Othala

:heritage: 

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"COME ALONG, MISS TURNER." McGonagall huffed, a dozen scrolls balanced precariously in her arms. Another two dozen floated along at her back in a neat little row. Like a mother duck escorting her ducklings across a road, thought Blue.

Blue followed along, tripping over the hem of her borrowed wizarding robes, in a vain attempt to keep up with the older witch's brisk pace. She almost face planted once, but had managed to catch herself on a suit of armor.

McGonagall looked down her long nose at Blue, her glasses magnifying her displeasure. Her lips, drawn so tightly, had practically disappeared from her face. "We mustn't be late to class."

Blue nodded. She was trying her best, honestly. But the robes Rose had lent were snug in the chest and arms, saggy in the bum, and at least six inches too long. A sausage that, at the same time was over-filled, and not filled enough. Under strict order, Blue wore a button-down, a black tie she'd borrowed from Albus, and her nicest trousers, which were a pair of snug-fitting jeans with the least amount of holes.

As she understood it, the black tie was so she showed no allegiance to any house. A teacher, or in her case, an honorary teacher's aide (if there was any honor to be found in being coerced into getting up before six am) was supposed to be above such things, even though McGonagall seemed extra proud when a student of Gryffindor scored higher marks on their exams than someone else. 

But whatever, Blue needed to appear impartial so black it was. The robes made her feel silly, like she was doing a bad cosplay and then parading around the con for everyone to see. It didn't help that there was so much extra fabric she felt like a bird about to take flight.

She'd asked Rose if the robes could fly because being at Hogwarts had taught Blue anything was possible and it was best to ask. Rose had giggled and ignored Blue's question, which prompted several more to form and fall from Blue's lips.

Finally, she managed to coax a response, Rose giving her a satisfactory answer of "I'm not James," which when translated meant nothing nefarious had been done anything to the robes.

Together McGonagall and Blue stormed down a first floor corridor past the Great Hall to an empty classroom at the far end where McGonagall usually conducted her Transfigurations class.

As Headmistress of the school, she'd given up teaching, as reprimanding belligerent students like James took up most of her time, but since the previous teacher resigned, thanks to James, the older witch had no other option but to sub until the posting was filled.

Just as they crossed the threshold into the room, the first bell rang out, McGonagall swooping into the room, a bird of prey, her gaze studying each sullen face seated around a table.

She moved to her desk, large and wooden just like the one in her office. Beside it was a crate of golden snitches, coveted pieces of flying metal that were used to end a Quidditch match quickly, if the team's seeker was worth his broom bristles (according to James).

"Today," McGonagall moved her glasses up her nose. She took out her wand and floated the box of snitches to each table.

Blue, huffing, sat down the stack of parchments on the desk. She didn't recognize most of the kids in the class. They were all Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who she'd had very little interaction with. But there was one face she knew well – Scorpius Malfoy sat at a desk near the front, beside a window. He had his head resting in his hand, and was staring out at the grounds, as mist rolled off the lake. His partner, a red-haired boy a whole foot shorter, grabbed a snitch for them both.

He flinched when Scorpius moved to grab his.

"We are turning snitches into goldfinches," finished McGonagall. "Now," she straightened, the posture of a teacher second nature to her, "what's important when casting a transfiguration spell?" Her eyes scanned the nervous faces in the room. Suddenly, everyone was distracted, by the door, the window, their desk, or fingers. At this point, a gust of wind would have drawn their interest, or the faint whiff of a fart, to avoid being McGonagall's chosen one.

Some twirled hair, others placed their heads down on the table. A few, like the red-haired boy stationed beside Scorpius, rolled their wands around in their hands, as if contemplating a magical escape.

Blue understood their desire to remain invisible all too well. Teachers often asked questions their students wouldn't know, using the opportunity to embarrass and single out one student in order to enlighten the class. No one wanted to be the sacrificial lamb bled out on that altar, all for some sense of greater learning. 

The awkward silence persisted, until McGonagall, frowning and fed up, called out, "Mr. Malfoy?"

The class released a collective sigh, now that the target had been chosen.

Scorpius seemed indifferent. He hadn't made any discernable movement one way or another to avoid or confront McGonagall's gaze. He'd continued on doing what he was doing – flipping, disinterestedly, through the pages of his text book. And at McGonagall's prompting, he said simply and without bothering to look at her, "Precise wand movements. Proper annunciation. Concentration."

"Correct," McGonagall smiled. "And on that note, shall we begin?"

