Archive of Our Own

With the sun shining on me, I had to use a hand placed over my forehead to provide shade enough to see who Edmund had brought over to me.

“Moreau is our resident loser.” Edmund Zouai said, waving his hand ambiguously at me.

I pouted, “I am not a loser.”

“Fine then, she’s our resident garden girl.”

The new boy, a pale one, looked me over, taking in the dirt and woodchips clinging to my clothes. I’d been repotting daffodils. What else was I supposed to look like? Did he expect every Beauxbaton’s student to dress elegantly in silk every moment of every day? Our uniform was one thing, but what we wore outside of classroom hours was mostly up to us.

He crouched down and picked up some of the dirt, rubbing it with his thumb and two fingers. He caught my gaze. His perfect grey eyes fixed on me. Suddenly, I wished I was wearing my uniform and not denim overalls and a brown henley underneath.

“I’m Scorpius Malfoy.”

I held out my dirt-covered hand. If he shook it, I’d give him more of my attention. If he couldn’t get past a little bit of grime, I’d ignore him entirely. Consider it a litmus test for character, I said with my eyes.

He shook it.

His palm electric on my skin. Warmth everywhere.

I bit my bottom lip. “I’m Moreau. Seventh year.”

“Me too.”

I released our hands, going back to patting the dirt around the daffodils gently.

“Guess I’ll see you in classes then.” I supplied.

“Or in Beauxbatons’ Alchemy Competition.” Scorpius said. He straightened back up to his full height.

I kept my eyes on the flowerbed, “I don’t care much for competitions like that.”

Edmund scoffed.

“Moreau here’s a pacifist too, to boot.”

Scorpius wiped his hands off on his trouser bottoms.

“That’s admirable,” Scorpius remarked.

Just what was he playing at, this new boy from London, disturbing all my carefully cultivated ambivalence?

I spoke to the daffodils, brushing my fingertips over their soft petals, “Welcome to Beauxbatons, Scorpius Malfoy, I hope it suits you.”

“I think it will. Moreau.”

***

“Edmund, help the boy will you?” I asked, watching as Scorpius was caught between two wood nymphs at the entrance of the Dining Hall. They kept lavishly complimenting him, and he couldn’t find any words to escape their badgering.

Edmund was tossing an apple into the air and then catching it repeatedly. There was a small bite in the green where the white flesh popped out, and the juice started covering Edmund’s tan skin. It would leave him sticky and in need of a decent hand wash before afternoon classes.

Fitz Duval grinned, “You go save him Moreau, since he keeps asking after you.”

Fitz took another bite of medium rare steak. Single malt whiskey that he nicked from the stables, intended for the Abraxans to drink, was in a small flask at his hip.

Neither of them bothered to wear their cropped blue jackets, complaining of irritating gold buttons that functioned as clasps at their throats. Their white turtle-neck tees were made of cotton and woven with fine threads of fleece in between.

I smoothed my hands over my silk skirt. The sheer caplet around my neck that went down to my mid-back fluttered as I shook my head.

“He does not ask after me.” I refuted.

At least, not that I knew of.

Edmund moved a piece of the apple into his cheek, “The wood nymphs are going to try and get his belt buckle. Hurry, Moreau.”

“They stopped stealing shiny things from handsome students after Maxime threatened them with permanent exile.”

“He hasn’t gotten his new uniform yet, he’s still a Hogwarts grouse for all they care.” Fitz nodded his head at where the left nymph was caressing the side of Scorpius’s face, “Look! The other one is going to put her hand on his buckle any moment. They’ve got him cornered.”

Edmund chewed the apple slowly, “Moreau, you’re too kind to let that happen to him? No?”

“Neither of you deserve my love.” I said, standing up as my chair magically shifted backwards against the marble floor.

The château held its breath as I walked past the large windows and pillars to the dining hall entrance.

“Évaporez-vous, s'il vous plaît.” I said to the wood nymphs. Their oak colouring faded back to birch as they melted back into the doorframe. I looked at Scorpius motioning my head to Edmund and Fitz, “Come.”

“Thank you,” he said, following me back to the small circular table my friends and I had claimed to eat at for lunch, “I wasn't sure what the etiquette was."

The chairs moved back and when we sat down again, they tucked themselves back into the table.

Scorpius glanced around the hall. "Do the tables always seat four?"

Only during big events, such as when Beauxbatons hosted the Triwizard Tournament or Wizarding Chess Competition, did the tables interlock to create long bench-styled seating for larger groups.

Otherwise, it was very French, very polite.

Fitz grinned, pearly whites on display, “It’s Marseille-style, Malfoy. Get used to quality.”

Edmund rolled his eyes, “Duval believes France does everything perfectly. Don’t pay him any mind. In fact, Moreau, you might as well show off and obliviate Fitz from Malfoy’s mind.”

Scorpius glanced from his bowl to mine. "How did they know what to bring?"

"You wrote your order at the entrance," I said. "The parchment sends it to the kitchens."

“You can obliviate?” Scorpius then asked, poking his spoon at the bowl of beef bourguignon that had appeared.

I was eating a bowl of beef bourguignon too. Scorpius had good taste, for a London boy. His accent was nice to listen to though, admittedly, compared to the Parisian lilt of Fitz’s voice and the Dutch tone of Edmund’s.

“Not technically, Edmund exaggerates. I can hide the memory for up to a few days. I need more practise before I can do it properly.”

I tried to stay humble about it. Madame Maxime had offered to teach me how last year when I wanted to erase my sister’s memory of something horrific. She had started seeing the Thestrals. I wanted to preserve her innocence. Just a bit longer. Not for forever, just until she was old enough to handle it all. Ultimately, mum decided to not let me hide the memory from Lula’s mind.

Scorpius scooped the stew into his mouth.

Fitz jumped the topic, “Who’s going with you to help you with the uniform fitting? You can’t exactly be carrying London smog into our school Malfoy.”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, “I can’t just go alone?”

I turned to Fitz, stealing a piece of his steak.

“You can.” I said.

Fitz protested, “He can’t.”

Edmund clapped his hands together lightly, “We’ll go with you, Malfoy. There, problem solved. Moreau, Duval and I will help.”

Our cutlery and plates sank into the table. Only the wine glasses filled with ice water remained. Occasionally students would do homework or assignments in the dining hall and would need water or to gnaw at pieces of fluffy bread to get through the arduous mental labour of ‘trying’.

We walked Scorpius to the uniform room.

The walls were lined with translucent white curtains, blowing in the wind. It was almost shimmery in the midday sun.

Angele and Argus, the fitters for Beauxbatons were comparing two documents side by side. New uniform styles for the next year.

I knocked at the open door.

Angele took the four of us in, clicking her tongue at Scorpius’s heavy robes.

“This will not do here.” She fingered the fabric of his cloak, “This is a disaster my love, a disaster. I will not let wool infiltrate our silken paradise!”

Argus patted his wife’s shoulder, “Amor, wool has its place.” Argus flicked his wand.

Scorpius’s outer layers disappeared, and I turned around. Covering my face with my hands. The sound of an unbuttoning collared shirt meant I was not supposed to be here.

Edmund elbowed me, “He’s still wearing trousers Moreau, don’t be a prude.”

Fitz started laughing, “We don’t have Quidditch here to keep up your figure the way you have it in Hogwarts pretty boy.”

I refused to turn around, folding my arms while I heard magical measuring tapes unfurl. Pins were dancing around Angele’s hair, sometimes pinning themselves into her fake hair.

“I’m not that trim, Duval.” Scorpius joked, “I don't even play Quidditch like that.”

Fitz ran his hand through his curly blond hair, “Oh, you’re sportive. Don’t deny that.”

It was startling how easily Scorpius fit in with Fitz and Edmund. The trio could have easily passed as friends since the first day of first year.

Edmund tugged my sleeve.

“He’s got a shirt on now.”

I remained still.

“I don’t believe you.” I said.

Scorpius laughed, “Good Moreau, don’t trust him. Zouai is a liar through and through.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Edmund shrug.

“Worth a shot.”

Fitz did as he usually did and flitted around the room, touching everything Angele told him not to touch.

When Scorpius stepped off the small fitting platform, I turned around.

He looked like a proper Beauxbatons boy.

Light blue top with a cropped jacket, golden buttons fastened at his neck. Matching trousers with two pleats in the front. The embroidered school crest rested proudly over his chest. My breathing hitched. The pale blue suited him better than Hogwarts' sombre black ever could.

He was one of us.

***

Madame Maxime had asked me to plant new white carnations in the flowerbeds closest to the fountain in the front of the château. Lula never liked carnations. She said they smelled like wet parchment.

