Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 — CHAPTER ONE — 

PROLOGUE

The Crypt in the Clearing

The inhabitants of a small village in the Highland council used to pride themselves on living in a very reliable and safe community. For them, trust meant that everyone knew at least one basic fact about each other's lives, and security meant being comfortably tucked into bed by ten o'clock. None of these qualities, however, seemed to suit the village's current situation.

In recent days, a frightening phenomenon has been plaguing the town. Residents began to report some strange ongoing incidents involving a horrible creature that they swore didn't belong to this world. It was a colossal beast, ranging from three to five meters in height, said to be living in the village forest, according to the reports.

Its body was long and gnarled, resembling a tangle of vines and tough wood. The ends of what should have been hands were actually sharp, predatory claws. In place of a head was a skull, but not a human one. It was wilder. The bony snout was broad, and the skull gave way to an antler of impetuous horns that branched upwards on either side. Versions of the creature's eyes, however, varied. Some claimed to have seen a yellowish glow reflecting from the eye orbits. Others insisted there were no eyes at all, only that: orbits. Deep and dark, hollow voids.

Due to the astonishing beast – and the overwhelming amount of people who have been confirming reports about it – word quickly spread across the region.

Much to everyone's dismay, the so-called very reliable and safe village began experiencing the greatest influx of outsiders that its records have ever indicated. Authorities, researchers, conspiracy theorists, and above all, reporters, flocked to the area and filled its hotels, pubs, and bakeries. More and more unfamiliar faces roamed the streets, whispering about the strange creature.

Mrs. Beynon, on the other hand, was a middle-aged woman, very devoted to the community, who very much enjoyed spending long afternoons at the house of her dear friend, Mrs. Jenkins. The two engaged in their favorite pastime, which they affectionately liked to call: voicing their concerns about the village.

On that particular evening, Mrs. Beynon had arrived at Mrs. Jenkins's house early. She had an awful lot of concerns about the village that she seemed eager to express.

"I'm telling you, Marta," said Mrs. Beynon, "I saw them with my own eyes. These very eyes right here! Two queer men in dark cloaks hanging around and muttering near old Archie’s bakery this morning. Oh yes, yes they were!"

The two women were sitting in Mrs. Jenkins’s spacious but dimly lit living room. A fire crackled in the hearth, while they sipped on chamomile tea.

"And what do you think they were talking about, Brigitte?" Asked Mrs. Jenkinks.

"Well, you know I would never eavesdrop on other people's conversations if it weren't for this... situation we're going through."

"The monster in the woods," added Mrs. Jenkins, sipping her tea with pursed lips.

"Precisely," agreed Mrs. Beynon promptly. "That and this invasion of outsiders. Of course, I try my best to help the authorities and the press as much as I can, but... well, that's not important right now. What matters is that I approached those two, you know, just to make sure they weren't saying anything suspicious... and imagine, Marta! Just imagine my surprise when I heard what I heard! You will never believe it!"

"What? What did they say?"

"Oh, the weirdest things I've ever heard in my entire life! Ministry of M-A-G-I-C!" Mrs. Beynon spelled it out slowly. "You're going to think I'm delusional, but I heard clearly. And you know my ears never fail me!"

Mrs. Jenkins let out a laugh.

"Ministry of Magic? Ha! Where do these lunatics come from?" She asked with a high voice. "It must be another one of those hippie communities, Brigitte. This is what I keep telling you! Remember last summer? That group of gypsies who passed through?"

"Hmm, could be, Marta, could be... but they didn’t seem like hippies to me. They were a bit more… sophisticated."

"Where do you think they're from?"

"Bet they're Londoners. And not only that... it also seemed that we, mere villagers, were being referred to as Muggles! Can you believe such a thing?"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Jenkins protested, with visible displeasure.

"And I can tell you more, from what I could hear, they seemed to be blaming this... Ministry... for the creature in the forest."

Mrs. Jenkins snorted again.

"It doesn't matter which Ministry it is, they’ve all got their problems, we can agree on that," she said wryly . "If it weren't for Gracie and Claudia, my own daughters, saying that they saw that monster, I wouldn’t believe a word of it! But Gracie and Claudia don’t lie. Never have!"

"I know that, Marta, I know. My Hughie would never make something like this up either. Their generation… Well, they’re not like ours. Up until recently, Hughie barely left his room, just stared at that computer of his all day! But now that he’s growing up and hanging out with Mathew Cooper, he’s socialising again. And how can I not believe in the creature he says he saw, when he’s barely touched his mobile lately? He’s terrified, poor thing!"

"I don't blame him, Brigitte. Honestly, we used to live so peacefully. Now we have to walk looking over our shoulders. Strangers by the side, monsters in the woods... I wonder if we’ll ever feel safe again!"

"Well of course!" stated Mrs. Beynon, getting up while picking up her bag. "Soon all this will be over and our community will once again be known for what it’s always been: trust and safety! Now, Marta, I must go before Katie closes the minimarket. I promised Hughie a marmalade pie. I’ll bring you a slice tomorrow, yes?"

Mrs. Jenkins escorted her friend to the door, and the women parted without further ado.

Mrs. Beynon drove to the grocer’s, picked up the missing ingredients—flour, lemon, and grapefruit marmalade—and took the opportunity to press the cashier for any scraps of gossip about the mysterious creature. Then she drove through the dimly lit streets, her sharp eyes flicking over the faces of passersby.

More strangers, thought Mrs Beynon grimly.

When she reached the last house on the cul-de-sac, she parked the car in the garage, took the groceries out of the boot, and hurried inside. The night was starting to get cold quickly.

"Hello, dear," she said as she passed her husband, who was sitting on the couch. "Where’s Hughie?"

Mr. Beynon, a portly man with thinning hair and rectangular glasses, was having a pint while watching the news.

"Went out. Matt's house," he replied, simply.

"Hmm... Well, he’d better not be out too late. It’s not exactly safe with all that’s going on," she muttered.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Beynon murmured back.

Mrs. Beynon huffed sharply, and decided to send a quick text message to her son before she even started with her special marmalade pie.

Don't stay out too long. Say hi to Matt’s mum.

Then she pinned back her dyed hair, washed her hands, and got to work. She prepared the dough first, then the filling. Finally, she shoved the container through the oven and went to sit beside Mr. Beynon, who had to squeeze a little for the two to fit on the sofa. However, for Mrs. Beynon, the news always meant tragedy, and perhaps because of that, she remained uneasy. She couldn't concentrate on the news and went back to checking her phone again.

"Weird," commented Ms. Beynon. "No reply yet.” 

"Hugh’s grown up now, dear. You worry too much. Let him have some fun, will you?"

Mrs. Beynon shot her husband a reproachful look.

"Nonsense," she said, and typed another message:

Your pie is in the oven. Don't get home late.

Still, no answer. The pie was ready, the hours passed, and Hughie remained silent.

It's late, Hughie. Hurry up! I left the pie in the fridge.

She wrote again before going to bed.

She tossed and turned under the covers before finally slipping into a restless sleep. Yet, in the quiet of her dreams, Mrs. Beynon couldn’t know that hours later, the message remained unread. Nor that, ten kilometers away, the two men she’d seen earlier that morning were now stepping into the forest’s winding paths.

“A skull with horns, was it?” said the taller of the pair, his breath puffing white in the chill. He had a long nose and hair an unmistakable blaze of red. Ron Weasley cast a look of mingled scepticism and amusement. “Muggles do have some imagination. Got to hand it to them. Bit of a shame this one just cost us the better part of a day. You’re certain you don’t fancy heading back now, Harry?”

Ron swiped irritably at a low branch, which sprang back to catch him across the ear. He swore under his breath and Harry gave a snort that might have been laughter, though it was muffled by the collar of his cloak. His glasses glimmered in the half-light.  

“And what if it isn’t imagination, Ron? If there’s even a chance–”

“–that it’s something dark, I know,” finished Ron, sighing. He pushed aside a tangle of brambles and grumbled, “Guess part of me was just… You know, hoping you’d say something different for a change. It’s always ‘what if this is a clue’ and never ‘let’s Apparate home, grab a butterbeer and call it a night.’”

“You’re welcome to head back, Ron. I won’t tell anyone.”

“And miss the moment when it turns out not to be nonsense after all? No, thanks. You’ve still got that look. Same one you had when you swore Malfoy was up to something at sixteen. Always meant trouble.”

“Call it good instincts, would you?”

“Maybe you were always meant to be a good Auror, Harry.  If you ask me, now that Callaghan is out of the picture, Robards ought to just hand you the whole Office. Head Auror Potter. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“If that’s the case, Ron, then I suppose I’ll need an ideal right-hand man.”

For a moment, only the crunch of leaves and the far-off hoot of an owl accompanied them. Then Ron stopped walking, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Thing is, Harry” he said, in a very unique, kind of way. “I’ve been thinking about… getting out. Not right away, mind you. Auror work always seemed the right thing for me, but – well, Rosie is only a few months old, Mione keeps hinting about another, and I… I’m starting to wonder if what I really want is to be closer to them.”

Harry blinked at him.

“You? Leave the Ministry?”

Ron gave a little shrug, though a lopsided grin betrayed him.

“George keeps going on about me joining him. And honestly, maybe it’s time. Handing out Tongue-Tying Toffees was always a sight more fun than chasing dark wizards, don’t you reckon?”

For a moment neither of them spoke, but something around Harry's eyes softened.

“I don’t know whether to be happy for you or deeply concerned about the Wizard Wheezes’ financial safety.”

Ron grinned like he had something clever to say, maybe even sarcastic, but whatever it was got stuck in his throat. Suddenly, a loud, ripping sound tore through the quiet like the sky itself had been split in two. Birds exploded from the trees, a chaotic symphony of wings and panicked squawking, swirling against the dark in a euphoric chirp. 

Everything else happened too fast. 

As the two drew their wands, a blast of light cut across the sky not far from where they stood. Harry and Ron bolted towards it, but the beam vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Still, they pressed on, ignoring the branches that whipped across their cloaks, determined to find something, anything. A witness, a clue, or maybe...

They stopped. Frozen like statues, rooted to the spot by the horror that unfolded before them.

"In Merlin's name..." murmured Ron.

Lower down, the earth dipped into a natural hollow where massive stones stood suspended like ancient sentinels. The clearing, bathed in moonlight, was cloaked in green. Moss-covered, overgrown, and forgotten by time. The stones formed a rough circle, enclosing a macabre scene: four bodies, or half of them. Two boys and two girls, in pairs, with their torsos stuck together. They were lying outstretched on the mossy stone slabs, each facing different directions.

Their mouths hung open. Eyes wide. Faces frozen in a silent, eternal scream.

Not a single scratch marked their skin. Yet nothing about them was right. The flesh over their skulls hung loose and lifeless. All the blood that had once flowed through their veins now seeped from the slabs, pooling slowly in the centre of the stone ring. There, standing alone, was a portal of sorts. A stone arch, ancient and worn, choked by ivy and slime. What was in that passage, however, was unknown, as the opening was completely obscure. From where they stood, neither Harry nor Ron could see what lay within.

Harry took a cautious step back from the clearing. Ron followed silently, watching Harry retrieve a tiny piece of brown parchment from within his robes. Upon it was a single emblem: a wand positioned at the heart of a large, ornate "M".

"Diffindo", murmured Harry, pointing his wand to his own finger.

At once, a thin stream of blood appeared at the tip of his index finger. A few droplets fell onto the parchment, spreading across the emblem until the whole thing ignited in a brief, brilliant flame, and disintegrated into ash.

“Think he’ll come?” asked Ron, cautiously. 

“He'll be here any second”. 

Both focused on recollecting themselves when a third man appeared in a blink of an eye. He was of average height, with well-cut, golden-blond hair already streaked with grey at the temples. His sharp eyes were alert, far too alert, which somehow gave him a youthful, commanding presence. This was Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office.

“All right,” he said as he approached. “What’ve we got?”

Ron swallowed thickly. 

"I've never seen anything like it before, sir. It looks like... some kind of ritual, sir."

Robards grunted in acknowledgement and turned to Harry. 

"What do you reckon, Potter?"

“I agree with Ron, sir.”

Robards nodded grimly in resignation and moved past them to where the bodies lay. Harry and Ron followed, stepping carefully around the blood-soaked stone.

"None of this makes sense," murmured Harry. “We spoke to this one this morning. A teenage Muggle from the village. Just a kid… His name was Hugh Beynon.”

“A tragedy,” said Robards, quietly. “They all seem about the same age.”

He crossed the stone circle and stepped toward the portal.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “Lumos.”

The tip of his wand lit up and he entered the darkened crypt. Less than a minute passed before he re-emerged.

“Well?” asked Ron, breath catching.

"Nothing but heavy stone walls inside. Except..." Robards pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "A symbol. Carved into the wall, opposite the entrance." He turned to the others, all business again. "I want this entire area sealed off. Put up a perimeter. No Muggles get through. And summon a full team."

Harry and Ron were just about to nod when another sound cut across the night. They heard it before they saw it: a thin, piercing cry, high and sharp, like the squeal of an otter. Both men spun at once toward the unmistakable blue shimmer rushing toward them. Hermione’s Patronus.

Harry’s heart lurched. They had agreed on this signal long ago, and there could be only one meaning.

Ginny.

For a fleeting instant, Harry felt everything around him dissolve. The cold night, the distant ruins, even the tragic urgency of the mission. 

“It’s happening,” breathed Harry, his voice unsteady despite himself.

Ron’s eyes were wide.

“Blimey! Already?”

But Harry wasn’t listening anymore. His thoughts had already leapt ahead, racing home to where a very special baby boy was about to be born. 

His second son.

Albus Severus Potter.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER TWO —

The Compartment of Collisions

Al Potter considered himself a rather ordinary boy in many respects. For one thing, he had loving parents and two close siblings who, like most brothers and sisters, could quarrel and laugh together with almost equal intensity. Al was the middle child, exactly two years younger than his brother James, and two years older than his sister Lily. That also meant that, like other oddly ordinary people, there were times when he was expected to follow someone’s example and others when he had to set one himself. 

Besides, beyond his siblings, Al had also a lot of cousins. 

Not just two or three, nor even a couple of pairs or half a dozen. There were nine of them in total, which, in and of itself, was already more than enough to make up an entire Quidditch team — with two reserves. However, even among those nine, there was only one who shared his exact age. Her name was Rose Granger-Weasley, and she was sitting right beside him on this cosy autumn morning, at the very moment when our story begins. 

The two of them were ready to set off for school, just as many eleven-year-olds must. The only exception was, in fact, that Al and Rose school was anything but ordinary. Hogwarts had always been, and still remained, the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry for young witches and wizards across the world. 

