Chapter 3
Insults, Infestation, and Influence
“Are you going to finish that?”
“Huh?”
“Your sausages,” Maeve repeated, pointing to Albus’ plate. “Are you going to finish them?”
Albus shook his head, and Maeve snatched the plate, waiting for no further invitation, and scampered back to her previous seat between Jodie and Ruby. At the other end of the table, Albus watched all the other new Gryffindors converse and share food off each other's plates as though they had been friends their whole lives. There was a noticeable gap separating them from where Albus sat. He had heard the older students whisper and even tried to encourage him to sit with the other first-years, but Albus didn’t need anyone else to tell him he wasn’t mixing well with his housemates.
Albus tried as hard as he could to get along with the other boys in Gryffindor, but it wasn’t very long before Albus could find something about every single one of them that he disliked enough to keep from being friends with them. Leo Edwin talked too much, while Damien Towler barely talked at all. Gavin Foss, the Muggle-born boy would ask questions before you could answer them. Riley St. John was never out of the company of the Gryffindor girls, who all seemed to speak in another language made up entirely of giggles. And after the incident their first night at Gryffindor Tower, he was also quite convinced that Simon Henry was an arrogant little prat.
Albus turned his attention back to his copy of Standard Book of Spells. He wanted to reread last night’s homework before he had to go to Transfiguration. At least his classes proved to be a distraction from all these worries.
Astronomy proved to an interesting, if not tedious, class. The students would be kept up well past midnight looking through their telescopes at the beauty of the heavens, and give themselves migraines trying to read and create the star charts for their homework. The real reason most of the student liked Astronomy was because of the ability to walk the halls of Hogwarts late at night with Filch being unable to do anything about it. They were the kings of the school. That joyous feeling would last about until the next morning, when they had to wake up and drag themselves groggily till their next class.
But the Gryffindor students always found themselves able to catch up on their sleep in History of Magic. The infamous ghost, Professor Binns, taught the class, and he was just as terrible as his brother and parents had told him. That monotone drone could put the entire class to sleep in a matter of minutes. Those who did manage to stay awake reported that Professor Binns didn’t even seem to care.
Herbology was shockingly the most exciting class at Hogwarts, and Professor Longbottom was seen as a living hero in the eyes of the Gryffindors. Everyday lessons about the more mundane plants and fungi were peppered with war stories about duels, Dark wizards, and Professor Longbottom beheading a giant snake with the sword of Gryffindor. Never had any students in Hogwarts history so looked forward to a lecture on the sedative properties of oleander venom.
So for the next few weeks, school went by with more or less excitement. With all the time spend, on what the teachers liked to call ‘the basics’, it seemed like they would never get to learn any real magic. Even if Albus felt as though he weren't learning any that seemed remotely useful yet, he did get to know a lot of the other students. Well, more like he got to know their Houses as a whole.
Charms class was taught by the Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Branstone: a petite woman who was one of the school’s younger teachers, and who also seemed to be the school’s firmest believer in covering the basics…again, and again, and again. The entire first month was completely devoted to how to hold the wand correctly, how to move the wand correctly, and all the ways you could poke your eye out with your own wand. The Hufflepuff students that shared their class were only more than happy with the classroom situation and worked as hard as they possibly could to get the movement down perfectly, right down to having their pinkies at the right angle; while the Gryffindor students, on the other hand, became more and more impatient, eager to make their classmates float, make chairs dance across the room, and everything else they had seen the older students show off.
One day, Leo made the mistake of asking when they were going to be using real magic. The question earned a collective gasp from the Hufflepuff students, and a lecture from Professor Branstone.
“Mr. Edwin, do you know what will happen if I neglect to provide you with a strong foundation in magical technique?”
She paused as though she actually expected Leo to answer her. Slowly, he shook his head no.
