finally fallen out.
The last was true.
Scorpius was in no mood to take the first step, hurt and unnerved by the way Albus kept watching him; Scorpius would look up from his table at the library, or just sitting on his bed in the dormitory, to find Albus's eyes on him from a corner, little side glances that radiated a warning... a challenge, almost.
Part of Scorpius wanted to just wash his hands of Potter, concentrate on his schoolwork and duties and forget what he'd seen in the antechamber. A larger part, however, recalled the boy who'd reached right through Scorpius's prickly defences of Malfoy pride in his first week at Hogwarts. Who'd taken him to see unicorns, and made him study Hittite Cuneiform, Muggle Alchemy and Hairy MacBoons, and who'd sneaked into the Hospital Wing at midnight to bring Scorpius a bagful of Ice Mice after Scorpius had fretted himself into a faint after his parent's first Howler when Jasper Belby dared him to brew Veritaserum by promising he'd drink it, and the subsequent tale of Belby's father's affair with Madam Angeletta Zabini had got out.
Father and grandfather had had minions, like Mr Goyle, the gamekeeper, who lived in a hut on the Malfoy estate and had taught Scorpius to hunt partridges and who was invited to official gatherings because, as father said, Malfoys took care of their people. Albus, on the other hand, had scores of family and friends, so tightly knit that he'd not quite known how to behave around Professors Longbottom or Hagrid at first because he'd known them all his life. Scorpius had no interest in minions or circles of friends - he'd only ever wanted mad, brilliant Albus.
Now, he took to spending time with Christabel Flint, his fellow Prefect, and Aneurin Whiddershins, heir to an ancient Welsh family, neither of who had any time for Quidditch or Bulstrode's little gang. It shouldn't have hurt, therefore, to see that the incident, which had earned Albus the ire of their House in some ways, had bolstered his status in others. In the Common Room, he was at times seen in the company of the Mulciber brothers, whom he suffered in a bemused, detached manner where before he'd always kept a distance from the children of Death Eaters, and they from him. All except Scorpius. It did hurt, but it also was a relief of sorts - the Mulcibers were the dirtiest fighters at Hogwarts, and, if nothing else, Albus's back would be well-protected.
Most of the time, Scorpius haunted the library, trying to get his hands on every book discussing fire magic to find out what lay behind Albus's strange new skill at casting wandless fire. It was an endeavour fraught with pitfalls, however. Albus's warning still echoing in his ears, Scorpius knew he had to do his research in secret, which wasn't easy. Albus knew the library like the back of his hand, knew the secret passageway from the Slytherin dungeons, and had an Invisibility Cloak to boot. Moreover, Scorpius could hardly take out books openly as Madam Pince's young assistant was enamoured with Albus and would be only too keen to answer a casual question about what Scorpius had borrowed.
True enough, he found himself the focus of Albus's hooded gaze more than once while browsing the Elemental Magic shelves. His heart hammered as he picked up Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean to carry back to his table, feeling Albus's mocking stare between his shoulder blades all the while.
He managed to steal an hour in the library by skipping Divination when Albus was at Muggle Studies, the only classes they didn't share. Six volumes of Elemental Magics, Fanning the Flames: Fire Spells for Fiery Sorcerers, or From Egg to Inferno, picked up with growing despair, provided no useful hints. There certainly were fire spells aplenty, from Bluebell Flames to Conflagratio, which looked like it could match the fireball Albus had sent after Bulstrode. But none of them could be cast wandless, even less nonverbal.
There were more books, darker ones, in the Restricted Section, and Scorpius knew he could get to them through the secret passageway, but first things first. There was a second strand to his research, almost as tricky as the fire magic, which concerned the Room of Requirement. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that whatever had happened to Albus, it must have happened there. Albus had all but implied it himself, and the tale he'd spun about having lost interest in finding it? In five years, Albus had never lost interest in one of his obsessions until it was thoroughly demystified, catalogued and picked to shreds from every angle imaginable. No, Al had been lying, and with far less than his usual skill.
Before it had turned into Albus's pet project at the end of fourth year, Scorpius hadn't given the Room a second thought. Like everybody, he knew that Dumbledore's Army had hidden there during the War, and that during the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter, Weasley and Granger had fought Scorpius's father and his friends there and one of them hadn't made it out alive.
From Albus, Scorpius knew that Harry Potter, like Scorpius's own father, was rather close-mouthed when it came to war stories. His godfather Ronald Weasley, however, was anything but. Scorpius wasn't about to try and draw those stories out of Rose Weasley, who was much too perceptive and suspicious. Ron Weasley's son, however...
Scorpius prepared his trap quite carefully. The previous year, with Prefectship in mind, he'd volunteered to tutor a handful of struggling second and third years in Potions and Transfiguration. Now, he called in that debt from two burly, raucous third years with very specific instructions.
He watched matters unfold on a rainy late September noon in the Great Hall, finishing his plate of bangers and mash. Covertly, he observed the two Slytherins sauntering past the Gryffindor table just as Hugo Weasley got up to leave. One of them leaned forward to whisper something, and Weasley's head snapped up. He hissed something in reply that was definitely not complimentary and stormed off. The two Slytherins chuckled, unperturbed by the angry mutterings from the remaining Gryffindors, then slowly followed Weasley outside.
Scorpius smirked and dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then looked up to see Albus slide onto the bench opposite him. He snatched a jam-filled cupcake from the dessert tray and took a murderous bite out of it.
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. Albus was ridiculously picky when it came to sweets. He shunned Chocolate Frogs, but devoured Ice Mice by the bag, wouldn't touch a Fizzing Whizzbee for galleons, but managed to ferret out every last Cauldron Cake in the Slytherin dormitories. In five years, Scorpius hadn't seen him in the presence of a cupcake he hadn't sneered at.
Albus returned his raised eyebrow and Scorpius looked away, blushing and telling himself that there was no way Albus could guess what he was up to as the sound of hexes being exchanged floated in from the corridor outside the Great Hall.
***
That evening, Scorpius made his way up to the Gryffindor tower, coolly knocking at the portrait hole under the disapproving glare of the guardian portrait, a rather fat woman in what looked like a pink nightgown.
After a moment, the portrait hole swung open and a girl peered out. Her expression darkened at the sight of Scorpius's Slytherin House insignia.
"What do you want here?" she asked.
"I'd like to have a word with Hugo Weasley," Scorpius said calmly.
"What for?" she growled. "Haven't you lot done enough today already?"
"I'm here as a Prefect to discuss his unprovoked assault on my housemates," Scorpius replied, blithely ignoring her choked protest at the term 'unprovoked'. "I'd hate having to go to your Head of House with this, so if you could get him..."
The door slammed shut in front of his nose, but Scorpius waited, knowing his Gryffindors. Indeed, it didn't take two minutes before the door opened again, this time to reveal the saturnine face of Hugo Weasley under a frizzy mane of reddish hair a shade darker than the unfortunate Weasley ginger, thanks to his mother.
"What?" Weasley snapped.
"You cursed two of my housemates with boils today," Scorpius pointed out. "I think we should... talk about that." He nodded at the tower staircase.
The frown that crinkled Weasley's forehead looked so much like Albus's that Scorpius's heart ached. "Are you... calling me out, or something?"
Scorpius lifted an eyebrow, trying hard not to grin. Of all of Albus's cousins, he liked Hugo best, but it didn't lessen the fun of playing with the explosive young Gryffindor.
"I'm offering you a way of settling this without complaining to McGonagall," he said. "So what if I wanted to call you out?"
The boy's shoulders straightened. "It's all right," he called over his shoulder and stepped outside, letting the portrait swing shut over the hole. He followed Scorpius down the stairs without another word, and only hesitated for an instant when Scorpius led him into one of the small studies reserved for the seventh-years studying for their NEWTS.
"They called my mother a Mudblood slut who slept with the Minister to get the new Werewolf Adoption Law approved." Weasley hissed when the door shut behind them.
