Children of Salazar Slytherin
Setting: September 1-7
The first year Slytherins trailed behind Prefect Courtenay Parkinson through the antechamber and down the steps into the chilly and dark dungeons. “Stay together, first years,” he barked at them. “The dungeons are easy to get lost in. The professors will never find your corpses down here if you get lost…” and he shot them an agonising grin over his shoulder.
Albus gulped and pulled his robes around himself tightly as the chill clung to his very skeleton. His eyes were darting around curiously but it was much too dark to properly see anything, very different to the luminous warmth the rest of the castle seemed to protrude.
“You never know what monsters might be lurking down here–and I don’t just mean our very own Professor Nightingale,” Prefect Parkinson laughed at his own joke as did a couple others who must have been in on the joke that went over Albus’s head. “Old McGonagall had a nest of acromantula exterminated just last term… who knows, perhaps there are still a few lurking about ready to get you with their long hairy legs!”
Albus held in his breath as he very seriously considered turning and running out of the dungeons back into the golden rays of the Great Hall but he did not know which way was out and dreaded the possibility of getting lost. He glanced over at Scorpius whose paleness and white skin was a glowing signet in the darkness; he was relieved to see his friend’s eyes were wide in fright and he wasn’t alone in his fear.
The first years tiredly turned down some twisting cavernous passages, behind sliding panels and fake statues that concealed the way to the common room. There was a scattering of dim torches along the stone walls that gleamed from the ceiling onto the floor.
Prefect Parkinson abruptly stopped at what appeared to be a dead end corridor, so suddenly did he stop that the first years bumped into each other in their haste to stillness. “Here we are,” he lifted a burning torch off the wall and shon it in front of the wall which took shape into a sort of ornate vault entrance like one might see in Gringotts Bank. There were stone snakes carved into the snakes around the door. The first years sucked in their breath in anticipation.
“You must not tell anyone the password who is not in Slytherin House. No outsiders have entered our common room in hundreds of years.” He spun back around to face them and added, “In fact, save yourself the grievances and don’t get too friendly with any of the other houses. Don’t they all love to trip and jinx a snake? I say it makes them feel like some sort of hero,” he scoffed, dark eyes flickering on Albus for an uncoincidental lingering second.
Albus stiffened and averted his gaze down at the implications of what the prefect was saying. Hearing a gruff whisper behind him that sounded suspiciously similar to his surname, he inconspicuously craned his head in time to catch none other than Vincent Goyle glaring a hole into the back of his head; A large boy with a neanderthal resemblance who stomped with his fists clenched at his sides. He was whispering something to Casimir Carrow, a creepy stringy boy, who he had appeared to have buddied up with.
He turned away from them at once in time for a very severe speech from Prefect Parkinson, “There are many rules that come with being a Slytherin, rules that each and every one of us abide by and that now includes you, little snakes.” he placed a hand firmly on his hip. “Rule one is keeping face; arguments remain in the common room, don’t let outsiders find any weaknesses. We stick together and defend our fellow snakes in public even if we disagree.”
Scorpius didn’t look very surprised by this, and glancing around at the other first years, neither did they. It looked like they already knew the rules. Albus slumped slightly, he hated having to think of himself as an outsider from the rest of his family and these snakey rules were just further confirming his repressed beliefs that he was out of place, a black sleep in his own family, and with everyone else too.
“Rule two: don’t sell out your fellow snakes and never get professors involved. If you hear something suspicious or see something then tell a prefect from Slytherin House–we will hold a council and act from there accordingly–trust, when I say we always get back at those who harm one of our own.” then he scoffed and for extra effect, added, “Who will the professors believe? Some slimy Slytherin or a blushing Hufflepuff? Its us against the rest of the school, the sooner you learn that, the better,”
Albus swallowed nervously as he pondered the two rules. It was well known that Slytherins were conniving bullies and dark wizards so being targeted by the other students just didn’t make sense.
“Got it?” Parkinson asked darkly. The first years nodded their heads obediently. He turned his back on them again, lifted his wand and clearly spoke, “Serpentine!” with a loud pang, the heavy door rolled open, stone snakes unclasping and slithering aside to grant them access inside.
The first years gushed and gasped as they nervously stepped inside. The Common Room was dark and dimly lit by lanterns on chains that hung down from the impossibly tall ceiling and the green gleam that shone in from the Blake Lake through the phenomenal stained-glass windows. There were bookcases overflowing with books and glass cabinets filled with awards and trophies. There was a fire crackling beneath an elaborate black mantlepiece and a scattering of cleverly placed portraits depicting several prestigious wizards.
Albus struggled to stop gaping as he took in the unparalleled sight. The first years stepped around, eyes flickering about in amazement, until one by one, their eyes fell upon a very tall dark figure standing before the stained-glass windows, a green tinge outlining him. Albus stepped backward, knocking shoulders with Scorpius who didn’t react.
“Children of Salazar Slytherin,” his menacing voice broke through the eerie silence. “Welcome to Slytherin House.”
The first years huddled close together as they stared up at the imposing figure who was frightening even with his back turned. Albus felt his breath get caught in his throat as the professor slowly began to turn. His face was shrouded in darkness but he was gaunt with pale silvery hair.
“My name is Professor Cepheus Nightingale, I am the Head of Slytherin House.” The wizard slowly turned and took in the sight of the students huddled together and nodded. “Such promising young faces, to continue the legacy of Slytherin,” he drawled out in a hollow voice. “Slytherin House is more than a school title, you will carry your colours with you for the rest of your life–Being Slytherin is being a family. However, indeed comes a dire expectation for being in such a dignified House. Salazar Slytherin chose each of you for a reason, it would be a shame to tarnish his memory by being a letdown. . .”
Great, he thought, another expectation he would never uphold. He kept his head low and nodded along with the others. Professor Nightingale did not seem like a man he would like to cross. His mind began to drift, the professor’s voice drifting far away into the back of his head, as he recalled the times his cousins laughed over pranks and jinxes they pulled on the Slytherins at Hogwarts, how the grown ups would groan and shake their heads when they discussed old Slytherin classmates whose faces and crimes were printed on the front page of the paper. Then he found himself recalling what Prefect Parkinson had said about the other students fancying playing hero by jinxing and tripping the Slytherins.
He felt his skin prickle.
He was a Slytherin.
A dark wizard to trip.
“Keeping face has and always will be a detrimentally important part of being a Slytherin. It is an honour to be chosen, to represent our House and the wizards who previously stepped in your shoes.” the professor paused for dramatic effect. “Do not shame our history with any miscreant behaviour…and if you feel tempted do commit rulebreaking…do not get caught.”
Professor Nightingale’s voice droned into the back of his head. He was thinking himself into a grave again. He was a Slytherin. The first and only Potter to ever be a Slytherin. His heart was racing. He was the black sheep of his family and this evening was proof of that. Everyone was going to hate him and he knew it. Why did he have to be so different from his dad? Why couldn’t he be a perfect Potter son like James?
He was stupid for giving in and letting the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin House. He would never be seen as more than his dad, never be seen as more than his namesakes. He would always be nothing. It had been that way his entire life and it wouldn’t change because an old hat said so.
