The Slytherin Hufflepuff

First Meeting

They met, quite by accident, when they were eight years old; on the day Al’s father took him to Diagon Alley to look for a book. Al was quite excited to be on an outing with his father, as it was rare for the two of them to be alone. Al’s father let him pick out a book, gave him an affectionate pat on the head, and quickly disappeared into the dark shelves. Al gripped the latest version of Quidditch Through the Ages and looked for a quiet place to sit down and read. He knew his father could spend hours browsing the stacks of books when he was looking for something in particular.

Al noticed a thin, blond-haired boy seated in a nearby window alcove. The boy sat cross-legged with a huge book in his lap. Every so often, he would reach up and tuck an elusive silver-blond strand of hair behind one ear, even though it slipped back down to lie against his cheek almost immediately. Al watched him for a bit, impressed with the boy’s concentration. He was fascinating, with that amazing straight hair, pale skin, and impeccable blue robes. He looked… regal. Al was suddenly conscious of his rumpled robes, and his hair that constantly stuck up in all the wrong places.

Al took a deep breath and walked forward. He sat down next to the boy, and was almost mesmerized when the boy’s eyes met his in surprise. They were quite an astonishing shade of grey.

“Hi,” Al said and smiled.

The boy surveyed him for a moment. He seemed to be calculating the possible consequences of giving Al a simple greeting. Al held his breath. The boy seemed very thoughtful and serious.

“Hi,” he said finally. Al grinned happily, assuming he had passed some sort of test that allowed him to be acknowledged. He immediately crossed his legs, bumped his knee into the boy’s, and plopped Quidditch Through the Ages on his lap.

“What’s your name?” Al asked.

“Scorpius,” the boy replied. Al’s grin widened, and he nearly guffawed. The silver eyes narrowed.

“You think my name is funny?” Scorpius snapped.

Al shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not half as funny as mine. I’m Albus.”

The angry look left the blond’s face, and his lips twitched in amusement. “Really? Albus?”

Al grimaced. “Yeah, and my middle name is even worse. My friends call me Al. Pleased to meet you,” Al said, recalling the manners his mother had drummed into his head. He stuck out his hand, hoping it wasn’t too dirty. The blond looked at it for a moment, and then gripped it lightly. Albus squeezed. Scorpius squeezed back. Al squeezed harder, and so did the blond. Soon they were attempting to crush each other’s hand bones. Al began to laugh, and after a moment, Scorpius did, too.

“On the count of three,” Al said, feeling his fingertips going numb, “We both let go.”

“Three,” said Scorpius. They both released their aching hands, and Al giggled so hard he nearly fell forward off the seat. Scorpius chuckled, and Al thought he looked awfully nice when he smiled.

“Do you have a nickname?” he asked.

“No. Just Scorpius.”

“Can I call you Score?”

The blond shrugged. “I suppose. If you like.” He returned his focus to the book in his lap, and Al felt like he’d been dismissed.

At that moment, the sound of raised voices came to them. Al looked up in surprise, recognizing his father’s voice. His father marched out of the shelves, looking angrier than Al had seen him in a long time. A tall man who looked remarkably like Scorpius followed him. He looked just as angry as Al’s father.

“Back off, Malfoy!” Al’s father hissed. The blond man put a hand out and grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. Al’s eyes widened. He had never seen anyone dare to touch his father in anger. Not ever. Not only did the man grab his shoulder, but also clenched both fists into Al’s father’s robes and slammed him against the nearest bookshelf, making several of the books fall over. Al wondered why his father didn’t reach for his wand and hex the man into a toad.

Al looked at Scorpius, who was staring at the angry men in astonishment. Al looked back at the blond man and felt a horrible sinking sensation. He had to be Score’s father. The enraged blond man leaned forward and snarled something inaudible into Al’s father’s ear. His father closed his eyes, as though to block out whatever the man said. Al knew that trick. La la la, I can’t hear you. It never really worked, though, not unless you stuck your fingers into your ears at the same time. And Al’s father’s hands were clenched into fists.

He raised those fists suddenly, but instead of hitting Score’s father, he opened his hands and pushed against the blond’s chest, shoving the man backward. The two men glared daggers at each other for long moments.

“My dad,” Al whispered miserably.

“Mine, too,” Score replied just as quietly.

“I don’t think they like each other.”

“Scorpius,” the blond man said loudly. “Come along.”

Score closed his book and got to his feet. He looked at Al with an expression of shared commiseration, and then followed the billowing dark cloak of his father as the man swept out of the store.

Al got up and walked to his father, who smiled at Al, even though he still seemed shaken by whatever Score’s father had said.

“Who was that?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Al’s father said quietly. “An old… friend from school.”

Scorpius Malfoy. Now that he knew Score’s full name, Al decided he would send him an owl. Just because their fathers did not get along didn’t mean Al couldn’t talk to his new friend, right? He’d check with Rose, first, of course, just to be sure. She was so much smarter than Al. She would know what to do.

Clandestine Affairs

Scorpius Malfoy, as it turned out, was a genius. After Al’s first owl message, Score had come up with several secretive ways for them to communicate, beginning with sending owls to each other in the dead of night. It was harder for Al to get owls than Score, because Al shared a house with James Potter, the snoopiest brother alive.

Though he was loath to do it, Al was forced to incinerate all of his notes from Score, because James would have found them. James would have then blackmailed Al into doing his chores for the next million years.

Score was the one that came up with the brilliant plan for them to meet. The next time Score’s father went on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Score owled Al and told him to arrange a trip at the same time. They would meet at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Shop. Al was so excited he nearly gave the game away by making James suspicious. His brother looked at him and sneered.

“Why so eager to go to Diagon Alley, Al-butt?” he asked.

Al shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

“I want to see if there are any new Quidditch books at Luna’s.”

James sneered, as expected. The day his brother willingly picked up a book was the day Al would eat a Thestral. “You’re so weird.”

“Not as weird as you,” Al retorted carelessly. James hurtled across the room and pounded Al’s head against the floor.

“Take. It. Back,” James said, whacking his head with each word.

“I take it back!” Al squealed, seeing stars. James was such a freaking brute. His brother climbed off and dusted his hands with satisfaction.

“Bring me some sweets from Fortescue’s, or you die,” James said and left the room.

“Sure. Poisoned ones. Ass-hat,” Al muttered and rubbed his aching head.

Scorpius sat at a corner table. Before him hovered a large dish of chocolate ice cream. Al happily slid into the seat next to him and grabbed the pale hand that rested on the table. He laced their fingers together and squeezed.

Score looked at him in surprise. He tried to detach his hand, but Albus held tight.

“Boys don’t hold hands,” Score drawled.

“Why not? Girls do. Why is it okay to shake hands, but not hold them?”

“It’s just not. When boys hold hands, people say they’re poufters.”

“What’s that?”

“Boys that like other boys,” Score explained in a tone that suggested Al was an idiot.

“But I do like you.”

Score sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Not like that. Like, boyfriends. You know, snogging and all that mushy stuff.”

Al wrinkled his nose. “Ew, that’s gross! Snogging is disgusting! Teddy and Victoire do it all the time. They make these slurping sounds and moan at each other. It looks wet and sloppy to me.” Al shuddered.

Score shrugged. “Well, that’s what people will think.”

Al set his jaw stubbornly. “I don’t care what people think.” He squeezed Score’s hand more tightly.

“Well, I do, so let go.”

Al tossed his head, but released Scorpius. “All right. If you’re afraid.”

Scorpius glared at him. “I never said I was afraid!”

“Of course you are. You’re afraid of what people will think.”

Scorpius snatched Al’s hand and squeezed it until Al’s knuckles creaked painfully. Al refrained from wincing, barely.

“There. Are you happy now, you obstinate prat?”

Al did not know what obstinate meant, but he grinned and nodded. With his left hand, he picked up the spoon and took a large bite of Score’s ice cream. The platinum-haired boy looked at him with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t know why I want to be your friend. You’re insufferable, really.”

Al did not know what insufferable meant, either, but he knew Score wasn’t serious.

“You want to be my friend because you’re terribly lonely in that big, old house by yourself.”

“I am not lonely,” Scorpius said, but his hand stopped trying to turn Al’s into jelly.

“Well, I am, and I have a brother and sister. I can’t wait until schools starts and James is gone. Be glad you don’t have an older brother.” Al dropped the spoon and rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. He must remember to buy James sweets or he would have a matching wound on the front of his head.

“I can’t wait until school starts for us,” said Scorpius.

“You are going to Hogwarts, right?”

“Yes. Mother wanted to send me to Durmstrang, but Father wouldn’t hear of it.”

Al was relieved, and mentally thanked Score’s father. Even though he was mean to Al’s father, and shoved him into bookshelves. “What House do you think you’ll be in?”

Score shrugged. “Slytherin, of course. All the Malfoys have been in Slytherin.”

Al was horrified for a moment. James had told him horror stories about Slytherins. And Uncle Ron was constantly mentioning “that evil Slytherin git” although which one he referred to varied. “I don’t really care, as long as it isn’t Hufflepuff.”

“What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?” Al asked.

“They’re sheep,” Scorpius explained. “Idiots, the lot of them. Their only redeeming quality is loyalty, and they’ll throw their lot in with anyone willing to lead. March dead off a cliff, I’ll bet. Loyal to the end.”

“Make an excellent army, wouldn’t they?”

Scorpius looked at him critically.

“You know, Al, you’re smarter than you look. Maybe you’ll be in Ravenclaw.”

Al nearly laughed. James always called Al an idiot. No way he was smart enough to be a Ravenclaw.

“Probably Gryffindor. James is a Gryffindor. And Mum and Dad were Gryffindors. And Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione. And Teddy. Uncle George and Uncle Bill. Oh yes, and Uncle Charlie. And Percy…”

Scorpius laughed, and Al stared at him in amazement. He had never heard the blond boy laugh aloud before. Score had a great laugh. Al joined in just from the sound of it.

