Chapter 2

Sure enough, the train slowed to a stop. Students flooded the corridors and once again, Al and his friends had to fight their way through. This time they weren't held back by their luggage and got out onto the platform.

Al distinctly heard, "Firs' years over here! Firs' years to me!"

They turned around and spotted the friendly bearded face a little ways off. Al, Lysander, Rosie and Siobhan pushed their way through the throngs of kids waiting for their carriages and approached Hagrid.

"All righ', you lot?" Hagrid greeted them with a smile. Hagrid was a very large man; the four of them came up to Hagrid's middle. He had wild hair and a beard with warm, crinkly black eyes. He had been a family friend of theirs for as long as Al could remember.

"Hi Hagrid," Al and Rosie said, at ease. Al noticed Siobhan looking wide-eyed and edged over to her.

"He's all right," Al told her in an undertone. "Not scary at all, really."

Al looked around at the first years gathered there; he could see Lorcan chatting with a dark-skinned girl. Malfoy was standing stiffly with Darren McLaggen and a girl wearing a haughty expression. Al's cousin Louis was practically bouncing up and down with his excitement.

Hagrid called over the sound of the train beginning to leave, "All firs' years here, then? Firs' years, follow me!"

The group set off down a narrow path. Al thought it was probably surrounded by trees on either side, as it was quite dark. Siobhan tripped and almost fell a couple times, but Al managed to catch her arm each time. Around the bend, there was a collective gasp as Hogwarts came into view; the majestic castle towered with battlements and towers across a great black lake. Hagrid pointed them to a fleet of small boats waiting at the edge of the water.

"No more’n four to a boat," Hagrid shouted.

Al climbed into a boat followed by his friends; the evening was crisp and he could see the stars twinkling high above the lake. Rosie nudged him and he looked back down again. The fleet of boats magically moved out, with Hagrid at the front in his own boat. Everyone was silent as the boats glided across the water. The castle towered on top of a cliff, and the boats quickly approached it. Hagrid yelled out for everyone to duck when they reached the base of the cliff face; Al quickly ducked and the boats glided under a veil of ivy covering an entrance in the cliff. When the boats stopped at a gravel embankment, everyone climbed out. Siobhan tripped over the edge and was saved by Hagrid catching the back of her robes. A couple people snickered. Al glared at them. It wasn’t her fault, the boats were awkward to climb out of. Everyone climbed through the short tunnel in the rock and arrived on the sweeping lawns in front of Hogwarts.

Hagrid strode across the grass, approaching the big castle doors, and the group had to hurry along to keep up with him. Hagrid glanced around at everyone. “Everyone here? You there, still on yer two feet? Right then.” He knocked soundly on the door.

Instantly, the oak doors swung open and standing there was a short wizard. Al thought he was vaguely familiar; a friend of his parents, posibly. The wizard wore a black hat and dark navy robes and a very pompous expression. Al could tell this was a teacher of the sort that took rules rather seriously.

“Thank you, Professor Hagrid. I trust the boat ride was pleasant. You can go into the Great Hall now,” the Professor said. The first years followed him through into the entrance hall; it was so big that Al could hardly make out the ceiling. There was a magnificent staircase leading up to upper floors, and the walls were lined with flaming torches. The walls were stone and the floor was flagged stone; on their right, there was a door leading to what must be where the rest of the school was; Al could hear a babble of hundreds of voices as they walked past it. The Professor led them into a small chamber and addressed them.

“I am Professor Macmillan, Deputy Headmaster, Potions Master and Head of Hufflepuff House,” began Professor Macmillan. “Welcome to Hogwarts. In a few moments we will enter the Great Hall where the rest of the school is seated, but before you can join them, you must be Sorted into your Houses.”

There was a stirring of excitement and nervousness among the first years. Professor Macmillan told them about the four houses, and explained how points work into winning the House Cup. Al had heard this already from his family members and paid a little less attention. Professor Macmillan told them to please wait there until it was time for the Sorting.

“Listen,” Lysander caught the attention of Al, Rosie and Siobhan. “If I’m not in your house, then we’re all still friends, right?”

“Of course,” Rosie assured him.

“I hope we’re not separated,” Al worried, not sure what he’d do if he was going to be alone in a house without any of them. Just then, a couple people squealed and everyone around him gasped; a few dozen pearly-white ghosts had just floated through the wall of the chamber. Most of them didn’t look down at them and continued on, but some stopped and stared at them. Al had never seen one before, apart from the ghoul at his granddad’s and grandma’s house; he took a rather nervous step back as the ghost of a plump man smiled down at them.

“Newcomers to Hogwarts, I suppose?” the plump man asked. A couple people nodded. Al could tell some of them had never even heard of ghosts at Hogwarts before, as they looked terrified; probably the muggle-borns. They were a little bit scary, although he’d never admit that in the hearing of James.

A serene woman glided along. “I hope to see you in the noble house of Ravenclaw. It was mine when I lived,” she told them coldly. More people inched back. Everyone was standing rather closer together than they normally would have.

“Ah, don’t prejudice them before they are even started school, Helena!” the jolly man reprimanded her, although his tone was pleasant. “I’m the Fat Friar of Hufflepuff, myself,” he told them proudly.

Just then, the chamber door opened and Professor Macmillan entered. “It’s high time the ghosts of Hogwarts entered the hall,” he told them.

“Right you are, Professor, sorry,” they said, and floated on through the wall. Al supposed that floating through walls was normal for a ghost.

“Form a single file line and follow me,” the Professor instructed them, and once they had formed a line, he led them from the chamber into the door to the Great Hall.

Nothing Al had ever seen could compare to the Great Hall. Thousands of candles floated in the air, casting a dim light of their own all over the four long tables of the hall, where the students were sitting watching them. The ceiling might as well not be there; it looked just like the sky outside. It was dotted with stars and constellations; Al was fascinated with it. Rosie nudged him, and she whispered, “The ceiling is enchanted to look like the outside sky. My mum was telling me. It’s quite a powerful spell.”

Al nodded to her vaguely. He started paying more attention to the people around him. The tables were laid with glittering gold goblets and plates. Al could see the ghosts of Hogwarts seated here and there in the four tables, shining with a silvery light. At the head of the hall, to which they were walking towards, was a high table that seated the teachers; Al took a count, mostly doing so to avoid the staring eyes of the students- there were twelve seats, one near the middle being empty, and Al understood it to belong to Professor Macmillan.

Professor Macmillan stopped them, and Al noticed a plain wooden stool in front of the teacher’s table, and on it was a frayed, patched, filthy pointed hat. It was a discolored green and clearly very old. Al supposed that this was the Sorting Hat. He felt a little in awe of it.

Al noticed that everyone was watching the hat, so he watched it too, wondering if it was going to do a tap-dance or something. Just then a tear in the hat opened- Al realized it was a mouth of sorts- and began to sing.

Well it’s that time again

I suppose I’m to sort you

I don’t really feel like it

But it’s my purpose in life

So I guess I have to

Once upon a time I was a hat

Perched upon Gryffindor’s head

The founders had an issue you see

They worried how to Sort you lot

After they had gone themselves

So here I am, the solution

I guess I’d better tell you about the houses

Well you could be a daring Gryffindor

They’re quite brave and chivalrous

Or you could be a lovely Hufflepuff

They work a lot and are faithful, like badgers

You may even be a clever Ravenclaw

She was only smart cause of her diadem though

If you don’t know what that is

Ask Harry Potter, or his son Al, he’s here, everyone stare at him

Oh yeah there’s another house

No one likes it except the ones that are in it

That’d be dear Slytherin. He’s not a dear.

Slytherins are ambitiously evil

They are also quite mean

But some of them are alright

If you don’t know what I’m talking about

Then you ought to ask for Al Potter’s middle name

He’s the one I told you to stare at- go on, stare some more

Well anyway I’m done singing for the year

Let the sorting begin, if it must.

