Chapter One - Beginnings
“I think that, quite possibly, Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy are in love with each other.”
“Because, really, what seventeen-year-old boys that you know have conversations about carpets?”
“The insane ones? The Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy ones?”
“Yes, exactly! So, like, I was in the corridor this morning walking behind them, and I wasn’t trying to listen to their conversation, but I just heard it, and they were having a conversation about carpets. Carpets and cats and tea. And then – Imogen, are you even bloody listening to me?
“No, not really,” I was trying to take notes, unlike some
My so-called best friend’s nostrils flared. She gasped and pretended to be hurt. (Really, she wasn’t. Some people are just melodramatic like that.)
“The audacity of some people! Honestly!
I mean, who even bloody cares about Transfiguration? We’re Hufflepuffs
, for Merlin’s sake!”
“Actually, Transfiguration happens to be my favorite subject. And Artemisia Lufkin, first female Minister of Magic, was a Hufflepuff–”
“Miss Cadwallader, Miss Bertrand, pay attention to the lesson, and five points from Hufflepuff!” called Professor Patil from the front of the room.
“So anyway, as I was saying,” continued Hufflepuff’s resident motormouth, Lolita “Lolly” Bertrand, under her breath. “I think that Scorpius and Albus are having an affair.”
“Joy to the fucking world.” I took some more notes and tried to filter Lolly out of my ears.
It didn’t work.
“But it isn’t joy at all, Imogen, don’t you understand? Scorpius is my soulmate! He’s meant to be with me! He will be forever and completely mine, once I get that horrible prudish Gryffindor, Rose Weasley, out of the way. And also Albus. We must destroy them both.”
Oh, of course. Because that’s going to work out just hunky-dory.
Lolly huffed. “Yes, everything will work out just hunky-dory! Soon you’ll be eating your words, much like how you inhale those biscuits of yours.”
Oops. Must have said that out loud. My bad.
“It’s a wonder you aren’t fat.”
Ah, Lolly, how you never fail to flatter me.
“Like, seriously, if you don’t stop eating those chocolate bourbons right now, I swear I will murder you.”
“Aren’t you going to murder Albus Potter and Rose Weasley first?”
It is two bloody o’clock in the a.m. Two mental Hufflepuffs are plotting murder. And to think I once thought of Hufflepuffs as sweet, innocent little snowflakes.
“Scorpius doesn’t even know you exist,” I said.
“Of course he does; we were partners for a Charms project once in fourth year!”
“How could he not remember me? I’m unforgettable.” She flipped her hair.
“Forgettable to me,” I replied. “What’s your name again?”
Lolly huffed and acted all angry. We must have been louder than we thought, because one of our dorm mates woke up.
“Shut up you two,” groaned fellow Hufflepuff, Kathleen Walters, from the bed across mine. “And what’s this about Albus Potter and Rose Weasley?”
“Nothing,” said Lolly quickly. “Go back to sleep.”
Lolly is, contrary to what she deludes herself into thinking, not in love with Scorpius Malfoy. She is just a silly girl desperately in like
, which is very different than love
, though I suppose it is hard for teenage girls (ahem, Lolly) to tell the difference.
She also suffers from ventriculus rhopalocera
. Also know as butterflies in the stomach. Or maybe she suffers from moths, the tricky things.
A girl desperately in like suffering from a deadly thing such as butterflies in the stomach tends to get excited when she is paired with her crush in Potions for a long-term project.
Scorpius however, seems less than enthused to be paired with a Hufflepuff. Those Slytherins need to get off their high horses and stop acting like they have ten-foot-long poles shoved up their arses.
They take seats next to each other, and I can practically hear what Lolly will be blabbering to me after class ends.
“Albus Potter and Imogen Cadwallader,” calls Slughorn, his walrus mustache fluttering comically. Maybe if I bribed him with a nice big box of crystalized pineapple, then he would pair me with someone else....
Except I don’t have any crystalized pineapple. Woe is me. It’s not like I have anything against Albus Potter, it’s just that he seems like a bit of a... sociopath. Yes, Albus Potter is a bit of brooding sociopath that, apparently, has conversations about carpets, cats, and tea, and according to Lolly, is in love with Scorpius Malfoy. (I’m judging you, Albus Potter. Judging you based on my not-so-trustworthy best friend.)
He is also one of two people we were plotting against in the middle of the night. So maybe this is actually a good opportunity... no, I will not convince myself to get involved with Lolly’s crazy plans. I should be protecting myself from her insanity, not getting into the thick of it!
