*Update 12/14/2013

Hey, this is MaliceArchangela! We love the characters we're getting, but we have an abundance of certain characters. No more purebloods, please! We're given the impression that they are all inter-related by this point, and that there's not many left as a result. So, NO MORE PUREBLOODS!

Another thing, you stand a MUCH better chance of getting your character accepted if you make a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. I think we've got just enough of Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Thank you, and keep sending in those characters!

Albert resists the urge to hide behind his parents, even as he struggles to keep his eyes from widening.

The Darling family does not gawk. They are never less than immaculate. They are proud, standing up straight and tall.

Even as the whispers swirl around them.

For most people, the train on your first year is the time when you are able to meet the people that you know you are going to be best friends with for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. Or, you know, your enemies. It is a melting pot of people, at least of first years. They mingle freely with each other, without the label of various houses to keep them apart.

Like attracts like, of course. Especially amongst those from magical families. The people who had already decided which house they wanted to go to in order to gather with more of the same.

Albert knows which house he will be going into. As a member of the pureblood Darling house, his family has been entering Slytherin for as long as they have been attending Hogwarts. He will be no different. He is not courageous and stubborn and outspoken like those in Gryffindor. He is intelligent, but lacks that extra something that all Ravenclaws possess yet none but them can solve the riddle of exactly what it is. And he is not kind, not loyal, not trustworthy enough, and not well-rounded enough to ever be mistaken for Hufflepuff.

Slytherin is where he belongs, and he would never consider disputing the fact.

But Albert has no illusion about the fact that he will be unwelcome. There is currently a sort of social stigma that comes with being a Slytherin, despite the attempts of many to erase it by focusing on uniting the houses of the school.

But it is going to be different for Albert. It is not as simple as having three-quarters of the school against him. Members on both sides of the Great War hate his family, and by extension, him. While the events of the war were happening, from the moment He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appeared, and until relatively recently, when Harry Potter had defeated him, the Darling family had locked themselves away in their large households with the strongest magic they could get a hold of. They had connected their mansions by a series of tunnels, and set up large barriers so that no one could even attempt to approach them. They had bound their respective houses, each with a Fidelius charm, and a member of each mansion served as the secret-keeper to the other. In such a way, to give up your family would be paramount to giving up yourself. This was never explicitly stated, but everyone knows it.

Anyone who might have been considered a danger to the family had been banished when the Darlings closed their walls. Exiled. No one knows their names. No one knows what happened to them.

But there they stayed, safe and sound in their iron cages, until a few years after the defeat of the Dark Lord, at which point the elders finally deemed it safe to emerge from their protective cocoon.

That was less than a year ago, just long enough for Albert to see the outside world before having to get ready for going to school outside his home for the first time ever.

Friendless was alright, though. That's just the way it's supposed to be. Just seven years of school. Then job. Then life. Seven years is nothing. So long as he keeps studying. After seven years, he can find a job where no one will hiss behind his back about how his family are cowards who refused to pick a side. Maybe the whispers will die down by then? Unlikely. More likely is that something else will replace them. If he keeps his head down, whatever replaces them will not be worse, not in respect to him.

Just keep his head down.

And now lift it again. Look his parents in the eye when they say goodbye. Ignore the sudden chill as they pat him on the shoulder, saying their farewells. He bites his lip, nervous, but promptly stops as he feels his father's eyes on him.

Image is everything. If he shows even the slightest hint of weakness, the rest of the world will swallow him up whole. He's had years of practice, practicing composure. Without composure, even if the world does not swallow him up, his own temper surely will.

Angel isn't well versed in the new world he's entering into. He's read his schoolbooks, played with his potions, by which he has actually failed with his potions, and has even uttered a few spells. Not with his wand of course, because he knows it is against the rules to practice magic outside of the vicinity of the school. Contrary to what the kids from his old school believe, Angel is not an idiot. He's read Hogwarts, A History.

Magic…

Angel has magic in him. He hadn't known all his life. Not until a barn owl flew into his window just a month or so ago. Sure, his mother called him her angel, her little spark, her little miracle, but he had thought she was simply being a mother. Mothers call their children endearing names. It is simply what they do. But there had been truth in her words, her stories. At the ripe age of ten, Angel knows he is no Sherlock Holmes, but he has figured a few tidbits of his life out.

For example, he knows his mother is-was-a Veela. He isn't sure if she is pureblooded or if the lineage had been diluted before his time, but nonetheless, that is what she is. Was. He's figured it out through the extra texts he picked up on his trip to a place called "Diagon Alley". He thinks that's what it was called anyway. He also knows that the children of these magnificent creatures are most often female. Angel likes to think this makes him unique, which is very cool.

The boy doesn't know where his father fits in the realm of magic. He has no idea if the man is a wizard or a normal human, but the man does know that magic exists. Aldric escorted Angel to Diagon Alley without batting an eye at all the marvelous shops that surrounded them or the moving photographs.

He isn't certain how his father knows of magic, but he doesn't care. He does not wish to dwell on thoughts of his father, the foul man, the only person he hates. So he won't.