Al turned bright red. Everyone clapped politely, and Professor Macmillan walked in front of them and opened a large scroll of parchment and begun to read names off of it. “Ascot, Terri!”

A small girl with black hair stumbled up to the stool, sat down, and put the hat on. After a moment, the rip opened and shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The table on the far left exploded with cheers, and all the other tables clapped politely.

“Connor, Timothy!”

A boy who had been standing in front of Al ran up to the stool. The hat fell over his eyes and after a couple seconds, shouted “RAVENCLAW!”

“Finch, Callie” became a Ravenclaw too, and the table that Al assumed was Ravenclaw was applauding loudly. Next, however, Professor Macmillan called “Finnigan, Siobhan!” Al watched a little anxiously as she half-tripped her way to the stool. She picked the hat up, dropped it, picked it up again and put it on her brown head. There was no sound from the hat. Al could see her twisting her hands in her lap. He wondered why on earth it was taking so long.

Finally, the rip widened and shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” The Gryffindor table burst into cheers and Al sighed with relief. He clapped a little too, as a beaming Siobhan ran over to the Gryffindor table. Al saw her accidentally elbow a boy at the table in the face when she sat down and grinned a little to himself.

Next was “Harris, Sherice”… “James, Casey”… “Lane, Brannon”. Next Professor Macmillan called, “Malfoy, Scorpius!”

All eyes turned to the young boy as he walked purposefully up to the stool and sat down, taking the hat in his hands. Al saw a flash of hesitation before determination set in and Scorpius jammed it on his head firmly.

Minutes went by.

Everyone in the hall was getting restless, watching him silently. Al couldn’t help but wonder what they’d do if the hat just didn’t sort him. He had to admit, he was a little relieved this was happening already, so if it happened to him too… not that he believed James… he wouldn’t have been the first.

“What’s going on? Is something wrong with the hat?” Rosie whispered to him.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Lysander assured her, looking straight at Scorpius. “I just think it’s having to make a very tough decision.”

“How can it be that hard? He’s a Malfoy,” Rosie protested, but Lysander hushed her and everyone turned to look back at Scorpius. The brim widened and the hat shouted-

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“No way!”

“It can’t be!”

“He’s a Malfoy!”

“Why isn’t he in Slytherin?”

There was no cheering now; everyone broke out into incredulous whispers. Scorpius, a little pink, made his way with his head held high to the Gryffindor table on the far left. Some teachers started clapping slowly and the school followed, lightly tapping their hands together, rather late in the uptake. The Sorting continued.

To Al, Rosie, and Lysander’s irritation, “McLaggen, Darren” was also made a Gryffindor.

“Being a Gryffindor used to be rare! They’re giving the bloody house title away,” Rosie said with disgust.

“Moon, Jared,”…“Parker, Lionel”… After “Puffer, Jerry” Al’s name was called.

Al realized that everyone had turned to stare at him when they heard his last name and hurried up to the stool, trying to avoid catching anyone’s eye contact. He heard them muttering, “Wait, his surname is Potter? As in Harry Potter’s kid?” and Al was even more irritated when he heard one person say, “That’s James Potter’s kid brother.”

He sat down on the stool and put the Sorting Hat onto his head, which fell down over his eyes. Instantly, a voice whispered into his ear, and Al knew it to be the Hat’s.

“How interesting, another Potter kid, I see,” the hat mused. “There’s so much of your father here in your head. Courage, certainly, and a fairly intelligent mind, that’s new. Er, not that he wasn’t clever. My, my, you have his talent, too. A bit of a temper deep down, I expect that’s your mother. Now where to put you?”

“If it’s not too much trouble…” Al began.

“Yes, I know, you want to go to Gryffindor. Doesn’t everybody?” The hat asked himself. “Well, you could go there, I suppose. You’d do more then fine in Ravenclaw, and goodness, maybe even Slytherin, you certainly have the ambition- no? Not Slytherin? Just like your father. Well, then, it had better be GRYFFINDOR!”

The last was shouted aloud to the hall. The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers and Al took off the hat, dropped it on the stool, and all but sprinted to the table, utterly delirious with his relief. He sat down next to Siobhan, who was smiling widely at him.

Finally, “Scamander, Lorcan” was called. Lysander’s twin Lorcan strode purposefully up to the stool. The moment the hat touched his head, it shouted, “RAVENCLAW!” Al clapped politely, but wasn’t disappointed. He hadn’t liked Lorcan much.

Next was “Scamander, Lysander”. Al crossed his fingers. To his relief, that hat took only a few moments to shout, “GRYFFINDOR!” and Lysander ran over to join Al and Siobhan.

“Snuffle, Tia” was followed by the haughty girl Al had seen with Scorpius; “Stanley, Victoria” was made a Slytherin instantly. After a couple more people they arrived at “Weasley, Louis”, Al’s cousin. To no one’s surprise, he was made a Gryffindor. Next was Rosie’s turn; she trotted up to the stool eagerly, picked up the hat and jammed it on her head. It immediately declared her, too, a Gryffindor. Siobhan, Al, and Lysander sighed in relief as she ran up to them and sat down, beaming. After “Yukon, Rochelle” was sorted, Professor Macmillan rolled up his scroll and took away the hat and stool.

The Professor at the center of the teacher’s table stood, presumably the Headmistress whom Al vaguely thought he might know the name of. Everyone’s whispered conversations died down, watching her expectantly.

“Welcome, new students; old students, welcome back! I’m sure you’re all very hungry, but there is a time for speech making; now is not it. Enjoy your meal!”

There was some scattered applause as everyone turned and stared at their plates. Al was wondering if the silverware was going to sing, too, when all of a sudden the plates were loaded with delicious foodstuffs. There was steak, roast chicken, roast potatoes, carrots, peas, Yorkshire pudding, roast beef… Al was ecstatic. It wasn’t like he’d never had good cooking before, but this was fantastic. Al helped himself to the steak and potatoes generously.

After a long meal and excellent pudding- the table produced all kinds of pudding after the main course was finished- Al was feeling quite comfortably full and sleepy. The first years had a chance to chat with each other; they were all decent kids, except perhaps Malfoy and McLaggen. Al was mostly excited for classes to start- learning magic would be so fun!

“Don’t you think it’s going to be hard work, though?” Siobhan said reasonably. “It’s not going to be just waving our wands and making sparks. There’s much more to magic then that.”

A couple people looked at her and she looked embarrassed. Rochelle Yukon said condescendingly, “I think there’s a fair bit of wand-waving involved in magic, Finnigan.”

Siobhan didn’t speak out again.

Al asked Rosie, “What’s the headmistress’ name, again?”

“Professor Sprout,” Rosie said primly.

“Right. What does she teach?”

An older boy sitting across from Siobhan spoke up. “She doesn’t teach,” he said, as if this should be obvious. “She’s Headmistress.”

They all turned to look at the boy who spoke. He had a striking appearance; his hair black and spiked around his head with a fringe that swept down onto his pale face. His eyes were a bold black and he was probably taller then all of them.

“Surely she used to be a teacher,” said Al.

“Well, yeah, she was Herbology professor and head o’ Hufflepuff,” the boy said, raising an eyebrow. Al wished he wouldn’t be so condescending. He hadn’t even started school yet. How was he supposed to know?

Lysander stuck his head in. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Williams,” he told him. “Declan Williams. Third year. You are?”

“Lysander Scamander.”

“Rosie Weasley.”

“Al Potter.”

The boy’s black eyebrows wiggled. “Potter, huh? As in the Auror Potter’s kid?”

“If you mean Harry Potter, yes, that’s my dad,” Al said flatly.

“I know your brother. He’s annoying.”