Score’s laugh silenced abruptly as his gaze shifted out the glass door. “Father is coming. I’ll owl you next time we plan to come to Diagon Alley.” He gave Al’s hand a squeeze, and went outside before Draco Malfoy could enter. Their greeting seemed stiff and formal to Al, who would have leaped on his father with a huge hug, but then he saw the elder Malfoy grip his son’s shoulder. No exuberance, but affection, at least.

Al and Score met clandestinely several times after that. Twice in the ice cream parlour, once at the bookstore, and once at the Quidditch World Cup, shortly before both were scheduled to attend Hogwarts. Their families were seated not far from each other, although the riotous Potter-Weasley clan was a loud contrast to the pale, reserved Malfoys. Albus thought they all looked beautiful—pale and aloof, like expensive statues.

Scorpius caught Al’s eye and made an obscure gesture. Al excused himself to use the lavatory, but his mother insisted he take Lily along. Al pouted in annoyance, but complied.

“Score! The World Cup! Isn’t it exciting?”

“Not really. My team is not playing, so I don’t care who wins. Who is your little shadow?”

Lily glared. “I’m no shadow. I’m his sister. Who are you?”

“Never mind, Lily. Just use the damn toilet and hurry it up.”

“I’m telling Mum you said a bad word!”

Al stuck his tongue out at her. Lily did the same and marched away. Al rolled his eyes.

“Be glad you’re an only child,” he said. Score smiled and Al laughed aloud. He leaned close and touched Score’s hand with a quick squeeze. “Just think, Score! We’ll be at school soon! Then we can be together every day.”

“Unless we’re in different Houses,” Scorpius said. Al sobered.

“Yeah, but we’ll still have classes together, right?”

“Probably.”

Al was quiet, knowing it was likely that he would be in Gryffindor, and Scorpius would be in Slytherin. They would make friends in their own Houses and see each other rarely. Al was suddenly annoyed at the unfairness of it. If only their fathers didn’t hate each other, they would at least be able to see one another away from school.

“Why does your dad hate mine, anyway?” Al asked quietly, wishing there were some way to force the Sorting Hat into putting them into the same House.

“I don’t know. Why does yours hate mine?”

Al shrugged. “Maybe we should ask them.”

Lily returned, and glared at them both.

“I should go,” said Score. “See you on the Hogwarts Express.”

Al grinned. “That’s right! I’ll meet you in the last car. Wait; make that the second to the last car. James always sits in the last car, and we don’t want to be with him.”

Scorpius bowed slightly to Lily. “Pleased to meet you, Al’s sister. Bye, Al.”

He sauntered away, and Lily looked up at Al. “I guess he’s not so bad,” she admitted. Al grinned before yanking at her hair ribbon and running back to the stands with Lily in angry pursuit.

Hogwarts

Al fidgeted nervously while he waited to board the train. He craned his neck now and again, trying to spot Scorpius through the crowd of taller people in his way. James was bouncing like an idiot, waving to everyone he even vaguely recognized. James was the most popular boy at school, at least according to James. Rose Weasley stood next to Al, looking as nervous as he felt. He only wanted to be in Gryffindor if Score was there also, and it was a good bet Score would be in Slytherin. James had been terrifying Al all morning with stories about the evil children in Slytherin House, and suggesting that Al might be sorted there.

The steam cleared for a moment and Al caught sight of Scorpius. His relief was nearly crushing. He had been terrified that Score’s father had changed his mind and decided to send Score to Durmstrang. He smiled widely, and a tiny smile touched Score’s lips before he pretended to ignore Al.

Uncle Ron made a joke about disinheriting Rose if she was not sorted into Gryffindor, giving Al a moment of panic. “He doesn’t mean it,” Aunt Hermione said, and Al’s mother agreed, giving her brother a poke. Al’s uncle straightened suddenly, and moved closer to Al’s dad.

“Look who it is,” Uncle Ron said as the steam thinned again.

Both Al and his father turned to look at Draco Malfoy and Scorpius. Al noticed a beautiful, thin blond woman standing with them. Al’s forehead wrinkled. Was the woman Score’s mother? She looked a lot like Al’s father, so perhaps she was another relative, like an aunt. She wasn’t fussing over Score the way Al’s mother was fussing over Lily, tucking her scarf around her neck to keep it from blowing away.

Uncle Ron advised Rose to beat Scorpius in every test, earning a glare from Al. What did Uncle Ron have against Score? Al nearly asked, but Aunt Hermione lectured Uncle Ron, so his uncle apologized. James returned in a complete tizzy about Cousin Teddy kissing Cousin Victoire. Al rolled his eyes. Who cared about kissing? He just wanted to get on the train and see Score.

James kicked at Al, made an obnoxious comment, and boarded the train. Al’s mother kissed him, and then Al’s father hugged him hard.

“What if I’m in Slytherin?” Al asked, reluctantly disturbed by James’s warnings.

Al’s father knelt down, and Al looked into the green eyes so like his own. His father spoke quietly, easing his fears about Slytherin House, and then revealed a secret that made excitement leap through Al’s veins. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.

Al quickly boarded the train and hurried to the second to last car. He fidgeted impatiently until a familiar silver-blond head peered in. Scorpius grinned.

“Al. I was afraid you would be in here with your hoards of relations.”

“No, it’s just us so far,” Al said and shifted aside. Score sat beside him, after stowing a small travel bag in the overhead compartment.

“Father insisted I bring some sweets from home. He says the food on the train is substandard.”

Al thought that was terribly funny. His mother was a good cook, but Al thought train food would be a wonderfully amazing change from home-cooked meals. He grabbed Score’s hand happily.

“I can’t believe we’re finally going! And wait until you hear what my father told me!” He repeated the news about the Sorting Hat considering the wearer’s choices. “It’s a secret, of course. My father never told anyone before, not even James! I know it, or James would have told me.” Al felt terribly special about that.

Score looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, Al, that opens up a world of possibilities. It means we can be in any house we choose.”

“And it means we can be together! Will you be in Gryffindor with me?”

Score laughed. “Certainly not. Gryffindor is for brave idiots.”

Al pouted, recalling the taunts of James outside the train. He was terrified to be in Slytherin, and almost hesitated to ask. “Not… not Slytherin?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, Al. My father has told me story after story of Slytherin House. To prepare me. Frankly, they don’t sound at all friendly. The chief trait of Slytherin seems to be to get ahead, and while I can certainly relate to that, I hate to have so much bloody competition. It must get very tiresome, being on your toes all the time, fighting to be top dog. And once you are top dog, how do you stay there?”

Al nearly sighed with relief, although he was nearly as nervous at the next suggestion. “Ravenclaw, then? I told you, I don’t think I’m smart enough.”

Score made a huffing sound. “Of course you’re smart enough. You’re my friend, aren’t you? That alone qualifies you for brilliance. However, I think I’ve found a better option for both of us. Hufflepuff.”

“Huff… Hufflepuff?” Al was astounded. He’d been called a Hufflepuff as a curse word by his brother for the past year, every time he’d done something remotely stupid or annoying. “But you said they were…”

Score nodded. “Sheep, yes. But then I thought about what you said, that they would make the perfect army. Think of it, Al! We could rule Hufflepuff! With my brains, and your… well, whatever makes you you… we could take over Hufflepuff without a fuss. I would be their king, and you would be my…”

“…queen?” Al said dubiously, the first thing that came to mind. Score socked him in the shoulder with his free hand.

“No, you idiot! My right hand man. The king’s champion.”

“The king’s champion,” Al breathed, enraptured. Score’s brilliance was beyond comprehension.

“Besides, I look stunning in yellow, and you… well, we’ll just have to keep you in black, I suppose. Yellow will do nothing for your complexion and it won’t highlight those green eyes of yours at all, but one cannot have everything. It’s settled, then? We’ll ask the bloody hat to put us in Hufflepuff?”

“Absolutely.” Al smiled and thanked his stars that M came before P in the alphabet. Regardless of what house Scorpius ended up in, Al planned to spend his every instant under the hat begging to be placed in the same, even if it turned out to be Slytherin.

As it turned out, Al’s father was correct. Scorpius spent quite a long time beneath the hat before it finally yelled out, “Hufflepuff!” Al thought it sounded a bit confused. There were more than a few shocked murmurs throughout the hall, especially from the teacher’s table. Al thought Professor Longbottom looked stunned as he watched Scorpius walk triumphantly to the yellow-bedecked table.

Al’s turn came shortly thereafter, and as the oversized, battered thing darkened his vision, he heard a small voice in his ear. “Another Potter, eh? Always interesting, the Potters…”

“Hufflepuff,” Al whispered desperately. “Hufflepuff, please. Oh please.”

“Hufflepuff? Are you sure? You seem to know your own mind… Slytherin would take you far. Intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, you are, and brave… yes, bravery goes without saying…”

Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff.

“Odd,” the hat muttered. “You’re the second boy ignoring my choices tonight, but if you insist, let it be… HUFFLEPUFF!”

Al nearly collapsed with relief and ignored the shout of horror coming from where his brother sat. He nearly threw the hat at the next student to be sorted, and raced to the Hufflepuff table, where his new housemates welcomed him with slaps on the back and loud cheers. Al looked only at Scorpius, whose silvery eyes glowed with triumph as he held out his hand to Al.

He heard a recurring whisper from along the table, and it sounded excited and a bit awed. “We’ve got a Potter! A Potter!”

“We must send your father a thank you card,” Score whispered with a chuckle as Al joined him on the bench. Under the table, Al gripped Score’s hand tightly with barely suppressed excitement, and his friend did not try to pull away. “Bloody hat wanted to argue with me. Insisted I should go in Slytherin.”

“It said Slytherin would take me far,” Al murmured. “But that I could be in Ravenclaw, too.”

Scorp grinned. “See? I knew you were smart.”

Al’s heart soared. Tomorrow, he would have to face his brother, and explain to all of his sundry relatives why he was the only non-Gryffindor in the lot, but tonight he simply didn’t care. Score’s plan had worked brilliantly.