The students stared at their snitches, some furrowing their brows so hard they began to sweat. Others turning blue in the face because in all their concentrating they'd forgotten to breath. A girl near the back shrieked when she'd only managed half the spell, and her snitch sprouted a feathered wing. It flew unevenly around her head, until with her wand, McGonagall, turned it back into 100% snitch.

She walked the classroom, correcting the student's movements, or emphasizing the correct syllable of the spell. When she reached Scorpius she stopped; he hadn't even attempted the spell.

"Mr. Malfoy—"

"This won't be on the OWLs," he said brusquely. "I don't need to learn it."

"I know it may seem trivial now, but—"

"Can't I just study?" His snitch fluttered in the air.

McGonagall frowned. "I know your wand is getting repaired—" His mouth tensed. "But you must practice. No one's asking you to be perfect."

Gritting his teeth, Scorpius glared at the snitch, deep lines of concentration running between his eyes. The snitch started to glow, and then, a beak popped out on its front. McGonagall was smiling as its wings sprouted feathers when—

Blue heard his song lash out. Loud, aggressive, grating on her ears. The snitch grew bigger,  ballooning to ten times its size too rapidly for it to have been purposeful. A hooked beak formed, lined with rows of sharp, metallic teeth. Feathered wings beat against the snitch's still metallic body.

This wasn't right. Scorpius's magic wasn't right.

Without thinking, Blue darted over, even as McGonagall shooed her away. She focused on the sound, on the arrangement, and held out her hand. All of sudden, she could see it – his song, rendered in notes and bars that floated before her. Each sharp note that should have been flat: every stanza written to be soft, but that blared like a siren in her head. It was all there, laid out like a perfectly composed piece of music.

And then, something shimmered in Blue's hand. A beam of gold light, balanced between her fingertips, a wand of her own make, for her to wield. Trembling and unsure, she raised her arm, pointing her wand at Scorpius's composition.

After having singled out the notes most disruptive to the song, she flicked her wrist. Warmth surged from her arm to the wand, the offending note replaced by the correct one. She did this again and again until the song's tempo slowed and the pitch leveled out.

A cloud of dust erupted around the snitch. When it cleared, the most splendid goldfinch fluttered before their eyes.

Scorpius's seat skidded across the floor as he jumped to his feet. "How did you—What did you—How—"

"I," she glanced down in her hand to find it empty. No wand, but the heat of it, of magic, remained. "I don't know. I just fixed it."

"Fixed what?"

"Your song. It was all wrong. So I—"

"Miss Turner," said McGonagall sternly, her hand pressed into Blue's shoulder. "They've had enough time practicing. Gather up the snitches for me." Blue blinked and then nodded. "Mister Malfoy, stay after. I would like a word." She turned around, shoved the glasses further up her nose, and said, "class dismissed." Giving a wave of her wand, the snitches returned to their original forms. Blue shuffled along the rows of desks, sweeping them into her basket.

The class cast nervous, doubtful glances between one another. No one dared move. McGonagall cleared her throat. "Class dismissed," she said sternly. "And if anyone is here when the bell rings, its extra homework, 20 inches of parchment."

The threat of additional homework got everyone to scatter. Everyone, save Blue and Scorpius. Alone in the classroom, Blue's gaze flitted between Scorpius and Mrs. McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall rounded her desk, trailing her fingertips across the top, "the status of your wand?"

He glanced at the door, and sighed. "Still broken."

"And your replacement?"

"Junk."

She turned on him, arms crossed over her chest. "You can't possibly plan on taking your OWLs wandless."

OWLs were some kind of wizarding exam, that Rose had explained to Blue, drove wizards insane. Sometimes, it even put them in St. Mungos. It was a test that helped them narrow their interests, and really tried to bring to light what a wizard or witch was best at, what job path might be idea once they graduated from Hogwarts. It sounded maddening - lots of tests, both practical and written, requiring hours and hours of studying sessions. Any time Blue sat for too long looking at her school books, and her eyes always felt like they'd melt and leak down her cheeks.

"I do," he said, staring the older witch down. "And I will—"

"You can't expect to do well."

"I just need to pass, right?"

"Mr. Malfoy—"

His eyes slid to Blue. She gulped, as for the majority of the conversation, she'd been like a ghost, but now, under his gaze she felt like suddenly, she shouldered the weight of the world. "How did you do that?"

"I just—heard your song and—"

"It is curious," interrupted McGonagall. "How Mr. Malfoy's magic was spiraling out of control. Without a wand to channel our magic, spell crafting becomes exponentially more difficult. It's hard for even the most practiced gifted wizards to do correctly." Her words seemed charged at Scorpius, who merely shrugged. If her words were glue, he was rubber, and nothing stuck.