“I’d noticed,” Al said dryly.

Williams turned his attention from them to Siobhan, who had been silently nibbling her pudding throughout the exchange. “And what’s your name?”

Siobhan started. “I’m Siobhan,” she said, pulling her hair out of her eyes. She looked awkward that he had called her out. “Siobhan Finnigan.”

“Uh…” Lysander looked at her. Siobhan reddened a little, then knocked over her pumpkin juice. She scrambled to mop it up, letting her hair fall back into her eyes.

Williams watched her, looking mildly amused. “Nice to meet you, Siobhan.” He said easily, adding, “I’m Declan.” Siobhan nodded his direction, clearly embarrassed.

Just then, Headmistress Sprout stood to speak and the hall gradually fell silent.

“Another year begins! As usual I have start of term notices for you. First off, I have been asked by the caretaker, Mr Stuart, to remind you that there is an extended list of rules posted on his office door and House bulletin boards and ought to be checked. He also wanted me to specifically tell you that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, and no magic is to be used in corridors. Next, Quidditch tryouts won’t be until start until last week of September. Contact your Head of House or your Quidditch Captain to put your name on the list of hopefuls.”

Al began to zone out, wishing she would finish so he could go to bed. He supposed his trunks and owl were already there. No, wait, Cassiopeia would be in the owlery, not his dorm. He was starting to nod off when Rosie jabbed him in the side with her elbow. He snapped to attention.

“…classes begin after breakfast at nine sharp. Now, off to bed, everyone!” Professor Sprout beamed at them all.

“First years, over here! This way, first years!” A familiar girl called. Al realized it was his cousin, Louis’ sister, Dominique. He groaned; he’d forgotten she’d been made a prefect. He could never escape his bloody family, it was so big.

The first years followed Dominique and the other prefect out of the great hall and up the stairs. They passed some really cool moving portraits and had to jump over a step on the stairwell; apparently you could get stuck in it. There were knights of armor everywhere and tapestries on the walls depicting battle scenes. Finally, they arrived at a large portrait of a large woman in a pink dress.

The lady spoke to them placidly. “Password?”

“Conundrum.” Dominique enunciated clearly. The portrait door swung open and Al got his first view of the Gryffindor tower. The common room was circular and had a lot of comfy armchairs and tables; there was a blazing fire in the fireplace. Dominique instructed the first years which dormitory was theirs and when to come down in the morning.

They stumbled up the staircase. Finding their trunks awaiting them, the boys changed into their pajamas at once, sleepy and full of good food.

“I suppose classes will be very interesting…” Al yawned, climbing into his four-poster bed.

“Yes… yes… the food was delicious,” Lysander mumbled, pulling on his pajama shirt.

Malfoy and McLaggen were silent on their side of the room. Louis had got the middle bed and was the neutral zone between the two duos. Malfoy abruptly closed his red and gold hangings and did not speak a word to anyone. Al was too sleepy to care.

“Cassiopeia’s in the Owlery, I expect…” Al pulled his blankets up to his neck.

“Yes, that’s where the owls go…” Lysander’s voice faded.

Not a minute later, they were both sound asleep. Soon every boy except for one was soundly snoring in the first year Gryffindor dormitory; just one lay awake, staring up at the canopy above his bed, dreading the dawn. After awhile, the distraught boy fell into an uneasy slumber, never knowing that what he considered a calamity was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Chapter 3

The next morning Al was awoken by a shrill sound and a large object jumping on him. He opened his eyes blearily, mumbling, “Get off, James. Just five more minutes.”

“Al, wake up! Al, it’s the first day of school! First day of classes, Al! Wake up!” Al sat up, and the redhead sitting on his knees came into focus.

“Oi! Louis! What are you doing?” Al slumped back onto his pillow.

Louis shook his shoulders. “Breakfast time, Al, we gotta eat, get our schedules and everything!”

Al sat up on his elbows. “Louis, if I’m going to get out of bed, you’ll need to get off my knees.”

Louis leaped off in a moment. “Hurry up, Al!” With that, he ran down the stairs. Al realized that he was the last one up, and started hurrying around getting ready. Twenty minutes later, he came down the stairs, fully robed and carrying his schoolbag. He had taken his wand out of his bag and put it into his robes pocket and felt very aware of it being there.

Lysander, Siobhan, and Rosie were standing near the portrait hole, waiting for him. He was a little embarrassed that he’d slept later then everyone else. The three of them started off for breakfast, regaining the excitement they had had yesterday for start of school. They had a little over half hour remaining until classes started and were fairly confident they had plenty time to get to breakfast.

“So can you believe it? Scorpius Malfoy is a Gryffindor and he’s sharing our dormitory.” Lysander shook his head in disbelief.

“That came to a complete shock to me,” admitted Al.

“Well, maybe that means he’s not really that bad,” Rosie countered. They considered it. “Well honestly. If the hat put him in Gryffindor, maybe it’s because he belongs there.”

“You know, maybe he was right, w-what he said on the train,” Siobhan said, stuttering a bit when they all looked at her. “You know, that we don’t know him.”

“I suppose,” Lysander shrugged. "Seeing as he's in Gryffindor, apparently we do not."

“Guys, we have a slightly more pressing problem,” Al spoke up, stopping in the corridor and looking around him. The other three stopped.

“Er… what is it?” Lysander asked him.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been down this corridor before,” Al examined the portrait of a woman in a purple dress, giggling at them. “And I’m pretty sure we passed this portrait already.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Rosie was devastated. “We’re lost!”

“Oh, wonderful. Now what do we do?” Lysander looked around him. “I wasn’t paying too close attention last night.”

“Maybe if we’d have left earlier we could have gone with a prefect…” Rosie looked pointedly at Al.

“I know, I know, I slept in! Sorry!”

"Lost, are you?" The four whirled around to find themselves face to face with a tall dark boy, leaning against the tapestry with his arms crossed. It was Declan Williams, the boy they met last night after the Sorting.

"Yes, we are," Siobhan spoke up. "Could you help us?"

Williams tilted his head a little, as if they were a fascinating specimen he was observing.

Then he dropped his arms, and said, "Course I can. All first years get lost at one time or another. I know a shortcut; this way."

Williams pulled the tapestry he was leaning against aside and revealed a hidden corridor. They followed him down this corridor hastily. He took a couple turns, down two stairwells, and suddenly they came out at the Entrance Hall.

The hall was far less dark and looming now that it was bathed in gentle sunlight; the stone was friendly and not intimidating and the natural lighting gave the feeling of warmth. Williams led them into the Great Hall.

Williams spread his arms a little. "Voilà. The Great Hall. Have a good day, firsties. Siobhan." He nodded to her, then strode off to the Gryffindor table.

"Why is he nicer to her?" Lysander asked to no one in particular.

"It’s probably an Irish thing," Siobhan shrugged.

"Whatever. I'm hungry," Rosie said, and they moved to sit down.

After a delicious meal of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon strips and juice, the Gryffindor Head of House, Professor Jones, began handing out timetables. Professor Jones was also their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; she seemed nice, but Al could tell she was tough. He was also pretty sure she'd been over for tea at the Potter home before. After all, there weren't many battle-hardened types that his parents didn't know.

After taking a long time with the older students, Professor Jones reached the first years and gave them theirs. Al and Lysander examined Monday's schedule.

"Pretty good day ahead of us, don't you think? Herbology, Transfiguration, lunch, Charms, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts." Lysander tucked his timetable into his bookbag. "Now, Herbology shouldn't be hard to find. It's just outside, in greenhouse one."

It turned out to be a little harder to find the greenhouses then expected. The grounds were vast and they did a good deal of walking around before realizing the greenhouses were on the other side of the lawn. The lot of them stumbled into Greenhouse One a little out of breath and on the verge of being late.

