I can't believe we wrote 6.600 words of them eating breakfast.
Or that them eating breakfast nearly killed us because that was so long.
wait for them to ask you who you are
Waking up early was habit for Alexander. It had driven his parents mad, the way he never really seemed to be able to rest, but he had to do something. Staying in bed when he could be doing literally anything else wasn't exactly an option for him, and ironically enough, the only moments he ever felt truly calm were when he was too focused on a task to care about anything else.
It had taken a while for everyone to adapt, but eventually putting a label on things (ADHD, as it turned out), had helped.
Which doesn't mean that Alexander isn't aware that his dormmates would probably murder him if he woke them up before the sun even rose (not that he could even tell, since their common room was located underground, but Alexander knew his own habits well enough by now to know that it was probably too early for much of the Hogwarts' populace to be awake).
Since he is already awake, he can't stand to stay in bed and falling back asleep isn't even worth considering, so he decides to stand up and get ready for the day. It is slightly awkward-there isn't much light, and though he's sure he read a spell for that somewhere, he's not sure he should be practicing it in this kind of situation-but eventually he manages to grab his clothes and bag, and heads to the bathrooms to shower and change.
He's thankful they were shown around last night, because otherwise he'd probably have ended up in the wrong room.
He takes his time in the shower-he's become rather convinced that he's the only one awake, and the peaceful silence is nice. It gives the common room a whole other atmosphere, and it allows him to properly observe his surroundings in a way he hadn't been able to last night.
There is an air to the Slytherin common room that is almost ethereal. The walls, painted a dark green, seem to glow from the candles that burn with a constant low flame, and the lake Alexander can spot through what passes as windows emits a yellow-ish light that basks the entire room with something otherworldly.
The quiet belongs there, it seems, and as much as he loves it, Alexander is also loath to disturb it. Besides, he was promised breakfast, and if it's anything like the food they had last night, he's quite eager to get there.
Later, Alexander will wonder how he possibly managed to reach the Great Hall without getting lost. But now, in the quiet hours of the early morning, Alexander lets his feet take him back to the only other place in the castle he knows, already composing in his mind the letter to his little sister.
He wrote to his parents already-speaking of, he'll need to post that letter somehow-but he promised Sara he'd write her her own letters, and his little sister deserves the very best letter he can write.
The Great Hall is almost empty when he gets there, and for a moment Alexander feels dwarfed by the grandeur of it. Somehow, even though it isn't as richly decorated as it was the previous night, it still makes him feel slightly out of place.
Half the teachers are there already, though they don't look particularly happy about it. A handful of students are already sitting too, mostly at the Ravenclaw table, but they're all much older than Alexander himself-students he doesn't know.
Maybe another day, he'll go introduce himself. Today, however, his stomach is grumbling and he has other things to do, so he settles at the first free seat he sees, even if it technically isn't one that belongs to his own house. Food appears almost instantly, warm and smelling divinely good, and Alexander fills up his plate quickly, pouring himself a glass of what he was told last night was pumpkin juice. He hadn't dared drink it then, but now he finds himself curious enough to try.
It's not a good decision, but he doesn't regret it. That doesn't mean he'll try it again, but well, at least he can say he did try it now.
He trades his glass of pumpkin juice for one of water, and sets down his parchment and ink beside his plate, grateful for all the free room he has. This would have been impossible had the table been as busy as it had been the night before.
(he absently starts wondering why he can't just use pen and paper, but Alex has other things to do right now. That is a problem for later.)
He loses himself in his writing easily, narrating everything that has happened to him so far to his sister. He voices it differently than he had for his parents, but he won't keep any secret from Sara if he can help it, and so the words flow on the paper, his food growing cold and lying forgotten but for the occasional bites.
"What the hell are you doing here, Hamilton?" someone eventually asks grumpily from beside him.
Alex doesn't look up-he doesn't need to, he recognizes the voice-before he answers, "Writing."
Thomas sighs and rolls his eyes. "I can see that much. I meant why are you sitting at this table."
"Because I felt like it," he replies unhelpfully, rolling his eyes as well. Thomas' voice does prompt a rant he immediately writes down-knowing his sister, she'll get a kick out of him annoying Jefferson, even if she doesn't know who that is.
The other boy - are they boys or men? - stands there for a moment or two before he sighs and sits down on the opposite of Alexander.
"This is going to be a long seven years," Thomas mutters and Alex is not quite sure if he agrees, but it certainly seems like a plausible suggestion.
