Fourteen (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 13)
Title: Fourteen (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 13)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language
Summary: Scorpius gets a few birthday surprises
Notes: Confusing title much?
I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Surreal / Previous Chapters / Best-Laid Plans
pock
pock
Scorpius Malfoy flinched as he felt something lightly tapping against his forehead. He opened his eyes just in time to see a small brown lump fly at him and hit him between the eyes.
pock
"Oh, nice one."
Two of Scorpius's dormmates, Holden Harkiss and Arnold King, were sitting on the bed beside his. It was still early enough in the morning where the lamps of the Slytherin dormitory had yet to be lit, but the green-tinted light shining through the glass-encased lake above, that frustrating mid-light just before the dawn, was enough for Scorpius to see identical gap-toothed grins on the Purebloods' ugly faces.
Not quite as friendly of a wakeup call as I had in the hospital wing, Scorpius thought grumpily.
"What do you want?" he groaned.
"Waking you up," said King. "You're late for class."
Scorpius rolled over to look at the clock beside his bed: 6:30. "Class is at nine," he groaned. "And it's Sunday."
"Oh, yeah," said King with an amused glance at Harkiss. "I forgot."
Harkiss laughed and chucked another brown thing at Scorpius. He tried to deflect it away, but with twisted his arm up in his sheets it hit him on his left cheek. He looked down at the growing collection of brown lumps on his bed to discover that they were actually pieces of chocolate, chocolate that Harkiss and King were taking from a box between them and alternately tossing at him and shoving into their mouths.
"Where'd you--?"
"Thanks for the sweets, Shit N' Piss," said Harkiss, the gaps between his teeth now caked with a nauseating blend of chewed-up chocolate and peanuts.
"Yeah," said King, tossing his half-full box at Scorpius, the corner of which smacked him hard enough in the forehead to sting, "tell your Mummy that they taste like arse."
"What?"
Scorpius sat up quickly, his nostrils flaring. King and Harkiss both stood up, laughing riotously, and walked out of the dormitory as Scorpius sat paralyzed with anger. The door slammed behind them just as his hands found themselves and scrambled around his nightstand for his wand.
"You'd know what arse tastes like, wouldn't you, Arnold?" said a quiet voice from the other side of the room.
Scorpius looked across the dormitory at his fourth dormmate. "What?"
"That's what I should have told them," said Gabriel Goyle from his own bed, staring angrily at the closed door. "I should have asked how he knew what arse tastes like."
"Yeah, well," Scorpius said to the large boy, "they would have wiped your common room floor with your face if you said that."
"Still," Gabriel, who had been friends with Scorpius since they were both children, said with a shrug of his large shoulders, "would have been funny."
"Yeah," Scorpius sighed. He picked up the box and opened it to see four misshapen chocolates remaining. Even those scattered in his bed looked either squished or half-eaten, as though Arnold and Holden had to figure out their contents before deciding whether they were food or projectile. When he had first woken up, his mind had been too hazy with sleep to figure out why they had had the chocolates in the first place, but as he slowly cleaned the candy from his bed, he remembered.
"Happy birthday, mate," said Gabriel bracingly.
"Thanks," said Scorpius, setting his feet on the floor. "Smashing start, isn't it?"
Gabriel snorted wearily. "You up?"
"I'm up," Scorpius replied, standing up and getting his first look at the small pile of packages strewn at the foot of his bed. Although they were tossed helter-skelter (unlike the neat piles that he was sure the Hogwarts house elves had left them), the lack of empty wrapping paper let him at least for the moment believe that the Pureblood idiots had gone straight for the food and left his other gifts alone.
Unless they hid some stuff completely, he thought grumpily.
"I didn't get you anything," said Gabriel as Scorpius picked up one of the packages. "But I'll buy you a thing when we go to Hogsmeade, yeah?"
"Works for me," Scorpius replied, opening a box from Grandmother and Grandfather Malfoy. Just as he expected, just as he received every year from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a set of dress robes stared back at him.
Every year it's the same, he thought wryly. Narcissa Malfoy insisted that her grandson stay at the peak of fashion, so always sent him the latest set of tailor-made, Parisian dress robes every birthday. Unfortunately for him, their only useful job was to take up more space in his trunks, as he had yet to have an occasion to wear them at Hogwarts. They only came out of the mothballs during the Malfoy Christmas parties, and he had yet to build up the courage to tell his grandmother that he would be perfectly fine wearing last year's model to their stuffy soirees. No one could survive the glare he was sure to receive.