Luckily, a familiar face met them at the head of a long work table; Neville Longbottom, one of his dad’s close friends. He owned the Leaky Cauldron and lived in a flat over the pub with his wife. They were always pleasant to Al, James and Lily, and they liked them, too. Al thought it was pretty cool that Neville apparated to school from the pub every day. He was a decent sort, taller, dark haired and with thin scars scattered on his cheek. Al knew, from some stories of the dark days that his parents didn’t like to talk about, that the scars Neville had were from the year Hogwarts was under control by Dark wizards.

"Hiya, Nev- Er, I mean, Professor Longbottom. Sorry we're late, we're having problems finding places today."

"That's all right, Albus, you're not that late. Take a seat, kids, and we'll start class." Neville stood at the head of a long table, clapping his hands together.

Al went to stand at the table in front of a plant he didn't recognize, and the others stood next to him. Across from Al and Lysander, an unfamiliar boy and girl smiled at them cheerily. Lysander nudged Al with his elbow.

"Hufflepuffs," intoned Lysander to Al. "Irritatingly friendly. You could curse their nose off and they'd still shrug, smile, and shake your hand."

Professor Longbottom interrupted the two snickering with an introduction to the class. He talked about the sort of plants they'd be dealing with that term and what sort of things they ought to be doing in class.

Rosie paid strict attention, but Al and Lysander were busily flicking dirt at the Hufflepuffs. Rosie irritably shushed them every time they snorted with suppressed laughter; the two Hufflepuffs kept looking around for the source of the dirt-flicking with a slightly puzzled smile. Finally the practical work began and the mischievous duo had to pay attention as they learned how to care for the plant in front of them. The bell rang and they gathered their things and left.

"Honestly, I don't expect that Professor Longbottom was impressed with you two behaving in such an immature fashion," huffed Rosie. Lysander and Al ignored her admonishing with a good chortling over the two Hufflepuff’s amusing expressions.

None of them had a clue where Transfiguration was, either, but luckily for them Dominique Weasley happened to be in the Entrance Hall and told them where to go. They made it barely on time, and again out of breath.

This class was first year Gryffindors only. Al sat with Lysander, pulling out his textbook and his wand. He held his wand by the tips of his fingers with reverence; he hadn't actually used it yet, and he was feeling that familiar nervous excitement.

The teacher at the front of the room stood looking forbidding and cold. “Welcome to Transfiguration class. I am Professor Happyfeather. This class deals with serious, complex magical matters which cannot be taken lightly. Anyone here that is not mature enough to handle it can leave now.” She then took out her wand and Transformed a candlestick on her desk into a singing mockingbird, and everyone watched open mouthed as it flew around the room twittering before Happyfeather waved her wand and Vanished it.

Now the teacher had the entire class' rapt attention. Al had heard of Happyfeather from James. This Professor was the Head of Slytherin. James had complained in his letters about her biased treatment of those not of her house. Al was pretty sure that James had deserved whatever it was he’d gotten from her, though.

After Happyfeather made them write down the Course Aims written on the blackboard, she had them copy down the incantation for changing physical properties of objects. Al noticed Lysander zoning out and idly watching the clouds float by outside the window. Rosie was paying attention, admittedly with lackluster interest. He was surprised at them; sure, Happyfeather was a bit on the rough side, and theory might be boring, but this was good stuff they were getting into. Changing matches into needles! Cool.

Everyone snapped to attention when Happyfeather conjured matches for everyone. Picking up their wands, Happyfeather had them all try the incantation in pairs. There were low results all around; Rosie managed to make her match go shiny and smooth, and Happyfeather grudgingly told her it was a good start. Then she reached Al and Lysander, expectantly waiting. Lysander glanced at Al nervously.

Al lifted his wand, and time slowed down. In that moment, Al’s arm and wand became a single limb, extended and waving with precision and effortlessness. The incantation fell easily from Al’s lips and with a flick of his wand, silver shot up the match and it twisted a moment before becoming silver and pointed with a miniscule hole at the head for thread. Al picked it up, examining it; it was certainly not a match any longer.

Happyfeather took it from him, poked her finger with it, clearly surprised. Indeed, the match was now most decidedly a needle. Al was amazed at what had just happened. The other students all turned round to look at him, surprise and awe in their expressions by such a display of magic.

“Well,” Happyfeather said, astounded. “That was, ah, quite good spellwork, Potter. Take five points for Gryffindor. Everyone, did you pay attention to the boy’s wand movements? Precisely what I was talking about.”

Happyfeather returned him his needle and carried on to the black girl behind him. Lysander whistled and clapped him on the back. After everyone had tried it, only Rosie and Malfoy had managed to affect their match- Rosie's turned a shiny metallic hue, and Malfoy's match sharpened into a point at the end. Lysander and Al exchanged a smirk when the Professor told him he had the wand movement all wrong.

After class, Rosie walked alongside Al. "That was brilliant! Everyone was mesmerized by you. You're amazing at Transfiguration and it's only the first day. How did you do it?"

Al beamed at her. "I dunno. It just sort of happened. Professor Happyfeather told us how to do it and I understood what she was saying. I can't explain it, but... it felt great."

Lysander and Siobhan listened to him with impressed expressions. Al held his wand in his pocket tightly, smiling at his new found gift.

Next was a hurried lunch in the Great Hall before dashing about to find Charms. Charms was taught by an elderly, very short wizard with a squeaky voice named Flitwick. When Professor Flitwick reached Al’s name on the register, he said “Oho!” and peered at him excitedly. Flitwick informed him that he taught Al’s mum and dad twenty years ago and that Al did look just like his father. Al wasn’t sure what the appropriate response was and settled for, “Oh.”

Following Charms was Potions, held in the dungeons with the Slytherin first years. There, they met again with pompous Professor Macmillan. After lecturing for half an hour on the importance of following instructions and paying strict attention, Macmillan instructed them to try mixing a simple potion to reduce dizziness.

The class set to work, mixing essence of jellyfish and ground unicorn horn into their potions. Al and Lysander kept referring to their textbooks to make sure they were following it correctly. Next to them, Rosie and Siobhan were having a simple time of it, busily chopping up some sort of root. Al glanced at his textbook; they had ages to go until they had to add chopped valerian root!

“How are you doing it?” He asked Siobhan, just like Rosie had asked him the same thing after Transfiguration.

“Just follow the instructions! It’s easy.” Siobhan added the root to her potion, clearly in her element.

Al read through the instructions again, unsure if he’d put in three cups of monkshood or only two… he’d better put another, just in case. He added hellebore, continuously checking with the book to make sure he was doing everything right. The steam rising from all the cauldrons in the dungeon made it hard to see anything.

Half an hour later it was time to see how they did. Macmillan walked around the room, giving instruction where it was needed. He told Scorpius Malfoy that he had stirred his too much and it was now far too runny. When he reached Lysander and Al, he told them that their potions weren’t bad but it looked like their measurements of ingredients had been off. Al was a little put out at these mediocre results. Potions wasn’t even really real magic after all.

“What have we here!” Macmillan exclaimed. Al turned around to see him hovering over Siobhan’s potion. “It looks like you followed the instructions to the letter. Excellent job! Look here, everyone, see how the potion is a perfect pale green?”

Al looked at it. It was a rather nice pale green. He saw Scorpius glaring at her and Al was satisfied that she’d beaten him at it.

Macmillan continued. “Yes, you did just the right amount of stirring and added all the right ingredients. What’s your name, young lady?”

Al was afraid Siobhan might stutter with all the Gryffindors and Slytherins looking at her, but he need not worry; Siobhan spoke without falter.

“I'm Siobhan Finnigan.”

“Miss Finnigan, take five points for your excellent attention skills,” Professor Macmillan said pompously. Al gave Siobhan a thumbs up. She smiled at him. Macmillan moved on to Rosie’s, awarding her a point for doing well on her potion, too. Rosie grinned at them.