Instead, Angel marvels at the grand station he's just entered. King's Cross Station was superb from the outside, and yes Angel may have spent a few minutes gawking childishly, but the inside had him spinning around in wonder, trying to take everything in with the few minutes he had to spare before finding his train.

He has never been in a train station, much less a train. Planes, boats and cars yes, but that is the extent of his forms of transportation.

When his eyes catch sight of a clock, a beautiful clock, they go wide.

No. No. Nonononono!The train leaves in ten minutes! Oh no! I spent too much time taking in the architecture! Stupid!

Pulling the ticket from one of his bags he begins to panic.

What in the world? Platform 9 3/4...?

"Is this a joke?" he asks no one in particular while hurrying along.

He'd never been to a train station, so he can't be sure, but he's never heard of gates or platforms with fractions. That's just mental.

He wonders if this is all a sick joke, if he's being pranked. Is someone filming his reaction from a place unseen? Is his father in on it? He wouldn't doubt it. His mind gathers in that place he rarely allows it to, where his negativity is stored and he's forced to ask why on God's green Earth he is stuck with the life he's been given. He can feel the tears welling up, preparing to fall. But then a shrill sound cuts through the encroaching depression: The screech of a bird.

Angel's eyes dart around until he finds a large group between platforms 9 and 10. Some of them have owls securely fastened atop their trunks. He remembers seeing owls being sold in a shop in the magic alley and decides to follow them. He remains a ways behind them and his jaw goes slack when one by one they disappear into a pillar.

"W-what the..."

A woman turns to him and he realizes he had been so preoccupied with the disappearing children that he hadn't been listening to their conversation. He's prepared to back away, maybe turn tail and run, but she smiles kindly at him and his heart aches. He has the oddest desire to hug this woman.

"Why 'ello zere, little one," she practically coos. Whoever else is with her is now paying attention to them. "Is it you first year of 'Ogwarts?"

Angel nods rapidly, his mouth much too dry to speak up. She's French. He was born in France. His accent is under control though, due to living most of his short life in England with a father who was born and raised here.

"If you are nervous we can show you 'ow to enter ze platform," the woman says, smiling and holding her hand out to him. When he walks forward, pushing his cart along cautioously, she plants her hand atop his head, gently running her fingers through the soft blond locks. She kneels to his eye level, careful not to rip her skirt, and whispers, "if you would, imagine you are racing through a field. Can you do zis for me?"

Another nod. In thatmoment Angel would do anything for her.

She stands and guides him over to the pillar, perhaps seven feet away, and rubs his back.

"Now, close your eyes," she says and he does so. "Imagine you are with a friend. You are about to take the lead in your race. Just twelve long strides and you are ze winner. When I count to three, I want you to take a running start, keep your eyes closed, and finish your race. Vous comprenez?"

"Oui."

"Merveilleux!" she exclaims, clapping once to show her appreciation of foreign exchange. "Maintenant… Une ... Deux ... Trois!"

When Angel's feet leave the ground he doesn't feel like he's in a race. He isn't awkwardly scampering about in the massive throng of people. He isn't even in the train station. He doesn't know where his mind wanders too, but he is flying into a world that it is oh so very quiet and still. Until the slightest bit of resistance hits him and the whistle of a train alerts him to the reality he was born into; the reality that magic does exist.

Then he is flying in a completely different sense of the word.

Noticing the hurried steps of the bustling people he realizes he is flying rather late.

Whoops?

Albert sits down on the train, immediately curling his legs underneath him and sticking his nose into the book he brought.

He glances down at his shirt, examining his family crest. A gryphon rearing his noble head prominent on his chest. He probably should go ahead and change. More efficient this way. All alone in the compartment, just a quick change to his school uniform and then back to reading.

Always reading.

Reading is safe, reading is sound. Books cannot hurt you (not unless they are the hardback 1000 page ones that get thrown at your head). Books cannot trigger the terrible temper inherent in his family.

He pushes himself further into the corner, trying to ignore the pang of loneliness that shoots through him. It is better this way. No one would want to be friends with him anyways. It is better this way. Better to impose solitude on himself rather than let himself be rejected by others.

He does not need anyone else. It is just a leftover effect from being constantly surrounded by his family members by so long. It will pass.

It will pass.

There is no other choice.

He prepares to get to his feet, ready to change into his school robes, then back to reading, when the door to his compartment slams open with a loud bang.

He smothers a yelp as he jerks back into his corner. But he does not let himself pull up his feet, hiding the prominent crest on his chest. It is best if he gets this over with quickly.

"Bonjour?" a young boy, likely Albert's age, walks in, shoving his dirty-blond hair out of his face. Upon catching sight of the other boy, he grins, his cerulean eyes lighting up, "I thought someone was in here!"

"You are not wrong." Albert juts his chin up as he gets to his feet, noticing with a hint of pleasure that he is taller than the new arrival.

The young boy makes a face, "You speak funny."

"You are one to talk." Where is that thick accent from?

"Oh, bien sûr!" the boy chuckles a bit and smacks a hand to his forehead. "I guess I sound funny too."