First Year

Their first year at Hogwarts did not see Scorpius Malfoy invested as the Hufflepuff king. Whenever Albus asked about it, Score would smile mysteriously and say things like, “Patience, Al, this is not a Hufflepuff plot”, and “All things in the fullness of time.”

Al was content. His first year at Hogwarts was blissful for the most part. He spent nearly every waking moment with Scorpius. The only time they weren’t together was breakfast on Saturday and Sunday, since Score insisted on sleeping late. Al would trip down to the Great Hall and sit with his Gryffindor relatives. Most of them had stopped teasing him by the second month, with the exception of James, of course.

Al and Score were nearly always hand in hand, as one of them seemed to be constantly dragging the other along. Evenings found them in the Hufflepuff common room huddled on the sofa together. Score would read or work on homework. Al would pretend to study until he fell asleep on Score’s shoulder, and eventually Score would wake him for the trek to their room. More often than not, they slept on the same bed, albeit at opposite ends. Albus invariably fell asleep on Score’s bed, and Scorpius would levitate the blankets from Al’s bed to cover his sleeping friend. Al figured he spent more time in Score’s bed than his own.

They became commonly known as Malfoy and his Shadow, partially due to Score’s insistence that they dress the part. Scorpius wore yellow at all times, from palest gold to deepest buttercup, and insisted that Al wear primarily black. Al didn’t mind, accepting Score’s assurance that he looked awful in yellow, and he rather liked it when everyone stopped calling him Malfoy’s Shadow and simply referred to him as Shadow. It made him feel rather sinister and ominous.

Al and Score took all their classes together, and Al’s ambidexterity turned out to be an unexpected benefit. Al used whatever hand happened to be closest to his wand to cast spells, earning envious glares from Score.

“You’re a lucky git, Al. I can barely cast a Lumos with my left hand,” Score admitted.

Al grinned. “You sound like James. He’s always hated me for being able to use both hands.”

Score sniffed haughtily. “I refuse to have anything in common with James Potter. And I certainly don’t hate you.”

“Good, because I like you far better than James, and if you started acting like him, I would have to hex you. With both hands.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” Scorpius said and bolted. Al bellowed and charged after him. Their merry game of tag turned into an evening of detention when they accidentally mowed down Madam Hooch on the third floor landing. Of course, Al didn’t really consider it punishment stuck in the broom shed all evening, polishing school brooms and arguing with Score over what Quidditch team would take the next World Cup. Al could not think of anywhere he would rather be.

Summer was horrible. First the Malfoys went on holiday to China, of all places. Score said it had something to do with his father’s business. His mother did not accompany them. Score sent Al dozens of postcards and letters, most of which stated how utterly bored he was with China. Al grinned at Score’s whining tone. He knew the blond didn’t hate it nearly as much as he complained. He adored his father. Al thought he was terribly lucky to be able to spend so much time alone with his dad. Al always had to share with James and Lily. Time alone with his dad was rare. In fact, time at all with his dad was rare. Al’s father worked long hours, and was often gone for days at a time. Score had barely returned from China when Al’s family decided on a spontaneous holiday. At least, it seemed spontaneous to Al, who had heard his parents arguing about it for weeks, but he had not actually expected his father to take time off from work. Apparently his mother’s nagging skills had not diminished.

So it was that the Potters packed and took a Portkey to Greece, where they walked through ancient ruins and looked out over the sparkling Mediterranean during the long, hot days. At night their parents argued about Al’s father “going through the motions” and “wishing he was back at work”. Al knew just how he felt. Al wished they were back home, too. He was sick of James trying to push him into dry cisterns and Lily whining about how her feet hurt. He was tired of his parents fighting when they thought Al and the others were asleep, and he was bothered by their façade of happiness during the day. Mostly, Al just missed Score.

Al wished the Malfoys and Potters were friends, but the name “Malfoy” seemed to be taboo in the Potter household. Any time Al mentioned Scorpius, his mother’s mouth would tighten and she would look at Al with disapproval. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea for you to get too close to that Malfoy boy, Al,” she had said once.

“Why?” Al had asked. His mother had mentioned something like “bad blood” and rushed off to rescue Lily from pulling down a bookshelf. Al had vowed never to mention Score to her again.

Al’s father wasn’t much better. He didn’t seem to mind Al talking about Scorpius, but he always got a strange look on his face, and his eyes would go to the dusty black box that sat on the mantle. It had been there for Al’s entire life, and probably before that, as well. Al had opened the case a few times, and knew it contained a wand—one made of very dark wood. No one ever used it, and whenever Al asked to whom it belonged, his parents would always say, “No one.” He supposed it was true, since it was never used.

When the Potters returned from their enforced holiday, Al and Score sent owls to each other, and met four times in Diagon Alley during trips they managed to coordinate. Al could hardly wait for second year.

Opening Gambit

Scorpius Malfoy unleashed his strategy to become the Hufflepuff king as soon as their second year began. He announced his plan to Al on the train.

“We’ll both join the Quidditch team. We couldn’t do it last year, since we were too young, but this will be the beginning of our bid for greatness.”

“How do you know we’ll make the team?” Al asked worriedly. Score laughed before punching him on the arm.

“Come on, Al! Think of our parents! Your father was the youngest Seeker in a century. To hear some tell it, he could have been the best Seeker ever. Your mum played Quidditch too, right? And my father was a Seeker. To hear him tell it, he could have beaten your father, if not for all that Dark Lord business that kept your dad from playing. Either way, it’s in our blood.”

Al acknowledged that Score had a point. Quidditch was a popular sport amongst the Potters and Weasleys. Al had been riding a broom since he could walk, and playing Quidditch since he could fly.

“Did you find out why your father hates mine?” Al asked, thinking of their parents.

Scorpius grinned. “Yes, and it was very strange. I asked him why he hated Harry Potter and he looked quite surprised, and then he gave me that look he has when he’s telling me something he doesn’t really want me to know. And then he said, ‘I don’t hate Potter. Who told you that?’ So I admitted that I might have overheard him ranting about ‘the Great Potter’ a few times, and he scowled and said that ‘just because he thought someone was a glory-seeking, overrated, crass, oblivious half-wit did not mean he hated the person.’ I made sure to write all that down.”

“Wow, he said all that about my dad?”

“Yeah, and the odd thing is that he talks about your father all the time. I never really noticed until I met you. I’ll bet he knows everything about Harry Potter. He certainly complains about him a lot, and he has a huge assortment of names for him. I didn’t write those down—there were too many, and most were not very nice.”

“I asked my dad if he hated yours, too. He sat down on the couch and got all serious and put his hand on my shoulder. He said, ‘Of course not, Al. I don’t hate anyone. What gave you the idea I hated Malfoy?’ I told him it was James, of course, because… well I can blame James for just about anything, and my parents always buy it.”

“That’s because James is a prat ninety-seven percent of the time.”

“True. Anyway, my dad said he didn’t hate your dad, and that Draco Malfoy was just misunderstood. He said that no one ever really gave him a chance.”

Score’s eyebrows rose. “He said that? It almost sounds like your father actually likes my father.”

“It does, doesn’t it? And since your dad said he doesn’t hate my dad, maybe they’ll let us see each other during the holidays!”

Score nodded. “Maybe we should start with your dad, since he seemed a bit more sincere with the ‘I don’t hate him’ story.”

“I’ll mention it to him when I write. We might as well get started now, if we plan to see each other during Christmas.”

“Christmas won’t work for us this year, since Father planned to take me to Switzerland over the holiday. But we will plan on next summer for certain. All right, that will be your assignment then, other than achieving a position on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Things will be looking up for us this year, Al,” Score said. He dragged Al close with an arm around his shoulders, and his knuckles dragged through Al’s hair, messing it up more than it already was. Al gave him an elbow to the stomach and Score laughed while he made a show of smoothing down Al’s hair. He didn’t take his arm from Al’s shoulders, and Al rested his head against Score’s neck.

James marched into the car and sneered at them.

“You two are so weird. Why are you always draped all over each other?”

“Jealous, Potter?” Score retorted easily as James threw himself in the seat across from them. Al’s brother rolled his eyes.

“Couple of ponces. Where’s Rose?”

Al said, “She stopped to have a chin wag with some of her girlfriends. Have you seen Amber and Zephyr?”

“No, I haven’t seen any of your stupid Hufflepuff friends.”

Several of James’ friends burst into the car then, and the Gryffindors thankfully rushed off to have a look at some pretty new girl in a compartment farther along. Rose and her much quieter friends entered, as well as Amber and Zephyr Abbott. Al had dubbed the twins ‘Score’s Fan Club’.

“Hi Score. Hi Shadow,” the girls intoned together. One of the girls sat by Score and one by Al to make a Hufflepuff sandwich. Score and the girls made small talk, and Al found himself drifting off to sleep, as usually happened whenever he leaned on Score’s shoulder.

As Score had predicted, they both made the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Madam Hooch had been delighted to see them both on the team, and mentioned she would be heartily glad to avoid the old Malfoy/Potter rivalry from the old days. Al had never seen Score on a broom, and the sight was breathtaking. He looked like a golden blur, chasing the Snitch. His dives and turns were pure grace in motion. Al was quick, too, but his specialty was aerial acrobatics. He managed some somersaults and rolls that had the other Hufflepuffs shouting with astonishment.

Score hovered near Al on his broom. They watched while another Hufflepuff zoomed across the field, and Score looked at Al.

“How did you learn to maneuver like that, Al?” he asked with a grin.

“Are you kidding? James’s idea of Quidditch is braining me with a Bludger, or knocking me off my broom. He never even tries to score. I can avoid nearly anything.”

“They’ll probably make you a Chaser, then.”

Al nodded. He didn’t care what position he got, as long as he could play.

“We made the team! Score is Seeker and I’m Keeper!” Al told Rose excitedly. She rolled her eyes. Rose would rather sit in the corner and read a book than even watch a Quidditch game. It was unpatriotic and strange, really.

