6:30 AM

Disclaimer: These characters are here of my own free will and none of their originator's. The only compensation I receive is to be graced with their presence.

In some ways, the man behind the curtain was the loneliest inhabitant of Hogwarts.

He spoke to neither friends nor family, for he had neither. The closest he had to a contemporary was the current Headmistress, and in his painted afterlife as in life, they were no more than acquaintances and sometime colleagues. His relations with his former students who now numbered among the faculty were respectful; but owing to their difficult history, he doubted they would ever be more than that.

The former student he would have most liked to address was not among them.

“Good morning, Scorpius.”

Yawning and stumbling his way down the corridor as he was, the voice rather startled Scorpius. He turned to find he was directly opposite the draped portrait without realizing it. “Um, good morning, sir,” he said, pleased he didn’t stutter. He was getting better at handling surprises.

“I trust your apprehension cannot be attributed to a guilty conscience,” he chided. Scorpius thought he detected a hint of humor, but wasn’t quite sure enough to be relieved.

“No, sir! Sorry, sir. I’m just terribly nervous. Quidditch tryouts are this morning, and I… I want so dearly to fly,” Scorpius said, longing straining in him until he thought he must rise up a little of his own magic and will.

“Well, then, fly. I’m certain you will acquit yourself well,” their mystery portrait said, this time with a distinctly more gentle tone.

“It’s just… there are older students trying, and I don’t know if we stand a chance.”

“‘We?’”

“Al—Albus and me. He says we’re the best in the school, one and two and ‘the only difference is who has the better wind that day. It would be a crime if we weren’t one of us first and t’other second string,’” Scorpius quoted. He wasn’t convinced of that, himself. Al had much more experience, what with having enough cousins and siblings and whatnot to field almost two complete Quidditch teams, on excellent brooms.

“That Potter boy is unlikely to have your best interests at heart,” the man said in a distinctly nasty way.

Scorpius was used to hearing something like that tone—but it was usually directed at him. Hearing someone speak about Al that way… Al, whom everyone seemed to regard as some sort of Golden Child, Slytherin robes notwithstanding… twisted in his already unsettled stomach. “I shall thank you not to cast-cast aspersions on my best friend, sir,” he said. He knew he’d taken ‘polite’ out behind the broomshed and hexed it inside out, and he was glad of it. He knew he’d done it brilliantly, too… almost as well as Grandmother, and no one could shrink someone down to size with just her tone of voice the way Grandmother could.

The man behind the curtain was quiet so long, Scorpius thought he’d left in offense and almost turned to leave himself. Suddenly, that curious sound he’d heard last time they’d addressed the portrait—that odd bark of laughter—echoed in the corridor. Scorpius fancied he could see the curtain move because of it. “Clearly she is still at the height of her powers,” the man said, so drily it was rather droll.

Scorpius was utterly nonplussed. It almost seemed as if the mystery portrait meant to say he knew Grandmother…

Before Scorpius could pursue the thought any further, the man interrupted. “So. Mr. Potter, perfect gentleman and good friend that he is, naturally wished you luck before you both… took your separate paths to the Quidditch Pitch?” He was more polite than before, but Scorpius still objected to the taint of skepticism.

“He was still asleep,” Scorpius said, well aware it sounded like he was making excuses. “I wanted to get to the pitch to practice a bit alone. I think better on my own.” He could have added that he was more used to thinking alone because, well, he usually was. He might also well have said that he would rather, if he were to vomit from nerves, do so without an audience.

“Would you care for someone to wish you luck?” The man sounded genuinely curious.

“I don’t know what to think of luck, sir. Rose insists there is no such thing, yet I know for a fact that she is carrying her Severus Snape Chocolate Frog card today. She considers it one of her more valuable cards, even though he refuses to appear in it after that first day. I can’t think of any reason she would risk it, if not for luck. Al insists that luck is something you make, and not in a cauldron.”

“Hmm.” The man sounded as if he were trying to sound dismissive but was too intrigued by the thought to quite manage it.

“Honestly, I would settle for something to make my stomach hold still,” Scorpius admitted.

Suddenly, the draped man was all authority and solicitous grown-up manners again. “Mr. Malfoy, whether settled or not, do put something in your stomach before you fly. I would be most distressed to hear that you fell from your broom due to faintness.”

“I’ll try, sir,” Scorpius said meekly. This mystery portrait must have been either a professor or a father, he decided. The nicer sorts of both were always concerned lest you have enough to eat. He supposed this fellow didn’t believe in luck, either. “Thank you.” When he heard no clear signal of dismissal, he turned and trudged down the corridor, carefully considering whether his stomach would respond favorably to food of any sort.

“Scorpius…” The voice beckoned from the frame once more.

Scorpius turned. “Sir?”

“You don’t need luck,” he said firmly.

Scorpius found he had a small smile in him after all. “Yes, sir.”

“I ought not to have greeted him by his first name,” he chastised himself quietly for so startling the already nervous child. It gave him a pang to see a Malfoy, an inherently proud creature, in such reduced circumstances. Still, he could not deny that the resulting polite, modest, child was almost devastatingly appealing. It had been so very long since he’d allowed himself to... no, that wasn’t quite right. He had been fond of several students over the years. What was rare was wanting one particular student, as an individual and not just a Slytherin, to win.

He firmly willed Scorpius to do so as he watched the boy disappear down the corridor.