Albus Potter and the Deadly Exchange

by Sealinkchan

It's 19 years later and a new generation is attending Hogwarts, including a few exchange students. This story follows Albus, Scorpius, and Samantha as they face the challenges of wizarding school, adolescence, and each other. Chapter 34 includes a tense scene, rating raised to T. Feel free to add reviews.

1. Chapter 1-5

Albus Potter and the Deadly Exchange

Chapter 1 Just a Few Things

Saturday, 26 August 2017

Albus S. Potter

"Al, wake up! We're almost there." Lily was excited, as if her voice wasn't high-pitched enough already. Kneeling on her brother for a better view didn't help either.

Albus, on the other hand, was not so much excited as tired, "London, yes ... it's not like we live here." The sarcasm earned Al a light jab in the arm as his sister fell back to the middle. After all, Al thought, going to Diagon Alley wasn't that special. The only thing different this time was that Dad wasn't too busy to go with them.

Their older brother James reached over from the far seat and grabbed Al's arm, "Nah, Lily, you gotta put your weight behind it." James cocked back his fist, prepared to give a full demonstration.

"James, settle!" Their parents' interruption was swift and in time. Mum twisted about and pointed at her eldest, "What did I say about hitting anyone?"

James turned away from the warning, "I know, Mum ..."

His mother hooked a finger under his chin and brought his face back to her. She'd gone from annoyed to threatening, "What did I say?"

"Ginny," their father snapped anxiously.

It was as if she had been the one scolded instead of James, "Harry, hitting isn't allowed at school, and it certainly isn't allowed with family."

Mr Potter managed a hurried explanation, "Ginny, the wall, the switch."

She flinched at the realisation, took her hand off the dashboard where she had supported herself, and pressed the knob she'd just uncovered, "Sorry, I just ..."

In his much more familiar and friendly tone Harry announced, "It's all right. Setting down, everyone buckled and braced!"

Al reached over and pulled Lily's belt across her waist. He kept his voice low, "Mum's gonna pop she sees you out your belt again." She sighed and fastened in. Even she couldn't avoid the reality of the car's jarring landings. Normally, Dad would have taken the road, but they had run late (more accurately, Lily had dawdled). Instead, he flew the car, something that would be fascinating to any normal family. However, in the Potter house, with each of them using magic to some degree, and their father having special privileges as law enforcement, this was only a little less than usual. Of course "muggle" families, those without magic, had no access to flying cars or charmed items of any sort. Plus, even within the secretive magical community, flying enchantments on muggle items (vehicles especially) were strictly regulated. It was all well and good to have a flying broom or carpet (anyone could have those), but flying automobiles were a whole other thing.

The parking garage was easy to notice (for those in the know). It was the only one Albus had ever seen with stone gargoyles. They were flying several stories up. An avoidance spell (just like the charms on most brooms and carpets) kept the muggles from noticing any more than a glint in the sky. When Mrs Potter triggered the "lighter", the bricks of the garage's uppermost wall folded back and into themselves as a shimmer of light spread out like a curtain in the open space above. Al grasped the door handle beside him and stretched his other arm to hold Lily in place. The vehicle suddenly banked left, everyone inside tilted right. The car rocked and shook as it touched down. Mr Potter eased back on the brake handle (actually the altitude control).

The rear lock switched and the door started to open. The Jaguar, over fifty years old, didn't have power locks. Al held the door handle and whispered, "Lily, the locks! Cut it out!"

Lily smiled gleefully and hissed back, "Don't tell!" They drove along the covered car-park and pulled into a wide spot. The door swung out of Al's grasp. Lily had already unlatched herself and slid across Al's lap.

A phone rang from the front seat, but Al was focused on undoing his safety belt, careful to turn his back to the door. It was just in time to be missed by his brother's grasp. James' reach was shortened by not having released himself yet. He settled for a final taunt, "Sneaky snakes!" Dad was on his mobile, and Mum, though set to exit the car, waited (anxiously) on the results of the call. Lily was looking over the edge of the garage to the street below. James repeated himself, it echoed loudly, "Sneaky snakes get sorted ta' Slytherin." There were four divisions or "houses" of students at school, Slytherin was the least popular.

Al was tired of the teasing from his brother (who was in Gryffindor, the most popular house, at least in their family). James had gone off about the possibility of Albus ending up in Slytherin since the invitation had arrived from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "Stuff it, James!"

Lily joined her brothers beside the boot. She was more upset than Al, probably because she hadn't felt included in the taunts before, "We will not!"

James gloated, "Oh? Who unlocked that door then, lil' Lil!"

Lily gasped. She had been locking and unlocking doors and such (magically) on "accident". Al wasn't quite sure why it was locks so often for Lily (Al used to "collect" things, while James never really had a pattern to his random castings). James had gone for a sore spot. Lily was jealous about not going to the magic boarding school for another two years. She set her feet, pointed at James and called out, "I did not! You must not tell lies!" They were all shocked, Lily's eyes went wide in terror. She clasped her hands to her mouth as if she could catch the words. There were few cars about, and they were four levels up; the morning traffic outside was barely a dull sputter. It wasn't nearly enough noise to cover her outburst. The elder Potters closed their doors, Mr Potter still engaged on the phone. Lily dared a look to her mother, but Mrs Potter was fixed on her husband's conversation waiting for some tell-tale response.

Albus hoped it wasn't official stuff. Having an Auror (a wizard police officer) for a dad was cool, except for all the times he got called to work (even way after "work" hours). The whole deal today was Mr Potter going with them. Al didn't want to think about that ending, and instead took the chance to tease Lily, "Guess I'm left out."

Lily's surprise quickly turned to scorn as she slapped Al's half-raised hand, "You don't even wanna hold Daddy's hand anymore!"

James changed sides and stuck up for his brother, "He called it."

Lily shook her fists and stamped her feet, "Ohhh!"

Mum noticed the brief tantrum, "What are you three on about?"

James spoke up, "I was just telling Al how he's gotta go to Gryffindor if he wants to stay in the family."

That wouldn't cover for Lily's behavior. Al thought as quick as he could, "And I said I had to wait to see where Lil sorted. So I'm left out ... of the sorting." Not as quick as he hoped.

Luckily, Lily was smarter than her brothers. She went on as if there had been such a conversation, "I told you, you can't wait on me, I won't be at Hogwarts for two years, dummy!" Then, she started to beam, "Oh, unless that means I can go this year, Mum."

Their mother rolled her eyes. The act had been sold, "Don't call your brother 'dummy'."

There were the usual rules in the Potter house: knock before entering, careful where you point your wand, only adults told a house elf to do chores. Then there were some additions the kids came up with on their own: you had to sneak in the word "left" to hold Dad's left hand (or more-so, to not hold his right), no one ever let Mum or Dad know about this, and no one ever said anything close to the words scarred onto the back of his right hand: I must not tell lies. No matter what happened between the three of them, they never tattled on each other over these rules.

Mr Potter ended the call, turned to his wife and shook his head. She immediately brightened up, "C'mon, everyone, in the lift." There was a lobby in the corner of the garage. To any non-magical person it would look quite out of place. There were three fireplaces, a door to the stairs, and only one lift. The floors had dingy white tiles, the walls plain concrete. Posters had directions for how to drive in traffic, what to wear, words to avoid, basically how to avoid notice in the muggle world. A small booth was occupied by an alert woman in a brown Ministry uniform. She waved to the Potters as they approached. Once they boarded the lift, Mrs Potter spoke quietly, even though no one outside could have heard her, and no one inside could have helped but hear her, "So, ... what was it?"

Dad shook his head again, "It was ... I think Ron sat on his phone. Sounded like Freddie's trying to teach him to drive ... a car." Ron Weasley was their uncle. He and George Weasley (also their uncle, and Freddie his son) ran the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes store. It was the biggest store in England (among wizards). George said selling little toys was just a way to buy himself bigger toys (especially cars). But why would it be Ron calling, or Freddie teaching him to drive?

The doors opened to the ground level. The spaces were packed with cars of varying ages, even several classic carriages with (and without) horses. A few spots were taken up with locking racks full of individual flying brooms and multi-passenger carpets. Mr Potter stepped out a few paces, while Mrs Potter and James made an abrupt u-turn and walked down the alley. Al and Lily hesitated just outside the doors. Al checked, as he always did, that the guard beside the lift was the same person on this floor as on the fourth (on all of them actually).

Their father turned and knelt in front of his children. He had a playful look in his eyes, "Called 'left', did you, Al?" Al fought his gasp down while Lily's jaw dropped and her chin trembled. Mr Potter set his hands on each child's shoulder and continued on warmly, "I think going to Hogwarts this year makes you old enough to walk on your own, Al ..." He looked back and forth between them, "if you mind where you're going." He patted Al on the shoulder, then hugged his daughter close a moment, slid his left hand down her arm to her hand. The man stood while his little girl nearly danced beside him. They all laughed. Harry announced, "Now, Albus Severus Potter, time to buy your books."

Dad had known about the left hand calling (for how long?), and probably heard what Lily had said, too. He wasn't upset by it. Al wondered why they bothered trying to keep secrets from their father. It never seemed to work, and even when found out, he didn't react like Mum or Gran did, not like any of their aunts or uncles either. Nearly nothing upset him.

"Yeah, A-S-P, asp. What house would have asps in it?" James smirked.

Nearly nothing upset Mr Potter. This was one of the few things that did. Their mother would have explained it as she scolded. Dad kept it simple, "James." No explanation, no lecture, that ended James' teasing (for this excursion at least).

The old, heavy door to the Leaky Cauldron tavern opened. Mrs Potter muttered, her husband's expression softened at her exit. She cautioned in a whisper, "Don't. Trelawney, she asked me why I wasn't wearing black." Then she changed moods to complain cheerily, "Neville doesn't need a car to see Hannah. He apparates or uses the floo, then they use a carpet when he's here. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Ginny scrunched up her nose and swatted her husband's arm. Everyone giggled at the exchange. Mr Potter turned to the wall and spoke to no one in particular, "Too many parked back there."

Mrs Potter answered, "Like I told you, coach in positive terms. You said 'don't make a big deal of it.' All they heard was 'make a big deal'." She tapped her wand three times at one of the bricks. A hole opened from its center until the whole wall was a tall, wide arch.

Mr Potter sighed, took his wife's hand in his right, and said, "The flaw in the plan."

It was not quite ten in the morning as the Potters walked into Diagon Alley. The shops were just opening, many had only just set up their displays along the street. Al, however, noted something odd this Saturday morning. It was the same old cobble-stoned lane, with its assorted, old-fashioned store fronts. The first place beyond the archway had carts of cauldrons and pots and ... a banner.

Dad sounded tense, "Do the boys need their own cauldrons?"

Mum was annoyed, too, "No. Not 'til fourth year, now."

"Good."

Mr Potter sped up as they passed Potage's with it's strange advert: "Supplier of Cauldrons to Dumbledore's Army." Al knew Dumbledore had been a teacher to his parents, and there was a school in Wiltshire named after him. Did he start a war, or some relative of his? Were cauldrons a big deal for armies?

Indeed, several other stores had something up about the Wizarding Wars (a first and second) and the Dumbledore Army. Al thought about it and knew that he'd heard of this army before. But when, and from who?

The idea was interrupted by a yelp from Lily, "Dad!" Her father startled and turned.

Al's mother was quick to offer comfort, but not to her daughter, "Harry, relax. They don't think about it ... they're just stupid." She glanced at the nearby pet store.

Dad tended to his daughter as she cupped her hands. He sighed and was once again calm and collected, "Squeezed your paw a bit, Kitten?"

Lily nodded warily. The term of affection broke her caution though, "Everything OK, Daddy?"

Mr Potter nodded back, "If I promise it won't happen again, think I could hold your hand?"

Lily held her obviously uninjured hand forward, "Only if you kiss and make it better."

As their father complied, all but one of them laughed. "Ah, Merlin's beard, worse than Rosie!" James complained.

The Potters resumed their trek along Diagon Alley. James led the way, while Al held close behind their parents. Al's father nearly growled a whisper to his wife, "Did we get Bamfrey or Tolbert at Eeylop's?"

Mrs Potter shook her head, "No, Grubblyplank's."

Al glanced back at the pet store to figure out what had happened. Eeylop's didn't have any of the streamers, but there was a sign with a white owl perched on a boy's arm. Al saw the name and two dates on it. Al figured the owl, Hedwig, must have passed away, but Al couldn't make out who the boy was and keep up with his parents (though the boy's glasses made it pretty certain the kid was a muggleborn).

James had outpaced his family. He also needed books (it would be his third year at Hogwarts), but he often wandered off from the family these days. It didn't work out this time. A large group of people, maybe fifty or more, were gathered outside the bookstore. Someone opened the doors from inside. The crowd looked to be mostly families (or at least adults with children). They made their way in awkwardly, quick yet polite at the same time.

The famliy stopped with Mr Potter. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mum opened her eyes wide and smiled, "You know the great part about this, Harry?" Dad looked back at her in disbelief. "I get to just be your wife." Both parents chuckled a bit. Al and Lily smiled, but Al thought that was just because neither of them really understood what their parents were going on about. At the very least, Al knew this wasn't going to be one of those events where they lost Mum to her fans. No one had jerseys or flags for the Holyhead Harpies. There was no Quidditch match today (or ever in Diagon Alley).