Albus quickly returned his attention back to the scary professor. “My office is always open to my snakes should you face any inquiries.” Slowly, he stepped away. “I shall see you in class tomorrow morning.” with a smooth turn, he vanished into the darkness.
Parkinson led them up a spiral staircase and down a narrow passageway to the first year dormitories. There were four doors with their names engraved in silver script deciding who would go where. Vincent Goyle walked around squinting as he deciphered the cursive names. Cecelia Zabini and Sylvie Davies disappeared into a dorm together, pleased that they wouldn’t be stuck with any of the boys.
“Za–Zabini,” Goyle spoke, finger following along the cursive on the door. “Oh, Zabini. You’re with me,”
“Lovely,” the dark-skinned boy said with a smarmy smile. “Marvellously lovely,”
Bartleby Nott broke out into shrill giggles at his friend’s misfortune, unbothered by the glare directed his way. “Piss off, it’s only seven years,” he laughed, ducking as the boy aimed a hit at the back of his head. Laughing still, he approached the remaining unread door. “Carrow, looks like we’ll be watching each other sleep for the next seven years,”
Albus made a face; he couldn’t have explained it worse. Looking upon the remaining door, their names were printed in two rows of silver cursive.
ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER
SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY
He swallowed hard as it dawned on him that his name was quite literally carved into Slytherin House. Scorpius smiled at him and Albus smiled back, at the very least glad that they would be in the same dormitory.
He wasn’t sure about the other Slytherin boys but Professor Nightingale said they must always defend each other and become a family so he would have to get used to them eventually. There were worse wizards to be stuck with than the likes of Bartleby Nott who honestly creeped him out abit with his curious crawling stares. He was relieved he wouldn’t have to sleep in the same dorm as Julian Zabini whose judgmental eyes and condescending comments could probably make a grown wizard cry. Carrow would leave spiders in his sheets. Marius Burke would definitely stand at the foot of his bed watching him sleep no doubt and Vincent Goyle would probably get lost and end up crawling into bed with him–he was also definitely a snorer.
Albus found his belongings at the foot of the furthest bed. The dormitory was quite similar to the Common Room with rough stone walls, impossibly tall ceiling and green lanterns that hung from chains and another door with a silver handle that supposedly led into a shared lavatory. There was a tapestry along the wall that depicted the endeavours of Merlin and other famous Slytherins. The beds were dark four-posters with forest green hangings and silver brocade sheets.
He stood at the door overlooking Scorpius as he sorted through his mahogany trunks. He had never seen anything like Hogwarts before and certainly nothing like the dark and damask Slytherin Common Room. It was so unusually baroque in comparison to the beige airiness back at home. For a second, he wished to be back in his own quaint bedroom, but beholding the marvellous sight before him was too glorious to deny. It was his. . .but it didn’t sit right with him, in fact, it made his stomach turn.
“You coming, Albus?”
He blinked out of his thoughts and padded inside, staring up at the ceiling as he did. He kneeled in front of his trunk and opened it. His belongings were packed perfectly, sectioned and even coded by colour. He was usually quite messy. . .but he had nervously fussed over his trunk, packing and unpacking and packing again the whole evening earlier.
He just stared. . .on the very top of everything was a crumpled piece of parchment Lily had slipped in; a drawing of them together riding some sort of pink feathered dragon with big smiles on their faces. At the very bottom, he smoothed out the parchment, and it read: Don’t forget me! Love, Lily xx
Scorpius found him later that evening in a little nook in front of the stained glass window, peering out into the lake as the dark shadows of fish swam by. He sat down next to him and mimicked the way he held his knees to his chest. Albus had never thought pyjamas could look fancy until he saw the white silk ensemble his friend sported.
The boys didn’t speak but there were many words lingering in the stagnant air between them. He found that the lack of windows in the dungeons made the space quite stale.
“I can’t stop thinking,” he began, watching a flurry of grindylows race through the lake.
Scorpius inclined his head to show he was listening.
Albus sighed deeply and rested his head sideways on his knees. “I wonder if my dad will hate me now?”
“Would he?”
Albus shrugged, staring at the floor. “He said it wouldn’t matter when we were on the platform. . .but he is Harry Potter, it’s his job to hate Slytherins. His own son. . .he never would have thought that his own son would become everything he stands against.”
There was nothing Scorpius could think of saying. A silence grew between them. “I do get it now. I think I would be scared about being a Slytherin too if my father was Harry Potter.” he glanced at him, a small smile hinting his lips despite the seriousness. “I meant everything I said on the train, still do,”
“Even now that you know who my father is?”
“You knew who my father was but you still gave me a chance,” Scorpius murmured. He smiled again. “I’m glad you gave me a chance. I’m glad we’re friends.”
Albus couldn’t not smile even if he tried. He felt like his very skeleton was buzzing beneath his skin. “I am too,”
The portrait of a surly old witch glowered down at them. “Nearly curfew!” she warned before vanishing.
Albus couldn’t have been happier that they were friends but the spark of excitement fizzled out as he recalled how his parents did not speak kindly of the Malfoy family. “Everyone is going to be so upset with me,” he grumbled distortedly into his knees.
Scorpius could only grimace. “We don’t have to be friends–”
“No.” Albus didn't give him the chance to finish talking. “No way. You’re the only friend I have now. . .and I don’t think anyone else would even want to be my friend anymore.” he hugged his legs tightly.
Scorpius offered a weak smile.
“Every single one of my cousins are Gryffindors,” Albus revealed, looking over at Scorpius hopelessly. “Every single one of them.” The reflection from the windows made his skin glow greenish. “There has never been a Potter who wasn’t in Gryffindor House. Never.”
“That is. . .strange.” Scorpius admitted, forlorn. “What makes you so. . .different?”
Albus didn’t even want to ponder that question. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
Scorpius didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Did the Sorting Hat say why it sorted you into Slytherin?”
Albus chewed on his bottom lip hesitantly, thinking back to the ceremony. He felt guilt weaving through his insides. He considered saying no, that he didn’t remember, but he did remember–he remembered very clearly too.
“Did it?”
He breathed in shakily then said, “My dad is Harry Potter. I’m just his son.” he knew he sounded stupid. “My dad’s the Boy-Who-Lived, my mum is a renowned Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, even James is a walking broomstick. I’m just me–just Al. There’s nothing special. . .” he felt his eyes welling with tears and hid his face shamefully. “. . .I want my dad to look at me and be proud. . .”
“Albus. . .” He felt a timid touch on his shoulder.
“Is it bad?” Albus asked, finally looking up at his friend. “Is it bad that I want to be more than just Al?”
He didn’t expect Scorpius to nod and understand his darkest thoughts but that was exactly what he did. “There is nothing bad about ambition, Albus.” The presence of his hand on his shoulder was as light as a feather.
“It’s selfish.”
“You’re not selfish,” Scorpius stated as a matter of fact. “You’re not.”
Albus pressed his chin into his knees and stared up into those grey eyes. “Scorpius, I think you’re the only one who thinks so right now,” despite all the turmoil at becoming a Slytherin, he was glad to have Scorpius with him. It almost felt bearable. “I hope we’re friends forever.”