When the bell rang, the first years crowded to get out the door. “I wonder where the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom is?” Siobhan asked out loud.

“I don’t know, Finnigan, maybe you ought to use your excellent attention skills to find it,” a sneering voice said behind them. The four of them turned around. It was Scorpius Malfoy and his mate McLaggen.

“Oh, get lost, Malfoy, you’re just jealous her potion was better then yours,” Rosie said snidely.

Malfoy’s face grew pink. “I'm surprised you're not upset, now that you’ve been beaten in two classes already. My father told me your mother was a know-it-all, and that you'd inherited the trait.”

“Yeah? Well your father was on the Dark Side, so I’d watch whose parents you insult,” Al said angrily. Malfoy opened his mouth furiously to retort.

“Fighting, boys?” It was Professor Macmillan at the dungeon entrance, narrowing his eyes at them. Al and Malfoy stepped back from each other.

“No, sir,” they said simultaneously.

“Good. Now get to class, the lot of you. It wouldn’t do to be late,” Macmillan said.

The four of them hurried off, leaving Malfoy and McLaggen behind them. The other first year Gryffindors had disappeared in search of their next class. Ten minutes later they were hurrying along a corridor, completely lost.

“The classroom is on the fourth floor and I’m sure we’re still on the fifth floor,” Al said, looking around.

Just then a cackling voice spoke out from somewhere above them. “Are the ickle firsties lost?”

Suddenly, a small man floating cross-legged in the air appeared, holding an armful of ink pellets. He had wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth, giving the idea of a trickster; Al was sure he wouldn’t give them helpful directions. He was reminiscent of a ghost, but was not quite transparent enough. Al puzzled over this for a moment before Rosie answered his unspoken query.

“You’re the Hogwarts poltergeist,” she said, stepping back.

“Peevsie is the name, trouble is the game,” the poltergeist said in a sing-song voice, floating along upside down. He whooshed suddenly over their head, tossing a couple of ink pellets their way. Al ducked it and it smashed on the stone by his feet.

Peeves threw ink pellets at the paintings as if they were dart boards, causing their occupants to exclaim angrily and dodge the missiles, then flew off down the staircase, wheezing with laughter. The three of them looked around at the mess in dismay.

"What's a poltergeist?" Lysander wanted to know. "Because I don't think I like them."

Rosie opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted.

“What is this? Why is there ink all over the corridor?” An angry voice came from down the hallway. Al turned to see an irate-looking man in simple black robes striding down the corridor towards them, exclaiming at all the ink.

“It wasn’t us, sir…” Lysander began immediately.

“It was Peeves, sir, the Poltergeist…” Rosie attempted to explain.

“Peeves! Rubbish, I just saw him on the fourth floor. Think you’d make your mark, did you? Desecrate the school a little extra to start off the year? Detention for the lot of you! As if I didn’t have enough work as sole caretaker of such a huge castle. I say, what’s your name?” he added suddenly, looking at Al.

“Albus Potter,” Al told him.

The man’s eyes widened a little. “Oh! You’re Potter’s son! That explains a lot. He was always getting into a spot of trouble at school. You’re just like him, then. Look like him too. I’m Gregory Stuart, I was a Hufflepuff in his year. All right, then?”

Al looked at him. “Uh, well, we’re lost, sir, can’t seem to find the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.”

“Oh, can’t you? Easy enough to find, just down these here stairs and on to the left.” Mr. Stuart paused. “You lot carry on right quick and we’ll call off them detentions. Right out of my mind lately, this is clearly Peeves’ style of mischief. Carry on then.”

Unbelieving of their luck, the four of them hurried down the stairs, mumbling their thanks to Mr. Stuart.

“Well,” Lysander said finally. Siobhan and Rosie looked at him sideways.

Al felt a little self conscious. “Just because my dad is famous, doesn’t mean I ought to get special treatment or anything. Mr. Stuart was right to call off the detentions, though, since we didn’t do it,” Al added.

“Yeah, he was,” Rosie said. “Hey, we don’t care. You’re still just Al to us.”

Al was relieved.

They descended the stairs, pausing only a moment when Siobhan accidentally sunk into the trick-step on the stairs. Soon, they were filing into a certain Professor Jones’ classroom.

The Professor stood at her desk and waited for the truants to be seated before taking register and starting class. It was a fairly interesting class; there was little done with their wands during the lesson, but Professor Jones reassured them that a large portion of the course would be practical. They copied down a lot of notes and Professor Jones discussed with them the sort of Dark Arts they’d be learning to defend against.

Al knew that Professor Jones was an old colleague of his dad’s- she came round to dinner sometimes. A lot of people knew his dad, really. However, when the bell rang for end of classes that day, Al thought it was a good day and decided not to mention in his letter to his parents about the incident with Mr. Stuart.

The remainder of the week was pretty much the same thing as the first day. Apart from the classes on Monday, they also had History of Magic, and Astronomy at midnight on Wednesday. History of Magic was taught by a very old ghost, Professor Binns, and that was the only interesting part of the lesson. He droned on about old goblin wars and Al spent the class trying to pay attention and take good notes, but Rosie was really the only one who managed it. Astronomy was spent at the top of the Astronomy tower, looking through their telescopes and writing down the positions of stars and the moon. It was kind of interesting, but Al’s favorite class was quickly becoming Transfiguration.

Over the next Transfiguration lessons, Al found that he understood the concepts easily and mastered the spellwork effortlessly. Happyfeather was stymied by his quick learning; she spent a little extra time with him trying to challenge his apparent talent with this branch of magic. Al met each challenge easily- he needed only be taught once or twice what to do and he found he could understand it and then do it.

Rosie and Scorpius were the only ones who were close to as good as he was. Happyfeather told Al that his wand was built for Transfiguration, which he already knew; the old wandmaker had told him that when he bought his wand in August.

When it was time on Friday afternoon to go visit Hagrid, Al had no Transfiguration homework to do. He and Lysander set out across the lawn for the wooden hut by the Forbidden Forest around tea time, with Rosie distinctly irate with Lysander for ‘going off visiting’ instead of doing homework. Siobhan chose to stay with Rosie to get help with her Transfiguration.

Hagrid and his dog, a brown and black boar hound named Scar, welcomed them at the door cheerfully. The three had tea out of giant teacups and Al told Hagrid all about their first week.

“So I hear yer righ’ good at Transfiguration, are yeh?” Hagrid nodded approvingly. “Yer granddad was too. Yeh take after him, I reckon.”

“He’s not just good, he’s brilliant,” put in Lysander. “He can do anything Happyfeather presents him with. It’s got her in a right state. She never would have thought a first year could possibly be so good with so little teaching, I expect.”

Hagrid clapped Al on the back, making him choke on his tea. “Good on yeh! That’s a Potter kid for yeh.”

Scar sat at Al’s feet as he regained his breath, drooling a bit on his shoes.

“Now what I reckon I want to see,” Hagrid said thoughtfully, “Is how yeh do with yer flyin’ lessons.”

“Flying lessons?” said Al, having regained his breath. “What do you mean?”

“Well, yer dad was righ’ brilliant at flying, an’ so was yer grandad. Yeh take after ‘em. Yer brother, he takes after yer mum’s side. I reckon I want to see yeh on a broom.”

Al felt a little self conscious. “I’ll probably be no good.”

Hagrid shook his head. “Yeh look loads like yer dad.. yeh have the right build fer a seeker. I’d bet yeh got his seeker skills, too. James, yer brother, he doesn’ have the talent. Bu’ yeh, Al… I reckon yeh just migh’.”