The scene inside the bookstore made Al think that the store signs weren't that much of a concern to the other families. People chatted excitedly, but didn't seem interested in the books on the shelves (they already had their own). The dowdy woman behind the counter sounded quite bothered, "If you are here to pick up Hogwarts standards, please queue up at our reservations counter. All school texts are arranged on that wall. If you do not find what you need ask one of the clerks. Be orderly please, mind your manners, eyes to the front." Al wasn't sure if she was Flourish or Blott (as was the name of the store) or if such people really existed, but either way, he knew only one thing happened when you tell people to look forward: they all look back.

"Harry Potter!" Albus wasn't sure who said it. Or how many. Or why so loud. Or what in Merlin's robes was going on. It was a bit different from when Mum was rushed by fans. Most of her admirers were girls (or women). They were also mostly younger, well, some of them were mums at most. There were usually fewer and they almost exclusively wore green and yellow. What struck Al as the strangest was that nothing like this ever happened to Mrs Potter in a book store. Then again, Albus had never been in Flourish and Blott's before. Maybe this event (it could be a regular thing) was why Dad had stayed home with Lily and Al when James bought his books the last two years (Al's lack of interest in reading kept him out the rest of the time).

The men, women, boys, and girls were a bit anxious as to what to do. They didn't quite crowd in all the way (Mum's fans would crash right into her). They seemed to want to shake Dad's hand, but were a bit wary, as well (of course, no one should just rush an Auror). Some of them offered books for him to sign, but they weren't autograph books (or a picture, ball or broom, none of the logical things to sign).

Mr Potter looked to his family. Mrs Potter reacted with a raise of her eyebrows and tightened lips. She pointed in a little circle at Al and Lily and then to the school lane. Dad nodded in surrender before he faced the noisy audience.

James was at the reservations counter with a stack of texts before him. Mother had Lily in hand, but Al wasn't in a rush to get school books. Not when something so curious was going on, especially with his father at the center of it. Mrs Potter called out for her youngest son, but he was intent on the gathered crowd instead.

"... grown into a real man ..."

"... hard to believe he was raised by muggles ..."

"... never see him off duty ..."

"... family must be proud ..."

An older woman in faded purple robes gave up on her attempt to cut through the crowd and broke off for the main counter. A hunch prompted Albus to sneak along the shelves for a hint as to why.

He couldn't make out what she muttered, but the lady at the register (maybe a manager?) had to speak up, "Of course we have them, all the Harry Potter books are under the Wizarding War display. What? No. He insisted all of them be together."

Harry. Potter. Books. Who would read such a silly thing? Albus understood his father was Chief Auror (Detective Commander to muggles) and that he was pretty cool for a dad (a hundred times cooler than Percy, but not even close to as cool as George). Except, so many people Al knew were Aurors. Uncle Ron used to be his father's partner, as had Neville. Kingsley used to be an Auror, but was now the Minister of Magic (and Mr Potter's boss, well, everyone's boss), so, more people would know him, right? Ron pretty much ran WWW now. Neville Longbottom taught at Hogwarts, but his wife Hannah owned the Leaky Cauldron Tavern and was therefore much better known than any Auror (she was pretty cool, too). Then there was Cattermole, Mateo, Proudfoot, Savage, and even funny Teddy Lupin was in training to become an Auror, and he had just graduated Hogwarts. Half the adults Al knew were presently or had been Aurors. When had Aurors become more popular than Quidditch players? Mum had her own action figure!

Despite his confused thoughts, Albus kept up with the elderly witch as he avoided her notice. The rows of shelves were labeled as the clerk had said: The Wizarding Wars [HP font], the letters jagged like lighting. The books along the borders were varied and their order was not immediately obvious. The center of the display was hard to miss, though. Four titles stuck out. Each was arranged in three by three squares. The Boy Who Lived had Mr Potter's portrait at Al's age. Dad used to wear thick, black glasses (Just like the kid with the owl!), and the scar on his forehead had been darker. The magically animated version of Harry kept adjusting his wavy, black mess of hair as he went from happy to uneasy. Al looked at his Dad's eyes; were they as much alike as every adult in Al's family commented on at some point? The next book looked like a wanted poster of his father and was called Undesirable #1. Graffiti in several points made the cover a sort of joke full of opposite meanings. Al thought it was odd of someone to go to the trouble of making an authentic looking wanted poster and then mark it up just for a book cover. The front of Chosen was illustrated. The top had a baby surrounded by debris and flames, the title split through the middle, then a cartoon of a teenage Harry Potter dirty and bruised, face-to-face with a man so poorly drawn he had no hair, nose or lips, and red slits for eyes. Again and again, a green and red flash broke them apart (and revealing the faces to be cut-outs). Then the image would reset to them staring at each other. The fourth featured book, Dumbledore's Army, had a collage of picures across it. Mr Potter was central among them, flanked by Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, Mrs Potter just above them. Al recognized most of the pictures: Neville, Luna, Thomas, Mrs Sun and Mr Creevey. It was a challenge to recognize George without one of his hats, but Al figured he had to be one of the ginger twins. If that was the army in question, where was Dumbledore? Around the edges of these covers were many more titles with only their spines showing: Auror Muggle, Cupboard Under the Stairs, Destiny Fulfilled. One cover shone: Erised Denied. Al removed it and saw the front was a warped mirror. The title was in black across the top, and 'Eldred Worple' was similarly printed across the bottom. There were so many different books Al could not even read all the titles: Ashes of the Order, Weasleys Everywhere, The Women Behind the Hero, and The Life, Lies, and the Legend of Albus Dumbledore. The last one was by Rita Skeeter, but editted by H Granger. Rose's grandparents were named Granger, Al thought they must be related.

The dainty, old witch hesitated at taking a copy of The Boy Who Lived and selected Chosen instead. Al figured he was going to be in her way (and confronted for skulking about), and slipped down the row and around, coming back at the Wizarding War shelves from the side. This approach not only gave him more cover (he heard Mum call his name), but also brought him across a smaller display: The Other Side [HP font]. At first, Al thought the shelf was named such just for being on the other side of the aisle. However, the books were also all darker, bound in black and brown. Bright red print drew Al to one book spine: The Life of a Villain. He pulled it out to see the cover. It had three pictures top to bottom. The first was unmagically still, a muggle photo of a pale boy with short, dark hair, cleanly cut and combed, kind of like Al. The second was a normal (wizard) photo of a teenager in student robes with a badge (just like his cousin Victoire's). While the first two looked like the subject had posed, the third was of a group of wizards in black. The picture shook then zoomed in on a man as he started to float up from the others. Unlike the drawing from Chosen, this was a real picture of a wizard with no hair, no nose, and red slits for eyes ... Al shoved the book back in the case.

Mum was close. Worse, while the sound of her voice was clearer, she called for Albus in a quieter voice. She knew she was close. Al scanned the titles quickly for something more, he didn't know what. A Ministry Gone Bad, Under the Dark Mark, The Malfoys: A Change in Tides, The Black-est Night, then one that stopped the search. If Albus had been a bit more mature, he might have wondered why he was so interested. This title answered that unasked question. He pulled the thin book out. The man on the cover was quite annoyed, his dark eyes stared down a hawkish nose. The portrait smoothed back his black hair which was otherwise indistinguishable from the background. The bright green letters stood out: Severus Snape: the Simple Story of a Complicated Man, featuring an "exclusive interview" with Harry Potter. Severus ... Albus' middle name. He had to know more.

Lily complained about carrying Albus' textbooks. Al quickly shoved the Severus book in the back of his waistband. He stood to find Mrs Potter just beyond the row he had been crouched down in. "Mum! Could I get one of these?" He gestured about as if the book he wanted was still on one of the shelves.

It was unlike her to not have a ready answer ("no"). This time, she couldn't settle on what to say, "Albus ... now ... it's not a good time for that." When his mother looked back for Mr Potter, Al untucked the back of his shirt and let it fall to cover the book. He didn't want to upset his mother, but he couldn't let this clue to his middle name pass. He had heard mention of several others and even met another Albus. No other Severus existed as far as he knew. Dad was the only one who ever even used Albus' middle name (and not in that "James Sirius Potter what are you doing?" sort of way).

Lily nearly dumped the heavy bundle of books on her brother. James was waiting by the store entrance. As Albus, Lily and their mother moved to join him, the person in charge of the store spoke up, "That's that then. Unless you have a criminal matter to complain of, such as loitering, harassment, or unlawful detention, the Chief Auror and his family appear to be done with their business." The crowd gave in to the snide suggestion. Mr Potter and a few others smirked at the humour. Those few that actually had books to buy for Hogwarts queued up. The others turned to talk and to compare their recently acquired souvenirs.

All attention quickly turned back to the Potters as they exited. The book jumped on its own from under Al's shirt and flew to the store's counter with a shriek, "THIEF! THIEF!"

For the last week before school, Albus was not allowed to use his wand, no television, no computer, no broom flying. He would have to do all his own chores in addition to James', and Lily's household tasks, and anything Totsie (the Potter's house-elf) needed help with, all without magic (not that Al knew much but lumos, a pitiful light spell, and how to activate already charmed items). James' teasing increased ten-fold. Lily got all nervous, and barely spoke when Al was in the room. Mrs Potter was livid, but let Dad be the one to talk to Albus. Mr Potter was calm in delivering Al's punishment, which just made it all that much worse. At least he did not avoid Al (as he had feared). Even worse, they didn't buy the book, as it turned out they already had it at home.

Next Sunday, as the family prepared for the boys' departure, Al had let the issue go, he didn't even want to read the book any more. He was more excited about going to a school where everyone would know and do magic. Even if Al had thought of it, he wouldn't have brought it up and upset everyone all over.

Chapter 2 According to Schedule

Sunday, 3 September 2017

Scorpius H. Malfoy

He did not, precisely, wake up. Scorpius had drifted in and out of sleep all night. He gave up and sat up. The couch was surrounded with the cardboard boxes that cluttered most of the room. The couch was comfortable enough as a bed, but adjusting to the jumbled maze had taken the entire week. The sound of sparse traffic came from the streets below. The blond boy stood in the one open space beside his makeshift bed and yawned. He cringed at the taste of his own mouth. He donned the slippers and robe he had placed on a stack of boxes the night before and wound through the packed containers to the bedroom door. He listened in. Though he needed the lavatory, it would be unbecoming to disturb his parents.

Mrs Malfoy had reassured her son it was acceptable to "make a break for it" down to the office if the apartment bathroom was unavailable (the door to it from the main room was blocked by several file cabinets). Scorpius went and peered down the dark passage to the slit of light beneath the downstairs door. He wondered if anyone else lived in the flats above the street-front shops. Like Father's company, most of the businesses used the upstairs properties as a break room and storage.

Nervously, hygiene kit in hand, the young Malfoy crept down the stairway. Curiosity overtook him at the bottom of the steps. He opened the door to the office and ventured a few meters out. Scorpius startled a moment at seeing cars on the street and a couple biking by. The windows had no curtains and someone might be confused at a boy in his bedclothes wandering around the wooden desks. Then he remembered that the entire office was mirrored on the outside. One could see in with his or her face pressed to the glass, but not otherwise.

His morning routine complete, Scorpius crept quietly back upstairs. It was not brave to be concerned about being seen in pyjamas by strangers. Nor was it clever to forget the reflective window tinting. Perhaps it was considerate, humble, or such to allow his parents their privacy. He wasn't certain. Before the day was over though, he would know, but so would everyone else. The excitement that stirred him all night rushed back until he smiled despite his previous thoughts. Before he slept tonight, he would be sorted at Hogwarts and he it would happen just as he planned.

Greatly cheered, Scorpius decided to ready breakfast. Unlike the lounge area, the kitchen and dining area were often used, and clear of boxes. He wanted to make his mother's favorite. The recipe was on his phone. He set it down on the counter and began his search for ingredients. There was no flour, nor sugar, no baking powder, and certainly no produce. They had been in London for a week and mostly ate easily prepared food, though once each they had dined out and had take-in. They'd eaten the leftovers, leaving only eggs, bacon, milk, and cereal. He wasn't even going to see his parents again for a month. All they had done for him, he wanted to do something special for them before he left (especially Mother).

Scorpius dressed, glad he had showered the night before. An internet search came up with a store only two blocks off. He took his emergency money envelope from his large, hard-case chest and concealed it inside his windbreaker. So as to avoid any worry, he wrote a note on a sheet from the printer and tucked it above the bedroom door handle. Facing the world was not nearly as daunting once fully clothed.

No one took notice of the eleven year-old boy walking on his own. Not that there were many people out at eight in the morning on a Sunday. Scorpius was the only person on the footway. He did not have far to go, but he was wary as he had rarely ventured forth alone in Soho. Something similar weighed on his mind even more. As much as he looked forward to attending Hogwarts, learning and using magic every day, he knew he would have to be on guard there, too.

