Chapter 1: The Complications of Contemplation

“Love is not consolation. It is light.�
-Friedrich Nietzsche

For as long as any of the fifth-years and below could remember, the table at the back of the Hogwarts library had belonged to Scorpius Malfoy. He left no visible sign of ownership when he was not there, but the very wood seemed to give off a faint aura of deterrence, as though it were cursed or jinxed (which many students believed it to be, despite all contrary evidence). As it was, the single chair behind the table was rarely unoccupied, and the presence of the Malfoy heir was enough to daunt all but the most brazen N.E.W.T.-age students.

What exactly Scorpius did during all those hours in the library was much debated by the students of Hogwarts. Nobody, not even a student taking seven O.W.L.-level classes, had that much homework – yet Scorpius was always the first to enter the library when it opened, and the last to leave it at night when the doors were locked. Some suspected that Scorpius had even hexed Madam Pince into giving him his own key, so that he could continue his mysterious labors after hours, although nobody had ever proven the rumor true.

The most mysterious thing about Scorpius was not, however, his unnatural bibliophilic tendencies. It was not even his unMalfoyish eyes – dark, deep brown, like those of his Greengrass relations – that made his peers wonder. No, what amazed people about Scorpius Malfoy was that he was, in essence, a mute, and only spoke when asked a direct question by a professor or classmate, which did not happen often.

At first this oddity had been attributed to the usual Malfoy haughtier, but it had quickly become apparent that Scorpius simply held himself apart from the rest of Hogwarts life. The glass wall between him and his peers and teachers did not seem to be fashioned of arrogance, nor of shyness, nor fear; it existed of itself, as a part of Scorpius. His professors soon realized that Scorpius was bright and studious, but their attempts at prodding more than a trickle of words out of him in class proved so fruitless as to discourage repeated endeavors.

After a while it no longer mattered. Scorpius got along well enough with his housemates, and did not appear to lack friends – or at least, people to sit with in the Great Hall. Scorpius’ fellow Slytherins even seemed to hold him in quiet respect, and never once commented upon his peculiarities, although it was quite obvious that very few of them understood his character, and even fewer, if any, the root of his silence.

Not far from Scorpius Malfoy’s tabular domain there was a larger table, a place often frequented by a knot of fifth-year Ravenclaw girls who, unlike the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors surrounding them, did more actual studying than giggling. Due to Scorpius’ presence, that corner of the library tended to be less popular (and therefore less noisy) than the rest, and so the Ravenclaws, out of simple studiousness, had adopted it as their own.

However, even Ravenclaws have little use for libraries on the first day of classes, and so it came to pass that there was only one person at the table nearest Scorpius’ on this particular September day.

Althea Burbage enjoyed nothing so much as reading, especially when it came to Muggle literature. Being Muggle-born herself, she had little difficulty in acquiring books of fiction and poetry, which her parents readily sent upon request, although they did have some trouble when it came to owl post, even after four years of experience. Althea rather suspected that it was their aversion to the magical mailing system that delayed the arrival of her most recent selection.

It was on days like these, when Althea was between books and had nothing to do but sit and stare vacantly around the nearly empty library, that she found herself wishing most earnestly for someone to confide in. She would have been content with a single magical relative, perhaps a cousin at Hogwarts, or even a warty old grandmother who would write her letters and bake her inedible cookies. As it so happened, Althea did have one – she was simply beyond reach. Althea’s sole witch-relation, an aunt, had been murdered seven years prior to her birth. The only reason that Althea knew about her aunt at all was that she had spent several days researching her family history at the start of her first year, and had discovered that she and her aunt were the only two Burbages with magical capabilities for nearly twenty generations. She had also discovered various newspaper and magazine articles with headings such as “You-Know-Who’s Victims Finally Accounted For� and “Murders Revealed: The Saddest Tales of the Second War.� From these, as well as the few lessons of modern wizarding history covered in her History of Magic classes, Althea had pieced together the story of her aunt’s death.

On this particular day in September, Althea was thinking about her Aunt Charity. This would not have been unusual, except that Aunt Charity had to share Althea’s mind with somebody else – a very pale, blonde somebody else, who happened to be sitting not ten paces away, leaning very seriously over a thick, dusty tome, his mouth firmed into a frown.

Althea blinked to clear her head and stared in a different direction, looking pointedly away from Scorpius’ table. She didn’t know what had come over her. When had Scorpius Malfoy’s moods and expressions become so interesting? More importantly, when had she, Althea, begun to notice them?

She was lonely, that was all. The feeling was not new; she had friends among the Ravenclaws in her year, had a best friend she could count on when she needed. But that was the very heart of the problem – Althea never counted on anybody. Sometimes she wondered if that was why the friends she had never seemed to be enough, why her thoughts seemed to stray to Scorpius so often these days. Was it because he seemed lonely, too?

Unable to compose her chaotic thoughts into some semblance of reason, Althea decided that she had better face the inevitable and yield calmly to her contemplations of Scorpius. There had never been any enmity between them, she reminded herself, having never spoken to him at all. Did he even know, had anybody ever told him, that her aunt had been murdered in his grandparent’s house, before the eyes of his father and grandfather? If Scorpius was conscious of that fact, he had given no indication of it during their four years together at Hogwarts, although Althea realized that there had been little opportunity for him to indicate anything. Althea could not decide what she preferred to believe: that Scorpius knew who she was and what he must represent to her, or that he was completely unaware, and did not think of her at all.

