Chapter 6: Assorted Issues

Headmaster Gordon Orinsworth

The Sorting Hat sat still and silent. The headmaster took it as yet another trial, another task in his overfull docket. "I don't know what to say, Gordon." This came from Dean Thomas, the recently rehired Charms professor.

Their balding leader sat at the large, ornate desk, took his gaze off the hat and shifted his eyes to Professor Thomas. "Dean, look at Jorval, look at me, expect this to happen to your hair when you take charge of something here." He strained to be polite.

"I keep my hair short. There's a difference, Gordon." Professor Stalvan was sarcastic, yet almost friendly in this personal setting, not the demanding professor the students knew.

Dean picked up the sorting hat, "I mean, the hat has always been cursed, but also has a powerful countercurse, both quite old, and it's clear the original charm DOES work." At this he dropped it on the headmaster's head.

"Ravenclaw!"

Professor Tomlinson interjected. "Well, Mister Thomas, I don't think assigning a former househead is an appropriate test of function." Her Scottish accent was mellow, her words precise and cool. "You would be better served in a proof by using the hat on an undeclared person. The only professor of such standing being Firenze. I am curious if he would accurately predict the outcome."

Garfuhn, the goblin professor (he'd picked Hufflepuff himself), let loose a single guffaw. Orinsworth nodded in acknowledgment as he tossed the hat on the desk before him, "Oh, that'll help, Mandy, let's annoy him more by having him climb the stairs up here again, too, why don't we?" The headmaster stroked his hand along his head. Jorval Stalvan had started teaching at Hogwarts only a year after himself, Amanda Tomlinson the year after that. She had been an easy selection as his househead replacement when he was promoted. This situation, though ... the headmaster's temper was barely perceptible as he started, but rose as he continued, "I need a solution, tonight, in less than an hour, as to the disposition of one exchange student, and two boys ... who- whose house selection should NOT be an issue!" His rage subsided, "We offered them their fam'ly legacies, di'n't we?"

Stalvan spoke up suddenly, his voice changed to his sharp and fast instructional cadence, "Gordon, we have discussed that issue, in part. Dean has confirmed that the charm is still in effect, if the issue is with the students, I think it inappropriate to assign them on the basis of nothing more than history."

The headmaster studied his friend for a moment. "I really need a Defense replacement. Seven years of double duty is wearing me out. McGonagall really did a better job with these student issues, maybe not the class plans-"

The headmaster was cutoff, "Yes, the class plan," Professor Longbottom was almost smug as he looked at the chalkboard hung behind the headmaster. "And, the order is impartial. Just let them attend the first week with each house in alphabetical order."

Tomlinson's voice warmed with approval, "Yes, Neville has it, elegant and egalitarian. Every class is covered, and in an even better order than our current first year schedule." She stood and highlighted each proposed day in house appropriate lights with her wand.

"A better order?" Professor Gabble said suspiciously.

Stalvan continued coldly, "I agree, every other day instruction for first years would be preferable over clumsily trying to prioritize gradual introduction leading to supposedly more difficult courses. It's not as if Tranfiguration is actually harder than Charms. You think you could fit that in as your annual adjustment next year, Gordon? Then again, if you had left our start of year as the first we'd have an entire weekend to sort this out." The verbal jab received several repressed snickers.

Orinsworth turned and assessed the classes outlined on the board above him. "Right then, good enough, would have preferred such a logical idea from YOU, Mandy, but -"

Gabble, more perturbed than the target of the barb, responded, "Are your allegiances still to Ravenclaw, or the entirety of Hogwarts, Headmaster?"

Without looking, he shot back, "Oh, do get over yourself, Regina. Hufflepuff encouraged unity, you prefer anarchy, don't ya?" The young Hufflepuff househead steamed at the chiding. Orinsworth turned, "Make it happen, Jorval, tell Creevey to put 'em in the guest rooms. The American girl can room up with her chaperone. Best to keep the boys separate if they're anything like their fathers. And remind me to do that start of year speech thing tomorrow night. That's all, people. Get to your houses my 'heads'. Let's keep discussion of this delay issue to a minimum, can we do that?"

The professors stood to leave. The Gryffindor househead paused, "It's very likely this is already THE topic of conversation among mine, Gordon."

"Hence 'minimum', Neville." And though Stalvan had made no move to leave the headmaster beckoned him to stay, "And Jorry, stick around, Hagrid, you give Dennis the word, all right?" Rubeus Hagrid nodded eagerly and exitted in turn with the rest of the faculty as Neville held the door.

"Of course, my liege," the deputy headmaster said mockingly.

Before the door could close behind Professor Longbottom, it swung wide again. The school healer had a young boy tugging to get away from her, "Someone wouldn't accept that Daddy was too busy to put him to bed." At this she released the eager three-year old who scrambled for the beleaguered headmaster. "Oh, I'm sorry Jorval, I thought everyone had left."

"I imagine whatever Gordon has to say can wait, Katherine." The Slytherin househead was detached in his acceptance.

The headmaster tried to handle the bundle of energy in his arms intent on play fighting, "Uh, no, c'mon Peter, Mum will read you a little and I'll be right there."

"Did you see Finnegan? He got soaked crossing the lake and put off doing anything about it until after dinner. Hagrid wouldn't say what happened, either." She was apologetic, but Gordon was accustomed to his wife allowing no obstacle in her care of the students.

"You should find that Defence replacement, Gordon," Stalvan arched his eyebrow at the absurdity of his very physically able friend struggling with a small boy.

"Right, g'night, Katie," He stepped quickly to catch her as she closed the door, "Hey!"

She turned, smiled, and kissed him, "Get him to sleep and make sure our bed's warm." Katie patted the brown-haired boy and he blocked his own face from being kissed. "Ah, what kind of thanks is that?" She sneaked in a peck on her son's cheek and departed down the stair.

Gordon turned his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, "I don't know what's worse: you refuse the affection of a beautiful woman or that you couldn't block a healer? Are you sure you're my son?" The boy crossed his arms over his chest and nodded defiantly. The headmaster suddenly switched to an officious tone expected of his station, "All right, Jorry, each of the househeads make their pitch if they want, but by Friday morning, either the hat sorts them, they decide on their own, or I do. Make certain Drake knows what's going on, if you have this arrangement worked out with him."

"I'll send an owl to his office. If he's out of country Astoria will telephone him right away." And with that, the Transfiguration professor followed the healer down the stairs.

The role of headmaster gave way to father, "And where is your sister, Mister Orinsworth?"

"She wen' to the Slyberin lair to find their riddle," the boy answered proudly. "She said the Rushing boy was int-tres-ting."

"And she's the other reason Daddy lost his hair, Peter-my-boy." To which the boy playfully slapped his father's head "It's SLYTH-er-in, they don't have a riddle ... and he's Ukrainian, not Russian."

Scorpius

Malfoy nearly jumped when the man entered the hall. He recognized the inspector in charge from King's Cross. Potter was by the raised stage of the professors' table, chatting with a ghost in an old courtier's costume and wide neck ruff (the famous Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington). All the other students had been ushered out after dinner. The American girl sat rigidly in the end seat closest to the door, while her companion stood on the far side of the doorway. The man spoke carefully, "Boys, ladies. I'm the groundskeeper, Mister Creevey. You'll be staying in the guest rooms for the week, and be attending classes with each house in turn."

As cowed as Samantha might have been earlier, she spoke up first, "Which ... 'house' first, sir?" She swallowed hard at the effort.

He barely smiled, "Gryffindor, miss." He held the door open for them to leave, but the woman stood before the girl, glaring and arms crossed.

Samantha's response was rapid, "Thank-you-sir-sorry-for-speaking-out-of-turn-sir." She cast her eyes down, turned in her seat, stood and almost ran for the door. Her escort stalked after her. Scorpius exchanged looks with Albus, as they both made for the exit slowly. The door was massive, yet Mr Creevey closed it (and had opened it previously) with no strain at all.

Samantha stood rigidly in front of the third and last wooden door along a hallway decorated with modern pictures of Hogwarts teachers and students in class, playing Quidditch, and dueling. Al scanned about, perhaps to find someone he knew. There was a handsome teen, third or fourth year, who dueled someone out of the camera's focus, his hair blonde on one side of the part, crimson red on the other. Another photo had a pretty girl with a pointed nose, her eyebrows raised and her smile spread as the sorting hat was lowered on her head.

The woman was upset, but strained to be civil, "No, Mister Creevey, the agreement specifically bars anyone from ... from my having to share accommodations with anyone. Your distractions and deviations have already allowed one outburst." She seemed to pause for a reaction from their guide. Nothing forthcoming, she stated, "Samantha will have to be in another room."

Creevey adjusted his thick glasses and rubbed his chin, "Take this one, miss. Boys, you two are in there." He indicated the first room.

"Sir, will the elves know where, I mean ...?" Scorpius wondered.

"They will adjust Mister Malfoy. There are toiletries in each room. It should only take a minute for your things to arrive. You two will be on your best behavior." His voice was softer than he had been at the train station. With that, Samantha was shoved into the second room by her escort, while Scorpius and Albus entered the first.

Albus leapt and sat briefly on one of the beds. The room was like an unmagical hotel room dropped into a stone castle. Two magical portraits adorned the walls, both a collage of the grounds, most of the scenes still at this point. The astronomy deck had several students and a cloaked adult. The one labelled "Hogwarts Zoo" had a few lights on while a large, shadowed figure moved among the outdoor pens. "There's Hagrid. He didn't even say hello when we came in."

"He was a bit distracted," Scorpius offered. He flinched at the grey-skinned, skeletal horse-like creatures in the stables and the implication of what he saw, what most his age would not be able to see.

"Oh yeah, Sam. That was awesome how she threw the boat. Oh, I don't think that Rose'll blame you for what happened. Don't think she even really knows Finnegan, he doesn't live in Godric's Hollow. She was just upset I didn't catch up on the Express. Hope he learned his lesson, though." After Albus checked the bathroom supplies he flipped through the pamphlets on the bedside table. "Look, a muggle house phone. Wonder if it gets bars?"

"For non-wizard parents when they visit. Father said these rooms are new." Scorpius strained and checked around his bed every few seconds.

Albus spoke in a rushed fashion, unable to concentrate on any one subject, "What do muggles make of all this, I mean, it's really brilliant even if you have been around magic. The castle's really different with people in it. I've never seen someone transform like that before, have you?"

"Transform like that?" It took Scorpius a moment to shift his thoughts from the sorting hat, and back to what happened at the dock. "No." Scorpius relaxed with the appearance of the large, thick-plastic travel chest at the foot of his bed, he quickly extracted his phone and pressed at the lit panel.

"Will a mobile work here? Why not use a message stone or a send mirror?"

Scorpius replied without a break in his typing, "A sending mirror? We couldn't, I mean, the cost ... and I don't know who Father is with, maybe a non-wizard, he was going ... somewhere on business. Message stones can only send predete-, pres- messages already written into the stone." He sent his message, and hoped the poor signal wouldn't be an issue for a text. He set the phone down on the table beside his bed.

"I don't know if I want my Mum to know what happened. Phones don't work at home, or at Gran's. Tolbert's up in the owlery, but I'm sure someone will say, James, or Rose, Vicky, Neville. Does your dad travel much? The Prophet sends Mum all over."

Malfoy's phone trumpeted softly and Scorpius clutched at it quickly, read the display and smiled tightly. "He said Gryffindor tomorrow? It's a good thing they know how to handle this. Why doesn't a phone work at your home?"

"Too much charms or stuff, oh, message books would work, but mirrors are better, no writing. It sounds fun, going with each house." Both boys laughed anxiously.

Then, the conversation paused, they heard the crying echoing down the hall. It had to be Samantha. "Maybe she could call her parents? But it might be later in America." They hurried through brushing their teeth and donned their pajamas in opposite turn, a method Al, with siblings, seemed accustomed to. Scorpius picked up on the rotation quickly, though, and both were soon in bed and set to sleep. The lights were off, and the hall had gone silent.

Albus

Al glanced over several times, until he was sure Scorpius was asleep. He took the

mobile in hand. It was an older one, it flipped open like his Aunt Hermione's. He found the most recent messages:

SM: sort delay! what do I do?

DM: w/e u decide is best

There must have been other Malfoys. These ones didn't act anything like the ones Al had heard about.

Chapter 7: To Go Boldly

Sam

She woke in a gray-stone room. It reminded her of the military quarters on base, with the barely used furniture and dull walls. No hope it had just been a dream gone bad. Sam's eyes stung from last night's crying. When would she ever grow up? No, that wasn't it. Things had gotten worse last month because she'd grown up. That's not quite how her mother had put it, but that's how it felt. It was more than that though. She was not going to be classified by some possessed, leather hat.