His foreign accent and speech recedes quickly into something much more customary of someone raised in England.

"Who are you?" Albert asks, hiding his curiosity behind a mask of indifference.

"Sorry, I must seem pretty rude. I'm Angel," the blond chastises himself. He holds out a hand, prepared for a shake, his smile never fading.

Albert hesitates upon seeing the hand, his mask perfectly concealing the nervousness rushing through his veins. Was this really a good idea? His parents had never mentioned this social custom coming up. Or if they had, he couldn't remember.

Making a decision, he lightly grips the younger boy's hand and gives it a slight shake.

"Albert. Albert...Darling."

He hates having to say his last name. It was so...girly, and not to mention people hate his family.

This boy would too.

"Wow, what a cute name! My last name is Chevalier, did I forget to mention that? Heh, I think I did. It's not a very good name in my opinion. Anyway, it's nice to meet you," Angel babbles as he releases his hold on the boy. He doesn't want to make him uncomfortable with his tendencies to be too physical. He's been told people don't appreciate being hugged and having their hand held by a stranger. Unfortunately for Angel, every single person on the Hogwarts Express is a stranger.

Lacking the hesitation anyone else would have shown, Angel tucks his trunk overhead and takes the seat across from the one Albert had previously been occupying. Gesturing for Albert to sit, Angel resists the urge to open his mouth and say anything that would get him kicked out.

Albert just stares at the other boy. He had never seen anyone so forward. Also...why had the boy not reacted to his last name? It would be too much to hope that he truly was that ignorant. If he is, arrival at Hogwarts would soon change that.

"What are you doing?" He forces out a deadpan, cocking an eyebrow at the other... no, Angel.

Angel's brow rises more as a natural reflex than anything else. Before he can answer a few people pass by the door he only now realizes he's left open, stopping to enter but retreating and whispering the moment they see Albert. Standing, he brushes pass Albert to close the door and hops back into his seat.

"I'm sitting," he says with a hint of snark. "I thought that much was obvious."

He hopes his tone isn't offensive. Mother always said not to be rude but sometimes Angel can't seem to activate his word filter.

Albert's eyebrow twitches. Was this boy really that dense? Most people would at least question the fact that no one wanted to stick around.

"I can see that, but why here?" His voice is stern, an automatic response to the tone Angel was taking. He had to give him a chance to make his escape.

"It's as good a place as any, right? And no one else was in here, so aside from disturbing your reading I didn't think I'd be doing too much harm." Angel shrugs, silently hoping the train will start moving. He's overflowing with energy and his stomach hasn't stopped doing these odd flips every time he remembers this isn't a dream. Then his brows almost disappear beneath his bangs in alarm, "unless your friends are coming soon? Am I in someone's spot?"

His eyes dart around, he's ten and small, and assuming that anyone else who enters is his age they wouldn't be too large. A lot of them could fit, right? If not he could sit on the ground. Or go somewhere else? But he likes this compartment. It's quiet and cozy, perfect for conversation.

Albert closes his eyes. It looks like he will have to...educate the other boy himself. Time to put on the face of the young lord.

He lets himself lounge on the seat behind him, abandoning his normally ramrod-stiff posture. His eyes grow half-lidded as he looks at the other boy with boredom.

"You really are just a Muggle, are you not?" Albert speaks sardonically, stopping just short of downright offensive, but toeing the line, "You know nothing about this world. Including where you should and should not be."

"I have no idea what a Muggle is," Angel makes a face at the word. It isn't cute at all, in fact it sounds kind of mean with the tone Albert is taking, but Angel let's it pass because he must not have made a very good first impression. Perhaps he can impress the other boy. "But I'm part Veela."

Relaxing a bit, Angel leans back into the corner, kicking his legs onto the seat and fussing with his bangs. As an afterthought, hoping some kind of good will come out of it, he adds, "I actually don't know much about any of this. Aside from what I've read in books. Have you read 'Hogwarts, A History'? It's fascinating!"

Albert's eyebrows twitch, again, strongly desiring to disappear into his hairline. Part Veela...yet acting like such a Muggle. There must be some mistake.

"Pity," he continues, hating himself even more as he stares at the ceiling, "Just starting out, and you are already trying to make friends with the wrong sort of people."

Crush him. The sooner the better. Better for the both of them.

Remove all pity, all mercy.

Just crush him.

"The wrong sort?" Angel tilts his head, mimicking a puppy. "I don't think that's true."

Angel idly fingers the hair clips in his pocket before removing one with a small blue flower and pinning back a section of his hair that is particularly annoying. He mulls over Albert's words for a few seconds.

"You sound pretty ominous, but if you really didn't want me here you wouldn't have made an effort to shake my hand in the first place."

Albert cannot stop the flinch. Shoot, he should have guessed that the handshake was the wrong move. He rises to his feet and stomps over to the other boy, pulling him to his feet as well. Pale blue eyes stare angrily into shocked, darker ones.

