Albus checked his watch worriedly, beads of sweat dripped down his flushed forehead, his wrinkles noticeably deepening. His skin was a deep and magnificent shade of toffee brown, smooth as the soothing strokes of sand.
12:00 A.M. He kept his sharp, green eyes knitted determinately on the ceiling of the Slytherin Boys Dormitory; his arms folded underneath his head. He'll be here in a minute; he kept telling himself as his exhausted eyes drifted shut, yearning deeply for rest.
The silk moonlight from the window yawned angelically into the room; directly at Albus who pulled his shaggy eyebrows together with evident annoyance. He sighed loudly, and squirmed over to the side, trying his very best to regulate his breathing, trying to not think about his best friend and all the possible things he could be doing with her right now.
Slumber was no easy task—especially without Scorpius. A thousand thoughts swarmed through Albus' heavy head. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. This was not what he wanted. What was taking Scorpius so long? The burning question was: what was so great about Rose Granger-Weasley anyway?
She was just a silly girl. She was never a particularly nice cousin, either. The second the Sorting Hat hollered out Slytherin, Rose had treated him like a pariah, just like the rest of the school had. Sure, during family gatherings, she would play the heroine but the moment everyone would leave them alone, both Albus and Rose dropped the charade and treated each other nothing more like a speck of dust; invisible, irrelevant, and unworthy. He could not understand what Scorpius could possibly see in her as Scorpius was fully aware of Rose's hostility and prejudice against the Slytherin House.
There wasn't anything interesting about that annoying redhead, no offense. She was bossy, rude and smelled like chocolate all the time, although Scorpius passionately argued that she smelled like bread. But that wasn't the point. The point was, she was hardly interesting. Hardly worth wasting precious time on.
Scorpius and Albus could have been doing many things instead; studying for that big Potions final which was in a few days, conjuring up vast plans and ideas to scare off their tormentors, practicing spellcasting and potion-making. Polyjuice Potion was Albus' personal favourite. Nothing could beat Polyjuice. Polyjuice Potions take months to make, which is why he and Scorpius tend to make at least five brews each month, always on the dead of each month. That was their tradition. Polyjuice Potions were extraordinarily helpful when it came to eavesdropping, spying and hiding from bullies. Not to mention transforming into different people; that was almost Albus' favourite part of the potion. It was quite nice, being someone else for a while. Anything was better than being Albus Severus Potter. The very best part of making Polyjuice was having Scorpius right by his side. He loved teaching Scorpius about it and felt himself melt the way Scorpius' grey eyes would shine whenever the colours of the potion would simmer together harmoniously and bubble into a striking colour of bright purple.
Albus rolled out of his bed and began pacing around the room, checking the time once again for good measure. 12:08AM. Tick tock. Minutes were flying by. Valuable minutes. Valuable time. Scorpius was late—and he was never late. He was always prim, proper and punctual; obsessively and annoyingly so. Albus scratched his crisp coloured pajamas dimly; it was the one Grandma Molly made for him. They were etched with love and care, dressed in an engaging green and magnificent silver, Slytherin's finest colours—and when Albus sent her an Owl, joking how fond Scorpius was of them, when in reality, Scorpius poked fun at them, she couldn't help but send one for Scorpius. Scorpius laughed so hard at his own misfortune when he discovered that Albus had one made for him. They always made it a mission to make sure they never wore those silly pajamas on the same day for that would be utterly mortifying. Humiliation was always present in Hogwarts. Humiliation and torment were Scorpius and Albus' only friends for they followed them everywhere they went. Sometimes, however, humiliation and torment were their worst enemies for they could feel themselves drowning by their menacing presence.
What was the time now? Ah, 12:13. Albus felt the agonizing company of the green-eyed monster strolling about in the chilly atmosphere. He didn't understand, couldn't understand where all this jealousy was coming from. He was not a jealous person. Okay, fine, the time his Dad bought Lily those ridiculous angel wings, and passed down his notorious invisibility cloak to James, he felt increasingly envious. But could you blame him? He was left with that pathetically old blanket from his Father's past; what good would that be? Now, however, he understood the significance of the blanket. He appreciated how much that blanket meant to his Father. But he didn't at the time. At that time, it felt a normal kind of jealousy. But this...this sort of feeling wasn't the same. The jealousy he felt with his siblings was entirely different to the jealousy he felt when Scorpius was with Rose. It...felt different. With Scorpius, it wasn't like that; it wasn't an envious sibling rivalry, it was more of a searing resentful feeling. Whenever he saw Rose with Scorpius, he felt as if his head were about to explode, torturing him into madness.