As Gabriel hoisted his bulky frame, which matched his father's perfectly, out of bed and lumbered to the bathroom, scratching the back of his boxer shorts absently, Scorpius picked up a second package from the ground. Slightly smaller than one sent by the elder Malfoys, Scorpius also had a good idea of what this package would contain as soon as he looked at the wrappings.
My family, he thought. Anything but unpredictable. His other grandmother, Ylwa Gibbon, put just as little thought into her gifts as Lucius and Narcissa. On the other hand, Ylwa's gifts always showed a bit more creativity and, more importantly, care and affection than those he received from the Malfoys. But it still amused him nonetheless.
When Scorpius was six years old, he had made a comment to Grandmother Gibbon that his favorite Quidditch Team was the Wigtown Wanderers. It didn't matter that years later, when he stopped paying attention to the logos and started actually caring about the sport itself, he became a diehard Kenmare supporter. Ever since that fateful day, however, Ylwa had seized onto that one minor factoid about her grandson like a crocodile clamps onto a wounded wildebeest. Every birthday and every Christmas, without fail, he would find a package wrapped in blood red and adorned with the Wanderers' trademark cleaver logo. Inside he would find a Wanderers' Quaffle. Or a Wanderers' pennant. Or a Wanderers' kit or poster or bedsheets or towels or--
"Nissh," said Gabriel as he walked out of the bathroom, toothbrush firmly planted in his cheek. Scorpius had discovered a matching set this year: a Wigtown Wanderers scarf with matching cap. A knitted cleaver was sewn onto the top of the knitted cap, giving the impression of being imbedded in the wearer's skull. "Difnitly noo."
"I don't know," said Scorpius dryly, holding it to the now-lit lamps. "It doesn't match any of my dresses."
"Nave it mor Nallowe'en," said Gabriel, scrubbing away at his teeth. "Goo' snare."
"I'll, um, take your word for it," said Scorpius. "Whatever that word is."
Gabriel shrugged. "Ner nearts in nu righ' lace," he said, running back to the bathroom to spit. Scorpius shook his head in mild exasperation before turning to the multiple boxes he had received from his parents. He tore open the first package, and his heart sank instantly: It contained a broom servicing kit.
"Oh, damn," said Gabriel. "Didn't tell them you broke yours?"
"I didn't break mine!" Scorpius said sharply. "It was--"
"Yeah, I know who it was," said Gabriel quickly. "But you still didn't tell them?"
Scorpius set the box aside. No, he hadn't told them that his broom had been snapped in half during the Quidditch tryouts, busted over the knee of one of the two Slytherin Beaters. He didn't know if it had been Redmond or Orlo who had done it, as he had been unconscious at the time of that final indignation. But the fact remained that his parents had been more concerned (and frustrated) about his physical well-being in the owl they sent him, so he had completely forgotten to tell them.
Or maybe not completely forgotten. The fact was that, despite the displeasure that the entire Malfoy family felt following the incident, Scorpius still felt ashamed that he had allowed himself to become such a target of ridicule. Admitting to his father that he had not only been sent to the hospital wing and that he didn't make the team were bad enough. The mere thought of his father reacting to the destruction of his extremely expensive Cleansweep Fifty filled Scorpius's stomach with molten lead.
In the next box he found a chess set, followed by a box of meat pies and a package of strawberry biscuits.
I hope these tide you over, his mother had written in an attached note. I never trusted the food that those Hogwarts elves make. Tell us know if you need more.
"Your Mum actually made you food?" Gabriel asked.
"My mother wouldn't know her way to the kitchen with a map and a compass," said Scorpius, holding up the packages. "Honeydukes," he said, pointing at the tag on the bag of biscuits. "Sir Solomon's," he read from the box of pies.
"Still," said Gabriel, a glimmer of hunger in his eye. "Looks tasty."
"I'll get to them later," said Scorpius, mentally calculating a place where he could hide them without Holden or Arnold getting into them. There wasn't much left of his stack. A box of chocolates (another box from his parents, as it matched the destroyed one sitting on his bed) and a loose envelope were all that remained.
