Fic: Life's Disappointments (Scorpius), PG-13, Part 1 of 2
Recipient: nopejr
Title: Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any swear words
Characters: Charlie and Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mostly gen with a wee bit of angst (a little heartbreak before joy always makes it that much sweeter), and a whiff of pre-slash
Summary:A child’s imagination can be a wonderful thing, but it is often forgotten in favour of growing up.
Word Count: ~11,500
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s notes: nopejr I hope you enjoy this fic as I wrote it just for you. I admit to trolling your site and seeing you were a Calvin and Hobbes fan. It inspired me to write about my favourite subject: childhood fantasy. All quotes come directly from Calvin and Hobbes, written by Bill Watterson. For all of you unfamiliar with Calvin and Hobbes, do not despair, this fic is only inspired by, and not a direct connection to, the original work. Thank you to all those that helped me: w, t, t, b and n. I have the best friends in the world.
The Letter
Things are never quite as scary when you've got a best friend.
Perched on the end of a high-backed chair, a young man, quill pressed firmly to parchment, sat furiously writing. His posture was prim, his silver-white hair tied back with a tasteful black ribbon. Every so often he would pause, run an ink-stained finger over his lips, and then begin again, his hand a frenzied blur of movement.
A small animal, made of cloth and stuffing, hung lifelessly from the edge of the desk, its black button eyes faced away from the proceedings. It looked largely out of place among the dark wood antiques and expensively fine object d'arts that furnished the chamber. It was well worn, with a few strands of string falling from its red wings and a small tear near the right claw. While much-loved it must have been, it was an absurd oddity that did not belong.
Once done, the young man lifted the parchment to peruse his work before pushing it back onto the desk and madly crossing out sentences and cursing his spelling mistakes. Only when finished with that task did he look to the cloth interloper beside him. His previously pinched face, lost in concentration, loosened, the corners of his mouth upturning slightly. He sighed, pulled at the loose string, and turned the animal towards him so its eyes were facing what he was writing.
The young man picked up his quill and a fresh piece of parchment and began again, this time with more determination.
The cockatrice is a surprisingly simple animal. He enjoys turkey sandwiches on a warm summer day and a good cluck accompanied by a dandy wagging of his snake-like tail. He walks proudly amongst other animals, pulling back his plumed head and thrusting out his chest, his red and gold feathers shining underneath the sun, his green scaled tail flicking towards all who may threaten him. His crowing song rings out in the morning, clamouring along hills. He lifts his neck to the wind and commands all he sees.
On very rare occasions, once in a blue moon, a cockatrice can become something more than just a fierce animal, the call of the outside world becoming too great. And in this story, one such cockatrice, who had commanded the Forbidden Forest for approximately fifty years, had caught sight of something new with fur different than his own illuminated feathers, and with nary a glance back to his isolated trees and glens, he chased after this novelty, donning a new form, determined to learn all he could.
The Catch
"In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks."
Scorpius did not like school. Granted, he didn’t like being stuck at home with nothing to do but chase house-elves and dig around for worms in the garden, but school was even worse. There was homework, and tests, and cruel professors that refused to understand that it was more important to build a fort with pillows and sheets rather than write ten feet of parchment on the many uses of Gillyweed.
But worst of all, worse than the horrid clumps of unidentifiable foodstuffs that came out of the Hogwarts kitchens, worse than the abominable strawberry perfumes wafting from the girls' bathroom, worse than the dangerous broom-riding forced upon all with nary a care for the safety and well-being of the students, were the complete jerks that shared his dorm. They laughed at him when he wanted to go outside and play pirates, they told him to shut it when he would complain about the pug-nosed Rose Weasley, and they stole his pants, often, and hung them in the middle of the Gryffindor common room for all to see.
He had written to his mother, but she had only spouted nonsense about snitching to a professor. His father had had a better idea: to get even.
So, in order to conduct his evil scheme, Scorpius was currently out in the middle of the Forbidden Forest gathering all the most disgusting, repugnant, revolting, and nauseating objects he could, stuffing them all in his bag, and gleefully imagining his house-mates' responses to said objects being carefully placed underneath their cotton red sheets.
Unfortunately for Scorpius, his plan held but one flaw. While he had been sure of his direction when he entered the Forest, it was getting dark, and Scorpius was now horribly lost. He attempted to retrace his steps, but the trees were a sea of homogeneous greenery. There was a howl that sounded much too close and a rustling of branches beside him.
Scorpius jumped, his small frame twisting and turning in search of the sound, holding tight to his wand. His hands shook, because while his wand (ten inches, birch wood) was a powerful instrument in the hands of great wizards, he had only been a Hogwarts student for a week and was barely able to perform an adequate Levitation charm, let alone anything more powerful.
But, if it proved necessary, he could kick, and bite. He scrunched up his face in a most intimidating way and put up his fists, unwilling to show fear in front of an enemy.
There was another howl and then a screeching noise that sounded far too close for comfort. Birds scattered from the tops of the trees, a clear sign of danger, and the air became so heavy it was hard to breathe. Scorpius began to scramble, his preservation instincts kicking in, running fast away from the sound as quickly as he could. But, in his haste, he tripped over his too-long robe and fell face first into the mud.
As he fell, Scorpius's satchel overturned and all the wonderfully awful things he had collected throughout the day were scattered on the forest floor. He began to hurriedly repack the items, counting them out to make sure he had enough objects to put in everyone’s beds. There was a bit of Stinksap on a stick for Stephen, a dead bug with at least thirty legs for Charles, a smelly flower that Scorpius didn’t recognize for Franklin. But where was the slimy rock for Gordon, the worst offender and leader of the pants pranks?
There was another screech, its resonating sound louder than before, causing Scorpius to panic. He fumbled around the muddy forest floor, his robes turning from black to brown, his hands caking with dirt, until he came across something that felt familiar. He pulled it out of the mud and lifted it in triumph only to see that it was the wrapped sandwich he had taken in case he got hungry on his journey: turkey and cheese with a heavy helping of mayonnaise wrapped prettily in a brown paper package.
There was stomping, and more screeching, and suddenly Scorpius had an idea.
Scorpius rapidly un-wrapped the sandwich, careful not to touch the white bread with his muddy hands, and placed the sandwich on the ground, packaging first. He also placed the dead bug beside the sandwich in case the animal preferred insects, unappetizing as it seemed. He spied a hollow log a few metres away and dashed for it, testing the size and weight of it before dashing back and carefully placing it above the sandwich. He yanked off his green and silver scarf and wrapped it around one end of the log. He then pulled the end of the log up, creating a make-shift animal trap. He hid behind the trap, his eyes keeping watch through the holes in the log, as he clutched tightly to the scarf and waited, with bated breath, for his foe.
The Forbidden Forest was silent. Scorpius wondered if perhaps he had imagined the sounds and in fact an animal wasn’t following him. He felt silly, and a bit relieved, until there was another rustle and then, just as suddenly as the sounds had rung against the silent forest, a giant bird emerged from between the bushes, its red head and sharp claws standing out proudly among the trees.