An electronic chime sounded as Scorpius entered the store. The woman hunched behind the counter glanced from her television to assess her customer, "Don't be thinkin' of nickin' summthin', gotcha on the vid." She pointed at a second screen above her program with a four way split image of the store, including the woman and Scorpius at the entrance. At first, due to his previous experience and his present perspective, he didn't believe the rest of the store was covered by just three cameras. It did not take long to realise the narrow shop contained only two short aisles.

The store also had no flour, no baking powder, and most certainly no fruit; their sugar was in packets measured for tea or coffee. There was a H&B less than a mile off, but it wouldn't open for nearly three hours. Scorpius clutched a box of baking soda and approached the counter, "Madam." He waited, forgiving that, perhaps, the show was of more interest to her than it was to him. Scorpius ran his fingers through the back of his hair to stave off his impatience. In a few moments though, she seemed to doze off. Her false threat of attention to the surveillance camera was more annoying than her lack of service. Scorpius slammed the bell on the counter, "Madam!" She turned, startled. Malfoy flinched back a step. He was alarmed at his own loss of temper, though it may not have seemed that way, "Excuse me! I found baking powder, I mean soda, but you haven't anything I was looking for: flour, sugar, blueberries."

Not quite fully awake, and not wanting to appear unaware, the cashier challenged back, "Wot's yer name?"

Scorpius didn't want to lie, but, outside the wizarding community his name was unusual, "Scott." It was the alias given on his Ministry of Magic-issued passport.

She picked at an unopened pack of cigarettes. "And where yer from?"

"Liverpool, madam, but I need these things to make pancakes, well, Scottish pancakes, for my mother," He wanted to leave. This was not a proper grocery store. This was not the kind of person he wanted to talk to: someone whom he was better off lying to.

She stared at him. Maybe she thought to ask more irrelevant questions, or call the authorities ... or drift back to sleep. As if it all finally sunk in she blurted out, "Scottish pancakes? Whi'e boxes, 'bout two thir' the way. Got apple-cin'mon 'n' choc'ate chip, too. Yer mother Scottish? Where's she at?"

Scorpius smiled weakly and replied, "Well, she went to school in Scotland, and she's just around the corner, madam," and two blocks down ... and in bed. He replaced the baking soda and picked out the blueberry labelled box, "But these are scones, madam, I ..."

She pushed buttons on the register and the printer churned, "Got directions fer both on ih. Gotta uncle up in Manchester. Don't sound sharp as you."

He strained to be polite, "Thank you, madam." He handed her a five pound note then slid the change into his envelope, careful to not reveal its contents, "Good day, madam." As quickly as he could, he was out of the store.

Before he dashed off, Scorpius fished out his mobile, captured the store image, and linked it to his search. He flicked the keyboard on the screen and entered a review, More a run-down convenience store than a grocer. Scorpius hesitated. He thought how he did not know the woman, nor how she ended up in the store, or who even owned the business. He deleted "run-down", re-read his comment, and posted it.

The shower could be heard through the walls when Scorpius opened the door. He set the bag on the kitchen counter, then retrieved the other ingredients from the refrigerator. The box's contents were disappointing. The blueberries were in a tin and the pouch of pre-mixed powders seemed unhealthy, and perhaps unsportsmanlike (not that Scorpius cared much for sports). He pulled up the step-stool and set to cooking.

Breakfast was nearly done when the bedroom door opened. Scorpius caught the trailing end to his mother's statement, "... we could have stayed here longer."

Mr Malfoy was just behind, "I had to take care of Ollivander's collection last night, at least it gave us time today. Scorpius boards the train at eleven. I have to make the meeting in Constantinople after that."

Astoria made quick work through the jumble of boxes, "Istanbul. Make certain you record that receipt on both sides. And I didn't mean this week, I meant after our son," she was right behind Scorpius and grasped his shoulders as she pressed close to his back, "after our wonderful, pancake making son was born. Where did you get Scottish pancakes in London?" She was skeptical as she examined the box.

Draco was certain as he read the sheet of paper he'd lifted from the floor, "'Grocer's, two blocks east' - that place is a hole in the wall. I took care of Nocturn and Soho already. It's still Constantinople to these people ... or Constantinia. Back then, there would have been no room here for ... anyone else."

Mother hugged Scorpius tightly and kissed his head, "Ah, breakfast. We'll overlook the frightening prospect of you alone on the street seeing as you're safe in my arms." Despite what she said, and though she sounded sincere, Mrs Malfoy failed to completely mask her concern.

Scorpius felt guilty. It hadn't been very far, and it wasn't dark out. He was nearly twelve after all. And he knew not to go out alone at night, but it still struck him, "I'm sorry. And the blueberries were in a tin of syrup, so I'm not certain they're quite right."

Mrs Malfoy tore a small piece of pancake from the stack, "Pbbbt!" She savoured the piece and smiled as she sat at the table with her husband, "One does not turn down food made by someone else." The family chuckled together.

Scorpius retrieved bacon wrapped in a paper towel from the microwave. He put the plates of food on the small table, then set out the milk carton. "We ate the last of the melon and carrots yesterday." He sat across from his mother and started in on his own plate of food.

Mr Malfoy watched his phone. He briefly cracked a smile, "Good planning then." Scorpius smiled back, but his father was absorbed in whatever was on the mobile.

Astoria noticed and tussled her son's hair, "The box says scones, how'd you turn them into these?"

Scorpius took the box and pointed to the side, "There's al-ter-nate directions."

Without a break in his concentration, Draco inserted, "More milk, use a skillet."

If Draco were watching, he would have seen his wife level him a blistering gaze. Scorpius glanced at each of his parents as he ate. Astoria surrendered halfheartedly, still concerned with her husband's messaging. "This pre-packaged stuff is well and good every now and then, Hypie, but don't eat it every meal, or you end up humorless ... and alone." Hypie, short for his middle name: Hyperion.

Whatever it was that had held Mr Malfoy's attention was finished. He put down the phone as it cycled off. Mother's eyes caught on the set aside mobile. Draco raised his eyebrows and asked, "Who's alone?" He turned towards his son who immediately put down his fork and swallowed. His father continued, "Did you hear that? Sounded like someone who went through university on take-in and ramen." Scorpius resumed eating along with his parents.

When they were done, Astoria stood, noted her watch, "C'mon, we can't be any later than ten thirty."

Draco stacked their plates together, "Ten thirty? It's nine. You didn't plan on us walking, did you?" He turned back briefly to pocket his phone.

Astoria bulged her eyes in mock surprise, "I have to go out as 'Missus Malfoy'," She ticked off on her fingernails: "That means foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, lip stick, lip liner, and," she yanked out the band that had held her disheveled ponytail, "hair. Not to mention the security check. And what are you doing to prepare?"

Scorpius, with the cups and flatware, and his father, with the dishes, were on their way to the sink. Once there, Mr Malfoy turned, his eyes up, as if in thought, "Shave?" he rubbed his chin, "Or should I grow my beard again?" Astoria scowled in response. Draco paused before continuing in a more serious manner, "It's a wizard's world. A man can don a robe and go."

The reply was a low growl. "You need your suit, mixed crowd today, or a formal robe, no black drapes with a hole cut out." Mrs Malfoy closed the bedroom door. Muted music started through the apartment wall. It was a dark and heavy orchestra piece Mrs Malfoy played at times like this. Scorpius hummed along as he rinsed and dried the dishes while his father washed.

After the last dish, Draco grasped the counter and faced his son, "I spoke to those we discussed. No one should be surprised."

Scorpius grinned and nodded without looking up from his work, "Thank you. I'm glad they understand." He tried to make a connection, "Was that who you were messaging?"

"No." Mr. Malfoy watched the wash water drain, he hesitated to continue, "They won't be surprised, I can't say they understand ... as I do."

Though his father was somber, the response cheered Scorpius, "Well, we can only count on Mother to understand as much as you do, Father." He turned and grinned at Draco.

An increase in the music's volume drew their attention to the open bedroom door. Astoria was fully made-up with her thick blond hair up and over to the back in a wave, "Well? What do you think?"

The "men" turned about to give their assessment. Draco stated dryly, "I think the slip is going to attract a lot of attention at King's Cross, but I'd hate anything that conceals those legs."

Mrs Malfoy stuck out her tongue, "Any serious opinions?"

Scorpius suppressed his mirth and cheerfully suggested, "I think your hair looks very elegant, like something Cissy would wear. You look like one of the ladies from her magazines."

Astoria gave a mock curtsey and spoke very formally, "Thank you, milord. I do think of how Grandmother would act on these occasions." She pivoted out of view, but left the door open.

The giggle subsided from Scorpius as he turned back to wash up then dry his hands with the towel from his shoulder. He hung the drying towel and used the wet dish rag to wipe the counter. "Father, will the other families act ... different without non-wizards about?" He looked to Draco when the reply was too long in coming.

Mr Malfoy deliberated internally for a moment and answered quite seriously, "We've discussed this, wizard families are not so different than others, but you mean do they have a ... persona they adopt, as your mother puts it, 'getting into character'." Scorpius nodded. "No. Like everyone else, if they do anything different they do it without thought, and the results are careless. Have you changed your mind on how we go about it?"

Scorpius used the cleaning to focus his thoughts, "Mother and you are funnier at home." He took his time with the microwave. They had no plans to be back in London soon, and Father's office would be using the flat as a break room again come Monday. "I don't know that it's careless. Lila's mother knows she does it, but I still like our way better. I know how we really are with each other." Scorpius swung the rag over his shoulder then took the glass plate from the oven, it needed more soap to clean off the grease.

Caught up in his son's last comment, Draco absently ran his thumb across his still wet fingers. The music stopped. He reached his open hand to his son, but stopped short.

The sharp clack of high heels on the linoleum floor brought Scorpius to turn about and see his father's outstretched hand, "Oh, no, this one's dirty, Father. The dry towel is over here," He reached back and handed the towel over, unaware what his father had intended. "Mother's all ready and I've soaked my shirt." Scorpius shrugged and grinned sheepishly. He rung out the damp rag and laid it over the sink edge, rinsed his hands and used the clean part of his shirt to dry them. He made for his luggage and dressed again.

Mrs Malfoy, now in a dark green suit with a knee-length skirt, recognised what Draco had attempted. She carefully rushed through the clutter to her husband. Astoria leaned in and whispered, "You just put your arms around him and hold him tight and he holds you back and you feel so warm and loved and it can get you through anything and all you see is his future and how perfect and wonderful it will be." Astoria pulled back to look face-to-face with her husband, her eyes coated in a shimmer of tears.

Draco's eyes wandered as he spoke back in barely a breath, "I've missed too much. It's too late, he's too old."

She gritted her teeth, "No, not him, not for us, never." Astoria's hold tightened as her voice cracked, "Draco, you aren't your father." She barely paused, "The phone, who-"

He came back to focus. The anger seeped into his hushed voice, "No, but I am his son." He clenched his hands and his wife released him, "I have to dress." Draco sped to the bedroom. He stumbled once and swayed through the narrow aisles, "What are all these boxes?"

Astoria glanced over her shoulder, anxious and discouraged, she replied, "Eight years' taxes. Inland Revenue claims they've gone electric."

Mr Malfoy called back, "Safety hazard, should fire our accountant."

Her arms crossed, Mrs Malfoy twisted about and responded with a sly grin and playful tone, "I believe that's called divorce."

Draco was already inside the bedroom and shouted back, "Call Stansfield, have him draw up the papers."

Scorpius snickered as he buttoned his vest. His mother could not help her own smile. She walked over to him and sat on the large trunk. Astoria addressed her son sincerely, "You know we love you?"

He was slightly confused, "Of course. I love you, too." Scorpius thought a moment, "I mean, I love you two, too - both of you - as well - also." They giggled despite themselves. "Is everything all right? Or is it something adult?"

His mother raised an eyebrow, "Your father was just helping me get into character, something you just ruined by the way." She pinched Scorpius' cheek. He felt a pang of guilt. He knew the change to go out in public was always hardest for Mother. Astoria saw his mood and reacted quickly, "I know, what would Narcissa do?"

It was a risky question. It hadn't even been a year, but it had been easier and easier to deal with for all of them. Mention of her shortly before hadn't even caused a stir. Before Scorpius could form a reply, Mr Malfoy emerged in a black suit, a long cloak draped over one arm, "Have the house-elf move the luggage to the limousine," He grabbed one handle of his son's large case, waved his fingers at Mrs Malfoy to move, then jerked his head to the door as he eyed his son. Astoria stood and Scorpius heaved up on the other end as his father continued, "Insist the driver go twenty under the limit and explain to Father that we'd have nothing to flaunt if we just apparated to the station." Astoria opened the door and held it. Draco went out, frequently checking behind him that his son could manage his end of the load. They made it down the hall, the stairs, and out to the street where their silver Mondeo was parked. They heaved the chest into the boot, then wiped the sweat from their respective brows. Draco slammed the lid, "Times have changed."

The ride to King's Cross was uneventful, though Draco had several choice phrases of colorful language for drivers that did not meet his exacting standards of awareness and haste. They parked across the street. The case would be easy enough to roll now.

"What is she-?" Mother started.

Father cut her off and reassured at once, "I'll see to it."