Scorpius rolled his eyes inwardly. Predictable, but a touch more creative than he'd expected from his former pupils. Madam Granger-Weasley was rumoured to be a strong candidate to succeed Shacklebolt as the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic at some point in the future. Scorpius doubted that she would have to use sex to get there. "They deserved to be hexed," Weasley emphasised. "Or are you saying you wouldn't have done the same?"
"Oh, I would have," Scorpius admitted cheerfully. "I'd just have picked a better place than the middle of a public corridor."
Weasley ran a hand through his hair in confusion. "So you're not here to, well... hex me back?"
"No. I'm going to ask you what happened in the Room of Requirement when your parents and Potter fought there in the Battle of Hogwarts."
The younger boy ogled him in confusion. "What? Why? You would let me off the hook for hexing those bloody bastards, just like that?"
Scorpius nodded. "Just like that."
Weasley's eyes narrowed, then went wide. "Wait a minute - why aren't you asking Al?"
"I'm asking you." Scorpius voice was tight.
"I know you've fallen out - it's over the entire school." Weasley pointed out, eyes blazing. "Because if this is some snake pit scheme to get back at my cousin-"
Scorpius snorted in disgust. "Oh, so you think that just because rumours say we fought I'll turn on my best friend of five years because that's what Slytherins do? Thanks so much for the vote of confidence, Weasley!"
He hadn't socialised with Albus's siblings and cousins very much because he felt awkward in their company, but they had spent time together on occasion and he'd have thought that they would extend at least some of the courtesy to him that they granted Albus. Enough to not judge him by his green-and-silver tie and Slytherin badge alone.
Weasley had the grace to blush. "Well no, but... I just want to make sure we understand one another."
"So," Scorpius shot back, "are you going to tell me or not?"
Deflating, Weasley settled his hip on the armrest of a chintz chair.
"Well, I only know what Dad and Mum told me - that they hid one of Voldemort's Horcruxes in the Room of Requirement, and when they went back to get it, Mal- your Dad and his two goons Crabbe and Goyle jumped them. Crabbe cast some sort of mad fire spell - Fiendfyre, I think – and lost control over it. It killed him, and Uncle Harry and my parents only just managed to get your Dad and Goyle out on brooms."
He brushed Scorpius with a shy side glance. "Mum said that your Dad... he tried to stop them from killing Harry. That he wasn't really on Voldemort's side any more, just wanting to protect his family."
It was kindly meant, but barely penetrated Scorpius's mind. "Fiendfyre," he repeated, almost able to hear the clunk with which things started to fall into place.
"That's what Mum said it was called - it destroyed everything in the Room of Requirement, even the Horcrux."
Scorpius nodded slowly, then gasped when Weasley suddenly jumped up from his chair and grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise.
"Malfoy - is this to do with whoever tried to burn down the Slytherin dungeons a while back?"
Scorpius cursed inwardly. Damn Weasley for being way too perceptive for, well... a Weasley.
"I'm not sure," he hedged. "That's what I want to find out."
"You think it has to do with Al - why he's so weird, and never coming round any more? You think he's in trouble?"
"I don't know," Scorpius lied. "He might be." Seeing the worried look that settled over the boy's face, he added, "But maybe not."
"D'you want me to talk to him about it?" Weasley asked. Scorpius felt a prickle of apprehension run down his spine at the thought.
"No!" he exclaimed, visibly startling the boy. "I think you shouldn't talk to him at all. It's a Slytherin matter," he added.
Weasley cocked his head. "You will go to your Head of House if it's getting over your head, won't you?"
"Of course," Scorpius lied again with a grave nod.
"Good," said Weasley and made to get up. Scorpius stopped him with a motion of his hand.
"The Room of Requirement... have you heard anything about it being blocked off after the war?"
"Blocked off?" Weasley frowned. "No. Why?"
"Oh, rumours," Scorpius murmured with narrowed eyes. "Just rumours."
Weasley paused, one hand on the door handle. "Be careful, Malfoy."
With that, he left, and for a moment, Scorpius just fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. He sincerely wished could just use his Malfoy Portkey to go to the manor's library, where grandfather's collection was bound to wash up something. But not even a Malfoy could sneak into Malfoy Manor unnoticed, and while lying to a Weasley was fair game, lying to his family wasn't.
No, it had to be the Restricted Section.
***
The 129 volume Dictionary of Magic that a long-forgotten Lestrange had gifted to the Slytherin Common Room proved of use once more in locating Fiendfyre. Between 'Fieldwinder' and 'Figunula', Volume 36 turned up pointers to The Black Book of Spells and Advanced Conjuring: a Sorcerer's Study. The first, at least, Scorpius was certain would be in the Restricted Section because if nobody else, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus would have donated it to the school as a matter of family pride.
On the evening following Scorpius's chat with Hugo Weasley, he set out for the night's Prefect meeting, then sent an owl to Christabel Flint to make his excuses for feeling sick. This, he hoped, would throw Albus off his trail if he was indeed still watching.
Making certain he was neither observed nor followed, he made his way down to the old Potions classroom, in a badly-lit corridor that branched off behind their usual one. It smelled of old smoke and dissected Horklumps. A tattered, sooty tapestry was hanging behind a plinth that had once borne the bust of "Centaur Potioneer, at Repose", but was now bare except for the placard, and worn smooth from numerous small hands brushing it in passing.
You had to squeeze behind the plinth and pluck out the nails that fastened the tapestry to the wall to be able to access the small stone door behind. The doorknob bared green-tipped fangs at Scorpius, and he hastened to whisper "Open, in Slytherin's name!". Huffing in a disappointed kind of way, the knob turned and the door opened into a very narrow upwards staircase, hewn right into the stone wall.
Scorpius squeezed inside and pulled the door shut behind him. Climbing up was gruelling and much less fun than doing it in Albus's company, especially when the staircase twisted and turned with him inside, and his stomach contents twisted in response.
After what felt like an hour, he found the upper end and ended his Lumos before pushing the oval stone door open as noiselessly as possible and peering out. The Restricted Section was dark, and even the glass-encased reading lamps - the only sources of light permitted - had been doused.
Rather short of breath, he climbed out and stepped into the looming shadows of the shelves, leaving the door wide open behind him. A distinctive scent of parchment, ancient wood and dormant magic clung to this section of the library. The shelves rose around him like sleeping monsters, and he fought back an attack of nerves. He'd never been here on his own before.
Knowing better than to touch one of the books, he tiptoed over to the huge cast-iron parchment index. The drawer prickled under his fingers as he pulled it out, but didn't scream at him.
As he'd expected, The Black Book of Spells was listed in the Dark Arts section. Scorpius pushed the drawer shut and walked over in the light of a Lumos dulled in order not to be seen from the outside.
The Dark Arts shelves with all their dust and heavy oak panelling crackled with a sense of invisible, destructive power. The Black Book, hide-bound cover as dark as its name, stood on the second-to-top shelf, and Scorpius touched its back with a nervous finger. He could almost hear the breath it was drawing to let out a Banshee screech should he try and pull it out. He prepared to hit the book with the strongest stunning spell he knew, and took a deep breath.
A vague, acrid smell hit his nostrils. Scorpius froze and slid behind the shelf, pulling his hood over his too-bright hair. He sniffed the air again, and his blood chilled. Smoke.
Peering around the shelf, he tried to determine where the smell came from. Perhaps one of the lanterns was still on, or...
A thin coil of smoke was curling around the other side of the Dark Arts shelf, followed by another, and then thin pinpricks of light flickered up behind the shelf.
The smell of smoke, of flames gnawing, against all odds, at ancient shelving practically dripping with anti-burn charms grew stronger, overpowering. Scorpius pressed his hand against his mouth to stop himself from coughing. The back wall of the shelf exploded in a blossom of fire, and Scorpius reacted almost without conscious thought: he grabbed the Black Book of Spells and ripped it from the glowing shelf, its howl drowned out by the ear-splitting screams that poured forth from bodiless mouths forming on the burning shelves - the alarms of the library, not heard for almost a century.
Clutching the book to his chest and half unconscious from the noise and heat, Scorpius stumbled towards the door to the secret staircase, praying it was still open. There was no way of opening the exit from inside the library, nothing but bare wall. The Restricted Section itself was closed off and barred at night. If someone had shut the door on him, he'd suffocate or burn without any means of escape.