"I sensed something wrong and then—" her eyes darted to her hands. She felt silly, explaining something to other people that she herself barely understood. "I saw it. The notes and I was able to right them."

His eyebrows arched. "Right them?"

She shrugged.

Behind her spectacles, McGonagall's eyes sparkled. "Curious." She moved to her desk and picked up a feather. "I would like you, Mr. Malfoy, to levitate this feather into the bin at the far end of the room."

She nodded toward a trash can by the doorway.

"Why?"

"Humor me."

Shrugging, Scorpius glanced at the feather intently and with monotone voice said, "Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather shot into the air. He pointed with his hand at the door, and the feather obliged. For a bit, before it started twirling around and around. Blue heard it, the magic, the notes all out of arrangement, as though they'd been shuffled by no rhyme or reason. And just as his magic started spiraling, a pair of students passed by the door. The feather stopped mid-air, aimed at the pair, and whizzed through the air, straight for them.

"No!" Blue rushed forward, hand outstretched. She found the offending note, the one that through the harmony out of whack, and plucked it out of the arrangement. The magic calmed, and the feather landed in the basket.

"Miss Turner—"

Blue whipped around.

"You interfered in Mr. Malfoy's magic." McGonagall stroked her chin as in her eyes, Blue could see the gears turning. "Somehow magic reacts to you, and vice versa."

Blue glanced at her feet, swimming in the pair of shoes Rose had let her borrow, after she lost on of hers to a hungry Hogwarts's staircase. Come to think on it, everything she wore was borrowed – the robes, the shirt and pants. And nothing fit her properly. Just like Hogwarts. "But I'm not magical."

"As far as I'm aware, no," McGonagall mused. "You would have been enrolled in Ilvermony—" When Blue's head snapped up at the foreign word, McGonagall rushed to explain, "the wizarding school in the Americas. And yet you weren't."

"Then what does that make me?"

A smile rose slowly on the older witch's face. "Mr. Malfoy's new partner."

His usually stoic expression cracked, surprise wrinkling his brow and jettisoning his eyebrows off his face. "What?"

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy. As it stands, your magic is compromised. Unruly, temperamental. Potentially dangerous to your peers. I can't have you doing wordless spells when the outcomes can be so varied." Her eyes floated down to his robe pocket where other witches and wizards usually kept their wands during school hours. "And since you refuse to use the replacement wand procured for you while your wand is repaired, Miss Turner here will accompany you to your classes." She pivoted toward Blue. "You can help reign in Mr. Malfoy's magic, and hopefully, during your stay, we can start to find out what exactly it is you are. Do you agree to these terms, Miss Turner?"

"Even if she does, I don't." Scorpius's voice was cool, the same kind of frigid indifference he often spoke to James with.

"Mr. Malfoy—"

"I don't need help with my magic."

McGonagall clasped her hands in front of herself, returning to her desk. "I beg to differ. Your snitch would have exploded, if not for Miss Turner. Your feather would have speared a fellow student if not for Miss Turner." With each mention of her name, Blue felt like shriveling while Scorpius's glower grew worse. "For whatever reason, magic responds to Miss Turner –"

"I don't need her."

"If you don't agree to work with Miss Turner, I'll have to send you home." Scorpius's mouth fell open. "I cannot have someone endangering this school and all those who attend it. That is my responsibility as Headmistress, one I take with the utmost importance."

"You'll return next year, with your wand, and repeat Fifth Year."

She stood, signaling there was no more room for discussion.

"Fine," said Scorpius relenting. "I'll do it. But I'm not babysitting her."

"I see no need for you to babysit anything. Miss Turner is not a child in need of constant supervision. You will work together. Do make it a fruitful partnership."

She smiled, before waving them off. Scorpius stalked off into the hallway while Blue lagged behind.

"Miss Turner?"

"He doesn't want anything to do with me."

A chuckle rose from McGonagall's throat. "Malfoys are a stubborn lot. I imagine Scorpius's attitude was less because of a dislike of you but more a defense mechanism."

She turned, head tilted. "Defense of what?"

"Why, his pride, of course." She dipped a quill into an ink pot, wiping the excess against the pot's copper rim. "He comes from an old Wizarding Family. Fell from grace they did after allying themselves with Voldemort in the last Wizarding War. His father was a well-known Death Eater; I taught him. Stubborn student, but bright. Good with magic. I think young Mr. Malfoy must feel like he's being pulled in two directions – living up to his father's reputation, and steering clear of it as much as he can."

"You think I can help him?"

"I think you two can help each other."

Before leaving, Blue turned to face her. "Anything from my Aunt?"

McGonagall's fingers tightened around her quill. "Nothing, so far. But I'll keep trying."