"Hello my good friend!" Scorpius greeted as he walked into the room with his tippy toes, trying not to wake the other Slytherins.
Speak of the devil.
Scorpius was dressed in his slick Slytherin robes, looking dashing as ever. His hair was never gelled back like his Father's, but instead his sunlit blond hair was combed perfectly on each side, his elongated bangs dangling over his forehead like rope, nearly touching his thinned eyebrows. His eyelashes, attractively so, were fascinatingly long. It reminded Albus of the reason why he loved watching him read so much, for Scorpius would look as if he were sleeping, peaceful and still.
Albus studied his friend's face prudently, noting any changes in his friend's behaviour with every chance he could find. Scorpius' dreary eyes which were often sunken with grief, was painted with a glistening colour of unexpected contentment, a shade that Scorpius only wore whenever he was with Albus.
Albus gawked at the glossy lipstick of red glimmering on the tip of Scorpius' moist lips. They snogged? How often? How long? And most importantly: why? Albus suddenly felt wrath, anger, and confusion, all rolled into one blaring, undefined, unspeakable emotion. He couldn't quite place his thoughts into words, so instead, he forced a painful smile, hoping his solemn eyes wouldn't betray him.
"Scorp!" Albus beamed, "it's so good to see you. Where were you?" he asked even though he knew the answer. "Out with...erm, her again?" He didn't know why but saying her name brought great pain to him.
Scorpius sat down on the bed, gesturing with his eyes for Albus to follow him, and reluctantly so, he did. Instead of sitting directly beside Scorpius, like he normally did, however, Albus stalked over to his own unmade bed, and sat in front of him. Scorpius was too engaged in his own thoughts to notice the barrier that Albus had quietly created between them, for he grinned as he took off his shiny, raven winged coloured shoes and snowy socks, calmly putting them away. He folded his socks carefully, biting his bottom lip, obviously plunged in unmistakeable concentration as he placed them gently in his empty laundry basket. Scorpius was still dressed in his school uniform, and despite the uniform being the same for every Slytherin, Scorpius seemed to stand out of the crowd. He looked far better, far braver and far more handsome than any of them combined. There was just something about Scorpius that made him different than the rest. Untouchable. Albus just couldn't quite wrap around what that something was.
"Rose is an excellent kisser, I must say. Did you notice?" Scorpius beamed.
Albus looked affronted, his nostrils flaring. He stuck his chin in the air and folded his arms across his chest defensively. "How would I know such thing?"
Scorpius shrugged playfully, a wayward smile twitching on the corner of his reedy mouth. "Well, you snogged your Aunt Hermione plenty of times, remember? You must have snogged your cousin, too, I suspect."
Albus grabbed his pillow and hurled it towards Scorpius, smacking him right across the face. Scorpius laughed along with Albus, and did the same until both were breathless, panting with mirth. The room grew quiet as Albus stared wistfully into Scorpius' grey eyes, who held his intense gaze for several seconds before breaking delicate eye contact.
"I...erm...Rose said that she wants to go out again...with me..." Scorpius mumbled, looking down timidly at his lap as he fumbled nervously with his fingers. "I think she wants to go to the Ball with me."
Albus nodded slowly and pushed his jet-black hair back with his fists, feeling his face heat up simply by the thought of them slow dancing together. Her arms curtained closely around Scorpius' neck. His soft hands touching her waist. The whole thing seemed so odd. So wrong. Quite out of place. He couldn't possibly picture any of that, and yet, that was all he could picture.
"Do you?" Albus asked, breathing hard. "Want to go with her?"
"Why, of course." Scorpius leered coyly, slowly looking up at him. "Feisty, that one is."
"If that's what you like, I can take you to meet Uncle Charlie's Dragons. Uncle Ron's brother has loads of them up in Romania. He'll even let you pet them!" Albus piped up, his green eyes twinkling in a colour of anticipation mixed with hopefulness.
Scorpius smiled pleasantly at his friend. "I think I might take you up on that offer. I have always been fascinated with Dragons. The Ukrainian Ironbelly in particular is my favourite. I find it the most intriguing. It's the largest dragon species ever recorded, and their scales are said to be as hard as steel! Can you believe that? I think it'll be best to bring a steel with me when I go there so I can put that theory to test—"
"Scorpius!" Albus cried out, "For the love of Dumbledore, shut up!"
He took his second pillow and threw it toward Scorpius, who was quick this time, and dodged it. Scorpius watched the pillow that Albus had thrown at him fall to the floor, his grey eyes were unreadable. He seemed to be caught in some sort of trance, clearly deep in thought. Scorpius clipped his finger in his mouth, chewing on his nails absentmindedly, seemingly unaware of what he was doing.