Feeling his way blindly and retching, he found the wall and the gap still open with the most profound surge of relief he'd ever felt. He stumbled through the door with just enough presence of mind to pull it shut against the towering inferno that had set the shelf ablaze. He tumbled more than climbed down the staircase, narrowly avoiding breaking his neck, and fled out at the bottom end with the screams of the shelves still ringing in his ears. Then he realised that it wasn't him. The alarm was still audible even in the dungeons, if more as a faint whisper. After having the flames sear his vision, the dungeons were pitch black as he tore through them towards the dormitories, stumbling through the fifth-years' door just a moment before the first bare footsteps and confused voices sounded from the dorms closer to the Common Room.
The dormitory was dark and quiet, Albus's curtains next to his pulled and laced carefully shut. Where Scorpius had left his own as safely secured, however, they now gaped open to reveal empty cushions and bedding inside.
Someone had come looking for him, and found him gone.
Freezing cold all of a sudden, he tore off his smoke-sodden cloak and vanished it before crawling into bed and spelling the curtains shut against the outside with the strongest spell he knew. Only this once, he didn't want to know who was passing by outside.
As the night fire destroyed the Dark Arts shelves of the Restricted Section, Scorpius Malfoy lay curled around a pillow in the shelter of his canopied four-poster, hugging the Black Book of Spells to his stomach, and trembled.
concludes in Part 2
Author: Hijja (
kennahijja)Pairing: Scorpius/Albus (of sorts)
Rating: hard R/mild NC-17
Warnings: non-con, a bit of violence
Summary: The fires of the past burn brightest.
Author's Note: Written for
hp_darkfest, prompt: "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." (Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore). Thanks to LN for beta and help way beyond the call of duty! Title and endquote are borrowed from Nightwish lyrics.Exactly one week and four days after returning to Hogwarts for his fifth school year, Albus Severus Potter went mad.
Scorpius could hear the shouting three corridors away from the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Even the portrait of the basilisk that guarded the Common Room door looked miffed.
Climbing through the portrait hole, Scorpius was painfully aware that all heads had turned towards him – the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, assorted hangers-on and random Snakes just caught up in the fuss. On reflex, he ran through the exercise his mother had taught him to deal with the hot flushes that haunted him whenever people looked at him with intent.
He nodded nonchalantly at the crowd and put his Transfiguration books and notes down on a side table.
Adam Bulstrode, Captain of the Quidditch team, shot him a withering glare and turned back to the slender figure in the armchair before him. Albus Potter had one leg slung over its armrest, slouching at his most provocative.
Scorpius lifted an eyebrow in his best imitation of his grandfather. "What seems to be the problem?"
Bulstrode threw him a look almost as dirty as he'd given Albus. "This little shite says he wants to quit the team," he growled.
Scorpius's eyes widened. Albus had been the Slytherin Keeper since second year, making up for his lack in size with an agility and speed that made his game look as if he had Summoning Charms sticking to his palms. His skill with the Quaffle had resulted in more than one mid-game penalty against Gryffindor Chaser James Potter, caught cursing his little brother at the top of his lungs in mid-air, unable to get anything into Slytherin's hoops. Albus loved flying.
"You can field Parkinson, give him a chance," Albus threw in off-handedly. The full force of Bulstrode's anger returned to him.
"Parkinson's shite compared to you," the Captain snapped, then bit his lip. "Why the fuck do you want to quit?"
Albus's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "I need to concentrate on my OWLs."
That drew snorts of laughter from the onlookers, and Scorpius felt his lips quirk. If there was one thing Albus Severus Potter did not have to worry about, it was schoolwork. Potions and Care of Magical Creatures aside, he usually sailed through assignments and examinations with a blithe, disinterested ease that had probably turned all Ravenclaws in their year into his mortal enemies. He hadn't taken off time to study since first year, and had, Scorpius was willing to bet his trusted Lightning Bolt, no intention of starting for something as inconsequential as OWLS.
Even Bulstrode looked bemused. "Look, Potter... if you want to go for Seeker this year, we can talk about it."
An outraged huff emerged from the green-robed crowd of players amassing behind Bulstrode. Fionnuala Macdonald, their current Seeker, nearly stared a hole into the Captain's back. The team's Chasers had to grab her arms to stop her from jumping him.
Bulstrode ignored the commotion.
"I don't want to play Seeker, Bulstrode." Albus enunciated slowly, all but rolling his eyes. "I just quit the team."
Bulstrode balled his fists, rising to his considerable height, and Scorpius put his hand on his wand. Albus just leaned back, even more insolently, and Bulstrode banged his fist on the delicate standby table beside his arm. The guttering candle on the table top was nearly swiped off by his flapping sleeve.
"You listen to me, you arrogant bastard: you'll get your scrawny arse onto the pitch for next practice, or I'm going to make you hurt!"
Albus' eyes went cold. His face twisted into the subtle sneer that only had its home in Slytherin House. Scorpius was certain that his family – James probably excepted - had never seen it.
"Bulstrode?" Albus asked, almost sweetly.
"What?" the captain bellowed.
"Your robe's on fire."
Indeed, smoke was rising from the sleeve where Bulstrode had taken his swipe at the candle, and tiny flames licked towards his wrist. He let out an unmanly shriek, and flailed until he nearly fell on his arse before managing to fumble out his wand left-handed and down the flames with an Aguamenti Charm so forceful it left his entire right side sopping wet and liberally sprayed the team behind him. They jumped back, cursing.
Laughter tittered around the Common Room and the Captain's face turned dark with embarrassment. Albus didn't even try to disguise his smirk. He got up, nodded at Bulstrode, who looked close to apoplexy, and sauntered towards the door.
Bulstrode glared around until his eyes landed on Scorpius. He reached out as if to grab him by the collar of his robe, then noted Scorpius' hand resting on his wand, and settled for pointing a finger.
"You better set the little shite's head straight if you know what's good for him, Malfoy," he snarled.
Scorpius shook a few drops of water from his hand with an exaggerated grimace, trusting that Bulstrode, no matter how furious, wouldn't dare deck him in the middle of the Common Room. With a stare that could wither primroses, the Slytherin Captain stormed towards the door for the seventh year dorm, followed by most of his team like a squadron of battle dragons. A few angry looks landed on Scorpius, and he sighed inwardly. That's what you got for keeping Potter's company. It wasn't as if father hadn't warned him.
Lingering for a few seconds so he wouldn't look as if he were actually running after Albus, he left through the portrait hole. When he saw that he had the corridor to himself, he started to jog. After two corners, he caught sight of Albus.
"Potter!" he called out, more harshly than intended.
Albus threw a look over his shoulder and slowed until Scorpius could fall into step beside him.
"Well, are you?" he asked.
"Am I what?" Scorpius huffed.
"Going to set my head straight?"
Scorpius let out an undelicate snort. "Don't be daft!"
Albus's stiff back relaxed a little, and he slowed down to a more casual stroll.
"But why?" Scorpius asked. "You love flying."
Scorpius himself had never tried out for the team, although he wasn't a bad flier. Father hadn't been happy, but Scorpius knew that compared with Al's unselfconscious grace on a broom, he was as clumsy as a puppy with over-large paws.
"Sort of." Al shrugged. "But Quidditch bores me and I guess it's time to leave Dad's legacy to James and Lily."
"But your Godfather - won't he be disappointed?" There was little that filled Scorpius with as much dread as disappointing his family. Albus just shrugged again.
"Uncle Ron will get over it. It's not as if I was planning to play Keeper for the Cannons after school or something."
"Bulstrode will give you grief," Scorpius warned. "And the rest of the team."
There was the House Cup to consider. Slytherin wasn't cut out for earning points for good behaviour or general likeability, and not for academic excellence that would outshine Ravenclaw either. Quidditch wins made their reputation, and the House was prone to turn against anyone who looked as if he was sabotaging the team.
"Don't worry. I can handle them." A side glance. "Are you worried that Bulstrode will give you grief?"