There should have been an interview, or a test, even an arbitrary separation by order of arrival, age, gender, name, or something, not a telepathic article of clothing. She'd thought she could control it, but it came up with its own decision: "delay". No one had covered the hat during her briefings, not that she could remember. It was cold comfort that the hat hadn't told the professors what it had said to her, and none of them were inclined to wear it, to be subject to its mind-reading; Interrogators seldom suffered their own methods.

Throughout her internal ranting, Sam prepared for the coming day. She looked in the mirror and imagined her mother looked back from behind her. Sam closed her eyes and brushed her hair as her mother would. She stroked back along her head lightly, her eyes barely opened. She jumped at what she saw.

Without a sound, Miss Skein was there. She addressed her charge cruelly, "Stop that!" She smacked Sam's hand. "What if someone else had come in here?" She snatched up the black satin strip with the silver locket from the bedside table, "Lock your door, and sleep with this on." She secured the baubled choker around Samantha's neck.

The daydream reflection was beyond shattered. "At GLA we aren't allowed to lock our ... yes, ma'am." She composed herself, drawing her hair up from the base of her neck. She hated putting the little bows inn her hair, but she didn't have many options. Her uniforms sat on the unused bed. She couldn't clearly remember setting her clothes out. Then the last thought she had before she slept came back to her, "Can ... may I ... call my mother, Miss Sara?"

The question registered no outward impact on her handler, "Skein, Miss Skein, people in Great Britain use last names!" She adjusted Samantha's pig tails. "I don't know, Witherspoon. Maybe if you don't attack any more students ... something could be arranged on the weekend." The dowdy woman took a step back to assess the results. "I know this isn't how anyone wanted it. You think I want to be here, like this? You know how the government feels about your mother, about her kind?" She reached to the bed and handed over a clip-on tie. Sam tucked the already hidden ribbon further under her shirt-collar. She didn't want anyone to see it. Sam looked at the floor and nodded. Skein continued, "If you behave yourself, if you're lucky ... you might be able to distance yourself from that discrimination here."

"That's what ... what Mother said." Sam didn't look like she hadn't slept at all. Still, she felt like it and worse: the noisy train, that boy's insult, her cycle, that cursed hat.

Skein sighed, "Look, I don't know if it'll be approved, but I'll ask if you can call your mother ... tonight, OK?"

For possibly the first time, Sam smiled at this woman and nodded with renewed life, "That'd be great." She hoped being nicer about it would get a better reaction in return.

Skein was not moved by the effort, "One phone call for a locked door, charm worn at all times, and no more outbursts. Agreed?" Sam nodded weakly and Miss Skein opened the door, "Let's go, Witherspoon." The chaperone was no comfort, but Sam thought about her mother's sweet voice. She kept her joy to herself as she grabbed her backpack.

The boys were not ready yet. Sam gave a quick glance at the photo board of school activities. She was about to turn away when she noticed something. "They move! The pictures ... but these aren't current like the ones in the room!"

Unimpressed, Skein stated, "Yes. The British, most Europeans, waste a lot of energy on niceties. You'll find much of their magic is not as utilitarian as at the Academy."

The sorting hat stood out in the central shot. The girl was an obvious choice for the camera: cute, with bright red hair and a barely freckled face. Sam wondered if this was that same "Vic-twar" from yesterday. She appeared to have always been attractive. Enviously, Sam thought she was one of those women who ate whatever she wanted, never got pimples, and dealt with each monthly "change" gracefully. Then there was a shot that proved the brute Hagrid did have a dragon to wrestle, it was unleashed, and he was giving it a noogie. Her examination of the picture was interrupted when the boys emerged into the hall.

"Yeah, Sean will be with them, too, and Rose. And our, err, cousin Vicky is the headstudent, but she's really nice. And Neville is cool even if he just teaches about plants," Albus explained to Scorpius. Potter appeared unfazed by yesterday's events, but his mood was uncomfortable. He was still curious enough to talk to Sam, "Oh hey, err, Sam, right? You're up already, you sleep all right?" Maybe they had heard her crying. She hadn't thought to cover up with the pillow fast enough.

"I'm fine, yeah," She looked at Skein who did not react. "So, where do we ..." She stopped with the arrival of a wizard in a pointed hat and rugged, leather robes.

"Professor Neville!" Al knew this guy, and was obviously happy to see him.

The man was not harsh, but his tone was authoritative nonetheless. "Err, Professor Longbottom, Mister Potter," Despite his demeanor and good looks, something about him just felt ... cold. "At least here at school. Now, if the three of you, oh, and you Agent, or ..."

"Miss Skein. 'Agent' might make some uncomfortable."

And would be a lie, thought Sam. Agent meant FBI, CIA, NSA, MIB (Magical Investigations Bureau, though the more popular "Men In Black" was just as fitting). Sara Skein would more accurately be called a "proxy guardian" if the government acknowledged her existence at all.

"Well, our first class after breakfast today is Alchemy," he held his hands out moving his fingers as if to cast a minor rain spell. His voice was playfully spooky, "in the dungeon!" No rain spell, he had tried to be funny. The effort was met with an amused grin from Al and raised eyebrows from Sam and Sara. The professor turned to lead the way, "Well, it seemed scarier when I was a student." Albus followed first. Sam was unsure if the boy was bold or just oblivious. She fell in behind him, Scorpius behind her, Miss Skein last.

As they entered the well-lit foyer, Sam's eyes drifted to the broad rounded set of steps beyond. Her eyes went wide as a shower of three-foot-wide, mostly black balls bounced down from above. One of them deflated into the shape of a heavy set girl with black curls, "I thought you said we would float down like bubbles." Sam could feel the girl's shock, but not the fear she expected.

The other balls started forming into children, as well. An older dark-skinned boy, maybe Indian, countered, "That was the idea. Didn't quite go, though," He muttered thoughtfully.

The girl wasn't happy, "WHAT!?" Others examined themselves and laughed.

Then, from the feeder stairways to the wide rounded central steps two groups of younger students were led by older, badge-wearing students. One had the Victoire girl in front (Rose right behind her). As Sam had suspected, she was sure-footed even as she occasionally sidestepped down the stairs and talked to the younger Gryffindors behind her. The only consolation was that her nose was a bit long except ... it looked elegant on her.

"Do we have to eat with them, too, sir?" Sean did nothing to disguise his disdain. Sam nagged herself to not lash out, to let it go.

The headgirl and professor turned on him in shock and declared in unison, "Mister Finnegan!" It seemed a little unclear as to who was going to continue the dressing down, but the older man was quicker on the draw, "Fifteen points from Gryffindor until you have apologized to each of our guests. I will not tolerate such poor manners." His tone was calm, and what Sam imagined was fatherly. After giving Sean a shove or two, some of the Gryffindor first years seemed to share in his guilt as they hung their heads and shuffled their feet. American magic students would not have been so easily admonished by a loss of "points" (a very British difference).

Albus edged over to Rose during the exchange. Victoire seemed to notice as her detached expression became a smile, "To breakfast then, shall we?" The gaggle of students moved to the great hall as their senior student watched over them, "If you need any advice on how to apologise, Sean, I suggest Albus as having very recent practice." Sam sensed Rose was relieved as she and Al talked, vice any disappointment or anger about his "delay".

Victoire turned back and her eyes narrowed, but it was Miss Skein that spoke, "Watch it, Witherspoon."

Right, no empathic scanning! Until she learned to control it, she risked losing herself to the emotions she sensed (a good reason she had been ordered not to do it). Sam wished she was as capable as she had implied (lied) to the boys when they were on the boat.

Scorpius waited at the door and observed the conversation. The older Weasley student offered, "Pas de problème, mademoiselle, we are here to help children practice control of their abilities." Her smile was charming and sincere. Sam would have been disgusted if she hadn't just been defended so graciously by the young woman.

"Hmph," Skein was not so easily swayed, "Move, you two." Sam wondered why Scorpius had yet to go ahead. He'd been like a blank spot to her on the train, and the dock (either trained like the professor she'd just met, or a sociopath - except he'd slipped on the boat). Maybe he just didn't want to face Sean again, those two might have known each other before the boat incident, too. Though, from what Potter had said, that wasn't likely.

Sam was not surprised to find Al at the end of the table with the remaining open seats. Rose was beside him. Though they both appeared engrossed in their conversation, Al took immediate notice of the late entry of Scorpius and Sam. While Sam expected Al to say something, it was Rose that waved them over and spoke first, "I was telling Albus that Madam Bell was in our common room to see Sean last night. She said all he needed was the good sense to not swim in the lake with all his clothes on, or to change out and take a warm shower after if he did." She giggled a bit.

Sam didn't trust it. She took the seat beside Al while Scorpius sat across from him. She was at a loss, "Swim? What? No one said - well, I -" She wasn't going to say he deserved it (though he did). No apology would come from her either way. Still, she wanted to know why no one had told on her. If they hadn't already, she wasn't going to bring it up. Sam decided to change the subject and asked Al, "Is Alchemy really in a dungeon?" She hadn't noticed anyone come by, but there was food in front of her. Scorpius had a full plate, too. Looking around, she saw no servers . She'd have to pay closer attention at lunch.

Rose responded snidely, "Oh yes, but my dad says it was only scary because of their professor. I heard Tomlinson has made it as bright as she could and my mum told me it used to be 'Potions'."

Sam didn't figure Rose would have so easily let go of being in Sean's "launch" last night. Why was she the one who answered then? At least her voice wasn't weak and whiny like yesterday. Still, her teeth were weird, she cried over Albus not riding the train with her, and therenwas that thing about the "slime-balls". Then again, who was Sam to judge someone for not behaving, or looking, perfect?

His mouth full, Al chewed and nodded to Sam. Suddenly his head swung back and he threw a punch at her nose. Sam's skin tensed and heated up as she began to shift forms. But his fist stopped short. She saw the bits of roll squeezed out the sides of his hand, melted butter dribbled down his wrist as he clenched tight.

"HEY!" It was an older boy, halfway down the table, with an orange-haired(!), black guy beside him. "Sorry, girlie, that was meant for my dodgy, dodgin' lil' brother."

Muffled by eggs and bacon Al offered, "Muh brudda, Jays." He choked down his food with a gulp of milk, "James." He started to eat the projectile off his palm. Sam looked about and noted that several others watched with apparent amusement. "You know Rose and Victoire, that's Fred by James," he leaned out to see better, "Roxy, Louis across, I don't see Molly or Dom; all Weasleys 'cept me and James." He said the names between bites from his roll, but paused, "And Lil', then Lucy and Hugh'll be here 'ventually."

Rose elbowed Al, "Dominique's at Durmstrang. I can't believe you don't remember when the ship came to the cottage! Everyone was so worried I was going to ruin my brand new dress in the water."

So Al's mother must have been a Weasley, and Rose was his cousin. Al shrugged. His claim that everyone in his family was in Gryffindor was an immediate condition in addition to being a historical trend. Did the same hold for Scorpius and ... that other house? (Slivering?) At the sorting it looked like the severe looking lead girl in that house knew him. She was blond, but not so pale. If she was a relative, especially his sister, it would certainly explain why he was so quiet.

"Weasley!" That same teen called out from the opposite end of the hall. Several people, including Rose, turned to look. Sam noticed Victoire had already drawn her wand, a pair of intertwined, coiled sticks. The other shook her head and held her palms up flat. The elder Weasley relaxed visibly. The other girl's words sounded like a threat, "Koverchenko will keep the brats in line, but I forgot to point out dee-ay on the way up. I gotta go work with Terry on Bucky. Dee-ay NEWT's gonna be a spot, huhn?" She didn't sound completely British, maybe a little Australian? (Malfoy's cousin?) What really caught Sam was that the two were cautious of each other - maybe Britain wasn't that different after all.

Victoire's response was curt, without her light friendliness, "Oui, I reviewed that last night, but I don't have da-da meeting until this evening. Class isn't until tomorrow. You'll return the favor, Mademoiselle Stansfield?"

What did she mean 'da-da'? Sam thought, and someone in her family had to be French (but not her "da-da", if the last name's Weasley).

"You got Stalvan first thing tomorrow. I'll take yer lot then," She back-stepped, then pivoted and strode off deliberately.

Tense exchanges aside, Hogwarts breakfast was more of a social event than Sam was used to at the Academy. Then again, Groom Lake was the place for the more troublesome or difficult casters in America. That's why it was disciplined, almost military, not like what she had heard about Buena Vista, Anaheim, or Ilvermony (especially Ilvermony). She put down her utensils and tried to sort out how things went in this cafeteria. For one, there were a lot fewer people in the morning than last night. At Gryffindor, the older students were ready for some sport, with leather pads and numbered uniforms on. Pufflefluff (?) was next over. Andre and the Guatemalan boy (Pedro? Pablo?) sat amongst predominantly younger kids. The most students were at the Ravenclaw table. It looked like a seismic graph, up and down every other seat, with an older student paired to a younger student. Dubois and Huang (first name is family name) sat at the head of the table across from each other. The Slytherin (that's it!), like Puff-in-stuff (!), was mostly the middle-schoolers. The Koverchenko boy and one younger girl lined up the other first years at the head of the table. Sam tried to appreciate the results of her observation exercise without any special help.