“You should see Al!” Score added. “With his moves, there is no way anyone will get the Quaffle into the goal! We’ll have the House Cup this year, for certain.”

“You haven’t played a single game,” Rose pointed out dryly, twisting a strand of her frizzy red hair around a finger.

“Let’s go find James!” Al said excitedly. “I want to rub it in his face that we’re both on the team!”

Quidditch and Questions

The Hufflepuff team slaughtered the others in Quidditch. Scorpius was an astounding Seeker. The Gryffindors had excellent teamwork, but their Seeker was simply not quick enough. To top it off, it was a rare day when the Quaffle could make it past Albus Potter, so the other teams could not even hope to drive the score up before Malfoy caught the Snitch. Hufflepuff started the Quiddith season undefeated, and stayed that way.

In one game, Score played wickedly, keeping the Gryffindor Seeker away from the Snitch rather that snatching it, merely to prolong the game. Sean Finnegan, a Gryffindor Beater, charged Scorpius after the game, accusing him of “Slytherin tactics.” Score laughed and flicked the golden edge of his cape toward Finnegan, who was restrained by his other teammates at the approach of Madam Hooch.

“Hufflepuff tactics,” Score had said deliberately.

“Slytherin in Hufflepuff clothing,” James muttered, glaring at Al, but Al merely beamed and slung an arm around Score’s shoulders. He thought Score was simply brilliant. Besides, he hadn’t done anything wrong. The Gryffindors should be glad they had gotten to play longer. Score could have caught the Snitch in the first ten minutes of the game.

James was in a fine snit the next morning. Al sat down to breakfast at the Gryffindor table. James glared over the heaping plate of bacon and toast. “Why do you always sit here? Shouldn’t you be with your Hufflepuff followers? And where is your Evil Overlord?”

Al grabbed a handful of bacon and a few pieces of toast. “Dad says I can sit wherever I want. You already know Score likes to sleep in on Sundays.” He grinned. “But I’ll be sure to mention the Overlord thing. He’ll probably have badges made.”

James rolled his eyes. “God, you two are such freaks. Poncy freaks, at that.”

“Stop it, James,” Rose said, giving him a look over the Daily Prophet. She read the paper every morning, to keep abreast of things. Al and most of the Gryffindors relied on her for news. “I like it when Al sits here. We’d never see him otherwise.”

James muttered something about “seeing the bloody git’s face for the past twelve years” but he settled down in his seat and concentrated on his food. Sean Finnegan entered, and sneered at Al as he took a seat next to James. Rose leaned close to Al.

“Has Scorpius mentioned anything about his mother?” she asked quietly.

Al looked at her in confusion and shook his head. “No. Why would he?” Come to think of it, Score had never mentioned his mother at all, as far as Al could recall. It came as a bit of a shock to find he even had a mother. Al had assumed she was dead. “Er… is she alive?”

Rose looked scandalized for a moment. “I thought he was your best friend, Al. How could you not know? Anyway, the gossip columns are generally filled with tripe, but sometimes they contain tidbits of truth. This article says Draco Malfoy’s wife is moving to the south of France for health reasons. It says Score’s dad plans to stay here and continue to run the Malfoy Empire. I wonder if there is more to the story.”

Al bit his lip. He wondered if Score’s mum was ill. Score had never said anything, so maybe it was serious. Score liked to keep serious things to himself; Al always had to drag important issues out of his friend. Al gnawed on his lip, and wondered if Score was worried about his mum. If anything happened to Al’s mum, he’d be plenty worried, especially if she had to go to the Continent because of it.

“That seems really personal,” Al said softly. “Why is it in the paper?”

Rose shrugged. “It’s always news when rich pureblood families have troubles. People love to rub their noses in it. I think it makes them feel better about their own lives.”

Al rose indignantly to Score’s defense. “Well, that’s just wrong! It’s none of their business!” It was technically none of Al’s business, either, but he figured he might try to pry some information out of Scorpius, for his own good. If Score suppressed some secret pain, Al would damn well make sure he dealt with it. Dad always said it was better to get things out in the open, because lying to yourself was just as bad as lying to others. Even worse, sometimes. Funny, but Al had never really understood that until now.

He didn’t broach the subject until later that morning, when Score finally dragged himself out of bed and curled up next to Al on the sofa in the Hufflepuff common room. Al had brought back a plate of food and a pot of tea, just like he did every time Score slept in. Score rested his head against Al’s shoulder and opened his mouth for Al to feed him bits of food. Al had to laugh. For such a dynamo of energy, Scorpius was almost ridiculously lethargic in the morning. He could barely function without two strong cups of tea and plenty of sugar.

Ethan Martinson, seated in a chair near the fireplace, made a snorting noise and mentioned something about Al being Score’s personal house-elf. Score pointed his wand at Martinson and said, “Out, unless you plan to never have children.”

It took a moment for Score’s threat to sink it, but when it did, Ethan’s eyes widened and he bolted. Al grinned. He didn’t like Ethan very much.

“Jealous twit,” Score grumbled. “Wants his own personal house-elf like mine.”

Al socked him on the arm and Score chuckled. Al fed him a couple more bites of food, despite the house-elf comment.

“Score, is there something wrong with your mother?” Al asked quietly. Score stiffened against Al’s side and moved away to look at him strangely.

“What do you mean?”

Al sighed. “There is something in the Daily Prophet this morning. About your mother moving to France… for her health, it says. I didn’t even know your mother was… well, you never mentioned her.”

Score sneered. “I barely have a mother. She is in London more than she’s home. All she does is plan parties and buy clothing.” Score raised an eyebrow and looked thoughtful. “Moving to France, eh? I wonder if Father finally gave her the boot.”

Al was scandalized. He couldn’t imagine his father giving his mother the boot. Then again, he really couldn’t picture his red-haired mother planning parties or buying clothing, either. She normally just puttered around the house, cooking and taking care of Lily.

“Do your parents argue a lot?” Al asked.

“They’ve got to be in the same room to argue, don’t they? I think my parents prefer to pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

Al could hardly fathom such a family. Although maybe ignoring each other would be preferable to the arguments his parents got into, on occasion. Al’s mother had quite a temper, and she was quick to fly into a screaming rage. His quiet father would only put up with it for so long before bellowing back at her. At those times, Al and Lily would run into James’s room and the three of them would huddle together, hoping the hexes did not start flying.

Al wondered if his parents got along better now that he and James were in school.

Malfoy Manor

Al looked at his father hopefully.

“So, since you don’t hate Score’s dad and he doesn’t hate you, can I go visit him this summer? If it’s okay with Score’s dad, I mean?”

Al’s father’s expression was really strange. He looked uncomfortable to the point of panic.

“Why don’t you two like each other, anyway?” Al asked.

His dad got a faraway look in his eyes.

“It was a long time ago,” he said finally. “School rivalry, Quidditch… and then the war.”

Al winced. He hadn’t meant to bring up the war. It always seemed to make Al’s dad really sad.

“It’s okay,” his dad said with a smile. “It’s probably past time to put it behind us. If it’s all right with Malfoy, you can go visit your friend. I’ll… talk to your mother.”

He sounded less that thrilled about that prospect, and Al wondered why his mother would object to him visiting Scorpius. Just because she thought there was something wrong with having Malfoy blood did not mean Al would be infected by it. Adults were so weird.

An owl came from Score later that day, rather formally requesting Al’s presence at Malfoy Manor for an extended stay. Al whooped and raced outside to fly crazy loops on his broom.

Al was bouncing with excitement when his father Apparated them to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. Al gasped, because the place was amazing, all wrought iron, brick, stately oaks, perfectly trimmed emerald grass, and white peacocks. It looked more like a palace or a museum than a house.

“Score lives here?” Al breathed.

“If you want to call it living,” his father muttered. Al looked at him quickly, but his father just smiled and lifted a hand to the wrought iron gates. They slid open before he could touch them.

They walked up the seemingly endless gravel drive to the front door. Al’s father knocked politely and the door was opened by a ragged looking house-elf. Al stared at it curiously. He had only seen one other house-elf in his life, and that was Kreacher. This one was a lot better looking than Kreacher, who always looked like he might drop dead at any moment.

“Mister Harry Potter and Mister Albus Potter shall be waiting in the antechamber. Master Malfoy shall be joining Mister Harry Potter shortly. Mister Albus Potter is not to be touching anything. Mister Harry Potter is recommended not to be touching anything, either.”

Al wasn’t sure what an antechamber was, but he happily followed the elf into a nearby room that was bigger than any room Al had ever seen in a house. Al tossed himself into a chair and grabbed a biscuit from a tray that had popped into existence on a nearby table.

His father looked distinctly uncomfortable and did not sit down, but paced, pretending to examine the porcelain figurines on the mantle. Al knew they were porcelain, because Aunt Hermione had some and Uncle Ron was constantly bellowing at James to “keep away from the bleedin’ porcelain!”

“Al!” he heard suddenly, and turned to see Score in the doorway looking more clean and polished than Al could have managed on his way to a wedding. Al leaped out of the chair and launched himself at Scorpius. He nearly knocked over his best friend.

“Down, Al,” Score reprimanded.

“Dad, you remember Scorpius?”

“Yes. Nice to see you again.” He smiled, but the smile faded when his eyes flashed upward, moving from Score to the larger version that had appeared in the doorway.

Score’s father looked the same as he always had, the few times Al had seen him: elegant and somewhat… icy.

“Potter,” he said, and managed to make the name sound like something unpleasant.

“Malfoy,” Al’s father said in the same tone. Al suddenly remembered that day long ago in the bookstore, when Draco Malfoy’s fists had been clenched in his father’s robes. He hoped they did not start fighting again.

“Come upstairs, Al,” Score hissed in his ear, “Before they change their minds!”

He grabbed Al’s hand and they slipped out of the room. The last Al heard as the two boys ran for the stairs was a civil-sounding exchange.

