A/N: Warming: this is only the author running his mouth about a story whose characters and settings he does not own. The actual story begins just after the title. (See below)

For those of you still reading, this is a challenge story from Qoheleth. It is based on the random selection of one of the prophecies of Saint Malachy. Back in the fourteenth century, he was said to predict the next 112 popes by giving them descriptive titles. As a curiosity, he was shown to be completely accurate up to the point of the discovery of his work. As an even greater curiosity, he made the exact same mistakes on papal insignia that his discoverer made in his own works on the papacy, making a whole lot of people think that maybe it was a fraud.

On a final note, due to a terrible accident in North Wiltshire over the weekend, we are asking that everyone refrain from eating Jelly Babies during the course of reading this story.

Everything But Time.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was angry. Angry and frustrated. Life had always been unfair for his family but never more so than today. Today was the day they gave out the assignments.

This year was the twentieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. A big celebration was planned for May. Everyone would wear their dress robes.

There would be speeches, of course. Dull boring things about how great things are now and how terrible they were then. And anyone who survived the speeches could attend the feast. They said it was going to put all other feasts to shame. No one would be permitted to leave until they ate twice the amount they were capable of consuming.

It was going to be wonderful. Until someone had an excellent idea. Excellent when used by an adult usually meant something, boring, unnecessarily difficult and mandatory which had to be done while smiling. To prove this, it was announced shortly before the Christmas holiday that everyone (students only) would write an essay about someone involved in the Battle. When the holiday was over, everyone (students only) would be assigned the name of the person they would write about.

Then, Scorpius discovered that an adult actually had an excellent idea. The essays were still mandatory as part of History class, but the winning essay would receive the royal sum of One Hundred Galleons.

It became better. Anyone who wanted to write about a specific person could submit a request in advance. In case of multiple requests, preference would go to family members. After that, to students in the same house as the person they requested. With that in mind, no more than three names should be listed, in order of preference. Scorpius prided himself on being the first to hand in his request to his head of house, Professor Higgs. The professor smiled at his eagerness and wished him a good holiday. All the students' assignments would be posted in their house common room awaiting their return.

Scorpius was excited. He would write about the bravery of his father. How Draco Malfoy helped thwart the Dark Lord. Or, better yet, how Grandmother Narcissa aided the Boy Who Lived. Right under Voldemort's nose. Not that he had one.

And that was why Scorpius was angry.

Favoritism was rampant. James Potter was the lucky one, no surprise. He had to write about Daddy. The Weasleys were also lucky. Hugo writing about their father and Rose about their Mum. And the preference for houses was a laugh. Why else would they have Albus Potter write about Severus Snape. Worst of all, Laurel Woods was assigned Voldemort. Scorpius ignored the rest, glancing at various names. Some first year in Hufflepuff was stuck with Cornelius Fudge.

Montague, next to him was cursing. He had been given Horace Slughorn. The man was best known for trying to hide. Then, Scorpius found his name. His father was not listed with him. He checked later. His father wasn't even on the list. None of the Malfoys were. Instead, his assignment was to write about Rufus Scrimgeour. Who was Rufus Scrimgeour?

Few Slytherins were happy with the choices. True, few Slytherins were on the winning side. Most of them were writing about people from other houses. Scorpius had plenty of company. And most, like him, had no idea who that person was. This contest was all a load of Gryphon dung.

First things first, Scorpius talked to his head of house. Professor Higgs carefully explained that the Malfoys, despite claims that they helped, to some degree, were not on the winning side. It wouldn't be proper. Scorpius complained that Voldemort was on the list and he wasn't on the winning side, either.

He was told to stop whining and just deal with it.

Scorpius had his fill of proper long ago. Despite the warning, he dared approach the headmistress. Professor McGonagall carefully explained that the Malfoys, despite claims that they helped, to some degree, were not on the winning side. It wouldn't be proper. Scorpius complained that Voldemort was on the list and he wasn't on the winning side, either.

He was told to stop whining and just deal with it.

Scrubmore. He was stuck with some stupid nobody named Scrubmore.

Professor McGonagall corrected him. The name was Scrimgeour. Then she took ten house points away for him saying 'whatever'.