Suddenly, Albus straightened his posture, his emerald eyes narrowing.
"Scorp! Scorp? What's wrong? Talk to me." He rose from his bed and sat next to his friend; his hands rested comfortably by Scorpius' knees.
"I need to go to the library!" Scorpius said at once.
"What?" Albus sighed, throwing his arms in the air with most exasperation. "For what?"
"If you're going to take me to see the Ukrainian Ironbelly, it's best to brush up on my knowledge of these mesmerizing creatures. I wouldn't want to go there unprepared, now, would I? This is...exciting!" Scorpius broke into a smile and hurriedly slipped his feet into Albus' murky slippers, unaware of the mistake, but didn't mind nevertheless, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
"You're the strangest, most ridiculous wizard I ever met." Albus called out after him, collapsing lazily on his bed as he rumpled up his dusky hair, making it even more monstrous than it was before. "You know that, right?"
Scorpius stuck his head out of the door, grinning. "Don't I know it, my friend."
*
"Oh, look who it is," Polly Chapman simpered, the following morning, nudging her looming group of friends, who turned in an instant, wearing the same cold stare printed on their leering faces as hers. Her brunette hair was bound in three thick braids, spilling onto her hips. There was a sinister smile slithered on her impish face as she watched Albus stroll into the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom with Scorpius in tow, who was trudging passively with four heaving textbooks which kept swaying back and forth in his tiny arms, not paying any attention to her, too engrossed in his book to even look up. She stuck her chin out as she spoke, her tone unmistakably deplorable. "It's Slytherin Squib and Voldemort's Son!"
At that remark, Scorpius immediately lifted his gaze off of the book, turning towards the crooning group of Gryffindors but spun away almost instantly the next second, flushed with embarrassment. He continued looking down at his book, pretending he could not hear a word, when in reality, each word they had said sliced through his soul like knives. The rest of the students only smirked and laughed in agreement, joining in on the unsettling anguish. The relentless roar of laughter was powerful enough, violent enough that Scorpius could have sworn he was bleeding out. Bleeding out until he was face to face with the angel of death. Even that wouldn't stop them, no; they would only cheer over his limp body, marking his grave with an incorrect surname, burying him next to his rumoured Father, Tom Marvolo Riddle.
"I don't even know why they let Scorpius near us," Polly continued on, loudly. "He's obviously the son of Voldemort. He's probably looking for Death Eaters to recruit."
Albus glared at Polly with deepest loathing, he curled his hands into fists, his nails biting savagely into his flesh. He was useless with spells. Perhaps if he really tried, he would be able to hex her. No. What was the point of that? She was faster, stronger. But Scorpius, who could read Albus' mind like no one else, touched Albus' hands with a sad smile.
"Don't let her see your anger." His voice was barely a whisper. "That's exactly what bullies want—to see your anger—to see that they got to you."
"Well," Albus' face swelled with ire. "She did. I can take her," his breathing was equally unsteady as it was enraged. "Just let me."
"Albus," Scorpius shook his head desperately, his eyes watering. "Please. No. Dad always told me to ignore them. I—I don't want to cause any trouble."
Quickly, Albus pulled out his wand from his robes, aiming directly at Polly, who was now turned to her boyfriend, Karl Jenkins.
"They're the ones causing trouble," he quietly argued. "I'll only disarm her. Nothing extreme."
"Oh!" Polly shrieked, pointing at Albus viciously, her arm clutched onto Karl's hand with fake terror. "The Squib is going to attempt to holler out a spell! Let's see what rubbish he can possibly conjure!"
Albus felt his hand quiver; trepidation and regret settled in the pit of his sinking stomach. His head was spinning; he felt his knees wobble together and lock like bricks. He felt his a firey glow mottle his copper cheeks. He couldn't move. Say something, he told himself. Anything. What's Dad's signature spell? Oh right; Expelliarmus! But he knew the truth, just like everyone else had: Albus was nothing like his Dad. He was the disappointing son. The son his Dad wished he never had. The spare. He couldn't do it. He couldn't produce a charm, a hex, a jinx or anything, really. He was ruddy at spellcasting; everyone knew it. He couldn't do it. It would be a miracle if he could, but there was no use. What if he does it and it doesn't work? Or what if he does it and it does work but they're faster? Or even worse, what if he does it and it turns out, the wand is facing the wrong way? He couldn't possibly take that chance. Scorpius, as usual, was right. With great defeat, and a pang of hostility, he lowered his wand; his head hung low, too tired to pretend that he was okay. That they didn't get to him. That he was a loser and always would be as long as he lived. Maybe that was the problem. That he was alive. Perhaps everything would be easier if he never woke up?