Scorpius froze. The giant claws moved closer towards him, the yellowed skin atop the thin bones, wrinkly and leathery. The claws were long, and sharp, sharp enough to split a man’s stomach.
The bird hadn’t seen Scorpius, he was sure of it. It turned its red head to and fro before coming closer to him, not the movement of an animal that knew the location of its prey.
The more he observed the animal, the more he grew certain of its name. He knew that animal. He had read all about it in his favourite book, Hetherington's Encyclopaedia of Rare and Fantasmagorical Fauna, currently safely tucked away underneath his pillow. It was a cockatrice, a rare and dangerous beast the likes of which had not been seen in Britain for over fifty years.
The book had warned of the dangers of the cockatrice. It had gored several spectators during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792 and was known to steal lambs from unsuspecting farmers and eat them whole. They were also quick, despite their size, but easily confused when faced with multiple stimuli. It was better to fight them with wits than with brawn. Man greedily had hunted them for their magical feathers and now none remained in Europe and only a few menageries in Asia boasted specimens.
Scorpius clung onto his scarf like a life line as the animal approached his sandwich. The cockatrice was huge, bigger than Scorpius, and heavier from the looks of it. His only hope of escaping alive was his trap, and Scorpius was starting to doubt his makeshift log on a scarf was enough to capture such a wild beast.
The cockatrice cocked its head, its beady black eyes staring at the offered food, before bending its long, golden neck down towards the food. It pecked around it, pointedly avoiding the dead insect, before swiping a huge amount of the turkey and cheese and swallowing it down loudly.
As the cockatrice made a second pass at the sandwich, Scorpius struck. He swiftly let go of his scarf, allowing the log to land forcibly on top of the bird, and then threw himself onto the log to hold it down. The bird struggled underneath the weight, thrashing about fiercely. But Scorpius held on tight, and fought with all his might, until the beast calmed and stilled.
Still lying atop the log, Scorpius had a sudden thought. What did he do now? There was a dangerous and angry creature underneath him and if he were to release the log there would be nothing to prevent the animal from taking its vengeance.
"You’re quite heavy for a little boy."
"I’m not heavy! And I’m not little. I’ll be twelve in four months."
Scorpius paused.
"Did you just talk to me, Cockatrice?"
The log shuffled underneath him as if the animal within were laughing.
"My name is not Cockatrice. That is what I am, but not my name. My given name is Berkeley."
Berkeley. Scorpius giggled. It sounded quite posh for a giant bird.
"Are you going to eat me, Berkeley?"
"You left for me quite a tasty sandwich, so I’m no longer hungry."
Scorpius silently cheered at his ingenious sandwich trap. "So, if I lift up the log, you won’t attack me?"
"You have my word."
It took a few minutes for Scorpius to gain enough courage to put his faith into a wild animal, but he had little choice, so, with great trepidation, he slowly moved off the log and onto the forest floor, keeping his wand out in front of him, just in case.
The cockatrice, no, Berkeley, pushed the log off him with ease and stood at full height, staring down at Scorpius with a mean black eye.
Scorpius gulped. He held out his wand before him and stood as straight as he could. "I, Scorpius Malfoy, Gryffindor of Hogwarts, heir to the Malfoy estate, have captured you, Berkeley, cockatrice of the Forbidden Forest, and demand that you become my slave for all eternity."
The bird blinked and then began to preen its feathers.
"What say you?" Scorpius yelled, attempting to sound intimidating.
"Will there be sandwiches?"
Scorpius mentally took note that he would have to request the house-elves procure two sandwiches for him instead of one. "Yes."
Berkeley stomped his claw and lifted his head in a trill. "Lead on then, Master."
Scorpius cheered, smiling harder than he had smiled in ages.
He grabbed his muddy satchel, untied his scarf from the log and threw it around his neck, proceeding to march back towards the castle, his earlier plans of mischief long forgotten.
"The Hogwarts grounds are to your right, not thirty paces."
Swearing underneath his breath, Scorpius turned and continued his march to the right. "I knew that," he petulantly replied.
The pair continued silently, Scorpius racing to reach the castle, excited to showcase his fantastic catch and prove to the rest of the students that he was someone to envy.
The Pact
It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept.
The Hogwarts doors loomed over Scorpius, the heavy wood growing darker as the sun began to set and the torches began to light. Scorpius stared at the handle, running through the best ways to make an entrance before nervously combing a hand through his hair and brushing off, as well as he could, the mud from his robe.
"Are we not entering?"
Scorpius waved off the bird, taking a deep breath, and opened the doors wide.
The hallway was empty; his earlier grooming had been for naught.
"I suppose everyone’s at dinner."
"Shall we join them?"
Scorpius pondered the idea of showcasing Berkeley in the Great Hall. While it would prove to all of Hogwarts that Scorpius was a fierce person, a tamer of wild beasts, Berkeley was a dangerous creature and therefore might scare some of the more delicate students, in particular the girls.
"No, we'd better head back to the dorms. I can call one of the house-elves to bring us hot chocolate. Do cockatrices drink hot chocolate?"
The bird nipped Scorpius on the shoulder. "Only if it contains no fewer than three marshmallows."
Scorpius smiled, that was just how he liked his hot chocolate too.
"Scorpius, where have you been? The professors have been looking all over for you! And why are you covered in mud?"
Rolling his eyes, Scorpius ignored the harpy shrieking of his mortal enemy, Rose Weasley. The girl had appointed herself mum to all the other Gryffindor first years within the first week, creating study schedules and demanding they all follow them to the letter. Scorpius, unwilling to play by anyone else’s rules, became an instant target of her nagging lectures.
But no matter their bitter feud, Scorpius was not going allow an innocent to become hurt.
"Stand back! You must not startle the cockatrice! They can be vicious if they feel threatened."
Rose’s face pinched as if she were sucking on a lemon.
Luckily, Professor Weasley, current Professor of Magical Creatures, Groundskeeper, Head of House for Gryffindor, and former dragon tamer, rounded the corner and stood between Rose and Berkeley, no doubt protecting the lady from being ripped asunder.
"Scorpius! We’ve been looking for you for hours! First years are not allowed off school grounds, and I hope you weren't roaming the Forbidden Forest! You could have been hurt."
Scorpius had admired Professor Weasley since he stepped off the Hogwarts boats, his smaller hand engulfed by the professor’s larger one as it helpfully led him out of the water. Scorpius had never seen anyone as fit, or as jovial, as Professor Weasley. He was muscular, and friendly, and freckled. In addition, he liked magical creatures as much as Scorpius did.
Being reprimanded by his favourite professor made Scorpius blush uncomfortably, his stomach churning at the thought of disappointing the object of his admiration.
"Uncle Charlie, are you going to give Scorpius a detention?"
Scorpius added another reason to hate Rose Weasley to the list.
Professor Weasley placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder. Scorpius bristled at the action, questioning how such an affable person could be related to that.
"Professor, I’m sorry I was out late, but look, I captured a dangerous and magical beast! With a make-shift trap, I found, for Hogwarts, one of the last remaining cockatrices!"
