𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Getting There (1/2)

“You’re not the only one,” muttered Scorpius.

“I heard that, Malfoy.” Rose slid off the bed and circled around to Scorpius’ side, propping a hip against the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry,” she said in her abrupt way. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay at ours this summer but-”

“But you’ve an opportunity you’d be daft to ignore,” interrupted Scorpius. “Don’t indulge in an orgy of misplaced guilt on my part, Weasley. I do very well on my own.”

“Yes, I know.” Rose transferred her scowl from the floor to Scorpius’ face. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Scorpius’ eyebrows rose. “Such drama.”

“Do shut it. I’m not here to lecture, only to say goodbye. And there’s this.”

He wasn’t expecting it, and when Rose wrapped her arms about him and squeezed, Scorpius was too astonished to move. He stood unresisting in her hold, staring in blank-minded surprise at the far wall. She let him go, grinned at his expression, and lightly cuffed his shoulder. “You’re an arse, Malfoy, but I like you. I’m even going to miss you. Take care of yourself, all right?”

“I’ll try,” Scorpius hedged.

“I suppose that’s all the reassurance I’m likely to get.” She gave him another fleeting smile then turned, dark robes billowing around her, and walked out the way she’d come.

“See you,” Scorpius called.

Rose lifted a hand. She didn’t look back. She disappeared down the Tower stairs, her voice drifting towards Scorpius on the air of her passage. “See you in September.”

“September,” echoed Scorpius, and grimaced. “Too bloody long by half.” Pushing the unwanted thought to the back of his mind, he inspected his small pile of possessions. Nothing there he couldn’t handle himself. He straightened his robes, tucked a stack of books under one arm and followed in Rose’s wake. A flick of his wand and his trunk slid off the bed and trailed after him.

He encountered few of his housemates. This being the last day of term, almost everyone was somewhere else: finalizing travel arrangements for those not going by train, taking leave of friends, completing those meaningless rituals that always accompanied the end of term. The Ravenclaw common room was deserted. Unfortunately, Hogwarts’ main corridors were not.

Later, Scorpius would extrapolate from numerous small tells the Trip Jinx that wound round his ankles and tangled his legs in his robes. In real time, he’d no room for thinking as the floor rushed up to meet his nose. He flung his hands out; his armful of books went flying. He heard his trunk crash down and felt the crack of his knees and hands impacting flagstone. Palms stinging, knees aching, he knelt on all fours, shut his mouth against the invective his pride denied him, and concentrated on breathing through his nose.

Hushed voices and muffled giggles drifted past him. Somewhere off to one side, someone sniggered. A flicker of movement caught Scorpius’ attention; his eyes tracked the brush of school robes against booted ankles. He lifted his head. Edmund Nott, fifth year Slytherin grinned nastily down at him.

“You want to watch your step, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, Malfoy,” said Winston Huxley, another Slytherin. “Don’t hurt yourself.”