Scorpius consoled himself. Some students had it worse. Jeremy Sprinter, the obnoxious mudblood from Ravenclaw ( he was so obnoxious, even the other muggleborns called him a mudblood) had to write about Grawp, the giant. And Antonius Fletcher from Hufflepuff was given Sybil Trelawney, the crazy old bat who lived in the north tower. On the other hand, he knew who he was writing about and he could even talk to her about the Battle.

Two weeks later, Scorpius finally decided to go to the library. That was when his anger came back stronger than ever. True, the man used to be Minister for Magic, but he died a year before the Battle of Hogwarts even took place.

He went to see the Assistant Headmaster. Professor Flitwick told him that there were several people included in the list that had died before the Battle. They were important people. Amelia Bones. Sirius Black. Alastor Moody. And, of course, Albus Dumbledore. The Professor explained that these were all important people who contributed to the effort that led to the war's success. He then gave Scorpius detention for saying that all bloody stupid Scrubmore did was get himself killed. He had to do lines. Five Hundred Times. I am writing about Rufus Scrimgeour.

More time passed. Scorpius had managed to do all of his research in one day. Scrubmore used to be in charge of the Aurors. He became Minister after Voldemort returned. And he died when everyone in the Ministry turned on him. He lasted barely a year. Flobberworms lasted longer than that.

Montague laughed when he found out that Scorpius hadn't started yet. Bogg, who had Peeves the Poltergeist, laughed as well. They both wrote twelve inches of Gryphon dung and handed it in. They weren't going to win any prizes so why bother. Jenette Pucey told him not to worry. She hadn't written anything either. Not that she cared. She couldn't be bothered to find out who Nymphadora Tonks was. (Bogg told her she was Ted Tonks' mother.)She would write her garbage at the last minute, the same as with her regular schoolwork.

Scorpius took to wandering the halls. He wanted to win that contest. Especially after that Smarty-Farty Rose Weasley told everyone, in a real loud voice, that Professor McGonagall said her essay was VERY impressive. Wandering the halls was good exercise. It kept his mind off things.

Except for Sir Cadogan. The stupid knight always yelled at anyone who walked by. If he stayed in his own painting, it would have been fine, but he liked to wander around.

Scorpius had long developed the habit of insulting the man, then walking away at odd angles so that the stupid knight would have to constantly crisscross the other paintings in order to follow. This day was no different. Sir Cadogan was there in a picture with a giraffe. He shouted his challenge. Scorpius shouted back that he should sod off. He turned a corner and walked away, toward the staircases. Cadogan followed. Scorpius kept walking. The staircases decided it was time to change.

Sir Cadogan challenged Scorpius to a duel. Scorpius told him to go first. An old farmer told him to get out of his painting. Sir Cadogan shouted again. Scorpius laughed. The farmer shouted at both of them to stop being stupid. Sir Cadogan said something uncomplimentary and rode off on his fat pony with the farmer shouting not to go that way, that he was trampling the wheat field.

As Scorpius snickered, the farmer shrugged his shoulders, saying that was more floccidum. The farmer was surprised when Scorpius asked to be excused for his rudeness, then asked what that word was.

The farmer smiled. It was a Latin word. His was an old painting, back in the days when everyone spoke Latin. Floccidum was a farming term for something good gone useless. When asked if he meant it had gone bad, the farmer shook his head. The frummentum (he explained that was Latin for grain) was described by its condition. Frummentum fluctus meant good wheat, a strong and robust crop. If one said fragilis instead of fluctus, it referred to a poor crop. He used the word, floccidum to describe good wheat that had gone bad. Not in the sense of a weak crop but in the sense that it had been damaged and would never bloom with grain. In this case, because it had been trodden on by a brainless knight on a dumpy little horse.

Scorpius nodded as the farmer spoke. It was interesting enough. That was when he had an idea. So he asked. The farmer remembered the Battle of Hogwarts. And he did remember visitors when they passed his way. But that was rare. Most went to the headmaster's office and never came up this far.

Scorpius thanked him politely. Father taught him it was something he should always do. That person might be useful in the future. He now had a mission. He would talk to the portraits. Maybe one of them heard or saw something. An original observation would make his essay stand out.

The fifth portrait he asked turned the question around. It was an old teacher or something. Why did it matter if he saw someone. Scorpius tried to explain that he wanted to write about the man but new almost nothing about him. The old teacher told him if he wanted to write about nothing he should talk to that portrait in the next hallway.