A quick, warm surge ran through Scorpius. "Not really." He looked sideways at Al and grinned. "After all, I'm not your keeper."
Dark green eyes met his for an instant, eerily sharp. "No, you're not."
"So-" Scorpius asked, nodding in passing at a portrait of Herpo the Foul shifting a huge, ugly toad to check on the egg beneath to play over the awkward moment. "Is Quidditch off because we're looking for the Room of Requirement?"
He'd spent part of his summer holidays after they'd returned from Switzerland in the Manor's library, trying to decipher grandfather's rare 1532 edition of Hogwarts, a History, not that he was about to tell Albus. It never did to encourage him in his obsession of the day.
Albus shot him another one of those looks that made Scorpius wonder what exactly he'd done wrong, then slowly shook his head.
"We were children last year." He waved dismissively. "And my dad says the Headmistress and the Governors blocked the Room off after the Battle, because it was too dangerous inside and someone could get hurt. Anyway, I'll probably have to spend time in the library over the next weeks. I did none of my schoolwork - things were mad at the Burrow with Bill's and Percy's families over too."
Scorpius nodded slowly, fighting back a rush of disappointment.
"And Prefect duty should keep you busy," Albus added.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and groaned. It wasn't that he'd doubted he'd be made Prefect, being one of the few sane members of Slytherin house, but shepherding around awestruck, clueless first years had become old really quickly. His expression wrung a grin from Al after all. Then Albus cocked his head, and his delicate dark eyebrows drew together.
"Malfoy?"
"Hm?" Scorpius asked.
"I think you left your notes and books in the Common Room."
Scorpius quickly killed the flush that started to rise in his cheeks. So much for trying not to look as if he was running after Albus!
"I did, didn't I?" he said, coolly. "How silly of me."
Al nodded. "I'll see you in the dorm, then?"
"Yes... later."
Slowly, Scorpius turned and walked back towards the Common Room. Only when he couldn't hear the pat-pat of Al's footsteps any longer and had made sure the corridor was empty, did he pause to deliver a sharp kick to the marble plinth that held the bust of Lungold the Ungentle, one-time Hogwarts House Beater. It made his toes sting, nothing more, and Lungold's marble face looked as if it was laughing at him.
Something was up with Albus Potter, Scorpius thought darkly, and he would find out no matter what it took!
"Oi, Potter! Is it true you were kicked out of your Quidditch team?"
Julius Smith leaned over the aisle that divided the Hufflepuff desks from the Slytherin side. He didn't even whisper particularly quietly as Professor Slughorn sat in his armchair at the front of the classroom with his feet propped up on a cushion and his eyes closed, sucking happily on a piece of chocolate-dipped pineapple. He was also quite deaf.
Scorpius sighed and added another small lizard liver to the slimy green pile on his scales, while Smith's Hufflepuff hangers-on tittered. Smith had always hated Albus - well, the entire Potter clan, really - the result, if Scorpius understood correctly, of an old family feud and Julius's firm belief that descending from a Founder should override your father saving the world from the Dark Lord. And of course Albus trouncing the Hufflepuff in a midnight duel in third year after he'd made Lily Potter cry hadn't improved matters either.
Albus put down the recipe parchment and looked over his shoulder, a slow, tense movement.
"I see why this would make you unhappy, Smith," he drawled in that special way that never failed to make Scorpius grin, because Al had so obviously learned it from him just as he had learned it from his father. Al did it better, though. "Now you've got one less excuse for missing the hoops."
Smith, Hufflepuff's star Chaser and another one of those constantly frustrated by Albus's Keeper skills, flushed to a blotchy pink that was doubly noticeable against his fair complexion.
"Ah, won't your daddy be disappointed in you?" Smith snarled, and Scorpius could see Albus' knuckles go white around the heft of his root knife.
"I don't know," Albus shot back. "But I doubt it. He doesn't determine my worth by what I can contribute to the family fame."
More stung than he would have liked to admit although Albus's eyes were firmly on Smith and Smith's father was well-known for expecting the near-impossible, Scorpius wiped powdered asphodel off his hands, ready to go for his wand should Smith blow up.
"Boys... boys!" Slughorn looked up from his chair, less than pleased to be distracted from the piece of pineapple he'd been contemplating. He raised a pudgy hand for emphasis. "Less talk and more attention on your cauldrons please. I'm looking forward to a roaring fire and a whisky toddy tonight rather than to supervising detentions."
Smith grudgingly returned his attention to his cauldron, and Scorpius took the root knife from Albus's stiff fingers to undo the damage he'd done to the St John's Wort. Weird, how dainty operations like chopping ingredients or catching small Snitches were so far beyond the capability of a boy who was as agile as Albus when it came to wandwork or Quaffles. Even when he wasn't seething.
With a last rude gesture, Smith reached for his brush to sweep powdered Graphorn horn into the simmering mixture bubbling in his cauldron.
Preoccupied with ladling equal portions of lizard livers into his own potion, Scorpius only caught a flash in the corner of his eye as some of the iridescent powder was caught up in the flames that licked out from under the Hufflepuff's cauldron.
Smith screamed and jumped back, dropping the wooden ladle that had ignited like a dry twig. He had the presence of mind not to drop it into the cauldron, but hit out wildly at the flames that reached for his bare arms where he'd tied back the sleeves to stir.
Scorpius caught sight of Albus, leaning back in his chair and observing the scene. An amused little smile curved his mouth and glittered in his eyes.
Slughorn jumped up from his armchair and waddled over faster than Scorpius had ever seen him move, waving his wand at the powder-blue flames that bit at Smith's arms.
The magic doused them quickly enough, and Slughorn pulled the Hufflepuff away from the crackling cauldron to cast a Vacuous over the concoction before it could explode. Then he disentangled Smith, who was still shaking and tearful, from the clutch of Hufflepuffs that had descended to fuss over their leader, picking one at random.
"Miss Finch-Fletchley, please take Mr Smith to the hospital wing." He peered at the reddened skin on Smith's arms and tutted at the hovering Hufflepuffs. "It's not serious, but Madam Pomfrey should have a look just in case."
Supported by pigtailed Emma Finch-Fletchley, Smith limped out of the potions classroom, and Scorpius belatedly threw his quartered flobberworm tails into his potion. It came round to the textbook shade of lavender just as Slughorn started to make his way around the room, ladling spoonfuls into the testing bottles.
When the Professor had passed their desk, muttering approval at their potion's colour and consistency, Scorpius turned to whisper in Al's ear. "Did you do it?"
Al's forehead crumpled a little. "How?" he hissed back. "I didn't even have my wand out." He shook his head as they stuffed books and parchments into their bags, then filed out at the tail end of the last group of Hufflepuffs.
"What made you think I did it?" Al inquired, one inky eyebrow raised, as soon as they were safely back into Slytherin territory.
"Well..." Scorpius hedged. He couldn't very well say, 'I didn't like the way you smiled'. "It just was such of a coincidence after Smith was asking for it so badly."
The smile reappeared at the corner of Albus's mouth, more Albus this time. His eyes sparkled. "He did, didn't he?"
Only when Scorpius was back in the Common Room, filling in curious house mates about Smith's misfortune and trying to silence his stomach with the promise of an early lunch did he realise that Al hadn't really given him an answer to his question.
He saw little of Albus in the following days. Mentoring first years turned out to be more time-consuming than Scorpius had expected, and Prefect duties in a serpents' coil like Slytherin required constant attention, not to speak of diplomacy and the occasional show of force. They still studied together some evenings, amiably enough, but Scorpius missed the strolls around the grounds at weekends, the whacky study sessions in the library when Albus pursued his obsession of the month, and sneaking around Hogwarts after lights out under Al's infamous Invisibility Cloak.
Like the night they'd gone into the Forbidden Forest in second year because Al wanted to see the unicorn foals splashing in the forest pools under the moonlight. After falling into the brook twice and slipping along the muddy path, it had been Scorpius whose dripping hair the foals nuzzled first before one of them cautiously nudged Albus's shoulder. Scorpius had blushed like a mad thing there in the dark, but Al had laughed, happy for his good fortune, and never cracked any jokes about excessive purity. Yes, they'd been silly children, but Scorpius missed in those times.