“Would you like a drink, Potter?”

“God, yes. I mean… please.”

Al thought it was rather strange, considering his father never drank, except for a single glass of eggnog at Christmas. Al put it out of his mind when they reached Score’s room, and more than a hundred Quidditch action figures grabbed his attention.

“This is better than winning the House Cup!” Al said.

Score laughed. “I told you we would win the House Cup. Everything will be roses for Hufflepuff, now. We can’t be beat in Quidditch.”

“It didn’t hurt that you instituted Study Time, either, I suppose,” Al admitted grudgingly.

Al had objected quite strenuously when Score had appealed to the older Hufflepuffs with Ravenclaw-like logic, and created a specific time each evening for homework and studies. The older students helped the younger ones with homework and spells, which ended in better grades all around for Hufflepuffs. Scorpius had done so with an eye on the House Cup, of course, but it had benefited all of the Hufflepuffs, so Al’s sense of justice was satisfied.

He only wished Score had excluded him from the Study Time rule.

Girl Troubles

Al’s third year started pleasantly enough. Quidditch trials were held, Al and Score firmly secured their positions, and Score lorded it over both younger and older classmates, well on his was to the Hufflepuff kingship he sought. Lily Potter was sorted into Gryffindor, as expected, much to the delight of James, who continued to treat Albus as some sort of aberration.

Things were nearly perfect, until sometime during the end of October, when Al’s world began to fall apart.

That was when Scorpius Malfoy found a girlfriend.

She was, unsurprisingly, a Ravenclaw. She had long, jet black hair and a cute face with a pert nose. Her eyes were hazel, and fringed with black lashes that she batted at Score in a coy pretense.

When she first began to hang around with them, ostensibly to get Score’s help with Arithmancy, Al didn’t mind her so much. As Malfoy and his Shadow turned into Malfoy and his Shadow Plus One, Al started to get a bit annoyed.

“Does she have to come with us?” Al snapped, watching her approach with her perky step and her happy wave. Her name was Rebecca, but Al only referred to her as she or her.

Scorpius ignored him. “Beckers, my darling,” he gushed. She blushed prettily.

“Hi Al,” she said and gave him a cursory lash bat as she took Score’s arm possessively. Al decided he hated her.

“Hi,” he said grudgingly. He took Score’s other arm. Score smiled at him, obviously pleased to be framed by his black-haired trophies. Al was used to sharing. He was a middle child with two siblings and a herd of cousins. He knew how to share.

But he did not like to share Scorpius.

For Score’s sake, Al tolerated Rebecca. Not that he had much choice. He was terrified that if it came to making a decision between them, Scorpius would choose Rebecca. He was grateful for the classes they had without her and dreaded those that Score had with her, but not him.

He thanked Merlin and Hufflepuff and Dumbledore that she was a Ravenclaw and therefore had to leave every night to return to Ravenclaw Tower, leaving Al blessedly alone with his best friend.

“We need to find you a girlfriend, Al,” Score decided one night when they sat before the Hufflepuff fire. Al’s head was in Score’s lap and he held a Muggle Studies scroll up to read while Score practiced Transfiguration on a teacup.

Al nearly dropped the scroll and he felt his stomach lurch.

“What?”

Score whispered a word and the teacup became a candlestick. “A girlfriend, silly. Like Beckers. What girls do you like? I’m sure any of them would be glad to have you, once we take a comb to this.” He ran a hand through Al’s unruly hair. “Not that it ever helps.”

Al grabbed his hand to stop it yanking on his hair. He linked his fingers through Score’s, trying to hold on to everything he felt slipping away. Al thought about Score’s words. Girls. Al had never been remotely interested in girls.

“Surely you like someone, Al. Spill it.”

Al mentally flitted through all the girls he knew. He crossed out everyone in Hufflepuff, knowing he would never allow a girl to intrude on his time with Scorpius. Amber and Zephyr Abbott were too much like sisters, anyway. Ravenclaw? He shuddered. Those brainy girls always made him feel like an idiot. The girls in Gryffindor seemed too boisterous and intimidating. And James would tease them mercilessly.

He finally snatched on the only logical choice.

“Angelica Parkinson,” he said. Score laughed.

“Damn, Al. You shoot for the moon, don’t you? And a Slytherin? You’re definitely brave enough to have been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Angelica Parkinson was beautiful. She had long, straight, silver-blonde hair, set off by pale eyes and skin. She was rumored to be ruthless and smart, with a wicked tongue. She reminded Al of Scorpius.

“Well, she’s the one. If I have to have a girlfriend, I might as well get the best, right?”

“I never said you had to have a girlfriend, Al,” Score said dryly, but the gauntlet had been thrown.

The pursuit of Angelica Parkinson lasted until February. She laughed in Al’s face. She vowed never to have anything to do with a Hufflepuff. She went out with an endless succession of boys in every house but his, and delighted in kissing them in front of Al. Oddly, she seemed annoyed when Al didn’t seem to care. He would smile and shrug, and clap the “lucky guy” on the shoulder.

“Maybe you should give up, Al,” Score advised one evening after Angelica had tripped Al on the stairs. The fall had ended in a trip to the hospital wing. Al looked at Score angrily. The blond’s lips were red from snogging Rebecca in the Front Hall. In that moment, Al felt something akin to hate for his clueless friend.

The next morning at breakfast, Al walked straight to the Slytherin table, sat next to Angelica Parkinson, and planted a kiss full on her lips.

“You are going out with me now, and you’re going with me to Hogsmeade on Valentine’s weekend, and if you have a problem with that, I’ll hex a baboon’s ass on the face of your next twenty boyfriends.”

Angelica looked quite dazed and nodded. Al stalked to the Hufflepuff table and sat next to Score, who stared at him with much the same expression Angelica wore.

“Bloody hell, Al. I’m impressed.”

“That makes one of us,” Al snapped. He ate his breakfast and went to class. He took Angelica Parkinson to Hogsmeade with Score and her and ate cute frosted cakes cut into heart shapes. He obediently snogged Angelica outside the Slytherin common room and listened to the good-hearted ribbing from his Hufflepuff classmates, Score included. Al settled into couplehood with the same placidity he approached everything else… and hated every minute of it.

Every night, Al would curl up next to Score on the Hufflepuff couch, drape himself over his friend, and let the sight, sound, and scent of him drown the heartache.

Al had finally admitted to himself that Score was the only one he wanted, but he hadn’t a clue in hell what to do about it.

The summer before Al’s fourth year was almost a relief. He thought maybe he just needed a break from Scorpius, and he definitely needed a break from Angelica Parkinson. While he enjoyed his respite from school and the pressure of his friends, things were equally tense at home.

His parents seemed to be constantly fighting. Al’s mother was enraged that his father spent more and more time at work—some nights he did not come home at all. Al’s father would yell back about responsibility and duty and things Al didn’t really understand. He wished they would just stop fighting.

James dealt with the tension by getting into trouble. When he set fire to a tree in the backyard, their parents shipped him off to spend the rest of the summer with their Uncle George. George was a notorious prankster, but he knew how to keep James in line. Al was happier without his brother’s abrasive presence and constant sarcasm, although he missed having someone to play Quidditch with. Lily was getting better, but she tended to hex Al whenever she got angry—which was a lot—and she seldom got in trouble for doing so.

One afternoon when his father was actually at home, Al retreated outside with Lily to escape the shouting of his parents, which had started just after breakfast.

“Why do they fight so much?” Lily asked him as she climbed the apple tree. She wasn’t supposed to, because she always tore her robes or scraped her knees, but she had a tendency to do whatever she wanted, just like James.

“I don’t think they like each other any more,” Al said.

Lily hung upside down from a branch. Al held his wand ready, in case she fell.

“But they’re married!”

“That doesn’t mean they have to like each other. Think about it—when was the last time they did anything together, just the two of them?”

Al thought it explained a lot, actually. He knew how important time alone was to a relationship—god, did he ever know after hanging around as a couple for four months—and he couldn’t recall his parents ever going anywhere without Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, or Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, or Uncle George and his Date-of-the-Week, as they called his numerous girlfriends.

It made Al sad, but it was worse to see his father’s pensive expression when he thought no one was watching. It was so full of sadness and longing that Al’s heart would constrict. Sometimes his father looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. At those times, Al thought it very likely that he would wake up one day and his father would be gone.

“Lily! Let’s go!” his mother yelled from the back door. His sister dropped obediently out of the tree. She trotted into the house, earning a pat on the head from their father, who exited the door as Lily entered.

Al watched his father approach. The handsome face was set in tense lines.

“Al, how would you like to go visit your friend Scorpius?”

Al’s heart leaped and he grinned widely.

“Would I? Yeah!”

They Apparated to the front gates, and Al was surprised to see Score’s dad waiting for them inside the wrought iron.

“Potter,” said Draco Malfoy curtly. He looked at Al with a hint of a smile. “Shorter Potter.”

Al glared at him. “I’ll be as tall as my dad someday!”

The elder Malfoy laughed and ruffled Al’s hair. “I’m sure you will. Scorpius is already out back with the brooms. Apparently he expects you to play Quidditch.”

Al let out a whoop and raced for the house. On the steps, he paused and looked back. He was surprised to see his father and Score’s still standing before the gates. Draco Malfoy’s hands were on Al’s father’s shoulders and his father’s hands gripped Mr. Malfoy’s wrists. Their heads were so close together that their foreheads nearly touched, and the silver hair brushed against the black.

For a moment, Al had a strange premonition—that was how he and Score would look when they were old, if they were still friends. It was an oddly tender scene, and Al wondered when Draco Malfoy and his father had stopped disliking each other and become friends.

Al shrugged it off and went to find Score.

Tricks and Lies

Al’s fourth year began bizarrely. Score hurried to seek out “Beckers” the minute they boarded the Hogwart’s Express, and discovered her sitting with another bloke. After a screaming match in the corridor that sent gossip burning like wildfire up and down the train, Score broke up with the devastated Ravenclaw girl, much to Al’s utter delight.

