Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Welcome, readers, to the fourth story in the journals & ice cream series. At this point, you probably do need to read the first three in order for the copious background to this story to make sense, but I suppose it can maybe make sense on its own. I'd still recommend reading the others; don't worry, they're all only 11 chapters each! This story is going to be a little different to the others, in that Lorcan won't necessarily be the only person writing in his own journal…
A massive thank-you to my friend and muse Jenn, who is lending her gossip talent to the writing of Lorcan Scamander and the Year of Raging Hormones! As always, this story is dedicated to you. Couldn't have made it this far without you!
I am darkness.
I am silent; unobtrusive. Ever constant, ever present, but unnoticed and unseen unless I wish to be seen. I am the wind that rustles your curtains at night; the shadow that moves from the corner of your eye; the dark twin to all that exists. For when the sun sets, it is I who rules the majestic kingdom, casting darkness everywhere. I am the night, in all its wondrous incarnations. I am the shadow you cast when you walk in the sun, for even the brightest light casts the darkest shadow. I am –
oh my god Lorcan, you are so fucking pretentious.
– a long-suffering brother. It appears I shall have to make a more concentrated effort to hide my poetry and prose from inconsiderate family members who have no concept of privacy and even less appreciation for the higher forms of art.
Lorcan Scamander and the Year of Raging Hormones
from the private journal of Lorcan Scamander
September 1, 2023
I have heard others lament as to where the time has gone – a phrase I cannot understand, as it is not as though time is running out. It is true that our bodies age, but our perception of the universe and the dimension of time is very limited: who can truly say where time is going, or where it has gone, when it is in a constant state of flux?
(Allow me to commence the year by being more pretentious than usual. Perhaps it will deter certain persons and twin siblings from stealing my journal with the intention of defacing it.)
I intend to study the concept of time. From a linear, 'objective' point of view, I will have to wait until the end of this school year, though, to truly engage in the field. I find myself needing to perceive the world as others do in order to keep up with their postulations: for instance, Rose Victoria.
I met Rose first this morning on Platform 9 ¾. The extended Weasley family was early for once, and Rose was rereading her new textbooks for the year, already in a state about the N.E.W.T. examinations. Why, I've no idea, because from her own linear perspective the exams are not going to be held for quite a number of months so really she has plenty of time to study.
She was, I hesitate to admit, slightly irritating in her obsession, but from a distance I do actually find it indescribably endearing. She would not be the Rose Victoria Weasley I am so fond of if she did not work herself up into a wretched state of stress about examinations.
The measured time at the moment is late and I'm quite exhausted, but as I have for the past six years, I strive to recount the events of the day with the utmost precision. I am nothing if not dedicated.
The platform was, as always, crowded. As mentioned above, I first met up with the Weasley family; my mother and my father could not stay to see Lysander and myself off on the Hogwarts Express, as they were due to travel to Australia for an expedition. It is of no matter; they shall have fun, and my brother and I are perfectly qualified to see ourselves onto the train.
The Weasley clan is, for lack of a better description, immense; it would be remiss of me to say that Mr Malfoy does not have a point when he grumbles that half of Hogwarts appears to be populated solely by Weasleys. They are very distinctive on the platform. It is something of a joke amongst families: if you get lost on Platform 9 ¾, just locate the redheads and use them as a beacon. I am friends with all of them, or if not friends then friendly. I admit, Lysander and I mostly stayed in their company because of Rose and to use the Weasleys as a homing beacon for Scorpius, who was late this year.
Albus Severus was also with us: he is tanned this year, from the summer – he and his immediate family spent a few weeks in Fiji. Apparently it wasn't quite his "thing", but he enjoyed reading in the hammocks. James Sirius was more adventurous, but he completed his schooling last year after making himself the History of Magic Professor and was not on the platform to see his younger siblings and cousins off. The ones who were present exchanged niceties and general enquiries about the summer break with me.
"Hello, Lorcan," Hugo greeted me in passing.