He could still hear Albus sneaking out at night, being attuned to the familiar sounds from the neighbouring four-poster as he waited for a rap against his bedpost that didn't come. Not that this, in itself, was unusual. Albus was the only Slytherin in living memory who had the freedom of every Common Room at Hogwarts, visiting siblings and cousins, and even those who were grumbling - particularly in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff - seemed to regard him more like an annoying Gryffindor who had been mis-Sorted than as an enemy. Scorpius didn't begrudge him it. Not really.
It was only when he ran into Rose Weasley in the library, ensconced behind a wall of books at her regular table, that he realised he'd allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of comfort. Some weird impulse made him stop to ask whether Al had been around to see her recently.
She sniffed and shot him an accusatory look before pointing out, in a very snappish tone of voice, that Albus hadn't dropped by the Ravenclaw Common Room since the beginning of term.
"Well, we're not chaining him to the dungeon walls, you know," Scorpius snapped back, sharper than intended. It wasn't so much anger at Rose, more the question of what Albus was up to every night if he wasn't seeing the Potter-Weasley clan.
Rose huffed and waved her hand at him as if he were an obnoxious house-elf - which, honestly, was a bit rich coming from a Weasley. Still, she was Albus's cousin and had quite a temper if pushed, so Scorpius prudently limited his response to a scowl at the back of her head and beat a quick retreat.
Even then, he had no actual plans to spy on Albus - after all, Albus regarded sleep as an amusing irrelevance and might be out snooping around after Hogwarts secrets, or just using the hidden passageway into the Restricted Section to follow some eclectic research impulse. It wouldn't be the first time. If he didn't want Scorpius with him, Scorpius wouldn't try and tag along.
It didn't stop him from holding his breath that night when he heard Al's soft footsteps on the carpet, then the tap-tap of his Muggle trainers moving towards the door. It shut behind him with the softest of clicks. Scorpius rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy of his four-poster in the darkness, fighting the impulse to follow. He'd not been invited, and mere curiosity shouldn't make him try and spy on Al's secrets.
When he slid into his shoes and pulled his robe over his pyjamas a heartbeat later, it was only because those thoughts were unworthy of a Slytherin, even more so a Malfoy. He wanted to know what Al was up to. He would find out tonight. If Al was meeting a girl, or wheedling a plum tart out of the kitchen elves, he could always sneak back into bed with no one the wiser.
Sneaking out the dormitory and through the corridor wasn't any effort, even without lighting his wand so as to not alert Albus to the fact that he was being followed. The dungeon corridors were dark, with only a few torches lighting up stone and the occasional wood panelling on a door.
Scorpius trailed Albus at a safe distance, wondering why he hadn't taken his Invisibility Cloak. It wasn't like Albus to forget that - the thing was pretty much part of him, a gift of mercy from his father after Al's nightly wanderings in first year had cost Slytherin more points than even his performance in class could make up for, and the house had turned on him in anger. Tonight, though, his black robes were almost camouflage enough.
Almost. Scorpius didn't see it happen; he'd stayed back when Albus slipped into the little stone antechamber that barred the way out of the dungeons in order to keep out of the light of the torches there. He heard a flurry of footsteps, a scuffle cut short by the telltale hiss of a spell, and then the dull thud of a body impacting against stone.
Scorpius cursed inwardly and drew his wand, creeping forward on soft soles until he could peer around the corner.
Albus was pinned to the wall with Rupert Bode's arm pressed against his windpipe. The Beater's wand dug into Albus's chest where his robe gaped open to reveal bare skin beneath. The left side of Albus's face was swollen, and a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.
Behind Bode stood Adam Bulstrode, holding both his own and Albus's wand with a triumphant expression on his face. A quick look around revealed two more members of the Slytherin Quidditch team - Gabriel Harper, the second Beater, and the lithe, dark-haired figure of Seeker Fionnuala Macdonald, who had obviously made up with Bulstrode to Albus's detriment.
Scorpius could see Al fighting against Bode's grip with bare-toothed rage. He'd never been much prone to physical violence, Albus, but now he kicked at Bode's shins and awkwardly tried to beat him in the head with his fist.
Biting his tongue, Scorpius forced himself to wait. If Albus's struggles focussed all attention on him, hitting them unawares would be more effective considering the odds.
Bode winced at a particularly sharp kick and hissed a spell. His wand tip lit up, and blue light spilled over Albus's chest. For a moment he writhed, letting out a noise like an angry cat. Scorpius recognised the signs of a pain curse, one of the myriad little brothers of the Cruciatus. This one, and stronger ones, Scorpius had learned from Grandfather years ago.
Still, he wasn't quite prepared for the surge of rage that rushed through him. He was through the door in a heartbeat, hitting Bulstrode, who stood between Scorpius and Bode, in the back with an "Expelliarmus!" so strong it not only ripped both wands from his grip, but also knocked him backward several steps.
Bulstrode caught himself against the wall while his cronies snapped around, wands raised.
"Malfoy!" Bulstrode growled. "You should've sided with your house instead of your little boyfriend for once." His face twisted in an ugly way. "No matter - you can watch."
Scorpius gripped his wand tight, adamant not to betray any outward sign of the moths fluttering in his stomach. He ducked a sluggish Petrification Hex and fired another back at Bulstrode, who dived out of the way and for his wand. He came up way too fast, snapping over his shoulder at Bode, "Don't let Potter get away! We'll take down Malfoy."
Scorpius swallowed when he found himself facing three wands, but a sharp cry from the wall made them all turn. Bode was stumbling backwards, clutching his arm where a raw, red burn ran up from wrist to elbow, covered in oozing blisters. Bode stared at it with a horrified whimper. His eyes went, uncomprehending, to the spot several feet away where Albus's wand had been flung by Scorpius's Expelliarmus.
Albus stepped away from the wall, his black hair a tousled mess around a face whose pallor set off lips and eyes as splashes of opposing colour. Any other time, the sight would have plucked a string deep inside Scorpius's stomach, but that subtle, scary smile was back around Albus's mouth and his green eyes flared with rage.
Around his fingers danced what looked like little sparks, although the skin beneath them was as unblemished as ever. So the little bugger had lied to him about the potions incident after all, was Scorpius's first, irritated thought.
Al shook his fingers at the Slytherins circling Scorpius as if trying to rid them of excess water, but bright orange flames leapt away instead. Harper cursed as some of them licked at his robe, dancing up the black fabric as easily as mischievous Pixies. He beat at the smoking wool, then cursed when the flames singed his fingers and dropped his wand in his haste to get the robe off.
Albus sent another handful of fire at Macdonald, who jumped back, her mane of glossy black hair whipping behind her. The flames missed her, but kissed a few of the flying strands and set them alight. Macdonald screamed in fright as she caught sight of it and the acrid smell of burnt hair filled the little chamber. Before Scorpius could douse her with an Aguamenti, Harper recovered his bearings and tackled the flailing Seeker to the ground, throwing her wide hood over her smoking hair to suffocate the flames.
Scorpius waited until her sobbing subsided and Harper let her up. She touched the remains of her locks, singed off at the ends into molten clumps, and let out a shriek of pure rage. Almost lazily, Scorpius hit them both from behind with a Stunning Spell.
It distracted him for a few crucial seconds. Enough for Adam Bulstrode to let fly another pain curse at Albus. It slammed Al back into the wall where he convulsed with a scream that went through Scorpius like a knife.
Bulstrode, in seventh year and one of the stars of the duelling club, blocked Scorpius's Expelliarmus with ease, but gave Albus time to recover. Without quite looking, a move of Albus's hand sent more flames slamming into Bode's chest, who'd been groping to retrieve his wand with his uninjured hand. He collapsed with a groan, and lay still.
When Albus raised his head, his eyes seemed alight as if pale green flames burned in them too. He looked very cold, and very angry.