All in all, magic was hardly an unusual thing in Al’s life. Just like him, his parents, his siblings, and all nine of his cousins – both older and younger – were witches or wizards. By any measure, it was fair to say that spells and flying broomsticks were a rather normal part of Al’s life. Mundane, even. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone in the wizarding world seemed to know his name before he ever introduced himself. And maybe the fact that his father’s face still appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet more often than not. 

Not because he sought attention, as Al’s dad hated attention, but because Harry Potter was no ordinary man. He was a national hero, one of the youngest Head Aurors in Ministry history, and, more importantly, the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The man who had faced the darkest wizard of all time and won. And while the battle he led had ended almost two decades ago, its legacy lived on in headlines and whispers, in history books and commemorative chocolate frog cards.

Al knew his father didn’t want to be famous. He’d heard it enough times, in private conversations over washing up and in offhand remarks over Sunday tea. But in the eyes of the public, Harry Potter was more than just a man, he was a savior. And, sometimes, Al felt it was a lot to carry around, that kind of ultra-respected name. Especially when it was printed on your school robes.

And then there was the strange dream he’d had the night before. Something about stones, and a shadow, and voices he couldn’t quite place.

Al had woken up that morning feeling that something wasn’t particularly right. Not fear exactly, just a low hum of... anticipation. It was a good thing, whatsoever, that his Mum had said the feeling would fade away before he even realised it. 

“It’s nerves, love,” she’d told him. “Happened to me, too, my first year. Felt like I had a Quaffle lodged in my throat until I saw the Hogwarts feast for the first time. Nothing like going from stale porridge at the Burrow to treacle tart and roast beef appearing out of thin air." 

Al tryed to consider that. Maybe it was time to stop worrying so much and start thinking about the delicious feast that awaited him instead. After all, no one can panic while biting into a good Yorkshire pudding.

The train jolted. Then again. And just like that, with a puff of steam and the soft screech of iron on track, the Hogwarts Express began to move. Al pressed his nose to the glass for a moment, watching the platform slowly fade away. He caught one last glimpse of his parents waving, and Lily squashed against Mum’s waist, her face pressed into her coat.

As the tracks curved around a bend, Rose finally leaned back into her seat.

“Isn’t it strange to think our parents met right here?” She asked. “I mean… it might’ve even been this exact compartment!”

“I suppose,” said Al. “But that would be a pretty weird coincidence.”

“More than coincidence!” exclaimed Rose, pointing suddenly out the window. “Look, do you see that cat?”

Across the narrow road outside the station, perched regally atop a wall of bricks seemingly too small to hold him, sat a large tabby cat, tail curled neatly around his feet. He blinked once, slowly, as if entirely aware he was being observed.

“Who knows where he’s been,” Rose went on, “but somehow, he ended up right there , at the precise moment we looked out. Sometimes, I think it’s not all about coincidence, but a long string of little things that lead to something... unexpected.”

Al glanced from the cat to his cousin, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You sound like your mum.”

“Thanks,” replied Rose, matter-of-factly, pulling a thick book from her bag. “She bought me the latest edition last time we went to the Alley.” She held it up to eye level, showing him the brown leather cover of Hogwarts: A History .

“You gonna read it?” asked Al.

“Already did. Want to have a go?”

“Not really. Feels like homework already.”

The rhythmic clatter of the train over the tracks became their backdrop as the windows filled with fields and distant woodlands, the city fading behind them. Al leaned back, a soft unease still coiled somewhere in his stomach – maybe from the expectation, or maybe from the continuous whispers he could hear just outside the door.

Now and then, hushed voices rose and fell from the corridor, and Al didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about. He could feel the glances, quick ones through the glass. Students passing by just slow enough to steal a peek at him: the newest Potter at school. Harry Potter’s son. Some of them were probably trying to spot the lightning bolt, just in case the scar had passed down like a family heirloom.

James had warned him this would happen; warned in the same way James did everything: with far too much enthusiasm.

“They’ll stare,” James had said that morning, ruffling Al’s hair while stuffing a Chocolate Frog into his pocket. “Best just flash a smile and act mysterious. Works for Dad.”

Al hadn’t smiled then, and he surely wasn’t smiling now.

“They’re only curious,” said Rose, glancing sideways at him. “Most of them will forget it after the Sorting, once they have their own houses and their own problems to worry about.”

“You think?”

“I’m fairly certain of it. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be parading around for attention like someone else we both know…Oh!” She exclaimed suddenly, perked up. “The trolley’s here! Finally, I wonder what they’ve got this year?”

Al let out a small laugh, knowing exactly who she meant. James had always acted like Hogwarts was his personal stage. As the trolley witch approached, Rose popped up to the door, chatting cheerily with the old witch as if they'd known each other for years. Al joined her, and the two returned to their seats moments later with a generous pile of treats: Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, and something new wrapped in golden foil with a sticker that read Cauldron Crunch — Pop! Guaranteed.

They were just unwrapping their first Pumpkin Pasties when the compartment door slid open with a sharp clatter.

A boy with platinum blond hair stood awkwardly in the doorway, followed closely by a girl with a freckled nose and perfectly aligned waved hair. The boy’s eyes went wide, clearly startled by the equally startled expressions on Al and Rose’s faces.

There was a beat of silence, and then the boy cleared his throat.

“Er – sorry. We had a… sort of inconvenience in our compartment.”

Al swallowed awkwardly. He didn’t need Rose’s sharp intake of breath beside him to know who the boy was. His uncle Ron had already made that perfectly clear.

That was Scorpius Malfoy.

Rose said nothing, but Al could feel her eyes on him. The new girl, however, looked completely unbothered by the tension, and gave them both a cheerful nod.

“Hi. I’m Riley. Do you mind if we sit?”

Scorpius hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight. His hand tugged at the sleeve of his coat, and his voice was softer this time when he added:

“We… we really don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s all right”, said Al, oddly, unsure if there was anything all right at all.

Scorpius and Riley slid into the seats opposite them. Riley, completely at ease, began unwrapping a Chocolate Frog from her own stash while Scorpius sat stiffly, eyes flickering between Al and Rose like he was bracing for something.

Al studied him. He didn’t seem like someone to be afraid of, nor even as cocky as he’d assume he was. In fact, he looked more like someone who was used to being cautious around people. Or worse, being dismissed before he’d even spoken.

Scorpius caught him looking and offered the smallest of smiles, the kind people give when they’re not sure if they’re welcome.

“I know who you are,” he said to Al, a bit too bluntly. “Sorry. I just… I think everyone probably does.”

Al blinked.

“Right back at you.”

To his surprise, Scorpius laughed. A proper, genuine laugh that made his shoulders relax a little.

“I suppose we’re in the same boat, then,” he said.

“Train,” corrected Riley, brightly. “We’re in the same train.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, then cleared her throat.

“Sorry. I’m Rose. Rose Granger-Weasley. And you said your name was Riley…?”

“Travers,” said the girl. “No relation to anyone famous for any good deeds, I suppose. Unless you count my Aunt Moira, who once hexed a goblin banker into thinking he was a badger. Long story.”

Al and Rose exchanged a glance. Travers was another family name quite known in the wizarding world. And then again, not exactly for the right reasons. 

Just as the Malfoys, the Travers family was one of the older and proudest pure-blood lines in Britain. Anciant, influential, and steeped in tradition. But their legacy wasn’t quite the sort sung about in school songs or polished into heroic legend. Over the centuries, the name Travers had surfaced time and again aligned with dark wizards. Still, Riley didn’t carry that menacing air the name sometimes evoked. She was bright-eyed, chatty, and had a kind of easy charm, like someone who might even befriend a Niffler, just for a laugh.

Al wasn’t sure what had happened in her branch of the family tree, but either way, there was something disarming about Riley Travers. A sort of breezy confidence. Moreover, Al thought there was also something oddly familiar about her. He tilted his head, watching her for a moment. Her hair seemed to shift slightly of its own accord, and her robes were rumpled at the shoulder as if she’d slept in them or possibly wrestled a garden gnome before boarding the train.

But it was her face, her eyes, that made Al sure he’d seen her before. He just couldn’t figure out where.

“No bollocks!” yelped Riley suddenly, springing upright as her Chocolate Frog leapt onto her knee. She snatched it back and turned over the card inside, her grin spreading. “Take a look at who I got!”

She held up the card so the others could see. Printed in shimmering bronze ink, was a moving image of a woman with a sharp, intelligent face, quick brown eyes, and hair that looked like it had once been tamed and then changed its mind halfway through.

The name beneath the portrait read:

Hermione Granger-Weasley
Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement; Former Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Creatures; Member of Dumbledore’s Army; Co-Founder of S.P.E.W.; Played a significant role in the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of You-Know-Who .

“That’s your mum, right?” asked Riley, handing the card across to Rose. “You’ve got to have a full drawer of these at home!”

Rose looked mildly horrified.

“She keeps them in a shoebox. And she pretends she doesn’t know where it is.”

“She should sign them,” said Scorpius, thoughtfully, “You know, like Muggles do with sports players.”

“I’m sure Uncle Ron’s suggested that already,” muttered Al.

Rose rolled her eyes.

“And I’m sure he was ignored. As usual.”

They laughed again, this time a little easier, the weight in the compartment slowly giving way to the sugary blur of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Crunch wrappers. Rose leaned back into her seat, tearing the corner off a Liquorice Wand.

“So… you two already knew each other?” she asked casually, though her eyes seemed to flicker with smoldering curiosity.

Scorpius cast a quick glance at Riley, but she held her head high, her tone as cheerful as ever.

“Yeah. Scorp and I know each other because of our parents. They’re friends.”

“Well, we’ve known each other practically since we were babies,” added Scorpius. “And after Mr and Mrs Travers moved from Devon to Wiltshire, we even ended up neighbours.”

“Devon?” repeated Al, his voice slowing with dawning recognition. “No way… you’re that Riley? From Otter River?”

Riley suddenly looked a bit abashed, but then she nodded.

“Well… I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember.”

Both Rose and Scorpius looked equally surprised.

“Wait, you two know each other?!” they asked at once.

“Rose, don’t you remember?” said Al, turning to his cousin. “She’s the girl who lived across the river – Riley!”

Rose stared at him blankly for a beat before her eyes widened, as though someone had flicked on a Lumos charm right behind them.

“Riley! Of course!” she exclaimed, slapping her forehead. “How could I forget, when you wouldn’t shut up about ‘Riley this’ and ‘Riley that’ all summer long?”

“I was nine! ” protested Al, his ears turning pink. “And all we did was try to practise some magic together!”

“Yeah,” smirked Riley. “Remember the time we managed to levitate that frog up the hill?”

“I always wished Rose could’ve met you back then. She probably would’ve known how to stop the frog from floating off, but… oh, wait! I did try to introduce you two once!”

“I remember,” Rose cut in. “You made me cross the river and trek all the way to her house, but it was empty.”

Riley’s expression darkened slightly. She looked down at the floor, her fingers tightening briefly around the edge of her own Liquorice Wand wrapper.

“Sorry about that,” she said quietly. “The move… It was sudden. I didn’t even know it was happening.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Al at once. And he meant it.

He was genuinely glad to see her again. From what he remembered, Riley had been remarkably good at controlling her magic – unusually good, in fact, for someone who hadn’t even started at Hogwarts. There’d always been something special about her, like the way a spell sometimes hums before you cast it.

Among his siblings, Al had been the only one to know her. At one point, he’d even wondered whether Riley had been real at all, or if she’d been some sort of friendly poltergeist only he could see.

“Well, it’s not that bad, is it?” said Scorpius, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, she didn’t move too far away. Just Wiltshire. Imagine if she’d ended up at Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts!”

Rose immediately perched forward in her seat, her eyes lighting up with glee.

“Actually, Aunt Fleur says that Beauxbatons sits on the edge of the Pyrenees, nestled between two enchanted lakes that only appear at night, and–”

The compartment settled into warm chatter as they tumbled on, one topic tripping over the next: the legends they’d heard about the schools, the strange rumours about Hogwarts' dungeons, the subjects they were most excited for – or terrified of – and even which secret passageways would lead to...

“Urgh. Someone’s let off a Tara Snapper out there!”

The compartment door slid open with a thump, and a tall boy with windswept bronze-coloured hair leapt in, dramatically fanning the air behind him.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER THREE —

The Foul Fog

"Mind if I join you?" asked the boy, his nose buried in the sleeve of his robes.

All four turned to peer through the compartment’s window. A sticky, moss-green fog had begun curling through the corridor, thick as pea soup and twice as foul.

“No,” said Riley and Rose at once, their faces contorted in identical looks of disgust.

“Not at all,” added Al and Scorpius.

"Cheers. I’m Ben Nott. And you are–” 

Ben’s eyes went wide as they finally landed on Al.

“Wait a minute, I know who you are!"  

Al took a deep breath. His face must really have been easy to recognise. Everyone said he looked exactly like his father, except for the haircut. And the glasses, of course.

“You’re James Potter!” Ben finally exclaimed, brimming with confidence.

Al’s neck turned red in an instant.

“No, I’m not. I’m Al. James is my older brother.”

Beside him, his cousin let out a quiet laugh.

“And I’m Rose. Rose Granger-Weasley.”

“I’m Scorpius.”

“Riley.”

“Oh” murmured Ben, his eyes flickering across them all, as though about to say something, but deciding better of it.

Instead, he reached into the deep pockets of his coat and produced a crumpled handful of brightly coloured boxes.

“Want some? Got them from the trolley before that… mist started. Doubt it’ll be coming through again any time soon.”

“Brilliant,” said Riley, snatching a box without hesitation.

“Riley!” hissed Scorpius in a scandalised whisper.

“What? He offered.” 

“Never mind,” Scorpius said, fishing out a slim packet of gummy that hadn't been open yet, buried under more candy, and offering it to Ben. “Give it a try. They’re my favourite.”

Ben reached out gladly to catch one, but Al recognised the bright gluey treat instantly. 

“Best avoid the red ones,” he advised gravely.

“Fire Spit-Flare,” Riley said proudly. “Always leaves your tongue covered in pink spots.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, then exchanged it for a blindingly green one. 

“Cheers,” he said, popping it in. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened tremendously, giving space for a continuous, voluminous burp.

“Acid Spit-Flare,” said Scorpius, unable to hold a joyful laugh. “Always gives you the best burps.”

Al didn't know why, but it was very easy to join in with Scorpius's giggling. Ben smirked as well, through the grimace of sour flavour.

“So, have you lot thought about what house you want to be in?”

Suddenly, Al felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Of all the questions he’d dreaded, that was the one he most wanted to avoid. Yet Ben had asked it so easily and casually that Al hadn’t even seen it coming.

Rose, on the other hand, was as ready as ever.

“Gryffindor. Definitely,” she said with the unwavering confidence of someone who had memorised all four house mottos and underlined the Gryffindor one twice.

“Slytherin,” said Scorpius without blinking.