"Look, I can see that you are new here, that there are things you do not know, such as the Great War, and who was on which side and all that. However, you had best learn fast who make good friends and who do not. You see this?" He jerks a finger towards the crest embroidered proudly on his shirt, "You hear my last name, Darling?" His voice grows more and more ugly, "My family refused to pick a side in the war, we locked ourselves away from both sides, and so we are considered traitors to both. The only worse person you could try to befriend is the child of one of You-Know-Who's inner circle. You get that? I am trying to do you a favor, brat. Now get out of here."

He releases the other boy's collar and stalks back to his seat, grabs his book and hides his face in it, willing himself to ignore the boy. Ignore him, and pray he leaves. Pray he leaves before it is too late...

Calm down. Cool the temper before he does something he will regret.

Angel can't say that wasn't surprising. And more than a little frightening. Angel has never been looked at with such rage. There was something else there as well, something familiar. But he won't touch that. Not just yet. He isn't physically injured though, and aside from his hair getting a little loose and his clothes a little rumpled, he is perfectly fine.

With a heavy sigh Angel straightens his blue hoodie and promptly takes his seat once more. He'll probably anger Albert again, but it isn't his place to judge people and he doesn't feel like he should be in the position to do so in the first place. Adjusting his bangs once more Angel leans back and stares at the book Albert is using as a shield. He smiles a little at that. Such a childish thing to do. And he thinks Angel is the brat?

"Sorry," Angel says perhaps a little shakier than he means to. He steadies his voice and steels himself, just in case he is once again on the receiving end of Albert's wrath, but never drops his cheerful persona. "But I don't want you to do me any favors. I've read about the Great War and I don't really see how that's any of my business. I wasn't even born yet. If your family decided to lock you all away isn't that a good thing? I mean, they were just trying to protect the people they care about, right? My mum would have done the same thing if we were around when all that stuff was going down. And I don't really think you should be worried about that either.

"Anyway, the trains already moving, and my butt has already imprinted on this seat. So unless my voice is annoying and my face is all that ugly, I think I'll stay where I am thank you."

With that said Angel pulls one end of a long string of multicolored blue yarn from his pocket and winds it around the fingers on his left hand.

"You really shouldn't worry about what other people think, you know. My mum says as long as you aren't hurting anyone else all that matters most is your own happiness, so being selfish is okay sometimes."

Angel flinches at the use of her words, but it's alright. She would want him to make friends. She would want him to quote her. His mum would want him to indulge.

Just a little is fine.

Just a little.

Albert keeps quiet, biting hard on the inside of his cheek as an attempt to forget about the guilt attempting to eat away at him.

He should not have done that. He should not have lost his temper. It only hurts people when that happens. He knows better.

But he cannot say anything; he cannot allow himself to say anything. The last thing he wants is for the kid to suddenly think they are friends.

But he cannot just leave it like this.

If only the boy would just LEAVE!

The silence stretches on. And on. And on...

"I bet you are Hufflepuff."

Angel's eyes, focused on his stringy creation, slowly raise in the direction of the voice.

He could not take it anymore. It was just so uncomfortable.

"Ravenclaw and Slytherin would have left by now. Ravenclaw would have known who I was and what it means, and Slytherin thinks too much of themselves to bother sticking around when it is not to their benefit. You don't strike me as brave or foolhardy enough to be a Gryffindor, and they would leave too. They might stick around a bit to prove that they are not scared of me, but they would definitely yell back by now. All that remains is Hufflepuff."

He shut his mouth tight. Albert cannot allow himself to talk anymore, or else...or else the boy might actually think that he is being nice.

Angel idly winds the yarn around his fingers, tightening and weaving when appropriate. He fights to hide the giddy smile trying to spread across his face.

"I don't get angry easily," Angel hums. "And when I am out of sorts I find ways to calm myself down. Being yelled at is something new for me, but hey, I like new experiences. Now I know how it feels. If that makes me a Hufflepuff then I suppose I'm fine with that. Power to the 'Puffs."

Finally finished with his creation Angel ties the ends together and examines the varying shades of blue woven into a lei. Standing, he takes a few steps over toward Albert and drapes the lei around his neck with a smile.

"Sorry. From what I gather it's technically Ravenclaw colors. Unless you get sorted into Ravenclaw, in which case, yay." Angel nods and sits down to start up another one, this one with two strings of white and gold. "So, you think I'll be sorted into Hufflepuff? What about you?"

Albert just stares at the other boy over the edge of his book. He turned the full terror of his temper on him...and he gives him a freaking present?!'

"You are weird."

"You say weird, I say unique," Angel says, brushing it off easily. "Are you avoiding my question?"

His cerulean eyes reveal the amusement behind his words. They're wide, expecting. So innocent and vulnerable. How is that even possible?

"I did not realize that I needed to answer," Albert's head went up high as he gazed down his nose at the other boy, "I thought it quite obvious that I belong to Slytherin. Or have you not read that far in your little book and gotten to the characteristics of the Houses?"

"I've finished the book. It took me forever, what with the large lake just a mile or so away from home, but I did finish." Angel huffed at himself for tangling the yarn a bit. "But I'm not sure what to believe when it comes to magic. And I don't know you very well, so I couldn't judge you even if I wanted to."