Her plate was gone, no servers in sight. Maybe it was those astral projections, or were those seriously ghosts? (Potter would know, he had been talking to one of them last night). Other students had already left, all their plates were gone, as well. As Sam stood she examined the Gryffindor table once more and found the mage, Hijaj (someone back home pronounced it differently) had sat beside Victoire, but was close to the wall like Sam, and been hidden by a Professor Hagrid-in-training sized teenager. The headstudent addressed them, "First years and ibn Yousef," she nodded to the Arab, "Come with me, I will show you to your first class."

The Slytherin first years and the Durmstrang student nearly marched as the Gryffindors mobbed forward. Confident she had everyone in sight, Victoire led the way.

In the foyer, Sam was wary of what else might fall down the stairs (other than the orb-like students from earlier). She'd feel more confident in stone form, but didn't want to make her concern so obvious. Small comfort came as Victoire took a passage near the front door and descended. Dungeon, Sammy, dungeons are generally underground, she admonished herself.

The air cooled. Enchanted orbs, high along the walls, provided light but no heat. Throw in some government-issue security posters and this was just like GLA's prac-app facility. Miss Skein did not miss the similarity either, "Familiar, Witherspoon?" Sam didn't like being called by her last name. And she didn't want to give Skein any satisfaction. Instead, Sam thought to save everything for the call to her mother.

Sam noticed Alexei was not the talker Andre had been. He and the rest of his first years were silent while the Gryffindors chatted along the way. Victoire spoke to the older exchange students in turn, "I'll be back at the end of the class, ibn Yousef. I'll show you and yours to dada, Misseur Koverchenko. I am not certain what Slytherin has for its second class. Georgia should return before then." Victoire used the "son of" title with the Egyptian boy. The name "Weasley" probably wasn't French, but it definitely wasn't Arabic. Besides Rose, Albus had pointed out three other Weasleys at breakfast, while Al and James were their cousins. Sam had heard jokes about British wizard inbreeding, but two of them had been very dark-skinned, four red (or orange) heads of which at least two Al or Rose said their names the French way (was there any other way to say Louie?) If anything, the Weasleys were strong evidence against intermarriage.

A narrow spiral staircase led them down to the Alchemy class. The room was like a medieval themed restaurant. There were tall circular tables throughout the room, each with four high chairs around it, and a blue flame for a centerpiece. A myriad of bottles, jars, and vials lined the shelves on the walls, with large wooden crates along the floor's edge. A long, raised counter crossed the class front, behind it, a series of matching, windowed cabinets. At the left end of was the only distinctively schoolhouse piece of furniture: an old-fashioned wooden teacher's desk with paper files and the requisite in/out bins.

Hijaj was already seated at the table by the door and watched the younger students enter behind him. He fixed Sam with a penetrating stare. She froze and was suddenly nervous. Oddly, it was Rose that offered relief, "Hey, Sam!" She thumbed behind her, "My cousin Al wants you to sit with us, Scorpius, too." She indicated a table at the far side where the two boys sat. Potter waved excitedly with a silly, over-broad smile while Malfoy kept an eye on the door behind the professor's desk, a quill and scroll ready.

Sam followed Rose, then set her pack on the floor as the others had done with their oversized tote bags. "So -," Sam stopped abruptly.

"Class!" The professor's black hair was pulled back in a bun. Her complexion was slightly dark, like Sam, and she had large, wide-set eyes, with a broad nose. "My name is Professor Amanda Tomlinson and I am your Alchemy instructor." Yet another odd accent, Irish, Scottish, whatever, Sam didn't know the difference. Looked like she was in her forties, "You may address me as Ma'am, Madam or Professor. Mister Hazimeh, this will be for familiarity of instruction procedures only, the rest of you, please prepare to take notes." Her tone was business-like, clear and crisp. "Who among my first year students can tell me why this class is called Alchemy?" Typical dumbfounded silence of timid students. "Mister. Malfoy."

Scorpius lowered his hand and stated clearly, "Alchemy is the process to, of changing the base structure of a substance or substances to create a new material with its own properties."

The professor picked up as he ended, "Yes, and it is set apart from transfiguration which alters function through form, or adding energy to act on or imbue an object with distinctly magical properties. Such practices limited to those of wizardly talent, while the majority of the processes you will learn here could be conducted by anyone, though you will find the results are still quite extra-ordinary." Her tone was pleased as the many students scribbled furiously with archaic quills. Sam was glad to have a "normal" pen; a feather, even clipped as these were, waving around would have been annoying. "Mister Malfoy, as your allegiance is yet undeclared, you carry ten points to whatever house you are assigned; excellent answer. Open your books to chapter one, you may skip the introduction that was just summarized for you. Our first formula is a restorative draught we shall be mixing by the end of next week, but first, what must we learn?" No one else volunteered and even Scorpius didn't appear to know. "Mister Hazimeh?"

The boy slipped down to stand from the stool and made a slight bow, "My respected Professor, it is upon us to be instructed in the proper conduct of the laboratory and the properties and proper handling of the components located therein." Vocabulary spot on, but Sam recognized the foreign grammar slipping through.

"Quite," and with her confirmation, Hijaj returned to his seat, "Understand that such answers are to be expected of a fourth year student, though." He smiled appreciatively and nodded. Not exactly the level of congeniality Sam expected of a middle-eastern boy with a western woman in a position of authority, especially one clearly of mixed race. If he didn't mind the teacher, what was the deal with staring at Sam before? Professor Tomlinson assigned sets of tables to tour particular walls as she went over why the various chemicals were located where they were.

Sam took all of it for granted while Al, Rose, and Scorpius made notes as they examined the containers. The wall of cabinets behind the professor's display table were sealed with mechanical locks and magical wards. Sam disapprovingly tallied off what she saw, "Manticore needles, ridgeback bile, basilisk venom, succubus tears ... werewolf saliva?!"

Professor Tomlinson finished explaining the importance of appropriate container and sealant material for the sake of safety and preservation of the various substances before answering, "Yes, Miss Witherspoon, excellent recognition of some of our most hazardous and toxic items."

Sam tried to let the last name thing go, everyone used them here. Besides, this was an adult. "Are students expected to handle these things? I mean, we're ... kids, I was looking forward to that twelfth birthday. Why isn't this stuff in a totally separate area?" Sam startled when Sean tapped forcibly at the cabinet glass.

The professor remained formal, "The storage is quite safe right here, Miss, and students are normally in your third year before accessing any inherently dangerous ingredients." Sam was surprised, the professor hadn't taken the comments personally. There was no recrimination in her reaction. Professor T remained confident, professional. "Now class, take your seats, we will learn how to assemble components for a recipe. Who can tell us the first step? Other than Mister Malfoy, ah, Miss Weasley."

"We have to read the recipe, I mean, the whole thing, with the ingredients, the, err, utensils and equipment and instructions and not start until we know, understand all of it." Rose's fingers tied in knots behind her back, but she smiled and acted confident enough.

"Quite right, a simpler question, but a thorough answer, five points Gryffindor. Come now, someone else be ready on the next." The rest of the class went on in the same manner, much to Sam's relief. If all the Hogwarts professors were like this, the year needed to last as long as possible. It was a welcome change from the constant threats, punishments, and malicious attitudes of the Groom Lake instructors.

Then a sense of melancholy washed over Sam. Al and Rose mindfully marked their parchments held in their textbooks as the Professor guided the class along. Scorpius' roll was already filled in. Everyone was obedient and polite. Maybe the problem had just always been Sam. Her temper, so easily triggered over pride, imagined insults, and embarrassments. The change in mood, and the pain pulling at her insides made her want to just curl up and whine.

Class ended, homework was assigned, and the students filed up the spiral stairs. Some horseplay slowed the progress and made the students seem a little more human than their controlled classroom behavior. A sweaty faced Alexei (what was his last name?) passed with the Slytherin first years in the dungeon hall. Georgia brought up the rear, a satisfied sneer on her face. More kids, around the same age as them, flooded the hall, each group led by a boy Victoire's age. Soon, the hallway was clear. Sam slumped against the wall. She clenched her eyes and clutched her sides.

The moment was broken by Skein's voice, "You going to die?" Sam was certain there was a special place in Hell for someone like Sara Skein. "Move it before I light a fire under your- "

"Fire?" Sam's anger (and pain) made the transformation easy enough. She turned into a ball of flame and shot up the stairs. Sparks grew, spread and darkened to ash that reformed into the girl they had started as.

Al was at the top of the steps across the hall.. His eyes went wide as he fought back a laugh. "Fire, too, huh?" He called above him, "Vicky, elle est là."

"Merci. Albus, let us go. All of you have Charms next. Do be careful to stop if the stairs in front of you move, and call out if you are caught by a step. Keep track of where it happens for the future." Victoire guided the group ahead of her, working to prevent anyone from being left behind. The older girl was pretty, nice, smart, aware.

Sam sighed deeply, thinking of how she had to control herself to not take on others' moods, she rarely answered teachers' questions, and how she lost track of what she was doing. Then her feet were stuck in a step that, while still resembling carpeted stairs, felt like tar. Al stopped, too, as Victoire examined her. "Miss Witherspoon, just a moment while we get a hold of you." Wasn't she short enough without a sinking step? "Or are you unwell, did you need to see the healer?"

Only if the healer can make me disappear. Sam startled when she realized it was Sara who helped from behind, as Victoire did from in front, "No, uh, Madam Weasley, sorry." Sam tried the last name thing. It would sound respectful, right?

"Oh non!" Victoire suppressed her laughter as she and Sara pulled Sam clear of the trap step. "I am no 'Madame Weasley', I am not my mother. I am still a mademoiselle. Please, call me Victoire." She looked ahead and called out, "Ibn Yousef, wait for the steps to the right to come to you."

"Vicky?" Al tugged at the headstudent's free hand.

"Please Al, Victoire, we are not just family here, yes? Que c'est?"

"Sorry, Victoire, but, what's the Charms professor's name?"

She turned on him with pleasant astonishment, "But Al, you have known him your whole life, how do you not know his name?"

Al looked as exasperated as Sam felt. "BUT ... I never really know what his name is. I mean, is it Thomas Dean, Dean Thomas, is Dean a title or his name, and if it's a title, is Thomas his first name or last, and...? No one ever says and I called Neville 'Professor Neville' this morning and he said 'Professor Longbottom'. YOU just corrected me."

The stairs shifting ahead of the others, Victiore's experience and their rapid pace quickly caught them up to the rest of the class. She murmured, gently mocking Albus, "Poor thing." Then, so everyone could hear, "Come now, we all survived. As today, your afternoon classes will be a joint class each day, until Friday and then you have class with other houses all day, starting with dyay-dyay. Just now, Professor Thomas will be teaching you about Charms."

A Charms class had weighed heavily in Sam's mind. What if the instructor called on her? Magic device detection wouldn't be difficult in a static environment. What if someone detected hers? What if she had to remove her charm. Elemental transformations weren't easy, but she could control them; other changes ... not so much. And what about da-da or day-day or D-A? That was still a mystery. They must be related if not the same thing. Little of this matched up with her security briefings.

Where Alchemy had been in the artificially lit dungeon, this classroom was several stories up and had a high ceiling. The late morning sun streamed through a wall composed entirely of windows which had an idyllic view of the Hogwarts grounds. Boxes and books were stacked high in front of the surrounding full-wall bookcases. This is what Sam had imagined as a British magician classroom. She sat, with Scorpius on her right, Al to her left, and Rose beside him.

"Hey, everybody!" A man burst out the door from a landing above the main desk and slid on his hands down the spiral stair to the floor. His rich, brown face was smooth except an abundance of smile lines about the eyes. He still looked young, though, and was slim and quite tall. "My name is Dean Thomas. Everyone is going to insist I make you call me Professor or sir or such, but while you're in here as long as you get my attention before something hits me in the head, my name is Dean or 'hey you!' for all I care." The students chuckled softly and smiled. Maybe the class was moreso 'charming conversation'? Or were they going ... to throw charms? Enchanted items were rarely disposable but often fragile, that would get very expensive, very fast.

"All right, now, I need some confessions, who here has done some underage magic? Raise those hands, and keep them up, I'll need time to get the thumbscrews on." Most of the class laughed again. Underage magic? Were these little snots really capable of crafting charms already? Hopefully he just meant standard casting. Sam raised her hand. Albus had his hand up as well, along with Sean, Scorpius, and most of the others, all but three. "First shock of the day, those of you with your hands down are liars, check your pants for fire." Hands went down and the laughs continued.