“Er… not sure. Maybe Slytherin too,” said Riley thoughtfully, chewing her sweet and frowning a little.

“Slytherin for me, no question about it,” Ben added, tossing the gummy wrapper aside. “You lot are lucky. My compartment’s full of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. No offence, Rose.”

Al was stunned.

Not because Ben had said it. But because everyone had.

He could feel Rose was tense beside him, likely holding back a monologue on exactly why she would never, under any circumstances, be sorted into Slytherin. But what stunned Al the most was this: for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who didn’t seem slightly tensed by Slytherin's bad reputation. And, among all, people who didn’t consider Gryffindor the only house worth being in, and didn’t seem to care one bit either.

“What about you, Al?” Ben asked again, now casually inspecting the hallway fog through the glass.

“Uh… I’m not sure yet either.” 

“No big deal,” Ben shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

He stood up at once and cracked the door open.

“Right… looks like the stink’s cleared. See you at the ceremony, then? And, cheers for the sweets.”

“Right,” said Al .

“Bye,” the others echoed.

Ben left with a crooked grin, and the door clicked shut behind him.

For a few moments, the compartment was silent.

Al didn’t dare meet Rose’s eyes, knowing perfectly well she was throwing him a glare hot enough to scorch his eyebrows. Instead, he stared out at the rolling hills and creeping twilight, pretending to admire the view.

He knew what she was thinking. They had always, always said, that they’d end up in the same house. But the closer they got to Hogwarts, the more uncertain that promise became.

Outside, sheep and cows grazed across vast, emerald fields dotted with puffs of drifting cloud. But inside, Rose sat stiffly, arms crossed and jaw set. A perfect portrait of simmering indignation. Not everyone, however, seemed inclined to honour her silence.

“You know,” said Scorpius, this time fishing something shiny from the pocket of his tailored coat, “Slytherin’s not actually that bad of a house.” He held up a silver-edged card for them to see. “Everyone knows Merlin was the greatest wizard of all time, but hardly anyone mentions that he studied under Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“He did?” Al asked before he could even stop himself.

Scorpius nodded and handed him the card. Unlike Chocolate Frog cards, this one had neat perforations around its edges. The tiny image of Merlin raised his staff ever so slightly, as though acknowledging Al’s interest.

“What are those?” Al asked, fascinated.

“Cards from the World Wizarding Battle Deck. WWBD for short,” Scorpius explained. “Dad brought them back from one of his trips.”

Al flipped the card over and read the back:

The most famous wizard of all time. Also known as the Prince of Enchanters. Founder of the Order of Merlin and creator of one of the most powerful magical artefacts in wizarding history: Merlin’s Staff. A recognised member of King Arthur’s court, he helped unite the two worlds and brought light to an age of darkness.

“Comes with bonus trivia too,” Al thought, before offering the card to Rose, who made no effort whatsoever to take it.

“Well,” she said crisply, “everyone knows the greatest modern wizard was a Gryffindor: Dumbledore. He’s got an entire chapter in the latest edition of Wizards Who Made History.”

“I know,” said Scorpius lightly. “And Merlin’s been in every edition since the very first one. I suppose he’s still important, even after all this time.”

The tips of Rose’s ears turned an unmistakable shade of pink.

Al glanced across to Riley and was relieved to see that she, too, was trying, and failing, not to laugh. From what he knew of his cousin, Rose was exceptionally bright and relentlessly polite – thanks more to Aunt Hermione than Uncle Ron, he suspected – and it was rare for her to lose her temper with anyone. Her little brother Hugo, maybe, being the lone exception.

And it seemed Scorpius Malfoy had just earned himself a spot on that very exclusive list.

“Anyway,” said Al, trying to cut the tension, “they were both great wizards of their time, weren’t they?”

“And both started out at Hogwarts,” Scorpius added. “Can you imagine one of us becoming the next Great Wizard?”

That earned a good laugh from Riley and Al, and even a reluctant smile from Rose.

“Want to see how they’d fare in a duel?”

Scorpius pulled another card from his pocket, this one golden, and placed it beside the silver one on the wooden armrest. At once, two miniature, bearded wizards rose from the cards. A tiny Dumbledore, robed in regal purple, wielded an elegant, elongated wand above the golden card, while a miniature Merlin stood on the silver, clutching a gem-encrusted staff.

Riley shifted in her seat, and both Al and Rose leaned forward.

“They also come with these,” said Scorpius, producing a small velvet pouch.

He gave it a shake, and several glittering gemstones spilled across the armrest.

“Each colour matches the type of attack you want to use,” he explained, pointing to tiny indents along the sides of the cards. “You place them in before the game starts, it sets the order for your moves. Here, Rose, want to play with Dumbledore?” he asked, offering her the golden card. “You can team up with Riley, and Al and I will take Merlin. What do you think?”

Rose didn’t hesitate. The four divided into teams, selecting their tokens and setting up the match. Tiny sparks flew from the armrest as the duel began. Brilliant flares of blue, gold, and red bounced off the cabin windows.

Outside, the hills rose into forested peaks and the towns gave way to a blur of dusk. Before long, Al found himself completely absorbed in the game, the anxious knot in his chest finally starting to loosen. Maybe his dad had been right. Maybe it didn’t matter what house he ended up in. Or at least, not as much as he’d let himself believe.

Right there, Al decided it was time to stop worrying about James’s taunts and start thinking for himself.

By the time the train began to slow, the sky had turned a velvet blue. And with it came the quiet, stirring excitement that only the promise of something extraordinary could bring.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER FOUR —

The Lake Crossing

“I’m going to check in on Dom,” announced Rose, once the Hogwarts Express had come to a complete stop. “And you really should put on your robes now, you know,” she added, with the sort of certainty that dared no protest, before vanishing through the door.

Rose, in fact, was the only one between them who had properly dressed since she’d left her house that morning. Al, Riley and Scorpius had only just shrugged on their black cloaks when a booming, authoritative voice echoed through the train:

“PREPARE TO DISEMBARK. WE WILL SOON BE ARRIVING AT HOGWARTS. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR LUGGAGE IN THE COMPARTMENTS.”

As the three of them stepped out into the corridor, it was already teeming with students. Al glanced both ways, searching for Rose, but there was no sign of her, or of anyone else familiar, by the way. He began inching forward, squeezing through the throng, which grew thicker with each passing second. When they finally made it outside, the cool night breeze brushed against Al’s cheeks and made his nose itch.

“First–years! First–years, this way! ‘Ey, yeh there – first–year – over ‘ere!” Shouted a very familiar voice.

Which Al recognised in an instant.

“Rubeus!”

“Al! Good ter see yeh made it in one piece! Blimey… already at Hogwarts, are yeh? How time flies!” the giant bellowed, laughing heartily. “An’ who’re yer friends?”

“This is Riley Travers and Scorpius Malfoy.”

“Hello,” said Scorpius politely.

“Hi there,” added Riley.

Hagrid came to an abrupt halt, causing a short boy walking behind him to smack straight into the back of his massive calf. The boy stumbled a few paces before landing flat on the ground with a thud.

“Malfoy, eh?” said Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes twinkling as he gave Scorpius a look. “Well, Al, who would’ve thought... Oh, sorry ‘bout that.” He turned to the fallen student with a sheepish nod before continuing. “Right – ‘ello there. Now, if yeh’re friends with Al, yeh’re friends of mine. Name’s Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, an’ Professor of Care of Magical Creatures."

Both Riley and Scorpius looked suitably impressed. Meeting a Professor on their very first day, and being called friends, was nothing short of extraordinary.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Hagrid,” Scorpius said earnestly.

“Ha, no need fer all that,” Hagrid replied, waving a hand the size of a crup. "Just call me Hagrid fer now. We’ll save ‘Professor’ fer when we’re in class, eh? Now, let’s see…”

Before Hagrid could finish, a voice rang out from behind them.  

“Oi! Albus! Al!”  

“Rose!” Al called, spinning around to see his cousin hurrying up the path. “Where’ve you been?”  

“Looking for you, obviously,” she huffed, catching her breath. “Dominique went off with the second-years, and then I ran into James. He was going on about not getting eaten by the Giant Squid, and – oh, hello, Hagrid!”  

“Little Rosie!” Hagrid boomed, his face breaking into a grin. “My word, yeh lot don’ stop growin’, do yeh? An’ don’ pay Jimmy any mind; that squid can be right friendly when it fancies. Anyway, everyone ‘ere now? Grand… follow me, then! This way!”

Hagrid led the small group along a narrow, uneven path of stones and gravel. The first-years were silent, all seemingly concentrating on not tripping in the dim light. At one point, Al felt Rose's hand steadying itself on his shoulder as they navigated a particularly tricky stretch.  

“Take a look!” Hagrid called from up ahead.

And as everyone rounded a bend, the path opened up. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Before them stood the towering silhouette of the ancient castle, its countless windows glowing warmly against the night sky. Al's heart somersaulted in his chest. For a moment, he thought he might simply stand there forever.

Riley let out a low whistle. “Blimey.”

Rose nodded in silent awe, but Scorpius and Al didn’t speak.

“Yeh alright there?” said Hagrid.

“Yeah,” Al managed, his voice cracking just slightly. “Just… yeah.”

“Good. Keep movin’, now,” Hagrid urged, his deep voice snapping Al from his reverie. They reached the lake, shimmering faintly under the starlight. The water was still like black glass, and a line of small wooden boats bobbed gently at the edge. 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called cheerfully.

One by one, they climbed into the boats. Al, Scorpius, Riley and Rose took one near the back. It rocked slightly as Hagrid placed a heavy boot onto his own boat, which groaned under his weight, but surprisingly held steady. At once, the boats set off, gliding smoothly across the glassy dark water as though pulled by invisible cords beneath the surface. 

The castle loomed ahead now, lighting up more with each silent stroke. Its towers glittered in candlelight, the stained glass windows aglow like embers in a hearth. Riley leaned out over the edge, trailing her fingers through the water. Al winced just watching her; it had to be freezing. Yet she looked perfectly content, her face alight with quiet curiosity.

“Keep your heads low!” Hagrid called as the boats drifted under a curtain of hanging ivy.  

“Ouch! Something pulled my hair,” Rose complained, rubbing her scalp.  

“Probably got caught on one of the vines,” said Scorpius.  

“No… it wasn’t that,” Rose muttered, her brow furrowing.  

The boats gilded onward, entering a tunnel carved into the cliffside. Shimmers from the water danced along the damp stone walls, casting rippling patterns. As they neared the docking point, Al spotted something darting just beneath the surface. A glimmer, too large for a fish, too smooth for a stone.

“Did you see that?” he whispered to Rose.

She leaned out over the side. “What? Where?”

But whatever it was had vanished.

The boats bumped gently against the shore, and Hagrid climbed out with a splash that sent little ripples curling across the lake. 

“Follow me, now. Mind your footing on the rocks.”

It was rather dark and clammy around there, and the rocks were really slick. A thin girl skidding precariously near the edge. For a moment, Al was certain she was bound to tumble straight into the lake, but Riley managed to grab hold of her cloak's hood just in time.  

"Cheers..." the girl whispered, breathless with relief.

“Everyone off?” Hagrid called, raising his lantern and peering into the now-empty boats. “Right then, c’mon!”  

He led them up a steep, winding path, his enormous strides forcing the rest to half-trot just to keep pace. At the top, they emerged onto a wide, rolling lawn. Hagrid continued ahead, his heavy boots thudding against the grass, until they reached a short stone staircase.

They climbed in single file until they reached the vast doors of Hogwarts. The topmost turrets stretched so high that Al had to tilt his head all the way back just to glimpse their spires spearing into the starlit sky. Light spilled out through the stained glass, casting warm patterns over the grass and moss-covered stone. 

Hagrid raised a fist the size of a Bludger and rapped three times. The sound echoed through the still night.  

“Woaaaaaaaah,” Al and the others breathed as the doors creaked open, revealing the grand entrance hall, just as Al had always imagined, with all its iron twisting candelabras, statuettes and shining armors leaning against the walls.

At the far end, the magnificent ceremonial staircase unfurled like a marble ribbon, splitting off into countless archways and corridors that vanished into the upper reaches of the castle. And there, standing at the base of the staircase, was a man waiting for them.

He had both hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark green robes, his posture more at ease than imposing. Streaks of silver threaded through his thick, windswept hair and along the stubble on his chin. There was something sharp in his eyes, but Al didn’t think he seemed unkind, just perceptive, like he missed very little. Yet he smiled as they approached, a proper, lopsided sort of smile.

“Thank you, Rubeus. I’ll take them from here.” 

“Right y’are, Professor,” Hagrid nodded. “See yeh lot soon. Good luck in there!”

Al heard someone gulp. The wizard turned back to the group. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m Professor Carwyn Callaghan, and I’ll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’m also the Head of Slytherin House and the school’s Deputy Headmaster, for my sins.” He offered a quick wink, which earned a few nervous chuckles. “Now, if you’d all be so kind, two neat lines, please. We’ve a very old hat waiting to have a word with each of you. Follow me.”

Professor Callaghan gave a small flick of his wand, gesturing toward the right direction before setting off at a comfortable pace. Scorpius and Al found themselves somewhere in the middle of one of the lines that formed behind him, while Rose and Riley ended up near the front of the other. No one said a word as they followed the professor in silence. They passed through a tall oak door, behind which came an intense murmur that made Al’s stomach flutter, and came to a halt in front of a smaller door just off the entrance hall.

“Right then,” said Professor Callaghan, pivoting to face them all with a slight raise of the eyebrows. “See that door? That is the entrance to the Great Hall. It’s where you'll be taking all your meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the occasional late-night biscuit, if you’re particularly stealthy. More importantly, it’s where the Sorting Ceremony takes place every year, and where yours is about to begin in only a few minutes.”

“But for now,” he continued, turning toward the smaller door with a confident wave of his wand, “you’ll be waiting in here.”

The door creaked open to reveal a cosy chamber. Small, but richly decorated. A variety of tapestries covered the stone floor, and the room was dotted with velvet armchairs, plump cushions, and deep, squashy sofas, all gathered around a gently crackling fire in a wide hearth. Above the fireplace hung a tall, ornate mirror, flanked on either side by grand framed landscapes: one of a moonlit moor, the other of a golden, windblown field.

Al took a seat on the sofa nearest the door, with Scorpius settling beside him. The girl who had been walking just behind them slipped into the last spot on the cushion. Al recognised her at once, as she was the same girl Riley had caught by the cloak near the edge of the lake. She looked even nervous now, her hands twisting restlessly in her lap.

Once the last of the students had shuffled in and found a place, Professor Callaghan stepped forward, standing with his back to the fire like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“For those of you who aren’t familiar,” he began, “Hogwarts is divided into four Houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. Each House carries its own legacy and its own kind of brilliance, for each was founded by one of the four great witches and wizards who established this school centuries ago.”