"Good morning, Hugo Martin. How are you this year?"
"Brilliant! Look at what I have –"
He pulled a Muggle mobile phone out of his pocket.
"It's very remarkable," I said, "but I'm afraid it won't work at Hogwarts, Hugo. Remember the last time you experimented with one?"
He flushed. "I know what I did wrong last time. I'll make it work! You just wait and see."
With luck, Hufflepuff won't pull another vanishing act due to the number of House Points Hugo is bound to lose them this year.
(It would naturally be irresponsible of me to engage in a betting ring about the number of points he'll lose. It would be even more irresponsible of me to bet on him losing up to 1000 points over the school year.)
Hugo is constantly pulling apart and re-inventing Muggle items of varying curious degrees. He has not always been successful (for example, 2021) but they have been rather ingenious, leading to many agreeing he should have been Sorted into Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor.
I myself am not the least bit surprised he was Sorted in Hufflepuff, as the boy is undyingly loyal – a virtue shadowed by his prowess in mixing technology with magic.
"Hugo, try not to blow up the dorm this year," Mrs Granger-Weasley had said to him at Platform 9 ¾. I know this only because I was standing beside Rose, Albus, and Lysander, waiting for Scorpius to arrive. Hugo had the grace to look sheepish.
"I'll try," he said, although I suspect he meant something more along the lines of, "No promises." Judging by Mrs Granger-Weasley's expression, I think she assumed the same.
Last year it was an e-reader, but he didn't lose points then because everyone was worried Hufflepuff would vanish again. From what I know through Scorpius, Muggle technology does not always work especially well in the Malfoy Manor, hence Hugo's dedication to trying to manipulate it to the point where it will for Miss Livia. Sadly, his inventions have a habit of exploding periodically, and now between him and Lily Luna, the school has become something of a minefield.
Unlike Lily, however, Hugo has no mischievous intent.
As I was also beside the Potter clan, I heard Mrs Potter (who insists every time I see her to call her 'Ginny' but will agree to 'Ginevra Molly' if she must) say to her daughter, "Lily, if I get one more letter from the Headmaster telling me you've flunked out of five classes but managed to spell half of the school a second out of synch, you will receive the Howler of your life."
Only in her fifth year, but has allegedly already received letter with offers of employment from the Department of Mysteries! Now there is a woman who has an extraordinary grasp of time and its mysteries. It is a shame she is dating David Forster; were I not terrified of Albus's reaction, I should like to ask her out myself, although I admit that my interest in her is not necessarily romantic but rather intellectual. I doubt that would make a difference to Albus.
The Malfoy family was late this morning. Mr Malfoy looked rather weary when I saw him arrive with his family, although logically this can be attributed to the multitasking he accomplishes these days: with one child to be taken to Platform 9 ¾, one child to be taken to Muggle Kent shortly afterwards, and another child screaming and wailing in his wife's arms, it does appear to be a bit of a handful.
"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," I said, just as Mrs Halcombe-Malfoy handed him the screaming toddler.
"Good morning, Lorcan," he said over his young son's screams. "How are you?"
"Edified," I replied, although I doubt he asked me out of interest, merely politeness, as he was now struggling to calm the youngest member of his family and did not seem particularly concerned with my response.
"Dad, you're hopeless. Give him here," Scorpius said, and took the baby who immediately stopped crying once in his brother's arms.
"Oh, well, that's nice," Mr Malfoy said, scowling at his son. "Thank you, Hadrian. I suppose you'll burst into tears again when Scorpius hands you back?"
Hadrian giggled at him. Scorpius handed young Hadrian back to Mrs Halcombe-Malfoy who asked me how I was, although she did confuse me with Lysander. I didn't correct her.
I noticed Hugo and Miss Livia talking off on the side. Miss Livia is often in the papers these days; she looked very fashionable this morning. Samael Glyde hung around them as well, ever eagre for the chance to be involved with the special bond Hugo and Miss Livia have.