“Well,” she went on to explain, “you will be considerably behind other young witches and wizards you age. Your education will progressively become more and more impossible to keep up with, you will fail every major examination both at Hogwarts and in your later careers, and you will end up sweeping the streets in Diagon Alley. Is that what you want, Mr. Edwin?”
This time, every student in Gryffindor shook their head no. The Hufflepuff students took turns flashing the Head of their House with proud, triumphant smiles.
“Good,” Professor Branstone smiled, turning back to her notes. “Now, back to the lesson. When holding your wand during a levitation spell, you must always remember…”
Professor Dugan, the Transfiguration teacher, however, seemed to operate his class on a completely different playing field. There was no such thing as moving along in a lesson too fast, you could always ask a classmate for help later. If you didn’t understand what the lecture was about, it was because you didn’t comprehend the text well enough and now you were holding everyone else back. Questions were encouraged, but you had to make sure it wasn’t a question that would waste time. In short, going from Charms class to Transfiguration was like going from zero to sixty on his dad’s old Firebolt.
The Ravenclaw students had no problem keeping up with this pace. Even Rose, who was still as glum as even, had no problem transfiguring her leaf into a piece of parchment. One thing Albus also noticed that most of the other Ravenclaw girls had formed themselves into a clique, a clique that Rose was clearly not a part of. In fact, in the corridors, as Rose walked passed the little gaggle of about four girls, Albus could hear them gossiping about her.
“That girl never talks to anyone, Freya,” a girl wearing a gold headband snorted haughtily, addressing a girl who seemed to emit the air of being a leader.
“You don’t have to tell me, Faline,” said a brunette girl to her left, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “She has the bed right next to mine. Our first night as Hogwarts, I offered her some of those Bertie Bott’s beans from the train, and she just turns over in bed and pulls the covers over her head.”
“I’m not surprised, Gina,” the girl named Freya said. “My dad went to school with her mother and told me she was always a snotty know-it-all who was too good for anyone in any house other than Gryffindor. Being raised by that woman, what would you expect?”
Albus heard a very distinct sniff come from his cousin, and watched her pace quicken as she ran out into the courtyard. The Ravenclaw girls giggled and made their way in the opposite direction. As the leader girl, Freya, brushed past him, Albus felt his blood begin to boil. What right did any of them have to talk about a member of his family that way? And if Rose was still upset, they certainly weren’t helping to remedy the situation. Albus wanted desperately to take off after those girls and say some words that would get him detention for a month. But while he stood, nearly shaking in rage, the Ravenclaw gang had disappeared up the changing staircases, and Rose was long gone too.
One day, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class that might have also been dismissed as a bore along with all the others, took on an entirely new dimension. Albus knew from his dad that the Defense Against the Dark Arts used to be the class that everyone was obsessed with, mostly because it was believed that the position was cursed. Every year for his dad’s time at Hogwarts, there would be a new teacher. A good wizard turned slave to Voldemort, a famous pretty-boy author who turned out to be a fraud, a werewolf who later became Teddy’s father, a Death Eater in disguise, a spy from the Ministry who tortured the students, and then the infamous Severus Snape for whom Albus was named all took their turns as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
But ever since Voldemort had been killed, the rumors of the curse had lifted, and the current professor had been at Hogwarts since Teddy was a first-year. Professor Patil was a beautiful, yet intelligent woman who took her subject seriously. It was well known that she too was a veteran of the Second War, just like Professor Longbottom, but she never told war stories in her class. It seemed strange, because surely the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be the one who would have the best ones. But Professor Patil was quiet about her days as a student, and even seemed to become almost sad talking about something as simple as her own days as a student of Defensive magic. And one day, when the fog must have lead to equally foggy judgment, the entire class learned why in a very unexpected way.
It had actually happened quite innocently to begin with. While Professor Patil was taking a break from her lector to take questions, Gavin made the mistake of pointing out a scarlet and gold scarf that hung from one corner of the blackboard, covered in dust and colors faded by the years.