“In just a moment, you’ll be sorted into one of them. The way you conduct yourselves; your actions, your choices, will earn or lose points for your House throughout the year. At the end of it all, the total points of all Houses will be tallied for the House Championship. But that’s a long way off,” added Professor Callaghan, brushing a bit of ash from his sleeve. “For now, all you need to do is wait here shortly while I make sure the old hat’s awake and ready for you. Oh, and between us, the welcome feast that comes after is, in my most humble opinion, the finest bit of magic Hogwarts has to offer.”

With a final smile, Professor Callaghan slipped through the door and disappeared. At the same instant, a wave of quiet chatter burst into life, bouncing between the walls like bubbles in a cauldron.

“How… how do they do it?” asked the girl beside them, her voice barely above a whisper. “The Sorting. Is it… is it some kind of test?”

Now that they were under proper lighting, Al could see her more clearly. She had wide brown eyes and hair so fine he could glimpse the tops of her ears peeking through. She looked uncertain, almost frightened. Al wondered if she might be Muggle-born.

“It’s not a test,” he said, gently. “It’s really the Sorting Hat that decides.”

“A hat?”

“Yeah,” said Rose, who had reappeared beside them with Riley in tow. “A hat that was enchanted by the founders themselves. At least, that’s what Mum told me. I think it’s a relic, really.”

“Not sure about that, Rose,” said Scorpius with a shrug. “From what Dad told me, it just sounds like an old hat that knows what house to put you in.”

“Well, of course it’s old,” Rose replied in a tone that suggested this was the most obvious thing in the world. “But it’s still the only artifact the four founders created together.”

“The only one we know about,” added Riley thoughtfully.

“You think there might be more?” said Al.

“Who’s to say?” she pondered, before turning her attention to the girl huddled quietly on the sofa, who had been listening without a word. “I’m Riley. What’s your name?”

“Milly,” she said softly, blinking as all eyes turned to her. “Milly Wright.”

“Hi, Milly. I’m Rose.”

 “I’m Scorpius. Nice to meet you.”

 “And I’m Al.”

“Look, Lucretia!" Cried an enthusiastic voice somewhere to their left. "The first-years have arrived!” 

Everyone turned to look at one of the framed landscape paintings on the wall, where a knight on horseback had just galloped into view, his hair windswept and armour gleaming. The excited chatter faded at once as the new students crowded around the portrait.

“Greetings, fledglings!” he announced with a theatrical bow. “On behalf of the Confederation of Frames, Portraits, Paintings & Scribbles of Hogwarts, allow me to welcome you most warmly!”

“Oh, wonderful… more students,” drawled a woman in a green gown who had materialised in the adjoining frame. “Don’t pay him too much attention, will you? It only encourages him. That so-called confederation doesn’t even exist. He’s a wandering knight portrait, they talk more than they think.”

“I heard that, my enchanted damsel,” the knight sang out, not at all offended. “In any case, I do hope you find yourselves in the finest of the four! Gryffindor!”

Al swallowed, his mouth a little dry. But before he had time to dwell on it, Professor Callaghan reappeared in the doorway.

“Right then,” he said, nodding toward the exit. “It’s finally time.”

They followed Professor Callaghan out into the Entrance Hall once more and stopped before the great oak doors. With a flick of his wand, they swung open wide.

And for the second time that evening, Al felt his jaw drop.

The Great Hall glowed with a warm golden light. The floor and walls were built of honey-coloured stone, and hundreds of floating candles flickered above their heads. But oddly enough, above the candles there was no ceiling at all. Or at least, it didn’t look like one. Instead, the sky stretched overhead, dark purple and speckled with stars, exactly as it had been outside.

Al knew, of course, that it wasn’t really the sky – his parents had told him about the enchanted ceiling of Hogwarts – but even so, the effect was dazzling. Rose had already drifted toward the front with Riley, both of them looking utterly mesmerised. Al hung back, taking it all in. Scorpius did the same, and they caught each other’s eye with identical, dazed grins.

Their shared wonder was enough to push away any nerves.

“Do you reckon it rains in here?” Milly asked behind them, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “What if the Hall floods… do they turn the tables into boats?”

“It’s a charm,” Scorpius explained. “Makes the ceiling look like the sky. Are you the first in your family to come to Hogwarts?”

Milly nodded quickly.

“I thought my parents were going to faint when Professor Callaghan showed up at our house with the letter. They’re not… I mean, they’re not wizards. Honestly, it still feels strange to say that out loud.”

“You get used to it,” Al offered, though truthfully he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was like to grow up with Muggles.

By then, they had passed between four long wooden tables, each crowded with students in black robes, chattering excitedly and sneaking glances at the newcomers. House banners hung overhead. Crimson and gold, green and silver, blue and bronze, and yellow and black; fluttering gently in a breeze that didn’t quite exist.

The first-years finally stopped at the foot of a small raised platform where another, much shorter table, stood. It was the staff table, where the teachers were seated, watching them with expressions ranging from curious to kindly to downright unreadable. And just in front of them all, placed alone and rather humbly, was a rickety three-legged stool, atop which rested a battered, patchwork wizard’s hat.

Milly gave a tiny jump when the rip near its brim split open  and the Sorting Hat began to sing.

Each house has seen its finest days,
With pupils bold and bright;
They carried out their founders’ ways,
Their torches burning light.

So now it’s time to find anew
The ones who’ll wear their crest
Will you be counted with the few
Who rise above the rest?

The House of Eagles, sharp and keen,
With wit and wisdom near
If clever thoughts are what you crave,
Then Ravenclaw draws near.

The House of Serpents, wise and sleek,
With cunning minds and aims
If you are bold, ambitious too,
Then Slytherin calls your name.

The House of Lions, brave and true,
With courage at its core
If heart and justice guide your hand,
Then Gryffindor’s your door.

The House of Badgers, just and kind,
The loyal and the fair
Their quiet strength, oft left behind,
Is found beyond compare.

Each house has seen its finest days,
With pupils strong and bright;
But will you be the one who stays
To set the world alight?

So place me smartly on your head,
Don’t flinch or wriggle round
I’ll rummage through what’s in your mind
Until your place is found!

Come now, don’t be frightened, friend
I’m more than just a hat!
A clever hat, a singing hat,
And I’ll tell you just like that.

When the Hat had finished its song, Professor Callaghan climbed the short set of steps, came to a halt beside the stool, and addressed the room:

“Once I call your name, kindly take a seat to be Sorted, and then join your House table.”

With a small flick of his wand, a roll of tawny parchment spiralled out of thin air and landed neatly in the palm of his hand.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER FIVE —

The Hatstall Hitch

“Andrews, Ashley,” called Professor Callaghan.

A girl with short, sandy-blonde hair climbed the steps in careful, tentative little steps and perched on the stool. The professor placed the Sorting Hat over her head and–

“GRYFFINDOR!”

She leapt up at once and made her way toward the Gryffindor table, where applause and whistles rang through the hall. From his place among the first-years, Al could just make out James sitting near the end. Although he was certain there were other familiar faces there too. Fred, Molly, and Dominique were all proud Gryffindors.

Professor Callaghan carried on, his scroll floating at his side.

“Blackwell, Blake.”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Blatch, Theodora.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

With each name, Al felt his nerves creep higher; his hands growing clammy. Then, at last, after fifteen or more students had gone up, he heard a name he recognised.

“Granger-Weasley, Rose!”

Al saw his cousin close her eyes briefly, then take a deep breath before making her way to the three-legged stool. She looked anxious, just as he felt, but the moment the Sorting Hat touched her head, he could almost see the tension melt away.

“GRYFFINDOR!” came the shout a few seconds later.

And Gryffindor’s table exploded with cheers once more. Al clapped along and caught sight of James standing up on the bench, fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly above the din. Rose hopped down, grinning, and gave Al a quick smile before heading over to her new Housemates. He watched her go, feeling that annoying tight knot settle deeper in his stomach.

A few more names passed – Hawkins, Jones, Fairbairn, Fenwick… – before the next familiar one arrived:

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

The Sorting Hat took a little longer with him than it had with Rose, but not by much, as it soon echoed:

“SLYTHERIN!”

Scorpius looked visibly relieved as Professor Callaghan lifted the hat from his head. Al turned to peek at the Slytherin table, where Scorpius was now being welcomed with nods, handshakes, and a few friendly pats on the back.

“Nott, Benvolio!” called the Professor.

It was the Spit-Flare Gum boy. He marched up to the stool, and just a few moments later, he was grinning ear to ear as he joined the other Slytherin pals.

Then–

“Potter, Albus!”

The murmur that usually drifted through the Great Hall fell into sudden stillness. Al blinked once. It was finally his turn.

“Go on,” Riley whispered beside him. “Good luck...”

“Thanks,” muttered Al, barely hearing his own voice.

He stepped forward and climbed the steps, legs like stone. As he turned to look at the four long tables, it felt like his heart had lodged itself somewhere in his throat. Voices drifted through the silence like smoke:

“Another Potter, is it?”

“Bet you ten Galleons he’s a Gryffindor too.”

Then the ragged Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, far too big, falling past his nose and blocking out the Hall. All he could see was the dark inside of the Hat, and all he could hear now was:

“Hmm... Well, this is promising. Clever, yes… a sharp little mind. A glimmer of caution, a pulse of courage… yet what is this I spy? A hunger, oh yes, a hunger to prove yourself… But where to place you, boy, where to place you?”

Al’s heart was hammering. He didn’t dare speak aloud, but the thoughts tumbled forward anyway.

“Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student...”

It was his father’s voice, emerging in his mind. The words he shared quietly with Al, just before Hogwarts Express departure.

"Slytherin, is it?” The Hat asked again. “Is that what you want?"

Al tried to remember what else his Dad had said. Something about him being able to make his own decision. About the Sorting Hat taking one's choice into account. Al squeezed his eyes shut beneath the brim, his fingers curling tightly against the edge of the stool.

I want to be in the House that is right for me. I want to know where I truly belong. 

The Sorting Hat gave a low, thoughtful hum.

“Curious... very curious. I see a good deal of potential, oh yes, plenty of it. Ravenclaw, perhaps? Mmm... no, not quite. Gryffindor has its merits… though something tells me your path lies elsewhere. Yes... yes indeed... better be – SLYTHERIN!”

The word rang out across the Great Hall, and still, it took Al a second before he even registered what had been said. He slid off the stool in a bit of a daze, feeling as though the floor had tilted ever so slightly beneath him.

“Slytherin,” he whispered.

His eyes flew to the Gryffindor table. James had frozen mid-clap, mouth open, brows high. For a heartbeat, it was like staring at a stunned reflection. The Hall had gone very quiet. Whispers buzzed softly like wings in the rafters. 

Then, just ahead, a pale boy stood from the Slytherin table.

Scorpius Malfoy.

He began to clap, deliberate and loud. One or two others followed, and then, with a great scraping of benches, the whole Slytherin table stood to welcome Al. A few students at the other tables began to join in, half-curious, half-impressed.

Al, cheeks hot, made his way toward the table. He’d only just sat down besides Scorpius when a boy a few years older grinned at him.

“A Potter in Slytherin! Bet you didn’t see that one coming!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Higgs,” said a girl with long black braids, jabbing the boy in the ribs. She wore a Slytherin prefect badge and smiled at Al. “Welcome to the best house in Hogwarts. I’m Ebony Hamilton, fifth year prefect. Don’t mind the reputation. You’ll love it here.”

“Thanks,” said Al quietly. “I’m Al. Just Al.”

“All right then, Al-Just-Al. I’m Edward Higgs, but everyone calls me Eddie. Except, Ebony of course, who seems to think my last name is far too charming to waste,” he added in a loud whisper, glancing toward the girl. “I’m the not-a-prefect. Nice to meet you.” 

Eddie stuck out his hand and shook Al’s, then stretched and did the same with Scorpius.

“If anyone from the other houses gives you trouble, let me know. I’ve got some top-tier jinxes up my sleeve. It’s where I keep my wand.” And then he rolled up his robe’s sleeve to show them it was really held there. 

Scorpius grinned and leaned toward Al, eyes bright. 

“Cool thing that we ended up in the same house, isn’t it? Hope Riley makes it too… she was next after you, but she’s still up there. You don’t think the Sorting Hat’s broken, do you?”

Al hadn’t even noticed who came up after him. His own Sorting had rattled him enough to fog up the rest. He tried to collect himself, looking back up at the stool and waiting. 

One minute passed… then another.

“No way! She can’t be one of those, can she?” asked a girl further down the table, leaning forward.

“Oh, absolutely she can,” Ebony said matter-of-factly. “But it’s rare. Really rare. Last one I can think of was… maybe ten years ago?”

“More than that!" said Eddie, eyes wide. "Bet my parents never even saw it happen!” 

Al didn’t need to ask what they meant. James had explained it to him loads of times, always with a smug look: “Listen Al, when it’s your turn, if the Sorting Hat takes more than five minutes to decide which house to place you in, you’ll only be reminded as a hitched Hatstall for the rest of the year.” 

“That’s it. It’s oficial.” Ebony said, mindfully checking her wristwatch. “She’s been up there for five minutes and two seconds!”

“SLYTHERIN!” the Sorting Hat finally bellowed.

And to Al’s enormous surprise, Slytherin’s table erupted with applause. There was stomping, cheering and even fists drumming the table.

“She’s ours!” Eddie crowed, climbing up onto the bench. “A Potter and a Hatstall in the same year! Who would’ve guessed!”

Riley walked down the aisle, high-fiving a few students who leaned out as she passed, and stopped beside Scorpius and Al. They made space for her at once.

“I don’t usually pay much attention to the Sorting,” said a fourth-year on their left, grinning, “but I’ve got to admit your year’s turning out to be brilliant. Hope it keeps up!”

“Congrats, Riley,” said Scorpius, clearly pleased.

“Thanks,” she said, a bit breathless. “But honestly, I thought you lot were going to pelt me with Dungbombs or something.”

Al understood the feeling. James always made it seem like being a Hatstall was something embarrassing. And being in Slytherin… well, that was supposed to be worse. He tried not to let his thoughts run off in that direction.

“How long was I up there?” Riley asked.

“Five minutes and seven seconds,” said Scorpius. “What happened?”

“Stupid hat couldn’t decide between Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Riley muttered, then pointed. “Oi – look! Isn’t that Milly?”

Scorpius and Al turned to follow her gaze. Milly was the last one left, standing stiffly near the stool. She looked so tense she might as well have been petrified. It was another long minute before the Hat cried out:

“SLYTHERIN!”

The three of them jumped up, clapping wildly with the rest of the table as Milly, trembling, made her way toward them.

“Did the Hat talk about putting you lot in Hufflepuff too?” she asked as she sat down.

“At first,” Scorpius admitted, looking faintly embarrassed.