Scorpius saw several people outside the station, but only one stood apart. A blond woman in shabby clothes was neither coming nor going. She scanned passing travellers, then locked on the Malfoys.

Mr Malfoy started down the pavement towards this stranger. Mrs Malfoy stated coldly, "You see to her. I'll see to us." Mr Malfoy hesitated, then struggled a moment before he continued on his way.

Mother paid careful attention to the traffic to get them across the street. Scorpius could pay attention to nothing but his father meeting with this strange woman. The woman herself was in a similar predicament, looking from Mr Malfoy then to Scorpius and his mother nervously. The last thing Scorpius made out was his father stepping up to the woman and holding her off with an outstretched hand.

In the station, they proceeded to the check in. When Mr Malfoy caught up, Mrs Malfoy avoided looking at him, "Is that done then?"

Mr Malfoy nodded grimmly.

The Malfoys, along with many others, stood in a cordoned queue as it shifted slowly forward. A guard with a black radio glanced them over when they reached a switchback. He flipped open a panel on the speaker. It shouldn't have opened like that. He peeked down, then just as quickly closed it. "Excuse me, you three, special inspection," The man released the band from the stanchion and gestured for the family to follow him. The other passengers examined the guard with a mix of contempt and relief.

The guard led the Malfoys to a small room closer to the platforms. Three other guards were in the room, though by how they adjusted themselves, they had only just arrived. Scorpius was unsettled, even though he had been warned to expect a screening (but what about that woman?) And he wasn't the only one who felt uncertain. Astoria pretended to inspect her nails, or preen her son's hair and clothes (anything but look at her husband). Meanwhile, Draco preyed on the anxiety of the guards, scowling at each of them in turn.

A man in a khaki uniform entered through the far door, "We'll have you on your way soon enough, young Mister Malfoy."

Scorpius had not expected to be addressed directly. It took a moment for him to respond, "Err, thank you, sir."

The man easily lifted the plastic trunk onto the table. The new guard produced a wand and cast a spell to open the chest. "Alhomora. Any pets, charmed items?" A blue light shone softly from behind the lid.

Mother answered, "No." Her voice cold and crisp.

Draco drawled, "I wonder ..." The others startled, their attention drawn from the open case. The gentleman, apparently in charge, fixed his glasses, but looked to Astoria and Scorpius before he settled on Draco. Mr Malfoy continued snidely as he scanned the guards, "Who has more to fear, those who've only heard the stories," he turned to the inspector, "or someone who was actually there?"

Silence took over the cramped room again. Each of the guards checked the location of their wands, shifted uncomfortably or swallowed dryly, but said nothing. The head guard held his wand casually and was not shaken in the least. He turned to his subordinates, "You four, go. Focus on exotic pet carriers, avoid comments on attire, stick to muggle words." Out of sync, they answered and left for the main station. The man adjusted his glasses and continued his spell with the soft blue glow, "Is it necessary to antagonize them?"

Mr Malfoy was terse, "Would they expect anything less, Mister Creevey?"

The inspection was swift (the inspector efficient, the luggage well-designed). When it was done, his parents donned their wizardly attire. Scorpius was careful to be polite in requesting a single book from his luggage before they continued on their way.

Scorpius was taken aback by the activity on the platform known as "nine and three-quarters". He had thought the difference between it and its unmagical neighbor would be the old-time design, the number of people in robes, or even the occasional spellcast. Instead, it was all the children. Not that wizards were the only people to bring children to the train station, but children were the only reason wizards came to King's Cross. And while the students ranged from eleven to seventeen, their younger siblings had not been left at home. Scorpius was not certain if it was the separation from the non-wizards, the concentration of youth, or the excitement of novelty that had the other boys and girls running about as if recess had just been called. All that, plus the blanket of steam, was a recipe for injury. Instinctively, he reached up for a parent's hand and clutched his "Hogwarts: A History" close to his chest. Without looking, he knew the calloused, yet smooth fingers were his father's. At the thought that Scorpius would not see his parents for another month he turned to take in their faces one more time. Draco was already looking down to his son. The corner of his mouth twitched in what each knew to take for a smile in public.

Astoria sighed. Father and son glanced to her, then to the object of her focus. It was the Chief Auror, Harry Potter, and his family. Ronald Weasley and his family were also there. THREE of the four great heroes! The gathering looked back at the Malfoys. Scorpius had never seen the Weasleys or Potters in real life before. All his racing thoughts and questions ceased with the tight squeeze of his hand by his father. The Malfoys turned away, and walked along the foggy platform to the train's front. Scorpius looked back at a boy's yell. He was slightly older, maybe in his teens, and had just exclaimed something about "snogging". It was a rather undignified outburst. It was only then that Scorpius noticed the Potter boy his own age. He chided himself that he already knew the Potters' second son would be in the same year. The mist became too thick to see that far. Scorpius faced the path before him, though his thoughts caught on how the Potter children would not have to worry about what other families thought of them, and certainly not about where they sorted.

Chapter 3 Derailed

Albus

While he'd rather (everyone) forget the book incident, Al couldn't stop thinking about how it started. It was rather strange to find out that his father was famous, and not because of Mum, or for his adult career, but for something that happened when he was only a year old. Not that it was really much that Mr Potter had done (survived the attack in which his parents died). And, as Dad explained, the man responsible for the attack wasn't caught for seventeen years, and only then by an army of sorts (Dumbledore's, of course). To Albus, it was one thing for all those people to appreciate his dad for being an Auror, but this was ... Al didn't know what to think of it.

Then, there was the sorting issue. His brother James, their cousin Rose Weasley, well, all the Weasleys, their mother included, were for Gryffidor, and against Slytherin. They never spoke well of Slytherin, or anyone from it. Albus did not want to disappoint them (well, most of them). On the other hand, Phineaus and Wulburga were very much in favor of Slytherin. But then again, neither of them were really quite alive, as they were both animated portraits in Al's room (the actual people having passed on long ago). It came back to Al's father. He wasn't for or against Slytherin, or Gryffindor, or what anyone else thought about it. Even when Albus was about to leave on the Hogwarts Express, his father reassured Al by letting him in on a secret: Mr Potter had been offered a choice between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Stansfield said five to a room!" The boy at the outside of the jumble turned on Al, "Who are you?" Like Al, he had short, black hair, but it wasn't neatly combed, and this boy was a little taller, thinner. The pointed jaw, upturned nose, and large ears made him look almost like a dog. The passage beyond was filled with people talking excitedly, some of them yelling as they moved in and out of the compartments.

It was a bit much to take in all at once. There was smoke along the ceiling and candy wrappers on the floor. "Uh, Albus, Al Potter. Where's Rose?"

Dog-face leaned forward and his brows rose, "Potter? Only one Potter a day, already let one through. This look like Min'stry welfare? Try again tomorrow!" The boy then turned and held fast to the railing and the opposite wall as he tried to chat up the girls pressed to the back of the car.

Al looked out the closed door behind him. The Hogwarts Express strained to move. Al could feel the tension of the train build through the floor of the car. Potter crouched a bit and leaned to his left. The train whistle screamed in the distance and the car lurched forward. Albus used it to lunge past the "guard". He grabbed after, but wasn't even as swift as James, and missed widely. Instead, his grasp snagged one girl's skirt. Her shriek drew a lot of attention which Al used to signal his intended path to others as he wormed through them. Dog-face wasn't completely distracted by the two girls attacking him, "Hey! Stop 'im, that's the new Potter."

There was no sign of James (fine) nor Rose (not so fine). At the corner turn to the front door of the car there was a gap free of people. The sudden loss of bodies pressed against each other caused Al to stumble to the ground. A delicate, dark hand offered him help. He looked up and saw the girl was quite slim overall, with wavy, brown hair pulled back tight, her eyes a lighter brown and slightly slanted. "Another Potter?" She cocked her head in curiosity.

Al pulled himself up with the rail, unsure if the girl's offer was realistic given her slight frame, "I was looking for Rose, Rose Weasley." Rose wouldn't have gone far. And Al had agreed they would ride to Hogwarts together (so long as Rose wouldn't bother Al about the not-quite-nicked book).

The girl grinned knowingly, "Weasley, Potter," she barely shook her head, "Not here."

A quick glance over the shoulder let Al see his pursuer had stopped, but watched on as if waiting on the conversation between the younger students to end. Al asked what he'd been asked on boarding, "And who are you?"

She blinked, bowed her head and made a partial dip as she held the sides of her robe out a bit, "Leilianaa," Lay-lee-ah-na, where had Al heard that name? She leaned forward and whispered, "Some last names are a burden." She barely breathed a single laugh as she withdrew, then announced, "They left with their headstudent, tall, red-hair, quite pretty. Can't expect Gryffindors to loiter with the riff-raff." Those nearby joined in her amusement (except for Al's pursuer). Leilianna's playful look became sharp after she moved aside for Al to continue on. "Help him get through the next car and watch that door. I don't imagine anyone you could stop is going to board at the rear now." The boy was reluctant, but did as he was told.

So, they'd met up with Victoire (their eldest cousin fit the description as the tallest and the prettiest among the Weasleys). The next car was also packed, noisy and, if Al had thought about it, oddly filled with students near his age. Only as he squeezed to the end of the second car did Al realise the age thing.

There were two older students (Vicky's age) in the car: the girl had a buzz-cut like Dennis Creevey's and the boy had jowls that would have looked more appropriate on Al's dog-nosed escort. They sat in the last room with an odd (even for wizards) chessboard between them. As the door closed behind Al, a magically projected voice came clear through the chatter. It was likely the older girl, "Cut the babble, line out while cap'ins pick." The announcement drew Al's attention back just as the door closed. He couldn't hear over the clatter and whine of the train on the tracks, but he expected to see the other kids line up. Instead, everyone but the dog-faced boy was gone into the cabins. He stared a moment, then shook off the confusion and went on his way.

People on the platform and train had stared ... at Dad. Well, Uncle Ron had said it was him, and Ron had looked awfully odd today, but from what happened at Flourish and Blott's, it wasn't that.

The books ... Did they know more about his father than Al did? The Erised one had been just about Dad's first year at Hogwarts (or so he'd been told, that was one of the only books that the Potter library didn't have). And there were so many more besides that one. Mr Potter and Uncle Ron had met on their first trip to Hogwarts. FIRST TRIP! Ron, Rose's dad, you promised! Al ran to catch up.

As the Leilianna girl had suggested ("their headstudent"), Al also thought Rose was going to end up in Gryffindor, all the Weasleys so far had. Well, maybe not Fleur, but ... did she go to Hogwarts? Albus always thought she was a Ravenclaw. They were the snooty ones with all the smarts (or so said Mr Shacklebolt when his daughter Athene was sorted there), and that fit his aunt Fleur. But then both her daughters and son were in Gryffindor.

Al scanned each room for red hair. He didn't notice the door that opened behind him.

"I'm telling you, that's her kid, too!"

"James looks more like 'er than him."

"Potters are just like Weasleys, all prats. C'mon."

The train was just like James had said: old-fashioned with a passage to one side and coaches to the other, room for six per coach (though Ron told him it was really four seats each). None of that helped him find Rose. A boy in an oversized flannel shirt and tight jeans was stopped in front of Al, startled but smiling brightly. He was Al's size, but his face was a dark reddish-brown. He was so tan, his teeth sparkled in contrast. In his outstretched hand was his invitation (complete with a neatly opened envelope). Both it and what he said were ... something else. It wasn't English, maybe Spanish or Italian, Al wasn't sure. From what he knew of French he got the ideas of "year", "seat" and "castle". Al tried to answer, "Si, c'est traino correcto..." What language was that? "You can sit anywhere." Al weakly pointed at several rooms, smiled and mimed sitting. Maybe that looked more like he meant a toilet? None of those rooms had Rose though, thought Al to himself. The boy nodded, smiled, and Al hoped "gracias" was like "merci" and not "gratis". Albus figured the rooms were free of charge, but wasn't sure how he'd explain that.

Al was halfway through the train. The first room of the next car had a teenage boy in an unusual, white robe. He leaned against the window, talking to the six girls seated on either side. They seemed enraptured by whatever he said, or perhaps they just had to pay attention to avoid his rapid and wild hand gestures. There was no one of notice in the second room. The third ...

"ALBIE! Got no room for first years here," his brother declared.

"That your lil' brudder, Potter? Looks more like your da' than you!" This came from a boy who Al thought must be Jeremy MacPhearson, he was a giant, even for a sixteen year-old. Albus had heard about him being a great Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a position also held by their captain (and James' and Al's cousin), Fred Weasley. Jeremy's short hair did nothing to diminish his enormity.

"Yeah, but he hits a bludger like a girl," James laughed.

"A girl? Um, Potter, your mum's still the 'Ricochet' Potter, right?" one of the other boys, Crassick Delaney, another Chaser like Al's brother, said with disbelief. He and the others laughed as James grimaced. The two other boys weren't on the Quidditch team, and Al had never heard of nor met them otherwise.

"Alright, you guys." James, though he was the youngest and only just made it into the upper league team, caused the other four to stifle their laughter. "And you, move on! Go catch up with Vicky and Rosie, she's a first year, too, she can afford to be seen with the snaky likes of you, Aspie." The others erupted again, thought Al suspected that was over the previous joke at James' expense, rather than with him.

