a study in green
a study in green
On occasion, Albus finds himself wondering if there is something wrong with his cousin. Actually, he quite frequently finds himself wondering if there is something wrong with most of his cousins. He’d hardly call any of them well adjusted. Lucy and Molly perhaps. Roxie at a push.
That day’s musings, however, are centred on a certain Rose Granger-Weasley. He doesn’t know if she was dropped as a child, or accidentally drank some strange potion, maybe she had been hit by a rogue jinx because who in God’s name thinks that seven-thirty in the morning is an acceptable time to be eating breakfast on a Sunday.
“Please tell me that you’re under the imperius curse,” he says, sounding as tired as he feels, as he slides into the seat across from her. Albus isn’t used to seeing the hall this empty, somehow it seems bigger, peaceful almost. He thinks he’d like it if he didn’t feel like death warmed up. There’s a group of students at the Hufflepuff table sporting mustard yellow quidditch kits; some kid at the Slytherin table who appears to be asleep; and a few people dotted around the Ravenclaw table with their heads in textbooks.
Cheap gossip and outdated stereotypes - admittedly rooted in a bit of history - continue to declare Slytherin a breeding ground for future madmen. Albus, however, thinks that title should belong to Ravenclaw; he doesn’t trust anyone who actively chooses to study at this time on a Sunday when exams are so far away.
“What?” Rose questions, spoon hovering halfway between her mouth and the bowl of porridge resting in front of her.
“Or Hugo set your clock forward two hours, or Roxie is blackmailing you with that photo from Uncle Charlie’s birthday,” he continues, ignoring the way his cousin’s face reddens as her expression morphs into a scowl, “because anything is better than knowing you actually chose to get up at this time.”
“Give over,” Rose scoffs but she’s smiling now too, “just because I’m not as lazy as the rest of you.”
“I resent that,” he waves his fork, with a piece of Cumberland sausage skewered between its tines, in Rose’s general direction, “maybe if you got your beauty sleep, you wouldn’t look so angry all the time.”
It’s weird, sitting with his cousin - doesn’t know why he did it - Albus usually avoids his family. Dom’s a notable exception which seems to fit her character well; she never plays by the rules. So yes, he doesn’t know why he decided to eat with Rose but he’s here now so he supposes he has to. They were close once, back when she had two front teeth missing and Albus still thought that ghostbusters was the best film to ever exist - part of him still does if he’s honest. Realistically, with the hall this quiet, he wouldn’t have been able to take a seat at the Slytherin table without her noticing and that would seem rude. He doesn’t want to be rude, just left alone.
“Remind me why you’re talking to me again?” Rose appears to be chasing a similar train of thought. He can see it in the way her eyes harden and she presses her lips into a thin line. Albus hopes she doesn’t press; his wish isn’t granted. “Thought you hated your family.”
He sighs, rubbing at his temples as he wonders if there is any way he can avoid the question. His appetite seems to run away from him and the sausage on his plate, which looked delicious five minutes ago, suddenly isn’t all that appealing. He tries to ignore the anxiety in his stomach and offers her a half-hearted response of, “you know I don’t hate them,” but it looks more like he’s talking to his plate than to her.
“Well,” she looks him dead in the eye as she speaks, hunting a reaction, “that’s not what Uncle Harry thinks.” Albus winces - granting her what she’s searching for - and Rose doesn’t even have the decency to show an ounce of remorse.
“Look Rosie, it’s,” he’s struggling to find the words, “it’s not like that, it’s -”
“It’s what?”
“I don’t,” he tries again. Then he realises that he doesn’t really need to be doing this, he doesn’t owe her anything. She’s not questioning him to try and understand or bring the family back together or whatever bullshit Lily usually tries. Albus can tell from the tone of her voice that she just wants to make him feel bad. It’s not fair - or maybe it is, but that doesn’t mean he has the energy for it. “You know what, forget it, what’s the point?”
He flattens his expression into something more detached - dares her to challenge him. She doesn’t rise to it, she’s unbearably stubborn. It’s a sore topic in their family, so much so that not many of them have the nerve to bring it up. Rose constantly proves to be an exception to that rule.
⭒ ✵ ⭒
Lormadieu’s second law of magic.
Apparently he should know what it is. That’s according to the old library-copy of ‘Defensive Magical Theory’ that’s splayed out on the table in front of him. He doesn’t know what it is, nor how to apply it to his defence studies, but he didn’t think that needed clarification.
He’s sitting in the library, somewhere between the arithmancy section and Madame Pince’s little office, in the area usually reserved for tutoring sessions. Unfortunately, that’s precisely the reason he’s here. He’s not too happy about it either, but supposes it’ll get better once they start on it.
