Chapter 2
Preparing for the Second Year
“Mum,” Albus called out to the kitchen, “has Blythe come with the mail yet?”
Albus was leaning over the edge of the banister, enough so that he could clearly see into the kitchen down the hall. Any other mother probably would have been driven into a panic at the sight of this, but people joked that Ginny Potter had been through so much herself when she had been young, her children would likely have to set themselves on fire before she displayed any sort of profound worry towards anything her children did.
“Not yet, Al,” his mother told him, not even bothering to look over her shoulder as she busied herself at the kitchen counter. “Doesn’t she usually fly straight up to your bedroom window?”
“Yes,” Albus admitted. “I was just checking.”
Not convinced that a proper conversation could be conducted from separate rooms, Albus jumped down to the floor and made his way to the kitchen. His mother was rushing back and forth across the kitchen, alternating between cleaning up after the family’s late supper and attending to her two other children. At the table, Lily was sponging up the last few crumbs of her dessert, and James himself was surrounded by stacks of parchment and textbooks with his mother continually prodding him to actually do some work.
“What are you so anxious to get the mail for?” Lily asked from her seat at the kitchen table. “Are you expecting a letter from your girlfriend?”
“Lily, don’t tease your brother,” their mother scolded gently as Albus braved further into the kitchen.
“Yeah, Lily,” James said, looking up from his summer Divination homework. “It’s cruel to get Albus’ hopes up like that.”
“That goes for you too, James,” their mum warned, not so kindly this time. “Albus, are you still working on your homework?”
“Yeah, Mum,” he admitted. “I still have six inches left on my Potions essay for Vhartan. I just need some more ink.”
Actually, it was really only more like three more inches, but it certainly felt like a lot more. Katrina Vhartan, also called Professor Hardarse by the student body, was possibly the strictest teacher at Hogwarts, who also assigned the most difficult homework, as Albus had learned quite well over the summer. Not even the promise of the holidays could fully release her students from her clutches.
“That essay will still be there tomorrow,” his mother told him as gentle as she could manage. “You’ve been at it for hours already tonight. Why don’t you take a break? We still have some of your dad’s birthday cake leftover.”
Now that was an offer too tantalizing to pass up. Albus’ dad’s birthday had been two days ago, and there was still plenty of Grandmum Weasley’s amazing cake leftover, even though the entire Potter family had nearly been sweating frosting up the end of the celebration. Yes, Grandmum Weasley certainly knew how to take care of them.
Alright,” Albus smiled in a dramatic admission of defeat as he took a seat at the table.
A moment later, Albus was working his way through a too-large (even for a twelve-year-old boy) piece of cake while the rest of the family went back to its previous routine. It didn’t take very long before the same argument that had been taking place all summer started up once again.
“It’s only one year early, Mummy!” Lily whined.
Albus’ mother dropped still more dishes into the sink, extracting her wand from her apron strings. “Well, if its only one year, then it won’t be so horrible to wait, will it?” A silent charm, and the sink was filled with scrubbing suds.
“When’s Daddy getting home?” Lily asked as she stared up at the kitchen clock.
“He’ll be home late tonight, lovely,” his mother replied. “He has a case he’s been working very hard on lately.”
“How much work can there possibly be for him to do?” James piped. “There haven’t been any major reports of Dark wizards. It’s not like the old days when every third man had an Auror after him.”
“There were Dark wizards long before Voldemort and the Death Eaters, young man,” their mother said, her voice suddenly turning quite serious. “And just because he’s gone, doesn’t mean the world is completely devoid of evil. You should be thankful that your father works so hard to make sure we are all safe.”
“I’m thankful, Mummy,” Lily chirped in a smug sort of way, shooting a look at her oldest brother as she did so.
“Kiss-up,” James muttered under his breath, to which Lily stuck out her tongue.
Albus shook his head and turned his plate downward towards his plate of cake. He knew better too. Even though there were no current great Dark wizards bent on taking over Britain, not like when Albus’ parents had been young, but that did not mean those in the Aurors Office just spent their days sitting on their thumbs. There was always some odd isolated incident of Dark magic that needed quenching.