“What’s that, Professor Patil?” he asked after she had called on him. “Did that belong to you when you went to school here?”
For a long time, Professor Patil didn’t say a word. And the students, in turn, remained silent while they waited for her answer. When tears started to well in her eyes, everyone knew that Gavin had crossed some sort of invisible line. Professor Patil turned her back to class and began to walk away. As she did so, everyone gave Gavin an evil glare, even though none of them knew what he did wrong.
“No, Mr. Foss. This wasn’t my scarf.”
I was that simple sentence that took all eyes off Gavin and focused them back on Professor Patil.
While the class contemplated Gavin's doom, she had walked back towards the blackboard and gingerly lifted the scarf from its perch. When Professor Patil saw that she now had the class' undivided attention, she walked back to the front of the class, holding the scarf gently, not even shaking the dust from it.
“It belonged to my sister, Parvati,” she told the class, obviously trying to keep her voice from catching. “She was killed, fighting the Battle of Hogwarts that happened right here.”
The whole class became very silent. Quills stopped scratching, the whispers came to an abrupt end, and all eyes fell on Professor Patil.
“When we were younger, we both fought, side by side, in the resistance here at the school."
As Professor Patil continued with her story, she slowly brought the scarf closer to her, hugging it to her chest like a security blanket. "I always thought she was so much braver than me. If anyone deserved to belong to the House of Gryffindor, it was her.
“So many people died that day. So many dear, dear friends that I have never stopped thinking about since.”
This was a side of the war the students weren’t used to hearing. Of course, it was a war, and they had known that some people died, but a face had never been attached to that concept before. A living, hurting human being who was standing right in front of them. Professor Patil, noticing the new faces of her students, quickly changed the pace of the lecture.
“But don’t you all understand? That is exactly why Defense Against the Dark Arts is so important! It is why I choose to teach this very subject. I wanted to see with my own eyes that the future generation will be ready to stand and fight should another great evil come again; to teach you all how to do that has become my life’s work."
But even with these new words of hope, Professor Patil still held the scarf against her. As if to ever let go of it would be to dishonor the memory of everyone she had lost.
“I suppose that is why I keep Parvati’s scarf here,” she finished, walking back to the board, and carefully, lovingly, hanging the scarf back in its place. “To remind me of that.”
At this point, most of the girls in the class were rubbing at their eyes as silent tears poured out. It was also pretty clear that a lot of the boys were trying to hold in some emotions.
“And I also hope, whenever you see Parvati’s scarf, it will remind all of you of that.”
There was a silent murmur of agreement among the entire class.
“Well,” gasped Professor Patil, wiping her eyes one last time, “we are just about out of time. Class dismissed.”
Professor Patil, who was about as shocked as anyone, actually left the classroom before any of her students did that day. It was a good ten minutes before the first student dared to rise out of her seat. A few others followed, including Albus, but much of the class stayed behind to get an early start on the night’s homework.
“Are yeh sure won’t 'ave anymore rock cakes?” Hagrid asked, sliding the plate over to Albus.
Albus shook his, feeling he had already cracked three teeth on Hagrid’s treats. He took a sip of tea, gripping his jaw as he felt the sting.
Friday afternoon tea had apparently become something of a family tradition, although it was only Fred and James who came along with Albus today. Though they were more than enough company, showing off some of their newer products they had gotten from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. As though Hagrid would actually buy a Projectile Vomit Retainer!
“Where's Roxanne today?” Hagrid asked, taking the plate back and grabbing a cake for himself.
“She and the other Chasers called an extra practice,” Fred explained, still dunking his first rock cake in his tea. “Personally, I think they’re just braiding each other’s hair or trying on shoes or something.”
Hagrid chuckled and took a bite of the cake.
“But what 'bout young Rose?”
“She’s…um…sick,” Albus lied.
“She is NOT,” James argued. “Rose has been throwing a temper tantrum ever since she got here just because she wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor!”
“It’s pathetic,” Fred agreed soberly.