Scorpius turned and clutched at Berkeley’s neck, proudly awaiting the awed praise he no undoubtedly was to receive once Professor Weasley realized what was before him.
"What, that stuffed animal?"
Completely stunned, Scorpius stood agape at Rose’s response. What nonsense was this girl on about?
"Beg your pardon, Rose? I’d advise you to take a closer look at what you are calling a stuffed animal, but I’m afraid you might get slashed."
She then began to laugh, hard, until tears were streaming from her face.
"He...Uncle Charlie, he really believes... oh my...wait until I tell James!"
Professor Weasley raised a finger towards Scorpius before harshly pulling Rose away and shooing her towards the dungeons, her laughter echoing down the hall as she retreated back to the dorms. He then turned and smiled brightly for Scorpius, but the smile looked fake and placating. Scorpius was growing quite annoyed.
"I cannot believe you are related to such a rude person. She’s got her head stuck so far up a book she wouldn’t know a real life beast if it bit her on the nose. Not like us, right Professor Weasley? We like to get dirty and fight wild animals one on one."
Professor Weasley’s large hands came and rested upon Scorpius's shoulders. They were warm and heavy. They felt like the hands of a man who had worked the earth and knew a thing or two about great battles. Scorpius hoped his hands would grow to be just like that some day.
"Scorpius, while I appreciate your enthusiasm for magical creatures, this is taking it a bit too far, don’t you think?"
"Too far? But this is a one of a kind creature! We can study it together, just the two of us. Berkeley will stay with me, of course, but we’ll come visit once in while and he can tell you all about the life of a cockatrice. I’ll write a book, just for you, of all the wonderful things he does!"
Charlie patted Scorpius's head. He bit his lip and turned his head, peering around the hallways. There was no one there. Scorpius was unsure what was going on.
"Look, I’m not sure what you found in the Forbidden Forest, but I’m afraid it’s not a cockatrice."
Scorpius was stunned. How could Professor Weasley fail to recognize one of the rarest birds in the world?
"But if you believe it is, and from the looks of it you do, then promise me this. Never tell anyone about it. Hide it in your room where no one can see it. If you want to talk to me about it or show me your book, you can, but tell none of your classmates."
It was a strange request, but one Scorpius could follow even if he didn’t understand it.
"I’ll try to stop my niece from spreading gossip about the bird throughout the school, but I’m not sure I’ll have much luck. No matter what, just deny what happened, I think that’ll work. Say you hit your head, or you were confused. But no matter what, you must keep the cockatrice a secret. Do you promise?"
Professor Weasley held out his hand to shake. Pride blossomed in Scorpius's heart. Professor Weasley was going to entrust the cockatrice to him, and they, like true equals, were going to shake in a manly vow. Scorpius enthusiastically grasped Professor Weasley’s hand and shook it firmly before running towards the dungeons, the cockatrice fast on his heels, his mind whirling with ideas on how exactly to hide a six-foot bird. Thankfully, when Scorpius placed the bird’s head underneath the sleeve of his robe, mysteriously none of the other students were able to see him. Perhaps it was the cockatrice's magic, but he had years to study the animal, with Professor Weasley. Tonight, it was all about subterfuge. No one would discover the existence of the cockatrice. He had made a promise.
The Study
It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy...Let's go exploring!
Scorpius had stayed true to his promise. Amidst the furtive whispers of his classmates, Scorpius denied the existence of the cockatrice. It had been a hoax, he claimed, a prank played on poor Rose Weasley, and didn’t she fall for his stupendous acting? Scorpius wasn’t sure if his fellow students believed his excuses, but it mattered little. One wink from Professor Weasley made it all worth it.
At night though, when no one else was around, Scorpius would sneak out of the Gryffindor dormitory and tip toe down to the sixth floor. In fear of his fellow students discovering his secret, Scorpius had stashed Berkeley in an abandoned classroom, which he had instructed the house-elves to keep stocked full of sandwiches and hot cocoa, and would spend his evenings as a true adventurer, discovering all there was to know about the elusive cockatrice.
"Do you prefer pirates or ninjas?"
Berkeley pondered the question for a few moments, taking his time savouring the sweet aroma of the hot chocolate, his sharp beak stabbing at the marshmallows.
"While pirates have more notable individual stories, they were thieves at best. Ninjas, on the other hand, were deadly assassins with more interesting weapons."
Scorpius took a large bite into his turkey and cheese sandwich, relishing the taste of the meat with globs of mayonnaise. "I see your point. But pirates are more fun to play. I’ve even learned how to Transfigure this paper into an eye patch."
Scorpius whipped out his wand, made a flurry of motion against his sandwich wrapper, and suddenly the paper turned into a single eye patch. It was brown, with an interesting waxy feel, but an eye patch no less.
"Good show, Scorpius. Well done."
Scorpius beamed under the praise.
Some of the other students began to notice Scorpius leaving at all hours of the night and began to make up stories about his whereabouts. He was wooing the Fat Lady, torturing house-elves, turning into a snake and slithering around empty bathroom stalls. But Scorpius held firm to his secrecy, recording all he was learning about the cockatrice in a leather-bound notebook for Professor Weasley and for the greater scientific community.
"I don’t understand why they call the class 'Charms'. It’s not very charming when the professor teaches the class to turn all my socks into various shades of pink. I’m not doing my homework out of protest."
"I didn’t realize Charms had such a cruel curriculum."
Scorpius twirled his well worn quill around his fingers, an action he had been repeating rather than writing for the past half an hour.
"It’s not as bad as Herbology. Half the plants will eat you alive if you look at them sideways. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the professors were all out to kill me. I rather think that means I shouldn’t do any of their homework in case it’s all a ruse to catch me unawares while my brain is fried."
Berkeley nodded as Scorpius threw his empty parchment back into his school bag.
On a particularly cold winter night, while the rest of the Hogwarts students were sleeping warm in their beds, Scorpius bundled himself up, along with Berkeley, wrapping him an extra scarf left behind in the common room, and went outside. It had snowed heavily throughout the week, but that night a fresh layer of soft powder had fallen over every inch of the grounds, its pristine landscape begging to be stomped on by Scorpius and Berkeley. Scorpius had swiped a tray from the kitchens and turned it into a make-shift sled, complete with a piece of rope attached to steer. He and Berkeley ran to the top of the highest hill, taking a moment to watch their breath smoke out into the night sky. Scorpius jumped onto the tray, while Berkeley solemnly squatted down behind him, and then they were off, flying down the hill at breakneck speed.
The ropes failed completely, leaving Scorpius and Berkeley careening down the hill without any way to control the direction. Scorpius screamed, Berkeley laughed, as they zoomed faster and faster down the hill.
They landed in a heap at the bottom of the hill, Scorpius rolling a few times before landing in a lump, covered in snow. Berkeley somehow managed to avoid rolling and had landed on his feet, shaking out the few bits of snow that had landed on his feathers.
"What in the world are you doing, Scorpius? You should be in bed!"