The next car was more helpful. One room was very easy to notice as Fred was likely the only Hogwarts student with an orange afro. He, his sister Rox, and their cousins Molly, and Louis were all together (where was Dom?). Al barged in and caught the tail end of what Molly said, "...be fine. She's as beautiful as her mother and as tough as her father. Al!"

Fred wore a sleeveless shirt (to better show off his muscled arms) and was quick to stand and hug his cousin, "Hey, Al, heard you could hook me up with some cheap books! Never read, only flown once!" He pushed Al to arms length, then flapped his hands like a bird. Albus slapped his cousin's hands to stop the taunt, but Fred decided to start a play fight, instead.

Roxanne, Fred's sister, wasn't amused, "Don't tease him, Fred! He's just used to taking anything from Dad's. Which Percy was right, someone was bound to get in trouble." Fred and Rox were much darker than the other Weasleys, though neither was as dark as their mother, Angel. Some family similarities were more common, as both Louis and Fred had the long, thick arms like the rest of the Weasley men. Also, Rox and Molly had round faces with light brown freckles on their cheeks, like Gran.

Fred sat back down, "Yeah, but my money was always on James with the trouble he got in at Hearthholme."

"No, no!" Louis waved his hand and shook his head. His hair was a pink-blond color, long and straight like his mother's. "You said before, Rose, and I agree. Rose is the one who calls the rules when she loses, but fouls brooms to win." Louis' accent was 'Frenchier' as his sister Dom put it. He had some hereditary problems when he was young and spent a few years with his grandparents in France. Al laughed at how Louis still hadn't gotten over Rose cheating in a Quidditch match at the Burrow over the summer. She had used a belt to tug Louis' broom down when he tried to block a goal by her little brother, Hugo. It had been the only score Hugo made, but turned out to be the winning one. "But non- NO, this is Potters for you, school brawls and stolen books." Louis failed to manage a stern expression, and cracked up at his own teasing. The girls, having been ever-so-serious before, also joined in the laughter.

Al thought it was funny, too, but he couldn't stand that everyone thought poorly of him, "I didn't think about it. It just ... well, yeah, ... I thought it was like George and Ron's place." Everyone laughed even louder. Al was glad to avoid why it had really happened.

Fred wiped at his eye, "Ah, yeah, well, did anyone have Albus pegged for Slytherin?"

It was odd, Roxanne and Fred were both mature, responsible types when the family was all together, but away, Fred was a lot funner and funnier. Rox, on the other hand, would get even more serious, "Freddie! Don't even!" She huffed a sigh, "James has been going on about that too much as it is! He was already awful since getting to Hogwarts and only got worse since you bumped him up to your team. Got MacPhearson and Delaney star-struck and mental at his side. And that's all about his mother and father, not him! Al, don't listen to your brother. You, Louis, and me will be just fine in the underclass team together, and we'll only have to put up with an undeserving captain for a year when we make upper-class."

"Undeserving? Wood handpicked me." Fred was mockingly offended.

Molly, mild and sure, put in her word, "Don't worry about what anyone says about your sorting, Albus. The hat might even give you a choice like it did me. I'm sure Harry and Ginny will be proud of you no matter what."

Fred made a dumb face and added in a nasal voice, "James won't, my dad won't, Ron won't ..." The girls glared at Fred, who continued (in his normal voice), "So, just the dimwit Weasleys won't be happy 'bout it." He resumed his broad smile and chucked Al on the arm. Molly rolled her eyes while Rox scrunched up her lips, fighting back the grin towards her brother.

Then Roxanne startled, "Family! Don't just jaw about it the whole way in here. Victoire and Rose were just here. Rose was so excited the two of you were going to ride the Express together. She's saving you a seat ..." Rox's enthusiasm faded, " ... somewhere." Her eyes bulged and she threw up her hands as if she had known, but forgot.

At her side, Molly nodded, "Right, at three quarters she was talking to the Finnegan boy and that friend of hers from Godric's." Before Al could turn, Molly had him in a tight hug, "You're gonna be a real wizard now. You've grown up so fast!"

The eldest among them acted taken aback, "Like you're so old. You're only fifteen, Mol! You can't even drive."

His sister kicked her legs out at him, "You're not supposed to!"

"I've a permit! I can drive with an adult in the car."

Louis had been in thought for awhile, "It should be 'you, Louis, and I'."

"What?"

Al took the moment of confusion to resume his search for Rose. The argument behind him fell back into laughter, and Al took comfort that no matter what else happened, he could look forward to a lot of gatherings like that at Hogwarts.

Several more cars and no Rose. No Rose, lots of people that weren't Rose ... a human obstacle in blue. "It" took up the entire passageway. It turned on Al, and bumped him back. The man's body, like his face, was also large and round, his hair short, curled, and blond. "Excusez-moi, parlez-vous français?" Excuse me, do you speak French? Al was sure of that much. Fleur might have been proud of him.

"Non, je ne parles pas français," Al replied. He didn't want to reveal how much (or how little) he actually knew.

The frenchman (frenchboy?) looked like he was a teenager. He was larger but less muscular than MacPhearson. His outfit was a cross between a sailor's uniform and a business suit. He looked at Al quizzically. Al had just answered "no, I don't speak French" ... in French.

"Sont sièges attribués? Par année ou à l'arrivée?" "Seats" (again), "years"? OK, Aunt Fleur wouldn't be so proud. "The seats, they are set, no? By year? Arrival?"

Oh, accented, but English. "NO!" maybe Al was too excited at understanding. "We can sit wherever we want." Well, you can, he thought, I have to find my cousin... the right one this time.

"Then after you." The large teen gestured to the room Al had just confirmed had one person, a very not-Rose person. "I am Andre, we ride to Hogwarts together." Tell him 'no'. 'No', it's so easy for Dad, Mom, James, even Lily. Just, 'no'. Andre opened the door, the blond boy from that uptight looking family on the platform looked up from his book. 'No', just say 'no'. Both had their eyes on him now.

An odd, female voice interrupted Al's thoughts, "Excuse me, is there seating available in this room?" Al hadn't seen her on his way forward, she must have come from ahead. The woman was stout, dressed in a plain, black suit, her hair looked like it had been tied in a knot on the back of her head; her expression was serious and intimidating.

"Uh, yes." Al answered, for even one more if he could get his say. Why was this woman riding the train? A new professor? How could she not have found a seat already? There was something about her voice, the accent, American maybe? The only new professor was supposed to be a goblin. Are American goblins much taller? Is there such a thing as "American goblins"? Maybe this woman was the excuse Al needed to continue on and not offend anyone. Too late, he found himself pressed into the cabin by Andre, back up to the window. And the woman ... ushered someone in front of her, but stayed in the passage herself.

The girl's hair was short, sleek, and black. It cut a sharp line over her eyebrows while two strips of hair framed her face on each side. The rest of her hair was pulled back tight into two pig tails high and to the sides of her head, curling under themselves. Her skin was light brown, her eyebrows thin and sharp.

"Problem?" She snapped at Al. It was more a challenge than a question. She glared at Al and he slid back into the seat as far as he could. She sat at the window next to the other young boy (someone at Kings' Cross had called him "Scorpius"). There was something different about the shape of her eyes, or maybe it was just that they were so dark they looked black. Andre had taken the seat across from Scorpius (if that really was his name), while Al had ended up in the seat across from the girl. He looked back at the woman, but she had closed the door and stood outside, her back to them. Meanwhile, the cabin's original occupant had returned to reading his book. The girl was intent on the window, her chin in her hand as she propped her elbow on the window frame.

Andre spoke up, "We should make known ourselves. My name is Andre, and I am from Beauxbatons Academy in France. You gentlemen both are from England though, yes?"

The other boy barely raised his head and eyebrows, "Scorpius Malfoy, and yes, I am from England." The polite tone wasn't at all what Albus had expected from the many stories he had heard from the Weasleys about Draco and Lucius Malfoy. Was this the boy from the family Ron had pointed out on the platform? He had just said he was a Malfoy.

"Yea, I'm from here, ... uh, Al." He didn't want to say "Potter" keeping in mind the reactions from earlier. He wondered if Andre had left off his last name for a similar reason. Potter was his mother "the Ricochet" and sports anchor Potter, and his father "the boy who lived" (Who came up with that?), the Chief Auror. After the bookstore, and how Dog-face acted and what that Leilianna girl had said, he wasn't sure what these people would think about the name "Potter".

Andre was either nervous or excited, it was hard to tell the difference with a stranger, "Hogwarts is quite a prestigious school. You two may take for granted your invitations, but I am quite proud to be selected, especially part of the program of exchange. And you, young lady, you are from the American States?" No reaction. "I am quite interested in differences in academic approach, what is emphasized? Individual performances or team's work? Talent or determination? Paperwork or class participation? I do not know," Andre smiled and continued.

But Al's thoughts were about how the girl's bow-tie was out of place with the rest of her outfit. It was bright red in contrast to the dark grey blazer and skirt, white shirt and grey/beige house badge (Is it a house badge? She's too young for a prefect!).

"WHAT?" She barked. He'd been staring. And he had been caught. While Andre had droned on about the wonder and mystery that is Hogwarts, Al had been compelled to look at this new source of curiosity.

"I was only in saying that I look forward to us sharing our experiences a week from now, or even after that," Andre responded.

Oh, not me, thought Al, oh good.

Her words came out rapid and sharp, "I seriously doubt a few middle-schoolers are going to be hanging out with a junior or senior going on about the finer details of their academic and social lives at this school or any other." Even the Malfoy boy broke from his reading to pay heed to the girl's near growl. Al had only ever heard his grandmother Weasley do something like that with her voice (at least, without magic). Al failed to notice when the woman in the passage glanced into the cabin. The girl went back to gazing out the window again. Her scowl frightened Al, but he was still fascinated.

Andre countered (though not confidently), "Middled school? Both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts are considered very highly and I am named not for my father, and have no son, indeed."

With a roll of her eyes, the angry face was replaced with a smug grin. Al didn't dare grin himself, Scorpius, likewise, seemed uncomfortable. Five or six years younger and she had this teenager, nearly an adult, confused and on the defence.

Scorpius clarified, "Middle school refers to secondary school in America. Juniors and Seniors are those near graduating." Malfoy sounded annoyed (and more like the tales of his family).

Al saw his chance to jump in, "And Americans go to magical schooling at ... five?" Someone (a cousin, really smart ...) had told him this bit of trivia when they each received their invitations to Hogwarts. The French school started and graduated a year earlier, but this was not the time to show an interest in France. There was something about the other European school, Durmstrang, but Albus hadn't been paying much attention.

Dejectedly, Andre inserted, "Oh, well, that is ... just, I would want to be talking with someone and again, it is unfortunate. Ouì, I forget that common are divisions here. We must be separate from the magical races and, how do you say, 'muggles'."

The girl turned back, but, perhaps out of fear for his own head being removed in the crossfire, Scorpius preempted warily, "'Un-illuminated', 'mundanes', 'normals'."

She made an 'O' with her lips. They were shiny and pink. Was she wearing lipstick? Al quickly berated himself, was he really thinking about her lips? He quickly blamed James' outburst at King's Cross about Teddy and Victoire snogging.

"So sorry, maybe you can find some muggles to chat it up with?" she was quieter, but her words dripped with sarcasm. Silence took over the cabin. Andre fidgeted and squirmed in his seat, but said nothing. Malfoy read his book, Al tried to look at anything except the American girl, but it was like when Luna was wearing one of her ridiculous hats. The girl watched the passing countryside and became quite serene in contrast to her outbursts.

What HAD he forgotten? (someone would know, someone smart ...)

Almost an hour passed in relative quiet. Andre resumed, "But, as I was saying," The girl clamped her eyes shut a moment in reaction. "Hogwarts itself is uh, isolated and the additional internal separations..."

Al could do it, too. He could talk over someone for once, "You've already gone to magic school since you were five then?" He'd done it. And it looked like she was going to answer. Andre seemed just as interested in the response as Al.

"Yes." Without turning her head, she blinked in Al's direction, then resumed staring at the afternoon landscape. "We study, uh, well, it doesn't matter. I'll only be here a year, a school year at that." Was she sad about that? The scenery was mostly towns and highways. But she was locked on the view, as dull as it was.

The American woman opened the door and allowed room for the food cart vendor. "A sandwich and a drink, Samantha," she stated firmly. The girl nodded obediently. The boys each paid for their own food (Malfoy had his coins in a paper envelope), while it seemed the American's food had been paid for in the hall. Al choked on his laughter as he watched the others begin to eat. Al didn't know if it was the woman's command, or just routine, but everyone ordered A sandwich and A drink. The girl also noticed that everyone had obeyed the order meant for just her. She rolled her eyes and nodded to Al in acknowledgment as she chewed. The woman with her had probably caused this reaction before.