Al and Lysander left the hut later, pockets weighed down with Hagrid’s specialty rock-hard cakes. Back in the common room, Rosie was helping Siobhan with her wand movements for Transfiguration. From what Al could tell there was some improvement; Siobhan’s match was now glinting silver. After watching a minute, Al said,

“Listen, Rosie, I’ll help Siobhan, and you can do your homework.”

Al guided Siobhan patiently through the work until she was reasonably sure of herself. He let her finish the homework on her own and sat by himself to write another letter to his parents.

He wrote them all about his day and how his lessons were going. He mentioned visiting Hagrid and how much he loved the food and his dormitory. Al was glad James didn't hang out with him, for he would probably make fun of Al for writing his parents the third time that week.

Al and Lysander finished their work around the same time and went up to the dormitories together, saying goodnight to everyone. In the dorm, Louis was running around getting ready for bed, chattering away. Malfoy and McLaggen were in there as well (and in Malfoy’s case, frowning) and sticking to their side of the dorm.

“Quite a good day, huh, Al? I thought it was. Free afternoon, just great, wasn’t it? I can’t wait for the weekend. Today was really good, don’t you think? Lots of free time.” Louis followed Al around as he put away his stuff, chattering away. Al felt it would be unkind to ask Louis to leave him alone. “Did you write your parents? I wrote mum and dad a great big letter. I can’t wait for the weekend. I think I’ll walk around, maybe do homework. Did you do your homework today? I didn’t. Did you think today was good, Al? I did. It was really good.”

“For the love of God, shut up,” Malfoy snapped at him. Louis fell silent instantly.

Not another word was spoken as the boys all climbed into their beds, darkness settling into the tower room. Al’s last thought before falling asleep was that he was rather relieved Malfoy made Louis stop talking. That boy was entirely too talkative for anyone’s sanity.

Chapter 4

“Miss Finnigan!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, Professor,” Siobhan apologized profusely as Professor Happyfeather picked herself up, dusting herself off and scowling.

“Do watch where you’re going in the future, you’d do us all a favor,” the Professor said coolly, walking off in a huff.

Siobhan looked morose. “Cheer up,” Al said, trying not to laugh. “You didn’t mean to run smack into the scary Head of Slytherin house whom was about this close to blasting you into oblivion with her wand. Listen, I really don’t want to be late, can we go now?”

Siobhan laughed a little, hitching her book bag onto her shoulder. The two hurried along the corridor from the Great Hall. Lysander had gone back to the tower to get his cloak with Rosie. Al had been on tenterhooks all morning after reading the announcement on the billboard; flying lessons with the Slytherins that day. He was nervously excited to get on a broom; his dad had taught him how to fly somewhat, but it was different here. He was afraid that he wasn’t going to be any good.

“You don’t need to worry, you know,” Siobhan said reassuringly. “Your dad was brilliant at Quidditch, right?”

“Yeah,” Al admitted. “So was my mum. But James isn’t that good. He thinks he is, but he didn’t get on the team last year.”

“So, there’s a chance you’ll be good. Besides, Hagrid said you take after your father’s side.”

“I just hope I don’t look like an idiot in front of our class, and the Slytherins, too,” Al said glumly.

They reached the lawn and walked down across the grass. Wispy clouds floated across a pale sky on a crisp fall afternoon; Al tried to gauge conditions as his dad had taught him. Seemed pretty good, with minimal wind and some cloud to block possible glare from the sun.

Al saw the two house classes ahead of him; it was as if there was a line drawn on the grass, with the Slytherins on the right, and the Gryffindors staying well away on the left. There were some Slytherins Al was familiar with; Stanley and Moon led the crew, it seemed, with sidekicks like Parker. They were always smirking at the Gryffindors, acting both superior and sinister. Lysander had dismissed them, but they made Al nervous.

“Everyone step up to the left side of a broom!” Madam Hooch, the middle-aged Quidditch coach, called to the class as she walked smartly up to them.

The students did so, jostling each other to get the better broom. Al’s broom didn’t look too banged up, to his relief. James had gone on and on last summer how horrible the school brooms were in an effort to get their dad to buy him a broom. Dad had told him that he didn’t need his own broom, and could use the family broom or school broom, unless he was on the Quidditch team. James had whined about biased team captains and lack of foresight in James' potential as a Seeker, but Dad wouldn’t budge, not even when James complained that all the cool kids had their own brooms. Al smirked a little at the memory.

“Now everyone, remember that we aren’t going to be flying higher then a few feet for our first little test flight. Everyone stick your right hand over your broomstick and command ‘Up!’”

Everyone did so. Al was thrilled when his broom leapt into his hands. Rosie’s broom took a little coaxing, and Lysander’s refused point-blank. Al thought that Lysander’s attempt at reasoning with the broom might not be helping things. Siobhan very cautiously put her hand over the broom and stuttered her command; her broom flew up viciously and narrowly missed whacking her in the head. She knocked it down with her foot, clearly terrified.

“Relax,” Al said kindly. “It’s just a broom. You’ll be fine, just relax.”

Madame Hooch instructed them to mount their brooms and watch their grip. Walking among the students, offering criticism, Hooch nodded at Al’s grip and seat.

“You sit exactly like your father did,” Hooch said approvingly.

Al was secretly thrilled to hear this, but kept his facial expression modest.

Hooch told them all to practice kicking off from the ground. The result was fairly disastrous with half the class; Al hovered above the ground, watching the havoc.

Siobhan accidentally accelerated into Malfoy and knocked him to the ground, whacking McLaggen and the girl next to him with her broom. Meanwhile several people were spinning around, sliding off their broom and jerking about, clearly not in control. Al sat on his broom, the eye of the storm. Next to him Lysander was trying to climb back on his broom.

“How are you doing that?” Lys demanded.

“I’m just sitting here,” Al said, perplexed.

Lysander shook his head, cursing as his broom slipped away from him again, causing him to chase after it.

Hooch was busy grabbing at the hem of Siobhan’s robe as her broom starting bucking and speeding around in the chaos. When Siobhan rose higher and higher in the air, out of control, Al decided it was time to step in.

He leaned forward automatically, speeding after her wild broom. The air flew around his hair and he kept his seat easily, accelerating after Siobhan. Her broom dropped abruptly and Al did a quick dive and turn, trying to catch up with her.

She flew back down towards the ground, spinning crazily and ducking around the kids. Al flew after her, diving underneath Victoria Stanley sitting on her broom, lifting off again to fly over the heads of the kids. He spotted Siobhan about twenty feet in the air, all but dangling from her broom.

He zoomed after her, filled with exhilaration, and got to her just as she was going to fall, and pulled her onto his broom. He grabbed the rogue broom with one hand and carried it back to the ground. Several students were watching them as Al helped her off at the ground.

“Siobhan, I'm sorry but I gotta say, I’m pretty sure you should stay away from brooms from now on,” he said, helping her off his broom.

“That was brilliant, Al!” Lysander called, and the other students hooted and clapped. Al went a little red, getting off his broom and putting it over his shoulder. Most of the students were back on the ground and order restored. Hooch approached him, her expression strange.

“You’re reminiscent of your father’s flying,” she told him. “I think I’ll talk to Sprout about letting you try out for Seeker. It hasn’t been done in, oh, two decades at least, nearly three. But you, boy, are good, and Gryffindor needs a good seeker. We haven’t had a good one in years.” Hooch nodded, walking back to the class, clearly deep in thought.

Al was happy she thought he was just like his dad, and beyond excited that she thought he ought to try out for the team! His dad had done the same thing at his age; beating all odds, becoming the Gryffindor seeker at age eleven and staying on until he left Hogwarts. Al thought his dad was brilliant and really wanted to pull the same feat as he did.

Lysander and Rosie approached him, excited expressions. “What did she say?”

Al told them proudly, “Hooch thinks I ought to try out for the Quidditch team. She’s speaking to the Headmistress about letting me try!”