The stone path curved around the ivory fountain, a design Perenelle Flamel herself had commissioned centuries ago. Deep blue water spilled from an inner tower shaped like a goblet of alchemical gold. Four square lawns framed the courtyard, and Madame Maxime had decided they needed white carnations around their edges. That, apparently, was now my afternoon.

I stayed in my uniform though, since I had Astronomy class within the next hour. But it would only take me a moment to plant the carnations. I had rolled the waistband of my skirt up slightly higher so my knees wouldn’t mush grass into the fabric. The skirt brushed against the middle of my thighs as I knelt to garden.

It was a fickle art to try and garden using magic, since it wasn’t gentle on the roots or stems of the flowers. Doing it by hand was much safer.

I’d barely dug a hole with a small iron shovel when I heard someone yelp behind me. Followed by a loud splash.

I shot to my feet, a hand flying to my mouth and smudging lip gloss across my fingers.

Scorpius had fallen into the fountain.

“Merde– Scorpius, what are you doing?”

Lula would've laughed herself sick if she'd seen this.

His platinum hair had fallen into his face, soaking wet. And his uniform clung to his body, like it was fighting for its life. He spluttered, wiping the water off his mouth. He scrambled for the edge, but the slick stone betrayed him. His feet slipped, and he landed right back on his backside.

Scorpius gave up and rested his forearms over his knees as he sat in the pool of water.

He bowed his head for a moment, water streaming from his hair, before scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“I saw you and—uh—tripped?”

That wasn’t the entire story, and we both knew that.

I didn't linger on it. I sighed, already walking toward him and offering my hand.

I began to tug him out of the fountain, but I had either overestimated my own strength or underestimated his weight.

The stone was still too drenched to provide grip.

I let out a short scream.

I was falling.

I tumbled in, landing squarely on top of Scorpius in the lukewarm water. My legs were on either side of his hips.

Water dripped from my hair onto his nose and cheek as I hovered over him.

We stared at each other.

And his hand was decidedly not on the small of my back. It had landed far lower than he had intended.

I seized his wrist, removed it with as much dignity as I could muster, and splashed him in the face.

He sputtered, wiping the water off his face. His sharp facial features expressed some amusement at my childish action. His nose scrunched slightly as he barely contained a grin.

I didn’t consider it cruel to splash him, because the water itself had healing properties. Some people also claimed it had beautification abilities, but I doubted it. Scorpius still looked like a wet mouse.

“Don’t you have class now?” I asked, clambering out of his lap and backing into the giant goblet.

Scorpius cleared his throat, “Let out early. Professor Danglars said to explore.”

I squeezed water out of my hair.

“And you thought going back to the entrance park was the best place to explore?”

Scorpius managed to stand up properly. He didn’t ask me but he took hold of my elbow and pulled me up. He held on while I stepped over the ledge and planted my feet back onto non-wet ground. He sat on the ledge and swung himself over, so he was still sitting down as he looked up at me.

“Well, I figured you’d probably be here, and—well—you seemed knowledgeable and patient, and–”

I unrolled my skirt’s waistband so it wasn't so hitched. “You wanted me to give you a tour?”

He snapped his fingers, “That. Yes. Exactly.”

“I have Astronomy in,” I looked at my delicate silver watch, “Thirty minutes. And I still need to finish these carnations. And now I also need to change clothes.”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, flicking his wand in a star shape.

I felt warmth grow all over my body, but then the warmth turned into a dry sensation. My clothes had returned to normal. Scorpius’s outfit followed soon after as he repeated the star motion again.

I didn’t know this particular spell yet.

Scorpius grinned sheepishly, “So, about that tour?”

I walked over to the carnations. “Could you help me with these flowers first, please? Take your jacket off, it’ll stain easy.”

Scorpius nodded eagerly at that, unbuttoning the front buttons and folding his jacket, then laying it carefully on the fountain's ledge. He was left in the standard white turtleneck tee.

He knelt next to me near the garden.

“Okay, first, you dig a small hole. Then, you take the flower and tip it upside down to remove it from the cardstock planter’s box. Set it gently in the hole, and then pat the dirt and woodchips around it.”

Scorpius followed each step with precision. While Scorpius worked through a batch of flowers, I finished the remaining flowerbeds. When I came back to check his last carnation, it still leaned a little to one side.

He took his wand out, but I caught his hand and took the wand from him. I sat it down next to his leg.

“It’ll hurt the chlorophyll.” I explained, I shuffled closer to him, “Let me.”

I uncovered the flower again and gently loosened the roots before settling them deeper into the soil.

"See?" I patted the earth around the stem with two fingers. "Now it'll stand on its own."

When I took my hands away, the carnation stood as straight as every other flower lining the fountain.

I smiled at Scorpius.

“All done,” I dusted my hands over the dirt, “I need to get to Astronomy.”

Lula used to doodle stars instead of taking notes. I always had to get after her for not paying attention in Astronomy, especially since Professor de Mouf would get after me for not being a responsible older sister if Lula was caught slacking. French culture dictates that older siblings become a third parent to their younger ones.

“Can I sit in?” He asked. Then he blinked quickly, “Madame Maxime said I could look at other classes too. Besides the ones I already scheduled.”

“It’s rather boring, Professor de Mouf has this certain tone of voice.”

I thought back to the times I’d nodded off mid-lecture. Or when Fitz painted fake eyes on his eyelids to endure a class with de Mouf back in fifth year. Now, Fitz just drank some of the single malt and let his mind drift around. He was appropriately, and accurately labeled as ‘the one with his head in the clouds’ by de Mouf.

The corner of Scorpius’s mouth quirked, “There’s a Professor like that in Hogwarts. I think I’ll be able to manage.”

We stood up at the same time.

“Alright then, it’s in the left wing.” I said. We walked together to the wide double doors.

He glanced back at the flowers, “I planted some of those.”

“I know.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his hair, “It’s probably all the lopsided ones.”

I lifted my right shoulder loosely, “It’s okay, I can fix it.”

Scorpius gave me a mellow but peculiar look.

“I bet you can.”

Scorpius had to do a shuffle-stop motion every few steps to keep in pace with me. Otherwise he would’ve been strides ahead. It was kind of him to slow down. It reminded me of a newborn fawn at times, unstable footing but with an intent to move in a specific direction.

***

The Portuguese girls loved to talk. They could talk about anyone and anything, and if they wanted to, it would become school-wide knowledge before the fairies had finished opening the East Wing windows. The fairies began at six every morning, and they always started in the East Wing.

Fitz had a habit of lingering near their gossip circles, though lately he'd started getting rather snappy whenever he did.

Edmund noticed.

I noticed.

Scorpius hadn’t, yet.

The four of us were sitting in the library. Instead of towering bookshelves, we had walls lined with books. Rolling staircases ran along the walls. If you pushed off from one landing, you could glide all the way around the room without ever touching the floor. There were small desks in the center of the room, green lamps at each oaken table.

I leaned over the table, my chest uncomfortably pressing into the edge of the table. Edmund and Scorpius were both focused on writing their essays. The essays were a part of the first round of the Alchemy Competition, it was to write an entire paper about the magical properties of a randomly assigned topic. I was still drafting my Basilisk tooth analysis.

I whispered Fitz’s name a few times before he looked up from his book.

“Moreau?” Fitz glanced at Edmund and Scorpius, then back to me. He began to whisper as well, “What is it?”

“Why have you been glaring at Leonor and Ines?”

Fitz set his book down, using his eyes to direct me to the small niche in the wall with a window and pillows for students who wanted to sit in the sun.

I set my quill down, getting up.

Scorpius lifted his head immediately, “Where are you headed?”

“Just going to check the Basilisk section one more time.”

He hummed in response, moving my quill so it was back in the ink well instead of potentially bleeding out onto my paper.

Once Fitz and I had made it to the book nook, I sat on the cushion while Fitz stood in front of me.

“They keep gossiping about Malfoy.”

I tilted my head in confusion.

“Why?” I asked, “About his transfer here?”

Fitz nodded, his curls bouncing.

“They kept suggesting things like his dad getting ‘finally’ arrested in London, or about Scorpius fighting with a professor, even getting expelled.” Fitz grimaced, “Moreau, it isn’t exactly nice stuff.”

I exhaled slowly. My fingers picked at the goose feathers peeking out of the velvet cushion.

“That doesn't sound like the Scorpius we've been getting to know.”

“We know him better than everyone else does.” Fitz said, sitting down next to me. Our thighs pressed together in the small space. “I don’t want to accuse him of anything. But maybe if we got an answer about why, then we could help clear things up.”

I shook my head, “If he wanted to tell us why, he would’ve already. It’s been two months.”

“Not everyone just gives out information like that, Moreau. Think about your sister. Why isn’t she at school right now? You wouldn’t tell anyone about that unless they asked you directly.”