On his first morning in Hogwarts, James enters the Hall with John and Eliza. He's glad he stumbled over the two of them on his way, because he's honestly not sure he would've found the way alone. The other three boys in his House - James doesn't know their names quite yet - they were only just waking up when he left and he couldn't find Angelica anywhere.
He is about to head to the Ravenclaw table, alone, when he notices Alexander sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Thomas.
If Alex can sit at another House's table, then so can he, James decides.
"How is it that neither of them are injured or shouting?" John wonders as the three of them make their way towards the odd pair.
"I think it might be because Alex is writing," Eliza theorizes.
"Possibly," James agrees. It's a reasonable suggestion.
They greet the two as they sit down, but Alex barely reacts, which is why John decides to poke him with a spoon. Thankfully, that breaks Alexander's concentration enough for him to look up.
"John! Eliza! Good morning."
"Hello to you, too, Hampton," James comments dryly.
"Oh, sorry," Alex grins sheepishly. "I didn't realize you were here as well."
Thomas snorts and rolls his eyes. "Sure you didn't."
"What is this?" Eliza attempts to distract and points at what Alex is writing.
"A letter to my sister," Alex replies absently, finishing a sentence and starting the next one.
"There's more of you?" Thomas questions, sounding completely and utterly horrified.
Almost despite himself, James snorts, and John and Eliza look at each other, trying to figure out how to handle this situation.
"How old is your sister?" It is the only question John can think of right now, but even so it doesn't sound particularly adequate. Thankfully, Alex doesn't really seem to mind. The smile that blooms on his face could outshine the sun, and he actually stops writing as he answers.
"She's almost eight," he replies, "and she's already amazing. She's curious about everything-she read all my textbooks when I was done with them, and I think she might have asked Professor McGonagall at least as many questions as I did when she came to tell me I had magic. And you should have seen her face when she saw Diagon Alley," he adds without stopping to breathe (while John's glad to know that that hasn't changed, he's also still incredibly curious as to how exactly it's possible), "I think she wanted to go everywhere at once."
"And you didn't?" Eliza prompts with a light smirk.
Alex rolls his eyes and smiles somewhat sheepishly. "Well, yes, but that's different."
"In what way?" Thomas raises an eyebrow.
"It just is!" Alex raises his arms, almost punching Hercules in the face as he does.
The Hufflepuff in question carefully moves Alex's hand away from his face.
"How many pages are that?" James questions, trying to defuse the situation. He is well aware that he is not doing a great job, but it is better than nothing. "Seven? Twelve?"
Before Alex can answer, they are interrupted by Aaron and Hercules sitting down.
"What are you even writing?" Hercules asks seconds later. "It's only the first day of school."
"He wrote around four pages or so yesterday as well," Aaron informs the others.
"Alex!" Eliza scolds.
"You need to sleep", John adds, clearly worried.
"It was a letter to my parents!" Alex raises his arms in front of him. "And this, Herc, is a letter to Sara."
"We will allow that one," Eliza nods. "But eat."
"Sara?" Aaron questions, clearly confused.
"His sister, apparently," James replies dryly.
Meanwhile Alex obediently picks up a piece of toast. Then, he turns to Aaron. "That reminds me: I wrote about all this as well, but don't worry, I told them that you've sworn that you're not going to kill me again."
Aaron blinks, taken aback. "I said nothing of this sort. Don't get me wrong, I do mean it," he adds hastily, "but that doesn't change the fact I never said it."
"Yeah," Alex acknowledges, "but not only did I mention that you were rooming with me and advised they should check history, I actually told them how it ended last time. Let me just say that my Dad is a mechanic and my Mom is a nurse. They would find a way to get here, he would beat you up, and she would make it look like it was an accident. I know they can do it. It happened before."
Alex nonchalantly takes a bite of his toast while the others process what he just said.
It's James who can find his words first. "What do you mean, 'it happened before'?"
"I'm not allowed to talk about that. Seriously," he adds when the others are about to argue. "They made me sign a nondisclosure agreement and everything."
"That sounds…"
"Crazy?" John suggests.
"I was going for 'like a bit much'," Eliza corrects, sounding reluctantly impressed.
"But not legally binding," Thomas points out, "since you're not a legal adult."
"It is very obvious that you don't know my parents," Alex shakes his head. "What I can tell you is that the person who it happened to moved a week later. Haven't heard from them since. And I know their cousin and asked. Repeatedly."