“Curfew!” The portrait of the surly witch had appeared. “Best get into your beds before you’re expelled on your first night at Hogwarts!”
The darkness of his dreamless sleep turned bright green, like a flash, and suddenly there were dark shadowed figures all around him, pointing their pitchforks and screaming, "Snake! Snake!" He dropped to his knees in a shallow puddle and tried to scream when he saw his reflection, but a hiss escaped him instead. He was hideous and scaly--He was a snake! The black figures with their pitchforks were getting closer, leading them was his own father, green light flashing in every direction. He shut his eyes, his snake eyes, and accepted his fate. A black hooded thing flew down from the sky above and a wretched screeching filled his ears.
The morning began suddenly with a harsh knocking on their door by one of the prefects. Albus woke with a start, eyes darting around the unfamiliar space in a panic before remembering he was at Hogwarts. He shrugged off the brocade silver sheets and more memories came back to him.
“ SLYTHERIN!”
He opened the hangings around his bed and took in the sight of everything. He pinched his wrist hard and hissed at the burn. It wasn’t a nightmare then, he supposed. His eyes traced along the tapestry scene of Merlin casting a spectacular spell.
Albus stared at himself in the mirror of the shared lavatory after getting dressed into his robes. His breath caught as he slowly turned, taking in every detail. He was a Hogwarts student from head-to-toe like he had always dreamed of, making friends for life, going on adventures, learning magic. . .but the shining Slytherin crest on his chest was never in those dreams. . .or the emerald green lining of his robes.
“Are you going to do anything about your hair?” Scorpius had asked, amused, as he fussed over the straightness of his tie. There was a little silver serpent pinned to his tie.
Albus barked a laugh. “Potter hair is untamable.”
“What about your tie?” He asked, eyeing up the knotted mess around his throat. “You do know how to tie a tie, oui?”
“I actually hoped no one would notice that,” he admitted, a bit of a blush creeping upon him.
Scorpius huffed a giggle, walking over and untying the mess around his neck and retying his tie with perfect ease like he had done it a hundred times. “There,” he said, patting him lightly on the chest. “Now you look ready,”
Albus stole a glance at himself in the mirror before leaving the dormitory and indeed agreed with Scorpius that he looked ready, in fact, he looked much older than he did the day before, or at least that was how it felt in his eyes.
Prefect Courtenay Parkinson led the first years to the Great Hall for breakfast. Albus felt on edge with all the eyes on him and the whispers directed toward him and huddled close to Scorpius as they took their seats at the Slytherin table.
“There, look,”
“Where?”
“With Malfoy,”
“He looks just like Harry Potter–more than James–look at that hair!”
“Shame he’s a Slytherin,”
“You think he’s into the dark arts–don’t give me that look! You know Slytherin House is the House for dark wizards.”
“Do you think the paper will write about it?”
“I bet you two galleons this is some prank! His brother is James after all!”
“How long do you think the kid will last before the Slytherins eat him alive? I say two weeks.”
The Slytherin table did not treat him like the rest of the houses which puzzled him. They just went about their breakfast quietly while looking over their new timetables. He only caught a couple second years glancing his way. It wasn’t that he wanted attention. . .but the lack thereof just felt off putting.
Prefect Parkinson handed them a stack of timetables that the first years passed around. Albus noticed he also had one of those little serpent tie pins. Their first class was Defence Against the Dark Arts taught by their Head of House with the Gryffindors. His heart skipped and he found himself glancing across the Great Hall to the furthest bench where the Gryffindors sat. Rose was laughing away and further down the table, James was falling asleep into his porridge.
Two older Ravenclaw girls walked by the Slytherin table for the third time and immediately began whispering to each other when they spotted Albus. “Is he seriously sitting with Draco Malfoy’s son?” “Do you think he knows who he is?” and they scurried off to their own table quickly.
“Do you remember what I told you on the Hogwarts Express?” Scorpius implored, unbothered as he pushed some eggs around his plate with a fork. “You won’t be very popular if you’re friends with me. I won’t blame you if being my friend isn’t worth the bad attention.”
“I’m going to get bad attention either way,” Albus decided, stomaching some toast. “I’m Harry Potter’s Slytherin son,”
The eyes that followed Albus in the corridors from class to class were more intrusive than the looks he got in the Great Hall; the shock at sighting him at the turn of a corridor, the sudden whispers and nudging. It wasn’t just other students that gaped when they saw him, but the people in portraits too would watch him as he walked down the corridors. The ghosts were no better either, the Bloody Baron seemed to have a curiosity with him. It was a nasty shock when he would feel the chill of the ghost gliding through him or stare at him from a corner in the ceiling.
Hogwarts was always full of surprises. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases, sometimes they would be missing though; some narrow, some wide, some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom very clearly was the place they would be learning about the dark arts. It was a spacious dark chamber with skeletons of magical creatures hoisted from the ceiling from chains and a locked glass cabinet with abnormally large skulls with fangs, jars of murky green liquid, and even a caged claw.
“Al!” Rose called out from where she was sitting with her housemates, lifting her hand to wave him over.
He walked across the classroom. There were big gaps between each desk which were arranged in a sort of semi circle around a capacious platform which was a step up from the rest of the floor. The Gryffindors took up most of the classroom, there had to be at least double the amount of students in that House compared to Slytherin.
“Hi Rose!” He said, excited to see that she didn’t look particularly upset.
“Hi!” She beamed but then her smile wavered a bit and his heart jumped. “You really are a Slytherin then?” she didn’t sound. . .angry. . .but she also seemed a bit. . .unhappy.
He twidded with the sleeves of his robes. “You were there.”
“It’s a bit of a nasty shocker but you’re still my cousin, right? You’re just Al.” Just Al. “It’s a right shame! You should see the Gryffindor Tower. It’s everything mum and dad said it would be. You would love it. It’s so cosy and there are–” Chapman shoved her in the ribs. Rose didn’t seem to care. “Do you want to sit with us?” Chapman shoved her again. “It’s only Al. It’s not like I’m inviting Voldemort to sit with us, is it?” Only Al.
The Gryffindors looked apprehensive. They were eying him up like he was the scary creature hanging from chains directly above them. Albus looked over his shoulder where the Slytherins were taking their seats. He saw Scorpius sitting by himself in the back row.
“Thanks Rose,” he said absently. “But I think I’ll sit with Scorpius,” he felt bad. “But we can sit together in another class, right?”
“You actually want to sit with the Slytherins?” Chapman scoffed. She had an odd look to her; pretty with blonde hair but also a bit like a malnourished pigeon.
“With Malfoy?” Rose asked, giving the blond boy a once over.
“Yes,”
Rose gave him a look he didn’t understand, “Why?”
“He’s my friend.” and he walked away from the Gryffindors and pulled out a seat in the back row next to Scorpius. He gave a surprised smile as he dug out his inkpot and quill.
Professor Nightingale stood up when they had all settled down. Some of the students jumped in their seats, having not seen him in the classroom with them. He seemed to move gracefully with his tumbling black robes.
“I swear he’s a vampire,” Nott hissed quietly in the row before them.
The professor took the register, ticking off each student. He paused when he reached Albus’ name, looking up to take a studied look at him unlike the others, but then continued on.