The envelope caught his eye. His mother had already written to him about the food, so this obviously had to be from his father, who rarely wrote. He picked up and studied his name written on the front.
"From your dad?" Gabriel asked, on Scorpius's wavelength.
"Dunno," said Scorpius, slitting the envelope open. "Might be. Doesn't look like his handwriting."
And as he opened the letter and read it, his eyes widening as he went, he realized that it obviously wasn't from Draco Malfoy:
Malfoy, the note read,
I'm writing you instead of talking to you in person because I'm putting my arse on the line here as much as you'd be. So read this and don't go blabbing it about the school if you know what's good for either of us.
Here's the long and short of it: Anderson sucks. He can't throw, he can't catch, and he can't hold onto a Quaffle, no matter how many Sticking Charms are tossed on the bloody thing. As of Tuesday, he's off the team and I want you on in his place. You were the best Chaser on the pitch before Orlo and Redmond handed out their retribution.
Blood purity aside, winning's what matters with the Slytherin Quidditch team. It'll be a rough trek for both of us, but you can make us better.
Practice is Tuesday night. Show up with your broom.
Xavier MacDougal
Captain, Slytherin Quidditch
PS: Don't feel that you have to come alone. I can see why you'd think this is a trick, so bring backup if you don't believe me. You might need it either way. I can't promise everyone will be happy to see you.
"What is it?" Gabriel asked as he watched Scorpius's already pale face turn roughly the color of oatmeal. "What does your dad say?"
Scorpius, unable to find the words, silently handed the letter to Gabriel, then began to pace back and forth across the dormitory floor.
"Retribution?" said Gabriel with shocked amusement. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
Scorpius groaned and put his hands on the back of his neck. Looking up at the ceiling in confusion, he saw two mermen staring back at him.
"So," Gabriel said eventually, "are you... Are you going to do it?"
"Should I?"
"Scorp, they're gonna bloody murder you the moment you walk out there!"
"But maybe they won't," Scorpius countered. "I mean, yeah, Redmond and Orlo want to use my skull as a fondue pot. But MacDougal, he's fine enough with me to ask me onto the team."
"If it isn't a setup," said Gabriel. "Scorp, you could bring out everyone you know, but the team's still bigger than any of them."
"Piper's still a Chaser," Scorpius continued. "He's a Traitor. So's Long. Swindell's a Pureblood, but she's Seeker, what could she do to me?"
"Plow into you at full speed?" Gabriel suggested. "Shove the Snitch down your throat? Or maybe just float above and order everyone else around?"
"Bloody hell..."
"Maybe you could ask Professor--"
"No!" Scorpius said. "No Tonks. That'd be the worst thing. They'd put me in the hospital wing for sure for hiding behind her robes. Maybe even St. Mungo's."
"St. Mungo's might not be out of the question even if she doesn't show up," said Gabriel quietly. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Scorpius said, meaning it. He didn't know what he was going to do. He wanted the Chaser job. If he didn't, he wouldn't have gone out in the first place. His father had been a Seeker for years, but everyone knew it was only because Lucius had bought Draco's way onto the team. If Scorpius could actually make it on talent it might go a good way to improving the Malfoy name.
But would he end up taken out permanently? What mattered more to the Purebloods: victory or respect? That was the question that meant the difference between a successful career as Chaser and another long, painful visit to the Healer.
"I'm going to take a shower," Scorpius said finally, opening his trunk and pulling out some clothing. "I don't need to decide until Tuesday."
"What about the rest of your presents?" Gabe asked, pointing to the remaining box of candy.
"Have it," said Scorpius. "I'm not hungry."
Gabriel shrugged and grabbed the box from the floor. He eyed it warily, making sure that it was an actual gift, and not a gag present purchased at The Wheezes and given to Malfoy by a Pureblood with a mind for mischief.
"It's safe," said Scorpius. "Wheezes uses generic names on their products, and that's a brand. It's probably from my mum."
"Oh, yeah," said Gabriel as Scorpius turned to the bathroom. "Hey, Scorpius?"
"Yeah?" Scorpius asked, turning around to see Gabriel reading the tag of the box.
"Not your mum," said Gabriel, squinting at the writing. "Who's Meghan?"