Albus glared at the two of them. He couldn’t stand to hear them making fun of Rose like that. What were they doing to make her feel better?
“It looks like young Albus 'ere is not in the best of moods 'ither,” Hagrid offered.
At that comment, Albus stared back into his teacup. The last thing he needed right now was for Fred and James to redirect their energies towards him.
“Yes, what could be so wrong in my younger brother’s life to cause this horrific expression?” said James, adopting a dramatic woe to his voice as he hugged his brother around the shoulders.
“I do not know, Mr. Potter,” answered Fred with the same level of dramatics, as he reached into the pocket of Albus’ robes. “Could it be that this may hold a clue?”
“Hey!” shouted Albus as he watched Fred open his folded class schedule.
“I do not know, Mr. Weasley,” answered James, keeping his ironclad grip around Albus’ frame. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Give that back!” Albus struggle, trying to pry himself away from his brother.
“Yikes!” exclaimed Fred, passing the schedule to James. “Look at what they’re torturing your little brother with today!”
“Double Potions with Slytherin!” James shouted dramatically, holding the paper just out of Albus’ reach. “Taught by the infamous, the terrible Professor Katrina ‘Hardarse’ Vhartan!”
“We should just take him out in back of the school and put him out of his misery right now!” Fred suggested
“Give me that!” Albus jumped at his brother, snatching the schedule back.
“And ye two be careful 'bout what yeh say 'bout Professor Vhartan,” Hagrid warned. “Don’t ferget that I’m a professor too, one o' yer's. I’m sure yeh don’t want me to take any points from Gryffindor for that little comment.”
“Speaking of which,” Albus huffed, hoisting his book bag over his shoulder, “I have to get to Professor Vhartan’s class before she gives me detention for being late.”
And without another word, Albus stormed out the door and into the damp fog. As he made a sharp turn against the huts outer wall, his foot kicked against a large crate the growled and jumped at him. As he watched the crate continue to shake and snarl, he smiled at the thought of what James and Fred would be facing in their upcoming Care of Magical Creatures class.
The fog on the way back to the castle was so thick that if Albus hadn’t spent the last month memorizing the school grounds, he would have surely wandered into the lake. Behind him, he heard two sets of running footsteps, and it wasn’t long before he was certain that Fred and James were following behind him.
“Oh, c’mon, Albus!” James shouted while gasping for breath. “You know Fred and I were just playing around.”
But Albus kept on walking and refused to turn around. He felt like letting his older brother dangle for a little while longer. Maybe even if he wasn’t exactly friends with the other Gryffindors, hanging around the school’s boldest kids was starting to have an effect on him.
“Albus!” James shouted, not more than a few feet behind him. “Say something to let me know that you and I are okay!”
Albus smirked, knowing exactly what he was going to say. “Do you remember those special dragon hide gloves that Uncle Charlie sent you for Christmas this year? The ones made from the Ukrainian Ironbelly?”
James and Fred nodded, unsure for where this conversation was going.
“Well, make sure you bring them to Hagrid’s class today.”
He didn’t even try to suppress his joy as expressions of fear and dread consumed his brother and cousin.
If there was one thing he could say about James and Fred, at least they weren’t lying about this particular subject. Professor Vhartan was the most difficult Potions Master that Hogwarts had even seen, apparently a title that carried a lot of weigh.
Professor Vhartan was a tall, intimidating woman with piercing eyes and a booming voice. From what Albus could tell, she hated the world and everyone it. On the first day of class, Riley was caught passing a note, but instead of simply giving him detention or taking away points from Gryffindor, she made him walk to the front of the class, stand on his head, and sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ until his face turned purple. And as soon as he collapsed, she then gave him detention and took twenty points from Gryffindor.
The only thing in the world that Professor Vhartan did seem to like was potions. And for Potions class that day, they would be brewing a draft to make finger nails grow three inches with one application. The way she described the process of measuring and boiling down the ingredients was almost poetic, and shockingly out of character. It didn't take long, however, before she seemed to remember her audience and reverted back to her usual manner.