“I would appreciate putting your wands away,” Professor Nightingale ordered in barely more than a whisper, depositing the registry within his robes. “McLaggen that includes you. Put it away.” he made a turn around the classroom, observing his new class of students. “If you care to pay any attention in my class then you will find yourself lucky enough to have the necessary skills to survive. . .”
“Survive what?” McLaggen Junior asked. “Vampires?” the Gryffindors snickered behind their hands.
“Possibly. . .” the professor proposed gravely. “. . .Or perhaps for your sake, McLaggen, I shall leave that out of the syllabus,” McLaggen paled considerably to a sickly green colour. “So. . .I would suggest taking heed of the seriousness of this class.”
It turned out there was a lot more to magic than just waving a wand and uttering some stupid words, in fact, magic unfortunately involved a wicked amount of reading. The classroom sunk into silence as they read through The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection. Glancing around, Albus could no longer see the professor but he was certainly still somewhere in the classroom, he could feel his studying gaze. . .just waiting to leap out at the slightest disturbance of the silence. . .which did not take long to occur in a classroom full of eleven year olds.
“I will bet you ten galleons,” Nott mumbled to Zabini in regards to the vampire suspicion.
“Deal.” the dark boy grunted without letting his attention drift from his book.
Across the classroom, the Gryffindors were less subtle as the noise gradually rose louder and louder as they suspected Professor Nightingale to have exited the classroom.
“Do you think we will learn any real magic?” Chapman asked loudly in the front row, turning her chair backwards so she could face everyone.
“Or how to duel?” McLaggen joined in, lifting his wand with a fiery expression on his face.
“Be quiet,” Craig Bowker Junior hissed. “You lot will get us into trouble.”
“I don’t think he’s here,” Rose simpered, looking around.
Perks laughed. “I bet he flew off to suck someone’s blood,” then he made a surprisingly accurate portrayal of Dracula, sticking two quills in his mouth to resemble fangs. Those around him laughed brashly.
“Mr Perks, that sensational display will cost five points from Gryffindor.” The boy gasped, spinning around to stare up at the impossibly tall wizard and quickly removed the quills from his mouth.
McLaggen thrust his hand into the air. “When will we learn real magic?”
“In patient time.” he stated blunty.
“How long is patient time?” Chapman asked.
Professor Nightingale looked like the very class was making him lose his patience. “If you cannot muster a shred of patience in the face of the dark arts then you’re all doomed.” he sat down at his desk, pulling out a tabloid on the latest Ancient Runes discoveries. “I expect each of you to have read up to chapter four by the end of class, so get a move on.”
Albus bore his eyes into the words on the page that began to jumble together; Chapter Two: Improper Uses of Magic . He glanced over at Scorpius and was aghast to see him already flipping the page over to Chapter Five: Hags. He returned back to his own textbook and quickly skimmed over the words to catch up.
Defence Against the Dark Arts, was a class he decided he enjoyed; albeit boring but he looked forward to future lessons when they would be learning proper magic. He slung his satchel over his shoulder and made his way out of his seat but he was bumped into and pushed back into his seat. “Watch it, Traitor Potter.”
His breath caught in his chest. He stayed in the seat where he was pushed and watched the boy with a head of golden curls–one Cormac McLaggen Junior–retreating out of the classroom. Rose held her head high with laughter as the red and gold of her robes glistened. He watched as she vanished around the door with the laughing Gryffindors. He wasn’t supposed to be left behind.
Watch it, traitor.
Traitor.
He was dragged along with the other first years from class to class, each class being very different from the last. There turned out to be more to magic than just waving a wand and saying some silly words. Cutting up weird fleshy things in Potions class taught by Professor Moon whose feathery presence seemed to slip in and out of the classroom; she did not assign homework unlike the ghost Professor Binns who assigned ten pages on Ulric the Evil after sleeping through their first class. On Wednesdays at midnight, they studied the stars through telescopes atop the Astronomy Tower.
Peeves the poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would sneak up and give you a right fright, pull rugs from under your feet and grab your nose and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK!” Even worse, somehow, was the caretaker Argus Filch and his cat Mrs Norris who was always on the ball looking for students to punish. Albus and Scorpius managed to get on his wrong side very quickly when Filch found them lost in the dungeons during class time. He did not believe they were lost and insisted they were skipping class on purpose and threatened to hang them by their toes. Now the caretaker would glare threateningly and point his finger at the boys when he saw them, sure that they were up to no good.
His favourite class quickly turned out to be Herbology taught by none other than his very own godfather. Albus was on his toes as Professor Longbottom strode in to greet them with a wide smile–his smile which got even wider when he spotted his godson amongst his class. His smile lines made him look older than he was.
“He’s my godfather,” he excitedly whispered to Scorpius.
They were led into Greenhouse One which was spacious and bright with all sorts of plants and fungi and vines draping around them. There was a narrow bench down the middle that the first years stood around. The Hufflepuffs stood as far from the Slytherins as they could, eyeing them up like they thought they would eat them alive. Goyle amused himself by making scary faces to one girl with pigtails who looked like she was about to cry.
“Father hated Herbology,” Scorpius said. “He said it was dirty and a waste of ministry funds,” he glanced up at a hanging plant and gently touched the pot with the tip of his fingers. A thin green vine peeked over the pot and gently curled around his finger. “I might beg to differ.”
Albus smiled. “What does your mum think of Herbology,”
Scorpius smiled at the mention of his mum. “Not sure. I’ll ask her about it.” the vine began untangling from his finger, nudged his wrist then disappeared back into the pot. “Mum looks after a garden back at the manor though—but that’s most roses and the like. It used to be my grandmother’s before she moved into the Malfoy Chateau in France.”
“You have a home in France?” Albus asked. “Chateau?” the word felt odd on his lips.
“Of course,” Scorpius grinned wryly. “The Malfoys are a French wizarding family,”
Albus gaped in disbelief. “You’re french? Are you having me on?”
“Non, je suis Français. Vous avez l'air très drôle quand vous êtes surpris, Albus,”
“No bloody way!” he exclaimed, getting a few odd looks from the students around him but he didn’t care. “What did you say?”
He jumped out of his skin when the greenhouse door slammed open.Professor Longbottom wrestled a heavy crate into the greenhouse and dropped it onto the ground with a thump. He propped his boot on it to stop it from moving and he explained that, “Inside this crate, is an army of wriggling worms–not dangerous but very difficult to contain. It was like they were hit by a tickling charm–they will not stop wriggling, hence the name wiggling worms.” some of the students giggled, Albus included.
“Point is, these wee pesky buggers have infested my very valuable fertiliser. It’s your job to get them all out. Now, they may seem like worthless little buggers who thrive on making my job miserable, but their fluids are very handy in potions and it just so happens that the seventh year NEWT potion class requires ten vials full, so for today’s lesson, you will digging the worms out of the dirt and extracting their fluids into these,” he lifted a handful of small glass jars.
The dirt was spilled into trays and two students were permitted to work together per tray. Each pair was given a glass vial and instructed on how to extract the fluids. “Yes-Yes there! Grab the bugger–good–and now press down on their tongue–” “–SIR, IT HAS THREE HEADS!” “Keep it still! Get the vial, press down on the tongue and stick the worm inside–GOOD!”