Frustrated, Althea slapped her book shut and shoved it haphazardly onto the shelf behind her; in any case, it had been a ruse to keep Madam Pince from banishing her from the library. As she stood up to leave, she caught Scorpius’ eye and felt herself blush under his inquiring gaze. Their connection held for the shortest of moments, during which an indecipherable meaning passed between them. Then, sweepingly, Althea darted for the doors, and was gone.

~

Scorpius looked down at the book in front of him and was mildly surprised to find that none of the words made sense any more. He closed his eyes and tried to recreate the expression on the face of Althea Burbage, just before she had fled. For five minutes he struggled to pin her down, analyze her like one of his books. With most people it was not difficult for Scorpius to decipher emotions, or even to predict their next words or actions, having had more than the average share of human observation. But at the end of his five minutes, Scorpius had settled on only one thing, which was neither definition nor prediction. All he knew was that looking into Althea’s blue eyes had given him the strangest feeling of solemn warmth, like that of a candle flame from within.

Immediately after coming to this conclusion Scorpius felt an old dread clench his heart. For as long as he could remember he had been trying to forget his family’s legacy – not to disprove or alter it, but to avoid it entirely. His earliest memories were of his father repeating to him over and over, “You must not dwell on the past…You must not dwell on the past…There are wrongs that cannot be undone…They are not yours to face, but ours…You must not dwell on the past…�

Scorpius had done his best. At Hogwarts he had come to understand almost instantly that he could never integrate with his peers; they regarded the past as something to be held close, and Scorpius shrank from its corrosive touch in the only way he could – isolation. He did not mind it very much, especially after he discovered the little-traversed Muggle literature section of the library, which included works of both fictions and nonfiction. After that, the trivialities of Hogwarts society did not attract his interest, for he was occupied with all the great theories of the Muggle philosophers and psychologists and, with questions life and death, and the meaning of the universe. It was not long before Scorpius had sunk so far into his ponderings that his past virtually ceased to exist.

That is, until Althea Burbage had caught him looking at her. He couldn’t explain why he had chosen that moment to glance up from Thomas More’s Utopia, or why he had looked toward the Ravenclaw table. But he had, and now his thoughts were heading down a path into a long-repressed past, recalling a story that his mother had once told him about a woman and a snake, and that room at Malfoy Manor that nobody used anymore…

He had looked up, and now he could not forget those blue eyes.

For the first time in four years, Scorpius Malfoy left the library early.

Chapter 2: The Light in the Library

“A thought, even a possibility, can shatter and transform us.�
-Friedrich Nietzsche

“Thea, where are you off to?�

Her hand on the doorknob, Althea froze reluctantly and turned to face Lilah Herbertson, her fellow Ravenclaw fifth-year and the closest thing she had to a best friend.

“I need to take a walk; clear my head,� said Althea, knowing full well that Lilah wasn’t going to let her alone unless she had the whole story – or unless she made a run for it.

“Because of what happened with Malfoy in the library?� Lilah pressed, ignoring her dormmate’s clear desire to leave.

“No, it’s not Malfoy,� Althea lied, with one foot already out the door. Then she stopped and turned back, focusing her eyes on Lilah as though she had only just seen her. “What do you mean, ‘what happened with Malfoy’?�

“We-ell,� wheedled Lilah, “it’s not like I was there. Nobody but you would hang about the library on the first day at school, would they? I’ve only heard…accounts. But you can give me the facts, can’t you?�

“There are no facts to give,� said Althea, more sharply than she had intended. “I’ll see you later.� Spinning away from Lilah, she stepped out the door and shut it behind her with a snap.

The Ravenclaw common room was empty; it was nearing midnight. Sneaking out to stroll the Hogwarts halls had never been difficult for Althea, and now, in her fifth year, experience told her that she had nothing to worry about on this particular night. It was a Tuesday, and not long before the professors gave their first exams of the year. Her fellow Ravenclaws (with the exception of her nosy friend Lilah, perhaps) would all be studying quietly in their four-posters, or else sleeping in them. Assured of her virtual invisibility, Althea slipped through the portrait hole and into the darkened corridor, making her way toward the library.

Althea never made a conscious decision where to walk at night, but let her feet carry her where they willed. Occasionally that meant running into teachers or prefects on patrol, but usually she heard them coming from far enough away to seclude herself behind a tapestry or suit of armor. Even if she did not manage to avoid detection, Althea seldom received punishments for her wanderings. Her misdemeanors were so innocent and infrequent that professors tended to let her off with warnings and the intermittent detention.

But tonight, Althea could sense that there was no one else around. She was alone, she was free, she did not have to worry about her peers’ questions, nor her professors’ restrictions. The castle was hers for the taking.

Except that she was not the only person awake after all.

A lamp was burning in the back of the library; Althea could see its light from the doorway, which had been left cracked open in a manner suggesting complacency rather than haste. She was pretty sure whoever was inside was no inexperienced first-year.

“Hello?� Althea called, stepping into the musty, parchment-scented air of the library. She thought she knew who the lamp belonged to, and she had realized hours before that a confrontation was unavoidable. Like any true Ravenclaw, Althea was incapable of procrastination, and after the events of that afternoon she had decided most firmly that something needed to be done.

Scorpius, however, made no response, although Althea rather thought she could hear the softest sound of a turning page. Wand aloft and alight, Althea stepped forward through shelf-lined avenues until she reached the back table and stood looking down at the fair-haired boy whose face had been troubling her thoughts all afternoon.