“For this class, you will be split into pairs…that I will be choosing,” Professor Vhartan added when she noticed the glimmer of happiness in her students’ eyes.
“Mr. Edwin, you will be paired with Mr. Goyle,” she announced, picking random student out from the opposite side of the room. “Miss Paddock, you will be with Miss Karamanlis…”
“Miss Ackhart and Miss Canning will be with Misses Cecilia and Claudia Pucey,” Professor Vhartan scanned the classroom, looking for anyone she might have missed. “And Mr. Potter will work with Mr. Malfoy.”
The students sat dumbstruck as they slowly began to realize that every Gryffindor student had been paired with a Slytherin. Was Professor Vhartan some kind of sadist? Did she enjoy watching her students suffer before her very eyes?
“Well, you have your assignments. Now get to work!”
Immediately, the students raced to gather their books and supplies, trying to figure out who would move and who would stay. A large Slytherin boy named Oscar Goyle knocked Ruby to the ground as he dashed towards Leo’s table. Albus watched Scorpius roll his eyes and mutter something about an ‘ogre wearing robes’ before he gathered up his supplies and moved to the empty seat next to him. Albus felt somewhat luckier than his Gryffindor peers. At least his Potions partner was someone he knew.
“Some day, isn’t it?” remarked Albus, the current situation in which the student from houses sharing a thousand year rivalry were now being force to work together without killing each other.
“My dad said when he was in school, the Potions Master at least favored the Slytherins,” Scorpius replied, glaring at Professor Vhartan as she bent over to examine Maeve’s unevenly sliced tubeworms. “Those days are long gone!”
Albus nodded as he stirred his own tubeworms into the cauldron.
“I saw your cousin this morning in Charms,” he told him has he set up the scales.
“You did?” Albus gasped, nearly dropping his knife.
“What’s wrong with her?” Scorpius asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s moping around like someone canceled Christmas.”
“Yeah,” Albus told him, glancing at the next step for the potion. “She’s disappointed because she didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor with the rest of the family. Is she still really bad?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Scorpius answered, beginning to stir the potion counter clockwise. “She had her head down for the whole class, even when we were supposed to be practicing wand movements. She lucky Professor Branstone didn’t call on her to read!”
“Blimey,” gasped Albus, shocked at what he heard. “I knew Rose was upset about not making Gryffindor, but I was certain she would have gotten over it by now.”
“Well, she hasn’t,” Scorpius replied shortly. “Are you done with those root peelings yet?”
Albus slid his tray over towards the scales, and hung his head.
“I’m sure Uncle Ron was just kidding about disinheriting her if she didn’t make Gryffindor,” Albus went on, “and Aunt Hermione is so smart, she was almost sorted into Ravenclaw herself””
“Will you stop going on about that Mudblood?” Scorpius groaned in exasperation. “Isn’t it bad enough I have to hear my father go on about her when I'm at home?”
Albus felt himself freeze as Scorpius continued with his measurement as though he had said something as innocent as it was going to rain tonight. Albus himself had only heard the word ‘Mudblood’ used a couple times, mostly from his Aunt Hermione, who seemed to use the word in a joking matter, but he knew it was a horrible word. He had called Lily that once when she broke his Victor Krum action figure and his mother had sent him to bed without dessert for a month. What could possibly be going through Scorpius’ head that he thought it was okay to say that word about a member of his family?
“Professor Vhartan,” Elle raised her hand from the back of the classroom.
“And what is wrong with you, Miss. Peakes?”
“There are about seven little bug things eating my nettles.”
“Miss. Peakes, what kind of witch do you expect to be if you can’t even use proper names? Those ‘bug things’ are called Chizpurfles.”
“Okay,” Elle tried again. “Professor Vhartan, there are about seven ‘Chizpurfles’ eating my nettles and…now my nettles are all gone.”