Whatever he was selling, Rose Weasley wasn't buying. "But Professor Thomas, I really haven't. My mother wouldn't let me." She whined plaintively. It sounded like an act to Sam.

"I have a well-known secret for you, Miss Weasley, I was in class with your mother and she was better at magic when she arrived at Hogwarts than most wizard-born when they graduated, despite neither of her parents knowing a spot of magic. She hasn't taught you anything?"

"Oh no, sir. Mother has taught me, tutored me, and I had lessons in Wiltshire. I was told that wouldn't count." So eager to to be right, but the professor didn't back down.

"Yes, any lessons here or at the Dumbledore Home are allowed, however ..." His eyes danced across the ceiling as he held his chin. He thought out loud, "OK, a wizard and witch for parents, one who uses his magic on a daily basis, a large extended wizard family. And you live in a community with a lot of wizards, and take weekly lessons. It'd probably be hard for you to notice any 'unexplained phenomena'. So, what would convince you?" Rose looked slightly crestfallen though the teacher was clearly still being lighthearted. "I know what the daughter of Hermione Granger would demand." He drew a dull pink switch from his belt and made a twist of his wrist. The tome on his desk flew over as he pointed it to him with his wand and caught the heavy book with a thud. Leaving it to float in the air he opened it and stated, "Weasley, Rose," the pages flew by as he waved them on. Rose was curious and edged up in her seat and strained to see into the book as it hovered over her desk. Everyone else whispered and there were scattered giggles. "Fourteen August, two-thousand ten."

Rose burst out, "THAT was Uncle GEORGE! My father says so."

The professor cupped his hand on her shoulder, offering small comfort to the target of his jest, "Yes, yes, obvious suspect, isn't he? But your father also runs the same joke shop after all." He read rapidly from the report, his breaks at a normal pace, but he kept his cheery mood throughout, "Subject caused a non-threatening explosion within a confection of approximately four kilograms, oh, I love your grandmother's cakes, distributing the blast upon all subjects present save herself. Four candles struck subject's cousin: Potter, James." Everyone but Sam and Scorpius chuckled. "Four years old, all four candles, nice aim," Albus clapped. The professor waved them to quiet down. He continued to read in a rushed fashion, "Investigation determined said cousin had antagonized subject that she was too small to extinguish the candles (and receive her wish). This harassment allegedly occurred for up to an hour preceding the incident. Subject's and subject's cousin's parents were made aware of the suspected cause of the incident and advised that such stresses commonly induce spontaneous castings and to be aware of such in the future. No further action required." He took a deep breath. The Gryffindors stifled their amusement with mixed success. Rose seemed resigned to accept the official recitation of what was likely an oft-retold bit of family history. "Rose, you OK?" He was just as sincere as he had been entertaining.

"Yes, sir, I just ..." She sunk in her seat, "I thought you meant on purpose, and I don't really remember how it happened, but, no one ever told me I had a report." Professor Thomas held up his hand for quiet as he nodded and smiled at her.

"You want to hear something else?" He raised his eyebrows and focused on her as the rest of the class finally went calm.

"I guess, sir?" Nothing came until she lifted her eyes and couldn't help herself but halfheartedly return his smile.

"'Reporting Officer: Potter, Harry; Chief Auror, subject's uncle'." Even Sam and Scorpius broke into smiles that at least threatened laughter. "Don't mess with Harry Potter, young lady." And that cracked a chuckle from Scorpius. Having proven himself the superior class clown, their instructor waved and the large book shot back to his desk. "ALL RIGHT!" The students quieted to wheezes and strained giggles. "This is first year Charms, not 'how-to-embarrass-students'. We have all done magic at some point and the most common expressions of that is a transfiguration or charm of some sort. The matter here, shall be controlling when, how, and what we charm." The instructor continued on in his funny, quickfire manner, "Though silent cast, I have demonstrated a basic charm you will attempt during our introduction to 'don't-doubt-what-Professor-Thomas-has-to-say'. What was it, my junior Lions?" Most of the hands shot up. This guy's method encouraged a lot of participation. "Miss Weasley, you bore the brunt of that, now show me up."

Instead of being embarrassed, Rose glowed with pride, "'Wingardium Leviosa', the most basic form of levitation, ... Dean." She snickered at calling the teacher by his first name.

"Quite right, ten points to our house for you surviving an embarrassing tale of your past and still having the confidence to answer. Indeed, I picked your incident because at its heart, you used basic attributes of levitation yourself (and you said you hadn't done any magic)."

Scorpius raised his hand and Thomas waved him to speak, "Sir, wouldn't a 'combustel particula' account for the cake hitting everyone but Miss Weasley?"

"Very nice, Mister Malfoy, five points to, well, wherever you end up, that is a third year spell. However," he raised his eyebrows and stuck out his tongue. His presentation was reminiscent of a game-show host, "I was talking about the four candles on James' face, the focus of Rose's spontaneous casting, at least that's the Potter I would've aimed for. The explosion was the incidental aftermath that we seek to prevent. Open up Enchantments for Beginners, err, skip to page ... thirty-five, we'll be going back to easier stuff if this doesn't go well. Wing-Lev incorporates three elements of casting: declaration, motion, and intent. As for centuries before us, we start this spell with feathers. A few of you at a time, come get one from the bag here. They are relatively safe even with eighteen, err, twenty-one of them flying about and are rather given to flying about anyways. Keep your wands pointed at your own desk, try to keep it at a safe speed or Mister Thomas gets a lot less fun."

Charms, rather than being enchanted items, meant just the enchantments Sam realized, basic ones at that. Lame. The officer that covered the Hogwarts curriculum had paused a lot at the class titles and apparently "translated" to American.

Then, the other issue hit her, "Wand?" she said quietly. To Sam, a wand would be an excellent example of a "charm" that took a lot more than some eleven-year old could manage on her own. She looked about as everyone else retrieved one from his or her robes. They even seemed to have special pockets sewn in for the things. Nearly all the instructors and most of the kids at Groom Lake did have wands, yet almost none of them were used in Sam's magic classes (and students certainly weren't trusted to keep the things on them).

Al was the first to notice, "You don't have a wand?" His mouth scrunched up to one side in thought. Other students talked over each other, called out the spell, or read aloud as they waved about their sticks. Professor Thomas walked among the din, observing and correcting movements and pronunciation. It was more chaotic than Alchemy had been, but it looked like everyone was having fun.

Everyone else. "What, Al?" Sam held the feather before her. She wanted to think up her own solution, but was distracted by what this boy might suggest. Because he might know something, or because he was cute?

He shrugged and slouched, "I don't think it counts if you make it erupt." He smiled in self-satisfaction at his joke, but Sam snapped her feather in frustration. Scorpius let his feather descend and stared briefly into the empty air.

"I'll figure it out." Sam put the broken feather down and tallied her options. Clearly air was the domain for this spell. But air manipulation was what she was supposed to study this year ... at GLA, except she was at Hogwarts. Professor Thomas appraised the Malfoy kid as already passing and was about to step in front of Sam. It had to be similar to fire: excited particles, expansion, just, minus the heat. She concentrated on her broken target. It reacted strongly.

"Ah, gah, why da nose? Fedders..." Professor Thomas tried to extract the deeply embedded and smoking feather from his nostril. "Ah boy," He paused, unable to get a firm grasp on the thin, burnt strands that poked out. "Ackyo ... Ackeyo ... dabbit." He paused in thought, or pain. "Hajaj, Scorpyoos, you help da udders. I hab a go see Healer Bell. Do 'lumos' if ih too harr." As the door closed behind him, several of the Gryffindors glared at Sam. She had just launched a (burnt) feather up the nose of a very popular and very Gryffindor teacher. Her eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip. Even she blamed herself.

Al giggled as he leaned into her and whispered, "Nice aim."

He was so amused, the comment so unexpected, Sam couldn't help feel the same and snort a single laugh. Then she realized that just drew more ire on the two of them. Why were they even here? Idiot Hat!

Al added, "Gives me more time to practice, anyway." He continued to scoot his feather around along the desk, occasionally gaining a short lift. Sam didn't dare grab another. She turned away and saw the class door close. She wanted to cry, but didn't want to make more of a scene. She didn't like the silent accusations, but she didn't want any pity either.

Malfoy had worked his way up to Weasley (last names, last names ...). Sam tried to concentrate on her own efforts. Twin Bears had told them that the central tennet of air form was "to know yourself". Not only did that not cover basic air manipulation, it didn't make much sense nor have anything to do with feathers. Against her instincts, Sam grabbed a few more. Albus guffawed at Sam's dour expression, and sent his feather shooting off.

Scorpius caught the feather and returned it to Al. Malfoy took a deep breath "Levi-o-sah, Albus. Your motion is correct, but you must command the object, not request of it." He strained to be polite. Even if it wasn't directed at her, it annoyed Sam.

Al considered Scorpius (was he annoyed, too?), then the feather, wingardium leviosa!" The feather went up, he waved towards Malfoy, and it shot forward, landing lightly on Scorpius' head. Rose rolled her eyes. Al smiled more keenly than Scorpius, "Wicked, Scorp, thanks." Was it too much for Sam to hope he'd just skip her? She'd rather get help from Al. He wasn't brilliant, but at least he was nice (good looking didn't hurt either).

Scorpius stood in front of Sam. He examined her results so far: another singed feather; a white, spiky puddle; and what appeared to be a sculpture of a feather. He went to pick up the last, but it disintegrated into the sand it was formed of. Witherspoon grimaced at Malfoy, "Hey, I was saving that for my mom." She wasn't, but whatever.

Al nudged Sam, "You wanna use my wand?" He held it out for her. It was gray and tapered to an almost sharp point.

Oblivious to the tension building between Sam and Scorpius, Sean spoke up, "Hey!" all three of them turned to him, "Careful she doesn't break that like she did Mistuh Thomas," The comment was aimed at Al. The wand in Sam's hand was aimed at Sean. A spell lashed out in a silver flash. The boy's feet flew up over his head and slammed into the ground on the far side of his desk. Sam thought it wasn't quite what she had intended, but wasn't totally undesired either.

Rose slapped her hands on the desk and faced Sam, "What'd you do that for?!"

Sam grew confused, partly from the wand actually doing something, partly from the quickly changing feelings of those around her, "I didn't ... it wasn't ..." she flicked the wand away from her. Al swiftly smacked it to a stop on the table.

The young Potter finished his turn towards his cousin, he half-laughed, "Rose, she didn't mean to-" His humor and defense were cut short.

"Al, it's not funny! I think he might be hurt." Rose rushed to the crowd forming around Sean.

"Rose!" Al sighed and spun back, "Sam, she's just ...", but it had already been too much, the classroom door slammed behind Sam.

Chapter 8: Dates and Names.

Albus

Wow. Al was overwhelmed. The day had started out so well. Scorpius had been really interested about taking classes with Gryffindor. Samantha wasn't really upset (Maybe she hadn't been crying last night) or even so, girls cried at odd times, and about weird stuff. Well, not Albus' mother, or Aunt Hermie, but Gran, Fleur, all the rest of his aunts and cousins, even his sister Lily. Hagrid did, too, but Al wasn't sure how that fit in.

Alchemy had gone fine, even if it was boring. Scorpius clearly knew the subject. And Rose had been nice to Sam. It was at Al's suggestion, but he'd apologised on Sam's behalf, and he knew telling Rose she was better at talking than him would get her to do it.

Then Charms ... Professor Thomas was even cooler in class (that book must have a LOT of great stuff in it). But, it hadn't gone well for Sam, or the professor. Her being so far from home probably didn't help. At least Rose was in the house where she belonged. Maybe James and the other Weasleys weren't in her year, but they were still sort of together.

A wand might have helped Sam, and Professor Thomas for that matter. It hadn't helped Sean, though. George and Ron didn't much care for Seamus Finnegan (Sean's father). The younger Finnegan's early hostility didn't help Albus' impression of him. And no matter what anyone said about the Malfoys, Scorpius wasn't like the rest of his family (and that other stuff probably wasn't even true).

Half an hour passed without a grown-up. Could it be that hard to get at feather out of your nose? Sean hadn't needed a trip to the clinic. Whatever Witherspoon had cast somehow threw Finnegan yet didn't hurt him at all (pretty cool!) Rose was still upset, though.

Some people had resorted to the light spell. It was the first spell in the book, and only took "declaration" and "intent". Al certainly found it easier, but it still required a wand. Wouldn't that be its own "element" or whatever? As soon as the bell chimed, Al was out the door.