With luck I won't be hearing too much of Samael's work this year; he is a little too enamoured by the art of necromancy than is strictly necessary.
The usual rush occurred after that – Mr Weasley, Mrs-Granger Weasley, and Mr and Mrs Potter exchanged greetings with the Malfoys, and Scorpius joined Rose, Albus, Lysander, and myself to board the train.
There is nothing in particular worth noting about the train ride to Hogwarts. Lysander and I conversed with Rose, Albus, and Scorpius, and my brother made a rather dramatic speech about becoming a famous adventurer upon the conclusion of his education at Hogwarts. He has been saying this for years, though, so all it merited were a couple of eye-rolls from our friends. Everything that followed is, again, not especially worth noting. The Sorting was enjoyable and the feast elaborate as always.
The Prefects of Ravenclaw, Yolanda Liu and Nathan Nightingale, took the first years with them first. Albus, Scorpius and I dawdled a bit – no particular reason, other than to avoid the stampede of students. When we arrived at the Ravenclaw door, it was Scorpius who raised his fist to give a single knock.
"When is a hat not a hat?" the eagle doorknob asked.
Scorpius stared at it. "Okay, this door has it out for me. I think it's doing it on purpose."
"Doing what?" I enquired.
"Getting harder every year!"
"That's awfully paranoid of you, Scorpius Hyperion, don't you think?"
Albus shook his head. "No, I'm with Scorpius. It's getting harder on purpose."
"Well, what do you think the answer is?" I asked. Let it never be said I am inconsiderate and am not patient enough to hear other peoples' opinions.
"When is a hat not a hat?" Albus repeated. "I don't know! When it's a condom?"
So crude. Scorpius poked my shoulder. "Come on, let us in."
I am never ceased to be amazed at how the Hat could possibly have Sorted both of those boys into Ravenclaw. Over the past six years they have spent a total of twenty-eight nights sleeping in the corridor because they could not answer the eagle door.
I suspect the door had been taking pity on them, though, because last year I noticed its questions were considerably simplified: "To be or not to be?" was one of them.
Now, if only they'd known their Shakespeare (a downfall for Hogwarts, as the school does not teach his rich works), they'd have known the answer was, "That is the question."
For the past six years, they have always made certain to seek me out before evening or returning to the common room so that I might answer the door for them. I was happy to oblige for the first few years, but it is getting rather ridiculous now.
"When is a hat not a hat?" I said, stepping forwards. "What a fascinating question. I suppose it depends, really, on what angle one would come from. There are many different answers."
"Indeed there are," the door intoned.
"Ah, so this would therefore imply you would accept a number of answers, except, of course, the answer that a hat is not a hat when it is a condom. Hence, you do will not accept any form of literal answer." At least, not from Albus and Scorpius. I wrote above that the door was taking pity on them last year; it appears to have quickly returned to frustration.
I do not condone the door's feelings at all. That would be terrible of me.
"Oh, Merlin," I heard Albus groan behind me, "he's philosophising with the door again."
'Again', he said – it is not as though I do it on purpose, of course. That would be simply petty of me.
"When a hat is not a hat, it is something else," I mused. "It could be anything else. Everything I am saying could be or mean anything else. These are just sounds representative of meaning, are they not? What a truly enticing hypothesis. For words are –"
"Lorcan, will you please just get the damn door open?"
I turned to face him. "Whatever is your hurry, Albus Severus?"
He stared at me incredulously. "Aside from the fact that I'd rather not spend another night sleeping in the corridor while you flirt with a door?"
I concede, that only happened once. In my defence, it had been a very engaging discussion. (The fact that Scorpius had been very rude to me earlier that day had no bearing whatsoever on the situation.)
"I know that time doesn't exist in a 'strict progression of cause to effect' or whatever for you, but it does for the rest of us mortals and I need to pee now."
Again, so crude. Alas. I sighed and returned to face the door. "Ceci n'est pas une pipe," I said.
"Well reasoned," the eagle replied, and the door opened.
