Scorpius Malfoy sat in the dimly lit Slytherin common room, the emerald flames in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he examined the small tear in his robe, the edges frayed from where it had caught on a splintered wooden desk earlier that day. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling a twinge of frustration. He couldn’t afford to let anything mar his appearance, especially not something as trivial as a hole in his robes.