Sam stood by the far wall, her face down-turned from the adult beside her. The woman arched an eyebrow at him as he came out of class ahead of everyone else. As interesting as Sam was, he wanted nothing to do with her chaperone. Al didn't think it would make sense to anyone else: Sam could turn into a volcano girl and a ball of fire, yet the plain woman with her was the one he wanted to avoid.

The Gryffindors mumbled about the professor. Rose came up beside Al. "Hey, Are you OK? Sean told me he's OK, I know what she did wasn't your fault. I think the 'delay' thing is unfair. Even if it hasn't happened to anyone else, I know you'll be all right."

"Huhn? What? I'm fine, Rose." Al felt pestered. It happened to two other people, or didn't you notice? he thought to himself.

"Well, I, it's just, I don't want you to feel like you're alone ... we're still friends, not just cousins, right?" She chided him one moment and was worried about them being friends the next? Well, yes, that was Rose, and Albus liked her anyway.

As Rose spoke, Al noticed that Scorpius held close to the class door while everyone else meandered down the hall towards an approaching Victoire. Albus grimaced and almost whined, "I don't feel alone. Hey!" He tried to get Sam's attention as he jogged over.

"Miss Victoire!" It was Finnegan. He was probably going to rat out Samantha in front of everyone. "The American girl threw me over the desk after she shot her feather up Professor Thomas' nose." Sam clenched her neck and shoulders.

Victoire brushed her hair back, held it, and thought, "How strange, we had to start with 'lumos'. You are learning so much faster."

She was so good at turning complaints around. Al admired that about her (even if she used it on him), Take that, Finnegan!

Victoire let her hair fall and continued, "I take it then you have yet to apologise for your earlier outburst, Mister Finnegan?" Sam's stance relaxed and her shocked expression was priceless. Victoire went on without notice, "Let us move on to History, or Professor Binns may begin without you."

Al wasn't quite sure what to do. Rose held near to Victoire, who spoke to the other adult, and Sean was close behind. Scorpius was off to the side of the larger group, but kept up with them. Both Sam and the older boy in white robes stayed back. They were too far away for Al to hear them, but whatever he said had Sam upset all over again. She marched after the Gryffindors with determination. The Egyptian boy called out kindly, "A thousand apology and apology, miss," but Sam didn't pay attention. Al had to hustle to catch up.

The others were on the stairs, where Victoire divided her attention between them and her three stragglers. Hijaj caught up easily (being a quarter meter taller than Al). He and Victoire exchanged nods. Victoire ushered on the class while Hijaj waited at the top of the stairs. But Al's mind was elsewhere, "Sam ... Sam. SAM!" She didn't stop until he grabbed her arm.

She turned on him, her face taut with anger as she shoved his hand off her, "Just stay away from me! Don't help me, don't talk to me! You have your friends ... your family here. Don't ...", she calmed a fraction, "make it any worse."

"But -" was all Al managed to say in his confusion.

Hijaj interrupted, "Come, Mister Potter. Let these two discuss the matter and you may reconcile later." Only then did Al realise Sam's adult companion was (still) there. How had he missed that? Sam looked at her handler with disappointment.

Albus relented and followed the young man down the stairs. "Western women are ferry open, in their emotions, it is confusing, but refreshing compared to the mystery behind dark feils at home." He covered his face with his hand, except his eyes, which darted back and forth playfully. Al snorted a laugh and Hijaj dropped his hand to reveal his smile and laugh himself. "Fictoire is your sister, or aunt?" His V's came out as F's, but Al was used to a bunch of accents from his primary school.

"My cousin." Al's parents would have had to have married at Hogwarts to have a child as old as Victoire, but Al was sure he couldn't have an aunt as young as her either. He looked up the stairs to see if Sam would notice where they were going, but couldn't make her out from below.

"She would be the daughter of your father's sister, or from your mother's family?" It wasn't just his pronunciation, he had an odd way of putting things.

Al had to think as he entered the second story hall. He pointed to an imagined chart as he worked it out, "Err, my mum's ... brother's ... daughter. He's a security something with Gringotts. Don't you have any cousins?"

Hijaj chuckled, "Ah yes, but my clan pay heed to men relations only, such acknowledgment of women outside direct family is with the right. This is, what-is-the-meaning, preferred, preferable."

Victoire waited outside the class. She anxiously alternated between checking the hall and her watch. "Very good, Miss Skein will make certain Samantha catches up, Albus. Shukren, ibn Yousef, I must hurry to NEWT Alchemy."

Al and Hijaj entered the classroom as Victoire departed. It looked ... weird, Al hadn't been to this room before. The paintings on the walls were unpopulated, though it was difficult to tell, as grimy as they were. The bookcases on the back wall were orderly and not stacked-up high like Dean Thomas' class. The dust on them made clear the books were rarely referenced, much less levitated about the room.

Scorpius sat in a desk to the rear and Al took the seat beside him. Before he could say anything, a ghost floated through the wall to the rickety podium at class front, tapped its wand through the wood, and spoke. "Ahem, Camelot was to be the final court to allow the open use of wizardry. The court wizard, of course, was Merlin, a cambion of considerable knowledge and ability. There was also the witch, and king's half-sister, Morganna, and it is known that Guinivere dabbled in rudimentary alchemy and astrology. However, despite magics in the Camelot court, it fell to ruin and the subsequent lack of unified leadership allowed old muggle superstitions to regain ground and thus the persecution of spellcrafters resumed in earnest." Professor Binns droned on as the class scribbled notes in quiet.

Al leaned over to Scorpius, "Camion? What's that?"

Though he appeared confused, Malfoy glanced over and answered in a whisper, "Cambion, C-A-M-B-I-O-N. Half human, half demon."

"You two, what is it you are conspiring about? What are your names?" Not only had the deceased professor taken notice, the entire class turned to observe Al and Scorpius.

"Scorpius Malfoy, sir."

"Albus Potter."

"Well, Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter, save your discussion for intermission." Sam cautiously closed the door behind her. The specter took notice of her arrival, "And who are you?"

"Sam, Sam Witherspoon."

"Take your seat Miss Witherspoon and we shall continue. Where was I? Ah yes, Camelot was to be the final court to allow open use of wizardry..."

Sam sat next to Scorpius on the other side from Al.

Al spoke across Scorpius, "You didn't miss anything, looks like he's starting over. He's just reading the book anyway." Al pointed to the pedestal as most of the class dropped their quills and shoulders in unison. A collective sigh swept the room and several students eyed Al, Sam, and Scorpius.

"... despite magics in the Camelot court, it fell to ruin and the ..." Sam dug out her A History of Magic textbook and looked through the first pages. "... were remote and seclusive until William of Normandy reunited the disparate counties into the United Kingdom in 1066 and had many accused witches put to the pyre or dunked. In the face of these attacks a Council of the Craft was convened to address the muggles' outlawing of witchcraft in the British Isles. What is it Mister Witherspoon?"

Most everyone turned to Sam as she lowered her hand. "Uh, Sam, as in Samantha, Miss Witherspoon, you just skipped, like, six-hundred years. And British witchcraft wasn't outlawed until the 1400s, way after the Magna Carta even. That Dark Age witch trials stuff's been debunked."

"How else would you interpret the new sovereign executing over a hundred wizards and witches?"

"There's no proof any of the executed were actual magic-users, sir. The church had been manipulated to discourage even the belief in witches at all back then. William was just killing anyone opposed to his rule, or any rule at all," but the rebuttal was cut off.

"Mister Witherspoon, your ideas of manipulating muggle activities amongst them is an intriguing proposal, but this class is 'History' and not the place for such musings. As I was saying, the original proposal fell short of consensus, however, the idea of establishing an official council to settle magical issues was well received. Even the muggle sovereign John supported maintaining magical instruction and practices so long as they were under strict secrecy and scrutiny ..." Most of the class scrambled to find where Professor Binns had jumped to in their books. Al hazarded a look to Sam who did not appear as concerned as everyone else was, but breathed fast and tapped her pen rapidly. "... before a system of charms or functions could be discussed, leadership had to be decided."

The leap in subject reminded Al of one of his uncle's stories, "Could you tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?" The entire class focused on the instructor this time.

"My subject is 'History of Magic'. I deal with facts, Mister Perkins, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat. "In September of that year, a subcommittee of the Wizards' Council..." Disarray overtook the students. Scorpius continued to read on his own. Sean and several others flipped pages back and forth as they searched for the new text. Sam just stared over her open book blankly. Rose twisted in her seat. When Al looked she held her hands up, raised her eyebrows, and mouthed "what?" Al shrugged and smiled. How could he explain it had been a spur of the moment idea? Then the ghost noticed Rose's hand up, "Yes, Miss?"

"Weasley. Sir, why didn't Teasdale negotiate with the goblins?" Rose stifled a laugh as she finished. Even Al recognised this as her father Ron's one question that cost him an "Acceptable" on his history OWL. The murmurs of unrest spread through the class. Hijaj stood and slapped his book closed in frustration.

The teacher was charged by the question, "Youth! Of course from a distant perspective it is easy to offer such doubts, and perhaps the risk was great, but the Goblin Wars had hardened the Wizarding community against such diplomacy, Miss Weynard. Have you not been paying attention to today's lesson at all?" The expressions of disbelief gave way to sighs of surrender and repressed giggles. "As I was saying, the raid was intended to rescue not only comrades in arms, but to gain vital information as to the state of the goblin reinforcements, to determine if the centaurs, if the elves, had betrayed their human benefactors by entering into treaty with the rebellion." Scorpius raised his book to block his view of the rest of the class. Rose turned back to Al again, her face bright red as she strained to contain her amusement at the easily confused ghost.

"Mistuh Binns?", it was Finnegan.

"Please, do be pertinent." Maybe even Binns had enough of being distracted.

Sean looked about, perhaps for approval, or just to make sure everyone paid attention. Al gleefully anticipated the next derailment. "Sir, do you think the Americans matter to England anymore?" Several checked about for Victoire or Professor Longbottom (or to catch Sam's reaction - a predictable scowl).

"Such an issue is for the muggle government to resolve. Rest assured though, the bounds of the wizarding community will keep us in close ties with our colonial brethren regardless of mundane political schemes. Now, current events would be better discussed in 'Muggle Studies', this is 'History'. Back to the matter at hand, where was I? Ah yes, the council consisted of sorcerers, warlocks, witches, and even druids from throughout the British Isles." Enough quills flew up that it looked like Charms all over. Books slammed shut, notes were torn, Al, Rose, Sean, and several others outright laughed. Mattie Nettlegloves had her face in her book and made noises like a muggle motor. Scorpius slouched down and drew his book close to his chest.

Hijaj spoke up, "Boys, young ladies! We shall not haf this class descend into anarchy. We must clearly not distract this soul from his routine. Resume your place in the book and be attentife by the instruction." Al was reminded of those times his father took charge. The Gryffindors suddenly contained themselves and at least tried to behave.

The professor suddenly noticed the mage, "Merlin's beard! Why are you still here? These zealots are no Accionites, they might harm the students in their pursuit of you." Freshly scolded, the class did not offer even a single smile but looked to Hijaj for what to do.

The young man was clearly upset. He ignored the new line of thought, "Sir, the council consisted of sorcerors, warlocks, witches and even druids from throughout the British Isles." He strained to properly pronounce "even". Hijaj raised his eyebrows and clenched his lips.

"I am in no need of history lessons from you, Saleem. You and the warlocks are in direct violation of the Ministry's edict, there is to be no more consorting with infernals or keeping of even partly human slaves. They will not be afforded refuge here. You and your ... pet will have to leave, friend, before the Ministry comes for the both of you, no matter how well intentioned your motives." The ghost pointed to Witherspoon at the word "pet".

Sam responded with a dropped jaw and her hands thrown out in disbelief, "I got news for you about your 'druids'."

Hijaj responded with a low hiss. Sam shoved her book in her pack, heaved it over her shoulder, and marched out the door. Grudgingly, "Saleem", took up his book, bundled carpet and slowly exitted. "Gryffindors, and our guests, please, behafe yourselfs," Hijaj sounded defeated.

"Excuse the interruption, class. Now, where were we?" The ghost of Cuthbert Binns seemed genuinely shaken.

Scorpius replied in an annoyed tone, "The council consisted of ..."

"Ah, yes, thank you Mister Malmquist. The council consisted of sorcerers, ahem, warlocks, witches, and even druids ..." Everyone obediently found their place in the text and took notes once again.

When class ended, Potter planned to rush out and try to catch Witherspoon. He didn't get the chance. Rose caught hold of him, "Hey, I don't know what I said wrong, I didn't mean you couldn't be friends with who you want. I was just worried." She changed quickly from serious concern to a sly grin, "And hey, you remembered Dad's story about Mother asking about the chamber, too, right? I kinda hoped he was gonna call me 'Miss Grant'."