"Okay, now you did that on purpose," Scorpius scowled at me. "What do pipes have to do with it?"
"I don't get it," Albus said, defeated, and embarked upon his journey to the lavatory.
That was a few hours ago. I am in bed now, and as I write this I can hear Nathan Nightingale and Rowan Davies snoring; they went to sleep about twenty minutes ago. Albus and Scorpius are still talking. It is a habit of mine to record their conversations:
"I'm going out with Rose."
"…Did you hear what I said?"
"I take it that means you're okay with it?"
One, two, three…
"Wait, what? What?"
Oh, dear, is all I can think. Rose has been making her feelings for Scorpius rather overt these last few weeks over the holidays, although I am surprised by the recent development of them actually dating. (I sincerely hope that awful gossip column doesn't make an appearance this year; Merlin know what it will make of this. Either that, or the teachers find a way to remove the permanent sticking charm from the Hogwarts general notice board.)
I was under the impression, at least for the past year or so, that Scorpius was quite taken by someone else, which leads me beg the question that perhaps Rose merely bullied him into asking her out.
I say Rose has feelings for Scorpius; I actually mean that I suspect she likes the idea of being romantically inclined towards him and does not bear true romantic feelings, if only due to the fact that Mr Weasley (who, like his sister, insists I call him by his first name, but will also grudgingly settle for 'Ronald Bilius') tells her every summer break that he'll never forgive her if she marries a Pureblood. I think she just wants to give her father a panic attack.
There is an unstated 'group' in our year: Lysander-Rose-Albus-Scorpius-Lorcan. Lysander and I, however, know perfectly well that we are the outliers, the two on the fringe: the group of five is more accurately described as a group of three plus two.
It does not cause me any undue angst, as I find myself in possession of the finest friends regardless. Lysander, I think, is more disappointed, but he has his own camaraderie with other Gryffindors.
Writing of Lysander, I fear he will not take the news of Rose and Scorpius with much enthusiasm, but really, it is his own fault for not asking her out first.
At the moment, Albus is pretending everything is fine and Scorpius is awkwardly reassuring him that nothing will be different and he promises that it won't be weird, even though Rose is Albus's cousin. I suspect that is indeed one of Albus's concerns – that he'll be excluded, and the group of three (plus two) will become a group of two plus one (plus two).
He needn't worry, though – I doubt Scorpius's and Rose's relationship will last for much longer than a month, and when (not if, when) they break up, their friendship will come out unharmed. If that is not what is bothering him, though, I shall not do him the disservice of speculating about his feelings in a journal that my brother seems to be able to find and read on whim, no matter what pains I go to in order to hide it.
Let me merely state that I think I know what it is that is really bothering him, but am certainly above placing bets with Lily Luna. Because that would be vastly irresponsible of me.
As for me… I cannot help but feel somewhat at a loss myself. If Scorpius does not have romantic feelings for Rose, I see no reason for him to pretend he does.
My friends frequently confuse me, even now. Lily is the only one who makes sense around here when she's not almost getting herself expelled.
I shall now retire. With luck, I will make my way through my final year with limited hassle.
Posted on the general Hogwarts noticeboard:
Hello again, Hogwarts,
That's right, I'm back – your one and only guide into the scandalous lives of Hogwarts' elite. And what a crop we have this year!
At the risk of boring you newbies, the old hands may be interested to know that our favourite little Ravenclaw soap opera just took an intriguingly heterosexual turn. But don't get your money back from bookies just yet – something tells me that the best is yet to come. And by "best" I of course mean the opposite!
In other news, here's a shout-out to our favourite miss goody-two-shoes in Slytherin: watch your back, honey. We haven't forgotten last year, and I know EXACTLY what you did last summer. And sweetheart, I'm so very, very bad at keeping secrets.
And who am I? Well, that's one secret I'll never tell… and H? No matter how promising a candidate that lonely writer boy looks, I can assure you his latent sociopathic tendencies have got NOTHING on mine.
You know you love me,