He clenched his hand into a fist, and the flames around it weren't merry and orange any longer, but a garish white and blue that gave off heat Scorpius could feel several feet away. A ball of crackling fire shot through the air towards Bulstrode like a sentient creature. Bulstrode dived out of the way of the howling flames, saved only by Quidditch reflexes. The fireball impacted on the wall of the chamber in a hissing conflagration that left scorch marks on the stone.
Albus gasped. Bulstrode, caught by the fallout, was thrown to the ground on his back, the right side of his face flushed red from the heat. He was staring up at Albus. The tight, alien smile was back on Albus's face, and Bulstrode's disbelief turned to an expression of pure terror when Albus raised his hand again. This time, there was no chance he could miss.
"Al, no!" Scorpius screamed, throwing himself forward despite the sick lurch of fear in his stomach. He reached Albus and grabbed his arm. "Don't! You'll kill him!"
Albus tore his eyes away from Bulstrode with apparent effort. Scorpius shuddered when they focussed on him. He let go of Al's arm and jumped when Albus's fingers closed around his wrist. A wave of sickening agony shot through Scorpius as Al's fingertips burned into his skin. His mouth opened, but no sound came out except for a shocked exhale. Tears shot into his eyes and it took all of Scorpius's considerable self-control not to fall to his knees writhing in pain.
His eyes unreadable, Albus let go. "They shouldn't have attacked me," he said calmly. Turning his attention back to Bulstrode, he left Scorpius to stare at the five dark burns that dotted his wrist.
His heart hammering inside his chest, Scorpius stepped between Albus and the Team Captain. "We're Slytherins, Al," he said. "We don't turn against our own. Not like that."
It was as if he'd slapped Albus physically. His face crumbled into a grimace of hurt, shock almost, an expression of vulnerability that Scorpius had never, ever seen on him, not even as a small, harassed first year railing against being Sorted into the wrong House.
It lasted only for a moment before the cold mask descended again. Albus took hold of the fingers of Scorpius's injured hand very carefully, lifting it up and studying it as if he contemplated to kiss it better. A shudder ran through Scorpius at the gentle touch.
"Where did you learn that spell anyway?" Scorpius blurted out, somewhat light-headed from pain and adrenaline.
Al cocked his head. "Why? Do you want me to teach you?"
"Not really!" It came out a lot more dismissively than Scorpius had intended.
"No, I didn't think so." Albus shook his head. "You shouldn't spy after me," he whispered, stroking Scorpius's palm with his thumb. "It's dangerous. You could get hurt." He brushed his fingers over Scorpius's. "Do you understand?"
Scorpius understood indeed. In a flash, he recalled Albus in the corridor, telling him about the Room of Requirement in almost the same words. He buried the thought at the bottom of his consciousness and pulled his hand free of Al's hold.
Albus didn't try to stop him. He just called his wand to him in a flawless feat of Summoning and walked away without another glance back the chaos he had wrought.
Scorpius rushed over to Rupert Bode's limp form and felt his pulse, trying not to look at the older boy's burns. He was breathing, and groaned when Scorpius accidentally brushed his side. Relieved beyond measure, Scorpius took a deep breath, then strode over to Bulstrode, who was still on the ground, looking more shaken than Scorpius had ever seen him.
"I saved your life," he pointed out, in a voice that sounded so cool it sent a shiver down Scorpius's back. "You will never go after Albus Severus Potter again."
"You know he's mad, don't you, Malfoy?" There was a rasp in Bulstrode's voice, the aftermath of terror. "Practising Dark Arts like that, attacking his own house mates." The coarse features hardened. "How long until he turns on you, what do you think?"
"He won't," Scorpius ground out, trying to ignore the steady ache of the marks on his wrist.
"Yeah, try to tell yourself that when he burns you to a crisp."
Scorpius drew in a shaky breath. "Just leave us alone, Bulstrode," he repeated and turned away to escape back towards the Slytherin dorms - the opposite direction in which Albus had taken off - leaving Bulstrode to clean up the mess.
Dreading the oppressive dark of his dormitory, Scorpius hid himself in the Slytherin Prefects' lounge. He retrieved the potions kit that the Prefects used to deal with scrapes and hexes that needed looking to, but didn't quite warrant Madam Pomfrey's attention, and helped himself to some ointment. The burns faded to a dull ache that left Scorpius's head clear for the first time after the panicked muddle of the fight.
He knew he should go to Slughorn, or the Headmistress even. Something was very wrong with Albus. But their Head of House was old and exhausted, and McGonagall a Gryffindor with a Gryffindor's prejudices. If only her predecessor Severus Snape had survived the war! Scorpius wouldn't have hesitated to tell him about his young namesake's antics. For a moment, he wished he could owl his father or grandfather and ask their opinion on the spell Albus had used. Dark wandless magic... grandfather would know, but neither Malfoy was fond of Albus and they wouldn't bother looking beyond the fact that injury had been done to Scorpius.
No - he had to do this alone. Scorpius curled up on one of the leather armchairs in the lounge, feeling the cool film of ointment on his wrist and tried, in vain, to go to sleep.
The days following the clash in the dungeons were tense. Bode had to be taken to the Hospital Wing for second degree burns on his arm and chest, the investigation of which had revealed the damage Albus's fire had done to the antechamber wall. Scorpius sat through three Prefects' meetings with the Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster Flitwick. They did their best to flush out the culprits, and the six Slytherin Prefects had a very unpleasant time protesting their innocence and ignorance.
Scorpius lied along with the best of them. Slytherin House prided itself on its infamous cover of silence towards the outside world. Bode claimed to have been memory-charmed and to have no recollection of what had happened. From all Scorpius knew of Bulstrode's ruthlessness, he might be telling the truth. Macdonald sported a new hairstyle, a sleek cap of black silk framing her face, claiming it was easier to maintain, especially during matches. And Scorpius himself wore long sleeves to hide the burns on his wrist, grateful for the dull, wet days of the Scottish autumn.
Inside Slytherin, however, rumours buzzed like flies - the Slytherin team had attacked Albus and lost, Albus had used Dark Magic and tried to kill Bode and Bulstrode, Potter and Malfoy had finally fallen out.
The last was true.
Scorpius was in no mood to take the first step, hurt and unnerved by the way Albus kept watching him; Scorpius would look up from his table at the library, or just sitting on his bed in the dormitory, to find Albus's eyes on him from a corner, little side glances that radiated a warning... a challenge, almost.
Part of Scorpius wanted to just wash his hands of Potter, concentrate on his schoolwork and duties and forget what he'd seen in the antechamber. A larger part, however, recalled the boy who'd reached right through Scorpius's prickly defences of Malfoy pride in his first week at Hogwarts. Who'd taken him to see unicorns, and made him study Hittite Cuneiform, Muggle Alchemy and Hairy MacBoons, and who'd sneaked into the Hospital Wing at midnight to bring Scorpius a bagful of Ice Mice after Scorpius had fretted himself into a faint after his parent's first Howler when Jasper Belby dared him to brew Veritaserum by promising he'd drink it, and the subsequent tale of Belby's father's affair with Madam Angeletta Zabini had got out.
Father and grandfather had had minions, like Mr Goyle, the gamekeeper, who lived in a hut on the Malfoy estate and had taught Scorpius to hunt partridges and who was invited to official gatherings because, as father said, Malfoys took care of their people. Albus, on the other hand, had scores of family and friends, so tightly knit that he'd not quite known how to behave around Professors Longbottom or Hagrid at first because he'd known them all his life. Scorpius had no interest in minions or circles of friends - he'd only ever wanted mad, brilliant Albus.
Now, he took to spending time with Christabel Flint, his fellow Prefect, and Aneurin Whiddershins, heir to an ancient Welsh family, neither of who had any time for Quidditch or Bulstrode's little gang. It shouldn't have hurt, therefore, to see that the incident, which had earned Albus the ire of their House in some ways, had bolstered his status in others. In the Common Room, he was at times seen in the company of the Mulciber brothers, whom he suffered in a bemused, detached manner where before he'd always kept a distance from the children of Death Eaters, and they from him. All except Scorpius. It did hurt, but it also was a relief of sorts - the Mulcibers were the dirtiest fighters at Hogwarts, and, if nothing else, Albus's back would be well-protected.