Surreal / Previous Chapters / Best-Laid Plans
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language
Summary: Scorpius gets a few birthday surprises
Notes: Confusing title much?
I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Surreal / Previous Chapters / Best-Laid Plans
pock
pock
Scorpius Malfoy flinched as he felt something lightly tapping against his forehead. He opened his eyes just in time to see a small brown lump fly at him and hit him between the eyes.
pock
"Oh, nice one."
Two of Scorpius's dormmates, Holden Harkiss and Arnold King, were sitting on the bed beside his. It was still early enough in the morning where the lamps of the Slytherin dormitory had yet to be lit, but the green-tinted light shining through the glass-encased lake above, that frustrating mid-light just before the dawn, was enough for Scorpius to see identical gap-toothed grins on the Purebloods' ugly faces.
Not quite as friendly of a wakeup call as I had in the hospital wing, Scorpius thought grumpily.
"What do you want?" he groaned.
"Waking you up," said King. "You're late for class."
Scorpius rolled over to look at the clock beside his bed: 6:30. "Class is at nine," he groaned. "And it's Sunday."
"Oh, yeah," said King with an amused glance at Harkiss. "I forgot."
Harkiss laughed and chucked another brown thing at Scorpius. He tried to deflect it away, but with twisted his arm up in his sheets it hit him on his left cheek. He looked down at the growing collection of brown lumps on his bed to discover that they were actually pieces of chocolate, chocolate that Harkiss and King were taking from a box between them and alternately tossing at him and shoving into their mouths.
"Where'd you--?"
"Thanks for the sweets, Shit N' Piss," said Harkiss, the gaps between his teeth now caked with a nauseating blend of chewed-up chocolate and peanuts.
"Yeah," said King, tossing his half-full box at Scorpius, the corner of which smacked him hard enough in the forehead to sting, "tell your Mummy that they taste like arse."
"What?"
Scorpius sat up quickly, his nostrils flaring. King and Harkiss both stood up, laughing riotously, and walked out of the dormitory as Scorpius sat paralyzed with anger. The door slammed behind them just as his hands found themselves and scrambled around his nightstand for his wand.
"You'd know what arse tastes like, wouldn't you, Arnold?" said a quiet voice from the other side of the room.
Scorpius looked across the dormitory at his fourth dormmate. "What?"
"That's what I should have told them," said Gabriel Goyle from his own bed, staring angrily at the closed door. "I should have asked how he knew what arse tastes like."
"Yeah, well," Scorpius said to the large boy, "they would have wiped your common room floor with your face if you said that."
"Still," Gabriel, who had been friends with Scorpius since they were both children, said with a shrug of his large shoulders, "would have been funny."
"Yeah," Scorpius sighed. He picked up the box and opened it to see four misshapen chocolates remaining. Even those scattered in his bed looked either squished or half-eaten, as though Arnold and Holden had to figure out their contents before deciding whether they were food or projectile. When he had first woken up, his mind had been too hazy with sleep to figure out why they had had the chocolates in the first place, but as he slowly cleaned the candy from his bed, he remembered.
"Happy birthday, mate," said Gabriel bracingly.
"Thanks," said Scorpius, setting his feet on the floor. "Smashing start, isn't it?"
Gabriel snorted wearily. "You up?"
"I'm up," Scorpius replied, standing up and getting his first look at the small pile of packages strewn at the foot of his bed. Although they were tossed helter-skelter (unlike the neat piles that he was sure the Hogwarts house elves had left them), the lack of empty wrapping paper let him at least for the moment believe that the Pureblood idiots had gone straight for the food and left his other gifts alone.
Unless they hid some stuff completely, he thought grumpily.
"I didn't get you anything," said Gabriel as Scorpius picked up one of the packages. "But I'll buy you a thing when we go to Hogsmeade, yeah?"
"Works for me," Scorpius replied, opening a box from Grandmother and Grandfather Malfoy. Just as he expected, just as he received every year from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a set of dress robes stared back at him.
Every year it's the same, he thought wryly. Narcissa Malfoy insisted that her grandson stay at the peak of fashion, so always sent him the latest set of tailor-made, Parisian dress robes every birthday. Unfortunately for him, their only useful job was to take up more space in his trunks, as he had yet to have an occasion to wear them at Hogwarts. They only came out of the mothballs during the Malfoy Christmas parties, and he had yet to build up the courage to tell his grandmother that he would be perfectly fine wearing last year's model to their stuffy soirees. No one could survive the glare he was sure to receive.