There are a few seconds of stunned silence.
"It's probably for the best you lied in that case," Hercules eventually manages, swallowing visibly.
Alex hums in agreement for a moment before turning to Thomas, and asking, "Can you hand me the orange juice? Pumpkin juice tastes terrible," he adds, grimacing.
Thomas startles blankly for a few seconds before he tugs the jug closer to him. "Not for Federalists," he comments with a glare.
Aaron groans in frustration, but James pays more attention to the other Hufflepuff students. Washington - no, Warren - isn't here yet, but the pink haired girl he sat with yesterday is.
She looks just as confused as everyone else in hearing radius, but she is the only one that dares to speak to them.
"What is going on with you guys?"
"Inside joke, I'd wager," Hercules responds, spreading jam nonchalantly on a piece of toast.
"They have a bit of a rivalry going on, you see," Eliza adds with a wink.
"A bit?" James snorts, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.
"Please, I'm clearly better than Jeff-I mean, than Thomas here, so there really is no rivalry," Alex says at the same time, glaring at everyone in sight.
"You, better than me? Don't make me laugh," Thomas retorts.
"Can you stop fighting for five minutes?" Angelica comments as she arrives at the table. "I'll bet you five Galleons that you can't."
"Each?" Alex asks, licking his lips, eyes suddenly focused.
Angelica rolls her eyes. "Well, I know better than to make the two of you share anything, so yes."
Thomas and Alex exchange a long look that is half barely concealed disdain, half considering, before they turn back in unison toward Angelica. The sight is surprisingly unsettling.
"We'll do it," they say at the same time.
"Do you even have five Galleons?" Aaron asks in the tone of the deep suffering.
Alex shrugs before smirking. "Not yet."
Aaron rolls his eyes but eventually focuses back on his breakfast.
Meanwhile, Alex stands up and goes to grab the orange juice Thomas had tried to refuse him. Though Thomas says nothing, his lips curl into a smirk as he tugs the bottle closer to himself.
"Seriously?!" Alex asks, sounding exasperated. "You're still doing this?"
"Seriously," Thomas confirms. "And yes, I am."
Angelica leans forward and Alex's scathing answer dies on his lips. "We're not fighting," he says quickly.
Angelica arches an eyebrow. "Right," she drawls, unimpressed. "Of course you aren't."
"Hampton's right," Thomas interjects reluctantly. "That wasn't fighting."
"See?" Alex says, preening.
"Of all the things for them to agree on," Aaron mutters in his drink.
Alex tries to take advantage of everyone' distracted state to make a grab for the juice, but it fails.
"Nice try, Alexander," Thomas smirks, taking a slow sip of his own drink and smacking his lips together loudly. "You know," he adds almost musingly, "I think this might be the best orange juice I've ever had."
James snorts and rolls his eyes. "As amusing as this is, Thomas, you do realize that this isn't the only orange juice in this room, don't you?"
Thomas' betrayed face is almost as entertaining as Alex's enlightened one when he realizes he can just grab one from further down the table.
When Alex returns from his 'quest', he pours himself a large glass, sighing appreciatively at the orange liquid.
"Ah, finally something drinkable!"
Everyone else around him does a version of rolling their eyes, but any further reaction on that subject is stopped as suddenly dozens upon dozens of owls enter the room, each and every one with a package or a letter of some kind.
One of them - a rather large barn owl - is heading towards them, a red envelope clearly visible in the animal's claws.
"Oh no," John groans, clearly recognizing the owl. "I knew this was coming."
"What?" Alexander questions, frowning.
"Is that a Howler?" Eliza asks. "What reason would your parents possibly have to send you one of those foul things already?"
"The same mine do," Thomas sighs, eying the arriving owls warily.
A look of understanding passes on Hercules' face. "Is it because of your Sorting?"
"I imagine you'll find out any second." John is correct. Two owls land at their table almost instantly after he says that. One of them focuses on John, the other on Thomas, who groan in unison.
"I don't get it-what's a Howler?" Alex asks, clearly confused, though it's rather clear from his face that he's worried.
James sighs, picking at his food. "They're special letters," he tries to explain, wondering how to put this into words. Every wizarding child knows what a Howler is, though most of them-thankfully-never get to see one. James' father had gotten one at breakfast two years ago, and though James didn't recall the words, he could still hear his ears ringing when he focused on that memory. He sincerely hoped he'd never get to see another one, but he should have known better. "A rather shameful practice," he adds as a filler before Angelica takes over, rolling her eyes.