Most of the time, Scorpius haunted the library, trying to get his hands on every book discussing fire magic to find out what lay behind Albus's strange new skill at casting wandless fire. It was an endeavour fraught with pitfalls, however. Albus's warning still echoing in his ears, Scorpius knew he had to do his research in secret, which wasn't easy. Albus knew the library like the back of his hand, knew the secret passageway from the Slytherin dungeons, and had an Invisibility Cloak to boot. Moreover, Scorpius could hardly take out books openly as Madam Pince's young assistant was enamoured with Albus and would be only too keen to answer a casual question about what Scorpius had borrowed.
True enough, he found himself the focus of Albus's hooded gaze more than once while browsing the Elemental Magic shelves. His heart hammered as he picked up Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean to carry back to his table, feeling Albus's mocking stare between his shoulder blades all the while.
He managed to steal an hour in the library by skipping Divination when Albus was at Muggle Studies, the only classes they didn't share. Six volumes of Elemental Magics, Fanning the Flames: Fire Spells for Fiery Sorcerers, or From Egg to Inferno, picked up with growing despair, provided no useful hints. There certainly were fire spells aplenty, from Bluebell Flames to Conflagratio, which looked like it could match the fireball Albus had sent after Bulstrode. But none of them could be cast wandless, even less nonverbal.
There were more books, darker ones, in the Restricted Section, and Scorpius knew he could get to them through the secret passageway, but first things first. There was a second strand to his research, almost as tricky as the fire magic, which concerned the Room of Requirement. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that whatever had happened to Albus, it must have happened there. Albus had all but implied it himself, and the tale he'd spun about having lost interest in finding it? In five years, Albus had never lost interest in one of his obsessions until it was thoroughly demystified, catalogued and picked to shreds from every angle imaginable. No, Al had been lying, and with far less than his usual skill.
Before it had turned into Albus's pet project at the end of fourth year, Scorpius hadn't given the Room a second thought. Like everybody, he knew that Dumbledore's Army had hidden there during the War, and that during the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter, Weasley and Granger had fought Scorpius's father and his friends there and one of them hadn't made it out alive.
From Albus, Scorpius knew that Harry Potter, like Scorpius's own father, was rather close-mouthed when it came to war stories. His godfather Ronald Weasley, however, was anything but. Scorpius wasn't about to try and draw those stories out of Rose Weasley, who was much too perceptive and suspicious. Ron Weasley's son, however...
Scorpius prepared his trap quite carefully. The previous year, with Prefectship in mind, he'd volunteered to tutor a handful of struggling second and third years in Potions and Transfiguration. Now, he called in that debt from two burly, raucous third years with very specific instructions.
He watched matters unfold on a rainy late September noon in the Great Hall, finishing his plate of bangers and mash. Covertly, he observed the two Slytherins sauntering past the Gryffindor table just as Hugo Weasley got up to leave. One of them leaned forward to whisper something, and Weasley's head snapped up. He hissed something in reply that was definitely not complimentary and stormed off. The two Slytherins chuckled, unperturbed by the angry mutterings from the remaining Gryffindors, then slowly followed Weasley outside.
Scorpius smirked and dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then looked up to see Albus slide onto the bench opposite him. He snatched a jam-filled cupcake from the dessert tray and took a murderous bite out of it.
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. Albus was ridiculously picky when it came to sweets. He shunned Chocolate Frogs, but devoured Ice Mice by the bag, wouldn't touch a Fizzing Whizzbee for galleons, but managed to ferret out every last Cauldron Cake in the Slytherin dormitories. In five years, Scorpius hadn't seen him in the presence of a cupcake he hadn't sneered at.
Albus returned his raised eyebrow and Scorpius looked away, blushing and telling himself that there was no way Albus could guess what he was up to as the sound of hexes being exchanged floated in from the corridor outside the Great Hall.
That evening, Scorpius made his way up to the Gryffindor tower, coolly knocking at the portrait hole under the disapproving glare of the guardian portrait, a rather fat woman in what looked like a pink nightgown.
After a moment, the portrait hole swung open and a girl peered out. Her expression darkened at the sight of Scorpius's Slytherin House insignia.
"What do you want here?" she asked.
"I'd like to have a word with Hugo Weasley," Scorpius said calmly.
"What for?" she growled. "Haven't you lot done enough today already?"
"I'm here as a Prefect to discuss his unprovoked assault on my housemates," Scorpius replied, blithely ignoring her choked protest at the term 'unprovoked'. "I'd hate having to go to your Head of House with this, so if you could get him..."
The door slammed shut in front of his nose, but Scorpius waited, knowing his Gryffindors. Indeed, it didn't take two minutes before the door opened again, this time to reveal the saturnine face of Hugo Weasley under a frizzy mane of reddish hair a shade darker than the unfortunate Weasley ginger, thanks to his mother.
"What?" Weasley snapped.
"You cursed two of my housemates with boils today," Scorpius pointed out. "I think we should... talk about that." He nodded at the tower staircase.
The frown that crinkled Weasley's forehead looked so much like Albus's that Scorpius's heart ached. "Are you... calling me out, or something?"
Scorpius lifted an eyebrow, trying hard not to grin. Of all of Albus's cousins, he liked Hugo best, but it didn't lessen the fun of playing with the explosive young Gryffindor.
"I'm offering you a way of settling this without complaining to McGonagall," he said. "So what if I wanted to call you out?"
The boy's shoulders straightened. "It's all right," he called over his shoulder and stepped outside, letting the portrait swing shut over the hole. He followed Scorpius down the stairs without another word, and only hesitated for an instant when Scorpius led him into one of the small studies reserved for the seventh-years studying for their NEWTS.
"They called my mother a Mudblood slut who slept with the Minister to get the new Werewolf Adoption Law approved." Weasley hissed when the door shut behind them.
Scorpius rolled his eyes inwardly. Predictable, but a touch more creative than he'd expected from his former pupils. Madam Granger-Weasley was rumoured to be a strong candidate to succeed Shacklebolt as the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic at some point in the future. Scorpius doubted that she would have to use sex to get there. "They deserved to be hexed," Weasley emphasised. "Or are you saying you wouldn't have done the same?"
"Oh, I would have," Scorpius admitted cheerfully. "I'd just have picked a better place than the middle of a public corridor."
Weasley ran a hand through his hair in confusion. "So you're not here to, well... hex me back?"
"No. I'm going to ask you what happened in the Room of Requirement when your parents and Potter fought there in the Battle of Hogwarts."
The younger boy ogled him in confusion. "What? Why? You would let me off the hook for hexing those bloody bastards, just like that?"
Scorpius nodded. "Just like that."
Weasley's eyes narrowed, then went wide. "Wait a minute - why aren't you asking Al?"
"I'm asking you." Scorpius voice was tight.
"I know you've fallen out - it's over the entire school." Weasley pointed out, eyes blazing. "Because if this is some snake pit scheme to get back at my cousin-"
Scorpius snorted in disgust. "Oh, so you think that just because rumours say we fought I'll turn on my best friend of five years because that's what Slytherins do? Thanks so much for the vote of confidence, Weasley!"
He hadn't socialised with Albus's siblings and cousins very much because he felt awkward in their company, but they had spent time together on occasion and he'd have thought that they would extend at least some of the courtesy to him that they granted Albus. Enough to not judge him by his green-and-silver tie and Slytherin badge alone.
Weasley had the grace to blush. "Well no, but... I just want to make sure we understand one another."
"So," Scorpius shot back, "are you going to tell me or not?"
Deflating, Weasley settled his hip on the armrest of a chintz chair.
"Well, I only know what Dad and Mum told me - that they hid one of Voldemort's Horcruxes in the Room of Requirement, and when they went back to get it, Mal- your Dad and his two goons Crabbe and Goyle jumped them. Crabbe cast some sort of mad fire spell - Fiendfyre, I think – and lost control over it. It killed him, and Uncle Harry and my parents only just managed to get your Dad and Goyle out on brooms."