Well, that was certainly interesting. Despite himself, Albert cannot help but feel a little intrigued. He did not think that he could ever find someone like this little boy...no, bad idea, back up. People change. They change quite easily.

"Yes, well, you may stay here until we reach Hogwarts. But I expect you to leave me alone when we arrive at the school. You will not do yourself any good hanging around the likes of me..."

A loud noise cuts him off, a yell from outside the compartment. His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for his wand case. It is absolutely imperative that his wand never be broken, as the core had basilisk skin and liquid Boomslang venom. While the skin is valuable, the venom is incredibly deadly. Hence the case.

He snaps open the clasp as he steps towards the door.

Angel is behind him in a second, wand at the ready. The moment the door is open he pokes his head out and the sound of fearful shouts and heavy footfalls are heard.

Platinum blond and black fly by them like a blur but a flash of color zips by and hits the kid who ran pass them in the legs. When he falls he falls hard. His body thumps loudly the moment he hits the floor and a pained groan passes through his lips. He struggles with the curse binding his legs together while four upperclassmen approach. The one in the middle high-fives his cohort on the right and they chuckle darkly.

"Watch it, Malfoy. Bit clumsy, eh?"

Angel frowns. That wasn't funny at all. He could have gotten seriously injured.

"Leave me alone," the white-blond-haired boy says solemnly.

Albert hesitates. On one hand, he really wants to let off some steam. He is clenching his wand so tightly that his nails are digging into his skin. And as a bonus, it might successfully scare off this annoyance. This"Angel".

But on the other hand, this is Scorpius Malfoy in front of him. Albert does not think he deserves this treatment, but due to everything his father has done to make up for his family's actions during the war, Scorpius might eventually be accepted by society.

If he, a member of the Darling family, comes to his rescue, he will just do more damage, and drag the other boy down even further.

If it were anyone else, nothing Albert could do would damage them too badly... but Scorpius is different.

What should he do?

"Expelliarmus." Why is his voice saying that? Why is he interfering? Now they are looking at him, disgust visible in their eyes. Even the young Malfoy is looking at him with horror.

Well, if he is to be seen as the monster, he had best start acting the part...

Scorpius is shocked above anything else. He wasn't expecting anyone to aid him. Laughter, jeering, more pain. That's what he thought was coming. But this boy, he thought him a Weasley for a fraction of a second, but recognized the terrifying look in his eyes as Darling.

Why is a Darling rescuing him?

The Darlings only care for themselves. Grandfather had called them cowards and traitors to Wizardkind. Scorpius just doesn't get it.

His eyes widen even further, jaw dropping when the blond he doesn't recognize steps in front of him and points his wand in Scorpius's aggressors direction.

"Flipendo!" he shouts, his arm moving widely, too wide, but aimed perfectly at one of the upperclassmen's chest. He flies back a ways but isn't seriously injured. Just dazed.

When the third reaches for his wand Scorpius finds his wits and swiftly pulls his wand out, his wand arm moving rapidly but in perfect form.

"Flipendo Tria!" He almost whispers it because spells aren't more effective if you yell, that's only urban legend, and he doesn't want a sore throat later. The spell effectively throws the final bully back and knocks him out.

"You'll pay for this!" the upperclassmen threaten as they run away. Scorpious is not impressed. However, "power in numbers" has a new meaning to him.

It wasn't showing off, he doesn't care about that, but that first Flipendo wasn't very powerful. And father had told Scorpius that this would happen, that he would need to stand up for himself. He probably also needs to, well, stand.

He holds onto the wall while the leg-locker curse limits his movement. Struggling to lift himself from the floor he almost manages before sliding down. He can do this. Scorpius can do this.

"Hey," he hears and flinches. He looks up and the blond boy who cast the weaker spell is smiling brightly, holding out a hand. He asks, "Need some help there?"

Scorpius switches from looking at the offered hand and the boy's face.

"This is a joke," he says simply, accusingly. "I don't need any more trouble today."

"Trouble? No no, I just want to help you up," he says, eyes wide and quite doe-like. When Scorpius still eyes him suspiciously he rolls his eyes lightheartedly and pulls him up by the arms. He's a bit shorter than Scorpius is and tucks himself under his arm in order to steady him and then guides him through the door he'd come from. "By the way, I'm Angel. Now, how could you not trust me with a name like that?"

"I imagine that he can quite easily," the Darling boy speaks up, clicking his wand case closed, turning his head to look Scorpius right in the eyes, "Do not get me wrong, Malfoy. I have not helped you at all. In fact, I imagine that I have only made things worse. I just needed someone to take out my annoyance on."

He turned his head to address the blond boy (Angel was it?), "If you absolutely MUST befriend someone, try this fellow. I imagine you will be significantly more successful. Collect your things, and leave me be."

"Yes, I understand," Scorpius says with a nod. "I will take my leave now."

While attempting to push himself up to a standing position Scorpius is tugged back down. Angel pats his shoulder but is looking at the Darling boy.