It was very disgusting. The three-headed worms squealed and bounced away whenever he tried to grab one, digging new holes into the dirt. He got ahold of one worm real good once and squeezed its tongue but it shot its grey fluids into his eye. On the other side of the greenhouse, Samson Goldstein was screaming as a worm wriggled around in his shoe.
“How do you say worm in French?” Albus asked suddenly. It had quickly become his new favourite pastime to ask Scorpius to translate nearly every mundane thing he came across into French. “How do you say my name in French?”
“Ver,” Scorpius said simply, pleased at the rapidfire requests he had been burdened with for all of class. “And I think your name is just Albus. . .” a contemplative look appeared on his face. “It’s a very unique name.”
“Oh,” Albus replied, storing the latest information in his head. He found it extremely interesting, even the worm titbit. “Oh, cool,”
It was very difficult to keep a wriggling worm still and extract their fluids into a vial at the same time. Glancing around at the others, he noticed everyone else was struggling and worms were flying and wriggling everywhere. An idea suddenly popped into his head and he nudged Scorpius to get his attention. “Keep the vial still–hold it there!” he instructed, grabbing a wriggling worm by one of its heads and pressing his finger into its mouth. He quickly squished the worm into the vial and kept it there for a few seconds before it wriggled between his fingers and back into the dirt, leaving behind one full vial.
“We did it!” Scorpius gasped, inspecting the murky grossness inside the jar. “You did it!”
Albus grinned. He was oddly proud of his accomplishment, regardless of how weird it was. They were the first pair in the class to fill the vials, and it had been his very own idea that caused them to be.
Professor Longbottom bound over with a smile that reached his eyes. “Ten points to Slytherin! Good work, boys!” He examined the vial closely, nodding approvingly as he corked and pocketed it. He patted Albus on the back before hurdling over to pluck a wriggling worm out of a screeching Goldetein’s nose.
“How did you do that, Hero Jr?” Julian Zabini demanded from his hiding place behind a pot of venomous tentacula while Bartleby Nott tossed wriggling worms in his general direction.
Albus found himself grinning at his Herbology accomplishment all the way until arriving on the third floor for Transfiguration taught by Professor Zacharias Smith. He was surprised to walk into the classroom and see many signed photos of his very own father staring at him from all angles. Professor Smith was a spindly blond man who spent half his lessons looking for his notes and rambling about his favourite quidditch teams.
One particular afternoon, Albus was just as unfocused in class as Professor Smith. Everytime he would glance up, he would notice even more photos of his father whose smile had been warping into a look of intense disappointing glares. He tried to keep his head down and take notes but he just couldn’t focus on a single word the professor said or avoid accidentally spotting another photo of his dad to crumble under. At one point, he tilted his chair backwards and stared at the ceiling only to blink at a very large painting of his dad’s lightning bolt scar.
Albus sat next to Rose in Transfiguration like he said he would with Gryffindors in front and behind him. Sometimes he would feel kicks in the back of his chair from McLaggen or Chapman but he chose to ignore it.
“Correct, Mr Bowker,” Professor Smith’s voice drifted back into his head. “Take ten points for Gryffindor House,” he took a few steps about the classroom then asked, “Now can anyone tell me the incantation to turn a small object into a needle? We’ve covered this in class, an easy one. Ah–perhaps–let's see–how about Mister McLaggen?”
The blond boy looked abashed at being called on. He stammered over nonsense before coughing out, “Lumos.” his face turned redder than Uncle Ron’s hair as the class giggled.
“Not quite, Mr McLaggen, but five points for effort,” the professor himself had a giggle in his voice. He glanced around the students, stepping over to where the Slytherins were gathered. “Hmm,” he narrowed down on Goyle, Zabini, Burke but ultimately narrowed on Scorpius. “Mister Malfoy, can you tell us the answer?” he didn’t need to ask what his name was to recognise him.
“Flintifors, sir,” Scorpius said immediately. He turned out to be a very studious boy and spent a lot of his time in the library studying ahead of their coursework. He was a big reader and knew a lot of what they were learning in class already.
The professor nodded begrudgingly and turned away. He did not award any House points. “You never know when one might be cheating. . .” he murmured.
Scorpius seemed momentarily surprised but then his features settled into an odd sort of expression that was dull and not entirely present behind the eyes.
Behind Professor Smith’s glaringly blond hair, he could see half of his father’s face staring down at him. This photo was much older than the others, faded and creased. His father looked too young to be called his father—about Teddy’s age—with a faraway look on his face as he was awarded Merlin First Class. He looked very accomplished as everyone else in the image were drooling in reverence. He was brilliant—he would be so disappointed by how un-brilliant his son turned out. He imagined what he would say to him now, a stream of fans behind him holding his awards, “You are an awful and bad son!”
“How about the incantation which can turn an object into birds? We haven’t discussed this in class yet so I don’t expect everyone to know.” He looked over all the students, avoiding Rose whose hand was raised and landing on the boy next to her. Albus, whose avoidance in looking up made him seem disinterested in listening. “You, there,”
Albus looked up quickly. The tall professor was looming over him. “What was the question again?” He could see half of his father’s head poking out from a photo behind the professor’s head so he looked down again.
“The incantation to turn an object into birds.” The professor did not sound pleased at having to repeat himself. “You would have known if you had been paying attention—”
“Avifors, sir,” Albus said.
“Correct Mister?”
“Potter.”
Everything about the way Professor Smith carried himself changed in that second, his narrow eyes widened, his eyebrows tweaked high up into his forehead, his stance even looked different. “Of course, of course, what else could we expect from Harry Potter’s son?” he shook his own head stupidly. “Apologies for doubting you, Mister Potter.”
Albus just stared.
“Your father may have mentioned me,” his chest was puffed out now, he gestured off to a photo of him and his dad standing side-by-side. “We know one another. I was in the D.A back in the day. He was a very brave man–still is of course. I was brave alongside him,”
His father had never mentioned Smith before so they clearly couldn’t know each other too well. Scorpius glanced at him from across the classroom, he looked entirely disbelieving and shook his head in the professor’s general direction. Albus snorted.
Professor Smith immediately spun around to see who laughed but Albus quickly tensed his face to conceal any show of amusement. The professor’s speculative gaze landed on him first but then it drifted to those around him unsurely. He shook his head, “Must be hearing things. Anyways, fifteen points. . .” but then his voice drifted off, his eyes dropped to the crest on his robes. He coughed, “Five,” he started backing away. “Yes. . .five points to Slytherin House.” he chuckled shakily, frowning, then continued with the lesson.
Albus frowned and looked over at Scorpius who was frowning as well. He came to realise that everyone around him was beginning to not see a carbon copy of his father when they saw him and although that had previously been something he wanted, he felt terribly about it now, since when everyone looked at him, they saw a particularly worse version of a Slytherin—a traitor.
But despite the awkwardness of Transfiguration, the worst class by far happened to be Flying Lessons on the Quidditch Pitch. The Gryffindors arrived on the pitch before the Slytherins and had already selected the best brooms, leaving all but ancient twigs for the others.