I look around the classroom for a certain elusive Slytherin. Aha! Spotted: Albus Severus Potter (who’s idea was it to name him that?), hunched in a dark corner of the Potions classroom. I gather my books up in my arms and walk over to the desk next to Albus’s.
“Hiya, Albus!” I say, all cheery and stereotypical-Hufflepuffy. Gotta love those stereotypes, especially the Hufflepuff ones.
Albus doesn’t even look at me and acknowledge my presence. How rude! People these days have got no manners whatsoever.
“Hi,” he says shortly after a minute of me just hovering awkwardly there. I take a seat next to him and dump my books on the desk.
“So we have to invent our own potion, right?”
He gives a clipped, barely recognizable nod.
“What do you want to make a potion for? I mean, we could make a potion that tastes like biscuits and tea, a potion for curing acne as bad as Mirabella Midgen’s, a potion–”
“–a potion to make you shut up.”
A real charmer, ain’t he? Hmph, stupid, arrogant boy.
“If you’re so smart, then why don’t you think of something yourself instead of just sitting there like the social reject that you are and stop acting all brooding and high-and-mighty? Just because your father is Harry-bloody-Potter, it doesn’t give you any right to go around parading like you own the bloody school!”
His mouth drops open, closes, and drops open again.
“Close your mouth,” I snap at him. “You look like a fish, and you’re attracting flies.”
He does as he is told and finally
turns to face me.
“I thought you were a Hufflepuff,” he says quietly. His bright green eyes bore into my gray ones, and I felt like he could x-ray me with them.
“Well, you know what they say about redheads and their tempers,” I say weakly. I’ve stunned myself with my own speech. If he didn’t hate me before, he certainly does now. I don’t think many people have ever talked to him like that, but he certainly deserved it.
He replies brusquely, “We should start on this potion. After all, you are a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs are not know for being the brightest.”
I have decided that I do not like Albus Potter very much.
“Oh my Merlin, I just cannot believe that I’m Potions partners with Scorpius Malfoy for this project! Can you believe my luck? I can’t believe my luck! And it’s supposed to be a long project! Oh, Imogen, do you think he’s fallen in love with me? Did my hair look all right? I mean, I did brush it in the morning,” she lifts up a strand of her long golden hair. “And I did apply mascara this morning, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
“And you’re working with Albus Potter, and you can plot his downfall! You should totally slip something into your potion that you’re making and then he can test your potion and he’ll, like, stop loving Scorpius! And then we need to do something to that horrible Weasley girl, but I dunno what, I’ll have to think about it.”
My best friend, ladies and gents, my best friend.
“But I sit next to Scorpius! I was so scared that my heart was about to fall out of my chest–”
Not scientifically possible.
“–but thank goodness it didn’t! When I found out that he was going to be my partner for the project, my heart literally stopped beating, and then started beating about three times faster than normal!”
I say dryly as we pass the portrait that leads to the kitchens, “If that was the case, then you would be dead by now.”
“Oh, don’t be a killjoy, Gen!”
She knows I hate that nickname.
“And anyways, you have to admit that Albus Potter is hot.”
“He’s... fairly attractive. But I thought we were plotting his downfall?”
“Oh, we are. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hot!”
“Fine. He’s super mega foxy awesome hot. Happy?”
“Very.” She smirks.
“You have another plan up your sleeve.” This is not a question. Hence the lack of question mark at the end.
“Yes, I do, but it’s linked with another plan of mine that I’ve been talking to you about non-stop since yesterday. What is the best way of toppling a boy off his throne?”
“We make him fall in love!”
“Haven’t you ever read any Fifi LaFolle books?”
“You are missing out on some good literature, girl!” “Fifi LaFolle” and “good literature” do not belong in the same sentence, unless the sentence is “Fifi LaFolle is not good literature.”
“Why are we making Albus Potter fall in love?” I ask.
“So that his heart will get broken when the person he falls in love with breaks up with him, and they he’ll be afraid to love anyone else, even Scorpius, and with my competition having no chances, I can ensnare Scorpius, and we’ll live happily ever after. At least that’s what happened in Romance and Betrayal
by Fifi LaFolle.”
“So who exactly are we going to make him fall in love with?”
She grins. One of her “I-know-Imogen-won’t-like-this-but-I-take-pleasure-in-her-torment-because-I-am-a-horrible-person” grins.
“We’re going to make him fall in love with a certain Miss Imogen Cadwallader.”
"Super mega foxy awesome hot" belongs to A Very Potter Musical, and Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
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