Scorpius hastily put his books into his bag and stood beside Albus. He gripped his hand onto Albus' sleeve, glaring at each one of them.
"SLYTHERIN SQUIB! SLYTHERIN SQUIB!" Polly chanted cruelly, her laugh as cold as ice. "Hey Albus, why don't you do everyone a favour and use Avada Kedavra on yourself?" Albus felt his heart skip a beat at such forbidding words. So, he was right after all. There really was no use. Things would be better if he wasn't breathing. If he was dead. Polly carried on taunting him with a ferocious smile. "Or Scorpius could do it for you since his Father is an expert on that spell. I reckon he's familiar with all of the Unforgivable Curses!" She sneered at Albus triumphantly.
She was getting to him, wasn't she? This was far too fun for her. How easy was it to tear people apart! It didn't take much to do it. She was hardly trying nowadays. Scorpius and Albus were weak. Easy to crack. They certainly were no Gryffindors.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" A loud voice shrilled. The man banged his fist hard on the wooden table, his face puffed with such furiousness. "ENOUGH! I SAID ENOUGH!"
Immediately, everyone turned, Albus and Scorpius included. Hang on. Albus knew him! That was Neville Longbottom!
Neville was cloaked in a towering green gown, etched with massive splotches of soil and gunk probably created by the screeching Mandrakes in the Herbology greenhouse. His hair was curly, dashed with a hint of grey which was birthed by stinging stress and tedious time. His face was bearded, and his moustache was magnificently and most charmingly groomed.
Albus never knew he would be so relieved to see him! They were safe...for now. Scorpius, however, didn't seem to think so, for he was still holding onto Albus, determined not to let go. Scorpius' fingers were now threaded with Albus, and Albus, who was unsure what to do, for they never held hands, only sleeves, or even arms, but never, ever, hands, could only stare mildly ahead, although his heart was pounding eccentrically out of his chest. Albus was utterly bewildered at this unique situation, so finally, he glowered blankly at their interlocked hands, unsure if he should untangle Scorpius off of him. A part of him wanted to, but another part didn't. Scorpius was holding tightly onto him as if he were afraid that when he would let go, Albus would vanish into thin air and disappear forever.
Neville cleared his throat uncomfortably. He hated yelling. He told himself he would never shout unless it was absolutely necessary; but he had no choice. They had to stop. Neville knew all too well what it was like...being demeaned in public, with a set of excited onlookers, cheering the aggressors on.
Neville licked his lips, scanning the perplexed faces that stared up at him. He shook his head, clicking his tongue with utter disapproval.
"Polly. Karl. The lot of you." He pointed. "Detention and I want three parchments on why mistreatment like that is strictly forbidden in my classroom and in all the grounds of Hogwarts."
Polly cranked her pointed head up at the cerulean marbled ceiling. "I didn't do anything!" Her blue eyes were seething with wrath. "We were having a laugh is all, weren't we?" She turned to Albus and Scorpius, quietly hissing threats and curses under her breath, but Neville knew better than to listen to her lies.
"You don't get to decide who gets punished and who walks away free," Neville said sharply. "Detention. 3 parchments. By my desk. Tomorrow morning. No later." He tapped his chin thoughtfully and added for good measure. "And 50 points from Gryffindor. Hogwarts has no place for such—"
"But—"
"This is not up for discussion." He turned to the class apologetically. "This is not how I wanted to start off the class, believe me. I am about as stunned as you are. I hoped by now Hogwarts would be more inclusive and far less daunting. The rest of you should have known better. Bystanders are equally deadly as oppressors. Now, I am going to be your teacher for the rest of the semester." He smiled welcomingly at everyone. "Now, don't be shy. I don't yell often. Come on. Up to the front. All the way." He encouraged. "There you go. Excellent. Today we are going to be doing one of my lessons—my favourite one to teach and to participate in."
The entire class was facing an odd, cherry coloured grandfather clock. The hands kept swaying back and forth in a haunting pattern. There was a tiny picture of a skull with a snake coming out of its opened mouth. Clearly, this was the work of a former Death Eater as this was the symbol of the Dark Mark. Now why would Neville Longbottom have an artifact such as that?
"Sir?" Elm Rosebait murmured, pointing at the strange clock in the front. She was a Hufflepuff student with curly pigtails and huge sea-blue eyes which always seemed both alert and frightened. She raised her trembling finger. "What's this?"
Neville stalked over to the front of the classroom, his back turned to his class as he spoke, gently caressing the antique clock.
"Now who here has ever heard of a Boggart?"