Leave Out All The Rest

Tale as Old as Time

Chapter Five: Tale as Old as Time

POV: Scorpius

"Remind me why I woke up so bloody early?" Lucas Zabini shivered from the cold morning wind trying to knock us back down the hill we had barely managed to climb up. A leaf smacked him on the nose, making him curse as he swatted the thing away like it was a fist fight.

Al laughed loudly at the sight before saying, "No one forced you to come, mate."

I tightened the scarf around my neck as we now attempted to climb the icy stares that led up to the Owlery. "He's right, Zabini. We told you to stay."

"Well, of course you did!" Lucas hissed as he tore the menacing leaf to shreds. "You two twats woke me up in the first place, making all that damn noise. I'm surprised Flint stayed unconscious through your racket."

"We make too much noise?" I scoffed. "How can you sleep with Flint's heavy snoring? Salazar, if I didn't share a dorm with him, I'd never believe an eleven year old boy could sound like an old, saggy man."

Al agreed with me as he picked up his pace, trying to hurry to the entrance of the Owlery that promised divine heat. "I would've placed a Silencing Charm around his four-poster, but I haven't yet learned to make it stick. That, and sticking my shoe in his mouth was an appealing second option."

Lucas snickered. "You should've done that anyway, mate. The kid got the best four-poster in the dormitory, didn't he? He didn't even let us challenge him for it—"

The rest of his sentence was cut short when he was almost launched off the frosted stairs by a rough shoulder colliding into his chest. If Al nor I had been quick to help our new Slytherin friend, Lucas would have fallen splat against the ground before either of us could remember a levitating spell.

Once Lucas was secured (a hand over his heart, gasping), I looked up to find a massive, dark-haired student before us. His eyes were the color of ink—an angry, impatient ink that was surrounded by purple sleeping bags that only made him look like he had just awaken from his own grave.

"Fucking First Years," he hissed, shouldering past Al and myself to climb down the stairs.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy quaffles was that all about?" huffed Al as he pushed Lucas through the small entrance of the Owlery. "We almost got trampled by a bloody troll!"

Lucas dropped his hand from his chest, color returning to his face. "Macnair," he said. "That troll was Marcus Macnair."

Al and I turned to each other, shrugging at the name before we separated. I walked over to an old, chipped wooden top, pulling out a roll of parchment and my quill from the pocket of my trousers.

"Marcus Macnair," repeated Lucas. When he received no reply, he scoffed and added, "Anyway—that beast is Walden Macnair's grandson. One of the original Death Eaters for You-Know-Who."

"No. Who?" Al asked, snickering to himself when Lucas gaped back at him. He then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, mate. I get it. Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, terrible wars—it's all rather repetitive."

Lucas looked unimpressed at Al's response. "Look, Marcus Macnair is, in fact, a monster. Walk the other way if you see he coming. If you can't, well...just hope he kills you quickly."

Al scoffed. "How do you know so much, anyway?"

"I make it a point of knowing my family's history," Lucas said. "Unfortunately, it crosses with a lot of pureblood families here in Britain. A lot in Italy, too, which is where my paternal side is originally from."