Albus wasn't sure how that mattered, but he knew it did matter to Rose, and she mattered to him. Well, he was supposed to eat at the Gryffindor table today anyway.

Scorpius

Alchemy was thorough, but uninteresting. Charms was a simple matter, though the Gryffindor first years were undisciplined. Professor Thomas' willingness to jump ahead in lessons was inappropriate for such students (except perhaps for himself and Rose Weasley). It had made Scorpius uncomfortable.

It all fell apart in History, though. His father had warned him about Cuthbert Binns. Scorpius had prepared himself to read the book (the content of which seemed to have made much accommodation for Binns' rehearsed instruction). He intended to note the comments that were not written therein, as those would invariably be on a quiz or exam. The inability to alter routine, keep a train of thought, and identity errors were not common among ghosts, but were not unheard of either. Maybe the student rolls from several centuries back would have the names of Malmquist, Perkins, and Waynerd, yet not Malfoy, Potter and Weasley. He was unsure about Witherspoon, though.

Not that he cared if there had been a student of that name during Binns' life, but about the present-day girl. She was increasingly disruptive, and he feared it could only become worse. There was something else about her, but he didn't want to give her any more thought.

Binns did little to deviate from the text the rest of the class. The other students were properly quiet after the Egyptian boy left. Hijaj could have stepped in sooner to prevent the class from being sidetracked, but he was too young, too polite, or too shy. Scorpius could not begrudge someone else not wanting to speak up.

Surprisingly, there was no new dramatic scene in the hallway. Weasley stopped Potter to talk, but that was to be expected of family members. Scorpius was the last to exit. Hijaj had waited just outside. Once all the young Gryffindors were present, he hurried them to the dining hall. Lunch was quite crowded. It was no longer just first and second years and a few upper-class students. Also, it was much louder with everyone more awake and aware than at breakfast.

Scorpius sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table and found a placard to select a soup and sandwich. He tapped vegetable noodle and sliced ham with his wand. The food appeared shortly after he selected it. It looked much better than it sounded from the "menu". His mother had cited such improvements in service by the house elves as evidence that Hermione Granger's campaign (named "S.P.E.W.") to liberate them from slavery had helped everyone involved. But that was over a decade ago, and Miss Granger was now Mrs Weasley, and Rose's mother. The girl bore little resemblance to her mother, but that seemed an unfair comparison for the child of such a hero.

If only his house assignment was as simple as the menu. The three delayed students were to attend classes with each house, but no one had told Scorpius what would happen at the end of the rotation. He could try his phone, call his father or mother. He held the mobile out of others' sight, his thumb on the power, but decided it was not the time or place. No one else sat near him at the foot end of the Gryffindor table. From his seat he saw Samantha across the hall, seated at the Slytherin table. Samantha was by herself, not eating. Scorpius had no sympathy for her, she had brought it on herself: speaking out of turn in Alchemy, unwilling to wait for orders nor follow instruction. She had injured a professor, possibly a student, in Charms. History might have stayed on course if not for her interruption. Samantha probably belonged with the Slytherins (though, it was also the first table to sit at). Not that she was really with them, but Leilianna was ...

When Scorpius was a small boy, his grandmother had insisted on Leilianna coming over, that the two "be children" together. Scorpius had listened intently from upstairs. It was a rare event in the Malfoy house: an argument. Grandmother Malfoy, as she often did, had started out blaming herself, "Oh Draco, maybe where we went wrong was not encouraging you to have proper friends. I let your father pick them to his benefit, to his influence. Katarina's girl is the same age and ... I don't want to see Scorpius isolated like he is, certainly not like Astoria was, the poor girl." He hadn't understood everything that night. He wasn't sure he did even now.

Scorpius observed the students near the head of the Gryffindor table. Albus smiled and laughed at the jokes and recounts of the morning's events. However, when the attention was off him, his smile faded, and he quickly scanned the other house tables. Whatever he sought, he did not find. Only when one of his cousins laid her hand on his shoulder did Albus go back to grinning and laughing along with the others. Malfoy did feel pangs of sympathy at that. He was reminded of how that conversation between his father and grandmother had continued. Narcissa had also lamented on Draco's childhood, "And you, alone, while you were surrounded by people, my dear son." Scorpius felt strange: anxious, confused, and angry. He couldn't let himself be angry. His father had lashed out with harsh words that night. Scorpius fought against a smiliar reaction.

Why did people need friends? Except ... Scorpius had anticipated meeting and speaking to Harry Potter and his son. He had imagined going with his father across the platform to talk and that the two men would greet each other. His father had tensed just at the sight of the Potters, though, and Scorpius realised then it was just a childish fancy. Father had described himself as a vicious, self-absorbed monster during his years at Hogwarts. Was Samantha a monster? Was Albus alone depite being surrounded by people? Scorpius did not know and his parents were not there to help him understand. He ate his meal, and hoped his frustration would pass.

Chapter 9 On Display

Albus

Victoire hurriedly leafed through a stack of parchments on the table as a passing Gryffindor seventh year tapped her shoulder. "Oui, of course," she sounded weary. She stood and was quickly certain and warm again, "It is time we see 'Agrid's wonderful zoo! Dietrich, I'll take yours to Creatures." The other headstudent nodded curtly as he shoved his chair into place at the Ravenclaw table.

Albus had already had several occasions to visit the zoo. Hagrid was a very good friend to Al's father (even more so than with dragon fanatic Uncle Charlie). This relationship granted the Potters (and Weasleys) more than a few personal tours of the magical animals at Hogwarts. The creatures left in their cages and pens were not dangerous to observe. It was Hagrid's habit of taking "critters" out and showing off what they could do that made Albus nervous. Oh sure, Al had not heard of anyone seriously injured by an animal at Hogwarts in his lifetime, no one except the "Care of Magical Creatures" professor himself. That didn't mean it wasn't eventually going to happen.

The trip to the zoo wasn't far. Hagrid greeted them eagerly, "Right, thanks, Vicky, good luck on yer Defense meeting, eh?" The great, burly man was hopeful as his new students assembled in the dirt-floored "showground" shelter.

"If the Headmaster is not too distracted with his second years," Victoire responded. Al noticed an unusual tone of annoyance from his eldest cousin.

"Well, I'm sure you can still get his attention!" Hagrid beamed innocently. Victoire held back a laugh as she waved and turned. The Haiti girl held her face in her palm. Hagrid turned to his class, "Hey, my lil' Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Sure yeh all had a good time wit' Dean and Mandy this mornin', err, Professor Thomas and Professor Tomlinson." It was almost a question. Several raised eyebrows and pursed frowns from the other students made it obvious Hagrid hadn't mentioned the professors for the Ravenclaws' morning classes.

Al spoke before even he knew what to say, "Whatcha got for us today, Professor Hagrid?" That was right out of the Victoire distraction playbook; Al was satisfied with the effect. Only the Chinese girl looked offended (disappointed?), but Al didn't care about her (and even less about her government chaperone).

Hagrid was a little confused, "Well, yeah, err," He withdrew a plastic covered folder from somewhere in his moleskin coat and held it at arm's length. "Like to welcome yeh to 'The Care of Magical Creatures' ask students to show their, um, I mean, yeh have yer books?" There were some chuckles and head-shakes as students fished their books from their bags. "Hold 'em up." Hagrid looked among them carefully, "Ah, good." He checked his folder again and turned away. Hagrid called back, "C'mon, we ain't gonna stand 'round all day." The class followed the massive teacher through the canopied area, through a pair of open doors, and into what Al recognised as the "worms 'n' wyrms" hall. "Lumos!" Hagrid lit the snake-like dragon molded into the ceiling of the L-shaped hall. "Wot we got here are a collection of worms and wyrms, dragonlike beasts that is, that don't mind bein' in cages or, err, need to be." While this was old news to Al and Rose, the oh's and aw's from the rest of the class delighted the half-giant professor.

Upon noticing it, over half the first years rushed to a single display. Along with the older exhanges, Al, Rose, Scorpius, and Sam all held back. Fontaine looked nervous.

The center of attention was at the far corner of the hall. Though the room behind was large, the window was tall and narrow. The creature inside was about the size of a pony, but the similarities ended there. Its neck and tail were long and sleek, covered in black scales. Its head was like an arrow tip, with pointed horns slanted back and out. It recoiled at the sudden rush of students and spread its leathery wings wide, filling the cage. Though small for a dragon, its reaction still earned a round of exclamations. It hissed and exposed the black, sharp ridges it had for teeth. Hagrid tried to soothe and calm, his voice just loud enough to penetrate the glass, "Gretchen ... Grrreeetchennn. Alright, boys and girls, give a lady her space."

In quiet awe, the class obeyed. Al was a bit disconcerted at Gretchen's behavior. He had never seen her startled before. Thank Merlin for charmed cages!

Sean's nerves showed when he spoke, "Mistuh Hagrid, can err, 'she' get out?"

"'Course she can, err-" Hagrid either tried to think of the boy's name or a reason it was acceptable to loose a dragon on the first years.

Another Gyffindor barked, "Quick, Sean, jump in the lake!"

Sean reddened, but no one else paid the comment much attention (not with Gretchen there).

Hagrid reassured Sean, "Ah, don't take it too hard. But yeah, Gretchen can leave out tha back whene'er she likes, but ... err," Hagrid opened his notebook, "Ah, yeah, right, who can tell me why she wudn' wanna leave?" Al wracked his mind, he knew this. Before the answer came to him, two others beat him to it. "Uh, Rosie, and who are yeh?"

"Scorpius Malfoy, sir."

Hagrid's black eyes widened, "Well, Malfoy is it, I err ... I guess you both know, you go on then, being it yer a guest wit' Gryffindor today."

Scorpius took a breath as if to find his confidence, "Spitewyrms are nocturnal, they prefer dark places, such as caves, during the day." Al knew why Rose would have known the answer, she remembered just about everything anyone told her (and had certainly been to the zoo often enough). And it wasn't odd that Scorpius would know, he seemed smart, but how would Hagrid know he would know?

"Thas right, yer uh, well, ten points to...," He looked at his book again. "Uh, who get's the points then?" He scratched his head while the class slowly approached the calming Gretchen.

Rose looked upset at not getting to answer (or at being called Rosie), but saw her opportunity to chip in, "Madam Tomlinson said Mister Malfoy's points would be held until he was assigned a house, Professor Hagrid." At least she wasn't upset with him, or Scorpius, or Sam, this time.

Sam ... she looked depressed as she traced on the glass of a shadow lamprey's display. Her voice was low and tired, "Hey, sucker face, no one likes a sucker face, sucker face." Maybe why girls cried was a mystery to Al, but Sam's mood at leaast made some sense to him.

Fontaine blurted out, "Tha drake eet ... you ahre not worried about tha portents, tha omens?" Her worry was way worse than Sean's.

Hagrid finished writing and closed his book, "Ah, omens? Nah, hogwash. Figured yeh'd know that from yer island, yeh could do with more there." He consulted his book again and continued in what amounted to a lecture for him, "I know Gretchen's the star here, but, we do have ta look at who else we got." He tapped his wand on the glass, "Nox," and it went black. Several of the students groaned. "Our err," Hagrid referenced the folder again. Al wondered why Hagrid didn't just read straight from it, "Our err Lum-breh-ceed-ay residents, that means the gross-type worms to yeh kids, are what we'll be workin wit' first. Sp'fically flobber worms," Hagrid rolled his eyes, "just so you know tha basics." The crestfallen looks of the class hastened Hagrid's next statement, "Now, now, if yeh do well to start, yeh get to work with our more interestin' beasts, but I ain't gonna fool yeh. Yeh won't be dealin' wit' a spitewyrm til yer sixth 'r seventh year."

Hagrid closed the binder on a massive finger to mark his place. The red folder had never been on Hagrid when Al visited the zoo before. Usually Hagrid just took them about showing off his newest "guests". "Alright, now, gonna go 'round to the creepy crawlies, all our bugs 'n' such." Several girls (and a few boys) made squeals of disgust and excitement.

The half-giant teacher continued (from his notebook). Al wished his family visits to the zoo had gone like this. While only a few took notes, everyone paid attention (except for all the found-something-crawling-on-your-neck pranks in the bug section). It was a lot easier on the nerves when Hagrid worked to be a professor and not a friend. Rose took five more points for Gryffindor, "Spiders and scorpions are arachnids, not insects." And Hijaj easily identified the aparating hourglass spiders and burning flame-scale scorpions. Al thought Scorpius might have had more of a reaction to the namesake creatures, but unlike in Alchemy, Malfoy took his time instead of filling in his notes faster than an elf on a sugar high. The tour went on through the reptile and amphibian wing, then the small mammals.