“Hello, Scorpius.� This was all Althea could think to say; her words seemed to hang in the silence. Scorpius looked up at her with distant eyes.

“Have you ever read Atlas Shrugged?� he asked.

Althea refused to be taken aback. Still, she couldn’t quite locate her voice, so she sufficed with a curt head-shake to the negative. Scorpius looked back at the thick paperback volume and grudgingly closed it.

“That’s a pity. It would have been nice to discuss it with someone.�

This was more than Althea had ever heard Scorpius say at one time, and she found that she liked his voice. It was cool without being unkind, and sounded to Althea both humble and self-certain, like the voice of a very young boy or a very old man. More to get him to speak again than anything else, Althea posed a question.

“Have you read anything else by Ayn Rand?�

Scorpius’s eyes brightened, and the corners of his mouth slid up into a smile.

“No, but after this I think I’m going to try The Fountainhead. It’s not strictly philosophy, but Rand was a philosopher, and I think it will be interesting to compare works from different periods of her life…�

“You like philosophy, then?�

Scorpius became very serious. “Oh, yes. I’ve gotten through most of Hogwarts’ selection, and I order books from Muggle bookstores when I get the chance. But it’s difficult to manage with an owl.�

“Is that why you’re always in here?� Althea pressed. “You’re reading philosophy?�

“Among other things.�

“Well, I’ve always thought philosophy sounded dreadfully dull.�

Scorpius made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“Yes, most people think that. But then, most people don’t much like reading. I wouldn’t expect –�

“I’ve got nothing against reading!� Althea interrupted, displeased. “I’ll bet I’ve read more Shakespeare than you, and probably Austen as well. Boys never like Austen.�

“Actually, I thought Northanger Abbey was –�

“And then there are the Brontes, and Edith Wharton, and Thoreau and Fitzgerald and Dickinson and Yeats and...� Althea stopped. “Look, don’t go accusing me of not understanding what it’s like.�

“What what’s like?� Scorpius asked, suddenly shy and quiet again, and Althea knew there was fear beneath his words.

For a moment they were both silent, staring.

“What it’s like, being as we are. We’re separated from all of the others, you know? I mean, every family has got a history, and war stories, and all that, but our families…they were in the thick of it. We don’t just have war stories – we have horror stories.�

Scorpius couldn’t stop staring at Althea. As she spoke her blue eyes shone hot like the innermost layer of a candle flame, and, like a moth, he found himself mesmerized by the light. Silence fell again for a time.

“‘But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie imagine every eye beholds their blame.’�

Scorpius did not respond.

“Shakespeare might as well have been a philosopher, for all the stuff he figured out.�

Scorpius could not look into her eyes any longer.

“Hey. Look at me.�

“No.�

“Do you see me blaming you?� Althea asked, trying to catch his gaze. “Do you see me accusing you? Scorpius, look at me!�

“No!�

He was on his feet, without knowing how he had gotten there, and Althea suddenly realized that Scorpius was very tall, and that, if he had really wanted to, he could be intimidating. It was a good thing that they were both angry now, or she might have been frightened.

“I won’t sit here and pretend you don’t hate a part of me,� Scorpius whispered, his face deathly white in the lamplight. “I’ve kept my distance, Althea Burbage – not just from you, but from everyone, because I know what everyone sees. I won’t let you tell me that it’s not my fault, what happened back then. I know it’s not! Everybody does! But that doesn’t make a difference, does it?� He breathed for a moment, and recited, “‘To take upon oneself not punishment, but guilt – that alone would be godlike.’�

“Who said that, apart from you?�

Scorpius opened his eyes.

“Nietzsche.�

“Ah.�

Silence fell again, a tense one. Althea thought privately that it might have been electrically charged, had they not been in Hogwarts.

“Do you mean to say,� Althea ventured, after a time, “that you’ve done all this – you do all this – as punishment…because you can’t have the guilt?�

“It isn’t that simple. You don’t understand.�

“Stop telling me about myself and try to explain.�

Scorpius’ mouth crept upward again, but the smile was incomplete. Or maybe it was just wry.

“All right. I’ll try you. What Nietzsche meant is that punishment is what we all put in the place of true guilt, because punishment we can endure, punishment we can live through. But guilt is so raw, so powerful, that no human can actually withstand it. It is for the gods to feel. So whenever we begin to feel guilt we replace it with punishment as soon as we can, because punishment, no matter how terrible, cannot match the pain of simple, untainted guilt.�

“So you choose to punish yourself, instead of feeling guilt…which, incidentally, you shouldn’t even feel at all?�

“No,� Scorpius replied flatly. “I choose neither. If I can separate myself entirely from those around me, I can escape the need for both guilt and punishment. With no one to judge you, there is no need for them.�

“What about when you’re with your family?� Althea challenged. “Aren't you’re forced to feel something then?�

“My family – they don’t like talking about what happened. Of course, they made sure I knew� – a shadow passed over Scorpius’ face – “but they refused to speak of it, generally. My father would rather forget, and my grandfather…we don’t see much of him.�

Althea nodded. She could empathize. Her family had never answered her questions either.

“It doesn’t matter, though,� Scorpius said abruptly, as though conversation had not broken off. “None of it matters. If you’d read what I’ve read, you’d understand.� He looked to Althea for a fraction of a second, then looked away. “Rand has this theory called Objectivism. A person’s own happiness and productivity are the noblest purposes of life, and reason is the only absolute. You see, guilt, the past, they don’t add up to anything. If I devote my life to philosophy, and the study of truth….If I don’t think about any of it….If I am happy….�

“Do you really believe all that?�

As Scorpius glared defiantly at the lamp, Althea reached across the table and picked up the worn copy of Atlas Shrugged. She held the book loosely in her hands and allowed it to fall open to an arbitrary page, on which she found a single sentence underlined.