"Thank you."

She nodded, and Blue left the classroom, only to be kidnapped and pulled into the library. 

It was an expansive room, what with the vaulted ceilings and loads upon loads of books. Scorpius dragged her between bookshelves toward a sequestered place beside a window. There, he finally let go of her wrist. It surprised her that he was a little out of breath, his cheeks flushed, hair disheveled in front of his face. "I don't need you." Blue hadn't expected his tone with her to be the same he used whenever fighting with James. To her knowledge, she hadn't done anything to Scorpius deserving such open hostility, aside from happening to be there when his song threatened to go off the rails and blow up in students' faces.

"Look," she said, folding her arms across herself, "McGonagall's not trying to say your magic's inadequate—"

Scorpius's eyes bore into her. "And what would you know of my magic?" Angered notes screamed in his song.

She frowned. "I know that you're angry. I can hear as much in your song. And even if I couldn't it doesn't take a genius to see it—your wrinkles glower."

His eyes iced over. "Who gave you the right to hear my song? To read my expression, to think you know me—"

"You think I want to hear songs? It's not something I can control; it's not something I chose. I practically thought I was going to die when I collapsed on—" She pulled her lips into a hard line, refusing to remember that time during the summer at the arcade. When she'd fallen over, because of a pretty nasty song. It landed her in the hospital for a week, only to have the doctors give her a clean bill of health. "I wish I didn't," she continued. "I wish the world was quiet, and that I could have stayed in Connecticut with my friends, instead of being shipped here because my dad didn't want to deal with—" Her breath caught in her throat. 

Scorpius's gaze wavered, then his eyes darted to her hands. "You haven't heard anything from your aunt?" His tone was noticeably softer.

She shook her head. "Nothing, from her or my dad for that matter. Not that I thought he'd care enough to--" She let out a sigh, and scratched nervously at the back of her hand. "And without a proper charger for my phone, I have to conserve power, which means even if they did call, I'd probably miss it because my phone was off." She glanced up, uncomfortable with the amount she was talking. It wasn't like she and Scorpius were friends; it had never been just the two of them alone, and in group outings, Scorpius and Al were always the ones breaking off and going their own way. She also didn't like how he looked at her, like she was a stain on his otherwise, pristine world. "Look," she forced herself to meet his gaze, despite her heart hammering away in her chest, "I don't think you need my help. Honestly, I don't think I'll be much help. But I want to figure out what I am, why I hear these songs. And if I help protect Hogwarts students from your rampaging magic," Scorpius snorted, "then so be it."

His gaze lingered on her face, his lips forming the grimmest frown Blue had ever seen. Without a word, he turned around, and headed toward the library entrance.  "Herbology," he said finally, "in the greenhouse tomorrow. Be ready at nine."

"Okay." She nodded. "Got it."  He shot her a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting, before he left.

*

That evening, relaxing in Gryffindor's common room, Rose and James battling it out in a game of Wizarding Chess, Albus strolled through the portrait. His brother gave him a quick wave, Rose ignoring him as she was too absorbed in her next move to shower her focus on anything else.

Blue the dropped the book she'd been reading into her lap and smiled. Albus was the quieter of the Potter brothers, and much more respectful of her space than Rose and James, and he always had a calm, pleasant aura. She enjoyed seeing him, when the chance arose.

Moving her knight across the board to take down one of James's pawns, Rose's eyes darted upward. "What are you doing here?" A frown formed on her face when James's hand hovered above his Queen.

"I'm not here for you." Albus shot back. He moved in Blue's direction and she scooted down on the couch in case he wanted to sit beside her. He stayed standing, though he flashed a small smile. Holding out his hand, he said, "Here."

He cradled a phone charger, made for European style outlets.

She took it, turning it over in her palm. "For me? How?"

Rose stormed over to them. "You got that from Grandpa?"

He nodded. "Should work, here. Grandpa Weasley charmed it to be indestructible, too."

Blue tamped down the urge to hug the youngest Potter. "Thank you!" Excitement danced through her voice. "Thank you!"

He smiled. "Thank Scorpius." 

Her eyebrows knit over her eyes. "What?"

"He asked me to get this for you. Guess he knew your phone battery was dying."

"I might have mentioned it to him, but I didn't think he—" She gulped, her chest and ears blazing with heat. "I'll be sure to thank him tomorrow." She cradled the charger in her hand like she'd just been given the gift of the century.

With a nod, Albus left. The fire crackled beside Blue, but, as her phone charged on the table next to her, she was sure the heat she felt throughout her body, was a result of finding kindness in one of the most unexpected places.