"Don't be so insensitive, Al," he scolds the boy and wags a finger at him. "This guy here was just attacked by a bunch of morons and they cursed him. We have to help him be... uhh... Uncursed!"

"N-no. Truly, this is unnecessary. I can-"

"Nope, we'll help you. Now, does anyone know the counter-curse?" Angel looks at Albert expectantly. He is new to magic, after all. They can't expect him to know such a thing. When it comes to theory versus execution Angel is... Well he's more of a take action kid but still, he has no idea about counter-curses.

Albert looks down his nose at the other boys, condescending expression on his face, even as pity fills his heart.

He cannot help them. He cannot even really help himself.

But...it is JUST a counter-curse, is it not? He is allowed to do that, right?

Avoiding their eyes, keeping as quiet as possible, he pulls out his wand (knowing that he looks terrifying as he does so, but he cannot help it) and whispers the counter-curse, and then leaves them. Leaves them sitting in the compartment as he shoulders his bag.

He has to go change. They will be arriving at Hogwarts soon. The rest of his luggage will be brought up to the school.

"Al..." Angel trails off, his sunny disposition faltering. "I don't think he likes me very much."

Scorpius debates whether he should attempt to comfort the boy or tell him the truth. Before he can the blond is tearing up. It is disconcerting and Scorpius wishes the ground would swallow him whole. His eyes dart a bit nervously from the despondent lad and the open door, just waiting for him to pass through once more.

"Sorry," he says, wiping away his tears. "I cry easy. Over dumb things."

"It isn't-well that's-I mean..." Scopius can't stop the little groan that escapes him. "Perhaps if you weren't so forward?"

"Yeah," Angel agrees, scrubbing the last of his tears away. "But I've learned that waiting around brings me nothing but pain."

"I see."

It's silent for a while before they decide to change, Scorpius borrowing a uniform from Angel what with his trunk still with the bullies who attacked him. Afterward, Angel's grin comes easily once again.

"What?" Scorpius asks, a little uncomfortable with how the other boy is grinning like a loon.

Also...they were sitting together on the train to first year. Did this make them friends? Scorpius doesn't think that he wants this weirdo to be his first friend...but if everyone else treats him like those bullies from earlier then does he really have much of a choice?

Well, if this DOES make them friends, might as well make the best of it, right?

"Nothing really." Angel goes about packing his things away haphazardly. "I'm just optimistic. I think it's going to be a good year."

When the train stops Angel pats Scorpius's back. His lost enthusiasm returned, heart pounding against his rib cage, he releases a deep sigh and wraps an arm around the other boy's shoulder. He's decided to find Albert later. They must have some classes together, he reasons.

"So, Malfoy, right? Don't worry, Malfoy, I won't let those bullies get you again."

With that promise made Angel nods. He's going to make sure no one lays their hands on his new friend.

Scorpius isn't so sure how this other boy plans to protect him (nor is he sure that he likes the idea of BEING protected), but it is better than nothing.

One friend is better than none.

Unwillingly, his mind went to the thought of the Darling boy. He looked to be the same age as them. According to Scorpius's father this would likely be the first time he had ever stepped outside of Darling territory.

And with the animosity still emanating from the war, it was likely that this boy will have an even harder time than him.

Malfoys don't forget their debts.

"Angel," he spoke up, "Let's go find that Darling boy. I need to thank him."

"Yeah, sure," Angel agrees easily enough. "Sounds good."

They make their way out of the train, ushered along by prefects. Their eyes scan the large crowd for a head of bright crimson hair, and they've found a whole flock of them, but none belong to the boy they're searching for. Angel even gets on his tiptoes, feeling absolutely ridiculous and cursing his vertically challenged body.

In the back corner of the crowd, Albert watches with amusement as two blond heads bob about in the mass of first-years.

Are they...are they looking for him? He bites his cheek, willing himself to banish the thought. Unlikely. Even if Angel was so inclined, he was sure that the Malfoy boy would talk him out of it.

Unless he underestimated his intelligence... no, he doubted it. They must be looking for someone else.

He tugs his cloak tighter around himself, willing for it to make him anonymous to the crowd. It really is too bad that it does not cover his head. Few people have such a distinct red hair color without being a Weasley. Granted, he is related to them, all pureblood families are connected in some manner. But still, the red color without the obvious Weasley features is suspicious.

They are coming closer now. It is time to make a decision. Either he must step forward or fade back. Now that he knows they are there, possibly searching for him, he must decide whether or not he wishes to be found.

He finds himself slouching his shoulders, turning away his face, and attempting to fade back in the shadows as he tries his best to pull his cloak's collar up to shield his head just slightly...

There's a hand pulling lightly at his cloak and the distinct sound of metal clinking. The blond fool is gripping him, preventing him from slithering back into darkness. He's still grinning after everything and holding Malfoy's arm as well.

"See, I told you I'd find him for you," he cheers, releasing his hold on both boys. "Sorry, Darling. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

And like the naïve child he is, Angel bounces on the balls of his feet and, for once, shuts his mouth.