As Gabriel hoisted his bulky frame, which matched his father's perfectly, out of bed and lumbered to the bathroom, scratching the back of his boxer shorts absently, Scorpius picked up a second package from the ground. Slightly smaller than one sent by the elder Malfoys, Scorpius also had a good idea of what this package would contain as soon as he looked at the wrappings.
My family, he thought. Anything but unpredictable. His other grandmother, Ylwa Gibbon, put just as little thought into her gifts as Lucius and Narcissa. On the other hand, Ylwa's gifts always showed a bit more creativity and, more importantly, care and affection than those he received from the Malfoys. But it still amused him nonetheless.
When Scorpius was six years old, he had made a comment to Grandmother Gibbon that his favorite Quidditch Team was the Wigtown Wanderers. It didn't matter that years later, when he stopped paying attention to the logos and started actually caring about the sport itself, he became a diehard Kenmare supporter. Ever since that fateful day, however, Ylwa had seized onto that one minor factoid about her grandson like a crocodile clamps onto a wounded wildebeest. Every birthday and every Christmas, without fail, he would find a package wrapped in blood red and adorned with the Wanderers' trademark cleaver logo. Inside he would find a Wanderers' Quaffle. Or a Wanderers' pennant. Or a Wanderers' kit or poster or bedsheets or towels or--
"Nissh," said Gabriel as he walked out of the bathroom, toothbrush firmly planted in his cheek. Scorpius had discovered a matching set this year: a Wigtown Wanderers scarf with matching cap. A knitted cleaver was sewn onto the top of the knitted cap, giving the impression of being imbedded in the wearer's skull. "Difnitly noo."
"I don't know," said Scorpius dryly, holding it to the now-lit lamps. "It doesn't match any of my dresses."
"Nave it mor Nallowe'en," said Gabriel, scrubbing away at his teeth. "Goo' snare."
"I'll, um, take your word for it," said Scorpius. "Whatever that word is."
Gabriel shrugged. "Ner nearts in nu righ' lace," he said, running back to the bathroom to spit. Scorpius shook his head in mild exasperation before turning to the multiple boxes he had received from his parents. He tore open the first package, and his heart sank instantly: It contained a broom servicing kit.
"Oh, damn," said Gabriel. "Didn't tell them you broke yours?"
"I didn't break mine!" Scorpius said sharply. "It was--"
"Yeah, I know who it was," said Gabriel quickly. "But you still didn't tell them?"
Scorpius set the box aside. No, he hadn't told them that his broom had been snapped in half during the Quidditch tryouts, busted over the knee of one of the two Slytherin Beaters. He didn't know if it had been Redmond or Orlo who had done it, as he had been unconscious at the time of that final indignation. But the fact remained that his parents had been more concerned (and frustrated) about his physical well-being in the owl they sent him, so he had completely forgotten to tell them.
Or maybe not completely forgotten. The fact was that, despite the displeasure that the entire Malfoy family felt following the incident, Scorpius still felt ashamed that he had allowed himself to become such a target of ridicule. Admitting to his father that he had not only been sent to the hospital wing and that he didn't make the team were bad enough. The mere thought of his father reacting to the destruction of his extremely expensive Cleansweep Fifty filled Scorpius's stomach with molten lead.
In the next box he found a chess set, followed by a box of meat pies and a package of strawberry biscuits.
I hope these tide you over, his mother had written in an attached note. I never trusted the food that those Hogwarts elves make. Tell us know if you need more.
"Your Mum actually made you food?" Gabriel asked.
"My mother wouldn't know her way to the kitchen with a map and a compass," said Scorpius, holding up the packages. "Honeydukes," he said, pointing at the tag on the bag of biscuits. "Sir Solomon's," he read from the box of pies.
"Still," said Gabriel, a glimmer of hunger in his eye. "Looks tasty."
"I'll get to them later," said Scorpius, mentally calculating a place where he could hide them without Holden or Arnold getting into them. There wasn't much left of his stack. A box of chocolates (another box from his parents, as it matched the destroyed one sitting on his bed) and a loose envelope were all that remained.