He supposes wrong.
When he looks up towards the gap between the bookshelves - mulling over his conversation with Rose - he catches a flash of blonde. That bleach-blonde almost platinum shade that Albus really hopes isn’t genetic and is just a result of some unfortunate incident with a home hair-lightening potion. Unfortunately, when the boy’s face comes into view he knows it’s that signature family blonde, no botched dye job. So then he turns to hoping that the other boy will just walk on by, maybe pick up an arithmancy book or two then leave, but he doesn’t seem to have much luck with that either.
You have got to be kidding me, he thinks bitterly.
The boy seems equally unimpressed with the development as he says, “please, for both our sakes Potter, just tell me that your potions, defence and charms marks are exceptional.”
Albus is pretty sure the grimace on his face gives it away; the roll of Scorpius Malfoy’s eyes serves only as a confirmation of his assumption. He thinks that he would have been happy with almost anyone else, except perhaps his brother but his grades are hardly anything to be marvelled at. Still, they’re a damn sight better than his own.
Forget this, he’ll take Izzy or Dom up on their offer.
“I’m not doing this.” He slams the textbook shut, reaching for his bag.
“Me neither.”
“Good,” he says firmly.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Albus is angry - he can’t even give a definitive reason why - but he is and it turns the tips of his ears red. He can feel it. Of all the damn people in this damn school, why him? Scorpius Malfoy had taken a dislike to Albus the moment he laid eyes on him. On the first night, Al had wanted to introduce himself. Malfoy was quick to shoot him down with some snide comment about Al’s father. He was upset at first - for a good few weeks - then angry and that eventually morphed into indifference.
Until now, that is. The anger appears to have come back.
“What is your problem with me?” Albus says, shrugging off his usual calm demeanour.
The look Scorpius gives him is downright patronising. Like Albus had just asked if wands are made of wood. That’s enough to make him angry, and the last thing he needs is a detention, so he bites his tongue - both figuratively and literally - and turns on his heel.
⭒ ✵ ⭒
“Has anyone seen McCarthy?” Dom’s standing on the tips of her toes, peering around the quidditch pitch as if the girl is going to appear out of thin air. He feels he should point out that, even if she wasn’t only fifteen, no one is able to apparate on school grounds.
“Not sure if she’ll make it,” Aarav Ahmed is the first to answer, shooting the captain a somewhat apologetic look, “she found out her parents were getting a divorce yesterday, from the prophet of all places, think she’s pretty upset about it.”
Albus had seen the article, as had half the damn school. He’d also seen Madeline bolt from the breakfast table with tears in her eyes and a considerable number of fifth year girls running after her. Having been on the receiving end of a lot of Skeeter’s journalism himself, he can’t help but feel for the girl.
“How come it was in the papers?” He hears Damien ask. He’s the youngest of the group, his voice still high in a way the others’ aren’t. Nott is a damn good chaser though, he’s more than earned his place on the team.
“Her dad’s that famous magizoologist,” someone says, it sounds like Aarav again but he can’t see his face, “you know the one that travels the world writing books and that - you’ll have seen him in the news before.”
“Yeah, and it turns out that while he was becoming one with nature, she was becoming one with a used-car salesman from Peterborough,” Izzy’s beater’s bat is swinging around in her hand as she speaks. She’s always been quite blunt; it’s what Albus likes about her, he always knows where he stands.
“And she had the audacity to tell me she’d been going up to visit my sick nan,” a voice calls out and the group turn around to where Madeline’s marching across the pitch, broom in hand and more determination in her eyes than Albus had ever seen. It’s shaping up to be an interesting practice and they still all have two feet on the ground. “Turns out she’s absolutely fine - not even ill - spent the last few days on a Women’s Institute trip in Brighton.”
Izzy winces, not something he often sees. She clearly hadn’t realised Madeline was there, none of them had. “Sorry Mads,” she scratches the back of her neck bashfully, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“Don’t apologise,” she shrugs. She’s reached them now, taking a spot next to Aarav who pulls her into a brief side-hug in a brotherly gesture, “everything you said was true.”
“If you want to write your mum a letter,” Adrian begins and Albus is almost certain he knows where this is going, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got some exploding envelopes in the dorm and I’m more than happy to nick some bubotuber pus from the greenhouses.”
By that, he means that Al and Izzy will end up doing the job for him so that he doesn’t get caught.
“Might actually take you up on that,” she snorts, turning to face Dom, “but for now, please can we play some damn quidditch.”