“I wouldn’t’ve minded Hufflepuff,” said Riley. “I actually like them more than Gryffindor.”

“Good evening,” said a very clear and composed voice, and every head in the Great Hall turned.

There, rising from a golden chair at the centre of the staff table, stood a woman whose presence seemed to silence even the whispering chinwags. Her hair, streaked with silver, fell in short, immaculate waves, catching the candlelight with a cold, almost espectral gleam. Her eyes, a piercing shade of grey, swept slowly across every table, as if she might read the thoughts hidden behind each startled face. Her robes were dark bluish-green, sharply tailored, with subtle embroidery glinting at the cuffs. She had an elegant aura, certainly, but her arched eyebrows betrayed that she had no patience for frills, nor for foolishness.

Her name was Aquila Salazar and no one in the Hall needed telling. She was the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and by the looks of her, not one to cross.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER SIX — 

Cavernous Corridors

“Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” said Professor Salazar. “Tonight, you sit where great wizards and sorcerers have sat before you. Some of you are returning. Others are here for the first time. To all of you, I say this: Hogwarts will test you. It will shape you. But it will not coddle you.”

Al had half-expected the Headmistress to appear in a swirl of purple smoke, murmuring incantations with twinkling eyes. Instead, Professor Salazar looked as though she might be preparing a lecture on dragon hygiene rather than welcoming new students. Her presence was sort of exacting, and slightly intimidating.

“Magic,” she continued, “is a gift. But it is no gentle one. It sharpens the mind. Stretches the soul. Tempts the heart. Here, you will learn not only spells and incantations, but the measure of yourself: your strength, your limits, and, if you are wise, your flaws. Waste not what this castle has to offer. Knowledge runs deeper than you imagine, but it reveals itself to neither the idle nor the lazybones.”

From the Gryffindor table, Al saw James roll his eyes and mime falling asleep, earning a stifled snort from the first-years beside him. Salazar’s gaze swept across the Hall and, for one dreadful second, it seemed to settle directly on Al. His breath immediately caught and a shiver traced his spine. The tension only broke when Professor Salazar finally blinked and inclined herself towards her meticulously gilded chair.

Then, Al noticed another witch rise from the staff table and shuffle towards a forgotten lectern in the corner.

“Good evening, everyone! I am Professor Orabella Twigg,” she announced, in a voice that squeaked alarmingly. “I lead the Frog Choir. And now, to celebrate the beginning of a brand new year, the Hogwarts school band will perform – yes, yes – the school song!”

A flood of applause swept the Hall. Al watched Eddie and Ebony rise from their seats and make their way to the front with the other students. Where the Sorting Hat’s stool had stood moments before, dozens of smaller perches now lined the stage, each bearing a frog of varying size and disposition. The creatures croaked and twitched, looking every bit as grumpy or eager as their young conductors.

Professor Salazar raised her wand, and with a slow, deliberate flick, a golden scroll unfurled in midair. The letters arranged themselves as though scrawled by an invisible quill, glowing like embers. At once, chairs scraped and a jumble of adolescent voices erupted. Each House sang in its own tempo, yet somehow, all the voices stitched together under Professor Twigg’s conducting.

A bewitched trumpet appeared from thin air and a floating lute quivered, blaring notes across the Hall. Some students clapped along; others, eager to impress, dragged out their notes until they ended in pitiful croaks. All around the Hall, students bobbed their heads, drummed their heels, or both. The chorus carried on, more or less as follows:

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot

When the very last note was dragged out—by a particularly stubborn group of Ravenclaws who seemed determined to finish at least three beats behind everyone else—Headmistress Salazar clapped her hands once. Instantly, the floating instruments collapsed into silence, vanishing into the air like popped soap bubbles. The makeshift orchestra shuffled back to their seats, Ebony and Eddie among them, red-cheeked but grinning as the Hall erupted into scattered applause.

It might have gone on a moment longer, had not Professor Salazar raised her chin and spoken in her very precise, proper voice:

“Now, let the feast begin.”

A magnificent supper had filled the silver platters, and every goblet glittered with some kind of drink or other. Al helped himself to a generous serving of mashed potatoes and a thick-cut slice of roast beef, with a dab of horseradish on the side. He added a helping of roasted parsnips and a couple of golden Yorkshire puddings for good measure. By the time he had finished, he was quite certain he couldn’t fit in another bite—so naturally, at that very moment, the tables groaned under the weight of treacle tarts, spotted dick, and steaming bowls of sticky toffee pudding.

“Oh, blast,” groaned Scorpius, with the most pitiful look on his face. “I shouldn’t have had seconds of the potatoes.”

“Come on, Scorp, you can’t insult this lot!” Riley flashed a sly grin and sliced a generous wedge of sachertorte. The rich chocolate scent drifted immediately towards Al’s nose. Without a second thought, he cut himself a slice as well.

Scorpius, however, looked as if he were facing the gravest decision of his life.

“And what if I end up sick after?” he muttered in a concerned voice.

Riley huffed, rolling her eyes.
“Honestly, you worry too much. If you’re sick, I’ll help you. I might laugh a bit first, but then I promise I’ll help you.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have a piece too,” said Milly, already reaching for the server Al was passing her.

Scorpius let out a miserable sigh.

“All right, but if I end up ill tomorrow and you three leave me behind, I’m asking Eddie about those hexes.”

Al tried not to laugh as Scorpius grudgingly carved off the tiniest sliver of cake. But just as he was about to take his first bite, something very odd happened. A sudden cold shiver ran down his body, and Milly froze with her fork halfway to her mouth, as though she’d quite forgotten what she was doing.

All around them, dozens of ghosts had begun gliding through the walls.

“Oh, brilliant,” said Eddie. “Why is it always in the middle of pudding?”

A particularly dreary-looking ghost drifted over their desserts, weighed down by chains that rattled faintly though they were half-transparent.

“What’s he doing with all those chains?” Al whispered to Scorpius, though not nearly quietly enough.

The ghost stopped, held up a length of chain for them to see, and spoke in a hollow voice.

“These are the shackles of guilt, my boy. Be sure you don’t earn a set yourself. Eternity is a long time to drag them about.”

And with that, he swept away, the chains clanking softly as he went.

“Wow,” said Ebony, sounding genuinely impressed. “He doesn’t usually say much. Especially not to first-years.”

“Who is that?” Milly whispered, pale as parchment.

“The Bloody Baron,” said Eddie through a mouthful of muffin.

“The Slytherin ghost,” Ebony added. “Bloody isn’t really his name, of course, but the chains are supposed to be a penance for… well, for his crime.”

“C–c–crime?” Milly stammered.

“You didn’t think by ‘bloody’ it meant his own blood, did you?”

“Brilliant,” said Riley, suddenly tossing down her silver spoon with half the cake still untouched. “So we’ve got a murderous ghost. Why am I not surprised?”

“But they can’t attack us, can they?” said Milly nervously. “I mean… we’re students!”

“Attack us?” said Scorpius, honestly baffled. “Why would they do that?”

Milly gave him a look of disbelief that was almost a mirror of his own.

“You’ve not seen many Muggle films about ghosts, have you, Scorp?”

“Well, anyway,” said Eddie, polishing off the rest of his muffin in a single bite, “having the Bloody Baron as our ghost does have its perks. At least Peeves doesn’t torment us half as much as he does everyone else.”

Al had already heard plenty about Peeves. Not only from James, who had spent most of the summer plotting with Freddie how to get back at the poltergeist for some prank or other, but also from his father, who, every so often, would solemnly remind him never to get tangled up with the trickster spirit.

Once the puddings had been cleared away as thoroughly as supper before them, the plates and cutlery vanished altogether. In their place appeared neat rolls of parchment and quills already dipped in ink.

Al blinked at them, baffled, until Ebony leaned across the table and whispered:

“It’s for thank-you notes to the kitchen staff.”

Before Al had managed more than the first word, however, Salazar’s voice rose again.

“Now, I must make a few announcements. As you know, our school year traditionally begins on the first of September. This year, however, the first fell on a Friday. Therefore – much to your own delight as mine – classes will not begin until the fourth.

“Students in third year and above, provided they have the proper permission, may visit the village of Hogsmeade. The rest of you may enjoy the castle grounds. And I remind you, as always, that the Forbidden Forest is–”

“Strictly forbidden!” chorused the students in weary unison.

Professor Salazar ignored them entirely.

“–and therefore, you may instead take the opportunity to explore the New Garden of the west wing, planned with great care under the supervision of Professor Neville Longbottom.”

She gestured lightly, and Neville rose behind the High Table, removing his pointed hat and giving a sheepish little bow. In the process, he nearly knocked over his goblet, only to be saved at the last second by Professor Callaghan’s quick reflexes. Al clapped along with the rest of the school, relieved, as Neville straightened with a nervous grin.

“And lastly,” said Professor Salazar, “as is custom, I ask the House prefects to escort the first-years to their common rooms. Think deeply and rest. You are dismissed. True work begins soon.”

Al turned back to the parchment in front of him, dipped his quill once more, and scrawled: Thank you for the feast. The chocolate cake was truly delicious!

No sooner had he placed the quill back in its stand than both parchment and pen vanished in a flash, whisked away as if the table itself had snatched them up.

“Finished there?” Ebony asked, stopping just behind him. “Good. Come along—time you lot saw the fanciest common room in the castle.”

Al, Milly, Scorpius and Riley scrambled to their feet and hurried after her towards the doors, where the other Slytherin first-years were already bunching together. The Ravenclaws were filing up the staircase, and just then Al caught sight of Rose hurrying along with the Gryffindor crowd.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?” he called.

And Rose gave a brisk nod before vanishing into the throng, her bright red hair bobbing like a signal light as she disappeared up the steps.

The first-year Slytherins trailed after Ebony, side by side with the Hufflepuffs, until the two groups split at a narrow corridor. The Hufflepuff students disappeared down their own passageway, but Al’s lot pressed on, deeper and deeper underground. The air grew cooler. Their footsteps echoed off damp stone. Some staircases were so narrow Al had to turn sideways, and one corner seemed to end at a solid plaster pillar until Ebony halted.

“Always use this one – the one with the crack down the side,” she instructed, tapping it pompously. “Try the other pillar and you’ll end up cracking your own skull instead.”

At last, after what felt like miles of stone steps, Ebony flung out her arms.

“Ta-da!” she declared, with the flourish of a Muggle stage magician.

But Al’s jaw still nearly dropped. It was like walking into a shadowy twin of the Entrance Hall – smaller, darker, carved of greyish stone arches instead of soaring windows, but no less magnificent.

“This is the entrance,” Ebony said briskly, leading them to what appeared to be nothing more than a blank stretch of wall. “It’s enchanted so only Slytherin fellows can see it. Place your hand here –yes, right in the centre – and next time you’ll notice the serpents guarding it. It only opens if you know the password. So pay attention. Videre pri.”

As soon as she spoke the words, the wall shimmered, then melted into a doorway that slid aside with a low hiss. One by one, the first-years pressed their palms to the stone as they went through. When Al touched it, a cold tingle rushed through his fingers. A green spark glimmered faintly beneath his skin. He snatched his hand back, wide-eyed, before hurrying after Scorpius, Milly and Riley.

The Slytherin common room brimmed with so many details that Al found it impossible to take them all in at once. Columns carved with serpentine friezes coiled up against the walls, richly woven carpets softened the floors, and dark leather chairs with high backs stood gathered round a broad stone hearth, its mantel carved with bold, curling letters: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. But it was the unique viridescent strain glass that truly caught his eye.

Tall panes stretched almost to the ceiling, and beyond them the black waters of the lake shifted and swayed. Al, Scorpius, Riley and Milly pressed their noses to the nearest glass, watching the water ripple almost like a living thing.

Ebony stopped by the fire, where the last tongues of flame were licking the charred logs.

“As you can see, our common room looks directly into the Black Lake. So don’t be startled if you wake up to find the Giant Squid – or any other creature, really – waving its tentacles at you first thing in the morning.”

The little knot of first-years clustered round her, hanging on every word.

“I expect you’ve already heard a nasty comment or two about our House,” Ebony went on, “but don’t let that decide who you are, or what you can become. Remember our emblem: the serpent. Strong. Clever. Misunderstood more often than not. Salazar Slytherin himself,” the tidy prefect glanced swiftly at the portrait above the fireplace, “sought greatness in his students. If you were sorted here, it means you’ve got that potential in you. The trick is deciding what your greatness will be. Oh, and speaking of greatness,” she gestured casually to a glittering shelf of trophies. “We’ve won the House Championship two years in a row. So no pressure.”

Riley let out a theatrical huff, folding her arms. 

“No pressure at all.”

A ripple of laughter went through the group. Ebony, however, merely pointing to two arched tunnels cut into the stone walls. 

“Boys’ dormitory – this side. Girls’ – that side. I’ll be heading off now. Girls, with me if you please.”

“Shall we?” Milly asked Riley.

“Right behind you,” said Riley, already sauntering off as she shot Scorpius a wicked look over her shoulder. “Find yourself a bucket for beside your bed, Scorp. You don’t want to redecorate with that sachertorte tonight. Al, make sure the other boys don’t torment him too much, won’t you? Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” Echoed Milly.

“As if I’m going to need a bucket,” Scorpius muttered, though his doubtful frown gave him away.

The boys followed the tunnel until it opened into the dormitory. The room was broad and chappy, with clear-paned windows set deep into the stone. Beyond the glass, the lake pressed close, its waters swaying against the walls. Faint currents rippled across the panes, so that green light shimmered through the room like they were sitting at the bottom of a giant fishbowl. Lanterns hung between the beds, their glow bending and wavering with the water’s shadows.

Five four-posters stood draped with emerald hangings, the sheets as silver as the hallway armours. Two beds were already occupied, though Al recognised at least one of the faces.

Ben Nott sat up abruptly, hopping from his bed.

“Quite a feast, wasn’t it? Thank Merlin there’s no class tomorrow – I’m sleeping till noon.”

Al nodded, though his eyes kept drifting toward the boy in the far bed, balancing his own wand on the tip of his finger.

“That’s Blake Blackwell,” muttered Ben. “Not much of a talker. Oh – Nearly forgot. Look, our trunks are already here.”

Ben bent over to  his own trunk and began a hopeless tangle with the heap of robes inside. Al and Scorpius found theirs waiting too. An elegant barn owl was perched proudly on Scorpius’s trunk, while Al’s cage held a beautiful grey owl with watchful, silver-ringed eyes.

“Hey, Winnie,” Al whispered, opening the cage. “Locked up all this time, huh? Sorry I don’t know where you’re meant to stretch your wings...”

He glanced at the tall windows with some doubt – they showed nothing but the murky drift of lake-water – but Winnie seemed unbothered. She gave a sharp hoot, then swooped out of the cage and off with Scorpius’s owl straight through the dormitory door.