“All done, Mum.” Albus handed the empty plate and glass to his mother. “But I still need that ink.”
“I think there might be a bottle in your dad’s study,” his mother finally told him. “Please go to bed at a reasonable hour.”
…and that is why beautifying potions not only do harm by the near-toxic ingredients, but also to the self-esteem of you witches as a whole.
Albus let his quill drop to his desk, a few drops of ink splattering onto the parchment, and rubbed his aching fingers. Finally, at long last, the Potions essay was done; eighteen inches on the social implication of young witches. Professor Vhartan was feeling especially vindictive towards the boys when she had assigned the subject as summer homework. Maybe it had something to do with the three of the Slytherin boys deciding to get revenge for their year of misery by replacing Black Sea salt-saturated spring water and powered weasel brains with vinegar and baking soda, dumping the real ingredients down the drains.
They were caught; and, of course, Professor Hardarse made sure every single one of the boys”whether they were involved or not”paid the price. And now that Albus had paid his debt to his Potions professor, he slumped back in his desk chair, relaxing so deeply he was almost worried he might begin to melt.
While Albus was drooping his head over the back of his chair, in his upside-down line of vision, he saw a sand-colored speck growling larger and larger, and suddenly realized that it was Blythe, his barn owl. Snapping back into attention, Albus rushed to his bedroom window, throwing it wide open. This was important! Albus had sent Blythe with a letter to Malfoy Manor three days ago, and he had spent every night since then in a state of constant panic, afraid that one of his parents, or worse, James or Lily, might have intercepted it. Thankfully, though, Blythe seemed to have somehow responded to all his previous pleas of discretion. And Aunt Hermione said owls were incapable of understanding human speech!
Blythe perched on the window sill with a rush of air following behind her, her beak clenched over an envelope clearly addressed to one ‘Albus Potter’. “Good girl, Blythe.”
As soon as Albus plucked the letter from her beak, Blythe took off once again, probably to fight Corlio, James’ owl, for mice in the village fields. Leaving Blythe to her own devices, Albus turned his attention to his own, slicing the envelope open and extracting the letter.
Albus,
How has your summer been so far? You’ve hardly written to me at all, but I suppose I haven’t been writing very much either. You’ll have to tell me what Rose has been up to as well, because I have a feeling any letter sent to Malfoy Manor with the name ‘Weasley’ on it would put both of my grandparents into an early grave.
Mother and Father and I have been spending the last two weeks on holiday in Vienna and the countryside surrounding. There’s supposed to be a school of magic in Austria, but, of course, we didn’t include that in our travels. That aside, it’s too bad we couldn’t we couldn’t write about other schools for our History of Magic homework. Even if you can’t actually go to the school, it’s called Meerfeld, the wizards in Vienna love to talk about it. It also serves as the school of magic for kids in Germany. Durmstrang is really closer, but after the defeat of Grindelwald, and the language shifted from German to Russian, Meerfeld nearly double in size to accommodate all the new German students. Before they would only take German Muggle-borns, but after all that, unless the German children also spoke Russian, they would have to go to Austria instead.
Other than, Father has work, Mother has her functions, and Grandmother and Grandfather are usually home with me. Grandmother says they are getting too old to be going here and there at all hours.
Do you have a lot of homework left? I still have no idea what to write about for my History of Magic essay. Maybe I’ll ask Rose to write me with some ideas. That essay is not going to be very neat if I write it on the train, though.
I will see you at Kings Cross,
Scorpius
P.S. You remember the…thing? Is that still on, or was it just for the one year? We never did decide, and I doubt we will be facing the same…situation this year.
From the way that last statement was worded, it could have seemed that Scorpius was referring to any number of things. But Albus knew exactly what his best friend was referring to. Scorpius was talking about the Arcane ScoRA.
The Arcane ScoRA was a secret society that consisted of Albus Potter: a Gryffindor, Scorpius Malfoy: a Slytherin, and Rose Weasley: a Ravenclaw and Albus’ cousin. The entire thing had really started by accident one night when the three of them defeated a child-eating Erkling that had invaded the school and they needed a story to tell Moaning Myrtle so she would let them hide in her bathroom from patrolling teachers.