Score spent the remainder of the train ride in a simmering snit. Al kept his arm around the angry blond and made soothing noises to keep him from savaging their Hufflepuff friends that huddled across from them and watched Score fearfully.

When they exited the train to board the horseless carriages (even though Al knew they were pulled by invisible horse-like creatures), a black and green flurry of motion erupted before Al. A ringing slap echoed among the carriages, and Al blinked at Angelica Parkinson’s enraged visage.

“You lousy Hufflepuff cretin!” she snarled. “Not one owl all summer! And you don’t even have the decency to seek me out on the train? I hate you, Albus Potter! We are through!”

Al rubbed his cheek and watched her flounce away with her glaring friends in tow. In truth, Al hadn’t thought of her once all summer.

He grinned at Score. “Looks like we’re both single again.”

Al was ecstatic for all of three weeks, which was how long it took Score to find Girlfriend Number Two. Al had thought Rebecca was bad, but now he almost went to Ravenclaw and begged her to do whatever it took to get Score back, because Elladora Greengrass was purest evil. She was a Slytherin. In Al’s opinion was as pretty and vicious as a black mamba. To make matters worse, she was a very good friend of Angelica Parkinson, and therefore went well out of her way to make Al’s life a living hell, all in the name of friendly retaliation.

Naturally, Score didn’t see Elladora’s viciousness at all. He thought her biting comments were amusing and told Al to lighten up. Though they had been friends since they were eight years old, the Slytherin witch began to inexorably drive a wedge between them. Like all good Slytherin plans, it started out slowly and subtly, and Al was caught in its web before he sensed the full danger. By then it was far too late.

“I know someone that likes you, Al,” Elladora said at breakfast one morning, even though she hated sitting at the Hufflepuff table. She smirked and continued, “A Ravenclaw.”

Al made a noncommittal sound, not caring, and wishing she would shut up and leave. Score perked up.

“Really? Who is it, Ellie? Al needs to get over Angelica and move on. Who is she?”

Elladora laughed, a sound that Score found adorable and Al likened to a sarcophagus lid scraping shut.

“Who said it was a she?”

Silence reigned at the table and Al’s face flamed. She had spoken loudly enough to halt conversation in a wide radius. Elladora calmly buttered her toast, as if oblivious to the effect of her words.

She caught Al’s eye and said, “I didn’t think Al would mind.”

Score turned his beautiful silver eyes to Al speculatively, as if the concept had never before occurred to him. Al wanted to climb under the table and die. He wanted to hex Elladora Greengrass into her namesake and feed it to a herd of filthy camels.

“Your girlfriend is hilarious, Score. Top notch.” Al glared at Elladora, who smiled at him and flipped her long brown hair over her shoulder before pressing a lingering kiss into Score’s cheek. All of the saltshakers on the Hufflepuff table exploded.

The other Hufflepuff’s leaped back in alarm, talking excitedly. Al didn’t move, and Elladora Greengrass smiled knowingly at him.

Al should have known it wouldn’t stop there. The litany of lies began shortly thereafter. Elladora caught him outside the History of Magic classroom.

“Score wants to see you on the Quidditch pitch,” she said. His eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes and walked away, as if the very act of speaking to him was beneath her. She probably thought it was.

He hurried to the Quidditch pitch, knowing he’d be late for his next class, but Score was nowhere to be found. He raced back to the castle and hurried in, quite late, to Charms class, only to find Score sitting in his usual spot watching him curiously. Professor Flitwick deducted points from Hufflepuff for Al’s tardiness.

“Where were you?” Score whispered. Al felt a sudden rush of rage.

“At the Quidditch pitch! Where the hell were you?”

His words drew the attention of Flitwick once more, and Al shut his mouth with a snap. After class, Al confronted Score.

“If Ella told you to meet me there, you must have heard her wrong,” Score said placidly.

“I did not hear her wrong! She’s an evil, lying, little—”

“That’s enough, Al! I’m tired of hearing you talk about her that way.”

Al backed down. Score seldom yelled at him, and it made his stomach clench into tight knots.

Ella slithered up then, and clung to Score like a diseased, abnormal growth.

“Darling, did you tell Al to meet me on the Quidditch pitch?” Score asked.

“Of course not. I asked if he planned to play Quidditch later. Just making conversation. You know I’m trying to get along with Al, for your sake.” Her dark eyes dared Al to speak. Al’s sparked at her in rage, though he knew it was useless to argue.

“See there? Just a misunderstanding,” Score said and beamed at Ella. She kissed him.

“I need to go throw up,” Al said roughly and walked away.

Two days later, Al was in Potions when one of the Ravenclaw girls flicked something into his cauldron. Al stared at her in shock. The girl shrugged.

“Sorry, a Slytherin girl said she’d hex me bald if I didn’t do it.”

Al blinked at his ruined potion and suddenly shoved it off the table in a fit of frustration. He didn’t even care that the action earned him detention. Nothing was worse than the look of puzzlement on Score’s face, and knowing Al could not confide in him.

When Al left the Potions classroom that night after monotonously sorting and classifying hundreds of slimy, dusty, or foul-smelling ingredients, he was surprised to bump into Edward Carmichael. Al expected to see Slytherins in the dungeons, but it was unusual to run into a Ravenclaw there at such a late hour. It was nearing curfew, and Ravenclaw Tower was a long jaunt even at a dead run.

About to brush by Eddie, Al was startled when the boy reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“Hey, Potter! Erm… Albus?”

Al waited expectantly, impatient to get back to the Hufflepuff common room and curl up next to Score. He felt like everything was slipping away from him and he didn’t know how to stop it. Carmichael stepped uncomfortably close and leaned even closer to Al. For a moment, Al wondered if he had a smudge or something on his face, because of the intent way Eddie looked at him.

“Al, I just want you to know… Well, you deserve better than Malfoy. He treats you like shite, and he’s obviously into girls, anyway. The way he flaunts that Slytherin bitch on his arm…”

Al could not quite follow the path Eddie Carmichael’s words were taking, even though he warmed to Carmichael when he heard the disparaging comment about Elladora.

“Although she is the one that told me you fancied me, and that I might actually have a chance with you, which is what gave me the guts to meet you here and do this.”

With that, Eddie Carmichael pressed Al roughly against the wall and put his lips against Al’s. Sheer astonishment kept Al from reacting for a moment, which seemed to encourage Carmichael. A tongue was shoved into Al’s mouth, nearly gagging him. At the same time, a hand groped at the front of Al’s trousers.

Wrenched from his shock at last, Al struggled, and made a muffled sound of protest. Carmichael’s hand dug into Al’s cock and Al suddenly found the strength to shove him away. Carmichael stepped back for only a moment. His eyes were slightly glazed and his lips were wet.

“I want you so much, Albus,” he said thickly, and reached for him. Al hit him.

Carmichael fell to his knees and Al stared at him in horror. Eddie looked at him in shock, with blood trickling from a split lip that was already beginning to swell. Carmichael surged to his feet.

“Fuck you, Potter! No one is good enough for you but that blond bastard? He’ll never want you!”

Carmichael swung blindly at Al, who hit him again, giving thanks that he had an older brother and had learned to defend himself without using a wand. Al punched him again, slamming Eddie back to the ground. Before Carmichael could rise, Al bolted.

He raced up the stairs and across the hall to the Hufflepuff common room. It was empty but for Score, who looked up from his book and smiled. Al tried to compose himself, but he was shaking and his knuckles ached. He sat on the couch next to Score, who set the book aside quickly.

“Al, what is it?” he asked.

“Car… Car…” Fuck, he was stuttering. Al took a shuddering breath. “Eddie Carmichael.” Al nearly said, “Carmichael forced himself on me,” but that sounded like he was some weak girl that had been taken advantage of. “He kissed me,” Al finished lamely, knowing it did not begin to express the shock and outrage he felt. Not at all, in fact, because Score began to laugh.

“Oh Al, that is priceless.”

Al glared at him, feeling betrayed and ready to burst into tears. “It is not! It was horrible!”

“Even the blokes are after you, you silly git. You’re the Hufflepuff Sex Symbol.” Score sounded awed. Al looked away, fighting the emptiness that threatened to overtake him. He had always expected Score to be there for him; he had always counted on Score to understand.

“This isn’t funny, Score. He attacked me and I hit him.”

Score broke into peals of laughter. “Eddie Carmichael, a sex-starved maniac! Oh, this is rich!”

Al threw himself to his feet. “Stop it, Scorpius! I can’t fucking talk to you at all anymore! That Slytherin bitch-cur of yours told Carmichael that I fancied him!”

Score’s laughter silenced the instant Al insulted Elladora.

“Leave her out of this, Al,” he warned.

“Why are you always defending her?” Al shouted. “She hates my guts and you let her do whatever she wants to drive a wedge between us! She lies constantly! She ruined my potion today for no reason other than spite! She concocts horrible stories about me—!”

“Stop it, Al! You’re making that up!” Score yelled.

“Why would I do that?” Al screamed. He flailed his hands to keep them from tearing at his hair. “Why would I fucking do that?”

“Because you’re jealous!” Score countered in a hiss. “You’re jealous of Ella because she has me, and you can’t, and you’re pissed because you can’t make me like you that way. Well, news flash, Al, I’m not like you! I like girls, okay? Girls!”

Al stared at him, and the feeling of everything sliding away from him suddenly grew until it encompassed his entire world. He felt like he was at the center of a vortex with nothing to hold onto, nothing to keep him from drowning. Darkness flickered at the edges of his vision, and he backed away from Score blindly, fighting the urge to succumb to the dark. Only the knowledge that he was a Potter kept him upright. His father had defeated the Darkest wizard of all time. That same blood flowed through Al’s veins.

“Al…” Score reached out to him, looking suddenly stricken. Holding onto the thought of his father with every bit of strength he possessed, Al turned and walked away.