That portrait turned out to be the twenty-eighth portrait he talked to. When he asked the portrait if he was the man who knew how to write about nothing, the man sneered. Scorpius tried to apologize. He had a lot of nothing of his own he needed to write about. The man gave him a curious look. Scorpius told him about the essay and how there wasn't much about the man, how he thought he might find something clever that Scrimgeour did.

The man suggested he ask someone. He then suggested that Scorpius think before he speak and that he should ask someone who worked with the man. He then told the flustered boy that if the man was a Minister, he could ask someone who worked in the Minister's office. There should still be people around.

Scorpius thanked the man. It was a good idea that he should have thought of. The man in the portrait actually smiled. He told the boy to come back when he had something to write about if he needed help with the writing. When Scorpius asked what was so hard about writing, the man asked him to compare two sentences. What could be so hard about writing? How difficult could it be to put pen to paper and express ones thoughts?

Scorpius decided that he would definitely visit that portrait again. But first he had to find someone to write to. He went at once to the library and asked Madam Pince how he could find the information he needed. Five minutes later, after a four minute lecture about learning how a library is organized and one minute to pull a book off the shelf behind her, Scorpius had in his hands the Ministry Lists of employees and services for the particular year he was looking for. Ten minutes later, he handed the book back to Madam Pince. He had a name of someone he could write to. The man was a Weasley but he was the only one listed in the book that Scorpius knew was still working for the Ministry. Or was still alive for that matter. He sent off a full page request that very night.

It was already March. The essay was due in only three weeks. Then the letter came. Percy Weasley had sent him eight pages of parchment in return. Scorpius was excited. He was excited until he read the letter. The first page was all about how a certain Slytherin boy showed great initiative in trying to fulfill his Gryphon dung. The next two pages where Gryphon dung about how Percy Weasley was well qualified to answer his questions. The next page was about how difficult the dung was to dung in Ministerial dung. There was a page and a half about how Percy Weasley did dung for the Minister.

There was a half page about Rufus Scrimgeour. How he obtained his limp (as though he could have purchased one in Diagon Alley). How he used to be the head of the Aurors. How he organized new committees to fight Voldemort. Lastly, almost casually, how he was tortured to death.

Scorpius was crestfallen. The man in the portrait told him that was the best word to use. When Scorpius explained that the man organized committees, the portrait laughed. He reminded the boy that the information came from a man who organizes committees for a living. That man would think it a wonderful thing. If the word, committee, were left out then Scrimgeour would seem more impressive. Words can be powerful if used properly. They should be used to present a powerful man who died with his honour intact.

Scorpius left to write his first draft after agreeing with the man in the portrait that the last sentence was a very good one. He came back the next day. The man in the portrait lectured him for almost an hour: why this or that phrase did not work; 'he did' was repetitious, he could also manage, achieve, construct; an idea could be described as a metaphor or simile wherein the phrase 'he worked as hard as he could' might be changed to 'he laboured with the strength of the Hercules and the determination of Zeus'.

That Saturday, another draft was read. The man in the portrait said it was very good. He would easily get an E from a strict teacher. He answered that it would not be good enough in a competition. What was needed was a hook, an angle. The subject should be presented in such a manner that people will be drawn to it. There needs to be a reason, something to find out. The only problem was this: Rufus Scrimgeour wasn't Minister long enough to do anything.

The final week came. Five different drafts were written that first day. The next day, the new Herbology teacher, Professor Longbottom was commenting on how a sleepy someone was about to crush his shrivelfig. That sleepy someone suddenly perked up. The Professor had reminded him of something. Something that could be used as a hook. Professor Longbottom was surprised that a Slytherin student told him he was better than old Professor Sprout and thanked him for being brilliant.

Scorpius went back to his dorm and sat down to write. He finished only minutes before his first afternoon class and dashed through the halls, making it to the room by the slimmest of margins. Once class was over, it was a visit to the man in the portrait and a reading of his latest version. This time they talked. About words. Would this phrase be better? Wasn't the word flow choppy in that paragraph? They talked not about content but structure. The words were there. The man said they were trying to 'tweak' the sentences so that they would say more. As they parted ways, the man told him one more thing. Writing must first be done for the love of the thing. There will be time enough later to write for money.