The envelope caught his eye. His mother had already written to him about the food, so this obviously had to be from his father, who rarely wrote. He picked up and studied his name written on the front.
"From your dad?" Gabriel asked, on Scorpius's wavelength.
"Dunno," said Scorpius, slitting the envelope open. "Might be. Doesn't look like his handwriting."
And as he opened the letter and read it, his eyes widening as he went, he realized that it obviously wasn't from Draco Malfoy:
Malfoy, the note read,
I'm writing you instead of talking to you in person because I'm putting my arse on the line here as much as you'd be. So read this and don't go blabbing it about the school if you know what's good for either of us.
Here's the long and short of it: Anderson sucks. He can't throw, he can't catch, and he can't hold onto a Quaffle, no matter how many Sticking Charms are tossed on the bloody thing. As of Tuesday, he's off the team and I want you on in his place. You were the best Chaser on the pitch before Orlo and Redmond handed out their retribution.
Blood purity aside, winning's what matters with the Slytherin Quidditch team. It'll be a rough trek for both of us, but you can make us better.
Practice is Tuesday night. Show up with your broom.
Xavier MacDougal
Captain, Slytherin Quidditch
PS: Don't feel that you have to come alone. I can see why you'd think this is a trick, so bring backup if you don't believe me. You might need it either way. I can't promise everyone will be happy to see you.
"What is it?" Gabriel asked as he watched Scorpius's already pale face turn roughly the color of oatmeal. "What does your dad say?"
Scorpius, unable to find the words, silently handed the letter to Gabriel, then began to pace back and forth across the dormitory floor.
"Retribution?" said Gabriel with shocked amusement. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
Scorpius groaned and put his hands on the back of his neck. Looking up at the ceiling in confusion, he saw two mermen staring back at him.
"So," Gabriel said eventually, "are you... Are you going to do it?"
"Should I?"
"Scorp, they're gonna bloody murder you the moment you walk out there!"
"But maybe they won't," Scorpius countered. "I mean, yeah, Redmond and Orlo want to use my skull as a fondue pot. But MacDougal, he's fine enough with me to ask me onto the team."
"If it isn't a setup," said Gabriel. "Scorp, you could bring out everyone you know, but the team's still bigger than any of them."
"Piper's still a Chaser," Scorpius continued. "He's a Traitor. So's Long. Swindell's a Pureblood, but she's Seeker, what could she do to me?"
"Plow into you at full speed?" Gabriel suggested. "Shove the Snitch down your throat? Or maybe just float above and order everyone else around?"
"Bloody hell..."
"Maybe you could ask Professor--"
"No!" Scorpius said. "No Tonks. That'd be the worst thing. They'd put me in the hospital wing for sure for hiding behind her robes. Maybe even St. Mungo's."
"St. Mungo's might not be out of the question even if she doesn't show up," said Gabriel quietly. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Scorpius said, meaning it. He didn't know what he was going to do. He wanted the Chaser job. If he didn't, he wouldn't have gone out in the first place. His father had been a Seeker for years, but everyone knew it was only because Lucius had bought Draco's way onto the team. If Scorpius could actually make it on talent it might go a good way to improving the Malfoy name.
But would he end up taken out permanently? What mattered more to the Purebloods: victory or respect? That was the question that meant the difference between a successful career as Chaser and another long, painful visit to the Healer.
"I'm going to take a shower," Scorpius said finally, opening his trunk and pulling out some clothing. "I don't need to decide until Tuesday."
"What about the rest of your presents?" Gabe asked, pointing to the remaining box of candy.
"Have it," said Scorpius. "I'm not hungry."
Gabriel shrugged and grabbed the box from the floor. He eyed it warily, making sure that it was an actual gift, and not a gag present purchased at The Wheezes and given to Malfoy by a Pureblood with a mind for mischief.
"It's safe," said Scorpius. "Wheezes uses generic names on their products, and that's a brand. It's probably from my mum."
"Oh, yeah," said Gabriel as Scorpius turned to the bathroom. "Hey, Scorpius?"
"Yeah?" Scorpius asked, turning around to see Gabriel reading the tag of the box.
"Not your mum," said Gabriel, squinting at the writing. "Who's Meghan?"
Surreal / Previous Chapters / Best-Laid Plans