Albert immediately wipes the shocked look off of his face, hiding once again behind his impassive mask. Then the second half of what Angel had said sinks in.

"What did you call me?"

Angel's muscles tense. Had he said something wrong? Done something wrong? He really needs to stop offending people.

"I-uhh, Darling? Isn't that your name?" Angel stutters. He's never stuttered before but now seems like an appropriate time. He doesn't realize he's doing it but his hand is reaching out for something. When his fingers wrap around Scorpius's wrist it still doesn't register. His grip is loose but it's all the comfort he needs to relax.

Scorpius decides to take pity on the young boy considering that the Darling boy appears too shocked to respond.

"Angel," he spoke softly so as not to draw attention from the first years around them, "Calling someone 'darling' is considered a fairly intimate form of address. I am sure that our friend here would rather you not call him by that."

Albert seems to finally regain his mind, "I do not recall ever becoming your friend."

Slate grey eyes stare firmly into ice blue, both sides refusing to back down.

"Malfoys never forget a debt," Scorpius juts out his chin stubbornly, "And as far as I can see, you can't exactly afford to be picky about who becomes your friend."

"I do not need friends," is the tense response.

Liar. The lies hurt. Albert always hated lying. Honesty was the best policy.

But technically it is not a lie. He does not NEED them, he can survive without them.

But he wants friends. He really does.

"Who said I was giving you a choice?" Scorpius smirks at him, "But hey, if you want to take the hard route, I'm sure this little puppy here wouldn't mind following you around until you give in."

True to his new nickname Angel whines, his eyes wide and inviting.

"He's right you know. I'm an attached little puppy," Angel exclaims as if he's proud to be called a dog. "And I stand by my earlier comment about the handshake. You sealed your fate."

His arm wraps around Scorpius's as if he's done it a million times before.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" a deep booming voice called just a short distance away. A rather large man holding a lamp waved the first years over toward him. Behind him a dark, narrow path leads away from the train station. "Firs' years follow me! Mind yer step, now!"

"Wow," Angel whispers in amazement. "Wh-who is that? He's so tall!"

He isn't afraid of the dark, nor the giant of a man leading them Lord only knows where. Instead, where there should be fear, Angel is only mystified and compelled to follow whoever leads him to where the magic is.

They hang back so as to stick to the back of the group, ignoring the strange glances directed their way, before following.

"That would be Hagrid," Scorpius responds, "He's half-giant."

"Really?" Albert spins his head around before he regains his composure and returns to ignoring them.

"You're actually really excited, aren't you?" Angel's smirk, hidden by the darkness, grows.

The lights up ahead catch his attention. At first glance they appeared to be floating above the water but on closer inspection they are lanterns, much like Hagrid's, swaying with the motion of the boats they were attached to.

"Why would you say that?" Albert was once again looking down his nose at the shorter boys.

"Oh, come on. You heard the word giant and now your head probably needs treatment for the whiplash you got." Angel has trouble holding back the bout of laughter trying to break free but he succeeds.

Most of the boats are full by the time they get to them, the penalty of being at the back of any line, so Angel hops in the empty one closest to them.

Albert looks away from them as he gracefully takes his seat in the boat, "I do not know what you are talking about."

"Come on, Al, it's not like you're fooling anyone," Scorpius laughs as he sits down across from them.

"Do not address me by that nickname."

Scorpius just makes a face at him, "Albert is too stuffy of a name. I'll give you a pick. Either you let me call you Al, or I call you by your surname."

Albert turns his head to stare down the other boy, judging whether or not he was serious.

"Aw, come on. If you get to use his last name then so do I." Angel huffs out a breath and pouts. "Darling is such a cute name."

Angel twists his body so he's facing the boys instead of the dark lake and leans toward the others.

"Now that I think about it, I only know your last name, Malfoy. What should I call you?"

"My name is Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy. However, you may call me Scor," he smirks at Albert, "So, Al Darling, what shall it be?"

The tension is palpable in the boat as two strong wills clash.

The taller boy backs down first, turning his face away, "Al will be adequate, I suppose."

Scorpius laughs, "Too bad! I think I prefer Darling!"

"Scor, huh?" Angel tests the name and tilts his head right then left thoughtfully. Mere seconds later he's beaming at Scorpius Malfoy. "I like it! Scor and Darling."

Angel doesn't allow them time to respond to his assigned names for them, they've already been filed away in his brain. Instead he goes from the subject of names to how much fun they'll have to how ecstatic he is and back to names. "Oh, right. You guys can call me Angel I suppose. There really isn't a great way to shorten that. Guess you could call me Angie if you wanted. The kids in my neighborhood used to call me that. Tease me really, but it never bothered me much. I don't really see how having a girly name is a bad thing. Aren't we supposed to be past that already? Or puppy is fine too. I like puppies. Just don't call me by my last name or might just deck you." He ends his tirade of naming nonsense with another smile, this one a bit too forced. He's never actually hit anyone before but Angel is highly adaptable.

"Tch!" the newly named "Darling" twitches, "You are a little bit of a hypocrite, are you not? Insisting on calling me by my surname and yet refusing to be called by your own."