At that exact moment, another boy bounded in. 

“Hullo!” he said cheerfully, flopping onto the only empty bed. “I’m Gavin. Look what I brought!”

Gavin had straw-coloured curls, round black eyes and ruddy cheeks, and was easily the shortest of them. Al recognised him at once – the boy who had gone sprawling against Hagrid’s leg at the station.

Ben, Scorpius and Al crowded round as Gavin unwrapped a fistful of little fuzzy paper packets.

“Tarantallegra Snaps! Better than Dungbombs – smaller, easier to smuggle!”

“Wait – weren’t those the things that went off in the train?” said Scorpius, narrowing his eyes.

“Exactly!” said Ben, before Gavin could reply. “I stepped on one in the corridor, that’s when I had to duck into your compartment!”

Gavin tried and failed to hide his grin, which only made his cheeks glow redder.

“Well, that wasn’t meant to happen. The girl in my compartment dropped some – bit clumsy, she was. What was her name again? Willy? Lilly?”

“Milly,” corrected Al, tugging on his pajamas. “She got sorted into Slytherin, too.”

“As long as she doesn’t leave any more lying about,” said Ben, shoving another robe back into his trunk. “Funny in hindsight, I suppose. But best if we keep them–”

“–on a professor’s chair?” suggested Gavin with an eager grin.

“I was going to say in a safe place, but well, I guess that works too, depending on the professor...”

“You know,” Gavin said quite proudly, while stuffing his contraband under the mattress, which promptly gave a squeak as though protesting the weight. “That’s why Slytherin gets such a bad name.”

“Or,” Ben said, “because our House produced more than a fair share of Death Eaters.”

“Or,” Scorpius continued, “because our founder left a basilisk as a going-away present.”

“Or,” Al added, before he could even think about stopping himself, “because of the last dark wizard that tormented our country.”

In an instant, complete silence took over the room. Blake gave up trying to balance his wand, Ben sat straight amid a heap of robes, Gavin froze with a Snap in each hand, Scorpius perched on his trunk, and a half-hidden Al stood very still behind the silver canopy of his own bed.

Neither of the boys were sure whether it was the ridiculous picture they made or the outrageous things they’d just said, but suddenly all five burst out laughing. Al laughed until his stomach ached from both the feast and the silliness, then collapsed back onto his bed. The mattress sank beneath him, soft and heavy with velvet sheets, the green curtains swaying faintly like seaweed above. The muffled sounds of the lake pressed through the glass. 

He heard a low hush then a distant creak, something tapping faintly like a fish tail. As his eyes drooped, Al thought of Rose, somewhere in Gryffindor Tower. He thought of Ebony’s words, too – the trick is deciding what your greatness will be.

It was the last thing in his mind as sleep claimed him, and the lake-light rippled gently across the walls.

Chapter Text

— CHAPTER SEVEN — 

The Treasured Thorn

Al was woken by a distinguished sound, something between a low purr and the scrape of claws on stone. At first he thought it was just Ben rummaging through his trunk again, but the noise was too steady, too deliberate. He sat up, pushing aside the emerald hangings.

A most peculiar cat stood at the foot of his bed, its tail swishing lazily. Its eyes glowed an unsettling shade of yellow, brighter even than the lantern-light shimmering green across the walls. With the exception of a white diamond on its chest, its fur was black from muzzle to ear-tip. Yet there was something wrong about it too. Its frame stretched a fraction too long, its limbs a fraction too lean, as if it had been tugged to all directions at once.

On second thought, Al found it looked more like a lynx than any ordinary cat, but before he had time to feel alarmed, the creature sprang forward with hypnotic grace and landed squarely in his lap.

“Er – hullo,” said Al uncertainly.

The cat blinked at him. Al raised a cautious hand, daring to stroke its head. He could have sworn he felt fur beneath his fingertips when, in the very next heartbeat, his hand fell flat and the cat was gone. No leap, no scamper, no puff of smoke. Simply vanished.

“What’s going on?” came Blake Blackwood’s voice from the far corner.

Al froze, still blinking foolishly at thin-air. 

“Did you see that?” he whispered, kinda embarrassed. Of all the times Blake might finally decide to speak, it had to be now.

Scorpius stirred in the bed beside him, hair sticking out at impossible angles. “See what?”

“The cat. It was right here.”

“Oh – You mean Sneakpaw," Scorpius wriggled free of his blankets with a groan. "Don’t bother. He never stays. Riley found him on Bodmin Moor over the summer. I told her she oughtn’t bring him, but she never listens.”

Al thought back to some of the odd things that had already happened around Riley. Her robes on the train had looked as though she’d slept in them, and Rose had sworn something yanked her hair during the boat crossing. Perhaps some of it could be explained if she was dragging along a vanishing cat.

“How does it work?” Al asked. “Can he go invisible? Or Apparate and Disapparate whenever he likes?”

Scorpius gave it a thought for a second.

“Neither, exactly. He sort of blends into whatever’s about,” he said, stretching and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Walks through walls, turns up where he shouldn’t… never still for long. Anyway, Al, are you hungry?”

Al frowned but decided to swing out of bed all the same. He dressed in a hurry, and a few minutes later followed Scorpius out through the hidden door of the common room. They passed along a pair of narrow passages and tackled the stone staircase. The climb – and the delicious waft of frying eggs that grew stronger with every landing – soon sharpened Al’s appetite. By the time they reached the Entrance Hall, his stomach gave a loud grumble.

The Great Hall looked quite different from the night before. Gone were the overflowing benches and echoing chatter; this morning, the long tables sat only half-full, the hum of conversation pleasantly subdued.

Milly and Riley were already there, squeezed in among a cluster of other first-year girls at the Slytherin table. Riley waved them over at once.

“Spot anything in the lake this morning?” she asked as soon as the boys sat down.

“Nothing,” said Scorpius, loftily sprinkling cereal into a bowl. “But Al met Sneakpaw. I told you you’d never keep him under control. Now he’ll be wandering the castle at will.”

“He isn’t ‘wandering’,’” Riley said in a fiercely superior tone. “He’s exploring. Sneakpaw’s just curious – you wouldn’t understand.”

She lifted her cup of milky tea and sipped it with her pinky raised, as if defending Sneakpaw’s honour were a matter of great principle.

At that very moment, the morning post arrived. A hundred owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall, swooping between the tables and wheeling over the students’ heads. Milly squeaked when a confused-looking burrowing owl landed right on top of her hair with a letter clamped in its beak, while Scorpius eagerly tugged open a large package his own owl, Ptolomy, had dropped onto his lap.

Winnie fluttered down neatly between the goblets and golden bowls and deposited a letter from home onto Al’s plate. Al tore it open at once.

Dear Al, (it read, in the looping handwriting he knew belonged to his mum)

Jimmy wrote to us yesterday about your Sorting. He made sure to use very large capital letters, in case we missed it. But don’t let him get under your skin, he’s only jealous you’ve already done something worth writing home about.

People will always have opinions, but remember what your dad says: the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. That holds true inside every house, too. (Your dad is nodding very seriously as I write this – you know he’s no good at letters, but he insisted I put it in so you knew it comes from both of us.)

Now, tell us everything. Who are your dorm mates? How was your first ride on the Express? Have you tried to sneak into the kitchens yet? (Don’t try to deny it, I know you’ve thought about it.) And don’t forget to give our love to Neville when you see him as well; I expect he’s already itching to tell you more about plants than you ever wanted to know.

You’ve got this, Al. You’re cleverer than you think and braver than you admit. Just be yourself and… please don’t hex James until at least Christmas.

Loads of love,
Mum and Dad

Al never thought he would feel grateful for James being James, but it was a relief that his brother had already spread the news for him. He rummaged in his bag for parchment and a quill and scribbled back as quickly as he could, cramming in every detail he remembered before tying the letter to Winnie’s leg and sending her off again.

Riley didn’t receive anything, though she hardly looked bothered. She tossed aside her half-eaten slice of marmalade toast and regarded the others with a determined gleam in her hazel eyes.

“Anyway,” she went on more brightly once the last of the owls had gone, “Milly got a proper look through the windows earlier.”

“I think I saw a mermaid,” Milly whispered, almost to herself. “But it was… well… not quite what I expected...”

Scorpius poured milk over his cereal with deliberate calm.

“Merpeople,” he corrected. “They’re not very sociable, but I quite like them.”

“Of course you do,” said Riley. “Only a complete duffer wouldn’t.”

“Riley’s obsessed with merpeople,” Scorpius muttered to Al, just loud enough.

“They’re fascinating beings,” Riley pressed on. “A whole society right under our noses and we still know next to nothing about them.”

“Well, technically they’re classified as beasts,” Scorpius said primly.

Riley rolled her eyes. Al had never thought much about it before, and breakfast hardly seemed the time to start. Still, as he nibbled his toast, the words slipped out almost without him meaning to:

“Maybe that’s the cleverest thing about them. They don’t give a fig about us or our classifying rules.”

Riley’s eyes lit up at once, almost sparkling, and Al felt his neck grow uncomfortably warm. She turned back to Scorpius and nodded with the air of someone whose point had been perfectly proven. 

“You see, Scorp?”

But Scorpius only shook his head, as though well used to her jabs. He stirred his cereal with exaggerated care, as if it were vastly more interesting than the conversation.

“It’s a bit like us, really,” he added after a pause. “With Muggles, I mean. We live right under their noses too.”

Milly had been listening so intently that she didn’t notice the blob of strawberry jam sliding off her sandwich.

“I hadn’t the faintest idea,” she whispered. “Not until a few months ago… not about any of this.”

She gazed round the Great Hall at the rows upon rows of young witches and wizards. For a moment, both Riley and Scorpius seemed unsure how to answer, and Al decided it was the perfect time to take a long sip of pumpkin juice and unfold a stray Daily Prophet left on the table, pretending he’d been engrossed in it all along.

The moving picture at the top of the page, however, really caught his eye. Thick smoke billowed out of the frame, and what had once been a sweep of lush, abundant greenery now looked blighted and barren. In the corner, a second, slimmer image showed a witch pointing her wand at the trunk of a tree with a precise flick, carving into the bark a strange four-pointed symbol. Al couldn’t have said exactly what it was, but he knew at once it must be the international section as the bold headline read…

BRAZILIAN WIZARDS BAN “BRUCUTUS” TO PROTECT AMAZON FOREST

And the article beneath ran something along this lines:

On Friday evening, members of Brazil’s wizarding barricade gathered once again along the Amazon River to hinder the spread of wildfires, now reported to be the worst since 1999. A significant part of Brazil’s wizarding community supports the introduction of a new law that would allow the Wizardry Republic of Brazil to interfere directly with decisions taken by brucutus – non-magical citizens in Brazil – regarding forest management. The barricade has pledged to continue nightly patrols until the law passes, warning that brucutus who obstruct their efforts may face “minor but inconvenient” magical consequences.

Al’s brow furrowed as he read. 

“It’s really odd, isn’t it?” he suddenly said, setting the paper aside. “When you stop to think about it... odd how we share the world with Muggles.”

He wasn’t even sure if “share” was exactly the right word, but it would have to do.

“Yeah,” Riley said with a wry smile. “But at least we stop to think about it. Most people don’t. Or they just don’t care.”

“What do you mean?” asked Milly, looking genuinely curious.

“I dunno, it’s just... sometimes grown-ups just accept things as they are, don’t they? Don’t think about them much.”

Milly nodded cautiously. Al couldn’t tell whether she meant it or was just trying to be polite, but he understood at least part of what Riley was getting at.

“Think she’s talking about the secrecy of the wizarding world, Milly.”

“You mean the... what’s it called again? The Statute of Secrecy?”

“That’s right,” said Scorpius. “There’s a reason things are the way they are, you know. We won’t be covering it for ages in History of Magic, but the short version is that our world has gone to war over secrecy before. That’s why we have rules.” His tone grew more formal as he turned to Riley. “Rules that are meant to be followed.”

Though her remarkable round eyes went wide, Milly seemed to take this in rather quietly. Riley, on the other hand, leaned back, clearly unimpressed.

“Well, some rules are made to be broken,” she said briskly, right before wagging a finger at Scorpius. “You’re surely not swallowing a bucketful of slugs just because someone says so, are you, Scorp?”

“Honestly, Riley!” Scorpius screwed up his nose, very nearly sticking his tongue out. “Slugs at breakfast?”

Al snatched one of the bouncing cheese puffs tumbling out of the bronze dish to keep himself from laughing, wondering how the two of them could possibly be friends when they seemed complete opposites. Milly, meanwhile, stared off at some point above the other tables, her eyes still very much wide and round.

“So much to learn… and plenty I ought to know already.”

“Don’t worry,” said Riley. “You’ll get the hang of it in time.”

Scorpius tried to recollect himself, giving off an awkward little shake before straightening out his robes.

“Speaking of, Milly… you’re the first Muggle-born I’ve met properly. Perhaps you can explain this ‘spinner’ thing they have?”

“I’ve seen them around,” said Al. “It’s meant to be… a toy? I think.”

“Sure is,” said Milly. “I’ve got one at home. But really, it just… spins. That’s pretty much it.”

Riley tilted her head, intrigued, and soon the four of them were drawn into the subject. There was no hurry with breakfast. Nothing pressing waited for them that day, as the promise of a free weekend stretched ahead. By the time they rose, invigorated by pumpkin juice and questionable Muggle habits, they had already decided to spend the rest of their morning exploring the castle and grounds.

Passing the Gryffindor table, however, Al froze as he spotted Rose across the way. He’d been meaning to speak to her since the Sorting.

“Rosie!” he called.

But she didn’t notice him at all, deep in conversation with a friend as she was. Only when the friend nudged her in the ribs did she finally look up.

“Oh! Hi, Al. All right?”

“All good,” said Al, though he felt his cousin sounded oddly distant. “We’re off to have a look around the castle. Want to come?”

Rose hesitated, forcing a smile. 

“I’m afraid not, Al… promised Amy we’d return to the Gryffindor Tower together.”

And before Al could even answer, a heavy arm swung around his shoulders. 

“Well, well – look who’s crept out of the dungeons early!”

He didn’t need to look up. Al would have known that voice anywhere.

“Shoo, Jim!”

James grinned, hair tousled, eyes sparkling. Freddie and two other boys followed behind him. One with drooping eyelids, the other sporting dimples and a crooked nose.

“Al!” greeted Freddie, seating himself. “Rose.”

“Hi, Fred,” Rose said politely.

“More cousins, Freddie?” the droopy-eyed boy asked.

“Honestly, Finn,” said Freddie, feigning outrage, “Every year it’s at least one cousin! Thought you’d be used to it by now, tsk tsk.”

James leaned over with a mischievous grin. 

“And this year, a Potter too. Finn, Dave, this is Al… and I think these are his friends.”