Fitz gave me a firm stare. I knew he was right. But that didn't mean the principle applied to this as well.

“Tha-that’s not the same thing,” I stuttered, “Everyone knows Lula. People– people don’t ask me because they know it’s a sensitive topic.”

Fitz furrowed his eyebrows, taking my hand. He was preventing me from digging into the cushion to play with more of the feathers.

“Everyone also knows you– Scorpius is an outsider.”

“This isn’t an us versus them thing.”

Fitz pursed his lips, “I'm afraid it is. You're one of us. He isn't. Not yet.”

“He has our uniform. He gets annoyed with Professor Telemas just like we do. Scorpius is a part of Beauxbatons.”

“He has our uniform, sure. But everyone still sees the Hogwarts robes underneath it. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

Fitz’s voice got lower and lower until he was silent.

Scorpius had walked over to us, his essay tucked underneath his arm. Edmund was now alone at the table, chewing on a stick of smoke-flavoured licorice. Scorpius rocked back and forth on his heels, making eye contact with Fitz and then me.

“You too seem cozy over here. Is the air better near the windows?”

His eyes flicked to the nonexistent space between Fitz and I. Right at our thighs.

I swallowed.

“We’re just talking about something– I’m headed back to the table now. Fitz is too.” I lied, lifting my thigh and crossing it over my other leg.

Fitz stood up, “Perfect timing, Scorp. Take over for me, would you? I’ve got to go check on the gnomes around the Quidditch field.”

“I thought you said you don’t have Quidditch here?” Scorpius asked, one of his eyebrows lowering as he looked on with confusion at Fitz.

“Oh, we do. It’s just not as bloody as Hogwarts does it.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows quickly, like a devious imp.

A sigh of relief came from Scorpius. The hold on his essay eased. I relaxed too, uncrossing my legs. Silk didn't wrinkle very fast, but if it got static-y, it would stick. And because I had moved around on the cushions, the fabric was clinging to my thighs like elastic would. I couldn't do much about it though at this point.

Scorpius laughed, “We’re playing later then. Get Zouai and–um–those guys from our Potions class too for good measure.”

Fitz shoved Scorpius in the shoulder, “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for pretty boy.”

I'd never seen Fitz so eager to play Quidditch before.

Scorpius settled into the spot Fitz had vacated. Our legs brushed together. Even though the afternoon hadn't grown any warmer, heat still climbed into my cheeks.

"Will you join us?" Scorpius asked. "Later, for Quidditch?"

He balanced his parchment across his knees, absently running his thumb over one corner.

His handwriting was remarkably neat–a careful blend of cursive and print. I was envious. Mine looked like one of the water kelpies had stolen my quill.

I shook my head. "Skirts and flying brooms don't really go together."

Understanding crossed his face. A flush crept up the tips of his ears as he glanced down at my legs. I chewed the inside of my mouth. The fabric was still clinging. I needed to research a Static-Repelling Charm soon.

"Right." He seemed genuinely embarrassed. "I forgot. Beauxbatons doesn't let girls play."

I gave one shoulder a small shrug. "That's just how it is."

He frowned. "That's... unfair."

I smiled, because he sounded honestly offended on my behalf.

"We still fly sometimes," I said. "Just not officially. We can practice or play for fun in regular clothes. We just can't compete."

Scorpius watched my face for a second too long. His gaze snagged on my eyelashes, observing so carefully I wondered if he was counting them.

He backtracked slightly as if realising he’d been staring, “I see why you like this spot.” He patted the frame next to him, “Very sturdy.”

I giggled, setting my folded hands in my lap. His hand dropped from the frame, going to tap his knee a few times instead.

“Great acoustics,” he added. His voice went a bit croaky. “Sounds better over here.”

***

“It’s his birthday, Edmund. Please,” I begged, trailing after him.

Edmund kept walking, his short black hair bobbing as he stubbornly refused to meet my eyes.

“I don’t bake for overeager women,” he said.

“Moldus Studies.”

I remembered last year's Moldus Studies assignment, when Edmund had declared non-magical sewing ‘an affront to wizarding dignity’ before begging me to save his grade.

Edmund stopped dead in his tracks. The warm sunlight from the patio in the back of Beauxbatons shone rays onto Edmund’s figure. The air smelled of autumn. The trees lining the back fields seemed to shudder as well, beginning to shift in colour.

“You cannot hold that over me.”

I gave a self-satisfied grin.

“I’m not holding it over you,” I folded my arms, “I’m cashing in an overdue favour.”

He sighed, “What flavour?”

I’d won.

There wasn't a better place in the château to hide a surprise birthday party than the attic.

The past few weeks, Fitz and I had been sneaking away to turn the attic from a storage room into a party space. We hauled aside great chests made obsolete by the enchanted armoires in the new dormitories and wiped years of dust from every filigreed chair. Meanwhile, Edmund embarked on the far more perilous task of acquiring enough macarons to decorate an entire vanilla birthday cake.

The only problem was that Scorpius politely declined every invitation Fitz offered him to hang out. He'd also turned Edmund down when he'd suggested exploring the grounds. For some inexplicable reason, Fitz and Edmund seemed convinced Scorpius would only agree to go if I was the one to invite him.

And since his birthday was coming up, I had to figure it out quickly.

The next problem was that Scorpius's father, Draco, was coming for a short visit to Beauxbatons as well. That had made Scorpius wary of anything and everything.

There was too much hesitance and weirdness surrounding the whole affair, and not nearly enough cake or streamers for my liking.

“Scorpius, do you want to put calla lilies in some window box planters with me?” I asked, stealing another piece of Fitz’s diced potatoes.

Scorpius leaned back in his chair, pausing.

“I’d love to.” He drew in a short breath, “My dad’s coming today though. I think this afternoon.”

“He can help us plant too then.” I proposed, sipping from my wine glass of ice water. I figured that if I could meet Mr. Malfoy, the party might actually happen. We'd just cut the cake into five slices instead of four.

Edmund tipped his glasses down his nose. He’d finished the cake today, and it would only stay good for another few days before becoming inedible by his own words.

Fitz chewed with exaggerated patience. I’m sure the carrots dissolved before he ever swallowed them.

Scorpius gave me a quick smile.

“I’d like you to meet my dad, but I’m not sure today would be the best…” Scorpius sat up straight, “Definitely soon though.”

Edmund bumped his loafers into my ballet flats under the table.

I tried harder.

“I want to meet your dad today.” I insisted. It didn’t sound like me though. It sounded like the version of me that came through when Lula had gotten into trouble two years ago.

Scorpius let out a measured breath.

“Today probably isn’t the best.”

“I need to meet your dad,” I reached over the table, squeezing Scorpius’s bicep. “I just have to tell him what a wonderful son he raised. Without your dad, we wouldn’t have you.”

Scorpius took a sip of his water. His pinkie traced absent circles in the condensation clinging to the glass.

He put his other hand over mine, “Moreau.”

Then, as if realising Fitz and Edmund still existed he put his hand back on the table and stood up.

“I need to go. I’m meeting with Madame Maxime before my dad gets here. I’ll see everyone later.” Scorpius offered me another smile. “Moreau.”

I squirmed in my seat. Only when Scorpius evaded the nymphs at the entrance by butchering the French phrase telling them to evaporate did I let my forehead fall against the white linen.

"Well," Edmund assessed, "that went great."

Fitz, with food still in his mouth, said, "Tell him you'll make out with him if he agrees to go with you." He punctuated the suggestion by stabbing the air with his two-pronged fork before spearing a cube of cantaloupe. "That's the winning pitch, Moreau."

Edmund pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I agree with Duval." He looked at me over the rims. "Kiss him."

"I will not be sex-appealing my way into executing this birthday party."

"That's not what we're talking about," Fitz sang.

Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Moreau, it's not sex appeal. You're the least sexy woman I've ever met." He paused. "And I know our Headmistress. Bloody hell, she eats beard hair as a snack."

Fitz snorted into his lunch.

I stared at Edmund.

He stared right back, entirely convinced he'd just comforted me.

Edmund clicked his tongue. "Focus. Everyone. We have twelve hours before the macarons go stale."

Fitz groaned, “I hate stale macarons.”

I did too.

Which is why I made the executive decision to wait outside Madame Maxime's office. I leaned against the wall directly across the door.

Voices drifted faintly through the wood, too muffled to make out.

The handle turned.

The door swung open.

For one bewildering second, there were two Scorpius Malfoys standing in front of me.

The older one was a little shorter, with fine lines beginning to settle around his eyes. His platinum hair was cropped closer than Scorpius's and was combed neatly back with enough pomade to catch the light. Everything about him was sharper. More controlled.

Scorpius, beside him, looked positively windswept in comparison.

Madame Maxime's face brightened the moment she noticed me.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Moreau."