"It's something people use when they want to yell at someone else but can only write a letter. So they send a letter that does the yelling for them," she sums up rather accurately.
James winces at the unholy light that appears in Alex's eyes. He should have guessed that Alexander Hamilton's response to letters that could actually scream would be unorthodox, more unbridled fascination than the expected horror.
At Alex's next question ("How do they work?", worded innocently enough that it would probably have fooled anyone who didn't know him), he exchanges a meaningful look with the others, swearing not to reveal that particular secret.
(hopefully, this information isn't available in any of the books in the Library-and if it is, well 'hopefully' those books won't be available for much longer. And any ways to owl order would have to be hidden as well.)
The two owls land in front of their intended targets gracefully, delivering their letter with disdainful 'hoots' that are ridiculously identical before flying away.
(undoubtedly they're clever enough to want to be far away from the explosion)
The fact that there are two letters screaming almost in unison - the only things that are really different are names and Houses, it's kind of scary - only makes it worse. James is almost convinced that he might become deaf any second; and he listened to the delegates fighting about the capital, so that is saying something.
Thomas looks more and more horrified as the letter goes on and shows no sign of stopping anytime soon, while John seems to shrink on himself, even as his face remains carefully schooled blank.
"Oh, for the love of-!" Alexander says loudly - though his voice is drowned out - as he stabs the knife he was just using to butter his toast through the 'mouth' of John's Howler.
The Howler emits an unearthly scream that rings through James' ears - and, by the looks of it, everyone else's - before Eliza grabs Alex's arm, incensed, and yanks it and the knife away from the letter.
"What the hell was that?" she yells, rounding up on him. "Are you mad?! You're lucky that didn't explode and take out half your arm with it!"
"He is clearly mad, but we knew that already," Aaron points out.
"I'm more concerned with the fact that your first response to annoying noise is to stab it." Hercules frowns.
For a second, James debates if he should add something like take care, Thomas, or it was nice to know you, but he decides that the Hufflepuff has suffered enough for now. John doesn't have the same restraint.
(given the fact that John suffered through the same thing, he was also probably the only one who could do it without earning a slap from one of the sisters right now)
"Well, it could have worked," Alex protests mulishly.
Angelica rolls her eyes at him. "In that case, first lesson on magic for you: just assume everything is trying to kill you, if not outright then in ways you'd never see coming or find logical."
"That's kind of a bleak perspective of things, don't you think?" Aaron replies with a small frown.
"Well, maybe, but try spending more than a week in this castle and tell me I'm wrong," Angelica says.
James considers retorting, but then he remembers that the stairs move around, which in retrospect doesn't seem like the safest option, and how many stories of people getting lost on their way to class he' already heard, and so he stays quiet. Angelica may very well have a point here.
The fact that he startles a bit when Hercules draws back their attentions to the still screaming Howlers-well, Thomas' is, anyway, as John's has dissolved into incoherent shrieks that are somehow less disturbing that the actual rant had been-proves that one can truly get used to anything.
"That aside, isn't there anything we can do about these things to make them stop?" Hercules moans. He, like most students in the neighboring seats, holds his hands clenched around his ears, and his face looks pained.
Eliza shrugs and looks questioningly at her sister, who shrugs back. "Most people usually wait for them to end," Angelica admits. "Though they rarely last this long," she adds, sounding reluctantly impressed (to be fair, James is too-who know there were so many ways to call someone a disappointment to the family line?). "You'd think they'd have run out of things to say by now."
"Yeah, you'd think that," Thomas bites, clearly bitter.
"It is rather ridiculous," James finds himself pointing out, lips twitching up.
Alex looks incensed, though it is unclear on whose behalf (probably his dear John's, though it is possible that he considers Thomas-the one who, for all his parents know, is actually being addressed-deserving of some of his concern). "You should write back to them! Really, all this because of a House when they know you don't have an actual say on where you end up! This is inadmissible!"
John perks up, eyes sparkling in delight. "That could be fun," he says, clearly savoring the words. "But I'm afraid I only got maybe half of that thing because someone decided to play around with the silverware," he adds, half-teasing half-annoyed.
Thomas snorts before Alex can retort. "You can use mine for inspiration, as I'm rather sure our parents have to have written these together. This," he says, gesturing at the still yelling red envelope-is it slowing down? Oh wait, no, that was just a break for breathing (and why does a letter needs to take breaks for breathing, James wonders, but sometimes magic makes little sense like that), "might as well be useful for something."