“‘The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt.’�

Scorpius closed his eyes.

“You don’t really believe it.�

“I don’t know what I believe. I’d rather I didn’t have to believe anything.�

“You mean you’d rather not feel anything, or think about anything, or come to terms with anything.�

Scorpius’ gaze groped back to meet Althea’s, and she felt her heart break as his eyes begged her for a relief she could not grant.

“You’re loathsome, Scorpius. But not for the reasons you think.�

The silence was becoming unbearable.

“I’m sorry.�

Walking away from the lamp and the boy, Althea felt a dark gaze upon her back.

“I know the Muggle literature in Hogwarts is pretty awful. If you ever need a book from a Muggle shop,� she called, not looking around, “just let me know. I’ll do what I can.�

Chapter 3: The Difference in the Daylight

“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.�
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Nobody knew precisely what had happened to Scorpius Malfoy on the first Tuesday evening of September, but everybody agreed that he had been changed. The sight of his unoccupied table in the library had become so customary that by the early days of October some of the more rambunctious students would sit in the empty chair on dares, then dash behind bookshelves giggling, as though they had done something brilliantly adventurous.

Althea had laughed when Lilah shared her version of the Tuesday Evening Episode, which involved Madam Pince, several trolls, some of Peeves’ rudest language, and a lot of pumpkin juice. She found the gossip about Scorpius to be both ridiculous and slightly pathetic. However, after weeks of Scorpius shooting glances across classrooms – glances which Althea meticulously avoided – she had begun to wonder just what she’d done. The freeing honesty of that night in the library had dissipated with the daylight, and now all that was left was the feeling that perhaps she ought not to have said so much.

Then, in mid-October, something happened.

“Thea.�

Althea was ignoring Lilah. It was the easiest thing to do when Lilah got too chatty in class, and since Althea wasn’t exactly adept at potion-making she generally tried to pay attention when Professor Slughorn was lecturing. Today, however, Lilah wasn’t taking the hint.

“Thea.�

Althea continued to scribble notes on her parchment, dotting her i’s ferociously.

“Althea Burbage! If you do not answer me in the next five seconds I will open this note from Scorpius Malfoy myself!�

This was, of course, hissed very quietly from across the table, but Althea jumped as though Lilah had shouted it.

“A note. For me. From Malfoy?� Althea whispered, half to herself. It took her a moment to register the information. Then, as though shocked awake, she looked at Lilah, who grinned and tossed the note into her lap. Althea scrambled to unfold it and, again ignoring Lilah’s background chatter, read the single line of angular print:

I would greatly appreciate it if you would find me a copy of Charles Dickens’ novel Great Expectations.
S.M.

In the background, Lilah was still sighing about the note, but Althea was not listening. She was also not listening to Professor Slughorn’s lecture. All she could think about was Scorpius’ sudden request – a request she was bound to fulfill. Why, oh, why had she offered to help him attain Muggle books? Why had she ever provided that link? Why couldn’t she and Scorpius Malfoy let each other alone, pretend that there was nothing to connect them, nothing to disturb their carefully crafted distance? Why had she ever gone into the library that night in September?

Because there was something else at work besides the past, Althea thought to herself, and that was the present. And things in the present, it seemed, were becoming more confusing than anything that had happened in the past.

Althea was so absorbed in reverie that the dismissal of the lesson did not faze her for several minutes. Even when Lilah thrust her books into her hands and told her that they’d be late for Charms if they didn’t get going, Althea was transfixed by thought. Very carefully she folded up the note and tucked it into her pocket, followed Lilah out of the dungeons, and proceeded through the rest of the day in a haze of contemplation.

It took until that night, ensconced behind the deep blue hangings of her four-poster, for the realization to finally established itself in Althea’s mind. She was not shocked; it had been building all day – really, all the days since that night in the library. The reason that she had looked at Scorpius, spoken to Scorpius, offered Scorpius aid (albeit of a feeble kind) was that she did not want to break the connection they had made when their eyes had met at the start of term. That indecipherable meaning that had spanned their stares...Althea had deciphered her end. And she very much wished she hadn’t, because it was only going to make everything more torturously complicated.

Althea turned her head upon on her pillow and reached out one finger to touch the binding of the book that lay on the edge of the bed, its gold-embossed title gleaming faintly. It was Great Expectations. She would deliver it immediately. She knew by now the futility of waiting when it came to Scorpius Malfoy.

~

He was exactly where she expected him to be.

“I didn’t think you’d get here tonight.�

Althea slid the leather-bound book across the table without speaking.

“Thank you.�

She nodded, looking anywhere except at his eyes, which was difficult as Scorpius seemed to want to catch her gaze.

“Well,� said Scorpius, after the minutes had stretched into a tightness, “I suppose you’ll want to be going.� He seemed – disappointed?

“Can I ask you a question?�

Scorpius looked apprehensive, but he nodded.

“Scorpius,� said Althea, “what if I told you that I want to be friends with you? What would you do?�

Scorpius didn’t answer.

“Would you turn down a friend, Scorpius, for the sake of your self-imposed punishment, for your ridiculous guilt? What would you do?�

His eyes were dark depths now, stormy with confusion.