They congratulated him, thrilled. Lysander said, “You must be the youngest ever since-”

“Since my dad, I think,” Al said.

“Wow! That’s so cool. Hey, wait until James hears about this! He’ll be so mad that his brother is better at him at flying!” Rosie grinned, nudging him gleefully.

“Yeah,” Al said, feeling encouraged. “Yeah, he will be!”

Siobhan trotted up to them. “Hooch reckons I’ve had enough of flying,” she told them. “So I’m excused from future lessons. Congrats, by the way, Al.”

Al smiled at her shyly.

* * *

After finishing a scrumptious dinner in the Great Hall, Al was sitting waiting for Lysander to finish when someone sat down next to him and tapped his shoulder. It was Declan Williams again.

“So I hear you’re invited to try out for Seeker,” Declan said.

“Really? I’m invited? I didn’t know Hooch asked Sprout yet!” Al said excitedly, before making himself calm down. He looked at Williams suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m one of the beaters on the team,” he said. “I hear you’ve got talent. Harry Potter was said to be a brilliant seeker, that could’ve played professionally. Your bro doesn’t have his talent; let’s hope you do.”

“Thanks, mate,” Al said. “You’ll have to see at try-outs, apparently.”

Williams nodded coolly and got up. “Have a good one, Siobhan,” he tossed casually across the table before walking away. Siobhan, for once, didn’t go bright red at being addressed by the suave older student. Al was glad she wasn’t as nervous now.

Then Siobhan accidentally knocked the platter of tart over and splattered the table, going red when everyone exclaimed irritably. Well, it was improved, he allowed wryly.

Not a minute after Williams had left, Professor Jones approached him. “Hello, Potter, I’m Professor Jones,”

“Yeah, I know. Hi, Professor,” Al responded.

“I’m to notify you that you have been given special permission to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Apparently you made quite the impression on Madam Hooch, and, well-” Professor Jones leaned a little closer and said quietly, “We could really use the talent, Potter.”

“I understand, Professor,” Al said with a wide grin. He had of course already been informed he was being invited to try out, but it was that much better being informed personally by his Head of House. Professor Jones gave him a little smile before walking back to the High Table.

“It’s been reaffirmed; I’m officially invited to try out,” Al announced to Lysander, Rosie, and Siobhan. They congratulated him, and he grinned to himself, feeling really good.

“You’ll have to get yourself a broom, mate,” Lysander said, nudging him with his elbow. “Can’t play on those ancient Cleansweeps the school offers.”

“I haven’t even gotten on the team yet,” Al said, beaming anyway. “Reckon my parents will send me one?”

“Oh, definitely. They were both Quidditch stars, after all,” Rosie said. “They’ll want to promote your playing. Your mum actually played in the league, too.”

Just then a loud voice spoke out over Al’s shoulder. “All right, bro?”

It was James, smirking and flanked by his friends. Al couldn’t be more thrilled. “Hey, James. Did you hear the good news already?”

James’ smirk faltered. “Good news? What are you talking about?”

Lysander burst out, “The good news that he’s better then you at flying, James.”

James scowled at him. “Shut it, firstie.” He addressed Al. “You actually think you’re better then me, bro? What did you do, manage to not fall off on your first flying lesson? Firsties, they all think they’re so great,” James said to his friends, snickering.

“Yes,” Al said. "I also managed to get invited to try out for Seeker.” The snickering stopped at once. James was stunned.

“You got invited to try out? You’re lying! Firsties never get on the team. Last one to do it was a few decades ago.”

“Yeah, it was dad,” Al said, reveling in his power over James. “They reckon I’ve got dad’s skill at Quidditch.”

James recovered. “I can’t wait to watch this. You’ll get turned down so fast your head will be spinning.”

“What was it you said when they turned you down last year, James?” Al said loudly. “That they were all biased and lacked foresight in regards to your so-called talent? You don’t even own a broom.”

James looked whiny. “You don’t have a broom either.”

“Yeah, but they’ll get me one if I get on the team,” Al said.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” James scoffed, turning on his heel, his friends following him hesitantly.

Al turned back to the table, feeling a mix of victory and dread. If he didn’t make the team after all this fuss, everyone would be making fun of the firstie that thought he’d try Quidditch and failed miserably.

* * *

Al found himself walking back to Gryffindor Tower by himself that evening. Rosie was in the library, and Siobhan was with her; Lysander was sending a letter up in the owlery. Al was fairly tired from the day’s work; all the flying and Quidditch drama. He planned to write his parents all about it later on.

It had been almost a fortnight since Al had arrived at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t believe how time flew by. He was almost floating on air, happy. His life at home had always been fun and interesting, so Al had expected Hogwarts couldn’t measure up. He was pleasantly surprised that it could.

Just as he passed the tapestry that Declan Williams had taken them through on the way to the Great Hall that day, he heard noises behind it and stopped. Several thumps and the sound of a boy crying out in pain came through the tapestry, muffled. Al pulled aside the tapestry without a second thought and came upon a shocking scene.

Scorpius Malfoy’s arms were being held behind his back by a boy while another boy punched him in the stomach, and a girl stood on watching coldly. Al recognized them instantly; it was Victoria Stanley, Jared Moon and Lionel Parker. They were Slytherins. Just as Al arrived, Jared growled, “This’ll teach you, blood traitor,” and punched him in the nose. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s nose all over his pale, bruised face.

Al leapt at Jared without hesitation, knocking him down to the stone corridor. Al could hear Victoria shrieking and running off as he jumped up and tore Lionel’s arms off of around Malfoy. Malfoy shoved Lionel and Jared staggered up, also bleeding. Al knocked him over again. James had been wrestling with Al since they were about four, so he had no difficulty. In a moment of inspiration, Al pulled his wand out of his pocket and brandished it at the two Slytherins.

“I can use this,” Al said threateningly.

They laughed uneasily. “Yeah right. You don’t know any magic to hurt us!”

Al raised his wand and they flinched. “Yes I do,” he said. “Haven’t you heard of my skill in Transfiguration? I could transfigure your fingers into needles!”

Jared muttered to Lionel, “Come on,” and they left. Victoria had high-tailed it out of there already. Al touched his face, realizing he had been cut too, wiping away blood. He turned to Malfoy, who was mopping his bloody nose.

“I didn’t need your help,” Malfoy muttered rebelliously. “I was just fine by myself.”

“I reckon that’s broken,” Al said, gesturing to his nose. “You ought to go to hospital wing.”

“I’ll be fine,” Malfoy snapped. After a pause, Al shrugged and started to walk back to the tapestry and back to the main corridor.

Then Malfoy cleared his throat. Al stopped and turned. Looking extremely awkward, Malfoy said, “Listen, uh… that was decent of you.”

Al shrugged, looking down at the stone, and decided to ignore the complete about-face and not embarrass Malfoy more. “Let’s get to the tower, curfew’s coming up.”

Malfoy and Al walked back to Gryffindor tower silently. Finally Al asked, “Why were they beating you up?”

Malfoy didn’t look at him and said flatly, “It’s that hard for you to work out?”

“Uh, no, well…” Al cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, I heard them say you were a, well, you know.”

“Blood traitor,” Malfoy finished. “Yeah.”

“Well, um,” Al mumbled. He swung his arms as he walked, noticing he had blood on his knuckles. He hastily wiped his hand on his robes.

“My parents were happy,” Malfoy said quietly. “They don’t care what house I’m in.”

“That’s great,” Al said awkwardly.

They arrived at the Fat Lady’s portrait, looking at each other awkwardly for a moment. “This doesn’t change things, alright, Potter?”

“Not a thing,” Al agreed.

“Because I still can’t stand you,”

“Neither can I.”

“Good,” Malfoy said, relieved. He said the password and the portrait swung open. He pushed Al, saying, “Get out of the way, Potter. We’re not all going to give you priority passing just because you can use a wand in Transfiguration.”