Scorpius sat up from the snow hearing Professor Weasley’s voice. He was standing outside his cabin, a lantern in his hand lifted high in Scorpius’s direction.
Scorpius smiled and waved, happy to receive a wave in response.
"Wave to Professor Weasley, Berkeley. He’s my favourite professor even though I don't take his class yet."
The bird lifted his left wing, but not far. Scorpius took a mental note that cockatrices weren’t the best wavers.
"Go to bed, Scorpius."
Scorpius saluted. "Race you to Hogwarts, Berkeley!"
"I’m rather tired, so I think not."
Suddenly the late hour of the night hit Scorpius too in a wave of sleepiness.
"Me too, Berkeley," he sighed before grabbing the tray and Berkeley’s wing and marching back to Hogwarts.
"Do you have any friends?" Berkeley asked one evening while the two of them built a rocket ship out of old desks and broken picture frames.
"Who needs friends when I have you?" Scorpius replied, battling a nasty strand of cobweb.
Berkeley only stared before sitting on the floor and allowing Scorpius to do all the work.
This routine continued throughout the year. Scorpius’s professors, and Rose Weasley, continued to nag him endlessly about his homework, his reports, his lack of flying skills, his dismal effort in Potions, his atrocious knowledge of the night sky in Astronomy, and his inability to correctly cast a Bat-Bogey Hex in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was hard to concentrate with all their clamouring. With Berkeley, in their hidden room, was the only place in the castle he could feel at peace. And once school was over, Scorpius was looking forward to introducing Berkeley to the wide open gardens at Malfoy Manor. It would be good to observe Berkeley in a more natural environment.
Scorpius flew through his exams, his mind racing with ideas on what to do with Berkeley over the summer hols. They would build a tree house, start a worm-growing business, race against the rabbits, and write elaborate plays for the house-elves to act out. Before, it had been extremely boring at Malfoy Manor with no one else around. But now, with Berkeley, summer alone at the Manor didn’t sound so bad.
On his way to packing his trunk, Berkeley tucked neatly underneath his robe sleeve in order to hide him from the other students, Headmistress Kensington stopped him on the second floor and demanded he follow her into her office.
Nervously staring back at Berkeley, who solemnly followed the pair, Scorpius smiled wearily at the bird, wishing he had waited just a few minutes more to collect Berkeley. It wouldn’t do now for the Headmistress to discover he was planning on stowing away a dangerous animal on the Hogwarts Express.
They slowly climbed the stone steps that lead the Headmistress’s office in silence. Headmistress Kensington opened the door and held it open for Scorpius. Once through, Scorpius was surprised to see his father and mother and Professor Weasley. Needing an ally, Scorpius slightly lifted his robe sleeve, enough for Professor Weasley to see what was underneath, but not enough for the rest of the occupants to see what was going on. Professor Weasley’s eyes went wide and he shook his head madly.
"Scorpius, please sit."
Scorpius followed Headmistress Kensington’s orders and sat in a high backed chair next to his fuming father. He squirmed deep into the seat.
"I’m sure you know why you are here, Scorpius."
Scorpius could feel his face turning red. He nervously pulled his robe sleeve lower.
Headmistress Kensington pulled down her delicate glasses attached to a chain and sighed, a smile fading from her lips. "Scorpius, I’m afraid we cannot, in good conscience, allow you to advance to second year. Your have failed most of your exams and your professors have confirmed you have not been doing the work. We all feel another year will be better for you, both academically and socially. We want you to succeed, and I fear allowing you to advance would only cause you to fall further behind."
Scorpius blanched. He was going to repeat first year? He was going to be the laughing stock of the school!
He turned to look at his father for guidance. His father’s face was red with anger and his hand was in a tight fist. "I find this all highly suspect that you single out my son to be held back when I seem recall the great Harry Potter practically failing out of school and advancing year after year. Fitting they bring in a Weasley to determine my son’s fate."
"Now hold on," Charlie tried to interject, but Scorpius knew his father, and he knew his father did not take kindly to being interrupted.
"No, you hold on, Weaselby, I’ve brought every letter my son has ever sent us and in each one he discusses the daily torment his fellow students force him to endure. Had all of you done your jobs, as educators, to stop this childish cruelty, perhaps my son would have been more able to do the work. Perhaps the problem is not my son, but the prejudiced pureblood-hatred perpetrated by your Muggle-loving agenda!"
Headmistress Kensington stood then, her face turning red. "I will not have you speaking like that in my office. I will have you know I am a Muggleborn witch."
"Therein lies the problem!"
Scorpius's mother attempted to subdue her husband, pulling at his arms and encouraging him to sit down, but his father ignored her in favour of spouting off more nonsense at the Headmistress. Scorpius averted his eyes, realistically admitting to himself that his father’s actions were sealing his fate. He was doomed to repeat another year.
Professor Weasley, noticing his distress, patted him on the knee. "No worries, mate. I’ll be there to support you next year. I’ll even tutor you, if you like, although I’m pretty pants at Potions. Might want to get another tutor for that one."
Turning his body towards the Professor, Scorpius covertly uncovered Berkeley. "But what about my cockatrice research? With all that time spent studying how will I find time to observe? I won’t be able to finish my report for you."
Unfortunately for Scorpius in his panic he failed to realize his father and Headmistress had ended their argument and had turned their attention towards Scorpius and his friend, their eyes sternly affixed to Berkeley.
"Stand back! Don’t startle Berkeley!"
The Headmistress ignored Scorpius’s warnings and advanced on Professor Weasley. "What is the meaning of this, Professor Weasley? What kind of a report is he writing for you?
His mother, also ignoring the clear and present danger, crouched down and grabbed at Berkeley, shaking his right wing. "Scorpius, what are you doing with this mangy doll? It’s absolutely filthy."
"It’s not a doll!" Scorpius cried, "It’s a rare cockatrice. I found him in the Forbidden Forest and I’ve been observing him all year. I’ve been collecting my findings to report to Professor Weasley and then the world. I’m going to be famous, mum. The cockatrice is really an amazing animal."
His mother’s eyes began to mist. Scorpius looked to Professor Weasley for help, for support, but he just stared at Scorpius with his mouth open. Scorpius’s heart sank.
Then, his father began to yell.
"Is this what you call teaching, Professor Weasley?" He spat, "Teaching children to drag around filthy stuffed animals, encouraging them to believe they are real? I’ve heard enough. Don’t bother looking for Scorpius to return next year. From now, Scorpius will be taught at home. I’m sure we’ll be able to find more suitable teachers with curriculum based in reality."
Scorpius father then grabbed hold of Berkeley’s neck and threw the bird against the wall. Scorpius cried out, but his father had grabbed hold of his waist and yanked him to his side. Without another word, his father stormed out of the Headmistress's office, Scorpius held firmly in a deadly grip, his mother sobbing softly behind them. Scorpius tried to struggle, tried to break free and go back for Berkeley, check to see if he was injured, or worse, dead, but it was no use, his father refused to loosen his grip and closed his ears to any protests.
The truth had come out and Berkeley was gone forever.