James gave Scorpius a strange look, but he didn’t seem to notice, as he stepped forward first. 

“I'm Scorpius. Pleased to meet you.”

“Milly.”

“Riley.”

“James Potter. Dave’s in my year. Finn and Freddie are together in forth.”

They all exchanged nods of recognition.

“Quite the Sorting yesterday, eh, little Potter?” said Finn before turning to Riley, only to point his messy sandwich at her. “And you’re the hatstall, aren’t you?” 

“Riley,” she corrected, frowning. “We were just heading off, weren’t we, Al?”

“Going to take a wander,” Al confirmed.

“Start at the New Garden,” Freddie suggested. “Even the older lot will want a look. Might get crowded soon.”

“Sounds good,” said Scorpius. “Do you know how to get there?”

“Opposite side of the Forbidden Forest,” Dave said. “West wing’s the quickest way.”

“Right then, let’s go,” Riley said, already tugging the others along.

“See you,” said Al.

“Mind the poisonous bushes!” James shouted after them, laughter trailing behind.

“Do you really have that many cousins?” Milly asked once they began to climb up the staircase.

“Nine,” Al admitted with a sigh. “And that’s not counting Jimmy and Lilly, my siblings."

Scorpius seemed faintly surprised.

“They all come to Hogwarts?” 

“Yeah, but none of them’s in Slytherin. I’m the first in the family.” Al’s shoulders slumped. “Victoire and Lucy are in Ravenclaw, but everyone else ended up in Gryffindor. There’s Louis and Roxy still to come next year, and then my sister, and another cousin – Rose’s little brother, Hugo.”

“Blimey, big family,” whistled Riley. “I’ve only got one sister and that’s bad enough.”

Milly drew in a shocked breath, almost as if Riley had let slip a bad word.

“Well, I’m an only child, but I’ve always wished for a brother or sister…”

“Same,” said Scorpius. “I haven’t any siblings, though I’ve got two cousins on my mum’s side. They’re wizards too, but they didn’t come to Hogwarts. Aunt Daphne’s husband went to Durmstrang, so they study there as well.”

“Still, you’ve got a dog,” Riley pointed out as they turned down a side corridor leading towards the grounds. “That’s better than a sibling, Scorp. Believe me.”

Al gave a short nod, remembering the one and only time he and James had tried to prove they were responsible enough for a dog by vowing not to fight. That had lasted less than a week, but at least James had ended up with Lightwing and Al with Winnie, so their planning didn’t happen to be total failure.

The four of them set off towards the New Garden, their breath puffing in little white clouds. Al felt a rush of crisp, golden air, the sort that seemed to nip noses just to remind them summer had gone. The grass of the lawns glittered faintly, as though the dew had not quite made up its mind whether to stay liquid or turn to frost. Beyond, the trees edging the grounds were already shedding their first russet and gold leaves, which scurried about the flagstones like gossiping fairies before catching in Riley’s boots.

Milly tilted her head back at the sky, which was the clean, bright blue of freshly scrubbed glass, while Scorpius complained that the wind kept tugging his robes sideways. Even so, Al felt good being outside. The towers of the castle looked sharper in the light, every window flashing and winking, and somewhere in the distance the lake rippled like a sheet of foil.

By the time they had reached the slope leading down towards the new hedgerows, Al realised the place was already bustling, especially with fellow first- and second-year students. Near the path, a pair of Hufflepuff girls crouched earnestly around a bed of tulips that were singing, rather off-key, in three-part harmony. Someone had tried to quiet them with a Silencing Charm, but the flowers only grew louder in protest, their petals flapping like gaping mouths.

Closer to the centre, a group of Ravenclaws were gasping at a quill-plant that had sprouted straight out of the soil, its feather-looking flower scribbling furiously in the dirt as though taking notes on whoever walked past. Scorpius slowed down to stare, half-fascinated and half-appalled, as the quill scrawled too quickly beside his shoes. Meanwhile, Riley’s eyes had gone wide at a patch of vines that slithered along the ground like lazy snakes, curling themselves affectionately around the ankles of anyone who stood still for too long. One unfortunate boy was already hopping about, trying to untangle himself while his friends howled with laughter.

The hedgerows themselves rose in odd, twisting shapes. Some clipped into spirals, others grown into arches that shifted when no one was looking. Al could have sworn one had just bent itself into a bow, ushering a group of squealing second-years through with a flourish. Beyond, glimpses of hidden alcoves and pale, pompous flowers winked in the light, making the whole garden seem like it had decided, in its own erratic way, to be part maze and part menagerie.

“D’you reckon one of those is the poisonous bush your brother went on about, Al?” Milly asked nervously, eyeing a knotted clump of roots that cradled a single, pinkish bloom which, though pretty enough, gave off a sour, stomach-turning stench.

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Scorpius after a pause. “But then again, I’ve never heard of shrubs like that before, either.”

“That’s the trouble with James,” said Al. “You can never quite tell whether you’re meant to take him seriously.”

Just behind them, a knot of Gryffindor kids had stopped to dare each other to prod the puffball shrubs, which let out an indignant hiss and showered whoever touched them with a sneezy yellow dust. A particularly large bubble had just exploded in the smaller boy's face, leaving him sneezing uncontrollably while the two girls tried to wipe dust from their hair.

“Careful, you’ll set the whole lot off,” the biggest boy among them barked, though he was grinning as well. He strode forward with the air of someone who enjoyed having an audience. “Merlin, Ned, seems like you’ve been hexed in the face.”

Al, Scorpius, Milly and Riley were just trying to leave when another puffball shrub hissed, showering a cloud of yellow dust across their robes. Riley doubled over coughing, Milly waved her hands in a panic, and Scorpius was swiping at his eyes.

The big boy from Gryffindor let out a bark of laughter. “Oi, look at that! Not just silly shrubs – looks like they sneeze on Slytherins for good measure.”

Al felt his ears burn. He was brushing pollen off his sleeve when Gryffindor boy’s eyes snagged on his face. The laughter died from his mouth.

“Wait,” the boy said sharply, pointing. “Hang on – don’t tell me. You’re him, aren’t you? The Potter one.”

Al stiffened. 

“Albus Potter.”

A ripple went through the Gryffindor gang. The two girls straightened up, tilting their heads curiously, while the boy Ned stared at him even among the pollen. Al couldn’t help but notice their expressions seemed quite unpleasant. The feeling was mutual.

“And you are?” Al said, briefly.

“Oh, right! Where's my manners, I’m in front of Harry Potter’s son! Name’s Damien Thomas. These are my pals Ned, Linnea and Wendy.” Damian turned to his mates. His voice was rising, half in glee, half in disbelief. “Can you believe our luck? Harry Potter’s son is here – same time, same year. And I get that not everyone is born to be a hero. But Slytherin? You’re joking!” 

Al opened his mouth, but Damien barrelled on, his voice ringing above the babble of other students. 

“Your dad’s the bravest wizard alive! He risked his neck for everyone, fought You-Know-Who, saved the whole ruddy Ministry. And you–” He gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You end up skulking about in Slytherin of all places? Where every dark wizard comes from?”

Several heads were turning now. Older students whispered, first-years craned their necks. Al felt as though every eye in the garden was on him.

“That’s enough, Thomas” Scorpius said sharply. His pale face had gone pink around the cheekbones. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Damien’s gaze snapped to him. “And you’d know, Malfoy?” He spat the name as though it were venom. “Everyone knows your lot. Surprised you’ve even got friends, never mind Potter trailing after you.”

Scorpius went rigid. Milly covered her mouth. Riley muttered something rude under her breath.

Al clenched his fists. His mum had warned him about people judging by houses, but he hadn’t expected it to sting quite this much.

“You don’t get to talk about my friends,” Al said, his voice low and shaking slightly.

Damien sneered. “What, going to hex me for saying it? Just like a Slytherin – snake through and through. Face it, Albus, your dad might’ve been a hero, but you–” He jabbed a finger at Al’s chest. “You’re nothing but a traitor to his name.”

Al didn’t know how his wand had ended up in his hand so quickly, but suddenly it was there, pointing straight at the spot between Damien’s narrowed eyes. He had never cast a jinx in his life, but in that moment he dearly wished he’d already learnt one.

Everyone in the garden seemed to hold its breath. Damien’s own wand twitched upwards, and the knot of Gryffindors behind him looked ready to cheer him on. Riley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “go on, then,” while Milly squeaked, “Al, don’t!”

Al’s heart hammered. He kept his eyes fixed on Damien, whose gaze had gone sharp and dangerous, but then the tension broke with a thud. Quite literally, in fact, as Professor Longbottom came skidding round the bend of the hedgerows, arms full of a sagging sack that burst with a wet-sounding splutch. A smell like rotting cabbage and dung spread instantly through the air, making half the students gag.

“Great galloping Gillyweed–!” Professor Longbottom puffed, trying to wrestle the leaking bag upright. A stream of brown fertiliser dribbled over his boot. “Oh, not again – hold still – no, no, don’t anyone move –”

The crowd shuffled back, hands clamped over noses, the unstarted duel forgotten. Al, still frozen with his wand raised, suddenly realised everyone was staring now not at him, but at their Head of Gryffindor house battling a bag of compost that seemed determined to crawl away.

Neville straightened at last, hat askew and hair sticking up from the effort. He blinked around and took in the scene. The drawn wands, the flushed faces, Damien looking mutinous and Al with a vein of stubbornness even though pale. Professor Longbottom cleared his throat.

“Wands down,” he said firmly, though his voice cracked a little as he tried to brush fertiliser off his robe. “Now. Unless either of you would like a week repotting Bubotubers with me, which I promise… smells worse than this.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter from the watching students. Damien lowered his wand with exaggerated slowness, giving Al a look that promised this wasn’t over. Al’s grip tightened on his own wand, but he reluctantly let it drop. 

His ears were burning, his pulse still hammering, but some part of him was almost grateful for the awful stench. At least it gave everyone something else to talk about.

“Well, show’s over now – yes, yes – let’s keep moving, everyone,” said Professor Longbottom, flapping one hand as though shooing pigeons. 

Reluctant giggles and murmurs ebbed away as the knot of students scattered back into the hedgerows. Professor Longbottom turned then, his expression shifting as his eyes settled on the Gryffindor first-years little group. 

“Mr Thomas,” he said evenly, “the lessons haven’t started yet, but term most certainly has. I would hate to begin the year by docking points from my own house. You and your friends are dismissed.”

Damien scowled, but under the professor’s gaze, he holstered his wand and stalked off, his gang trailing after him with discontent looks.

Professor Longbottom then turned to Al, and Al felt his stomach drop as if it had fallen clean through to the dungeons. Of all people, of course it had to be Professor Longbottom. Neville. His own godfather. The man who still visited for Sunday tea sometimes, and who had carried Al on his shoulders once at the Quidditch World Cup.

“I’m sorry,” Al blurted, cheeks hot.

Neville’s gaze softened, though his brow stayed furrowed. “Mind explaining what I just walked into, Al?”

Al shifted uneasily, staring down at his boots, but explained the whole situation trying not to crack his voice the best as he could. There was a pause when he finished. Then Neville sighed, his shoulders sinking. He set the leaking sack of fertiliser down with a grunt, wiped his hands on his robes, and crouched so that he was nearer Al’s eye level.

“I know how cruel words can feel,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I do. When I was your age, I wanted more than anything to prove people wrong about me, straight away.” His mouth twitched faintly, half a rueful smile. “But raising your wand first at someone during an argument… that’s letting them decide who you are.”

Al swallowed hard, his chest tight. Neville straightened, brushing dirt from his knees. 

“Unless, of course, you're fighting for some kind of remarkably noble reason, such as protecting your friends, for instance," he said with a distinguished smile on his round face. "And I promise you this Al, Slytherin or not, you already make your dad extremely proud.”

Something loosened in Al, though his ears were still burning. He nodded.

“Now," said Professor Longbottom, picking up the sack of fertiliser again and mending it with an elaborate wave of his wand. The spell sprayed a faint puff of sweet–smelling dust into the air. "Who wants to give me an extra hand with this one?” 

The four of them hurried to help, half eager, half nervous about what exactly they were volunteering for. Together they dragged the bag towards a spindly little shrub cowering in one corner of the path. It looked as though the merest breeze might finish it off entirely.

“This,” Neville explained, patting the dry, twig–like stalk with surprising tenderness, “is a Treasured Thorn sapling. Doesn’t look much now, I’ll grant you. But with patience – and a good deal of muck – it will one day be the most spectacular plant in the gardens.”

Al eyed the pitiful thing doubtfully. He couldn’t imagine anyone naming it “Treasured” anything. Neville smiled as though reading his thoughts and explained its fruit were actually somewhat special. Folks believed its magical properties could multiply riches, even point the way to treasures long lost – though Professor Longbottom confessed there was no proof about any of the sort yet. 

“All the more reason to keep a close eye on it,” Neville’s voice carried the same warmth he used when talking about people he admired. 

For a moment, Al thought of his parents speaking about Quidditch, or Hagrid about dragons.

By the time the sun had climbed higher, shrinking the shadows on the lawns, they had toured nearly the entire New Garden. Neville led them down tucked–away paths, describing bulbs that popped like corn when boiled and buds that shivered if you whispered near them. Scorpius asked endless questions about the uses of rotary roots, while Milly fretted over supposed poisonous leaves brushing too close to her sleeve. Riley, meanwhile, took to poking at every plant Neville warned her not to, earning herself three firm “don’ts”.

By the time their legs were heavy and their stomachs growling again, Neville glanced at the sky.

“Look at the time! Best get along, then – lunch will be waiting. Oh, and Al, try to keep out of trouble for the rest of the day, won’t you?”

He gave Al a conspiratorial wink, then shouldered his bag of tools and strode off the other way, still whistling under his breath.

Al’s friends all stared at him as they made their way back into the castle.

“Wait – he’s your godfather?” said Riley once the four of them sat together at the Great Hall again, nearly choking on a laugh. “Blimey, Al, is half your family lurking about here or what? Hogwarts must already feel like a second home!”

Al grinned. In a way, it really did.

Chapter Text

 — CHAPTER EIGHT — 

The Renegade Auror

By Monday morning, the school had shaken off the laziness of the weekend and burst into a total fuzz. Corridors rang with the clatter of shoes and flapping robes, owls wheeled overhead with forgotten notes, students darted back and forth clutching half-written timetables, and someone in the Entrance Hall had already managed to drop an entire armful of cauldrons with a thunderous clang. The Slytherin first-years had hardly finished gulping down toast when Ebony, looking harassed, shooed them out of the Great Hall, reminding everyone not to be late for their very first classes. Riley was still fumbling with her tie and Milly somehow had ink smudges on her fingers already, but Al, just like Scorpius, looked as though he’d been waiting all his life for this moment.