In the dorm room, he undressed and climbed into his bed without thinking of anything at all. When Score came in a few minutes later and whispered his name, Al feigned sleep until Score gave up and got into his own bed.

Al stared into the darkness for a long time.

Ravenclaw Revenge

Al rose early the next morning and made his way to the Great Hall. It was still nearly dark, and only a few early risers were up. Rose Weasley was one of them, poring over some huge tome while she sipped at a glass of pumpkin juice and nibbled on toast.

She looked at him in surprise when he sat down next to her.

“Albus! You’re up early.”

She slid him a plate of food and he put a scone on his plate.

“Yeah. Going to practice some Quidditch moves,” he said lamely.

Rose laughed. “Why? Hufflepuff has been undefeated ever since you and Score joined the team.”

Al grinned. “Well, we mustn’t get sloppy.”

Rose went back to her book and Al slowly shredded the scone. His stomach was in knots. He had never fought with Score before, never seriously, at any rate. He kept hearing Score’s voice echoing in his head. I’m not like you. Al pushed away from the table, feeling sick.

“Al? What’s wrong?” Rose asked suddenly. He forced a smile and regretted sitting next to her. She had always been far too perceptive.

“Nothing. Too early to eat. Back later.”

He escaped and walked down to the lake. He watched the sun rise while tossing pebbles aimlessly into the water. Al wondered if Score and Carmichael were right. Maybe he was… like that. He had never liked kissing Angelica Parkinson, but he hadn’t liked kissing Eddie Carmichael, either. Al thought about kissing Scorpius, and felt a sudden rush of heat that left him gasping. Okay, that was interesting. So, he wouldn’t mind kissing Score. That probably had something to do with the fact that Al loved Score. Al had always loved him.

He scooped up a handful of tiny pebbles and let them slip through his fingers. It didn’t matter, anyway. Score liked girls, as he had so adamantly informed Al. Score thought it was funny when Al was attacked by a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy.

Al stood and brushed his robes off before dusting his hands together. He supposed it was past time for him to stop being Malfoy’s Shadow and start being Albus Potter.

Score and Elladora were snogging outside of Charms. Al ignored them both and went to his seat. Score slipped in beside him a minute later.

“You okay?” Score asked quietly and reached out to touch Al’s arm. Al pulled away, pretending to reach for his quill.

“Fine,” he said evenly. He avoided Score’s eyes, not trusting himself to meet that clear silver gaze. I’m not like you, Al thought.

He sensed Score’s anxiety, but then Professor Flitwick entered and they all focused on performing Lightning Charms. Al was thankful that the spell took a lot of concentration. When class was finished, Al grabbed his things and bolted. He ran all the way to Potions and quickly stood next to Jackson, a Hufflepuff Beater, and animatedly talked Quidditch until Professor Harbinger entered and forced Al into his seat next to Score.

As they gathered ingredients to prepare a Silencing Potion, Score leaned close to Al.

“Look, stop avoiding me. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” said Al pleasantly, and concentrated on slicing his mugwort into perfect sections. He paid little attention to Score after that, and quickly packed his bag after placing his potion on Harbinger’s desk.

He meant to hurry to History of Magic, but Score caught his arm before he could escape. Al wanted to tear away, but he stood placidly, not wanting to make a scene.

“Al, come on,” Score said. “I said I was sorry.”

Al met the grey eyes finally, trying to keep his features immobile. He wanted nothing more than to break down and wrap himself around Score, but then he saw Elladora approach out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry about it,” he said evenly, and then he did jerk away from Score’s grip. “Here comes your girlfriend. Better not let her see you talking to me. She might get the wrong idea, eh?” Al laughed coldly and walked away. He bypassed Elladora as though she did not exist and went to History of Magic, where he immediately pretended to fall asleep.

Al ate lunch at the Gryffindor table. Score did not try to talk to him in any of his afternoon classes. Al ate dinner with the Gryffindors, as well, and then accompanied Rose back to the Gryffindor common room, where he played a few games of wizard chess with Hugo, while Lily talked Al’s ear off. He realized he’d been neglecting his family while spending all of his time with Scorpius. Strangely, he hadn’t missed them nearly as much as he missed Score.

A week passed in much the same way. Al spent every spare moment with the Gryffindors. He barely spoke to Scorpius, who retreated into sullen silence behind a barrier of ice. Al avoided looking at Elladora completely, because the triumph in her eyes made him want to use an Unforgivable. Al stayed in the Gryffindor common room until close to curfew each night, before racing back to the Hufflepuff dorm where he went straight to bed.

Rose tried to pry information out of him, especially when a few days grew into a week with no change. Even James stopped harassing him and started to shoot him worried looks. Al thought about going elsewhere, but the Slytherin common room was out of the question, as was Ravenclaw, thanks to Carmichael. Al was stuck in the Gryffindor common room, or wandering the grounds.

One night Al found himself aimlessly roaming the corridors. James had been in a nasty mood after Hufflepuff had destroyed Gryffindor in Quidditch. Even though Al and Score were not on speaking terms, it hadn’t affected their playing. Score was as ruthless as ever and although Al spent more of the game watching the Seeker through wistful eyes, he paid enough attention to stop any Quaffles sent toward the hoops. He played with almost lazy indifference.

James had evidently hoped Hufflepuff would be off their game, and as soon as Al entered the Gryffindor common room, he had started on his catalog of brotherly insults until Rose told him off. Al had decided to leave rather than cause a row.

He walked slowly down the stairs. He still had perhaps forty-five minutes until curfew, and he had no intention of going back to the Hufflepuff common room this early—no doubt Score would be in his usual place on the couch, unless he was in the Front Hall snogging the devil-girl.

Al was partway down a set of stairs when a figure emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the flight. He paused for a moment, catching sight of Ravenclaw blue, then breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Eddie Carmichael. Al continued down, but stopped again when the boy called up to him.

“Oi, Potter.” Something in the boy’s face caused a curl of dread to twist itself around his gut. Al recognized him as a Fifth Year, but could not recall his name. He was a much larger, bullying sort of Ravenclaw. Normally the bullies were Slytherin, but each House seemed to have a handful of the brutish sort. Score kept the Hufflepuff muscle in line.

Al turned, deciding that flight was the better part of valor in this instance. He had taken a single step up when another Ravenclaw appeared at the top of the stairs, effectively cutting off his escape. Al pulled his wand out, but a loud “Expelliarmus!” sent the length of ash flying out of his hand, and out of sight over the stair railing. Al spun to find that a second boy had joined the bully at the bottom. His unease quickly turned to fear. He was wandless against three of them.

“What do you want?” he said, borrowing Score’s best disdainful tone.

“We’re just here to get a little revenge for Eddie,” said Muscles. The boy next to him was also of the larger variety. They looked similar, except the new one wore a diamond earring.

“Eddie was an okay bloke until you turned him into a ponce, Potter,” said Earring.

“How did you do that, Potter? Was it a spell?”

The two at the bottom advanced and Al backed toward the wall, trying to keep them all in sight. He could see no escape, except to launch himself over the railing, but he was in between the fourth and fifth floors. Without his wand, such a fall would kill him.

Al felt the metallic taste of panic grip him as they came closer.

“Or are you really a girl under all that pretty black hair, Potter?” the one above him asked. Al glanced at him nervously, trying to memorize his face, but he could only note that he had sandy hair and somewhat droopy eyes. He reached for Al, who dodged away, still limber even without a broom. Al darted around Sandy-hair and leaped up the stairs, but the boy caught the edge of Al’s robe, bringing him down. Al’s shin banged into a step with a lance of pain.

Someone—the big one, it felt like—was on him in an instant, forcing the air out of his lungs. A hand clenched in Al’s hair and dragged his head back until his neck muscles strained in protest. A wand tip pressed into his cheek.

“Not a sound Potter, or it will go worse for you.”

Worse than what? he thought wildly, but then he could breathe again as the weight left him. Al would have cried out, wand or no wand, but he heard nothing that indicated the presence of anyone that could help him, neither students nor teachers.

“We were getting tired of waiting for you, Potter. This is the first time in days you’ve been out early enough for us to catch you,” said Earring. They marched Al up the stairs and down a long corridor, away from the well-used areas. Al did not know what they planned, but he had no intention of allowing himself to be taken somewhere private.

He twisted, ignoring the handful of hair torn out in the process, and slammed his fist—hard—into the gut of Muscles, who doubled over, retching. Al bolted, running as fast as he could, only to fly ass over teakettle when a Trip Jinx caught him. He nearly cracked his skull on the stone floor, and he screamed when pain exploded through the wrist he threw out to stop himself. The scream was cut off abruptly when a Full-body Bind hit him. Al was unable to move or speak, although pain still pulsed through him from his wrist. He was suddenly acquainted with even more pain when Muscles slammed a booted foot into his ribs.

Al would have screamed long and loud as agony coursed through him. As it was, he was unable to make a sound. Tears welled into his eyes and spilled over.

“That fucking hurt!” Muscles growled and punctuated the last word with another kick. Blackness flickered at the edges of Al’s vision and the white-hot pain made him feel nauseous. He was suddenly terrified of vomiting, because he could choke to death.

“Let’s see if he’s really a girl under those clothes,” Sandy-hair said. He knelt down and ripped Al’s shirt open to expose his chest.

“Looks like a bloke to me,” said Earring. Al felt a hand caress his chest and abdomen and wanted to shudder in terrified revulsion. Fingers roughly pinched his nipples, hard enough to bring new tears to Al’s eyes. “If she’s a girl, she doesn’t have much for tits.”

“Maybe we should check the other bits,” Sandy-hair suggested, and Al felt the mood change from malicious to something even darker. Earring licked his lips and his eyes held something Al did not like at all. If Al could have spoken, he would have begged for mercy, anything to avoid what he feared was coming.

They would most likely kill him when it was over. Students had disappeared from Hogwarts before. It was a dangerous place. Students could wander down to the lake and drown, or get lost in forgotten passages, or walk in the forest and never come back.