“Music to my ears McCarthy.”
⭒ ✵ ⭒
Albus can feel the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs, the rapid hammering of his heart. Flying makes him feel so incredibly alive. As much as he moans about his cousin, he loves practice. Any excuse to be in the air is one that he will gladly take. He’s relishing in the feeling, high above the pitch, when Izzy decides to fly over and lower the tone.
“So, are you going to tell me what happened earlier?”
“I woke up, was nearly deafened by Adrian’s snoring, ate some porridge - with honey and blueberries if you’re that interested - sat in…”
“Oh shh,” Izzy swipes at him with her beater’s bat and he dodges it with ease. If she really wanted to hit him she’d certainly succeed. “I mean the tutoring, you haven’t mentioned it which means it didn’t go well.”
Is he really that predictable? He’s going to have to do something about that.
“Yeah well,” he says, eyes still fixed on the pitch as he scans for the quaffle, “I don’t know what I did to piss McGonagall off but guess who’s been assigned as my tutor.”
“I can’t imagine it being any of your fa-” she starts, and then changes her line of questioning, “oh, it’s not Rose is it?”
He scoffs, shaking his head. Maybe it could be worse.
“Bit blonder, just as pretentious.”
At first Izzy looks confused, then he sees the moment that the penny drops and both surprise and sympathy grace her features in equal measure. “Please don’t say Malfoy.”
He wishes he could grant her request. The look on his face seems to say it all though because Izzy just gives him a tight-lipped smile and says, “damn how bad was it, what did he have to say?”
After swerving to the left so that Izzy could redirect an oncoming bludger, he shrugs. “Don’t know, didn’t stay around to find out.”
She sighs, a long and dejected thing, and Al knows that she’s trying to figure out how to spin something positive on it. She also knows that he won’t have any of it so he really doesn’t see why she’s bothering.
Albus wants to ask if she’ll help him but the issue is, he knows for a fact that she will. Which doesn’t sound like an issue - quite the opposite in fact - but it is to him. She shouldn’t have to take time out of her day to tutor him on basic magical theory. Neither should Dom or Elijah. Though he knows that Dom’s motivations wouldn’t be entirely selfless as she’d do just about anything to keep her quidditch team together.
“I’ll help-” Izzy predictably starts but he cuts her off before she can continue.
“You don’t have to Iz, you’ve got your own studies to worry about.”
“Well, I’m going to be revising all of my subjects anyway, so you may as well join,” she says. Her eyes are trained on a spot in the distance. There’s a bludger heading in their direction but it still has a good few hundred yards to clear before it reaches them. He probably should turn his attention back to the snitch, this conversation seems like it should be more important though.
“POTTER, PUCEY, STOP SLACKING.”
Apparently Dom disagrees.
“POTTER, IF YOU THINK THAT I’LL GO EASY ON YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE FAMILY, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN,” she shouts and Albus would love to know how she gets her voice that loud without a lick of magic. “I’LL TELL GRANDMA MOLLY THAT YOU HAVEN’T WORN LAST YEAR’S CHRISTMAS JUMPER ONCE.”
Now that’s a real threat, Dom knows how to hit him where it hurts. He wouldn’t wish his grandma’s wrath upon anyone. Though, thankfully, he hasn’t experienced it firsthand. That misfortune usually goes to James and Freddie.
Dutifully, he drops a few feet lower - moving away from Izzy - and turns his attention back to the game at hand. He circles the pitch a few times before he sees anything. He’s first mistaken by a glint of gold that turns out to be one of the brass awnings on the Hufflepuff stands, but it doesn’t take him long to catch onto the real thing.
His triumph is short lived, his attention is stolen by the bludger that sails past his right ear in one hell of a hurry. Adrian has to attempt a last-minute roll on his broom - which earns him a look of approval from Dom - just to avoid it.
“Oi Nott, are you wanting to get me killed?”
Damien whips back around, just as Araav calls over to him from beside the goalposts, “if that’s the plan, just shout me if you need any help.”
Izzy scoffs. “Good luck with that, I’ve been trying for years.”
“Me and Dom were trying to figure out the best way to dispose of his body the other day,” Al adds, “so we can be of use too.”
For a second, Adrian looks a little concerned. Then he places a hand on his chest and gives him this look that’s all sarcasm and feigned gratitude. “Aw, you guys talk about me when I’m not around. That’s sweet.”
“What did you decide on?”
“Think we settled on feeding him to the giant squid in the end,” he says, pretending to seem all serious. “But leaving him in the forbidden forest on a full moon was up there too.”