Al pushed him back, saying, “Stop being a prick, Malfoy.”

It was good to get out of that touchy-feely zone; Al was entirely uncomfortable to go there with Scorpius Malfoy, of all people.

* * *

A few days later found Al pulling on his robes on a weekend morning, more anxious then he thought he’d ever been before in his life. Going to Hogwarts could not top this. His first flying lesson was absolutely nothing in comparison. Even the time when he was five and he’d stolen James’ toy broom- and lost it- wasn’t as bad as this feeling was.

“You’ll do great today, Al!” Louis said cheerfully from the doorway. “You’re definitely gonna get Seeker. I heard who all is trying out and you are definitely getting on the team.”

Al patted Louis’ shoulder. “Thanks, mate.”

Lysander called, “Hurry up, Seeker-firstie. This was a really bad day to sleep in.”

“Hey, give me a break, I only slept in by ten minutes,” Al said defensively, following him down the stairs.

In the common room, Rosie and Siobhan stood up when he came in. “You’ll be great, don’t worry. You’ll definitely get on the team,” Rosie assured him as the group walked out the portrait hole.

Al was glad his friends were coming to watch him, because he was starting to feel almost sick.

He was sure he was going to fall off his broom. Or he’d crash into the stands. He wouldn’t be able to make his broom get off the ground- or, worse case scenario, he’d do badly and James would get on the team instead of him.

Al shouldered the school Cleansweep as they walked out towards the Quidditch pitch. Al could see figures flying already and felt even worse that he’d slept in; would he look like he thought he was better then everyone else because he didn’t need to turn up on time?

“We’ll be cheering you on!” Rosie called as she, Lysander, Siobhan and Louis made their way to the stands. Al went into the change room and changed hurriedly before running out onto the pitch. The captain, a boy he didn’t know from fifth year, was whistling for everyone to land and come in. Al could see James jostling people. Everyone stood around in front of the captain while he ordered them about.

“Seekers, line up here, we’ll try you first. Keepers, beaters, and chasers, wait on the bench.”

Al got in line behind five or six other kids. James was right ahead of him, and turned to glance at Al. “Good luck, bro.”

Al wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, so he didn’t answer.

Two of the tryouts were so bad they could hardly maneuver their brooms. One, a girl, squealed when she saw the snitch and sped up, smashing into the goalpost. Al was next.

“Listen, just fly up there, do a lap or two, let me see how you fly. Then I’ll release the snitch and you have to try and catch it quickly,” the captain told him. “Good luck. Go!”

Al kicked off and flew high up into the air, his very insides soaring in joy. He did a loop and flew around the stadium, loving the air that blasted him as he went speeding by.

He dived in the wind, pulling up abruptly and banking to the left, the broom moving easily to his commands. He could tell it wasn’t a very good broom; it had a slight list and wasn’t as responsive as he wished, nor as fast.

Al heard the captain shout that he was releasing the snitch. Al turned and sped back to where the captain stood, searching for the Snitch. He dived and pulled up and flew around, eyes scanning the air.

All of a sudden, he caught a glimpse of gold in his peripheral vision and didn’t hesitate, responding purely by instinct. He could see the Snitch speeding away from him as he plummeted towards the ground- it was closer- so close- he snatched out his hand and with a cry of victory, grabbed the snitch in his palm, and pulled his broom up as hard as he could, saving himself after a dangerous plummet.

 He flew along the ground, slowing himself down, and stopped in front of the captain, holding the snitch tightly in his hand.

Al could hear the people in the stands applauding him and felt pleased. He was completely exhilarated; there was nothing, not a thing, that was better than flying.

“That was impressive,” the captain said, his expression contained, taking the snitch from him. “Next!”

Al went to sit on the bench, waiting and watching the other seekers try out. One of the beaters leaned forward to Al’s bench and said, “That was a brilliant dive. You might actually get it, firstie.” Al turned to see who it was and recognized Declan Williams instantly. Declan sat back down, his expression curious. Al turned back around to watch James try out.

James wasn’t terrible; he wasn’t as good as flying as he was, Al thought. James was a little shaky and didn’t try any loops or dives. He did manage to catch the snitch after around eight minutes, which was better then most of the others had done.

Al was fairly confident until the last boy stepped up to fly. He walked out onto the pitch with confidence, and shot into the air with obvious practice. Al had a sinking feeling when the boy flew by; he obviously knew what he was doing. Al was comforted after the boy caught the snitch after being in the air four minutes that he hadn’t done any diving.

The potential seekers gathered about the captain, waiting to hear his verdict. The captain held his clipboard, and looked at them with steely eyes.

“This was actually a difficult choice. Two of you were exceptionally good. I feel quite good with my verdict on this, however. To my surprise and, doubtless, everyone else’s, Albus Potter out-flew the opposition with some excellent moves- superb diving- and a very quick catch time.” The other boys groaned while Al felt a huge rising of happiness inside. “Drew, sorry, I know you’ve been seeker for years, but you’ll have to settle for reserve this year,” the captain told the other boy that had flown well.

The boy, Drew, shrugged. “Good on you, Potter,” he told Al.

“Thanks,” Al said.

James walked up to him, looking like he was suffering from dragon pox by his expression. Al looked around nervously.

“Well,” James said finally. “Reckon you’ll let me borrow your broom?”

“Course I will, bro,” Al assured him, relieved that James wasn't angry. “What broom do you reckon mum and dad will get me?”

“You should ask for dad’s Firebolt 701,” James said mischievously.

“Nah, I couldn’t do that,” Al said. “That’s his favorite. Besides, it’s kinda old. I want a new one.”

“They won’t get you anything too expensive, you know,” James countered. “They’ll want you to appreciate a new broom and all that.”

“I don’t know why,” Al grumbled. “It's not like we can't afford the best.”

“Well, maybe they’ll get you something awesome, who knows,” James said, grabbing Al into a headlock and ruffling his black hair.

“Argh, James, get off,” Al wrestled away from him.

James grinned at him and punched his shoulder. “See you later, Al.”

Al went back to the bench. The captain, overseeing the Chasers, approached him. “I’m Tim Orion. Call me Captain or Orion or whatever. Listen, here’s the practice schedule, mind you don't miss them-” Orion pushed some parchment into his hands. “And Albus, you’re gonna have to get yourself a broom. That won’t be an issue, will it?”

“Not with my parents, mate,” Al said, grinning.

“Good to hear. Get back to the bench, now, don’t want to get hit by a stray Quaffle. Once the team's been picked we'll all fly together.” Al obeyed.

Almost an hour later, the remainder of the team had been picked. Declan Williams had been made one of the two beaters; Al wasn’t familiar with anyone else on the team. There were two girls that made it as well; one was a chaser and one was the keeper.

Orion had them fly together and play a mock game, to see how they all worked together. When they were done, Al had caught and re-caught the snitch six times. From what Al could see, the chasers- including Orion- worked together flawlessly, and the beaters were an excellent duo. Their keeper had saved all goals and done it well. Orion was pleased with their progress and told them they could go get changed.

* * *

z88;

Al tossed the school broom into the run-down broom shed that was under a set of stands, hoping he would have is own broom soon and wouldn't need to use it again.

The Quidditch pitch was completely empty as Al wandered onto it, not wanting to go back to the castle just yet. He looked around at the empty stands, picturing them filled with screaming Quidditch fans. He could almost hear the sound of the commentator crying his name as he caught the Snitch- he could almost hear the cries of 'Gryffindor wins!' and the faces of his friends cheering wildly.

Al smiled a little and started to walk off the pitch. He couldn't wait to play his first game. Before that, however, he needed to write his parents; it's not like the Quidditch Cup could be won riding a mouldy old Cleansweep Seven.