“It’s so simple, Scorpius. It isn’t even a question at all.�

And Althea reached for his hand and took it.

It was surprisingly warm, and very soft, but for a callous on the pad of his middle finger. Althea knew that it came from holding a quill the wrong way, because she had one herself. She liked the look of her smaller, tanner hand in his large, pale one. She liked the feel of it, too. Slowly, unblinking, she raised her eyes to his.

“I don’t know.�

“You don’t know what?� asked Althea.

“About being friends,� said Scorpius. The words felt clumsy on his tongue; Althea could hear it in the way he spoke, and feel it in the growing warmth of his hand – which she was still holding. Why was she still holding his hand?

“What is there to not know?� she asked.

“I don’t think...that we can be friends,� said Scorpius, looking both pained and perplexed by his own statement. “I can’t explain why. I do want to be. It’s just this feeling...there’s something...Althea, I –�

Suddenly, the warmth of his hand was too much, and she let it go.

“I have to get back,� she said, standing up. “Enjoy the book. It’s one of my favorites.�

“Althea, wait.�

She stopped and turned around.

“What does being friends entail, exactly?�

Althea was as surprised as Scorpius to hear herself laugh.

“It entails talking instead of note-passing, and saying hello when we see each other, and maybe even sitting together in the library,� she said, smiling at Scorpius’ attentive expression. She half expected him to whip out a sheaf of parchment and begin taking notes. “Don’t worry – it’s the simplest thing, being friends.�

Walking back to her dormitory, however, Althea wondered if what she’d said was true. Her only good friend was Lilah, and their relationship consisted of chatter on one side and tolerance of said chatter on the other. Who was she to be lecturing Scorpius on friendships? And who was she to be a friend? She had little more experience, it seemed, than the boy she was trying to help.

Althea fell asleep both dreading and desiring the dawn.

Chapter 4: The Lakeside

“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking�
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Scorpius had pored over Great Expectations all night and all morning. It was a long, thick volume with comments written neatly in the margins of the gilded pages, all of which he had read. Reading them had been like having Althea sitting beside him, sharing her opinions about the words and prompting him to see their deeper meanings. He found that it made the story significantly more enjoyable, especially because ordinarily Scorpius could never tell what Althea thought or felt about anything. That was something both frustrating and intriguing about her; he had always been able to read people before.

Fain as he was to admit it, Scorpius had only asked for Great Expectations because he had seen Althea reading it over a year ago. Of course, Scorpius maintained to himself that he had wanted it for reasons completely separate from the book’s lender; but in the secret places of his heart, of which he had only recently become aware, he knew better.

Now the book lay before him, completed, but open to a page in the middle of chapter fourteen, on which there was a single underlined passage that Scorpius could not forget:

“It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. There may be black ingratitude in the thing, and the punishment may be retributive and well deserved; but, that it is a miserable thing, I can testify.�

Scorpius set the book down on the table and closed his eyes. He loved his family, and he knew it unhesitatingly. His father, old before his time, had always been determined to do anything and everything for his wife and son, despite the limitations imposed by a society that had not forgotten the war. His mother, beautiful and unafraid, was very similar to Althea in her daring and perceptiveness, and also in that way she had of knowing how to comfort, and to sting, with a single word. His Greengrass grandparents were doting and kind, and spoiled him rotten. His Malfoy grandparents –

Well, his Malfoy grandparents were a different story, a story that he wanted nothing to do with, and which, thus far, he had avoided out of what he had called disinterest, but what he now recognized as fear.

It was not that he was scared of Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy. Both were aged and weak, and would not have wanted to harm Scorpius in any case. It was rather, as Dickens’ words had revealed to him, that he was ashamed – ashamed by his family’s black past, by the name he bore and could not escape from, by the looks he received when he met new people or went new places. All he wanted was to be free of it all; all he had done was allow it to shackle him.

Scorpius knew that now – perhaps had known for longer than he realized. The shame he felt, had that been locked up in that unexplored corner of his heart as well?

He couldn’t stop thinking of what Althea had offered the night before. Would you turn down a friend? she had asked. His reply had been another question; he had never really answered, even though, even then, he had understood.

There was so much in that corner of his mind that it frightened him.

He had been paralyzed by his own guilt – he knew that now. He had refused to acknowledge something that was so irrevocably part of him that it had turned malignant and choked him from within. He had placed himself in shadows and then wondered at his frozen existence. He had caused all of his own pain. And by being ashamed he had deserved it, as Dickens said. But the punishment would last only as long as the crime. The realization both shocked and satisfied him; he had made a terrible mistake, but it was one he could start to repair.

He had Althea to help him. Everything was going to come right.

Tucking Great Expectations into his bag, Scorpius practically leapt from the table and sped out of the library towards the Great Hall. From the entranceway he scanned the heads at the Ravenclaw table, where a late Saturday morning breakfast was in high swing. He paused for only a moment, then strode across the hall and halfway down the table to tap on the shoulder of a girl with long bright hair and very blue eyes.

“Scorpius.�

“Althea, I’ve just realized....are you busy right now?�

“No, but let’s not talk here.�

Scorpius glanced around at the other people in the Great Hall for the first time. His presence at the Ravenclaw table, it seemed, had not gone without notice; about half of the breakfasters were staring at him, and the girl sitting beside Althea was practically falling out of her seat in her eagerness to eavesdrop.

“Right. Let’s go.�

Althea stood up, and, walking side by side with Scorpius, left the whispering, wondering Great Hall behind.