Part Two
Title: Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any swear words
Characters: Charlie and Scorpius
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mostly gen with a wee bit of angst (a little heartbreak before joy always makes it that much sweeter), and a whiff of pre-slash
Summary:A child’s imagination can be a wonderful thing, but it is often forgotten in favour of growing up.
Word Count: ~11,500
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s notes: nopejr I hope you enjoy this fic as I wrote it just for you. I admit to trolling your site and seeing you were a Calvin and Hobbes fan. It inspired me to write about my favourite subject: childhood fantasy. All quotes come directly from Calvin and Hobbes, written by Bill Watterson. For all of you unfamiliar with Calvin and Hobbes, do not despair, this fic is only inspired by, and not a direct connection to, the original work. Thank you to all those that helped me: w, t, t, b and n. I have the best friends in the world.
The Letter
Things are never quite as scary when you've got a best friend.
Perched on the end of a high-backed chair, a young man, quill pressed firmly to parchment, sat furiously writing. His posture was prim, his silver-white hair tied back with a tasteful black ribbon. Every so often he would pause, run an ink-stained finger over his lips, and then begin again, his hand a frenzied blur of movement.
A small animal, made of cloth and stuffing, hung lifelessly from the edge of the desk, its black button eyes faced away from the proceedings. It looked largely out of place among the dark wood antiques and expensively fine object d'arts that furnished the chamber. It was well worn, with a few strands of string falling from its red wings and a small tear near the right claw. While much-loved it must have been, it was an absurd oddity that did not belong.
Once done, the young man lifted the parchment to peruse his work before pushing it back onto the desk and madly crossing out sentences and cursing his spelling mistakes. Only when finished with that task did he look to the cloth interloper beside him. His previously pinched face, lost in concentration, loosened, the corners of his mouth upturning slightly. He sighed, pulled at the loose string, and turned the animal towards him so its eyes were facing what he was writing.
The young man picked up his quill and a fresh piece of parchment and began again, this time with more determination.
The cockatrice is a surprisingly simple animal. He enjoys turkey sandwiches on a warm summer day and a good cluck accompanied by a dandy wagging of his snake-like tail. He walks proudly amongst other animals, pulling back his plumed head and thrusting out his chest, his red and gold feathers shining underneath the sun, his green scaled tail flicking towards all who may threaten him. His crowing song rings out in the morning, clamouring along hills. He lifts his neck to the wind and commands all he sees.
On very rare occasions, once in a blue moon, a cockatrice can become something more than just a fierce animal, the call of the outside world becoming too great. And in this story, one such cockatrice, who had commanded the Forbidden Forest for approximately fifty years, had caught sight of something new with fur different than his own illuminated feathers, and with nary a glance back to his isolated trees and glens, he chased after this novelty, donning a new form, determined to learn all he could.
The Catch
"In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks."
Scorpius did not like school. Granted, he didn’t like being stuck at home with nothing to do but chase house-elves and dig around for worms in the garden, but school was even worse. There was homework, and tests, and cruel professors that refused to understand that it was more important to build a fort with pillows and sheets rather than write ten feet of parchment on the many uses of Gillyweed.
But worst of all, worse than the horrid clumps of unidentifiable foodstuffs that came out of the Hogwarts kitchens, worse than the abominable strawberry perfumes wafting from the girls' bathroom, worse than the dangerous broom-riding forced upon all with nary a care for the safety and well-being of the students, were the complete jerks that shared his dorm. They laughed at him when he wanted to go outside and play pirates, they told him to shut it when he would complain about the pug-nosed Rose Weasley, and they stole his pants, often, and hung them in the middle of the Gryffindor common room for all to see.
He had written to his mother, but she had only spouted nonsense about snitching to a professor. His father had had a better idea: to get even.
So, in order to conduct his evil scheme, Scorpius was currently out in the middle of the Forbidden Forest gathering all the most disgusting, repugnant, revolting, and nauseating objects he could, stuffing them all in his bag, and gleefully imagining his house-mates' responses to said objects being carefully placed underneath their cotton red sheets.
Unfortunately for Scorpius, his plan held but one flaw. While he had been sure of his direction when he entered the Forest, it was getting dark, and Scorpius was now horribly lost. He attempted to retrace his steps, but the trees were a sea of homogeneous greenery. There was a howl that sounded much too close and a rustling of branches beside him.
Scorpius jumped, his small frame twisting and turning in search of the sound, holding tight to his wand. His hands shook, because while his wand (ten inches, birch wood) was a powerful instrument in the hands of great wizards, he had only been a Hogwarts student for a week and was barely able to perform an adequate Levitation charm, let alone anything more powerful.
But, if it proved necessary, he could kick, and bite. He scrunched up his face in a most intimidating way and put up his fists, unwilling to show fear in front of an enemy.
There was another howl and then a screeching noise that sounded far too close for comfort. Birds scattered from the tops of the trees, a clear sign of danger, and the air became so heavy it was hard to breathe. Scorpius began to scramble, his preservation instincts kicking in, running fast away from the sound as quickly as he could. But, in his haste, he tripped over his too-long robe and fell face first into the mud.
As he fell, Scorpius's satchel overturned and all the wonderfully awful things he had collected throughout the day were scattered on the forest floor. He began to hurriedly repack the items, counting them out to make sure he had enough objects to put in everyone’s beds. There was a bit of Stinksap on a stick for Stephen, a dead bug with at least thirty legs for Charles, a smelly flower that Scorpius didn’t recognize for Franklin. But where was the slimy rock for Gordon, the worst offender and leader of the pants pranks?
There was another screech, its resonating sound louder than before, causing Scorpius to panic. He fumbled around the muddy forest floor, his robes turning from black to brown, his hands caking with dirt, until he came across something that felt familiar. He pulled it out of the mud and lifted it in triumph only to see that it was the wrapped sandwich he had taken in case he got hungry on his journey: turkey and cheese with a heavy helping of mayonnaise wrapped prettily in a brown paper package.
There was stomping, and more screeching, and suddenly Scorpius had an idea.
Scorpius rapidly un-wrapped the sandwich, careful not to touch the white bread with his muddy hands, and placed the sandwich on the ground, packaging first. He also placed the dead bug beside the sandwich in case the animal preferred insects, unappetizing as it seemed. He spied a hollow log a few metres away and dashed for it, testing the size and weight of it before dashing back and carefully placing it above the sandwich. He yanked off his green and silver scarf and wrapped it around one end of the log. He then pulled the end of the log up, creating a make-shift animal trap. He hid behind the trap, his eyes keeping watch through the holes in the log, as he clutched tightly to the scarf and waited, with bated breath, for his foe.
The Forbidden Forest was silent. Scorpius wondered if perhaps he had imagined the sounds and in fact an animal wasn’t following him. He felt silly, and a bit relieved, until there was another rustle and then, just as suddenly as the sounds had rung against the silent forest, a giant bird emerged from between the bushes, its red head and sharp claws standing out proudly among the trees.