Scorpius seemed to have gotten Stunned when he glanced between Madame Maxime and I.

"Monsieur Malfoy," Madame Maxime continued, gesturing toward me, "this young lady has become your son's friend. Which has pleased me greatly. She placed third overall in the first round of the Alchemy Competition. She somehow managed to make Basilisk teeth sound riveting." She said warmly. "Your son has adapted remarkably well to Beauxbatons."

The older Malfoy offered me a restrained smile and extended his hand.

I placed mine in it.

He lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across my knuckles.

I brightened immediately.

"Hey! You know the tradition, Monsieur Malfoy."

Scorpius made an utterly bewildered face at me.

As soon as Draco released my hand, I gathered the sides of my skirt and dipped into a small curtsey.

Madame Maxime let out a wistful sigh.

"Tout simplement parfait!"

I noticed Scorpius was uncomfortable.

"It's customary at Beauxbatons," I explained. "Kissing a lady's hand is considered a very dignified greeting. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel insisted on preserving the tradition."

Madame Maxime clasped her hands under her chin. Positively delighted.

“How has my son been getting on, Miss Moreau?” Draco asked.

Scorpius didn’t say anything, but I knew it was causing his blood pressure to spike from the way the side of his neck began to pulse furiously.

“What Madame Maxime hadn't said earlier, was that while I placed third, Scorpius earned second place. He made the most detailed history of cauldrons I’d ever read.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

“Delightful.” Draco set a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, “We’re all good then mate?”

“Splendid, dad.”

Draco turned to Madame Maxime, "Then I suppose the next time I'll be here will be for graduation. I’ve no other matters to discuss.”

Madame Maxime inclined her head. "Indeed."

I reached for Scorpius’s hand.

“We’ll be off then! Thank you so much, Monsieur Malfoy. Headmistress.”

I had to tug him along for a few steps towards the staircase leading up to the attic. Scorpius caught on after a few moments of me dragging him. I could hear him swallow thickly. Then, almost tentatively, he threaded our fingers together as we walked down the hallway.

Getting up the stairs was easy enough.

But Edmund hadn’t lit the candle yet, so I used my free hand to cover Scorpius’s eyes while I backed him more fully into the attic. He simply let me guide him.

Right to where Fitz was buzzing in anticipation and Edmund was lighting a candle he’d put in his mouth like an imitation cigarette. Edmund missed smoking, but Madame Maxime caught all the smoking devices before anyone ever crossed the threshold into the château.

“Moreau, uh– what are you doing?”

I shushed him.

“I have a surprise.”

Scorpius stepped closer to me, “Oh…okay.”

His breathing caught. His ears started going crimson at the tips.

Fitz caught Edmund's eye.

Edmund slowly removed the candle from between his lips and stuck it into the centre of the cake.

They exchanged a look.

Fitz’s grin grew wider.

Neither of them said a word.

Scorpius hesitated.

Then, almost cautiously, he leaned down. But I pressed my other hand to his chest.

He went perfectly still.

I stepped aside with a flourish, throwing both hands toward the table.

The vanilla cake with green and silver macarons lining it had four candles on the top, glowing orange in the dark room.

Scorpius blinked.

Fitz and Edmund both shouted, “Surprise!”

Although, Fitz did seem to be more gleeful about the exclamation.

Scorpius looked from me to the cake, then back again, “This is– the surprise?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it great!” I grabbed my chin tentatively, “Is this– do you not like it?”

He blinked once more before stepping toward Edmund and Fitz.

He smiled at me—a little smaller than usual, but warmer, “Yeah, this–this is brilliant. Exactly what I wanted for my eighteenth birthday.”

I’m over the moon with the fact that he liked the cake.

Perhaps this memory would finally be enough to conjure a corporeal Patronus for the second task of the Alchemy Competition. I hadn’t managed one since Lula got sent home.

I brought my arms to my chest, practically vibrating with excitement, as I hopped over to the table.

“Look! I even got Edmund to do your old colours. Green and silver. But the frosting– that’s your new coat of arms, see! Baby blue! I prefer to call it pale turquoise. But, well, you know.” I laughed, putting a hand on Scorpius’s back. “Make a wish!”

Edmund pulled another candle from his back pocket and returned to chain-smoking wax.

Only after he finished closing his lighter with a metallic clink, did Edmund speak.

“Make a wish before the melting candles ruin my masterpiece, would you Scorp?”

Fitz tilted his head back dramatically, “Gâteau!”

“In France, do I say the wish out loud or something?” Scorpius said, looking between Fitz, Edmund, and I.

The three of us shook our heads.

“A wish is just for you pretty boy,” Fitz remarked.

Edmund pretended to blow a puff of smoke, the wax dripped onto his fingers but he didn’t pay it any mind.

Scorpius leaned down, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. When he opened his eyes again, they found mine first.

I pressed my face into his arm, still overjoyed.

Lula would've declared this the greatest birthday in history. I could see her digging her fingers into the cake and wiping it all over Edmund’s face, not just because she had a massive crush on him, but because then it would also egg Fitz on to do the same to Edmund.

I spoke into the fabric of his cropped jacket, “Happy Birthday.”

With a shaky hand, Scorpius reached behind me and stroked his hand from my crown to the nape of my neck. Once. With a featherlight touch.

Warmth spread down my spine, and before I knew it, I'd buried my face further into his bicep.

***

Professor Telemas stood at the front of the old aviary atop a small soapbox. Behind him hung the official rankings for every Seventh Year student. Fitz remained stubbornly in twentieth place, while Edmund had somehow climbed to twelfth.

The aviary hadn't housed birds for decades. Professor Telemas had long since claimed the great glass building for Defense Against the Dark Arts instead. One wall was lined with practice dummies in various states of disrepair, while the glass behind them bore faint scratches from years of backfired spells.

Professor Telemas offered extra credit to any student willing to reinforce the wards protecting the glass. I'd accepted the offer often enough that warding magic had quietly become one of my stronger subjects.

Today, as Professor Telemas was explaining, we’d be casting Patronus charms.

The last time I’d managed to cast a corporeal Patronus was the same day that I had to protect Lula.

The Ministry of Magic had rebuilt Azkaban about fifteen years prior, rehoming the dementors and convicted dark wizards in an underground catacomb below Paris. One day, the same day that Lula and I were visiting family in Paris, we ran into an escaped dementor.

I cast the spell, despite technically being underage.

Lula couldn’t stop getting nightmares. She would scream at night. After that day, Lula began seeing Thestrals. I think that frightened me almost as much as the nightmares.

And kids talk.

Lula wasn’t in the right state of mind to handle it. So Mum and Dad decided it was for the best to finish Lula’s schooling at home. Lula sat for exams at the Ministry of Magic. Lula didn’t write to me, because she was worried it would be a distraction for me.

Instead, the distraction became Lula's absence from my life.

Lula and I shared a Patronus.

Whenever we cast the charm, a pair of Arabian mares galloped from our wands. Lula's was always more elegant than mine. I made sure she knew it, too. Mine had a habit of stumbling over invisible rocks before finding its footing.

“And with that, we’ll go alphabetically. Remember, you’ll cast the Patronus. Try and sustain it for as long as possible. I’ll have Quick-Write Quills floating around keeping track of the duration and vibrancy of your charm.” Professor Telemas drawled, waving his wand loosely in the air. He was quite tall and very slim. His face reminded me of a fox's: sharp features, upturned eyes, and an expression that was always faintly shrewd.

Scorpius nudged me before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Guess that means you’ll be casting after me, Moreau.” I could hear the smile in his voice, “Don’t be too disappointed when I win this.”

I jabbed him lightly in the ribs with my elbow.

“Rein in your ego…Malfoy.”

I did want to know what his Patronus was. Perhaps a snake? Or a dragon? The more I thought about it, the funnier the idea of Scorpius Malfoy producing a little bunny rabbit became. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the giggles escaping.

Eventually it was his turn. Scorpius stepped forward, and cast his Patronus.

An Arabian stallion.

My throat worked.

The Patronus tossed his head once before breaking into an effortless gallop around the old aviary, sunlight spilling through the glass and shimmering across his silver coat.

The remaining Patronuses began to dissipate as the stallion galloped past them. A few girls groaned when their birds flew away into shimmery blue dust. The Quick-Write Quill ended with a sharp period on their assessment paper.

Professor Telemas grinned, remarking, “What a beautiful specimen of a Patronus, Monsieur Malfoy. That form is vibrant.”

Scorpius, however, looked confused. He glanced back at me with a quirked eyebrow. I cocked my head to the side.

Professor Telemas clicked his tongue, "Mademoiselle Moreau, your turn. Produce a Patronus.”

I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt.