It really wasn’t supposed to go any further than that one night, but more and more beasts kept invading the school; far too many to just be a coincidence, and each one more dangerous than the one before it. And so, mostly out of just being at the wrong place at the right time, they began to do exactly what they told Moaning Myrtle that the Arcane ScoRA existed for and investigated the situations, nearly getting killed once or twice along the way.
It was only after the Ministry of Magic was officially brought in to interrogate students that they learned the reason behind all those invasions: a powerful tool known as the Wand of MacArt that could allow the wielder to summon beasts from any corner of the globe and cast their bidding upon them (although no one from the Ministry told this to the student body; the Arcane ScoRA had to figure this out on their own). A tool that had fallen into the hands of one Maddox Dugan: a fourth-year Gryffindor that Albus had once respected, but now he would not even spit in the same direction as this boy. Once a popular student and Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Maddox now held the proud distinction of being the youngest inmate in Azkaban, where he could rot for all Albus cared now. After all Albus and his friends and the school as a whole had been put through at the hands of this boy, Albus remained convinced that his former housemate had gotten everything he deserved.
He also needed a new sheet of parchment so he could finish up his own History of Magic essay.
Albus found himself working at such a steady pace, he was completely taken aback when he glanced at the clock and saw it was well past eleven. His mum hadn’t even bothered to tell him to go to bed. She must have decided since it was homework that was keeping her son awake, either he would put himself to bed or finish the entire summer’s homework in one sitting.
Well, Albus thought as he gazed down at the parchment, it was close enough. All that was really left was his Herbology essay, and he had been planning to ask Neville for a few points of advice when he saw him at Diagon Alley tomorrow. Having your godfather as one of your teachers certainly had its perks.
Speaking of Diagon Alley, hadn’t his mother told him they would be leaving the house at nine tomorrow? And as long as it took the entire Potter family to get ready in the morning, Albus knew if he didn’t go to sleep now, he would be walking around half-dead for the entire day.
But just as Albus was pulling his pajamas up over his head and walking past the window, a loud pop startled him back into attention, and he was able to look out the window just in time to see his dad’s head make its way through the kitchen door. His mum wasn’t kidding when she said Dad wouldn’t be home till late. Albus at least hoped it was for something exciting. There had to be nothing worse than being kept awake for hours on end because of paperwork, Albus should know.
Albus put off getting ready for bed as he listened to the tea kettle steam, papers shuffle, and an outer robe being thrown on the floor”exactly like Albus’ mum had told her children and her husband a thousand times not to. Despite the fact that Albus was already dressed in his pajamas, he chose to forsake his plans of going to bed for the time being. If there was anything worse than being kept up late into the night because of paperwork, it was coming home to an empty house afterwards.
Other than the few isolated movements of his father, the house was completely silent. The only evidence of life was coming from his parents’ shared study, the one Albus had gotten ink from earlier that evening; a room, which in their younger years, the Potter children had never been allowed in. Granted, a lot of that had to do with the incident five years ago where, in the course of one summer, James had convinced Albus that Floo Powder had been changed in that you threw the Powder into the burning fire first, and then jumped in, Lily had brought an injured screech owl into the study, which turned out not to be so injured after all, and destroyed every piece of furniture in the room, and Albus had walked into the room without taking off his shoes, which happened to be coated with Welsh Fiber-Eating Fungus, and left a trail of shoeprint-shaped holes in the carpet and the rugs.
None of the Potter children had dared test the limits of this banishment since. James and Lily had even seemed surprised when Albus had been allowed to venture in for ink without any sort of supervision. But Albus assumed at the age of twelve, he was now mature and responsible enough to be able to enter a room in his house without destroying it.
“Dad?” Albus called out as he peaeked his head through the cracked door.
No one was at either of the desks, but there was a roaring fire in the hearth and a dark-haired- head peaking up over the back of an armchair. At least his dad hadn’t had to bring any of his work home with him.
“Dad?”
