"Albus!" A furious voice broke through Al's morning fog, the result of a night of partying in the 7th year dorm, and he blearily turned around to see Lily storming towards him. "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice slicing through his brain with all the power of your average banshee.

"What'd I do when?" he asked. "I haven't gotten in any trouble. Don't tell Mum! I didn't do anything!"

"Covering your arse, I see," she snarled. Usually, Al could figure out what he'd done to piss off his little sister, but he hadn't done anything since before term began, and she was well aware of his meddling in her relationship. As far as he knew, she'd fixed that problem nearly as soon as he'd caused it.

"Lulu, I don't know what you think I did, but I didn't," he mumbled. Lily softened somewhat; Al was pretty good about fessing up when he'd done something. "What happened?"

"Professor Baghyde—" Lily began, but before she could continue, the Slytherins nearest them who had been not-so-subtly listening in started in with a cacophony of slurs and complaints that made Al wince.

"Slaghyde, you mean?" Alan Merhoff, one of Al's dorm mates, stabbed at his kippers and Lily stood back, startled by the ferocity of the group's complaints. "That arse shouldn't be allowed near students."

"He's so wrapped up in the past," Damia Dansel complained. She handed Al a glass of water and he gratefully swallowed it down. "This is why you don't drink on weekdays, honey," she said. Al narrowed his eyes at her and she ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, I've got designs on Michaels, not you. I'm over you."

"I—what?" Lily put her hands on her hips and surveyed the grumbling students. "What's your problem with Baghyde?"

"The same as everybody else's, I think," Alan said. "He separates Slytherins from everybody else, and he's a total prat to Scor and Al. Slytherins stick together, but it's nothing like it was back—well, you know."

Lily visibly deflated. Alan patted the seat next to him and Lily plopped down. "So, Youngest Potter, what's your problem with Slaghyde?" He handed Lily a plate and Damia passed down a goblet of warm pumpkin juice.

A younger Ravenclaw turned around and regarded them curiously. She glanced warily at the Head Table, but whoever she was looking for wasn't to be found. She stood up and joined the little group. "Is that the newest name for him, then?" she asked. "Slaghyde?"

Alan looked around at the others for confirmation before looking back at the fifth year. "I guess it is. Among other names, of course."

She nodded seriously, then grinned. "I'll make sure people hear this one. Maybe he'll be so miserable teaching that he leaves!"

"You do that," Alan said with a lascivious grin. "Hey, you busy later?"

The dark-haired Ravenclaw scowled at him, and Damia whapped him across the back of the head. "Behave, you prat," Damia said. "No hitting on younger years, that's cradlerobbing." The Ravenclaw girl rolled her eyes and returned to her table, where her friends eagerly gathered around her.

"Anyhow, Potter, what's your deal?" Damia leaned forward, and Al thunked his head down on the table. Their conversation was quite interesting and all, but he was hungover and he had an early morning class to attend. "Cool it, Al. Your hangover is your own fault."

"He pulled me aside after class yesterday to tell me that he wouldn't tolerate any fighting with the other Houses." Lily pulled a face and Damia made a sympathetic sound.

"I don't approve of you being nice to my sister," Al whined. "it's not normal."

"Kindly piss off if you're going to be a prat," Damia said without a glance at her friend. Lily snickered and patted Al on the head.

"I hate you both," he mumbled. "I'm going to class."

Al abandoned his friends and his sister to their commiseration, and wandered out towards the stairs. Rosie jogged up behind him and joined him on his trek to the Transfiguration classroom. "Morning, Al," she offered. His bloodshot eyes and lack of a response clued her in and she rolled her eyes. "Someday you will learn not to get yourself into trouble," she said.

"Trouble, Mister Potter?"

"Well, shit." Al gritted his teeth and he and Rose turned to see Professor Baghyde coming up behind them. "Professor," he forced out. "How…nice to see you this morning."

"I do hope I didn't overhear the word trouble coming from Miss Weasley, did I?" He bore down on them and Rosie took an involuntary step back to avoid the man. At barely two weeks into school, he was still going strong on his rampage to 'bring peace and solidarity to the school'. As far as Al and Scorpius could discern, peace and solidarity meant separating anybody that Baghyde felt might become a problem, as well as making sure there was absolutely no chance for the Houses (mainly the Slytherins and Gryffindors) to disagree by assigning so many notes and so much homework that there was barely time to get along, let alone start fights.

"Uh, no. I said, um, bubble. Not trouble." Rosie winced at her own lie and Al resisted the urge to slap his forehead. He had been hoping to avoid Baghyde; he only had him Tuesdays and Thursdays, and as it was Friday, he had been hoping to avoid him for the weekend.

"Nana Weasley's bubble-and-squeak, to be precise," a silky smooth voice behind Baghyde cut in. Scorpius sauntered up, perfectly coiffed and dressed to perfection, without even a hint of a hangover. Al plotted his murder; he wondered vaguely if the squid would eat dead humans. "You see, sweet Rosie here is learning womanly pursuits, like cooking, and dearest Al is discussing Nana Weasley's bubble-and-squeak." He threw his arms around the cousins and smiled broadly at Baghyde. "Now, if there isn't a problem, sweet Rosie and dearest Al and myself should get ourselves to the Transfiguration classroom for our lesson. It's important for young witches and wizards to throw themselves into their studies to be the best they can be, you know."

Without waiting for an answer, Scorpius spun Rosie and Al around and walked them up the stairs and out of sight of the baffled teacher.

Rosie punched Scorpius' arm and stalked off towards class. Scorpius turned to Al and proffered a vial of red liquid. "Pepper up potion, it'll cheer you up and put pep in your step!" he said. Al swiped it and swallowed it down in one go. Steam poured out of his ears, but he felt better and, importantly, was more able to comprehend the mass amount of bullshit that Scorpius had slid past Baghyde.

"That was impressive," he laughed. Scorpius fell into step beside him and they continued on to Transfiguration, laughing over Baghyde's expression all the while.

Al's good mood didn't last through Transfiguration. His utter failure to turn the table top into an acid pool got him a stern talking-to about focusing more on his schoolwork and less on 'other things', though the other things in question were left unspecified and Al got distracted from the lecture to wonder just what it was that Professor Petria thought he did after school hours. His resulting lack of attention earned him a detention, and he left Transfiguration in a huff.

Al's next hour and a half was a free period, but Professor Baghyde had set two essays of ten inches each due by the next lesson, so he headed to the library. Along the way, he ran into Alan Merhoff, who fell into step beside him. "Overhead Petria giving you detention," Alan said by way of a greeting. "She's barmy. Personally, I think all of the teachers are losing their minds this term. I've half a mind to drop Advanced Philosophy right now."

"Don't do that," Al said. "The only intelligent way to beat Baghyde is to tough it out and prove him wrong. Dropping the class because you don't like him is hardly the adult way to handle it."

Alan grinned broadly and slung his arm around Al's shoulder. "Come now, Albie, being adult's no fun. Say, let's head out-of-doors and do something different. You're going to get sick staying inside all the time."

Al looked down at his bag, where the blank rolls of parchment were waiting for the essays Baghyde set. "Hell, why not. Just let me drop this stuff in the dorm and I'll go outside with you."

Alan let out a whoop. "One short year and then it's freedom! Just remember that."