A.N: J.K. owns the wizarding-world, Shakespeare owns the star-crossed lovers, James Cameron owns at least one quote, Ardawling owns this fabulous banner, I own a computer, and you own the ability to make me happy by reading and reviewing. Aren’t we all lucky individuals?
A.N.2: The characters mentioned in this chapter are almost entirely JK's creation, as mentioned in the HP lexicon. They are as follows:
James, Albus and Lily are Harry and Ginny's kids,
Hugo and Rose are Ron's,
Victoire, Dominque and Louis are Bill's,
Molly and Lucy are Percy's,
Fred and Roxanne are George's, and
Scorpius is Malfoy's.
Most of the rest are new, though probably related to canon folk! Anyways, long ANs aside, back to the story...
“Call me Scorpius”
Wow. My life, or at the very least my ability to celebrate a win outside of the hospital wing, has just been saved by a Malfoy. No matter what way I looked at it, this had to mean that the apocalypse was nigh. Really, there’s no other explanation. I mean, come on, it’s Malfoy, he...
“Get your filthy hands OFF my sister!”
My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the arrival of one, very pissed off, older brother.
“I’m not sure that would be the best idea, given the circumstances,” replied Malfoy, gesturing to distance between us and the ground. “Besides, the phrase you’re looking for is ‘thanks so much for saving my sister, as I was too busy doing my pathetic victory dance to notice her imminent demise.’”
“The phrase I’m looking for isn’t one I’d repeat in front of my sister, but if you want to take this somewhere else...”
“Your sister has a name, you know, and is quite capable of looking after herself,” I pointed out, receiving twin looks of disbelief for my trouble.
“Sure you can,” said Albus, swooping down to join us, having first intercepted my broom’s escape to freedom. “Here, I’ll help you over.”
I quickly scrambled from one broom to the other, my hand being passed from Malfoy to Albus as I shifted my weight. The moment I was steady, Malfoy turned and sped back off to his teammates, and it was only once he had reached them that I realised I had never actually thanked him. It’s not like he’d even care, I reminded myself as they flew back to their changing rooms, he’s probably kicking himself for not letting me fall in the first place.
With that thought in mind, I turned away and followed my brothers back down to the waiting crowds, where cheers of “Weasley is our King” and “We love you Potters, we do” were merging into a swell of exuberant house spirit.
“Victory party in the common room!” was James’ novel idea, and two hours later the festivities were in full swing. Fred and Roxanne had done their own brand of magic, somehow conjuring up enough food and butterbeer to feed a herd of hungry hippogriffs. Meanwhile, Molly and Lucy, in a rare fit of Gryffindor pride, had sorted out some truly spectacular red and gold decorations; sadly they were then overwhelmed with the excitement of it all, and had to take themselves to bed. Still, the rest of the clan were going strong, and where the Wealseys led, the rest of the house inevitably followed.
In one corner of the common room, Fred and Roxanne had started showing a group of wide-eyed first-years their latest Weasley Wizarding Wheezes tester pack, fresh from the factory R&D department. Rose – still burdened by the responsibility of being appointed a prefect – was watching them with vague disapproval, while discussing the game with Dominique, who had come over from Ravenclaw for the evening. Hugo was pretending to do the same with Louis, but both of them were too distracted by my roommates, Chelsea and Electra, to really keep a conversation going. My brothers, in their usual style, had immediately started an argument over which of them had saved the game. Continuing with their post-match traditions, they had then decided to settle it with an arm wrestle, and then a drinking game, and were now back to congratulating each other on being masters of the universe, or some such. All in all, it was turning into an enjoyable evening for anyone but a Slytherin, with one other notable exception...me.
I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Malfoy, the freaking prince of Slytherin, had done something so... nice. And what was with that comment of his “Call me Scorpius”? Why would I call him anything? I didn’t exactly make a habit of talking to sixth year Slytherins, and if my relatives had their way, I’d never talk to any guys at all. That had always been the flip side of being the youngest of such a large family – one the one hand, they were an instant party and readymade social group; but on the other hand, they gave new meaning to the term ‘over-protective’. The other girls hadn’t really had the same problem, but then none of them had older brothers. All they’d had to worry about was Teddy scaring people off, and he’d left years ago. Besides, he was married to Victoire now, so any right he’d had to play the older brother role had long been forfeited.
I, on the other hand, had a grand total of five older brother types, including two actual older brothers, all of whom took their role very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that it had taken five days for Jack Corner, the last guy who flirted with me, to be released from the hospital wing. He still squeaked whenever he saw us, so I was thinking he wasn’t planning to make a repeat performance in the near future. Add in the fact that every male eye that might come my way got distracted by my part-Veela cousins, and it didn’t exactly add up to a lot of flirting action.
Not, of course, that I thought Scorpius had actually been flirting with me. I mean, come on, why would he? From what I could tell, he was almost as popular with the Slytherin girls as James was with the rest. Add to that the tiny detail that I was a Potter, and it didn’t look likely. Still, there was something in the way he had smiled when he said it, that made me almost wish he had been interested. Weird.
And what was with James? Did he really need to go so crazy over the incident? I’d never really understood that whole thing they had going. I knew that the Wealsey clan like to get into the whole house rivalry thing, but with Malfoy there had always been some special level of hate, since before I’d even arrived. I knew his parents and ours hadn’t gotten on, but surely there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? Looking over at my brothers, and their collection of empty bottles of mead, I figured now was as good a time as any to get an honest answer out of them on the subject.
“Oi, James, why do you guys all hate Malfoy so much?” Subtlety had never been my strong suit.
“I dunno, he’s just ... Malfoy, isn’t he?” Ah, that’s James for you, last of the great philosophers. Albus on the other hand, looked pensive for a moment, before replying. “I’m not sure myself. We actually got on for a little while, back in first year, but then, y’know, he was in Slytherin, I was in Gryffindor... that’s just how it is. Don’t really remember the details; guess he just became a bigger prat as the years went on.”
"Bigger prat in what way?” I asked.
“Oh, the usual Slytherin rubbish – hexing Gryffindors, messing around with different girls, only hanging out with purebloods.”
I frowned. “Other than the last bit, how is that different from James? Does that make him a prat, too?”
“You said it, not me!” Albus chuckled, before being swatted around the head by his brother.
“Less of that, you two! I’ll have you know I’m a lovely guy, and a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s not what Cassiopeia said, or Susan.” Albus retorted.
“Or Carmella, or Alice...”
“Sorry Alice, didn’t see you there... still, you can see our point.” I finished, smiling sweetly.
“No, I can’t,” replied James, putting down his glass. “Just because I happen to enjoy the company of women, and just because they happen to enjoy mine, does not ... sorry, what was I saying?”
“You were trying to convince us that you weren’t a prat.” Albus helpfully supplied.
“Right,” said James, his eyes suddenly narrowing, “and you, my dear sister, were trying to convince us that Malfoy wasn’t one either. Care to explain?”
I felt my face turn as red as my hair. Hoping it wasn’t too obvious in the dim light, I answered. “Just curious, honest! I guess I just thought you were a little harsh today.”
“No such thing, little one,” replied James, apparently satisfied with my continuing innocence. “Getting you away from him was my brotherly duty. Trust me, the less you have to do with his sort, the better.”
Unsure of how to respond to that, I left the boys to it, and started up the stairs to my dorm. For some reason, I still couldn’t get the entire situation out of my head. It’s just because you never said thank you, I reasoned, as I got myself ready for bed. You’re just feeling guilty, that’s all it is. You can thank him tomorrow, and it’ll all be back to the way it was. Satisfied, I slid beneath the covers and quickly drifted off into a much needed sleep.