Between the noise from the Howlers and their conversation, no one sees George arrive, though they all fall silent at the quiet that follows the sharp 'Silencio!' he casts on the two red letters.
"Wow, you have got to teach me that one," Angelica says appreciatively. She sounds like she has at least 23 different uses planned already.
"You can find it in your textbook," George replies dryly, already sounding exhausted. "Or in the fourth year one."
(James pities him for a second-having to deal with Thomas and Hamilton, not only in one life but in two sounds hellish-before he remembers they're in the same boat)
"And anyway, what are you all doing at my table?" he asks, probably sounding more horrified than he had planned.
"Alex was writing a letter," John explains. "And we couldn't very well leave him alone with Thomas."
"No, I guess not," George says in stunned relief. He stands in front of the table, unblinking, for what feels like hours.
"You should sit with us, sir," Hercules says, gesturing at a seat that had 'miraculously' cleared up between him and Aaron.
"Yes, eat with us," Eliza says with all kind smile.
"Ah, I-" George casts a pleading look toward his pink-haired friend, but the girl only smiles widely and gestures at him to go ahead. "Fine, then," George says as he sits down, shoulders dropping a little. "But only until you're all done eating, and then it's back to your tables-you'll be getting your timetables, and the teachers won't know where to find you if you're not where we supposed to be."
His commanding look and tone is much more familiar than the meeker version they had witnessed until now, and James isn't surprised to find himself nodding along everyone else.
"Good," George says, nodding. "Now, Alex, please pass the eggs."
Waking up that morning, George had known that this day would be trying on his nerves. Heck, he knew this year would be trying on his nerves (one more year, was that to much to ask for? One more year and he'd have been free, one more year and he wouldn't have had to be Head Boy while the people he had known in another life started their first year).
It took him a great effort to get up-greater than usual, that is-and not simply lay around in bed for the whole day (a very valid option, he thought, considering what he'd have to deal with outside his dorm room), but the moment he walks in through the Great Hall's doors, George only yearns to go back.
"I can't believe this," he mutters to himself. "Already? How is this even possible?"
Honestly, the screaming is so loud George isn't even sure how he didn't hear it from the other end of the castle. The words themselves are almost inaudible through the harsh, painful noise, but George can make out a few "you ungrateful disgrace"s and "how dare you"s, as well as "and what about our family name?"s, and beside that the sentiment is clear. Even before he spots the red envelopes (and one of them actually looks oddly damaged, which is surprising), George knows exactly what's going on.
(he is relieved that his first hypothesis was wrong and Thomas and Alexander aren't already reenacting the Cabinet Battles. It's probably only a matter of time, but George is going to savour every second until then)
It is a travesty, the way everyone here seems to be listening in on the letter. This, even more than the yelling, is what grates George the most about Howlers, this way they have of holding everyone's attention over things that should stay private.
Of course, the recipients of those Howlers being who they are, they are not nearly as shamed as the senders intended, and instead seem to be fully set on ignoring the screams as best they can while holding a seemingly normal conversation.
George isn't surprised. After all, he's seen them pull off worse things.
(hopefully he hadn't jinxed anything)
(who is he kidding, he definitely did)
He takes pity on Jerson and moves to the table to silence the letter.
Angelica wants to learn the spell immediately and George directs her to the textbooks. She is, after all, rightly amazed by the possibilities of the spell - what wouldn't he have given to have this ability in his last life - and who is he to stop her from learning?
"And anyway, what are you all doing at my table?" he asks, because he desperately needs to know who to blame for his suffering.
Lawrence's explanation that the other choice would have been to leave Jerson and Hampton alone until Morgan would have arrived (or the teachers intervened) is an excellent reason. He would have hated looking for a new school in his NEWT year.
"You should sit with us, sir," Morgan asks, and his voice drags George out of his musings. His first instinct is to say no, but unfortunately he doesn't actually have any other option, seeing as Tonks is refusing he sit beside her (he should have known calling her Nymphadora-which he still insists is her real name-would backfire on him somehow). And so, wishing his peaceful days could return, he reluctantly sits down on the seat that Morgan and Burts have cleared up for him.
(how? when? he hadn't even seen them move?)
He sits down with a sigh. At least they are (probably?) more likely to behave while he is around. Or at least something close to behaving, since the full thing is almost certainly impossible.