I bounced on my heels. Tilting my head up to the ceiling, which gave me a view of the light blue sky and fluffy white clouds, I tried to remember.

Remember Lula getting her acceptance letter to Beauxbatons and how excited she was to go with me, after two years of watching me go ahead without her.

Remember meeting Fitz and Edmund on the first day of school, both of them looking horrified at our Headmistress— then turning around to face me, as if asking “You see this too right?”

Remember Scorpius stroking the back of my head after blowing out the candles. Scorpius getting his uniform. Scorpius falling into a fountain and us planting flowers afterwards.

I sighed.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Even whispered, I could feel the amount of mental strength needed to cast a spell of this magnitude. My hand wavered, but I did the proper wand motion.

Gasping, I stepped back.

Pale silver gathered at the tip of my wand before unfurling into four graceful legs and a sleek body.

A corporeal Patronus. My Arabian mare.

She stumbled as she always did coming out of the wand. Then she caught her footing and pranced around, head held high as she observed her surroundings.

I watched on as she dipped her head down to scratch her leg.

Within that small amount of time, Scorpius’s Patronus came around to the side of mine. His stallion nudged the side of my mare’s shoulder with its nose. When my mare’s head lifted up straight, the stallion rested its head on her back.

She tried to turn around to nip the stallion, but the stallion kept rubbing its nose into her mane. Eventually my mare accepted the act of grooming and turned to face the stallion, rubbing her own face into its mane.

I didn’t know Patronuses could—interact.

Fitz and Edmund kept elbowing each other with low chuckles.

Everyone else in the aviary had eyes the size of saucers.

And Scorpius’s face was beet red.

Professor Telemas cleared his throat.

Then cleared it again.

"Ah... yes. Very. That's a wonderful Patronus, Mademoiselle Moreau." He adjusted his spectacles. "The interaction between your Patronus and Monsieur Malfoy's is... quite an unusual manifestation of Patronus magic."

Fitz raised a hand. “And what exactly does this mean, Professor?”

Edmund hid his face with a hand, trying to slink away from Fitz. Scorpius folded his arms and stared resolutely anywhere but at me. Or at his Patronus, which was now mirthfully nuzzling my mare's shoulder.

Scorpius made a tiny motion with his wand, almost too subtle to notice. The stallion ignored him completely. If anything, it leaned even closer to my mare. Scorpius shut his eyes for half a second.

Scorpius opened his eyes again, staring at the stallion.

"...Traitor," he muttered.

"Patronuses occasionally behave in unexpected ways. They are, after all, manifestations of intensely positive magic—stemming from happy or endearing memories.” Professor Telemas glanced between Scorpius and I, then smiled, “There is still much about them that remains inadequately understood."

Scorpius began to fidget with the gold buttons at the front of his jacket. He started adjusting the hem of his sleeves afterwards too, trying to remain the picture of proper.

Fitz raised his hand again.

Professor Telemas looked up from his notebook with visible caution. He paused trying to scribble down observation notes about my Patronus briefly.

"Yes, Monsieur Duval?"

Fitz pointed at the two horses.

"Could they make a baby Patronus?"

Silence echoed in the classroom. Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose so hard, it could’ve left imprints. One of the Muggleborn students in our year snapped a photo of the Patronus anomaly with her camera.

Professor Telemas slowly removed his spectacles.

“I have never once been asked that question.” Professor Telemas stared at Fitz for a moment longer, “...To the best of my knowledge, I remain unsure.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “Could they actually?” I watched the horses begin to meander side by side, their flanks bumping occasionally, “If they're magical constructs... what would that even look like? Would I cast two Patronuses? Would Scorpius?”

Professor Telemas exhaled, “This was supposed to be the most straightforward portion of the Alchemy Competition.”

Nobody volunteered another question.

Fitz was being restrained by an irate-appearing Edmund. Edmund kept shoving Fitz’s hand down so Fitz couldn't ask another question, despite seeming to have hundreds trying to spill out of him.

Professor Telemas asked the next student to produce a Patronus. The two silvery blue horses, instead of evaporating, wandered together to a less occupied corner of the aviary. The Quick-Write Quills seemed to be speed-writing every miniscule motion that the Patronuses made.

Scorpius walked over to our Patronuses, shoulders tight.

“Could you…not?” he whisper-begged at his stallion. The stallion flicked one ear toward Scorpius as though acknowledging he'd spoken. Then it returned its attention to my mare, brushing its face beneath her neck. “Er—that’s enough.”

My mare nipped at the stallion’s ear. The stallion merely twitched an ear and continued rubbing his nose into her mane. The nipping seemed to entertain the stallion who just grew more content.

Scorpius scrubbed both his hands over his face.

I moved over to Scorpius, to admire our Patronuses as well.

"Sorry," Scorpius muttered under his breath.

“Huh?” I stammered.

Scorpius straightened out his back, “I’m sorry.”

"For what?"

He looked helplessly toward the stallion.

"...Him."

I peered at the pair of horses, then focused back on Scorpius. I’d never seen my mare so relaxed before.

I tilted my head to the side, observing the horses further, "I think he's rather sweet."

Scorpius choked, running a hand through his blond hair. Something in his shoulders loosened, just a fraction. A smile escaped before he caught it.

"You do?" he asked quietly.

"He's very affectionate."

The smile vanished.

"...Yes."

I giggled, "Do Patronuses normally have such vibrant personalities?"

"Apparently mine does." Scorpius sucked in a quick breath through his teeth.

The stallion tossed its head once before pressing its forehead against my mare's neck. Scorpius made a strangled noise.

"Please," he whispered.

The stallion ignored him.

Scorpius turned to face me, "I didn't tell him to do that." His hands were raised defensively.

"I know."

"I appear to have lost control of my own Patronus."

As if determined to prove him correct without a shadow of a doubt, the stallion resumed grooming my mare, nosing gently through her mane.

She leaned against his shoulder with sleepy contentment.

I couldn't help smiling. Somehow, watching the two of them together made my chest feel strangely warm.

Scorpius didn't look at me. He looked only at the stallion.

"...Unbelievable."

***

Leonor and Ines liked to tell stories. Long, winding tales. With the new fuel of a Patronus pining for another Patronus, it didn’t take long for it to get around.

At first, students started fake neighing when Scorpius walked past them. He ignored it for the most part. Fitz thought it was delightful and entertaining. Edmund complained of kids in our generation lacking class. And I won’t lie, I laughed a few times in the beginning too.

But then, as kids do, they kept talking. They wanted to stay entertained. They made the story more dramatic, borderline libel.

I was in the library one afternoon, picking through novels on practising French pronunciation for Scorpius, because the wood nymphs were getting too handsy as of late.

Leonor, Ines, and a group of their friends sat huddled around the Cultures and Language section.

“They’re practically engaged,” Leonor whispered.

A younger girl with bushy brown hair spoke next, “You got all that from their Patronuses?”

Ines nodded, giving the girls at the table a flutter of her eyes, “They’ll marry for sure.”

I dropped the fifth textbook I had grabbed. The flurry of dust made me sneeze. I waved the particles away, “Excuse me,” I ducked down and set the book on top of the others I had grabbed. “French, you know, a pretty difficult language.”

I restrained myself from cringing, wanting to melt into the wall like the wood nymphs could.

Ines laughed politely, it came out a bit bitter anyway.

I tried to hurry away from their table.

Leonor called my name.

“How’s your boyfriend, the Malfoy boy?”

Ines winked at me, “How is it being soulmates with someone?”

I adjusted my hold on the French books.

“We aren’t soulmates.” I chuckled, “Ah—Patronuses don’t technically indicate romantic feelings. Professor Telemas said—”

“It’s so tender, Moreau. Darling, really,” Ines sighed.

“I just said—” I stuttered.

Leonor cut in, “Does he court you the Beauxbatons way? Or has he been using his British charms? I’ve heard boys from London can be terribly forward at times.”

All the girls at the table wanted an answer.

“Scorpius and I are friends.”

One of the other girls, with black curly hair, spoke up next, “Then why does he seem infatuated with you?”

I tightened the books against me like a shield.

“I really wouldn’t call it that.” I glanced towards the exit, “I really must be going now.”

I bowed my head to bid farewell, and tried to scurry away—without seeming like a retreating gerbil.

One of the sixth years jutted her finger my way as I was leaving, “That’s her, isn’t it? Didn’t her sister—”

“Leave school. Yes. Terrible, isn’t it?” Leonor said, pitifully.

The simplicity of it tied the previously peaceful feeling in my heart down with a weighted brick so that the feeling sank down to my gut.

Fitz came to me after classes in one of the common rooms littered over the campus. I had gone quiet after the library.

He got straight to the point.

“This isn’t about Malfoy is it?”

Half the school was obsessed with the Patronus story.

I shook my head, picking at the loose threads of the blanket I was curled up on.