There was no need to ask where they were going, no need for one to lead and the other to follow. Together they entered the library and made for Scorpius’ table, where they sat down, facing each other, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“I finished the book,� said Scorpius, just as Althea asked, “Did you finish it?� which made them both laugh with mild awkwardness. There was a strangeness to their meeting in the library in daylight, with other students nearby to see. Then again, they had already been seen.

“That book helped me figure out...what you were trying to tell me before. When you said I was loathsome, but not for the reasons I thought –�

“Don’t repeat that!� Althea interrupted. “I shouldn’t have said it. You were just, I don’t know, confused. And it wasn’t your fault.�

“It was, though,� said Scorpius firmly. “I know it, and you know it. I cut myself off from other people, I wouldn’t look back or ahead. I was ashamed of my family and what we� – he broke off – “what they had done. But I’m done with that now. I’ve realized...I’ve wasted so much time already....�

“You’ve figured it out.�

“You figured it out, actually,� said Scorpius.

Althea shook her head. “All I did was insult you, and give you a book,� she said airily, trying hard to conceal her embarrassment and knowing that she was doing a poor job, since her face refused to pale.

Scorpius smiled his slowest smile, and quoted:

“‘Whoever blushes confesses guilt, true innocence never feels shame.’�

“Hey!�

“Oh, Rousseau was a dolt anyway, I’ve always thought so. I say, ‘Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery.’�

“That’s from Mansfield Park!� Althea exclaimed, before she remembered that she was in the library, and ought not to yell. “You never said you’d read that one!� she finished in a whisper.

“I haven’t. You wrote it in the margins of Great Expectations, near the end, when you were getting sick of all the ‘guilt and misery’ talk.�

“Oh right...I’d forgotten.�

They fell into silence. Althea admired the play of the sunlight on the surface of the table, which came from a window high above; she had never been able to see it before, because she had never sat here during the day. It was an uncommonly beautiful thing.

“Do you want to go for a walk on the grounds?� Scorpius asked suddenly. Althea looked at him with eyes turned piercing by the light.

“What, you mean, leave the library?� Althea smiled teasingly. “If we leave the castle won’t you, I don’t know, spontaneously combust?�

“If you’d rather we stay here –� Scorpius began.

“No! Let’s go out,� said Althea. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,� she said, smirking.

Out on the grounds it was sunny, but the air was crisp and autumnal. Most students had chosen to stay inside, and Althea and Scorpius found that they had the whole of the lakeside to themselves. It was peaceful, and somehow it felt very new.

The conversation was effortless, flitting over books and lessons and thoughtless observations. Scorpius found that he was laughing and wondered at it.

“Bit chilly out here, isn’t it, though?� said Althea, rubbing her arms to rid herself of the shivers. Before she knew it, Scorpius had removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders.

“You don’t have to do that,� said Althea. “Now you’ll be cold.�

“I do too have to. That’s what my dad always does for my mum.�

“Well, we’re not married.�r32;

“We’re friends,� Scorpius argued; the words seemed to surprise him.

“Friends,� Althea echoed. She wondered why her voice sounded so strange.

Beneath the shadow of a beech tree, Scorpius stopped walking and put a hand on Althea’s shoulder to stop her.

“We are friends, aren’t we?� Scorpius said, looking straight at Althea, who was looking at the lake again. “We must be friends. Why else would I have wanted to come out here with you? I never come out here. Why else would I have wanted you to have my coat? You’re right, I am cold now – but I don’t even care. Everything that happened before, with our families and our pasts, doesn’t it matter anymore. Why doesn’t it matter?�

Althea closed her eyes.

“Scorpius, don’t you understand?�

“No,� said Scorpius, bewildered. “I really don’t. Do you?�

Althea looked out a the lake, calm in the face of his anxiety. “Yes, I think so.�

She gave him one of those looks that he hadn’t yet learned to read, and then went back to staring at the reflection of the mountains in the water. She seemed to be thinking of exactly how to explain what she knew, and Scorpius waited, wanting to understand.

“It’s like at the end of Great Expectations,� said Althea finally, “when Pip and Estella meet one last time. They’ve both changed, is all. They’ve been bent and broken, but into better shapes. And all there’s left to do is say, ‘we’re friends,’ and then it can all end.�

Scorpius said nothing. It seemed like Althea was right, except about one thing.

“But this isn’t an ending.�

Althea smiled.

“Well, no book can last forever.�

Scorpius nodded. Althea always knew what was going on, and he loved that he never needed to explain. He just wished that he could read her the way she seemed to read him; at times like these, when she stared at nothing and did not speak, his desire to know her thoughts was overpowering. And he couldn’t help but wonder what ‘better shape’ Althea had been bent into by the past few weeks. Knowing that she’d never tell, Scorpius chose another question.

“Shall we go in, or keep walking?� Scorpius asked, hoping that he knew the answer. Awaking from her daydreams, Althea seemed to hear his words from far away.

“We’ll walk,� said said, smiling, and she pulled him out of the tree’s shadow and into the sunlight.

Chapter 5: Potions and Poetry

“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.�
-Friedrich Nietzsche

Althea never forgot the thoughts she entertained the night that she gave Scorpius her copy of Great Expectations. At the time they had frightened her, and she had pushed them away to a place where they hid, collecting cobwebs, for nearly three years.