Albus picked up a broom that didn’t look like it would snap under his weight and tried to read the faded writing on the handle but he could only place the numbers ‘41 and he seriously hoped that didn’t mean the year.
“How do you say quidditch?”
“Quidditch,” Scorpius looked a shade of green as he picked up an old Cleansweep.
“Don’t like quidditch?” Albus asked.
He shook his head vehemently. “I think I’ll be sick all over the pitch if I have to fly.”
“Aim for McLaggen,”
He had grown up around quidditch, his mum was a quidditch star and his dad was a renowned seeker. He wasn’t sure how many games he had played in his life, at least twenty over the course of Christmases at the Burrow with his cousins. He had seen enough offputting injuries to not be disturbed by the danger of it. He wouldn’t say he liked quidditch to the degree of James who plastered his bedroom wall in quidditch posters, but he certainly didn’t mind a good game now and there was nothing more tranquil than a lone fly about the countryside in Ottery St Catchpole or a secret nighttime trip about muggle London.
Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, arrived in the middle of the pitch after dramatically flying above them, spinning upside down, performing a wronski feint and landing perfectly. “One day, you lot will be able to fly like that!” She stomped over to them. “Quidditch is a very dangerous sport and if your flying skills are superb enough, you may just expect a place on your House teams when you’re older! Now, listen up, if you can’t behave you can sit out! I’ll see to it that your bottom doesn’t touch another broom for the rest of the year!”
The teacher was an elderly witch who looked too old to be flying upside down in the air faster than a bat with spiky grey hair and hawk-like eyes. “Lay your brooms down, hover your hands on top, and yell ‘UP!’ like you mean it–UP! UP!”
“UP!” Rose’s broom flew right into her hand. McLaggen had his broom a moment later, but he seemed very upset that Rose got hers first.
“Come on now!” Madam Hooch roared encouragingly. “Like you mean it! UP!”
Seconds later, Chapman, Abbott, Nott and Zabini had their brooms and a few more seconds later and the entire class had their brooms, even Scorpius, and only Albus was left with his broom unmoving on the grass. He imagined his father standing over him disappointedly. Everyone was going to know how disappointing he was.
“Oh Merlin’s Beard,” McLaggen laughed. “How humiliating!”
He felt terribly singled out. The rest of the class weren’t being instructed further, likely waiting on him and his broom. “Up! UP!” He demanded but his broom did not even move. He could feel the eyes on him. He glared at the old twig in disbelieving desperation. Was it faulty? The class began to giggle.
“He really is nothing like his father at all, is he?” Chapman chimed. “Albus Potter, the Slytherin Squib!”
Heat was sneaking up his robes, burning his neck and his ears. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to leave.
“Albus,” Scorpius whispered.
“It won’t work!”
“You’ve done it before, haven’t you?”
He nodded.
“I know you can do it. Just take a breath. Pretend nobody else is here.”
Albus breathed in. The voices of the others around him began to drift into the background. He pretended there was nobody else on the pitch, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, chose not to block Scorpius out–he repeated his words in his head. He didn’t feel scrutinised by him but encouraged. The broom sailed up slowly right into his hand. He stood there for a few moments in surprise.
Scorpius grinned widely at him and said something that he didn’t catch over Madam Hooch’s loud voice, “Come on, children! Time to fly!”
When the class ended, Albus quickly deposited his broom in a pile on the grass and made to exit the pitch with the Slytherins but he turned around when he heard loud chattering. Rose had gathered a crowd as she listed all the quidditch stars she knew. “I have a photo of Gwenog Jones holding me as a baby, my mum went out with Viktor Krum from Bulgaria before she met dad–she says if things went differently, he could’ve been my dad!” Everyone was watching her in awe. “And of course, how could I forget? My Aunt Ginny Potter, the retired Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies,” Suddenly everyone turned to look at Albus. “Everyone says I fly just like her. . .” Rose trailed off however when she realised no one was paying attention anymore.
Polly Chapman bumped past Albus to drop her broom in the pile. “Can you even fly, Potter?”
He only glared at her and turned to leave.
“See, he’s nothing like Harry Potter,” McLaggen remarked. “Walking away from a fight–like a coward,”
A fight? He turned back around abruptly.
“What are you going to do, Potter? Everyone knows Slytherins are cowards.”
He turned away again and began to walk off. He didn’t want Madam Hooch to come flying down and start yelling at them. He knew deep down that was just an excuse to get out of potentially fighting McLaggen. He was a coward. He knew it.
“That’s what I thought,” McLaggen said haughtily.
“You’re not brave like your dad and you can’t even fly like your mum,” Chapman laughed mockingly. “You’re the family disappointment on both ends, aren’t you? Your brother’s been talking about you in Gryffindor Tower. He’s so much better than you,”
His brother had been talking about him? “James?”
Rose shoved her way in front of Albus. “Do you want to come with me to the library? I was thinking of checking out some books–”
“Will your Gryffindor friends be there?” He asked, unintentionally denouncing each Gryffindor.
She reached out to grab his arm to stop him from leaving. “Yes, but–”
“Then no,” he shrugged off her arm. He shot a guilty look back at her. It wasn’t her fault.
“Good.” Chapman said. “We don’t want to be around you Slytherins either–especially not Backstabber Potter,”
“Watch it,” Scorpius had appeared at his side, grabbing his arm. Albus allowed himself to be pulled back a few feet. The moment Malfoy got involved, it seemed every other Slytherin on the pitch had appeared aro
“Leave him alone, Malfoy! I bet it’s your fault he’s a Slytherin.” Rose accused, face going red. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the Slytherins pulling their wands out, he even heard someone call his cousin a weasel which she ignored. “If I hadn’t left you two alone, everything would have been fine!”
“Rose!” Albus gasped, unsure of whether he was shocked or angry or sad. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Scorpius is my friend,” he felt the hand around his arm get a tad tighter.
“Malfoy’s family is dark!”
“And yours is the biggest joke in that shop of yours!”
Then there was silence as Albus slowly turned to Scorpius. He had never expected to hear such a harsh remark come from his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at him after what Rose had said. It was only fair that she would receive the same treatment, but still, his stomach flipped grossly.
His voice was quiet, the sort of quiet that only Scorpius would be able to hear, “The Weasleys are my family too,” his voice cracked in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It went really quiet between them.
“Well my family put your family behind bars, Malfoy!” Rose retorted. An even quieter silence brewed around them. “Your so-called friend is the reason everyone hates your family!”
The grip on his arm loosened and Albus wanted to cry. “Rose, shut up!”
“Al, he–”
“I don’t–I don’t care! Shut up–Merlin just–SHUT UP!” He exclaimed and she actually did shut up. Worse, she looked incredibly put down; her eyes were welling with tears. “I have to see Hagrid for tea anyway.” He backed away from Rose and Scorpius a bit, the others around them nothing but figures in the background. He opened and closed his mouth trying to say something but instead turned and ran off before he started crying in front of them all.
“I’ll see you around,” Rose called out. It sounded more like a question.
Hagrid’s Hut was a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There was a steep rocky path that led down to the front door–one had to be careful not to trip. The sight of thick smoke roaring from the roof from the hearth inside was a merry contrast from the steadily brewing chill of Autumn.