“Just tired.”

“Is that why you’re looking all forlorn in the middle of the common area?” Fitz sat down next to me. He jerked his chin toward the doorway. Scorpius hurried past, hiding his face behind one hand. “Scorpius has walked by the room like ten times trying not to freak out. He thinks you’re mad at him because of the Patronus thing.”

“I said I was tired, Fitz.”

“We both know Ines and Leonor love to talk about love. And what’s love without a tragic heroine?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “Fitz.”

The joke vanished from his face.

“Moreau.”

"Fine." I looked down at the blanket. "They start talking about Scorpius and me, and somehow they always end up talking about Lula."

I took a deep breath.

“And I hate it,” I whispered, “I’m not mad at Scorpius. I’m just frustrated because I don’t want Lula becoming part of their story.”

I just want people to forget.

Fits grabbed my hand so I’d stop picking at the thread. I’d almost picked apart the critical supporting fibers near the middle.

“She isn’t entertainment. She’s your sister,” Fitz gave me a comforting smile, “And as your not-quite-but-almost brother, I think you should know I’m going to talk to Ines and Leonor. Benefits of being a Student Rep.”

I set our hands down in my lap, swallowing thickly. Fitz rubbed his thumb over my knuckles.

“Thank you, Fitz.”

“No problem,” he shrugged.

The next day, Scorpius found me in the gardens.

Ever since the fountain incident earlier that year, Scorpius had developed a habit of helping me plant flowers and tend the rose bushes. On one occasion he'd even nicked his finger on a thorn and bled all over my white roses. A quick Episkey fixed the cut, though I still insisted on covering it with a plaster afterwards. Just in case.

Madame Maxime had asked me to line the white oak gazebo in the château's back gardens with lilies of the valley. They were among the easiest flowers to plant and maintain, especially beneath the gazebo's protective shade.

I was wearing my gardening-specific denim overalls. Scorpius was still in uniform, having set his jacket on the railing of the gazebo.

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

Scorpius sat back on his heels, dusting his palms off.

“Moreau.”

I turned to him, “Yeah?”

“Has your Patronus always been a mare?”

I nodded, “Always. My little sister's is one too.”

Scorpius blinked, his eyebrows scrunching slightly.

“You have a sister?”

"Her name's Lula," I said. "She studies at home with Mum and Dad."

Scorpius was quiet for a moment.

"Did she... not get accepted into Beauxbatons?" His voice faltered. He winced almost immediately. "Sorry. That wasn't a very polite question."

I brushed another handful of soil around the roots of a lily.

"No," I said quietly. "She got in."

I patted the earth flat.

"She just... doesn't go anymore."

Scorpius looked back down at the dirt, nudging a small piece of gravel with his fingertip. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. It seemed he wasn't sure what to ask next—or how to continue after what I'd told him.

I looped back to the initial question, “My Patronus? You asked if it had always been a mare.”

Scorpius inhaled.

“Yeah,” he paused again, “I only ask because mine wasn’t always a stallion. So I just wondered if…yours had changed too.”

I rubbed one of the soft petals between my fingers, moving to sit down properly. I brought my knees up and set my forearms on them, toying with a lily I had plucked because it was dying.

“What was your Patronus before?”

"It matched my mum's," Scorpius said. "A snake. Like my dad's too. The three of us all had the same Patronus." Scorpius glanced at me, "But…after mum died—dad stopped producing a Patronus at all."

I stared down at the lily in my hands.

One petal finally gave way beneath my thumb.

It landed beside the oversized boots Edmund had loaned me months ago and never asked to have returned.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mum.” I nodded, “What was she like?”

Scorpius moved, so he was sitting across from me. He stretched his legs out on the grass, leaning backwards with his hands propping him up.

“She was impossibly kind.” Scorpius scratched behind his head, “Like you.”

He glanced down to the grass.

“My dad said he'd give anything to have just another moment with mum,” Scorpius said.

I let his words linger in the air.

The silence floated around comfortably between us.

“What’s your favourite memory of her?” I asked, meeting Scorpius’s grey eyes.

“I was young when she passed, so most of my memories of her are of her cuddling me. Or playing with my hair. Silly things like that.” Scorpius let out a soft, airy chuckle. It was fleeting. “She always wanted to go here. There was a Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts when she was in first or second year, and she fell in love with Beauxbatons. She adored the uniforms.”

“I can almost imagine you with her. Curled into her lap. A little Scorpius in his mum’s arms.” I said. I gave Scorpius a compassionate smile, “I’m glad you’re here. At Beauxbatons.”

He threw his head back gently. I saw his throat bob.

"I'm more glad you're here." He smiled to himself. "I'd say I'm very lucky."

I stretched my feet out, and bumped into his shoes playfully.

“Well,” I started, “We’ve finished the flowers.”

Scorpius pressed against my feet with his, “Yeah.”

I looked away. Suddenly, I couldn't meet Scorpius's eyes anymore.

“What’s Lula like?” Scorpius asked.

“Lula’s—”

I froze. Everyone had been talking about her. Hearing her name in my own voice suddenly stung.

My smile disappeared. I felt a pang run through my chest, aching. I retracted my feet, standing up.

Scorpius’s eyes flickered rapidly over my face, searching.

“I’m going to go.” I said, walking into the gazebo to grab my school bag.

Scorpius lurched to his feet, nearly losing his balance. His jacket caught awkwardly on one arm as he hurried after me.

“Did—did I say something wrong? Moreau?”

I choked up. Unable to speak, I just slung my bag over my shoulder.

Scorpius followed, struggling to shrug his jacket back over his shoulders.

“Moreau—would you stop? Please?” Scorpius asked. He stayed a pace behind me, matching my brisk stride. “Wait,” Scorpius’s voice cracked, “Where are you going? What did I do?”

I stopped, “You didn’t do anything. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Scorpius moved around until he was standing in front of me. The warmth had vanished from his grey eyes.

“I…” The words died out on my lips.

His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths.

“I don’t want to talk about it, I’m sorry Scorpius.”

He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.

With his eyes closed, I took the chance to leave. I walked around him. By the time I was more than halfway to the back garden entrance, I heard him mutter behind me.

I stopped.

“What did you say?” I asked.

Scorpius jolted.

“Nothing.”

His answer came too fast.

“Really?”

His shoulders fell.

“I’m sorry. I’m confused,” Scorpius paused. As though giving me time to walk away, if I wanted. “You’ve been different, lately. Not bad different—just—you seem hurt.”

I turned around to face him.

There wasn’t any evidence of anger on his features.

He was worried.

I frowned, “People have been talking.”

He nodded, “About us.”

“No.”

Scorpius held back a relieved sigh.

“About my sister.”

Understanding washed over his face.

He closed his eyes tightly, “Oh.”

I lifted the cinch on the strap of my schoolbag, tugging the material tighter.

“If I don’t want to talk to you about it, is that going to change us? If I want it to be something I don’t share?” I hesitated. I did want to explain, but not now. Not today. “If I ask for time, will that bother you?”

“That would never bother me, Moreau. I’ll give you all the time you need. Don’t feel pressured by me, either. I’m not entitled to know.”

I watched as his eyes darted over my face.

“But you do want to know.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “Because I want to know how I can help you. Support you. Like—I don’t know—be there for you. But if you want time, that’s okay.”

“Okay…” I slowly moved my head up and down a few times, really letting his words settle in. “I’m going to give it some more time.”

“We’re still good?” he checked.

“We’re good.”

***

Fitz and Edmund could tell something was wrong.

Scorpius and I still stuck together. We ate together, went to classes together, and carried on as though nothing had happened.

But it was in the way I held myself back, while Scorpius seemed to be grasping at straws.

At meals, he’d ask if I finished a particular essay.

“Nearly,” I’d answer.

From there, the conversation would die until Fitz or Edmund spoke up next.

I didn't know how to tell Scorpius that it was because of the guilt I carried over Lula's circumstances. I couldn't stop thinking that if I'd been a better witch—if I hadn't suggested the detour through Paris—Lula would still be at school. I didn’t want to change his perception of me.

He’d called me kind. Like his mother. How would that change when he realised I believed I'd caused my sister's deepest wound?

I almost told him plenty of times. Once when we were watering the flowers in the gardens. Another time at breakfast when he ordered extra strawberries for me. I was seconds away from telling him during a walk that Fitz and Edmund tagged along for.

But then I imagined his face changing when I told him. I imagined him no longer seeing me as kind. And the words never found the proper space to form.

I couldn’t dwell on it too long.

Because the final round of the Alchemy Competition was here. And I had moved to second place, thankfully. Even though my Patronus charm was a bit clumsy, she still shone pretty bright. Professor Telemas listed ‘vibrancy of colour’ as one of the winning characteristics.