Those three years were the best she could remember. Having a friend, in the realest sense – having someone who understood, who was unconditional, who could and would do anything for her – made Althea happier than she could ever remember being. And most days, as far as she could tell, Scorpius felt the same way. In spite of what he had vowed after reading Great Expectations, Scorpius still struggled with his family’s past and his own inheritance of their guilt; there were times when he reverted to his silent, bookish tendencies and his gaze became distant. When that happened, Althea had only one mission: to make Scorpius speak. If she could crack the ice once, she knew, the frostiness would melt away and she would have her Scorpius back.

Her Scorpius. If only that were true in another sense, Althea sometimes caught herself thinking. She was always careful to quash those reveries, however. She liked to think she was being practical; only in the shadowy time before sleep, when the truth tended to leap free of its bounds, did Althea ever recognize her own fear for what it was.

~

It was the spring of seventh year when Scorpius triumphantly closed the covers of a beaten black leather-bound book and said, “I’m done.�

Althea, who was sitting across the table, looked up from her own book and smiled. No longer considered to be “Malfoy’s domain,� that corner of the library had maintained its reputation for being off-limits; after all, a Malfoy combined with “that anti-social Burbage girl� was just as deterring as Malfoy by himself, if not more so.

“Gulliver’s Travels was the last one, then?�

“Yes. I’ve officially read every Muggle book in the Hogwarts library.�

“Try not to look too pleased with yourself,� Althea laughed, reaching into her bag as she did so. “You know what it’s time for, don’t you?�

Scorpius pretended to sigh discontentedly. “Please, Thea, don’t make me read –� he grimaced “–poetry!�

Althea had thought for some time, considering Wordsworth and Tennyson and Lord Byron, and Shelley and Poe and Rupert Brooke, and Keats and Dickinson and Langston Hughes, and all the poets she liked and hated, before settling on Scorpius’ first dose of poetry.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese,� Althea announced, pushing a beaten softcover copy across the table to Scorpius. He examined the cover intently, then flipped the book open and began to read at an arbitrary page.

“Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind the mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly,
With their rains,) and behold me soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race, –
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting legarthy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens, – because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, –
Nothing repels thee,...Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!�

Scorpius looked up, his grey eyes misted with thought. Then they focused on Althea. The same meaning they had shared on a morning three years before shot between them, and this time, they both knew exactly what it was.

Althea felt herself fall over the edge. She had been tiptoeing along a cliff for so long, confident in her balance – and with one poem Scorpius had nudged her off. Or perhaps she had thrown herself; she ought to have known, when she gave him her favorite book of poetry, given him the words that she knew would reach her most deeply, that this would happen. Maybe she had even wanted it.

Althea waited for Scorpius to speak, but he never did. Instead, eyes wide, he bolted.

~

For three weeks it was as though the past three years had never happened. Scorpius was nowhere to be found. Althea began to wonder whether he was using an invisibility cloak to move between classes; he never once appeared in the Great Hall when she was eating, nor did he return to their table in the library. Althea took to sitting there alone with the table unrepentantly bare, a signal to Scorpius that she meant to cure everything, as she always did, meant to draw him out, make him laugh, return to the status quo.

But he never came.

Even worse, listless sitting has a tendency to ferment daydreaming, and to her horror Althea found that the status quo was now far beyond her reach. There could be no more silent, smothered desire, no more restrained emotion. The rebellion was complete.

Never before had Althea felt so alone. Friendship, Althea reasoned, was the worst curse in human nature’s arsenal – it had left her dependent upon someone completely beyond her control, and now she was crippled.

“Had a lover’s tiff, have you?� crooned Lilah, speaking through the heavy azure hangings that Althea had pulled around her bed. Lilah never failed to notice the intricacies of Hogwarts social circles, and the fact that Althea had all but dropped Lilah for Scorpius was enough to make her even more snide than usual. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t warn you about Malfoy.�

Althea did not look up from her Arithmancy homework; she thought it best not to answer, considering that the first word out of her mouth was likely to be a jinx, and detention was the last thing on her list of priorities.

And then, like the Ravenclaw she was, Althea had the perfect idea.

“Lilah, have you seen my Potions book?� Althea asked, ripping back the hangings around her bed and snatching up her bag from the floor. Lilah raised her eyebrows as Althea dumped all her school books out onto her sheets.

“You can borrow mine if you like,� Lilah said; Althea grabbed Advanced Potion-Making from her hands the moment it was offered and began riffling through the pages impatiently.

“Ravenclaws,� Lilah muttered.

~

For all his stealth, Scorpius could not avoid Althea in Potions. There were so few N.E.W.T.-level students that all four houses comprised Slughorn’s seventh-year class, and although Scorpius had taken to partnering with a fellow Slytherin, the dungeons were cramped enough that Althea was sure she could pull off her plan without a hitch. The only problem was going to be ensuring that the blame fell solely on herself and Scorpius, and not on any of the innocent bystanders.

“Lilah, would you mind putting the lacewing flies back in the store cupboard? I’ll bring a flask of this to Slughorn.�

“Yeah, alright.�

When Lilah’s back was turned, Althea surreptitiously slipped a tiny bottle of glowing green liquid out of her pocket and uncorked it with her wand. Then she filled a flask with her potion and made her way toward Slughorn’s desk, deviating in her path only slightly, so that she had to pass just to the left of Scorpius.

It could not have been more perfect. Scorpius, deep in conversation with Uther Macmillan, never saw Althea pour the contents of the tiny bottle into his simmering cauldron. In fact, he didn’t notice Althea at all until her sudden shriek, followed by the sound of shattering glass, made him whip his head around.