As cold hands fumbled at Al’s trousers, his thoughts went immediately to Score. He regretted not making up with Scorpius, and he definitely regretted that he might never see him again.

A high-pitched scream suddenly echoed in the dark corridor, freezing Al’s attackers. Sandy-hair lurched to his feet and fled. Earring cursed and did the same, but Muscles face twisted with hatred as he glared down at Al.

“Fucking ponce!” he snarled and slammed a meaty fist into Al’s mouth. Al thought he must be getting immune to pain, because he hardly felt it, even though he tasted blood immediately. The Ravenclaw stood and aimed a final kick at Al, this time catching him just behind the temple. Al felt no pain at all; he just saw a burst of color that almost instantly turned to blackness. He gladly surrendered to it as the shrieking went on and on.

Forgiveness

Al did not want to wake up. He felt like he floated in a cloud, warm and peaceful. He dreamed of a comforting body pressed against his side, and the brush of soft lips on his. The essence of the dream was Scorpius.

Al sighed, feeling himself reluctantly pulled toward consciousness. He blinked slowly, but only darkness met his gaze. For a moment, he wondered if he had gone blind, but the calm of the dream stayed with him, and the thought did not induce panic. The sensation of a warm body remained and soft hair tickled his chin. He felt a hand upon his chest, with fingers splayed as though trying to cover the most area.

Al focused abruptly on his surroundings, shaking off the dreamlike mist. Where the hell was he? He turned his head slightly, trying not to dislodge the person sleeping against him. Dim lights dotted the room and he recognized the place instantly. The hospital wing at Hogwarts. Remembrance slammed into him, along with a savage ache in his side. He must have moved slightly in reaction, for the body next to his shifted and the soft hair brushed over his skin again. It was Score.

A rush of warmth filled Al and he looked down in wonder, but nothing was visible except the pale hand on his chest, looking disembodied. Score had nicked Al’s invisibility cloak. He had sneaked in here and fallen asleep on Al’s bed! Al smiled softly, thinking it was more than worth a beating to have Score next to him again.

Al raised his hand to touch the unseen cloak. He grasped the folds and pulled it back gently until Score’s face was revealed. The movement awakened Score, and the pale head lifted until the grey eyes met Al’s. Anguish was clearly visible on his friend’s face.

“Al?” he whispered quietly.

“Last time I checked,” Al joked, and was surprised when the simple act of speaking set up a dreadful pounding in his head. He vaguely recalled a booted foot slamming into his temple.

“I’m so sorry, Al,” Scorpius said in a tone Al had never heard before. The hand on Al’s chest moved convulsively. “If I’d been with you, this never would have happened.”

“It’s all right,” Al said softly.

“No. It’s not all right, Al. Who did this to you? When I get my hands on the fuckers that dared to lay a finger on you, they’ll wish they had never come to Hogwarts!” Score’s voice had changed, from soft and apologetic to rock hard with overtones of violence.

Al was surprised at his question. From the screaming when Al had gone down, he had thought the three Ravenclaw boys would have been apprehended. He hesitated.

“Tell me, Al. I’ll kill them. I swear I’ll kill them for this.”

Though Al felt a pleasant warmth at Score’s defense, he was reluctant to reveal his attackers. He thought Score might actually kill the Ravenclaws, and then Score would be in trouble.

“Did Madam Pomfrey tell you what happened?”

“No. I knew she wouldn’t, so I grabbed your cloak as soon as I heard the news. I ran up here as fast as I could and I heard her talking to McGonagall. Peeves sent up the alarm when he saw someone attacking you, but by the time McGonagall got there, they were gone. You had broken ribs, a concussion, and several of your teeth had been knocked out.”

Al poked his tongue nervously at his teeth, but found them all intact. He breathed a mental sigh of relief.

“Madam Pomfrey said there was internal damage, which is why they kept you here. They gave you all sorts of potions. Who did it, Al?” Score asked again.

“I should probably wait and tell Headmistress McGonagall,” Al said quietly.

Score’s eyes flashed.

“Don’t protect them, Al.”

“I’m not protecting them. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Score snapped, but the look in his eyes softened again. “You’re such an idiot. Stop worrying about me at a time like this.” Al could practically see the wheels turning, and he knew Score planned to bide his time, but eventually, he would seek revenge. Sometimes Score was so Slytherin-like the yellow he wore was green-tinted. “Why did they attack you?”

Al’s warm feeling dissipated. He would have drawn back from Score, if he could have moved without pain. The memory returned with all the mental anguish he had felt for days. Elladora had started it all. She had been the one to tell Eddie Carmichael that Al fancied him. She was the serpent in Al’s paradise. Al dared not mention her name. Not again, not when Score was here with him. He silently vowed never to argue with Score over a girl again. He would not care if Score had a thousand girlfriends, as long as that look never left his eyes when he gazed at Al.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Score hissed. “It does matter, Al! Stop acting like a damned Gryffindor!”

The sharp sound of his voice roused a nearby patient, who moaned and rolled over in his bed. Scorpius glared.

“I can’t tell you why they attacked me, Score. You wouldn’t believe me anyway, so just let it lie. It’s enough that you’re here with me.”

Score’s eyes narrowed and he drew in a breath, probably ready to defend even an unspoken slur against his precious Elladora. Al put a finger against Score’s lips.

“Shush,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Score’s jaw clenched, but his eyes slid away. He laid his head against Al’s shoulder again and the hand stroked gently over Al’s chest.

“All right, Al. You win. Try to get some sleep. I’ll stay here with you until you fall asleep, and then I’ll come back in the morning as soon as they admit people without borrowed invisibility cloaks.”

Al shut his eyes, feeling safe once more, and did as Score suggested.

Retribution

When Al left the hospital wing, he noticed rather quickly that things had changed. Scorpius was almost ludicrously overprotective, to the point of glaring at other Hufflepuffs that dared to speak to Al. Outside the common room, it was even stranger. Scorpius and James took turns hovering over him, and even spent time whispering together like long-time conspirators.

Al had refused to give up a Pensieve memory, but he had given descriptions of the boys under Veritaserum. All three Ravenclaws were suspended indefinitely, but rumors of a strange illness came back to Hogwarts. Stories varied, but the most common tale was of a strange, buttock-rotting disease that seemed resistant to all treatment. Al was given a very wide berth from other students after that, as most believed him responsible; him or Scorpius Malfoy.

Al’s first confrontation with Elladora Greengrass after the incident was something of a surprise. Al, Score, Al’s siblings, and most of Al’s Weasley relatives were milling in the Front Hall after breakfast, waiting for their first class, when Elladora approached and gave Scorpius her usual possessive kiss. She smiled at Al.

“So nice to see you, Albus,” she said in a tone that dripped insincerity. Al glared at her, but said nothing. He smiled at Score instead, to show his newfound resolve not to fight with Score’s girlfriend. He would simply pretend she did not exist.

“Ella, you did not help to instigate the attack on Al, did you?” Scorpius asked. Two sets of shocked eyes looked at Score, who added, “Because I will be extraordinarily annoyed if I discover you did.”

Elladora gaped at him. “How can you suggest such a thing? Has Albus been filling your head with lies about me, again? You know he hates me.”

“Al does not lie, especially to me. Perhaps we should procure some Veritaserum and determine who is the least truthful.” Score’s voice was cold, and he sounded so much like the elder Malfoy that Al blinked at him for a moment. Mr. Malfoy would be so pleased.

“I can get some,” James drawled from behind Al.

Elladora flushed angrily. “Honestly, Scorpius, I don’t know what you’re playing at, hanging around with these half-bloods and blood traitors! We are purebloods! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Score’s eyes narrowed. “Not really, no. Some of your precious pureblood friends attacked Al. If I thought for a moment that you were involved—“

“Well, obviously you do, or you wouldn’t accuse me like this!” she cried. “You had better take care, Scorpius! The day is coming when blood will tell! You’ll see!”

She flounced away after producing tears that were guaranteed fake. Al had a sister, he knew when tears were real.

“What the hell was that?” Scorpius asked. Al was just as puzzled, but Rose Weasley piped up. “Some pureblood group has been causing trouble for the Ministry. It was started because of backlash from the anti-pureblood sentiment caused by the war. It’s wrong that purebloods have largely been barred from Ministry positions, but it’s equally wrong to go around Muggle-baiting and hurting people.”

Al stared at Rose. “How do you know all that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I pay attention at home, Al. Mum is Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, remember? She’s been talking about it for months. For pity’s sake, who do you think it was that nearly killed your father last—” She stopped as an elbow from James caught her in the ribs. The color drained from her face.

“What do you mean ‘nearly killed’ dad?” Al rounded hotly on his brother. “James, did you know?”

“Thanks a lot, motormouth,” James griped to Rose, who had a hand clapped to her mouth. Thankfully, Lily looked just as puzzled as Al. James sighed. “Dad didn’t want to worry you two. He’s fine. Teddy and Eric stopped the hex and got him help on time.”

Al vowed to have a stern chinwag with his father when he returned home for the summer. He looked at James worriedly, knowing his brother speak plainly now that the truth was out. “How dangerous is this group?”

“No more dangerous than any of the other insane groups dad deals with, Al. You know it’s his job.”

“I wish he would get a new job,” Lily said, echoing Al’s sentiment. “Maybe he and mum would not fight so much.”

Al was not sure a new job would salvage his father’s relationship with his mother. Al was old enough to know that something was not at all right between them. Frankly, his father seemed a dozen times more relaxed and content when they were at the Malfoys. It was really too bad Score’s father was not a girl.

“How does your father feel about Polyjuice?” Al asked speculatively, causing them all to look at him in confusion.

“Al, either some of the potions Pomfrey gave you have a lingering effect, or one of the blows you took gave you brain damage.” Score put an arm around Al’s neck and dragged him close. “Let’s get to class. Try not to say anything stupid for awhile.”

James barked a laugh. “Good luck with that one.”

The Slytherin Hufflepuff, Chapters 5-10