The first lesson came swiftly enough, for this was the first lesson Hogwarts had to teach: you were never early enough. No matter how briskly you set out, it was anyone’s guess how long it would take to reach the right room. Every floor had dozens of corridors and every corridor at least a dozen doors. Some doors were easier to find than others, while a few doors seemed to request a formal introduction before letting you step through. Al, for one, was convinced a shortcut on the third floor was permanently sealed until he discovered the tiny little door only opened if you begged it, very profoundly, for permission.

And then there were also inconveniences, which seemed to happen very often indeed. A small lime tree had sprouted out of the middle of the staircase after someone’s potion flask exploded, and one of the tower ghosts had suddenly decided to “try out new views,” blocking the upper landings for half the morning with his moaning luggage. Worst of all, of course, was Peeves. The poltergeist was a menace in every corridor, swooping about unseen while making loud raspberry noises, dropping chalk-dusters on heads, or flipping students’ cloaks inside out with an annoying shriek.

Al now understood his father’s advice perfectly well and meant to follow it to the letter. Peeves was the bane of every student’s life, but his real enemy, oddly enough, was the caretaker, Jake Bristlethwaite. Jake didn’t look much older than a seventh-year and blundered through the halls with an empty bucket, roaring threats at Peeves, who naturally doubled his efforts whenever Bristlethwaite was in sight. Still, unlike the students, the caretaker was at least allowed to use magic in the corridors, which proved itself to be very useful to jinx the poltergeist back, but sometimes left suits of armour belching foam for hours afterwards.   

And with luck, possibly a map, and the occasional guess at which staircase might move next, there were the lessons themselves, of course.

Charms was with Professor Calliope Merrythought, a sprightly witch whose coppery curls were as untidy as the stack of books teetering on her desk. She spoke at a gallop, waved her wand faster still, and urged the class to think about “how the magic feels, not merely what it does.”

Transfiguration was no less dazzling. Professor Osric Timberlock, a broad-shouldered wizard with a flat ponytail peeking beneath his hat, had a knack for turning everything he touched into something else entirely. All first-years were spellbound when his chair became an armchair, then a chaise longue, and quite casually, back into a chair again. 

Almost nobody showed the same enthusiasm for History of Magic. Al was unsurprised when the incorporeal trail of Professor Binns floated through the blackboard to begin his droning lecture on Onesilus the One-Eyed; he was, however, surprised that nobody yet had thought it a good idea to retire the ghost altogether.

Now, Astrology was taught by the Head of Ravenclaw house, Professor Paideia Wan, and demanded a midnight climb once a week to the castle’s highest tower. Al was far more grateful that Herbology, at least, took place three times a week in the greenhouses, where Neville always greeted them with earthy hands and a beaming smile.

Potion was held in the chambers near the kitchens with Professor Agatha Nettlesprig, Head of Hufflepuff, and they shared the class with Hufflepuff first-years themselves. Professor Nettlesprig was tiny, stooped, and had bony little fingers, but she was unfailingly fair. If anything, she seemed determined never to show the slightest favouritism toward her own house students.

Days went on quickly with the whirl of their first week. Milly had a ceaseless curiosity and spent a lot of time taking furious notes, Riley’s grumbles barely hid how fast she was picking things up, Scorpius couldn’t help but burst out his blunt cleverness at every turn, and Al had taken it all in stride. If anyone had been looking closely, they might have noticed he didn’t stutter reciting incantations quite as often as the rest, or that spells came out of his wand with a little too much ease.

Friday was especially important for them, for it was the first time they would have a lesson with their own Head of House, the mysterious Professor Callaghan. Everyone had been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts. If not for the subject itself, then certainly for the speculation that surrounded its new master.

“Ex-Auror. Resigned under unknown circumstances,” one voice hissed in the corridor.

“Some say he went rogue,” another offered darkly.

“He’s Head of Slytherin too,” a third said, with quite smug finality. “Doesn’t that tell you everything?” 

To his dismay, Al recognized that particular voice at once, by its volume and pomp. Defence Against the Dark Arts was also a shared class; this time with the Gryffindors. Damien was holding court near the door, flanked by Linnea, Wendy, Ned and some other Gryffindor first-years. Al and Scorpius exchanged a glance; Milly and Riley both drew a steadying breath before walking past.

“Look who’s turned up,” Linnea stage-whispered to Damien, not nearly as low as she thought.

Damien arched a thick eyebrow and let out a mirthless laugh.

“Fitting, isn’t it? Learning to defend ourselves from the Dark Arts alongside the offspring of Death Eaters.”

“Oh, pack it in, Damien.”

Rose had appeared right behind them, hands planted on her hips in a way that made her look really bossy.

“Don’t play innocent, Rosie,” Wendy said sweetly, though her eyes gleamed. “I heard you and Amy chattering last night in the common room.”

Rose’s ears flushed so scarlet that it almost outdid her hair, if that was even possible.

“Chattering about what?” said Al, spinning toward his cousin.

“Oh, just what everyone already knows,” Damien sneered. “Malfoy’s and Travers’s parents ought to be rotting in Azkaban. And the poor Muggleborn who somehow ended up in Slytherin – tsk, tsk. Can’t decide whether that makes her gullible or just thick.”

Al felt his insides churn and his chest swell uncomfortably. Before he could fire back, however, another voice drifted lazily above their heads.

“Curious, Mr. Thomas, how quick you are to spot flaws in others. I do hope you’ll be half as vigilant when asked to spot it in yourself.”

Damien’s smirk faltered.

Professor Callaghan was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded as though he had been there all along. Al had noticed before he was a stocky wizard, the sort whose stride seemed to take up more space than it should. His hair, in urgent need of a trim, fell untidily beside his eyes, which were the piercing grey of stormclouds. Nobody had heard him approach, which somehow made it worse.

“Well,” he said at last, pushing himself upright, “we’re not learning anything standing in the corridor, are we? Inside, please. Find a seat. Preferably one that won’t tempt you into hexing your neighbour before I’ve even gotten to the chalk.”

There was a shuffle of feet as the students obeyed at once. Even Damien dropped his gaze and slunk past the professor without another word.

The classroom was a high-ceilinged chamber lined with shelves of curious instruments. Fanged masks, shattered shields, jars that seemed to hum softly when somebody passed by. A faint scent of iron and pine resin clung to the air.

Professor Callaghan followed them in, closed the door with a casual flick of his wand, and perched on the edge of his desk as though he had every intention of remaining there. He surveyed the room with a crooked half-smile that was somehow faintly dangerous.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he began, sounding quite casual. “A subject that, if history is any guide, you’ll either love desperately or wish had never been invented. Some of you may already believe the Dark Arts are a relic, gone with You-Know-Who. That no dark wizard today has the – hmmm – courage to crawl out of their rat-holes and try again.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter went round, but Callaghan’s expression didn’t change.

“Thing is,” he said, “just because you can’t see a thing doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I’ve never once witnessed the annual mating dance of the Himalayan yetis, but given the number of baby yetis that keep turning up, I’d wager it happens all the same.”

That earned a scattering of chuckles, but the professor’s eyes swept the room, and silence settled as neatly as if he had cast a spell.

“So,” he said, softer now, “while you’re here, you’ll learn to defend yourselves. Properly. Not because you’re frightened children, but because a wizard unprepared is a wizard already defeated. Clear?”

There was a cautious silence, but silence was answer enough. Professor Callaghan then shared a lot of complicated notes before finally moving on to something a little more practical. He suggested they worked in pairs. Each pair selected an object Professor Callaghan had generously left scattered about the room - a rocking cracked teacup, a twitching feather duster, even a small, oddly glimmering statuette that seemed to hum under the light - to be purify, clearing any lingering traces of misfortune, bad luck, or any minor jinx it may be suffering from.

Rose paired with her friend Amy from Gryffindor, frowning in concentration. Milly looked nervous while Riley muttered something about hoping nothing exploded before lunch. Damien and Ned exchanged raised eyebrows when the teacup not only wobbled but hopped as well. Linnea and Wendy yelped as the feather duster sneezed a puff of dust over them.

Al and Scorpius shared a glance, then moved quickly, wands aimed at a tarnished little bell that throbbed ominously. With only a few tries, the bell gleamed, polished and bright, as if it had never known misfortune.

Rose’s jaw tightened. 

“They didn’t even take half the time,” she muttered, half to herself.

“Ah,” said Professor Callaghan, walking between the desks until he stopped beside Al. He examined the bell, then Scorpius, then Al. His smile was wide, but Al thought he caught a glimpse of something else behind the professor’s eyes.

“It seems attention to detail makes all the difference, after all,” said Callaghan. “Nicely done. Two points for Slytherin.”

Gavin Hawkins and Ben Nott, sitting just behind them, gave Al and Scorpius approving taps on the shoulder.

“Big surprise,” murmured Damien at the end of class. “Of course he favourites them.”

This time, Al couldn’t bring himself to care. He was still in a good mood as Scorpius, Riley, and Milly joined him across the grounds. He had sent Winnie to Hagrid at lunchtime, asking if the others could come for tea too, and she returned promptly with confirmation. They stopped at a small wooden house where smoke curled lazily from a crooked chimney on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Al banged on the door and it swung open. Hagrid’s enormous frame filled the space, grinning as widely as ever, while what looked like part of his beard bounded forward and covered him in slobbery licks.

“Ah! There yeh are! This here’s Muzzle – he gets fairly happy when people come over. Come on in now! Don’ just stand there in th’ doorway like a bunch o’ statues!”

When Hagrid moved aside, Al saw Rose was already there. Her eyes definitely widened and her lips went totally pale when she exchanged glances with Scorpius, Milly and Riley. The hut felt smaller than ever as they shuffled inside, bumping elbows and shoulders as they tried for places to perch.

“Set yerselves an’ don’ mind th’ mess.” 

Pots and pans clattered as Hagrid bustled to make room. The single room was crowded with crockery and cutlery, a rickety bench, a stool with one leg shorter than the others, and Hagrid’s great iron bed. Rose and Al ended up sharing a seat, while the others squashed together on the bench.

“This is Milly,” Al introduced as Hagrid turned to the stove to ladle out steaming mugs of thick, sweet tea. “Riley and Scorpius you already met on the station.”

“Sure did,” Hagrid said, plopping a mug in front of each of them. “Drink up now, warms yeh proper. Got a few biscuits too. Don’ go thinkin’ yeh can polish ‘em all off, mind, there’s plenty ter go round.”

The biscuits were the size of saucers and nearly as hard; Al and Rose did their best to chew politely, while Milly, Riley and Scorpius tried slipping theirs into pockets or under their robes. Hagrid, mercifully, noticed nothing, rocking back happily in his chair as Muzzle scratched his own ear.

“So,” the giant said, apparently also unaware of the tension bristling all of them, “first week at Hogwarts, eh?”

Rose, in her most polite voice, told Hagrid all about their first lessons and some of the incidents between classes.

“Always a bit of a muddle, first week. Peeves has been havin’ a field day with th’ new caretaker. Poor lad Jake’s a good kid, but he’s only here ter give Peeves a run for his money. Thinks he’s winnin’, but Peeves… well, he’s got tricks yeh wouldn’ believe! That mischievous rascal…”

They couldn’t help but share quiet a laugh, remembering only too well all the whirlwind in the corridors. Then Al’s eyes caught Hagrid’s, and the enormous man blinked his beetle-black eyes as if something had just come back to him.

“That’s right, Al! Neville told me there was a bit of a disagreement at the start o’ the week, eh? Between yeh and Damien Thomas an’ his lot?”

Al could have sworn Rose’s eyes flicked away just then, and his stomach gave a nasty twist. She hadn’t spoken to him properly once all week, but Al would have never expected to hear she’d been muttering about him and his friends behind his back. And worst, loudly enough for Damien and his gang, of all people, to hear it.

Even Hagrid seemed to sense something was off this time. He set aside his own mug and leaned forward. Muzzle barked faintly, then tumbled off Hagrid’s lap and began tugging at Scorpius’s shoelace.

“What’s the matter?” said Hagrid. “Was it really that bad, Al?”

“It’s nothing,” Al muttered.

“Yer know, I knew Damien’s dad,” Hagrid went on. “Good lad, Dean Thomas. He was right good pals with yer mum an’ dad too. I reckon you’ll figure things out soon, Al. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“That’s not it, Hagrid,” said Rose, in a very small voice.

The others glanced at her and her cheeks flushed crimson. She looked as though she dearly wished she hadn’t spoken, but she pressed on, stumbling through an explanation about what had happened earlier in Professor Callaghan’s class.

“Now, now,” said Hagrid, clearing his throat. “Professor Callaghan was right ter talk him out of it. I’m sure little Rosie didn’t mean ter get cross in that way. An’ Milly… well, she’s got as much right ter be in Slytherin as anyone. The Sorting Hat’s been doin’ his job a very long time, and he certainly put her there for a reason!”

Hagrid beamed at Milly, and she gave him a timid smile in return. Scorpius’s expression softened as well; he scooped Muzzle into his arms and let the pup lick his chin. Riley, however, folded her arms and shot Al a sideways glance. Rose noticed it at once.

“I’m sorry,” said Rose, in a hopeless sort of voice. “I truly am sorry for saying that kind of thing. It’s just that I’ve… I’ve… been rather jealous of you.”

Her eyes dropped quickly to her mug. The others blinked at one another in surprise or disbelief.

“Jealous?” said Al.

"Well, yes, Al. You know, it’s just you seemed to settle in so quickly, with all these new friends, and I… I had all these plans. I mean, you had plans too, didn’t you? We used to talk about them all the time. Ever since… well, forever, really."

Her voice faltered, and Al saw her fiddling nervously with her hair, avoiding his eyes.

“Rosie,” Al said quietly, “if anyone ought to be jealous, it should be me. Tell me, what’s it like being sorted to the house your parents always dreamed of?”

Rose finally looked at him, her lips curving into the faintest, wobbliest of smiles.

“I’m sorry, Al. I knew I was being stupid, but it was honestly how I felt. It really was awful not being Sorted into the same house as you.”

"I know,” Al said, forcing his grin down so it didn’t come out too smug. “Just promise me you won’t be dodging me between classes anymore, yeah?"

“Promise.”

Al let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Muzzle chose that moment to yelp and scrabble his way towards Riley’s lap. She gave in with a reluctant snort.

“You’re a loud one, aren’t you?” said Riley, scratching Muzzle behind the ears.

“Yeh should hear him at night,” said Hagrid with a satisfied grunt. “Howlin’ away at the owls or barkin’ fit ter bring down the big cats by the Forest. Reckon he thinks he’s keepin’ watch. More like keepin’ the whole castle awake, if yeh ask me.”

Hagrid chuckled to himself, and the others couldn’t help grinning along. It was really hard to stay out of spirits with the giant around.