Two gooey arms had emerged from the depths of Scorpius’s cauldron and were tearing at Althea’s hair, skin – anything they could reach.

“What did you do?� Althea managed to shout before one of the green hands began clawing at her mouth. “He – he meant this for me!� She had turned to look at Slughorn, who, along with the rest of the class, was watching Althea with a look of equal horror and confusion. “He did something to his potion!�

“I didn’t!� But Scorpius already knew no one would believe him. The only explanation he could find was that Althea had done this to herself – but that made no sense at all.

“Stimorsus!� Althea’s stinging hex sent a flash of pain across Scorpius’s forearm. Suddenly he understood what she meant to do – and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Protego!� Scorpius shouted. His shield charm sent Althea’s next spell ricocheting toward Rose Weasley’s cauldron, which promptly exploded. Hot potion flew everywhere; Scorpius could have sworn he saw Althea smile for the merest moment. The next second, she was firing another hex – it just missed his right ear – and it was all he could do to maintain his shield.

The dungeon was in chaos; people splashed with potion had begun to blister, and even the unharmed stood aghast at the bizarre duel occurring before their eyes. Not only were Hogwarts’ most inseparable friends fighting (Althea from within the grasp of the green arms), but Hogwarts’ biggest introverts were making a scene. It was more than they could comprehend.

“That. Is. Enough!� Slughorn had finally collected himself sufficiently to enter the fray. With a wave of his wand he severed the gooey green arms from the cauldron; they fell to the dungeon floor, wriggling feebly like beheaded snakes.

“Detention, both of you, this evening at six o’clock. You’ll be scrubbing this floor by hand. I am absolutely shocked at this outburst, shocked!� It was not hard to believe; Slughorn really appeared more flabbergasted than angry.

As the students made their way to the staircase leading out of the dungeons, Scorpius looked around for Althea. But this time, it was her turn to disappear.

~

So it came to pass that Scorpius found himself secluded in the dungeons with none other than the girl he had been assiduously avoiding for reasons that he refused explain to himself, let alone to her. The only words that occurred to him – We mustn’t, It isn’t right, I don’t think of you that way – all rang false in his head. No, the reasons that Scorpius had avoided Althea were a tangled web of raw emotion and loose threads of logic, and nearly a month away from her had made the mess, if anything, even worse.

That was why he hadn’t argued when Slughorn had assigned them both detention, he told himself. He wanted to see whether Althea’s presence would induce some kind of cognitive miracle. He was not here because he needed Althea, because of the blurring in his vision and the rushing in his ears that had bothered him ever since he had begun avoiding her. No, he had not missed her.

“I’ve missed you.� Damn.

Althea looked up from her scrubbing brush; Scorpius had never grown accustomed to the brightness of those blue eyes. It always surprised him how alight they could be, even in the dark.

“We have to talk about this, Scorpius.�

“I – I can’t.�

“Please, Scorpius.�

“I don’t want to talk.�

They had both stopped scrubbing now. They were kneeling on the cold dungeon floor, knees inches apart.

“Alright then. New plan.�

Althea leaned forward and kissed him.

It lasted just long enough that Scorpius was sure it had happened, and no longer. He had the sense of falling a long way, as though he had stepped off a cliff and into a deep canyon, with a river the color of Althea’s eyes flowing like a silk ribbon at the very bottom. His vision flickered between this image and Althea’s eyes, two noselengths from his own. And then they were much closer. He had kissed her back.

“You were right,� Althea said, after a time. “It was better not to talk.�

They were both sitting now, hands clasped, Scorpius thought, somewhat awkwardly. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but because of that, because they were both afraid and knew it, a sort of boldness had overtaken them. Anything, it seemed, was possible now.

“This is madness,� Scorpius said weakly, for no particular reason. Althea, knowing this, didn’t disagree.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.�

Scorpius grinned. “And we’ve come back to Nietzsche.�

“Of course.�

“When did you realize, Thea?�

She pondered for only a moment. “That first day, in the library.�

“That long ago?�

“I didn’t understand until later, but yes. That long ago.�

Scorpius frowned. “You never...�

Althea shook her head. “I was scared. I owed you so much already, and I thought, if I asked anything more of you –�

“You owed me? Althea, do you have any idea how indebted I am to you?�

Althea managed a small smile. “All right, we’re both horribly and forever beholden to each other.�

“I can live with that.�

“Hey Scorpius?�

“Mmm?� Scorpius was transfixed by the sight of his own pale hand grasped in Althea’s. Never had he imagined he would see a sight like that.

“Why did you avoid me for three weeks?�

Scorpius hesistated. “I thought you understood why.�

“Tell me anyway.� Her eyes were testing him.

“It was because...because I guess a part of me isn’t all fixed, Thea. I’m...I’m still a Malfoy, my family is still my family, they’ve still done the things they’ve done, and I – doesn’t this ever seem just a little crazy to you, Thea? A little like some sick joke of fate’s?�

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,� Althea said wryly.

“I don’t,� said Scorpius. “Much,� he admitted.

“Scorpius.� Althea’s voice was as soft and firm as thickly packed snow. “How does Nietzche define ‘liberation’?�

“‘No longer being ashamed in front of oneself.’�

Althea nodded, urging him on, but Scorpius dropped his gaze and let her warm arm fall from his hands.

“I don’t know how to be liberated, Thea. Every time I think I’ve escaped, I wake up and find it was only a dream. I’m as much of a prisoner as ever.�

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then the lightest of kisses on his creased forehead.

“Then I’ll just have to keep breaking you out.