Madame Maxime stood at the front of the dueling hall with a bright grin. She was wearing a patchwork dress of around one hundred different colours.

“The final round has arrived, my dearest students.”

Polite applause rippled through the hall, and I gently patted my fingers against my palm.

Scorpius kept looking at me whenever he thought I wasn't watching.

“We’ll be doing a verbal duel, no wands. We’ll put first place against second place, then from there filter down to determine proper placings.” Madame Maxime explained.

Scorpius's head snapped toward me, his mouth falling slightly open.

My palms started to sweat.

I didn’t duel.

I don’t duel.

I’m a pacifist.

Turning my head, I locked onto the sight of Rori Levant. The current first place holder was also a passionate dueler. She was brilliant at offensive and defensive magic. Meanwhile, I hardly spent a second thought on offensive spells besides the most common ones.

But I didn't want to fight Rori at all. It went against everything I believed in. Violence didn't fit the person I wanted to be.

Edmund’s face had turned to steel.

"Moreau, you shouldn't have to duel," Edmund said. "You've been adamant about avoiding fighting for as long as I've known you.”

Fitz agreed, “Just ask to opt out, this isn’t worth it.”

Scorpius's knuckles had gone white. His fingers were curled so tightly into his palms I was certain they'd leave crescent marks.

“First place, Mademoiselle Levant, will face second place, Mademoiselle Moreau.” Madame Maxime gestured to the platform.

Scorpius leaned forward, almost off the bench.

“She—”

He stopped himself from continuing.

But then he clenched his fists again, “Moreau—don’t—”

I gave him a simple tight smile.

Scorpius eased back down to the bench. Edmund gave him a pat on the back, trying to console him.

The long baby blue carpet had small stains here and there. Dried blood was hard to get out using magic only. It made my stomach tighten. Knowing that kids had gotten hurt here, and seeing plain evidence of such as well.

I stepped onto the platform, Rori followed.

“I hate to do this, Moreau, really I do.” Rori apologised, handing her wand to Madame Maxime. I gave mine over as well, “I know that you don’t fight.”

I shrugged, “It’s okay, Levant. It’s not like we can do anything.”

Standing across from Rori on the platform felt a bit like being pitted against myself. Rori was especially proud, bold, and courageous. I wanted to give her a good match, but I wasn’t going to hurt her. And if I wasn’t going to cast offensive spells, then my defense had to be something brilliant. It was me, versus what I wanted my morals to be.

Edmund shook his head, “Madame, will you not allow a withdrawal?”

A wave of hope washed over me.

Standing on a dueling platform again felt strange. I hadn’t dueled since first year. First year, and then the dementor incident with Lula. Before I had cast my Patronus, I threw a few offensive spells. But it was unsuccessful. After the Patronus, Lula flinched when I tried to comfort her. She had seen me try to inflict harm. It crushed me.

Only then did I notice the seventh years watching from the tiered benches. Everyone seemed invested for different reasons. Some who knew me weren’t pleased, shaking their heads incredulously at the third round. Others were painted with smirks and nodding approvingly.

A duel without wands always drew intrigue. Every spell had to be formed through concentration alone. Even simple magic became difficult without a wand—dueling was another matter entirely.

Madame Maxime considered Edmund’s words briefly, “If Mademoiselle Moreau wishes to withdraw—it’s an elimination from the Alchemy Competition. I’m not forcing her to duel, but there are serious consequences if she decides not go forward with this.”

Scorpius scrubbed both hands over his face, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Sweat had already accumulated at his hairline. His foot wouldn’t stop bouncing. Fitz tried to lean over and put a hand on his knee, but Scorpius’s body was still twitchy.

I stuttered, bunching my skirt fabric in my hands, “It’s fine. I’ll duel.”

But I was going to do it on my own terms.

In a way that couldn’t possibly hurt Rori.

“Very well, please curtsy girls.” Madame Maxime stated, stepping back from the platform to observe the duel better.

Rori bowed her head, one leg crossing behind her.

I copied the gesture.

Rori threw the first spell, her arms folded, and chin upturned.

“Stupefy.”

Short and sweet.

“Protego,” I said.

The yellow shield, like a ray of sunlight, curved over me. It shot Rori’s hex straight into the ceiling.

Rori grinned, amused.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

“Protego.”

Fitz’s eyes went wide.

Edmund shook his head, “She’s really going to play it like this?”

“Hell yeah she is.” Fitz laughed, shaking Edmund’s shoulder. Edmund swatted at Fitz, fixing his jacket.

The frantic bouncing of Scorpius's foot finally stopped.

The other students in the stands got quieter, looking amongst themselves with an air of unsurety.

“Expulso,” she snapped.

“Protego.”

Another successful deflection, and I was able to sigh.

Rori's eyes narrowed at me. Sweat beaded along her forehead. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as though reaching for the wand she'd already surrendered.

“Rictusempra.”

I almost yawned, “Protego.”

Rori screamed, “Would you quit it with the damn Protegos, Moreau! Fight me like a real woman!”

I shrugged, “Sorry?”

“Confringo.”

“Protego.”

Rori’s eyebrow twitched.

Then, she stopped. Rori let out a long breath. And she reached out her hand.

I gave her palm a hesitant look.

“I’m not going to hex you. Shake my hand. Clever bastard.”

I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Scorpius shot to his feet.

“It’s a tie!”

Edmund tries to tug Scorpius down by the elbow.

Fitz climbs onto the bench, “A tie! Lords and Ladies of the land, we have a tie. Lovely Moreau and Beautiful Levant have tied.”

Madame Maxime's smile grew. She claps her hands lightly.

The entire room seemed uncertain whether to applaud or ask for another round. A few kids awkwardly laugh and clap. A batch near the back pump their fists. Rori’s girlfriend looks about ready to murder Fitz.

"A tie, then. Well done. I daresay none of us expected a duel to end with one witch exhausting herself while the other barely broke a sweat," Madame Maxime invites Rori and I down from the platform.

I settled back down in between Scorpius and Fitz.

Rori’s girlfriend hisses at Fitz when Rori goes to sit in her lap.

“Oi, watch the teeth there,” Fitz sighed, “No need to bite.”

Madame Maxime stood again, “While that round may have been unconventional, we do need to continue. Up next, third place, Monsieur Malfoy..."

I settled back against the bench, still turning Rori's handshake over in my mind.

The rest of the competition blurred together after that.

Scorpius won decisively.

I barely registered how. My mind was still replaying Rori calling me a clever bastard.

All I remember was that when Scorpius returned, he hooked one arm along the back of the bench behind me, turning himself into a sort of backrest. I leaned against his side for the rest of the duels. And even though damp strands of his hair kept brushing my shoulder where he rested his head, I let him have the moment.

And maybe stole some of the moment for myself as well.

***

School after the Alchemy Competition picked up quickly. Classes were somehow easier, the professors assigned less homework, and the gnomes near the Quidditch pitch stopped nicking the seventh years' shoes. They'd apparently decided the sixth years were easier prey.

Graduation week was supposed to be the easiest of all.

Instead, it was the strangest week of my life.

On Monday, Scorpius gave me the Hogwarts crest he'd carefully unpicked from his old robes.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked him, holding the crest into the sun so I could see through it.

“Keep it,” he explained.

“Alright then,” I tucked it into my notebook, “Do I need to collect one from a Beauxbatons and Drumstrang student now too?”

I considered it as the beginning of a new quest. I briefly wondered whether I ought to collect one from every magical school. It sounded like the sort of challenge Fitz would encourage.

Scorpius shook his head hastily, “No. Just, keep mine.”

On Tuesday, Scorpius pointed to the buttons on his jacket and asked me which one I wanted.

“This one is probably the cleanest,” he said, pointing at the one closest to his neck. He moved down one, “This one has the clearest letter B engraved on it.”

I scanned the buttons lining his chest.

My eyes flicked to the similar buttons at his waist.

I tapped the top button near his left hip.

“This one?”

He nodded, “That one.”

He reached for a pocketknife he'd apparently brought for exactly this purpose.

On Wednesday, after our final official classes, Scorpius spun his special quill around his fingers one, then held it out to me.

“That’s your special quill, Scorpius.” I leaned from side to side, trying to inspect it around his fingers.

“You write more than I do anyway,” Scorpius supplied.

The gold nib practically demanded to be admired.

“...It’s made of gold.”

Scorpius reached his hand out further.

“I have other ones at home.”

I laughed, finally taking the quill, “Humble bragging?”

“Letting you know,” he paused, “I can provide.”

“Okay,” I dipped the quill into sienna coloured ink and wrote our names down on my notebook. “It’s a good quill.”

His eyes were fixed on the paper, like I’d made a spelling error. I knew I hadn’t.