Albus knocked his fist against the mighty door but there was no answer. He peeked through a window but it was too darkened to see through. He knocked again but only once more; wincing as he pulled his hand away to cradle at his chest. The door blew open with great force and the large figure of Hagrid stood over him in the doorway. Albus had to crane his neck to look at him. His face was entirely covered by his shaggy grey hair and beard but he could make out his black eyes that shone like beetles.
He had known Hagrid since he was a baby. On the mantelpiece at home, there was a photo of him when he was really little sleeping in the palm of the half-giant’s hand. He used to be really scared of the humongous man and his roaring voice but he mostly grew out of it.
“OH, ‘ELLO AL!” He bellowed. “WELCOME!”
ALbus grinned bashfully. “Hi, Hagrid,”
“Tea’s almost ready!” Hagrid grinned and led him inside his small shack. “In you get, then! Out of the cold! C’mon Harry–sorry, meant Albus, you know how the similarity gets to me!”
Albus nearly choked as a terribly fishy smell filled his nostrils the moment the door slammed shut behind him. He covered his nose as a grey smoke filled the space around him. There was a firepit in the middle of the hut; he hoped Hagrid didn’t mistake dead merfolk for firewood.
The elderly bloodhound Fang moaned a slobbery bark from his plush bed then dropped his head into a slumber. “D’you want milk and sugar?” Hagrid began fumbling through his handcrafted cabinets for saucers.
“Sugar please, Hagrid,” he coughed out. “What have you got hidden away in here?”
Hagrid spun around, knocking loudly into his table. His face turned an awfully vibrant shade of red. “You must no’ tell anyone. Got it?”
Albus narrowed his eyes suspiciously but he nodded.
Hagrid bent down and dragged a smoking cage out from under his table. “Ow! OW! HOT!” He dropped the cage onto the floor with a very loud thump. He frantically plunged his hands into one of his many buckets of water. “Keep forgetting my gloves!”
Albus pinched his nose at the smell and approached the cage sceptically. He ducked backwards as a blast of fire shot out from the cage. He wiped off the patch of soot it left behind on his sleeve. He shot an accusing look at Hagrid.
“Oh yes, best keep a distance,” Hagrid said casually. “Good thing I have all these buckets about or my hut might've burnt down by now! Still babies, these ones—don’t worry, mummy’s here—easily spooked, they are!”
Albus backed away further, swallowing. “Hagrid,” he paused, trying to be careful with his words. “ What are still babies?” aware that he was ignoring the part where his hut might burn down.
Hagrid padded around him, pulling some oven mittens on. “Fire Crabs.”
“Fire Crabs?”
“Hatched just last night, they did! Got my hands on a couple shells over Christmas. The bloke that sold them said they were dormant—that the only worth was the shells! Dormant my arse! I kept ‘em warm! Sung ‘em lullabies! Told ‘em mummy loved ‘em! Next thing I got crabs runnin’ around all over the place!” he knelt down by the firepit, ducking his hands beneath the hanging teapot, and picked a scaly bejewelled thing out. “Great fo’ startin’ fires when you got no wand!”
Albus laughed as a bejewelled crab scattered across the floor into a hiding spot under the table all the while spraying fire out of its rear end. His humour ended abruptly when a steaming saucer of tea was plopped in his hands followed by two cubes of sugar. He fell backwards into a scratchy sofa and gently–or as gentle as one with burning hands could do–dropped the saucer onto his lap.
Hagrid sat down too, sinking deeply into the sofa. “I just had yer brother James down here with one Freddy Weasley—skipping class I’d say!” Hagrid remarked after taking a long slurp of his steaming tea. “They said sumffin about yer bein’ a Slytherin!”
Albus gulped. “Really?”
“HOGWASH!” Hagrid bellowed, spilling his tea over himself in fury. Then he was standing up again. “The hokum people say! No son of Harry Potter could be a dirty, cheating snake. To suggest–even think so is ROTTEN!”
Albus felt his throat closing. Hagrid must have thought it was just a rumour that he was a Slytherin then. He had held him as a baby, always looked out for him, surely he wouldn’t hate him over his resentment for Slytherin House? He would see that he was still the same boy, he had to.
“It’s an insult to Harry Potter, I say! AN INSULT!” the half-giant roared as he fumbled with the teapot. “Ter think that one of his boys could be festering with unbridled darkness like some washed up Malfoy–OUTRAGEOUS!”
Albus thought about his friend Scorpius Malfoy and blinked melancholically. Scorpius was his only friend and the one person to see him for who he truly was. He longed for his friend in those lonely moments as he sunk into the scratchy sofa. He swallowed a big lump in his throat as he realised Hagrid would hate Scorpius as a Malfoy and Slytherin, and worst of all, Hagrid would hate Albus too for being a Slytherin and friends with aforementioned Malfoy.
Something in the air between them shifted and the lingering silence had Hagrid shutting up. “Are yeh alright?” worry crossed his face as he waited for an answer and then the saucer of tea in his hands tipped unsteadily and spilled down his front. “Oh,”
Albus pushed himself off the sofa and onto his feet. “Hagrid…”
Hagrid didn’t seem entirely present as he turned a sickly shade of purple. “Oh,” he gruffed for a second time. His beetle eyes seemed to have caught on something, perhaps the green tie or the proud Slytherin crest on his robes. “Oh, nevermind me,” and then he turned his back on him.
Albus pulled his sweaty palms together nervously. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
Hagrid lurched forward and retched into one of his buckets, groaning a very long string of curse words that not even James would have the courage to utter.
Albus hesitantly backed away, feeling a bit like a spooked hippogriff. He reached his arm behind him to grab a hold of the door handle without notice but Fang jumped up at the creak and groused a frothy bark that had Hagrid spinning his head around at once.
“Yeh leavin’.” was it a question or observation?
Albus breathed in shakily. “I think–I think I should,”
Hagrid pulled at his strangely beard with a terrified look on his face. “Summit jus’ came over me. Think maybe the crabs aren’t good for makin’ tea,” he huffed a tense chuckle.
Albus nodded wearily, glad to have not even sipped his own teacup.
“The things I said–I shouldn’t ‘ave said it,'' Hagrid blubbered. “Harry–hogwash, I mean Har–ALBUS!” he groaned and shook his head vigorously. “NEVER SHOULD’VE COMPARED YOU TO A STINKIN’ MALFOY!” He burst out. “THAT WAS LOWEST OF THE LOW!”
Albus offered a small smile of reassurance and said, “Hagrid, it’s fine.”
“IT MEANS NUFFIN! I HAD NO RIGHT! TO THINK, HARRY’S POTTER’S OWN BOY COULD BE EVIL!” Hagrid sobbed, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the tail of his beard. “I HAD NO RIGHT! YER STILL A POTTER! HARRY POTTER’S BLOOD RUNS THROUGH YER VEINS'' the half-giant stopped at once, casting an unsure eye about the cabin before shakily muttering, “Even if you’re a…Slytherin,”
But he was known for being an awful fibber and Albus could see why. His eyes were bulging wide and his hands were shaking frightfully. His face was still a sickly shade and he looked as if he was barely restraining another lurtch of vomit.