“And now there are about seven hundred more crawling all over the floor.” added her Potions partner, Phoebe Nott.
Albus watched Scorpius look down towards the floor and his eyes fill with horror. As he cast his own eyes down, sure enough, he saw what was quickly filling the rest of the class with fear. The floor was covered with what appeared to be a thick, moving carpet; a carpet that was slowly climbing up the legs of the chairs, onto the tables, and into the cauldrons and over the potions ingredients.
Albus jumped up to stand on the surface his stool, just like much of the class had already done. He had already learned pretty much everything there was to know about Chipurfles three years ago when his Grandmum Weasley had a horrible infestation at her house. By the time they had all been killed, his grandmums’s potion stores were completely gone and her cauldron nearly destroyed. He also knew the students had a lot to worry about because one of the things Chipurfles frequently went after were the cores of magic wands.
“Alright!” shouted Professor Vhartan, clearly in as much as state of worry as her students. “Don’t panic, children!”
“THEY’RE ON MY WAND! THEY’RE ON MY WAND!” screamed Thalia Karamanlis, shaking the infested rod in every direction she could.
Many of the students had climbed onto their tabletops, but at this point, there was no escape. There was nowhere in the room that was not covered with these horrid black bugs. The dungeon classroom became filled with the screams of girls and boys alike, and Professor Vhartan disappear into the potion storage, leading many of the students to believe that it had come to the point where it was every man for himself.
But even in the face of disaster, Albus could not forget the sting of the word Scorpius had said before. He had been stewing over Rose’s problems ever since they had come to school. The last thing she or Albus needed at this point in time, was for this pureblood prat to attach such an insulting word to their family name.
Scorpius had clearly forgotten, his mind now occupied with shaking the Chizpurfles from his robes and holding his wand high above his head and out of their reach. Before he truly understood what he was doing, Albus reached down into the swarm, picking up an entire handful of the crawling insects and tossed them at Scorpius’ midsection.
“AHHH!” Scorpius screamed, shaking franticly at his robes, trying to get rid of the insects that clung to him. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR, POTTER?”
But Albus didn’t listen. He simply picked up another handful and threw, this time aiming for Scorpius’ face. This time, however, he had the good sense to duck. Realizing that this was war, Scorpius reached down, cringing as the bugs squirmed against his skin, and landed a direct hit right on Albus’ chest.
With that final action, Albus lunged at Scorpius and tackled him down to the hard stone floor. The two boys rolled across the ground, alternated between throwing punches and throwing handfuls of bugs. The other students were so preoccupied with their own fear of the Chipurfles, the either didn’t notice the fight or didn’t care.
In the heat of the fight, Professor Vhartan reappeared with a glass vile containing some violet, hissing potion. Before many of the students could look up, she threw it has hard as she could towards the ceiling and extended her wand.
“Medicamentum depluit!” she shouted.
A jagged yellow light shot at the flying vial with perfect accuracy, causing it to shatter and the potion to fall to every corner of the room as a type of misty rain. The screams of the students were soon replaced with a loud sizzling sound as the hundreds of hundreds of Chizpurfles began to dissolve where they stood. Within minutes, the potion had taken its full effect and all evidence of the previous infestation had disappeared.
The students stood frozen at all corners of the room, completely dumbstruck. Professor Vhartan seemed equally at a loss for what to do next. Clearly, all her years of study had not prepared her for this. She didn’t even asked Albus or Scorpius why they were sprawled out on the floor when she had come out.
“Class…is…,” she struggled with her words. “Oh, just everyone go!”
The students needed no further prompting than that. Gathering up their school supplies, making thorough checks to make sure none of the little invaders has sought refuge in their school books, they slowly made their way out the door. As Scorpius exited the door right after Albus, he met him with one final glare and then ran ahead to join the other Slytherin boys, who must have been in the middle of a very funny joke.