Several hours passed in relative quiet. Farms and villages replaced the more modern sites, then grazing fields, wild meadows and forests. Andre finally worked up his determination again, "But the purpose of this exchange program is for us to learn from each other, the differences in our-"

The girl tugged at her tie and shirt collar as she turned and stated calmly, "We learn all the real life stuff: math, reading, science, and history, well, comparative history, you know, real history and the stuff the normals learn, but side by side." Andre relaxed from his huff which reduced her motivation to continue. She trailed off, "and then basics of reality manipulation, alteration, elements, applications and forms." She turned back to watch the darkening view.

Al hoped he could get her to talk some more, "What house are you, or, where are the exchange students going ... which house will they be in? You're already in a house at Ilvermony, Samantha?" The woman had at least given them the girl's name.

"Do I look like a Silverhoney?" She flicked one of the dangling strips of her jet black hair dismissively. "And what houses?!" She was indignant. "I thought this place was a castle, some medieval monument to Merlinism and magic royalty." This time the wrath was directed at Al (though not as strong as before), and it destroyed all the confidence he had built up.

Andre, however, had found his courage (to talk at least), "He means the four houses, like four guilds, four 'fraternite' within Hogwart's castle." She arched her eyebrow and made one eye appear larger, akin to the main character Moody in the comic "Eye on You". Andre braved on, "Godric Gryffindor, Salathzar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff set up their houses to encourage defense of the weak, exercise of power, creativity in magic, and unity in spirit, how do you say, respectly." Not that Al often caught errors, but he was pretty sure Andre meant "respectably".

Maybe Al hadn't lost everything, "It IS a huge castle. I've been there a bunch." He felt some sympathy for Andre. They were both trying to regain ground in their own way.

She shifted away again, her ire lost. "Is it always so green here?" she asked wistfully. Her eyes reflected the dark red of the eastern sky. Al and Scorpius exchanged confused looks, while Andre settled back, annoyed at yet another distraction from his topic of choice. "I didn't get to go home this summer. Didn't get to leave the desert. I miss Gloucester ... the river ... "

"The Severn?" Malfoy inquired in disbelief. It brought Samantha back from the fading landscape.

She looked back, not quite meeting Malfoy's eyes, "Uh, no, guess it's a city here, too. There are a few Gloucesters in the States, 'cept our Severn's in Maryland ... I think. But, uh, I meant the Delaware. Between New Jersey and Philly." She traced along the window, and her eyes caught the crimson glow again. "The country here is even better ... it's like the nice parts of Jersey." She smiled, biting her lower lip as she snorted a small chuckle, "But the Academy is in Nevada and ... despite the name, 'Groom Lake'," the name was said in a much deeper voice, and Al got the idea it was to mock someone, "there's no water, much less a lake." She blinked hard and turned back, her eyes glossy black again, "What 'house' are you two in? You're local 'n' all."

Scorpius snapped his book closed on his hand without looking up. Al noticed and stepped in, "Everyone in my family goes to Gryffindor. My brother and all my cousins are there." Something about cousin nagged at him.

"Your great-great-grandmother was in Slytherin." Said Scorpius tentatively, his eyes still downcast.

Al and the girl shared quizzical looks, but she spoke first, "How do ... do you two know each other?" She cocked her head to the side. Al was momentarily distracted by how her pig tails seemed unaffected by her movement.

Scorpius and Al shared looks, this time discomfort. "No," in unison. The question, or the synchronous answer, made both too shy to say any more. Samantha looked to each of them, but they avoided eye contact.

Andre filled the gap, cautiously, "Uh, Albus' father, well, there are books, and, many have read ... they go into ... the history is very detailed. Fame spares little."

Great, Al thought, France, maybe all of Europe, knows who Dad is, too! It had been interesting before with strangers, now it was people he wanted to know (well, two of them, anyway). Al was at least grateful for the politeness of this explanation. "Which, well, what Weasley or Potter was in Slytherin?" He had a hard time imagining Granny Weasley cackling fiendishly as she made up new curses and poisons, unless they dealt with scolding her sons and grandsons (or cooking, but not fiendish cooking). Was Severus Snape somehow related to the Potters?

"Dorea Black," Scorpius answered anxiously.

"Oh, my room used to be Regulus Black's!" Al responded excitedly.

The girl's jaw dropped and she blurted out, "Wait! HE knows which of YOUR long passed grandmothers went to which sorority and YOU don't?" Both boys sniggered a little, even Andre appreciated the humor of the situation. It was much easier to accept when the silliness of it all was pointed out. "Who's your father that he's had books written about him?" That easy feeling didn't last long.

"Uh, it's, I'm Albus Severus Potter, and my father is Harry James Potter." That said, Al figured it was all clear. Scorpius and Andre already knew, now everyone knew.

"Harold Potter?"

OK, maybe not everyone. Maybe people from America didn't read much, as someone claimed (a cousin of his, one of the smart ones ...). Samantha looked around for clarification. Then something seemed to click, "Oh! The kid, the anagram-Voldermort guy! Britain's Two 'Wizard Revolts'?" Now she had the look of a pleased student who had the correct answer (not that Al was sure her answer was quite correct or not). That look faded with the boys' shared expressions of unease. She tried to salvage it, "But, so you," she pointed at Scorpius, "read books about his family," then indicated Albus," and of course you didn't bother reading books about your own father." Everyone seemed only a little more relaxed, and Al didn't want to admit he had only just discovered there were books, so many books, about his family. "I'm Sam," She rolled her eyes at the door, "from G-L-A, the Gloom, ha, Groom Lake Academy. I'm really not the Ilvermony type." Then she looked at the ceiling, as if trying to think up the answer to an unasked question, "Uh, Defense as stone, power in fire, creativity as a river, and unity under the sky." The introduction and the weird statements that followed wiped away the awkwardness of her previous comments and instead left the boys confused. "What are their colors?" Sam had clearly moved on from the subject of families, "These 'houses'?" She craned her neck and looked at them like they were idiots for not following.

Al jumped in with what he knew, "Gryffindor's gold and red."

Scorpius followed suit, "Silver and green for Syltherin. Yellow and black for Hufflepuff." He looked to Andre.

She turned to Andre, too, and Al smirked at how the passing warning light reflected red in her eyes at just that moment, "Bronze and blue of Ravenclaw." He said it quickly, unnerved by this girl a fraction of his size. She seemed disappointed and turned back to the window letting out a long breath that briefly fogged a patch on the window. The boys were bewildered at her quick changes in attitude.

She started again, thoughtfully, her eyes on the floor, "Then, if ... if, defense could also be chivalry, bravery, so, a hearth fire ... and wind could be knowledge, rock for loyalty, but it'd also be for labor, maybe 'servitudiness' or whatever. Water I guess, constant flow of power? Water for ..." and she turned to Scorpius, "Is there something about purity in Slithering?"

Malfoy replied warily, "Slytherin, not as much as thought, but ... yes."

Albus wondered if this quiet, calm boy was the son of the monster Lucius Malfoy that Al's mother, uncles, aunts, their family and friends hated so much? (Or was it Draco that was his father's age?)

As if that made it all fit for her, "Then rain for purity." Sam looked about as if for verification and received nothing but blank looks "Or depths for secrecy, I don't know." She sighed in surrender and leaned her head on the glass and watched the blackened night sky.

"Five minutes to Hogwarts, please prepare yourselves." The elf on the loudspeaker made Samantha wince and she stroked one of her small pigtails. Maybe her head was cold from the glass? Scorpius stood and produced a neatly folded robe from inside his seat. Al bemoaned not even knowing where his owl or luggage was.

Scorpius reassured Albus, "It's under you, the elves tend to the train and match belongings to student seating. I'm not sure about animals. If you went through the security check instead of the platform barrier they even load the luggage for you."

Scorpius was right, much to Albus' relief (he did not remember loading his trunk), and he retrieved his bundled up robes and put them on as Scorpius had. Hadn't someone already put their robes on at King's Cross? (a cousin...)

Sam glanced at both, then Andre, "Well?"

"I am in my school uniform," he smiled broadly," I thought it best to represent Beauxbatons at the outset."

"Me, too, I guess, but representin' GLA was totally not my point." Sam responded.

The train slowed with the whine of metal on metal as the brakes engaged. Al noticed the girl's attention on him just as his face dropped and his eyes screwed shut. "Rose." (... one of the smart ones).

Chapter 4: Treacherous Waters

Sam(antha)

The Potter boy pulled his fingers down his cheeks as he groaned. The blonde one, Malfoy, placed his book in a chest under his seat. Sam stretched her neck back and forth as she observed the nineteenth-century train landing. Andre stood and blocked any possible exit. "Good luck to you all," He smiled broadly, "Do not let anyone scare you of the lake squid or kelpies, I am told they are quite polite." So excited, so eager, he edged past the "guard" in the passage, "Oh, excusez-moi, madame." She stepped to the left leaving open the shortest route off the train.

That reedy voice came over the public address system, "Please, all students leave your luggage on board and it will be transported to main school, then house of sorting. Bird pets are to owlery, others with baggage." It sounded like someone had enchanted a cat to speak and then tried to strangle it back into silence.

A deep bellow came from outside. It could be heard loud and clear without speakers, "All returning students to the coaches, first years and exchange students wait on tha platform." Sam could tell Al was comforted by the booming voice, though not enough to smile about it. Scorpius half ran out. Sam waited to follow her handler to the exit.

Upon stepping down, the woman turned and pulled her charge to the side, "You behave yourself, Samantha. There's only one magic school in Great Britain, don't be shocked if the Kingdom's subjects expect the same of their bastard progeny. Also, be warned that people use full, even last names here. Now, I need to meet our contact," the woman pointed threateningly at Sam who responded by standing straight and adjusting her uniform. She was already in trouble after she mocked her escort over standing in the hall for so long, not knowing the first car was the only one with assigned seating (good thing those girls had come along). She didn't want to risk eye contact now.

Some of the other exchange students stood out along the platform: Andre was a blue crest in a sea of black robes. Another figure was in white with a headdress. He moved in and out of the crowd, striving diligently to the east end of the platform. The boy in brand new, yet ill-fitting normal clothes, held close to the train, moving to the front until he was blocked by a clutch of students. There were six girls and a boy, in what Sam had seen was the local school uniform (a black drape, how imaginative!) They seemed to be comforting the one kneeling between them.

"It's a long train. He must have been caught up when it started moving, Rose. You'll see. I cannot walk two steps without tripping on the stairs." It was the older girl from before. She was tall; her hair was red with gold highlights, even paler than the blond boy from Sam's cabin. She wore a red/gold tie and a silver badge. She was gorgeous, and Sam hoped she really was clumsy, but highly doubted it. Her accent was slightly similar to Andre's, but it was less annoying from her.

The second girl was not as concerned. "He's a boy, it's his first year, and there wouldn't have been room for Sean if he HAD found you. C'mon, Rose, get it together. Did you use up all your nerve at King's Cross?"

The heavily freckled boy was not sympathetic at all, "C'mon, Weasley, just ... let's get to the skimmers." The eldest girl and one other looked at him disapprovingly.

The others didn't say anything Sam could hear. It didn't make sense, that would have been seven in the cabin, the rooms held six, tops (even less if one of them was a giant, blue marshmallow).

Getting closer, Sam recognized the skinny girl with the red-brown ponytail had been in that group of girls on the train, too. She wiped at her eyes. "Thank you, Victoire," to the supermodel chick, then, to the other (kinda helpful) friend, "You weren't even there, Mattie. He promised. I promised. It's our first year. Mum felt so alone on her first 'Express'. I just didn't want Albus to go through that. I know him ... he's not strong like James, or Uncle Harry. He's quiet, shy. What if I left him alone and he ended up next to some awful Sly-," she paused as an older girl, her shirt and vest with green and silver trim, and a silver badge (like the one on the Victoire girl) slowed down. She looked severe, with her buzz-cut hair and sharp features. Three other students of varying ages accompanied her, all glared at Rose in anticipation. Rose stood and swallowed, "some awful slime-balls." Some of the passing group scoffed at the awkward correction.

Sam enjoyed the near confrontation. She shook her head slowly and pursed her lips. "Rose," she snorted derisively. Back to the matter at hand, she inspected the area. The Guatemalan farm boy in his fresh attire wasn't getting past that gaggle anytime soon, not with as cautious yet excited as he was (may not be used to crowds). Sam spotted her government-appointed handler as she talked to a ripped guy with thick glasses. He examined the paperwork then returned it to the manila envelope, looked about, nodded curtly, and moved beyond Sam's sight. He was dressed like a nurse assistant, or one of those security area janitors, in a crisp, well-fit, khaki uniform. She grimaced. He was the contact, or some courier thereof.

The self-absorbed French boy in his sailor suit was with the Arab who wore traditional thoub and kuba, a neatly rolled carpet (flying, prayer, or both?) under arm. The two were beside a bearded hulk dressed in tattered layers. He was nearly nine feet tall, and only marginally narrower than that. He made Andre look tiny. On the other side of the behemoth was a pair of Chinese women in black. One was like her chaperone's twin: stout, unattractive, cheap suit (the favorite of government functionaries everywhere). The girl, clearly the student, wore a much nicer silk combo dress-suit-robe. She was kind of pretty, but other than the shine of the fabric, did not standout. Everyone in black ... Sam imagined what could be done in the laundry room with a bottle of bleach. She giggled. Focus, Sammy! The Ukrainian would likely have robes like the British, or maybe a uniform more like the boys back home, but he may not be obvious unless she heard him. The Haitian girl might have been easier to spot, except there were more students of African heritage than Sam had anticipated in Britain.