Before they moved on, someone had a question, "Sir, where would lungwang reside if received here." The girl's tone was very formal, but Al could tell she was nervous at speaking (and her chaperone anxious at failing to keep her student from speaking).

"Well I- Oh! Wot's yer name?"

"Xiau, sir." It sounded like her name started with a j, sh, and ch all at once. The girl nodded, brought her hands together straight up before her chest and made a short bow, embarrassed by the sudden attention on her from the rest of the class.

"Demi-humans and senshent, uh, thinkin' creatures got a visitor buildin'. Professors Thomas and Stalvan make sure 'n' help 'n' fit wotev'r the guest wants." Hagrid shook his head and glanced in the folder once more. He broke whatever train of thought he had and turned down the hall away from his dirt floor classroom and to a door Al didn't remember, but which apparently concealed a stairway. "Ah, none of yeh will o' seen this yet." The passage wasn't at all steep, the many steps were long and wide. They passed several unmarked doors on either side. Al felt like they had walked back to the castle by the time they saw a strange light from below. Streaks rippled on the ceiling and walls around the double doors that marked the end of the hall.

The scene beyond brought another chorus of astonishment. There were about three meters of water above them. The entire room was a cut away into the Hogwarts' lake. It was like a solid bubble with a flat bottom hanging still in the water. The entire room formed a single, curved window. Looking for a potentially necessary escape route, Albus saw that the the walls behind them consisted of many varied compartments. Ahead of them, grindylows darted about the edges while merchildren played keep away of a clam shell with the giant squid. On seeing Hagrid, an adult merman waved and swam under the window. Somehow a pond in the middle of the room was open without flooding the chamber. The merman came up halfway out of the water causing a wave of gasps as he shook the water from his hair and face.

The man swallowed forcibly and water ran from the gills on his neck. "New cass ... cah-lass, Hagrid?" He did not have the bulbous head or untended appearance of the mermen Al had seen in pictures.

"Yup, new class, Sahfin, your English is coming along betta' 'en me Mermish."

Al thought if Hagrid's English was any indication, proper Mermish was a long shot in his lifetime.

A Gryffindor girl with short hair burst out, "Can we touch him, Professor Hagrid?"

Hagrid was flustered, "Well I, yeh don't just ask like, I mean, he's a person, not an animal or summat ... yeh gotta ..."

"Is O-K, Hagrid. I um Sahfin, you are 'oo?" The merman held his hand out as if to shake, but he held his fingers and thumbs inline, like a flipper.

The girl touched her palm to Sahfin's, "I'm Mattie. Your skin's slick, oily."

Sahfin seemed confused, but smiled and withdrew his hand. He looked at Hagrid, "Mattie is boy, or as girl? Hard to know with skins clother." Most everyone laughed at this (Sahfin nervously). Al looked out at the merchildren, who were pressed to the glass, as fascinated with the greeting as their two-legged peers. He noticed that some were bare-chested (hopefully all boys), while the others wore many stranded necklaces of kelp and shells (probably the girls). The clothes and hair stuff made sense to Al, after all, the merkids all had long hair, while the human students all wore the same black robes (except Xiau and Sam in their suits). It suddenly struck Al as weird to think that was how people figured out who you were.

Hagrid was quick to interject, "Mattie's a girl. He asks 'cause, well, usually, err, a flippa smack is more polite, between boys and it's kinda forward for opp'sites, well, not family, ta press palms."

This caused Sahfin to go pink, "Is sorry, mergirls not cut hair, have more pretty." He gestured around his neck with his left hand while he held his right up as to signal stop.

Mattie matched and even exceeded Sahfin's embarrassment, turning bright red as she bit her lip and awkwardly stepped back, "I'm sorry, too, I don't like this haircut either, I ... excuse me." She turned and shoved her way through to the back of the small crowd. There were several giggles and laughs from the cross-culture confusion.

Al hoped no one else heard Sam's low drawl, "Ooo, girl likes scales, Saw-fin, lil' young for you, though." Al wasn't sure why it mattered to him how Sam felt, he'd only met her yesterday.

Hagrid brought the class over to observe the smaller displays in the rear of the aquarium. One of the other girls slapped "fins" with the merman before they left. Sahfin submerged, apparently satisfied to make a more proper exchange. The splashy exit turned some heads back, but Hagrid drew uncharacteristic authority from his notebook. "Alright, alright, they shell toss all the time, let's keep on track. O'er here we got some plants that Pr'fessor Longbottom might be teachin' 'bout along wit' wots lives in 'em. Uh, Mattie, yeh should know this one." Hagrid pointed at a blue, bulbous-shelled crab among brown, feathery seaweeds.

Mattie felt her own hand and wasn't really paying attention, "Uh, I ... I don't know many creatures or ... OH, drowning nettles! Right 'cause our name. They grab hold and drown you. Our ancestors used to gather stuff like that."

Hagrid beamed at this successful connection and checked off something in his book, "Yeah, good, gotta wear special gloves to gather 'em, used fer medicines 'n' bandages 'n' such, err, I guess five points to Gryffindor." He furrowed his eyebrows and grimaced, "Ya'all think five points is enough?"

It took a moment for the class to realise Hagrid actually wanted their input. Even when it became obvious he wasn't joking, almost no one had a response. Al was reassured by Scorpius' calm reply, "Professor Tomlinson based points on the question's difficulty and Professor Thomas on the state of the student. Rose Weasly received ten points under similar circumstance." Rose smiled and patted Mattie on the back and both laughed at the comparison.

"Well then, ten points, we're supposed be generous to start wit' first years, getcha all eager to answer and join in ... forget I said that." Hagrid was concerned for a moment but joined in with the class's amusement at his slip of the tongue. "Alright, c'mon and, oh, and that's a blue boils crab, gotta wear gloves with them, too, but if yer careful yeh can use one o' their claws to clean and staunch cuts and scrapes, takes 'em a couple weeks to grow it back."

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws followed Hagrid back up the water-shimmer lit stairs. Al was glad this was going better than the rest of the day, but started to worry more that Sam and -

Sam was left to stand out as the others moved around her. She grabbed Al's arm and spoke in an icy chill, "I'll be fine, focus on yourself."

Ugh! How did she know I was thinking about her?

"That, there, it's about me. Cut it out." She turned and stalked up the steps. Al didn't follow. He looked back at the squid as it tried to restart the shell game with the distracted merchildren. Al wondered if any of them felt out of place. How would they deal with it? Where do you go when you can't get away? They looked happy, but Al knew how to fake that.

Scorpius

The zoo was more than he'd imagined. It should not have been difficult to believe his mother had not exaggerated. Gretchen was amazing, but it would have been rude to rush forward, to join the others in pressing to the glass just to see her closer. Scorpius could wait to interact with an actual spitewyrm. They could feed off hatred and strife and thus were attracted to areas of "spite" (they did not cause it as Miss DuBois had implied); it would starve if it relied on that method in Hagrid's care. Professor Hagrid was too kind. He was also capable, but the organization of the place was far beyond his abilities. Among them, it was likely few besides Scorpius knew who helped design the place, but no one would believe him, or care. It reminded him to take extra effort to be polite with Hagrid. He deserved that.

Scorpius fought back his smile at each creature he recognized, with thoughts of its traits, behaviors, and environment, yet so few had he ever actually seen in person. The small mammal display reminded him of his pet at home. Considering his present predicament, its name was worse than ever. Father had appreciated the unintentional joke. It had been a spelling error by Scorpius. While he regretted it, he couldn't bring himself to confess or change the name and disappoint his father. Had it not taken sick the week before school he would have had to explain the name to Albus.

Albus had fallen back from the rest of the class, but at least he wasn't with the American girl. There was a chance this could still work out. All of them could go their separate ways and move past their "delay". The rest of the week might be difficult to tolerate, but, he reminded himself, this was not intended to be easy. Like any other child he had been distracted by silly hopes and fickle fantasies.

Mother would have loved the aquarium. Had Hagrid asked the mermen and squid to be there? An example of his affinity with non-humans, Scorpius concluded.

The aviary was unruly in contrast to the rest of the facility. The former rock quarry had had been carved deep and wide. It was vast enough to fit the rest of the zoo complex across its ground level, and deep enough to stack it three times over. The woven tent of cables, vines, and trees stretched up as high as the enclosure below was deep. The flying creatures would not tolerate the tightly controlled environments of the land and water exhibits. Flight unaided by magic or technology was an enviable privilege, but jealousy would not excuse grounding them. Abundant food and a myriad of hiding spots encouraged so many creatures to take residence there. Plenty of varied shelters and exits provided a sense of security. A three-storied building was built into each of the four "corners" (the valley was neither squared-off nor well-rounded). They offered protection for the resting fliers, and a better view of them for the students. These structures and the adjacent cliff walls were also used to contain some of the less civil fliers. Their disdain for the others' freedom was obvious in their eyes.

The class followed Hagrid as he pointed out the basic and the exotic in turn. Scorpius' mother had been right, just being around the wondrous beasts changed his perspective and eased his tension.

"Wow." Was that Samantha? It had to be. When he turned about he saw there was no one but the two of them left in the tower's lowest deck. Witherspoon started up the stairs without explanation.

Scorpius had forgotten himself in the new surroundings and dropped his guard. Had she scanned his thoughts? How much could she see? Father was never exact in the extent one could hide or read thoughts. Scorpius struck the handrail and concentrated on his mental barriers. It was, in turn, easy enough to once again control any outward expressions as well. The Malfoys were disliked by most, he had to be careful.

Scorpius urgently wanted to catch up. He couldn't let himself be singled out as anything but a good student. His shoe squeaked loudly as he rounded the steps. The noise caught the attention of a cave dweller, its orange eyes alert on the source of the sound. The motion caught Scorpius' eye. A hippogriff, possibly the hippogriff. It was not the time to find out.

Professor Hagrid took note when Scorpius rejoined the group seated on the bleachers in the thatched pavillion, "Ah, there yeh are. So, uh, when we have, well, we do have a few diff'ren' types of days here. There'll mostly be classroom days where I'll be telling yeh 'bout, an' showin' yeh our animals in the 'showgrounds' here." The professor even held up his fingers to mark quotes on the word, "and you'll do some work with 'em here too ... those days. We'll be doin' some work in the displays, and trips aroun' the grounds, or a lil' inta tha woods each month or so, yeh know, just to keep it interestin'." Hagrid smiled broadly. "Oh, and visitor instructors, like Sahfin, and Firenze will teach some when they got time." He flipped to a tab in the folder, "Yeh got any questions?" Almost every hand flew up. The inquiries were predictably childish: do all the creatures have their own names, did the merchildren take classes at Hogwarts, when will the class get to ride a dragon?

Then one question was quite serious, from the American, in a tone of restraint unusual for the girl, "What do you do when someone gets hurt?"

Did she know about his father? How dare she? It had not been Hagrid's fault! Scorpius was about to turn on her and correct her.

"Yup, course things don' always go as planned. Real important yeh don' do nothin' 'less yer sure o' yerself." Hagrid was only slightly uncomfortable, "I ain't never gonna grade yeh down 'cause yeh don' feel safe at summat. We can figure out summat else for yeh to do." Scorpius wanted to be angry on Hagrid's behalf, but both Gryffindors and Ravenclaws appreciated the promise. "Oh, an' there's a fireplace in the guest house here for Healer Bell ta come right here from the clinic - or go right ta her, but, uh, that's mostly for me." Hagrid widened his eyes, puffed out his cheeks and nodded. Most of the class laughed. Perhaps Hagrid was not in as much need to be protected as Scorpius had thought.

Chapter 10 Rolls Down Hill

Sam

"Alright, alright, lot of good questions. Can' wait ta see yeh again next week. Course, like Ah said, me 'n' the older students keep the place goin' on the weekends if yeh wanna come back sooner." There was a keen hope in the professor's words. It was returned with unhushed excitement at the prospect of rushing back before their next Creatures class. After consulting his folder, Professor Hagrid had them separate by house again.

Sam wondered if the British selected their students based on talent or manners. She felt so out of place. A familiar looking black pellet landed in front of her, which by itself threw doubt on her impression of the other students. She deliberately glanced to her right and saw Rose Weasley screw up her lips and smack Sean Finnegan on the arm. Sam's eyes went stone grey. She raised her right hand in front of her, an earthen hand matching her own formed from the ground around the plum-sized ball. Both hands closed. Sam pulled down and the stone fist submerged into the ground. There was a subdued pop followed by a weak but foul odor that permeated the area.

The Creatures professor's eyebrows raised. "Uh, par'on me." He went pink through his shaggy beard as several students giggled. "Now, uh, Gryffindor. Think yer goin' o'er to tha pitch wit' Professor Emmerlinse. Don't let 'im scare yeh too much, it's daytime after all. And Ravenclaw, Mister Creevey'll be explainin' things on the north road."