Albus was not sure what to say. He clasped his sweaty hands together and pulled at his fingers. “I–yes–well, that’s–”
Hagrid was frowning, raking his sausage fingers through his matted mane. “I say there’s been a mistake,” he grumbled thoughtfully. “The Sortin’ Hat is old, ain’t it? Hundreds and hundreds. Maybe the magic is all gone up and lost?”
Albus blinked. “The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes,”
“Old McGonnagal can fix it in a jiffy,”
“Hagrid, I can’t change what House I’m in,”
“Codswallop!” he said fiercely, reaching for a bottle of amber liquid out of a shelf and sculling down a great amount. “Hogwarts is magic; you can do anything,” he hiccuped as he put the glass bottle down. “And there’s been a mistake. Yer a Gryffindor, gotta be. Mark my words. It’ll be a quick fix. Old McGonnagal can sort it out,”
“The Sorting Hat told me why I’m a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor,” Albus admitted quietly. “There weren’t any mistakes. I chose to be a Slytherin in the end.”
Hagrid very quickly pulled another–larger–bottle out of a shelf and downed that too. He fell backwards onto the sofa with a groan. “Yer no ruddy snake, Harry!” he didn’t even notice the slip up of names now that he had the deep amber swimming in his tummy. “Everyone knows there’s not a single witch or wizard sorted into Slytherin who wasn’t evil! Harry Potter’s a Gryffindor–a brave, heroic, GOOD GRYFFINDOR!”
“WELL I’M NOT HARRY POTTER!” The eleven-year old yelled. “I’M NOT MY DAD! I’M NOT! I’M NOT! I’M NOT!” and he was crying again, for the second time that day.
Hagrid’s eyes widened bigger than saucers. “Yeh not…” he choked out. “Yeh not…evil, are yeh?”
Albus blinked through his tears. “I’m just Albus.”
The first year boy staggered out of the hut without chancing another explosive reaction from Hagrid. He ran away up the rocky path to the castle as fast as he could. Running away, how brave. He grimaced at his own thoughts, losing focus from where he was running. His foot rolled over a pesky rock and he collapsed onto the ground. He cried out at the sharp pain digging into the palms of his hands where he landed on them, flipping his hands to see his palms were scratched up and pink.
The boy inhaled hard through his clogged nose. He pulled his knees to his chest and dropped his head. The wind blew mercilessly against him, numbing his tear-ridden cheeks and bringing a shiver up his very bones. He hugged his knees tightly to hide from the crisp cold. To hide, a cruelly familiar voice whispered in his head.
“Albus? Albus!”
Had Hagrid chased after him to ostracise him? Had all the professors come outside to tell him off and take House points? Had his dad been informed of his sorting and come to take him out of school? Was it all just a terrible nightmare; was Lily at his bedside pestering him to wake up so they weren’t late to King’s Cross Station? The image warmed him; he could almost smell breakfast cooking downstairs in the kitchen. But when his eyes flickered open, it was much too outside, much too cold, and much too Scorpius.
Albus ducked his head in between his knees again out of shame. His eyes were burning but the wind dried any tears that dared escape. He wondered how one might say shame in French. He could not bring himself to ask.
“Please don’t be angry, Albus,” he cried, dropping down in front of him.
Albus frowned until he remembered what occurred on the Quidditch Pitch. It seemed so long ago now.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just–just Rose was insulting my family–not just me but you too,” Scorpius clearly hadn’t thought ahead and groaned frustadely. “S’t plaît!”
Albus looked up at once. “What does that mean?” he tried to hide the trembling in his voice.
“ Please ,”
Albus rested his head sideways on his knees. “I didn’t think Malfoys were the sort of beg,”
Scorpius shoved him gently. “I’m not the biggest Malfoy,” then he stared off. “But I do not take it lightly,”
“How do I say sorry in French?”
His friend’s expression softened. “You don’t need to know,”
“S’t plaît?”
Scorpius smiled, his cheeks becoming rosy from the cold. “Désolé,”
“Dizzy–ooo–lay,” the forgein word felt odd on his tongue, reminding him of pasta, and he was sure he butchered the pronunciation, but that didn’t affect the sincerity.
Scorpius giggled and Albus joined in not a second after. “My grandmother would cut your tongue out if she heard that,” it only seemed to further ignite the boys giggling.
Albus looked down at the sudden warmth of his left hand and watched as Scorpius gently observed his mildly bleeding palm. His finger brushed over a dot of blood and it stamped onto his own milky white finger.
“It’s just a little scratch,” the raven-haired boy said, pulling his hand away. He regretted that decision instantly though and secretly yearned for the concerned warm touch of his friend. He felt himself get hot under the collar despite the cold and unsurely shuffled a bit away.
“Did you fall?”
Albus felt something twist deep inside him that he did not understand at all. He shook his head, too proud for his own good. Scorpius nodded along anyway despite having a knowing glint in his frosty grey eyes.
“Albus, you’re my only friend,” Scorpius confessed, pale eyebrows knitted together. “You don’t care who my father is and you’re the only one who knows what it’s like to be seen as your family name. I got really scared when you stormed off. You looked really angry…I thought that maybe we wouldn’t be friends anymore,” it was then that Albus noticed the pinkness around his sparkling eyes. “Rose was trying to get in between us… I thought–maybe–she got her way,”
Albus felt his eyes prickle with tears that were instantly burned dry against the wind. He wondered if his eyes were also pink from crying. He hoped not. He did not want Scorpius to think he was silly.
“It’s not just Rose either, you know? I don’t think anyone reckons we’ll be friends,” he breathed in sharply, “Because you’re a Potter and I’m a Malfoy. That’s how it is…but I don’t care. I want to be your friend. I’ve never fit with someone like I fit with you. I don’t want to lose you right after getting you.’
His sight blurred as tears cascading down his cheeks and he made a sort of whimpering noise that he could not constrict deep inside. He ducked his head shamefully and tried to will himself to stop crying. Brave boys don’t cry.
“Albus?” Scorpius scuffled closer in front of him; white hair sparkling blurrily through his veil of tears. “Oh no. I didn’t mean to make you cry—if anything make you not cry.” His grey eyes were large and panicked. “Albus?”
“Scorpius.” His name came out broken and raspy.
The teary boys sat still and silent on the hill. Autumn wind blew against them, chilling his teary cheeks. There flew a murder of crows overhead; their shrill calls sounding sharply. He stared forward, boring into the other boy’s concerned grey eyes and his heart smiled.
Albus fell forward against Scorpius and locked his arms around his waist. His head fit in the nook of the taller boy’s neck. Hugging. Scorpius stiffened in surprise. A strangled noise escaped his throat. Slowly his arms dropped and carefully wrapped around the black-haired boy. The stiffness and surprise disappeared and the boys sank in the embrace. Neither could determine how long they sat together on the ground; a mutual understanding brewing between them without the need for words.
“Friends?” Scorpius asked as they untangled from each other.
“Always.”
The trees in the Forbidden Forest rustled against the gusts of the chilly September wind. The sky was steadily getting darker. His heart panged with loss but tapped along pleasantly in sync with the boy next to him.