Samantha scolded herself for her lack of control. She had trouble with so much mental noise, so many people, though less so on the platform. She had been all over the charts back on the train. It was easier when everyone had gotten bored or dozed off after lunch. Focusing on the terrain had helped. It really had reminded her of home, of time with her mom.

"Samantha." Abruptly, her handler stood in front of her. Sam ceased her scan and reined in her thoughts. "You will be riding on the boats to the castle. I will arrive ahead of you on board the coaches to arrange my accommodations and ... to review addenda to the paperwork. It will take some time. Follow the school staff directions as if you were at G.L.A." Sam nodded obediently.

"I ... uh, Sara, ma'am?" She ventured uncertainly.

"Miss Skein. What is it?"

"Miss Skein, will I be put in one of the houses, like ... everyone else?" She was unsure how to address the woman, under these circumstances. They were to play governess and ward on the plane, like they had money or something, HA!

The response was rehearsed, "You will follow all protocols applied to the students of Hogwarts during your attendance here, including any system of grouping." Sara Skein was so cold. It frustrated Sam to no end, but it was something her mother had assured her it was something Sammy would just have to tolerate. If only it could be Sam's mother standing before her, this would have been so much easier.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam confirmed. Sara departed for the horseless carriages (Not cars, literal horseless carriages!) A duet of high-pitched whines behind Sam signaled the Rose/Albus reunion. He must have continued forward along the train despite everyone else getting out. He had somehow missed Rose. Sam was about to focus her attention when a roar commanded all attention to the platform's north end.

"ALRIGHT, all first years over here!" The ragged gargantuan handled what looked like a toothpick for him. A soft, thick wire light flowed out of it forming a sign: FIRST YEARS. "Err, and exchange students." He seemed to entertain magicking up this phrase as well, but must have thought better of it.

As Sam moved forward, she tried to listen in on the voices (and feelings) behind her. Rose spoke first, "Victoire saved us seats, even Mattie and you, and it's your father who says one of you has to stay put for a proper search to work. What happened? I called Rox on her mirror and she said you'd passed them."

Disappointed, concerned ... Wait, an eleven year-old with her own magic mirror?!

Then Albus, "This French bloke nabbed me, then, I don't ... sorry."

Guilty, evasive.

The majority of students had already walked off to the wagons or coaches or whatever. All the other students followed the ill-dressed monstrosity. The skin was wrong for a troll, but maybe he had giant in his background, hairy enough to be an ogre, or perhaps the subject of a growth experiment never quite reversed. He was clearly excited, his anticipation building. He acted just like a kid, though an even mix of gray and black hair said he was long past his actual youth. All Sam could see ahead was a fog-covered lake with dim lights beyond. They rose high, but there were no details through the dense mist. The man navigated the long, shallow steps more easily than his size should have allowed. "We got more'n enough room, so no more than four to a skimmer, 'cept Professor Hagrid," he turned and smiled broadly, "for some reason they make me ride by me-self," This was received with a good deal of snickering.

Same joke every year, Sam guessed, but a new audience kept it from ever getting old. Wait, this guy was a professor? What did he teach: wrestling of pit fiends, dragons? Sam kept up, but was absorbed in her observations. There were about eighty students in all, with twenty-five small crafts at the landing beneath them. Equal or near equal ratio of male to female, predominantly European descent, about a third from obviously African, Asian and other backgrounds, close to equal among the local ... whatever the British called their normals (muddles?) not as diverse as the States (and NOTHING like Philadelphia).

Sam came to a stop when she realized she was only a foot behind Albus and Rose, unnoticed by either as they continued forward. Focus, Sammy, more than one situation at a time, assess broadly, work to details and back to area. She moved off the path to give herself some distance and a better vantage.

There was no visually apparent grouping on the individual vessels save two. The Chinese girl (now, like Sam, sans chaperone) politely maneuvered onto a small, shallow skiff assisted by Andre. Across from them was a starkly white boy with neat, black hair and bright blue eyes. His deep red attire was a mix of uniform and robes, like pictures Sam had seen of Eastern Orthodox clerics. Presumably the Durmstrang student, he scowled at his wide-framed peer and the futile attempt to seat the young lady in the narrow gap next to him. Eventually, the Ukraine's patience reached its limit. He snapped to his feet, gently handled her to the uncrowded seat beside him and stared menacingly at his French counterpart. Only three to that boat, Professor, Sam thought smugly. On another boat, the Egyptian and Guatemalan sat with a dark-faced figure in the Hogwarts-style robes (Is plain black a 'style'?). The Haitian girl had been prepared to blend in. She took no notice of Sam. Sam figured herself to be the assumed "fourth" in that group.

Then her concentration broke. Al yelled out, "Sam, Scorpius, c'mon, I'm sure it can take a couple more." Potter had gone several boats down. He turned back to help Rose on board while freckle boy from earlier leaned over the prow. The boy (Stan?) was more intent on the watery path ahead than the effort behind him.

Scorpius? Sam cringed and made a sidelong glance over her shoulder. That blond boy that had been next to her on the train was behind her, a little higher on the grassy incline, also assessing the selection of remaining seats. In her attempt to focus ahead, she had lost track of behind. Just the one nearby boat beside the professor's remained entirely empty as others were full or filling up. Was Scorpius intent on that one? She couldn't read him. The look on his face revealed he had not noticed her until that moment either. He raised his eyebrows, bowed slightly and awkwardly motioned for her to proceed. His blank emotional state distracted her from the polite gesture.

Rose settled in and looked over the two newcomers. She wasn't crying anymore, if there had been any real tears to begin with. She looked composed, smiling. Her face was more lightly freckled, and pale. The plants here indicate more sunshine than the skin tones do. She was in the process of redoing her ponytail. What she didn't hold down of her auburn hair poofed out in a bushy mane. She gave a perfunctory smile and revealed front teeth too large for her mouth. Whoever named her Rose had misplaced their expectations. Al deftly took position at the rear of the seat next to his friend (or was she something else?) and stood ready to help the next boarder. Sam stood unsure on the mud-covered shore. Scorpius broke her cautious thought, "It's all right, I will steady you on this side, and Mister Potter will help you from his." Al nodded and Sam set one foot in with their help.

The boy with Rose turned back, obvious uncertainty on his face, "Mister Potter?" He noted the potential new passengers, "Hey, we got enough already. No scale-skins allowed!" He slid along the bench seat and collided with Sam as she brought up her second foot. She nearly fell despite the two boys' assistance. He pushed Scorpius' arm aside and Sam flailed.

"What the- HEY!" Sam used her mother's sharp-as-steel growl again (like she had at Andre on the train). The boat tilted up at the added weight to the aft, but far more than it should have. Scorpius withdrew from the boy's outburst and minor assault. Albus tried to withdraw his hand at the sudden change in Sam's grip, and her eyes, and her, all of her.

Sam's suit merged with her skin as she turned into glossy, black glass lined in flickering, red tendrils. She had become a smoldering obsidian, moving statue. She stepped back ashore taking Al with her. He fell from her grasp, his hands stretched out to stop his full-on face-plant. The ground about Sam's feet hissed and steamed. Her hands free, everyone around astonished into inaction, she dropped to one knee. Glassy, black eyelids narrowed on molten eyes. She grabbed low on the hull and shoved it like a child would a toy. The boat shot forward with its prow high, its hull splashing across the water's surface before it dipped and splashed down more than ten yards from shore.

Rose held low in her seat and received only a light spray. Her ship's self-appointed defender was not as lucky. Nearly thrown off the back at launch, he overcompensated as the boat plunged. The sudden stop threw him to the edge. He went face first, waist-deep into the lake, clinging to the edge of the ship. He recoiled from the water and collapsed into the boat's center. Sam stood and yelled, "WATCH OUT FOR THE DORK-EATING SQUID!" Her voice grated, it was much deeper than before and smoke came with her breath. Those who turned back from the spectacle of the first boat's departure saw Sam as she rippled and became a granite form of herself, then again as she became a normal (looking) girl in her uniform.

Professor Hagrid approached in a few long strides, "Wot's tha trouble now?"

Al pushed himself to his feet, and skidded out ahead of Sam. "Nuthin', Hagrid. We were just tryin' to find a boat all three of us could take. Oh, there's one!" His pointing past the huge instructor distracted the man and gave Albus the chance to turn back and make an exaggerated grimace.

Maybe this Hagrid guy had a temper to match his girth. When he looked back, Sam smiled uncertainly. She clamped her mouth shut when she caught the smoke curling from her lips.

Hagrid squinted and grunted, "Hmmph, no more magic 'till a profess-, until one of us says so." Hagrid pointed his polished twig at the vessel Albus had pointed at, "Don't keep everyone waitin'." It was the same one Sam (and Scorpius) had eyed to start with. They ended up walking behind Mr. Hagrid to a low chorus of snickers and whispers.

Al darted ahead. He took a moment to wipe his muddied hands on his robes. He was about to try to clean off his robes with his hands, but Sam stopped him by taking his hand in her own. "Now," she smiled coyly, "where were we?" Al and Sam chuckled as he helped her in. She sat to the front on the far side. Albus gave Scorpius a hand, too. He sat across from Sam. Al jumped in, spun, and fell back without looking, landing next to her. They were, of course, the last students to board their vessel.

Hagrid waved and tapped his stick at the prow of his own ship twice and the remaining boats took off smoothly from the shore. Sam and Al were all smiles, while Scorpius wavered between polite amusement and nervous frets as the three of them traded glances.

Al peered ahead to where Rose was tending to her companion. Sean (That's it!) was intent on wringing out his soaked clothing, avoiding any eye contact, while Rose looked to Al with disappointment.

Al broke his own new found tension, "That's Sean, his father's Seamus Finnegan, a guard at Azkaban. Dad's all right with him, but Ron says something happened in school, I don't know, but he doesn't like 'im." The comment unsettled Scorpius, which in turn worried Al. There was more between the two of them than they let on. "Was that thing you did the elemental stuff you were talking about?"

With a lingering glance at the lead boat, Sam responded, "Yeah, a fire and earth form I like ... He was pretty mad about us getting on board ..." and she turned to appraise Scorpius, who was fixated on his shoes, "but he was happy enough with what he did," then turning to Al, "I bet because of who would see." The Sean kid's emotions were simple.

Scorpius turned to face her, "Legilimency?"

"What?" Sam was distracted by Scorpius' emotions going blank again. Still, she hoped it was clear she didn't understand the word, not that she hadn't heard it. She hated it when someone just repeated a word as if that would make its meaning clear. Oops, Sam realized she had transmitted her confusion, and forcibly at that.

Albus adopted the received feeling, "What's that mean?"

The pasty boy clarified, "Reading thoughts."

"Oh, telepathy ... kinda," but I need practice, she thought. "Too many minds - like on the train, so many people." That comment made Al very nervous, he strained to not show it outwardly. The small fleet had caught up with Rose and Sean before their ship started moving with the others.

Al's wonder won out over his embarrassment, "You learn legomency and how to change into some volcano thing already? All I can do is a light spell and wand-on's."

The approval of the outburst made her feel guilty. She had not wanted to draw attention to herself. Sam's temper had gotten the better of her. She looked about at the other ships as they approached a dark cliff curtained in leafy vines. Sam answered absently, "Huhn? 'Wand-on's'? Thought control is the FIRST thing-" Wands, right, that's what the big guy has been using, dummie. But she was cut off before she could respond in full.

"Mind your heads!" Professor Hagrid yelled. They passed through the ivy into a low cave. There were a few whispers, squeals, and giggles. Several tiny lights broke the darkness. They soon saw a stone-paved harbor. Dark foreboding was left behind and replaced with grand magnificence. Hogwarts castle rose before them, all tall spires, classic parapets and an infinite number of brightly lit windows. It was grand and ornate and everything Sam could have hoped for.

She forgot herself and smiled eagerly at the majesty of it all. Everyone's excitement and awe added to her own. She giggled, then, embarrassed, she tried to rein it in. When her gaze met with Hagrid's beady, black eyes, and she felt his unabashed delight, Sam lost what little control she had and burst forth laughing loudly. A small part of her was afraid she would make another spectacle, but most of the others were also caught up in admiration of their new, fantastical home. "It really IS a fairy tale castle," she sighed happily as she wiped away a tear.

Chapter 5 Unscheduled Delays

Scorpius

The skimmers landed neatly into the stone paved slots along the harbor. Scorpius nearly appreciated the order of it all, but it was quickly ruined by everyone disembarking haphazardly. Albus had no trouble leaping over the bow, landing sure-footed on the slick rock. Scorpius prepared himself to help Samantha ashore, she clearly expected the two boys to aid her, despite them having no more experience at any of this. She gave her assessment as it were, "This is so much cooler than concrete barracks and sheet metal classrooms ..." Samantha was delighted with the castle, her view fixed above the crowd. It was the most normal reaction from her so far.