Scorpius froze. The giant claws moved closer towards him, the yellowed skin atop the thin bones, wrinkly and leathery. The claws were long, and sharp, sharp enough to split a man’s stomach.
The bird hadn’t seen Scorpius, he was sure of it. It turned its red head to and fro before coming closer to him, not the movement of an animal that knew the location of its prey.
The more he observed the animal, the more he grew certain of its name. He knew that animal. He had read all about it in his favourite book, Hetherington's Encyclopaedia of Rare and Fantasmagorical Fauna, currently safely tucked away underneath his pillow. It was a cockatrice, a rare and dangerous beast the likes of which had not been seen in Britain for over fifty years.
The book had warned of the dangers of the cockatrice. It had gored several spectators during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792 and was known to steal lambs from unsuspecting farmers and eat them whole. They were also quick, despite their size, but easily confused when faced with multiple stimuli. It was better to fight them with wits than with brawn. Man greedily had hunted them for their magical feathers and now none remained in Europe and only a few menageries in Asia boasted specimens.
Scorpius clung onto his scarf like a life line as the animal approached his sandwich. The cockatrice was huge, bigger than Scorpius, and heavier from the looks of it. His only hope of escaping alive was his trap, and Scorpius was starting to doubt his makeshift log on a scarf was enough to capture such a wild beast.
The cockatrice cocked its head, its beady black eyes staring at the offered food, before bending its long, golden neck down towards the food. It pecked around it, pointedly avoiding the dead insect, before swiping a huge amount of the turkey and cheese and swallowing it down loudly.
As the cockatrice made a second pass at the sandwich, Scorpius struck. He swiftly let go of his scarf, allowing the log to land forcibly on top of the bird, and then threw himself onto the log to hold it down. The bird struggled underneath the weight, thrashing about fiercely. But Scorpius held on tight, and fought with all his might, until the beast calmed and stilled.
Still lying atop the log, Scorpius had a sudden thought. What did he do now? There was a dangerous and angry creature underneath him and if he were to release the log there would be nothing to prevent the animal from taking its vengeance.
"You’re quite heavy for a little boy."
"I’m not heavy! And I’m not little. I’ll be twelve in four months."
Scorpius paused.
"Did you just talk to me, Cockatrice?"
The log shuffled underneath him as if the animal within were laughing.
"My name is not Cockatrice. That is what I am, but not my name. My given name is Berkeley."
Berkeley. Scorpius giggled. It sounded quite posh for a giant bird.
"Are you going to eat me, Berkeley?"
"You left for me quite a tasty sandwich, so I’m no longer hungry."
Scorpius silently cheered at his ingenious sandwich trap. "So, if I lift up the log, you won’t attack me?"
"You have my word."
It took a few minutes for Scorpius to gain enough courage to put his faith into a wild animal, but he had little choice, so, with great trepidation, he slowly moved off the log and onto the forest floor, keeping his wand out in front of him, just in case.
The cockatrice, no, Berkeley, pushed the log off him with ease and stood at full height, staring down at Scorpius with a mean black eye.
Scorpius gulped. He held out his wand before him and stood as straight as he could. "I, Scorpius Malfoy, Gryffindor of Hogwarts, heir to the Malfoy estate, have captured you, Berkeley, cockatrice of the Forbidden Forest, and demand that you become my slave for all eternity."
The bird blinked and then began to preen its feathers.
"What say you?" Scorpius yelled, attempting to sound intimidating.
"Will there be sandwiches?"
Scorpius mentally took note that he would have to request the house-elves procure two sandwiches for him instead of one. "Yes."
Berkeley stomped his claw and lifted his head in a trill. "Lead on then, Master."
Scorpius cheered, smiling harder than he had smiled in ages.
He grabbed his muddy satchel, untied his scarf from the log and threw it around his neck, proceeding to march back towards the castle, his earlier plans of mischief long forgotten.
"The Hogwarts grounds are to your right, not thirty paces."
Swearing underneath his breath, Scorpius turned and continued his march to the right. "I knew that," he petulantly replied.
The pair continued silently, Scorpius racing to reach the castle, excited to showcase his fantastic catch and prove to the rest of the students that he was someone to envy.
The Pact
It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept.
The Hogwarts doors loomed over Scorpius, the heavy wood growing darker as the sun began to set and the torches began to light. Scorpius stared at the handle, running through the best ways to make an entrance before nervously combing a hand through his hair and brushing off, as well as he could, the mud from his robe.
"Are we not entering?"
Scorpius waved off the bird, taking a deep breath, and opened the doors wide.
The hallway was empty; his earlier grooming had been for naught.
"I suppose everyone’s at dinner."
"Shall we join them?"
Scorpius pondered the idea of showcasing Berkeley in the Great Hall. While it would prove to all of Hogwarts that Scorpius was a fierce person, a tamer of wild beasts, Berkeley was a dangerous creature and therefore might scare some of the more delicate students, in particular the girls.
"No, we'd better head back to the dorms. I can call one of the house-elves to bring us hot chocolate. Do cockatrices drink hot chocolate?"
The bird nipped Scorpius on the shoulder. "Only if it contains no fewer than three marshmallows."
Scorpius smiled, that was just how he liked his hot chocolate too.
"Scorpius, where have you been? The professors have been looking all over for you! And why are you covered in mud?"
Rolling his eyes, Scorpius ignored the harpy shrieking of his mortal enemy, Rose Weasley. The girl had appointed herself mum to all the other Gryffindor first years within the first week, creating study schedules and demanding they all follow them to the letter. Scorpius, unwilling to play by anyone else’s rules, became an instant target of her nagging lectures.
But no matter their bitter feud, Scorpius was not going allow an innocent to become hurt.
"Stand back! You must not startle the cockatrice! They can be vicious if they feel threatened."
Rose’s face pinched as if she were sucking on a lemon.
Luckily, Professor Weasley, current Professor of Magical Creatures, Groundskeeper, Head of House for Gryffindor, and former dragon tamer, rounded the corner and stood between Rose and Berkeley, no doubt protecting the lady from being ripped asunder.
"Scorpius! We’ve been looking for you for hours! First years are not allowed off school grounds, and I hope you weren't roaming the Forbidden Forest! You could have been hurt."
Scorpius had admired Professor Weasley since he stepped off the Hogwarts boats, his smaller hand engulfed by the professor’s larger one as it helpfully led him out of the water. Scorpius had never seen anyone as fit, or as jovial, as Professor Weasley. He was muscular, and friendly, and freckled. In addition, he liked magical creatures as much as Scorpius did.
Being reprimanded by his favourite professor made Scorpius blush uncomfortably, his stomach churning at the thought of disappointing the object of his admiration.
"Uncle Charlie, are you going to give Scorpius a detention?"
Scorpius added another reason to hate Rose Weasley to the list.
Professor Weasley placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder. Scorpius bristled at the action, questioning how such an affable person could be related to that.
"Professor, I’m sorry I was out late, but look, I captured a dangerous and magical beast! With a make-shift trap, I found, for Hogwarts, one of the last remaining cockatrices!"