He brushed Scorpius with a shy side glance. "Mum said that your Dad... he tried to stop them from killing Harry. That he wasn't really on Voldemort's side any more, just wanting to protect his family."
It was kindly meant, but barely penetrated Scorpius's mind. "Fiendfyre," he repeated, almost able to hear the clunk with which things started to fall into place.
"That's what Mum said it was called - it destroyed everything in the Room of Requirement, even the Horcrux."
Scorpius nodded slowly, then gasped when Weasley suddenly jumped up from his chair and grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise.
"Malfoy - is this to do with whoever tried to burn down the Slytherin dungeons a while back?"
Scorpius cursed inwardly. Damn Weasley for being way too perceptive for, well... a Weasley.
"I'm not sure," he hedged. "That's what I want to find out."
"You think it has to do with Al - why he's so weird, and never coming round any more? You think he's in trouble?"
"I don't know," Scorpius lied. "He might be." Seeing the worried look that settled over the boy's face, he added, "But maybe not."
"D'you want me to talk to him about it?" Weasley asked. Scorpius felt a prickle of apprehension run down his spine at the thought.
"No!" he exclaimed, visibly startling the boy. "I think you shouldn't talk to him at all. It's a Slytherin matter," he added.
Weasley cocked his head. "You will go to your Head of House if it's getting over your head, won't you?"
"Of course," Scorpius lied again with a grave nod.
"Good," said Weasley and made to get up. Scorpius stopped him with a motion of his hand.
"The Room of Requirement... have you heard anything about it being blocked off after the war?"
"Blocked off?" Weasley frowned. "No. Why?"
"Oh, rumours," Scorpius murmured with narrowed eyes. "Just rumours."
Weasley paused, one hand on the door handle. "Be careful, Malfoy."
With that, he left, and for a moment, Scorpius just fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. He sincerely wished could just use his Malfoy Portkey to go to the manor's library, where grandfather's collection was bound to wash up something. But not even a Malfoy could sneak into Malfoy Manor unnoticed, and while lying to a Weasley was fair game, lying to his family wasn't.
No, it had to be the Restricted Section.
The 129 volume Dictionary of Magic that a long-forgotten Lestrange had gifted to the Slytherin Common Room proved of use once more in locating Fiendfyre. Between 'Fieldwinder' and 'Figunula', Volume 36 turned up pointers to The Black Book of Spells and Advanced Conjuring: a Sorcerer's Study. The first, at least, Scorpius was certain would be in the Restricted Section because if nobody else, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus would have donated it to the school as a matter of family pride.
On the evening following Scorpius's chat with Hugo Weasley, he set out for the night's Prefect meeting, then sent an owl to Christabel Flint to make his excuses for feeling sick. This, he hoped, would throw Albus off his trail if he was indeed still watching.
Making certain he was neither observed nor followed, he made his way down to the old Potions classroom, in a badly-lit corridor that branched off behind their usual one. It smelled of old smoke and dissected Horklumps. A tattered, sooty tapestry was hanging behind a plinth that had once borne the bust of "Centaur Potioneer, at Repose", but was now bare except for the placard, and worn smooth from numerous small hands brushing it in passing.
You had to squeeze behind the plinth and pluck out the nails that fastened the tapestry to the wall to be able to access the small stone door behind. The doorknob bared green-tipped fangs at Scorpius, and he hastened to whisper "Open, in Slytherin's name!". Huffing in a disappointed kind of way, the knob turned and the door opened into a very narrow upwards staircase, hewn right into the stone wall.
Scorpius squeezed inside and pulled the door shut behind him. Climbing up was gruelling and much less fun than doing it in Albus's company, especially when the staircase twisted and turned with him inside, and his stomach contents twisted in response.
After what felt like an hour, he found the upper end and ended his Lumos before pushing the oval stone door open as noiselessly as possible and peering out. The Restricted Section was dark, and even the glass-encased reading lamps - the only sources of light permitted - had been doused.
Rather short of breath, he climbed out and stepped into the looming shadows of the shelves, leaving the door wide open behind him. A distinctive scent of parchment, ancient wood and dormant magic clung to this section of the library. The shelves rose around him like sleeping monsters, and he fought back an attack of nerves. He'd never been here on his own before.
Knowing better than to touch one of the books, he tiptoed over to the huge cast-iron parchment index. The drawer prickled under his fingers as he pulled it out, but didn't scream at him.
As he'd expected, The Black Book of Spells was listed in the Dark Arts section. Scorpius pushed the drawer shut and walked over in the light of a Lumos dulled in order not to be seen from the outside.
The Dark Arts shelves with all their dust and heavy oak panelling crackled with a sense of invisible, destructive power. The Black Book, hide-bound cover as dark as its name, stood on the second-to-top shelf, and Scorpius touched its back with a nervous finger. He could almost hear the breath it was drawing to let out a Banshee screech should he try and pull it out. He prepared to hit the book with the strongest stunning spell he knew, and took a deep breath.
A vague, acrid smell hit his nostrils. Scorpius froze and slid behind the shelf, pulling his hood over his too-bright hair. He sniffed the air again, and his blood chilled. Smoke.
Peering around the shelf, he tried to determine where the smell came from. Perhaps one of the lanterns was still on, or...
A thin coil of smoke was curling around the other side of the Dark Arts shelf, followed by another, and then thin pinpricks of light flickered up behind the shelf.
The smell of smoke, of flames gnawing, against all odds, at ancient shelving practically dripping with anti-burn charms grew stronger, overpowering. Scorpius pressed his hand against his mouth to stop himself from coughing. The back wall of the shelf exploded in a blossom of fire, and Scorpius reacted almost without conscious thought: he grabbed the Black Book of Spells and ripped it from the glowing shelf, its howl drowned out by the ear-splitting screams that poured forth from bodiless mouths forming on the burning shelves - the alarms of the library, not heard for almost a century.
Clutching the book to his chest and half unconscious from the noise and heat, Scorpius stumbled towards the door to the secret staircase, praying it was still open. There was no way of opening the exit from inside the library, nothing but bare wall. The Restricted Section itself was closed off and barred at night. If someone had shut the door on him, he'd suffocate or burn without any means of escape.
Feeling his way blindly and retching, he found the wall and the gap still open with the most profound surge of relief he'd ever felt. He stumbled through the door with just enough presence of mind to pull it shut against the towering inferno that had set the shelf ablaze. He tumbled more than climbed down the staircase, narrowly avoiding breaking his neck, and fled out at the bottom end with the screams of the shelves still ringing in his ears. Then he realised that it wasn't him. The alarm was still audible even in the dungeons, if more as a faint whisper. After having the flames sear his vision, the dungeons were pitch black as he tore through them towards the dormitories, stumbling through the fifth-years' door just a moment before the first bare footsteps and confused voices sounded from the dorms closer to the Common Room.
The dormitory was dark and quiet, Albus's curtains next to his pulled and laced carefully shut. Where Scorpius had left his own as safely secured, however, they now gaped open to reveal empty cushions and bedding inside.
Someone had come looking for him, and found him gone.
Freezing cold all of a sudden, he tore off his smoke-sodden cloak and vanished it before crawling into bed and spelling the curtains shut against the outside with the strongest spell he knew. Only this once, he didn't want to know who was passing by outside.
As the night fire destroyed the Dark Arts shelves of the Restricted Section, Scorpius Malfoy lay curled around a pillow in the shelter of his canopied four-poster, hugging the Black Book of Spells to his stomach, and trembled.
Little Broken Hearts (1/2)
Date: 2009-01-01 02:44 pm (UTC)And this hints that Al is not inherently evil, he drawled in that special way that never failed to make Scorpius grin, because Al had so obviously learned it from him just as he had learned it from his father. Al did it better, though, though he has potential... Something must be possesing him...?
This was one of my favorite details that maked Hogwarts real and alive:
A tattered, sooty tapestry was hanging behind a plinth that had once borne the bust of "Centaur Potioneer, at Repose", but was now bare except for the placard, and worn smooth from numerous small hands brushing it in passing.
Re: Little Broken Hearts (1/2)
Date: 2009-01-02 07:02 pm (UTC)