Meanwhile, the soaked boy looked at them with open contempt. It was not Malfoy's fault, but he accepted the blame, the scorn. He should not have heeded Potter's call. Scorpius was unaccustomed to this new environment. "We go up the stairs to those big double doors, or what?" the American asked. The boat beside Professor Hagrid had been open. Had he ridden over in that ship, alone, not interacting with anyone, there wouldn't have been a confrontation.

Small groups formed on the steps: Rose Weasley, Sean Finnegan and a few others; they expected to be in Gryffindor. Leilianna had seen Scorpius, but kept her distance as promised. She had another girl with her, the Durmstrang teen by them and two other boys, set to join Slytherin. Scorpius tried to imagine his father doing the same with his classmates: Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini. He had not observed any other defined groups. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs did not take part in such self-segregation, Scorpius concluded. Professor Hagrid told them to wait there and departed to tend to the now empty carriages.

Samantha and Albus held close to Scorpius. Al offered, "Everyone else is inside, sitting at these looong tables, one for each house. I bet the others are already here, I don't know how long they take. They probably want us to wait for one of the professors." Albus should have joined his cousin by now. Running into him would have been an acceptable change of plan, if not for the audience. Scorpius had only just met Albus, but the Potters represented so much to the young Malfoy (he'd almost forgotten about the woman outside the station).

Instead they were disrupted by that sweaty-faced teen, and this ... this odd girl? She was unhinged, unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Being with these two had been different, and, he had to admit, exciting in ways. He had meant to ride the train alone. The textbook would have kept any average student at a distance or at least from speaking to him. Lelianna had somehow managed to keep any potential Slytherins away. Family reputation would have done for any older students. Rose Weasley watched them.

The doors to the castle opened and an adult backed out. He turned and spoke, "Welcome, my eager young wizards and witches," It was Professor Stalvan. His robe was accented with Slytherin green, as befit a househead. His cheeks were sunken, and his beard and hair were uniformly dark and very short. He looked about suspiciously; his eyes calculating the crowded children. He handed an amulet to the Latin American boy.

The plan hadn't accounted for these deviations. The train ride was a loss, as was the lake crossing. The girl's change to black glass had been amazing, but the boy had not intended to unbalance her. He had aimed to stop Scorpius. "Scale-skin", a Slytherin, he thought with shame.

This had to go right. This was the sorting. This would determine his life for seven years, perhaps forever. Father and he had discussed it. They had agreed. Albus and Samantha were not part of that plan. However, it was not worth trying to move away, they would just follow him. He counted on tradition to save him.

"Exchange students line up eldest to youngest." Stalvan's diction was intense and exact. The professor's presence as first year greeter at least implied his position as the Deputy Headmaster. There were very few foreign students, and their ages were rather apparent. No shock that the American was the youngest. A dark girl stood ahead of her, arms across her chest, as she lectured an obviously annoyed Samantha. On the other end was the Durmstrang and Chinese students quite animated in their conversation, with their French onlooker annoyed at his exclusion. The woman with the Chinese girl solved the issue when she stepped between the older teens and ended the discussion. "First years order by last name, alphabetically, three rows: A to L, M to S, T to Z." That would put Scorpius far enough from Leilianna (Lafayette), but just a short distance from Albus Potter. Hopefully it would be sufficient room to prevent distraction by either. He could stick to the plan Father had helped him formulate.

The students continued to work out the alphabetical ordering as they filed through the doors and into a holding room. Scorpius was busy mentally reciting his schedule of events. The first year briefing was next. Stalvan threatened the entire gathering of students, "The sorting shall commence on word from the headmaster. Keep your order: exchange students first, residents by last name."

The room was open and they barely held to their ordered lines. They should have had tension strap stanchions, like at King's Cross. "For our resident students: you will remember this event for the rest of your lives. Your sorting will determine with whom you attend instruction, eat your meals, make your rooms. Wizards and witches you have not even met will judge you based on this assignment, made in these next moments. However," The quiet hung ominously, Scorpius was sure even the older students didn't dare draw breath. "Make no error, your fate is of your own making." With that, the doors opened and their entrance began.

The Great Hall was just as impressive as he had interpreted from his mother's and father's descriptions. It was grander than he had said, more realistic than she had portrayed. Georgia Stansfield, Slytherin headgirl, stood as did the other headstudents and staff. She caught his eye with a fraction of a smirk at their arrival. Her father would have explained everything and she accepted it, even if they weren't fully aware of the history behind it. Victoire Weasley, Terrance Wamble, and Dietrich O'Donnell, the headstudents of Gryfinndor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were each at the heads of their house tables. Even if he had wanted to, there had been no chance (and no point) in discussing the matter with any of them. The Weasleys may be the largest and most important family from his parents' time at Hogwarts, but certainly the Malfoys and Weasleys were not on social terms with one another. At least four of the five ghosts he expected floated about the tables. Perhaps Peeves had been restrained. Then again, he was not precisely a ghost.

Headmaster Orinsworth addressed them, "I'm sure you'll have noticed some differen' uniforms among us. Hogwarts, in participation with wizarding schools across the globe, is hosting several exchange students this year, as they take in a few of ours." His voice was coarse, and his accent made him sound like a dockworker. Scorpius had been warned that was not the case. The headmaster stepped out in front of the professors' table. Malfoy noted each of the househeads: Longbottom, Gabble, Tomlinson. Stalvan took his place at the head table, he twitched a brow, perhaps at seeing Scorpius, then turned his attention to the exchange students and the placement of the sorting hat upon its stool. It was the last obstacle, the most essential, unknowable variable. Orinsworth continued his speech as he made his way in front of the staff table, "While we norm'ly sort out our own fresh faces first, today we're gonna be allowin' our guests that honor, aren't we?" Set down on the stool, the hat began to speak in a rough sing-song.

Welcome all, to Hogwarts school:
A place to learn and grow.
No matter where you come from
We've got some things for you to know.

Change and charm, defend, foresee
Our staff will show you each.
And brewing, tending, taming
These lessons they will teach.

From 'round the globe new faces come
To see things as we do see
From ancient lands and nearby shores
With diff'rent ways from you and me.

But no more wait, let's not delay.
Your first lesson: our hist'ry!
Four founders we had in olden day
Who thought to pass on their wizardry.

Gryffindor was courageous, bold
His goal to train the same.
His sword a deadly legacy to
Those true to his brave name.

Ravenclaw was clever, swift
And she valued open minds.
A crown of thoughts she left to earn
for those could see the signs.

Hufflepuff was generous.
She'd never see us part.
She gave a cup, and all her life
That all may share her heart.

But Slytherin's goals were mixed:
ambition, power, 'n' purity;
He left his ring, but also beasts,
and secret ways revealed in tragedy.

Fresh gifts to forge, by younger hands
on a new path, yet unfound
return'd from distant lands
welcomed back on friendly ground.

But do not worry, have some faith
for to overcome these fears
will take patience, time and care
this new class has them seven years.

So take your turn, gently please
On your head I'll sit with ease
And announce to all your house of fate
One, two, three, and no more wait.

The headmaster looked at the list and called out names in his gravel voice, "Alexei Koverchenko, of Durmstrang," The young man retrieved the hat from the stool and wore it without sitting. The hat declared: Slytherin. Orinsworth prompted the next student, "Huang Xiau, from the House of Holistic Studies." It sounded like Wang Shiow. The Chinese student was followed by an older woman (the American's chaperone was nowhere in sight). There seemed to be some confusion between the two of them, as the woman tried to direct the girl forward. They stutter-marched to the stool. The woman half-mimed motions that the girl acted out in full. The student clasped her hands and bowed before she received the hat from Koverchenko. She sat and placed the hat upon her head: Ravenclaw. The girl stood and graciously handed the leather headpiece to the next in line (her escort continued to direct/suggest needlessly from the background). "Andre Sebastien, of Beauxbatons," - Hufflepuff. The same last name as the French Secretary of Magic, if he was related to such a politician that might explain his talkative nature. "Hijaj ibn Yousef Hazimeh of the Mahjee Clan," a short pause, then a seeming surprise to the boy: Gryffindor. He looked pleased (and why shouldn't he be?)

The acceptance of these assignments by the respective houses was indicative of their household attitudes. Slytherin with knowing nods and smug smirks, Ravenclaw with an exchange of matched bows, Hufflepuff with hugs and laughter, Gryffindor with enthusiastic handshakes and eager cheers. "Pablo Ixchel of, er, apprentice to Shaman Tlacototl," - Hufflepuff, unconditional acceptance from faces as happy as his own, even happier now. "Fontaine Dubois of the Haiti Coven" - Ravenclaw. She was wary of the hat, ready to remove it before its pronouncement. She was received with restrained shoulder hugs and cheek kisses. Ravenclaw either knew the cultural greeting for all the exchanges, or had just rehearsed those of the most likely candidates for their house. "Samantha Witherspoon of the Groom Lake Academy."

"Delay."

What? Scorpius saw confused looks on Orinsworth, then the other professors, accompanied from the tables by strained applause which evaporated quickly. The mantra Malfoy had been repeating in his head lapsed. Samantha did not appear shocked, but angry. Her lips were pursed, her chin raised. She glared beyond the assembled students. She moved to avoid a second attempt by Orinsworth, but he swiftly replaced the hat on her head: "delay." A younger professor came out from his seat and examined the hat while Samantha shifted on the stool. A shrug and a blank stare from the professor to the headmaster. Scorpius surmised that there was nothing readily wrong. Very practical, the headmaster directed the young American to sit in one of the chairs lining the Great Hall. Orinsworth turned to the three columns of new students between the house tables and beckoned the first to approach.

Scorpius worried that the girl's practice in occlumency, guarding her thoughts, had caused the trouble. He had also been trained to protect his mind from intrusion. He hoped instead that it was her espoused difficulty in concentrating with so many people about. The first ten students were assigned with no issues. Delay? He knew the hat had a different rhyme each year, but thought it was limited to four responses in assigning houses. Hadn't it said something about "no delay" or "no wait"? Twenty students, nothing remarkable. "Delay" for what, further consideration? On the hat's part? Until when, the end of the sorting? Thirty students, Leilianna Lafayette to Slytherin as expected. What had it meant about Slytherin? "Scorpius Malfoy," A deliberate tone from Orinsworth. Perhaps he knew something about "the plan", would Father have told him? What did he tell that woman? Had he given her something? The sword was the only "gift" left. The others had all been destroyed to defeat Voldemort, hadn't they? The headmaster placed the hat on Scorpius as he took his seat on the stool.

The sorting hat dropped over his eyes. Malfoy's breathing slowed, his limbs weren't as quick to respond, time seemed to suspend in the dark. It assessed him, but Scorpius could not agree. You mean me? No, he thought, that can't be right. No, there were debts to be paid. He was not to be rewarded. What the hat told him was clearly wrong. No one said anything about choices, about negotiations - NOR that the hat would respond to his every thought. He instinctively guarded his mind.

"Delay."

No, no, NO! He could not be diverted like this. He looked to the table on his right: disapproval by Slytherin, he was not with them, not with anyone for that matter. Those who had been informed in advance showed no confusion. They may have suspected this was what Malfoy had been up to. He was sent to the side with Miss Witherspoon. So close to Slytherin, but not with them. This had not been the plan. He knew the hat spoke, but no one had said it was alive.

More names were called. Merriweather to Hufflepuff; Minosaul, Slytherin; Nettlegloves, Gryffindor; Nightshade, Slytherin. There were others, but Scorpius was too distracted to notice. Until it came to someone that mattered.

"Albus Potter."

"Delay."

While there had been murmuring from Slytherin with Malfoy being set aside, there was a literal outcry from Gryffindor at this announcement. Professor Longbottom insisted James Potter and several others be seated and quiet themselves. Victoire Weasley was quick to follow Longbottom's lead and hushed the table. Rose Weasley, still in line, was stunned, her mouth agape. Would there be further announcements of "delay" as the Sorting Hat continued? No.

The headmaster was perturbed, but fought to cover it, "Well, that's the sorting, in'it? Let's eat then." After the food appeared on the tables, the professors passed the hat about and examined it both physically and mystically. Scorpius was seated with Samantha and Albus in the side chairs. The school healer brought three levitating plates to them. Al held his in his lap, while the other two used the chairs beside them.

The lady that had been with Samantha entered the hall and immediately noticed her charge was one of three seated to the side. She took the girl to a doorway and addressed her with hushed but harsh tones. Witherspoon was angry yet she appeared about to cry as she cast her eyes away from the lecture. She was far removed from her happy state in the castle's harbor. Had she caused this? Or was it that they had both guarded their thoughts? Why had everyone else been ready? This had not happened to Father, to Mother, but both came from long line Slytherin families. He came from BOTH those families: Malfoy and Greengrass (and what about the plan?)

What about Potter? He didn't seem to know anything about occlumency, and surely there was no confusion about his ancestry. If ... this had all just gone to plan. If it had even come close. He wanted to blame the American girl, but he saw her eyes were red and rimmed in tears; it was difficult to indict her. She sat back down beside them, took her plate in her lap and ate, grief stricken.

Albus' expression was unconcerned as he chewed. "The roast's really good."