Scorpius turned and clutched at Berkeley’s neck, proudly awaiting the awed praise he no undoubtedly was to receive once Professor Weasley realized what was before him.
"What, that stuffed animal?"
Completely stunned, Scorpius stood agape at Rose’s response. What nonsense was this girl on about?
"Beg your pardon, Rose? I’d advise you to take a closer look at what you are calling a stuffed animal, but I’m afraid you might get slashed."
She then began to laugh, hard, until tears were streaming from her face.
"He...Uncle Charlie, he really believes... oh my...wait until I tell James!"
Professor Weasley raised a finger towards Scorpius before harshly pulling Rose away and shooing her towards the dungeons, her laughter echoing down the hall as she retreated back to the dorms. He then turned and smiled brightly for Scorpius, but the smile looked fake and placating. Scorpius was growing quite annoyed.
"I cannot believe you are related to such a rude person. She’s got her head stuck so far up a book she wouldn’t know a real life beast if it bit her on the nose. Not like us, right Professor Weasley? We like to get dirty and fight wild animals one on one."
Professor Weasley’s large hands came and rested upon Scorpius's shoulders. They were warm and heavy. They felt like the hands of a man who had worked the earth and knew a thing or two about great battles. Scorpius hoped his hands would grow to be just like that some day.
"Scorpius, while I appreciate your enthusiasm for magical creatures, this is taking it a bit too far, don’t you think?"
"Too far? But this is a one of a kind creature! We can study it together, just the two of us. Berkeley will stay with me, of course, but we’ll come visit once in while and he can tell you all about the life of a cockatrice. I’ll write a book, just for you, of all the wonderful things he does!"
Charlie patted Scorpius's head. He bit his lip and turned his head, peering around the hallways. There was no one there. Scorpius was unsure what was going on.
"Look, I’m not sure what you found in the Forbidden Forest, but I’m afraid it’s not a cockatrice."
Scorpius was stunned. How could Professor Weasley fail to recognize one of the rarest birds in the world?
"But if you believe it is, and from the looks of it you do, then promise me this. Never tell anyone about it. Hide it in your room where no one can see it. If you want to talk to me about it or show me your book, you can, but tell none of your classmates."
It was a strange request, but one Scorpius could follow even if he didn’t understand it.
"I’ll try to stop my niece from spreading gossip about the bird throughout the school, but I’m not sure I’ll have much luck. No matter what, just deny what happened, I think that’ll work. Say you hit your head, or you were confused. But no matter what, you must keep the cockatrice a secret. Do you promise?"
Professor Weasley held out his hand to shake. Pride blossomed in Scorpius's heart. Professor Weasley was going to entrust the cockatrice to him, and they, like true equals, were going to shake in a manly vow. Scorpius enthusiastically grasped Professor Weasley’s hand and shook it firmly before running towards the dungeons, the cockatrice fast on his heels, his mind whirling with ideas on how exactly to hide a six-foot bird. Thankfully, when Scorpius placed the bird’s head underneath the sleeve of his robe, mysteriously none of the other students were able to see him. Perhaps it was the cockatrice's magic, but he had years to study the animal, with Professor Weasley. Tonight, it was all about subterfuge. No one would discover the existence of the cockatrice. He had made a promise.
The Study
It's a magical world, Hobbes, ol' buddy...Let's go exploring!
Scorpius had stayed true to his promise. Amidst the furtive whispers of his classmates, Scorpius denied the existence of the cockatrice. It had been a hoax, he claimed, a prank played on poor Rose Weasley, and didn’t she fall for his stupendous acting? Scorpius wasn’t sure if his fellow students believed his excuses, but it mattered little. One wink from Professor Weasley made it all worth it.
At night though, when no one else was around, Scorpius would sneak out of the Gryffindor dormitory and tip toe down to the sixth floor. In fear of his fellow students discovering his secret, Scorpius had stashed Berkeley in an abandoned classroom, which he had instructed the house-elves to keep stocked full of sandwiches and hot cocoa, and would spend his evenings as a true adventurer, discovering all there was to know about the elusive cockatrice.
"Do you prefer pirates or ninjas?"
Berkeley pondered the question for a few moments, taking his time savouring the sweet aroma of the hot chocolate, his sharp beak stabbing at the marshmallows.
"While pirates have more notable individual stories, they were thieves at best. Ninjas, on the other hand, were deadly assassins with more interesting weapons."
Scorpius took a large bite into his turkey and cheese sandwich, relishing the taste of the meat with globs of mayonnaise. "I see your point. But pirates are more fun to play. I’ve even learned how to Transfigure this paper into an eye patch."
Scorpius whipped out his wand, made a flurry of motion against his sandwich wrapper, and suddenly the paper turned into a single eye patch. It was brown, with an interesting waxy feel, but an eye patch no less.
"Good show, Scorpius. Well done."
Scorpius beamed under the praise.
Some of the other students began to notice Scorpius leaving at all hours of the night and began to make up stories about his whereabouts. He was wooing the Fat Lady, torturing house-elves, turning into a snake and slithering around empty bathroom stalls. But Scorpius held firm to his secrecy, recording all he was learning about the cockatrice in a leather-bound notebook for Professor Weasley and for the greater scientific community.
"I don’t understand why they call the class 'Charms'. It’s not very charming when the professor teaches the class to turn all my socks into various shades of pink. I’m not doing my homework out of protest."
"I didn’t realize Charms had such a cruel curriculum."
Scorpius twirled his well worn quill around his fingers, an action he had been repeating rather than writing for the past half an hour.
"It’s not as bad as Herbology. Half the plants will eat you alive if you look at them sideways. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the professors were all out to kill me. I rather think that means I shouldn’t do any of their homework in case it’s all a ruse to catch me unawares while my brain is fried."
Berkeley nodded as Scorpius threw his empty parchment back into his school bag.
On a particularly cold winter night, while the rest of the Hogwarts students were sleeping warm in their beds, Scorpius bundled himself up, along with Berkeley, wrapping him an extra scarf left behind in the common room, and went outside. It had snowed heavily throughout the week, but that night a fresh layer of soft powder had fallen over every inch of the grounds, its pristine landscape begging to be stomped on by Scorpius and Berkeley. Scorpius had swiped a tray from the kitchens and turned it into a make-shift sled, complete with a piece of rope attached to steer. He and Berkeley ran to the top of the highest hill, taking a moment to watch their breath smoke out into the night sky. Scorpius jumped onto the tray, while Berkeley solemnly squatted down behind him, and then they were off, flying down the hill at breakneck speed.
The ropes failed completely, leaving Scorpius and Berkeley careening down the hill without any way to control the direction. Scorpius screamed, Berkeley laughed, as they zoomed faster and faster down the hill.
They landed in a heap at the bottom of the hill, Scorpius rolling a few times before landing in a lump, covered in snow. Berkeley somehow managed to avoid rolling and had landed on his feet, shaking out the few bits of snow that had landed on his feathers.
"What in the world are you doing, Scorpius? You should be in bed!"