He turns away to look out over the lake to the rapidly approaching castle, bracing his arm against his knee and leaning his face against his hand.

"I am." Angel isn't going to deny that he is indeed being a hypocrite, but he certainly isn't going to go into detail. "But your surname is cute. Mine isn't. I doubt you hate yours as much as I hate mine."

Angel follows his gaze and his eyes light up. All negative thoughts are washed away once he takes in the large castle. Hogwarts, A History had photographs, moving ones, but for some reason he hadn't expected it to seem so... So massive. And it truly was a sight to behold. Like with the train station, Angel gawked and cooed at the impressive structure, wishing for the umpteenth time he had been born with the gift of art. How he would love to spend hours, days even, trying to capture its magnificence. Alas, he is the worst artist ever and can do no such thing. So he decides to spend all of his free time exploring every single nook and cranny of his new home.

Albert stands a little away from the rest of the first-years, his acquaintances flanking him as they watch them go up to have the Sorting Hat placed on their little heads.

As he watches his nerves increase, though none of it shows on his face.

What if the Hat rejected him? Yeah, it was stupid. He had gotten a letter after all, but still. Who knew who addressed all of the letters? Maybe they did not understand why he was a poor choice.

The first few names go by unnoticed by the trio until one of them are called. "Angel Chevalier," the little blond boy pranced away from his newly acquired friends and up to the chair.

Hufflepuff. Definitely.

Angel isn't nervous when he takes his place before the school. He is quite the opposite actually. Joy bubbles from his gut and he knows it shows on his face. Angel can feel the smile stretching wider than ever before.

He doesn't care what House he is placed in because in his opinion they are all magical. Gryffindor: Brave and chivalrous. Hufflepuff: Loyal and hard working. Ravenclaw: Intelligent and witty. Slytherin: Ambitious and cunning. Really, no matter what House the Sorting Hat places him in, Angel will be over the moon.

When the old hat, which he fears is falling apart and assumes smells, is lowered onto his head ceremoniously, it barely rests there for a second before announcing to the world in its booming voice that "HUFFLEPUFF" is where he will be making his home.

The Hufflepuffs welcome him gladly once he reaches their table with cheers, hugs and fist bumps. He is the first to take a first year's place at their table.

The other names are a bit of a blur. Albert would hate to admit that he does not pay nearly enough attention to the other First-Year students and their sorting.

Then, it is his turn.

"Albert Darling..."

Perhaps it is his own imagination, but the entire Great Hall goes silent as effectively as if someone had cast the silencing charm over them all.

And then the whispers begin.

Albert refuses to listen. He realizes that if he lets himself listen, then it will most definitely shake his composure.

He must stay calm. He must stay calm at all costs.

He finally reaches the hat, after what feels like miles of walking.

He reaches the chair, sits down, and the hat barely touches a hair on his head before the Sorting Hat screams out, "SLYTHERIN!"

Albert waits for the hat to be taken away again, and steps down from the pedestal. He walks over to the Slytherin table, and does his best to ignore how the others visibly scooted away from his chosen spot.

The only cheering is coming from the opposite end of the hall. More specifically, the Hufflepuff table. That blond is awfully daft and now Albert is no longer the only one who realizes this fact. He can spot Scorpius though, attempting to hide a grin behind his fist and failing. Mortified does not begin to describe him at that particular moment.

This is going to be a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG seven years.

Back in his dorm Albert perches himself on the edge of his bed, resisting the urge to lounge like some plebeian.

Darlings don't "lounge". At least, not in public.

His bed is in a distant corner of the dorm, the farthest away from the roaring fireplace, and closest to the window that would be completely frosted over, come winter.

It's not like Albert worries about it that much.

He likes the cold.

He sits there, reading, as he hears the voices around him quiet as his fellow students start to drop off to sleep.

It's only after the last curtain is tied around the bed that Albert too dresses for bed, throws back the covers, and allows sleep to take him.

Long seven years indeed.

AN: Greetings fellow students. Before you begin the application process there are six rules we would like you all to follow.

1. When filling out your application please be as descriptive as you can. We would like to get a good sense of your character and part of that is by how much detail you, the creator, can provide.

2. Minor information is subject to change. Certain pieces of your character, such as age, may be altered for purposes that involve moving the plot along.

3. We have the right to refuse any character we do not think fits into the universe we've created. In addition, please do not send angry messages concerning refusal of your characters. We will either not read it or use your hate fire to roast our marshmallows and make a Hogwarts feast.

4. Do not be overly indulgent with a character. For example, writing that "everyone likes or loves him/her" is not something that is possible. No two people love exactly the same exact things, and that includes people. And no one is good at everything.

On that note, some characters may not be of the "main party" but will be used as background/sidekick characters who show up often or every once in a while.

5. All profiles must be sent to us via PM. If any profile is posted as review it will not be accepted. We cannot stress this enough.

6. Have fun! :D

Ryder: I apologize for Fleur's accent. I wrote that part, so anything overly or under exaggerated is all my fault.