Sam didn't want to ask Professor Hagrid for clarification, or anyone for that matter. "The pitch" likely referred to the Quadpot, or Quidditch field. The British used odd terms and clung to antiquated sports played on flying brooms. Miss Skein was conspicuously absent from the zoo. Sam was quickly disappointed when she noticed the stodgy woman in her equally stodgy suit standing in front of the guest house, aside the wooden stands the class had just left. She beckoned Sam to her.

The proxy guardian appeared bored but sounded ominous, "I'll make it explicit then, Miss Witherspoon, you are to use none of your special talents at all unless specifically called for by myself or a professor. I do not need to be in visual contact to keep track of what you do." A reason this particular chaperone had been agreed on. Sam was about to argue the point, but then remembered she had used her empathy reading on Al and Scorpius (and for some reason she even picked up when Al was thinking about her - she'd have to ask her mom). She wished she was better at it, but no one outside her family wanted that. At least the zoo tour had gone calmly. Sam no longer felt angry, just depressed.

As the class split up, another group of students approached. Half of them followed behind the Ravenclaws on the north road, the other half fell in with the Gryffindors on the way to the stands and towers downhill. Sam noticed that Hijaj and Xiau (with her government shadow) left the kids and joined up with the young, round-faced professor at the castle doors.

A haughty voice burst out from the general chatter, "Ay! Albay, I would have a word with you, 'delay'! You are a Potter, that's almost as good as Weasley." French and British vied for dominance of the boy's accent. He playfully hugged Al, but then shoved hard enough to unbalance him.

The contradictory display made Sam tense up. However, someone else stepped to Al's defense. "Louis, cut it out! I think we should be first to stick up for Albus." Rose interposed herself earning a frown from the other Weasley.

"'Ee should be in Gryffindor. How can't 'ee?" From the boy's strong accent, Sam inferred he was Victoire's younger brother. He took off his robe and bundled it up as they arrived at the nearest stands. He wore black slacks along with a vest, dress shirt, and tie. The thick, curled hair on his lean, long arms was a pinkish orange and gave Sam the impression of a well-trained orangutan forced to wear human clothes. "Et is that painting. You should burn et."

Al finally worked up his own words, "Phineas Black was a Hogwarts headmaster. How's your flock of bird people any better, Louis?"

"They are aarakoa, and I mean this other one, thee crazy woman. Thee one James recruits George to pranks you- pull a prank on you, by putting her in your room." Students from the older group (Sam guessed they were second years) also hung their robes over the supports of the nearby stands.

"Oh, Wulpurga? Is this your cleanup place? James was all on about not having to do this any more." Al dodged the subject. Sam wondered how paintings were an issue. They likely moved as the pictures did, but how bad could that be?

The wooden tower they stopped at shouted at them, "LISTEN UP YOU FILTH-CAKED, CUD-CHEWING PESTS!" A form wrapped in a dark, thick-hooded robe emerged. He continued to yell in a manner Sam associated with the Marines and soldiers at Groom Lake. "Gryffindor kittens eat lions' scraps! Your previous Headboy Lupin and Quidditch CaptainESS Wood left you the eEEasy work of pitch cleanup. Judging from the House standings I saw on the way here ... That. Won't. Last. Fall in, FORM UP! Smarten 'em up, second years, you're the maggot-filled brains of the operation this year. Nearly forty of you dip sticks! Four squads, move it, move it, MOVE IT!" He pointed about and his long sleeve fell back to expose a heavy leather, metal-studded gauntlet. The second years did what they could to move the confused first years to stand in even rows facing the professor. Sam had seen this done repeatedly by the (highly) disciplined security at her school and lined up at the left end of the last row. "Face front. Stagger out, second first, second first, second first! AT ATTENTION! Don't just stand there hither-dither. Arms at your sides, heels together!" He somehow managed to whine and shout at the same time, "Take all day!" The group stood in four rows of nine or ten each. He continued (slightly) quieter, "Right then! I am Warrant Officer Second Class Carlin Emmerlinse, retired, of our Glorious Empire's Royal Army, Professor of Astronomy and Flight. I hate children, I hate sunlight, and worst of all I hate the two together." There were several snickers that were abruptly answered. "WHO SAID THIS WAS TIME FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT!? Cut the giggles! Can the chatter!" His sleeve barely swung as he drew his finger across his neck.

"This, as many of you broomstick-obsessed adolescents may know, is the Hogwarts Institute Quidditch Pitch. Instead of the blightly bludger, body-snatcher attended, all years, only-the-best-make-it-in standard of centuries past, as with many matters here, our inestimable Headmaster has broken from tradition and split teams into lower and upper leagues, not that any of you decade-spent womblings would notice!" He stopped pacing in front of them and walked closer along the first rank. "THIS ... along with some beating-heart notion that house-elves tend ONLY the castle proper necessitates students policing the grounds." He paused at the end of the first row and moved into the second. "Today you shall be rotating to each area so your wand-quidditch addled minds at least have an inkling of what-in-the-King's-name you are supposed to DO!" He turned at the end of the second row to stride down the third when he eyed Sam. She could tell by the twin red dots inside the darkened cowl. "AND YOU! Sammy Yank-ess, will the States be needing an engraved invitation to participate?! We just want 'em CLEAN, not BURNT to HELL! Don't let that confuse you, lass!"

Sam made out a vague shadow of the man's face as he turned. She clenched her hands into fists. She didn't want to cause another problem, but instincts urged her to fight. "The pitch has eighteen towers, full stands and the teams' tent. Students and faculty are encouraged to sit by house. Staff, visitors and alumni sit as they please. Monday through Wednesday is stands for first years, towers for seconds. No matter what anyone else says, out here there will be NO wand work by FIRST YEARS! Thursday is facilities and field. ONLY SECOND YEARS FLY! NO PRIVATE BROOMS!" He rounded the last row. He paused and lowered his head at what should be Louie Weasley (he was the head of their row when Sam fell in).

In a low, guttural voice that carried across them all he cooed with joy, "Seven years you Weasels have been showing up, seven years I've waited for the right Weasel." Louie gulped. His eyes must have darted about. "Oh no, boy. I already know who she is. Not like her mother now, but like when she was just a girl." He had moved up a few students. Sam knew better than to look, but was certain it was Rose's fast and shallow breathing she could hear far to her right. "Your mother ever stop to ask the elves if they WANTED freedom? Or lil' Miss Granger just take up the crusade without so much as a by-your-leave to her poor iggly-wiggly HOUSE-ELVES?!" He ripped back his hood. Sam couldn't help it anymore, she had to see. His skin and hair were stark white. He had a solid jaw and broad face, but his eyes were red pin-pricks. He leaned further forward as he yelled, "If she gets it in her head to speak up for any of us OPPRESSED, DOWN-TRODDEN VAMPIRES, do have her COPY US A MEMO FIRST as to whether we NEED HER HELP!" Rose instinctively brought up her arms to defend herself. The vampire mocked maliciously, "We can meet at Mungo's Asylum if she feels safer there."

Sam didn't know why Rose's mother would feel safer in a psych ward (as she guessed Mungo's must be), but she knew that tell-tale sound of choking tears. Rose fell to her knees. Louie moved to help her. He looked repulsed at the professor, and crouched to bring Rose to her feet. Next over, Albus had turned and backed up, afraid to do something, hoping someone would do something. Instead, he just forced the rest of the fourth row to bunch up.

Sam shoved off the boy leaning into her and stomped down the aisle before she realized what she was doing. The professor's tirade had triggered something. Sam barked, "HEY!" She kept enough of herself to remember something from History. She continued in a growl, "Your butt still burnt from the U S pulling it out the fire with Germany?" She didn't like Rose. She didn't like Gryffindor for that matter, what was she doing?

"Ohhhh. Always the World Wars with you yanks." He whipped his robe about to face Sam. The gust from it pushed her back and rustled her hair, the nearby students it actually made contact with lost their footing. "You ever learn about Ko-REE-a, Viet-NAMM, AYE-raq, AFF-ghan-er-stan?!"

Sam couldn't tell if it was her own voice, her mother's, or Miss Skein's in her head telling her to stop, but something stronger wouldn't let her stop, "Least we got a war to remember. Last one England won for itself was what, eighteen-twelve? Judging by the smell you got turned around then!" She could feel her skin prickle and tighten, but what remained of her restraint stopped an actual transformation.

The vampire professor stomped up to her. He towered over her. Sam could swear his presence alone felt heavy, solid. Rather than death, he reeked of sunscreen instead. Blood pounded in her ears, her lips pulled tight over her teeth as she dug her fingers into her palms. Sam felt as if everyone else had melted away. His response was quiet and snide, "Ohhh, you know the truth of that, do ya'? Pretty brave out in the sunlight." He raised his hood over his head and pivoted, cutting a wake through the students to the front. He reached the front and faced about, "We'll see how brave you are at midnight. DETENTION! Four hours, THIS FRIDAY! The rest of you, shape it up!" The Gryffindors clambered to reform their rows. If Sam couldn't fight, she'd have to run. Except, that wasn't a choice either. Reason won out, and she stood back in place instead. She missed Scorpius in the second row as he hesitated to turn away.

The military bellowing resumed, "Bleachers and team rooms are swept and scrubbed top to bottom, back to front, inside to out. Field cut interlace, south to north intersect west to east every other marker then back the opposite. That's the pitch then. Move your undisciplined little legs to the Hogsmeade road. Frog Weasel, get 'em there or you and Weed Weasel can join the 'Mer-can' on Friday." 'American' came in an awful imitation of a Texan accent. Sam half expected the formation to right face and march out like the platoons in Nevada. Instead, they scrambled haphazardly to grab their robes from the stands and quickly moved uphill to put as much distance as they could between them and the irate vampire.

"Always 'frog'. I tell eem we are en Inglish family. Doh-mee-neeq says 'ee is funny." Louie had his robes over his arm, as many of the second years did. "You are OK, Rose?"

Appropriately so, Rose still looked shaken from her face-to-face encounter with a member of the living dead, "He's not funny at all! Even if Mother still needed ... help, it's not something to joke about. And ... I don't understand, why is he so upset? I mean, Mother may have started with elves, but she worked for everyone's rights: goblins, centaurs, even werewolves and giants. I'm sure she helped vampires, too. Like she said, 'Inequity in our law is worse than no law at all.' It's not so bad that we have to take care of our own grounds, is it?" The other students were too preoccupied in their escape to respond to Rose's rambling.

Mr. Creevey stood unsmiling at the gatehouse, a large brown box beside him. Fresh off the berating from their last encounter, the class hesitated. Though his words were curt and his bearing also military, it wasn't so militant. The caretaker was calm and seemed almost gracious, "First years, seat yourselves in a circle close to me. Second years kneel or stand behind, this should be familiar to you." A thin gray rod appeared in his hand and he tapped the box beside him. The top dissolved and the sides dropped to reveal a paper mock up of the castle and grounds. It wasn't magical or especially intricate, but looked accurate and well crafted. Creevey went over his model: two roads, the train station, docks and entrance area that he supervised. He called the scheduled period "grounds maintenance". His manner and appearance made Sam trust that was the official title for this class time. Also, it seemed he was quite a bit smarter than his job implied. Then, she recalled that he was Skein's contact, and that he likely did more than just oversee the upkeep of the school property.

The third area covered the complex of greenhouses and adjacent outdoor gardens. The Gryffindor househead, Professor Longbottom, was in charge. He was even more amicable than Creevey, but still maintained an air of professionalism, though not rigid discipline. Spreading manure and picking weeds offered a good deal worse than sweeping, raking, and litter pickup. It seemed to Sam that the worse the assigned tasks became, the nicer the teacher was who oversaw it. At this rate, either Professor Thomas or Professor Hagrid was in charge of the fourth area, which would involve toilets or ditch digging.

It was Professor Hagrid. And the zone included the zoo displays, the aviary, and the pens along the woods. It was too dramatic for Sam; she was the only one who laughed when he called it the "Forbidden Forest". "Well, don' be too put off. It's always gonna be daylight when we're working out here. And Bane 'n' the herd been decent wit' tha students cleanin' up on the border, just, err, don' no one go asking any of 'em for a ride."

Louie Weasley raised his hand, but did not wait to be called on to speak, "And do not tell the centaurs what breed they are, or ask them, either. Even if et was your sister, they know and hold et against you." This warning earned vigorous nodding from the instructor and several chuckles among the students.

Despite the escalating trend in effort of the maintenance areas, Sam figured the outdoor pen days would really be more akin to breaks from the stomach churning efforts involved in the indoor cage clean-ups. Though it was promised much older students and Hagrid would handle the residents, the refuse collection was the worst of toilets and ditch digging combined. Clearly, this structure of assigning tasks based on house standing was the primary incentive to earn points and avoid demerits.