Scorpius sat up from the snow hearing Professor Weasley’s voice. He was standing outside his cabin, a lantern in his hand lifted high in Scorpius’s direction.
Scorpius smiled and waved, happy to receive a wave in response.
"Wave to Professor Weasley, Berkeley. He’s my favourite professor even though I don't take his class yet."
The bird lifted his left wing, but not far. Scorpius took a mental note that cockatrices weren’t the best wavers.
"Go to bed, Scorpius."
Scorpius saluted. "Race you to Hogwarts, Berkeley!"
"I’m rather tired, so I think not."
Suddenly the late hour of the night hit Scorpius too in a wave of sleepiness.
"Me too, Berkeley," he sighed before grabbing the tray and Berkeley’s wing and marching back to Hogwarts.
"Do you have any friends?" Berkeley asked one evening while the two of them built a rocket ship out of old desks and broken picture frames.
"Who needs friends when I have you?" Scorpius replied, battling a nasty strand of cobweb.
Berkeley only stared before sitting on the floor and allowing Scorpius to do all the work.
This routine continued throughout the year. Scorpius’s professors, and Rose Weasley, continued to nag him endlessly about his homework, his reports, his lack of flying skills, his dismal effort in Potions, his atrocious knowledge of the night sky in Astronomy, and his inability to correctly cast a Bat-Bogey Hex in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was hard to concentrate with all their clamouring. With Berkeley, in their hidden room, was the only place in the castle he could feel at peace. And once school was over, Scorpius was looking forward to introducing Berkeley to the wide open gardens at Malfoy Manor. It would be good to observe Berkeley in a more natural environment.
Scorpius flew through his exams, his mind racing with ideas on what to do with Berkeley over the summer hols. They would build a tree house, start a worm-growing business, race against the rabbits, and write elaborate plays for the house-elves to act out. Before, it had been extremely boring at Malfoy Manor with no one else around. But now, with Berkeley, summer alone at the Manor didn’t sound so bad.
On his way to packing his trunk, Berkeley tucked neatly underneath his robe sleeve in order to hide him from the other students, Headmistress Kensington stopped him on the second floor and demanded he follow her into her office.
Nervously staring back at Berkeley, who solemnly followed the pair, Scorpius smiled wearily at the bird, wishing he had waited just a few minutes more to collect Berkeley. It wouldn’t do now for the Headmistress to discover he was planning on stowing away a dangerous animal on the Hogwarts Express.
They slowly climbed the stone steps that lead the Headmistress’s office in silence. Headmistress Kensington opened the door and held it open for Scorpius. Once through, Scorpius was surprised to see his father and mother and Professor Weasley. Needing an ally, Scorpius slightly lifted his robe sleeve, enough for Professor Weasley to see what was underneath, but not enough for the rest of the occupants to see what was going on. Professor Weasley’s eyes went wide and he shook his head madly.
"Scorpius, please sit."
Scorpius followed Headmistress Kensington’s orders and sat in a high backed chair next to his fuming father. He squirmed deep into the seat.
"I’m sure you know why you are here, Scorpius."
Scorpius could feel his face turning red. He nervously pulled his robe sleeve lower.
Headmistress Kensington pulled down her delicate glasses attached to a chain and sighed, a smile fading from her lips. "Scorpius, I’m afraid we cannot, in good conscience, allow you to advance to second year. Your have failed most of your exams and your professors have confirmed you have not been doing the work. We all feel another year will be better for you, both academically and socially. We want you to succeed, and I fear allowing you to advance would only cause you to fall further behind."
Scorpius blanched. He was going to repeat first year? He was going to be the laughing stock of the school!
He turned to look at his father for guidance. His father’s face was red with anger and his hand was in a tight fist. "I find this all highly suspect that you single out my son to be held back when I seem recall the great Harry Potter practically failing out of school and advancing year after year. Fitting they bring in a Weasley to determine my son’s fate."
"Now hold on," Charlie tried to interject, but Scorpius knew his father, and he knew his father did not take kindly to being interrupted.
"No, you hold on, Weaselby, I’ve brought every letter my son has ever sent us and in each one he discusses the daily torment his fellow students force him to endure. Had all of you done your jobs, as educators, to stop this childish cruelty, perhaps my son would have been more able to do the work. Perhaps the problem is not my son, but the prejudiced pureblood-hatred perpetrated by your Muggle-loving agenda!"
Headmistress Kensington stood then, her face turning red. "I will not have you speaking like that in my office. I will have you know I am a Muggleborn witch."
"Therein lies the problem!"
Scorpius's mother attempted to subdue her husband, pulling at his arms and encouraging him to sit down, but his father ignored her in favour of spouting off more nonsense at the Headmistress. Scorpius averted his eyes, realistically admitting to himself that his father’s actions were sealing his fate. He was doomed to repeat another year.
Professor Weasley, noticing his distress, patted him on the knee. "No worries, mate. I’ll be there to support you next year. I’ll even tutor you, if you like, although I’m pretty pants at Potions. Might want to get another tutor for that one."
Turning his body towards the Professor, Scorpius covertly uncovered Berkeley. "But what about my cockatrice research? With all that time spent studying how will I find time to observe? I won’t be able to finish my report for you."
Unfortunately for Scorpius in his panic he failed to realize his father and Headmistress had ended their argument and had turned their attention towards Scorpius and his friend, their eyes sternly affixed to Berkeley.
"Stand back! Don’t startle Berkeley!"
The Headmistress ignored Scorpius’s warnings and advanced on Professor Weasley. "What is the meaning of this, Professor Weasley? What kind of a report is he writing for you?
His mother, also ignoring the clear and present danger, crouched down and grabbed at Berkeley, shaking his right wing. "Scorpius, what are you doing with this mangy doll? It’s absolutely filthy."
"It’s not a doll!" Scorpius cried, "It’s a rare cockatrice. I found him in the Forbidden Forest and I’ve been observing him all year. I’ve been collecting my findings to report to Professor Weasley and then the world. I’m going to be famous, mum. The cockatrice is really an amazing animal."
His mother’s eyes began to mist. Scorpius looked to Professor Weasley for help, for support, but he just stared at Scorpius with his mouth open. Scorpius’s heart sank.
Then, his father began to yell.
"Is this what you call teaching, Professor Weasley?" He spat, "Teaching children to drag around filthy stuffed animals, encouraging them to believe they are real? I’ve heard enough. Don’t bother looking for Scorpius to return next year. From now, Scorpius will be taught at home. I’m sure we’ll be able to find more suitable teachers with curriculum based in reality."
Scorpius father then grabbed hold of Berkeley’s neck and threw the bird against the wall. Scorpius cried out, but his father had grabbed hold of his waist and yanked him to his side. Without another word, his father stormed out of the Headmistress's office, Scorpius held firmly in a deadly grip, his mother sobbing softly behind them. Scorpius tried to struggle, tried to break free and go back for Berkeley, check to see if he was injured, or worse, dead, but it was no use, his father refused to loosen his grip and closed his ears to any protests.
The truth had come out and Berkeley was gone forever.
Part Two