“Yeah. Good quill.”

On Thursday, he gave me a bookmark.

“You took a flower out of my garden!” I exclaimed, turning the pressed carnation over in my hand gently.

“It was one of the lopsided ones,” he responded, pressing his face into my shoulder. His next words were spoken through the fabric, “I replaced it after I took it to press, don’t worry. Your garden is still the most beautiful part of Beauxbatons.”

“I never said it was the most beautiful.”

“Well, it is.”

I wasn’t sure what to say in response. I went back to admiring the pressed carnation. He’d sealed it in special clear paper. Tiny preservation runes had been inked into each corner, keeping the carnation from browning or wilting.

Fitz spat out his single malt whiskey, stolen from the poor Abraxans, onto the floor of the giant common room. Edmund groaned, “You better clean that.”

I scratched the back of Scorpius’s neck.

“Thanks.”

He pressed his face harder into my shoulder.

Edmund pushed his glasses up into his hair, “Exactly as the Arabian horse Patronuses predicted.”

Fitz mimicked Edmund's deadpan expression, “Yes, truly.”

On Friday, I had made up my mind that I was going to decline the gift.

I’d made one of my own instead.

Scorpius and I sat on the edge of the fountain.

The evening sky was smeared purple and pink. Lightning bugs, typically uncommon in May, were landing and jumping between bushes around the pavement. One landed on my nose and I had to wiggle my face to get it off.

“Here,” I said, handing the small box to him.

Scorpius almost dropped it, "Hey, wait, I'm supposed to—"

“I can’t take anything more from you. I have to return the favour,” I moved so I was kneeling on the edge of the fountain, my knees pressed against Scorpius’s thigh. He turned his head to me, then opened the box.

He picked up the woven silver band. It had a small snake charm dangling from it.

Scorpius didn’t speak.

I leaned back on my heels, “If you don’t like it, I can get something else—”

Scorpius cut in.

“I love it,” he tried to unclasp it but fumbled with the small hooks.

I took the bracelet from him, “Let me.”

I unhooked it, and wrapped it around his wrist.

Taking a hold of his wrist, I lifted it to his face for him to admire. The awkward lean I had to do to show him the bracelet was less than polite society would’ve appreciated.

“You really like what you see?” I asked, inclining my head to his.

The only thing between our faces was his wrist.

Scorpius nodded.

I smiled, returning to sitting down properly. I swung my feet gently.

He set a box in my lap.

It was heavy.

I uncovered the lid, and almost dropped the box.

“This is—”

“A porcelain trinket box,” Scorpius continued for me, “Except, don’t open it until after graduation. That’s the stipulation on this one.”

I lifted it to my eyes. White porcelain with gold details, and a small lily of the valley clasp in the front to keep the box closed.

I considered asking Scorpius if he knew what the trinket box meant in French tradition. I reasoned he probably didn’t know what it meant, and brushed it aside.

Saturday was graduation.

It meant saying goodbye.

Fitz and Edmund spent the entire day behaving as though someone had died.

At the ceremony, my hat was unbearably itchy. I envied the boys who didn’t need to wear them. The caplet kept lifting in the breeze, forcing me to smooth it back down every few seconds. At least the flowers in the back gardens were delightful to look at.

The flowerbeds looked as though they'd never needed me at all, which I took as a job well done.

I could tell anyone who passed which weekend of the year I’d planted which plot. I could point to which flowers Scorpius cut his finger on. I would miss my special assignment, but it wasn’t in vain. Madame Maxime had connected me with a specialist gardener in London who wanted an apprentice to study magical flowers.

I’d be on the first Floo line to London at the end of the day.

I kept the trinket box in my pocket, even though it was bulky. I wanted to open it as soon as Madame Maxime raised her wand to all the graduates.

Rori Levant gave a speech, the winner of the Alchemy Competition. (I was a close runner-up.)

Our School Representatives, Edmund and Fitz both gave good speeches.

When Madame Maxime gave her closing remarks, everyone scrambled to find their friends. The alphabetical seating arrangement meant I didn’t have to move much, Scorpius was already right beside me.

I wished Lula could’ve been in the stands, cheering me on. But, I could settle for the fact that she’d written me a letter. Last week, she sent a card saying how proud she was. Mum wrote a letter too, saying that Lula’s mental health was on the mend. Less night terrors and more laughs, Dad said.

I glanced at Scorpius, but he was already looking at me.

He chuckled, “Go ahead. Open it.”

I scooted my chair closer to his.

Inside was something I hadn't expected.

Nothing at all.

I blinked at the empty velvet lining of the box.

“Scorpius?”

I lifted the box upside down. Still nothing.

“I think a Niffler stole your gift,” I bit my bottom lip, “I’m sorry. I know you probably prepared something special. I appreciate your thoughtfulness regardless.”

Scorpius cleared his throat, “I didn’t put anything in the box, Moreau.”

I closed the trinket box, holding it in my lap.

“You’re telling me it was intentional?”

“Yes.”

I ran my thumb over the small lily of the valley at the opening.

“Why?”

“Because I want to give you other stuff later.”

I stared into the empty trinket box again.

“Scorpius, do you know what a porcelain trinket box means?”

He looked to my lap, eyes fixed on the box.

He stuttered, “Nope. No idea at all. I’d given it absolutely zero thought.”

I laughed, “So you do know then?”

He shrugged, putting an arm over my shoulder.

“It doesn't necessarily have to mean an engagement, dad said. It can just be boyfriend-girlfriend to start.” His hand reached under the caplet and lazily brushed the skin at my shoulder, “You need to give me some time to think of other things to fill the trinket box.”

“Like?”

“I said I’m out of ideas right now.” Scorpius teased with a blinding smile.

I rolled my eyes.

“Come to London. My house has tons of rooms. You can explore before coming back to France.”

I considered how I would say my next part.

“I’m going to live in London,” I explained.

He squished my arm with his hand, “I’d like that very much.”

I turned more towards Scorpius, “No, I’m going to work in London.”

Scorpius nodded, “If you want to work, you can. I won’t stop you. But, you can be a stay-at-home girlfriend if you’d like.”

I laughed, “I’m an Herbologist’s apprentice in London, Scorpius. I was planning to go there anyway.”

His grin faded.

“Oh…”

Then it came back twice as blinding.

"Well... that's convenient for us."

I hadn't known at first that I would end up returning to London with Scorpius. I’d always considered France home. Familiarity bloomed in Paris and Providence. But, now I thought, maybe home could be wherever I had my favourite helper with me. Scorpius had become a quick study for planting.

Fitz put his hands on Scorpius’s shoulders, "Living together for the convenience of being able to make out with my almost-sister at the drop of a wand is dastardly, Scorp. I love it.”

Edmund’s eyes twitched.

Scorpius gaped, trying to come up with a response.

I tucked myself further into Scorpius’s side.

Fitz barked a laugh, “I’m playing around. The real thing about convenience that you two need to know is that we live in a time where convenience is worshipped, and consequence is ignored.”

Edmund’s jaw dropped.

“Did you—just say something half-intelligent for the first time in your life, Fitz?”

Fitz shook his head, “I stole it from that book you like, the one about sensible courtship.”

Edmund smacked the back of Fitz’s head, “It is not about that.”

Fitz stretched out his smile, “Yeah, it’s about premarital hand-holding.”

“Merde, Fitz. I’m going to sacrifice your life to the patron saint of idiocy.”

Fitz dashed away, trying to escape Edmund’s fury.

Scorpius brushed his fingertips over my arm.

“Moreau.”

I hummed, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“I would like to actually kiss you sometime.”

I put a hand on his thigh, “Just a kiss?”

I could hear his heart rate speed up.

Scorpius tossed his head back.

"I'm never letting you go." His smile turned almost shy. "I swear it on Nicolas Flamel's grave."

"A rather serious oath,” I jested.

Scorpius rose just as his father crossed over from the parents' section. Draco Malfoy’s eyes lingered briefly on the porcelain trinket box in my lap before settling on Scorpius, who looked happier than I'd ever seen him.

"I believe we've met before, Miss Moreau."

I stood, setting the trinket box carefully on the white lawn chair.

“Yes, sir.”

I gathered my skirt and dipped into a small curtsy.

Draco inclined his head in return.

Scorpius cleared his throat.

“Don’t kiss her hand this time, dad.”

Draco's gaze drifted from Scorpius to me, then briefly to the porcelain trinket box resting on the chair.

"Noted." He tapped Scorpius's shoe lightly with the tip of his cane. "I rather suspect she'd prefer someone else do that now."

Scorpius turned to me, “Excuse him, he’s a right Brit—much too forward. Not French like us.”

I laughed, and Scorpius beamed.

“You’re not French, Scorpius. You're still a London boy, through and through.”