Well, that was just fine with him, Albus thought to himself as he too stormed off. He could not believe he ever thought there was a possibility that the Malfoy boy could be nice!
Later that night, in the Gryffindor common room, things had taken on a much more relaxed atmosphere. Students sat at the tables doing their homework, gossiping and sipping butterbeers in front of the fireplace, and even Victoire was relaxed, sitting in her favorite armchair, reading yet another letter that made her blush.
Albus sat on one of the sofas between two sixth-year girls, each reading a very complicated-looking textbook for N.E.W.T. level Charms. Albus, himself, was certain he had been sitting there longer than the both of them combined. He had finished his reading for both Transfiguration and Potions, and an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He just finished a series of questions for Charms class, and was moving on to start a composition for History of Magic, when he heard a loud voice coming from behind him.
“Hey, little Potter,” Maddox hopped over the back of the couch and put his arm around his shoulder like an old friend. “I heard about what happened in first-year Potions today. I hope you enjoy your afternoon off, because normally it takes an act of God for Professor Hardarse to call off class.”
“Yeah,” Albus answered, stilling scrawling away on his History composition, not looking up. “How did you find out about that?”
“Oh, Vhartan teaches the fourth-years right after the first-years, so I was already on my way down when I got the news,” Maddox told with a smile as big as could possibly be. “I swear I saw a Gryffindor and a Slytherin hug each other when we heard."
If Maddox had been talking to anyone else, Albus was sure an ecstatic conversation would have erupted. But Albus knew he was in no mood to carry on with this.
“But enough about all that,” Maddox changed the subject, “How else goes the life of the young Mr. Potter?”
Now, that was just about the last thing Albus wanted to talk about. He had been doing nothing but think about his life and lives of everyone he knew. It just seemed easier not to say anything at all.
Maddox must have noticed from the way Albus’ head sank slowly and refused to answer.
“I’m guessing less than perfect?” Maddox offered.
“I don’t know,” Albus finally told him. “I guess things just aren’t going the way I thought they would.”
“How so?”
Slowly, Albus began to tell Maddox about all that had been dwelling on his mind: his worries about Rose, not having any real friends among the Gryffindor first-years, the gang of Ravenclaw girls who tormented Rose rather than try to make her feel at home in her house, and even the horrible word that Scorpius Malfoy had called his aunt. The more Albus spoke, the more he began to unveil about all his concealed disappointment about what school had turned out to be.
At that, Maddox offered a kind, almost knowing smile; the type of look Albus almost never saw from his own older brother.
“Well, you know,” Maddox began, “sometimes you build something up so much in your head that it can never amount to the real thing. Even something as wonderful as Hogwarts.”
Albus had to acknowledge the truth in those words. He had been hearing nothing but exciting stories about Hogwarts ever since he was old enough to understand what the word meant.
“I mean, look at where your own dad was coming from,” Maddox continued, “We’ve all heard of the horrid, horrible Dursleys. I’ll bet your dad would have been happy to leave if he had gotten a mandatory enlistment from the British Navy!”
Albus laughed; that was probably true! He had heard about how awful the Dursleys were too. Eleven years worth of bedtime stories, he had heard.
“But don’t you worry, Little Potter,” Maddox assured him. “It gets a lot easier from this point on.”
Albus smiled and nodded his head. It was easy to believe the words Maddox said. A part of him had to believe what Maddox said.
“How was your school day?” Albus asked, feeling lighter spirits, and a new confidence in the older, Gryffindor student.
“Oh, alright,” Maddox responded with a growing smile, “But between you and me, your brother might have a little trouble catching the Snitch for the next couple of weeks!”
Albus laughed, starting to feel a much better already.
The Arcane ScoRA and the Wand of MacArt by OliveOil_Med
Chapter Notes: Rose continues to mope and Albus continues to worry about her. But his own life isn't going sweet as roses either.
Thank you to all the lovely ladies who helped make this story possible!