That night, the essay was written one final time. The parchment was rolled up. The next morning, with one day to spare, Scorpius Malfoy handed in his assignment. Professor Higgs told him he was the last in his house to do so. He added that it wasn't always a good idea to wait until the last minute. Scorpius agreed with him and went to eat his breakfast.

The next day, he returned to Malfoy Manor to spend the spring holiday with his parents. He bragged how they gave him some unknown to write about and that he went full force to make sure they noticed. It was only for History Class but he was sure to get an O. His father told him how proud he was. They tried to insult his son and he turned it around, making it something to revel in. His mother told him it was a small thing but that is what big things were built on. Grandmother Cissy agreed he would go far. Even grumpy old Grandfather Lucius made a comment. His grandson was finally displaying the Malfoy spirit. Persevere through Adversity. It was a backhanded compliment but great praise considering the source

After the return to school, life settled back into its old pattern. Classes were gone to and meals were eaten. On one exciting afternoon, a week before the Anniversary Feast, Slytherin narrowly defeated Gryffindor in one of the best Quidditch matches of the year. Scorpius knew that all he had to do was try his best and he would make the team, next year.

Finally, It was Saturday, May the Second. It was on a Saturday that the Battle of Hogwarts had been fought. It had ended at dawn. Fortunately, the celebration was held in the afternoon, to be ended in time for a late dinner with everyone on the verge of starvation.

Draco Malfoy was there to greet his son as the boy entered the Great Hall. Others were there as well. Mostly Gryffindors but Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, too. Only one Slytherin. Scorpius didn't care. That one Slytherin was his father.

Harry Potter and his wife were there with their sons. A younger daughter was in tow. He was telling his sons not to be disappointed if they didn't win. Next to them, the Weasley parents told their children the same thing. Rose Weasley assured her mother she wouldn't be disappointed.

They walked past. Potter paused, acknowledged Draco Malfoy, then walked on. The Weasleys didn't even do that. Rose's father even commented, loud enough for everyone to hear, that Malfoy shouldn't be part of this. The only good thing to happen was that his wife hit him, then looked back with a sorrowful look. Scorpius gestured that she should hit him again. That made her smile. Father made a quiet comment that she was always a decent person. He added, with a laugh, that she had hit him once, too.

They walked into the hall and Draco Malfoy walked his son to his seat. He then walked up to the teachers table which was now two tiered tables. Scorpius watched as he sat at the end, on the first tier. The Slytherin end. It was obvious that everyone was respectfully ignoring him. They may have had to admit he belonged there, but they were showing they didn't like it.

Professor McGonagall stood up and made the first speech. It was full of references to bravery and courage. The next person was someone from the Ministry. He spoke about the hard work that had been done to rebuild the Ministry. He spoke for twenty minutes. Twenty wasted minutes. There was another speaker, and more time wasted. Then the Minister stood before the podium to speak.

First, he paused to ask everyone for a moment of silence, out of respect for, and to remember, the dead. He looked back at Father at one point as he said that everyone who died, on both sides, had people who loved them.

That was when that Ronald Weasley opened his mouth, again. He dared to ask about Voldemort. Who ever loved him. There were a fair number of murmured agreements.

Scorpius' eyes grew wide as his father stood up. He was looking at Weasley. He said the words softly, but in a voice that carried throughout the Hall.

His mother. His mother died in childbirth so that he could live. His father's look shifted so that he was looking at Harry Potter when he asked his next question. Was that not an act of love?

The Minister commented that the remark was well said. After a long pause, he began a short speech, praising the exploits of everyone who was sitting at the first table. Except for father. That was the moment when Scorpius thought: maybe. When Minister Shacklebolt ended his speech with the announcement that it was time to read the winning essay, that was when he knew. The Minister was looking at Father. He was announcing the person who would be reading the winning essay.

Draco Malfoy stood up and shook the Minister's hand. He stepped up to the podium with a parchment in his hands. Father and son, their eyes met. Scorpius had never felt such pride. His father began to read:

FRUMMENTUM FLOCCIDUM.

"It is Latin. For farmers. It means Grain. Wheat.

"There are words to describe a harvest, good or bad. But sometimes the wheat is cut too early. It never had a chance to grow. That is what the title means.

"As it is with grain so it is with life. In an instant, the future becomes tragedy. Rufus Scrimgeour, as Minister for Magic, had everything he needed to accomplish the task before him. Everything but time . . .