In fact, Albus’ father was so focused on his relaxation, he didn’t even seem to notice his son sneaking up behind him.
Above the fireplace hung a painted portrait of Albus’ grandparents; not his mother’s parents, but his father’s. The ones that had been killed by Lord Voldemort when his dad was barely a year old. So even though Albus had never truly met them, he knew their faces just as well as anyone else he had known in his life. His Granddad Potter was like a much taller version of James, and a much more cocky version of his father. His Grandmum Potter had brilliant true-red hair, much darker than either his mum’s or Lily’s, and the greener than green eyes that both Albus and his dad shared as well. Secretly, Albus had always thought these overwhelming eyes looked so strange on the both of them, but somehow, his grandmother had a way of making them look breathtaking.
In the painting, they were posed in front of a dry fountain in the season between true autumn and true winter. They alternated between hugging, dancing, and just looking young and in love. It was a portrait of a time before death and destruction, when all the two of them cared about was living for the moment, as though it were all they had.
It was easy to see why his dad liked it so much.
“Hey, Dad,” Albus spoke up even louder, finally succeeding in getting his father’s attention.
Turning his head over his shoulder, he offered, “Al, hi. What are you doing up so late?” His voice was tired; it really had been a long night for him.
“I was trying to finish up my Potions essay,” Albus explained, moving to stand beside the deep red chair. “All I have left is my homework for Herbology. I thought Neville would have some advice when we see him and Hannah tomorrow. You do remember we’re going to Diagon Alley in the morning?”
Albus watched his dad nod and take another long sip of his tea. “Don’t worry, I remember. And good work on all your summer assignments. I don’t suppose your brother has gotten quite as far, has he?”
Shaking his head, Albus couldn’t help but laugh. As though it even needed to be asked! James was going into his fourth year, and this summer had been the same as every other summer. It wouldn’t even occur to James until the last week of August that he even had summer homework (even with his mother standing over him, like she had been doing tonight), and his last week at home would be spent in a frenzy of flying parchment and spilt ink. It was actually rather amusing to watch, and it was part of the reason Albus had been working so hard to get all his own assignments done early; he didn’t want to miss a second of it.
“So not even four more weeks before you go back to Hogwarts?” his dad spoke up again, reclaiming Albus’ attention. “Are you excited to start your second year?”
Albus nodded, but also noticed that his dad didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as the question would have warranted.
“You know, Albus, everything that happened last year, with Maddox and his creatures; that’s not supposed to happen at Hogwarts.” Albus’ father chuckled to himself, but really didn’t seem all that amused. “I know that sounds ridiculous coming from me, but please believe me. Being attacked in the dead of night, constant threats of danger, feeling at all unsafe; those are not things that are supposed to happen while you are at school. Just because I happened to be cheated out of the experience myself, that doesn’t mean you should think that what I went through when I was young and what you went through last year is in any way normal.”
Albus sighed inwardly, but did his very best to make sure his dad didn’t notice. He had heard this exact same speech last year, just before going off to Hogwarts for his first year. For as many great war stories as the Potter children could get out of their aunts and uncles, and even their mother, when it came to their father, who should have had the best stories of all, had no comment. Sure, there were a few occasions, usually when there was a house full of Weasley cousins who could join in the pestering, when he could be convinced to share one or two, but it was rare when he would ever break his vow of silence.
Somehow, he had gotten it into his head that if he shared too many stories about his younger days that his children would all go off and try and get themselves into the most ridiculous amount of danger they possibly could. None of the Potter children could understand the logic behind this, but Albus was not about to argue with it, especially when he had the anonymity of the Arcane ScoRA to protect. He was pretty sure that the secret society was not a traditional part of most people’s school days.
But Albus decided it was better just to agree with his father and excuse himself to bed. His mum was going to have a difficult enough time getting James out of bed, and probably his dad to, without needing to physically drag Albus out from under his covers as well.
The Arcane ScoRA and the Blood Pact by OliveOil_Med
Chapter Notes: As Albus Potter prepared to return to Hogwarts, he is forced to contemplate the events of the previous year.
Thank you to Apruva and TheCursedQuill, my lovely betas!