And then it hits him that, for at least this morning, they can't all stay at this table forever. They have to leave-have to get their schedules, and those are distributed by your Head of House, who won't go looking for you at another House's table.
The sad thing is that that will really only be the case today, but he will take whatever he can get. He needs it, because otherwise he'll most certainly go insane within a matter of weeks.
(it's not unlikely that he will do that anyway, but he'd like to cling to his sanity as long as possible)
Sharing that 'discovery' with everyone lightens up his mood, and so he's feeling rather more chipper as he asks Alexander to pass him the eggs-somehow, at Hogwarts they are always perfectly cooked and seasoned. The other advantage of eating is that he doesn't really have to make conversation, and so he settles for keeping an eye on the new dynamics of these people he once knew.
George has the feeling he will never get used to the sight of Alexander and Jerson coexisting so… peacefully. Granted, they're currently mostly ignoring each other, but it's the politest ignorance he's ever seen from either of them. It's actually kind of refreshing, if a bit odd.
Maybe that's why he didn't notice that Charlie was approaching them until the redhead put his hands on George's shoulders and gave him the scare of his life.
"What in the," George jumps, biting back a curse in extremis. "Charlie, what are you doing here?" he asks, turning his head to stare pointedly into his friend's eyes.
Charlie grins, unrepentant.
"I am not letting you two abandon me for a bunch of first years! Besides, it looks like all the fun's happening here today," Charlie reasons.
"Couldn't have put it better myself," Tonks chirps in, and no, George was wrong before-this is her revenge.
"Oi!" Angelica protests. "I'm not a first year!"
"I know, Angel," Tonks laughs. "Speaking of, where's Layla?"
Angelica shakes her head, shrugging. "I have no idea. She'll turn up whenever she feels like it."
"Who is Layla?" Lawrence questions.
"She's a friend of mine," Angelica explains with a fond smile, and her sister adds with a smirk that says she's heard a lot about this Layla, "She's the only other Ravenclaw girl in her year too, so they share a room."
Alexander frowns. "That seems odd… There are more students in our year than that."
"It's because of the war," George replies soberly. "Your generation was born toward the end of it, so it didn't suffer as much, but you'll see quickly the difference between your year and the next ones, and the older years. There hasn't been a first year class this big in a while."
Angelica nods along gravely.
It is a little heartbreaking to see how the entire group of first years twist their heads to look around them and at the other tables to spot older students, and their dismayed expressions as they realize George spoke the truth.
"The war?" Alexander asks, frowning, and for an instant George's blood freezes in his veins as he considers the idea that maybe Alexander doesn't know about it yet. Thankfully, the little Slytherin's next words prove him wrong, though they grant him little relief in the end. "You mean the one against the Dark Lord no one seems to be able to name?"
Alexander sounds so unimpressed at that fact that, despite how serious the matter is, George can't fight off a small smirk. Judging by the sparse and sudden bouts of coughing that erupts at the table, he's not the only one.
"That war, yes," George finally confirms in a sigh. "And you won't find many people brave enough to say his name out loud-or even write it," George adds, shrugging his shoulders a little.
"Why though?" Alexander asks. Beside him, Eliza nods sternly and says, "What does bravery have to do with a name?"
It's Charlie who answers them, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Fear," he says simply, before pointed looks have him elaborate. "During the war, You-Know-Who put a Taboo on his name-" at that, Angelica's eyes light up with a sad kind of understanding, "-so that he would know where the people who said his name were hiding. It could break through even the strongest wards, and may of his opponents died before they realized what was happening."
"But that was a decade ago," Lawrence protests weakly. "Shouldn't people know better by now?"
Charlie shrugs uneasily. "I guess old habits die hard. And there are rumors that-"
"-that some of his followers remain free," George interrupts quickly, for fear that Charlie reveals the too real rumor that this Dark Lord might not be as dead as people believe. George remembers the dread he had felt when he had learned that-he might be too young to have ever known what the war was like, but he has known other wars, and he knows how miserable those are, especially when they're based on baseless hatred and fear-and he would like to spare Alexander and the others that knowledge for as long as possible.
"But weren't there trials?" Alexander asks, and George curses himself for bringing up another subject that could lead to debate. Though, to be fair, most subjects would lead to debate when confronted with Alexander.
"Most people say the Ministry's corrupt though, and that those officiating the trials accepted bribes," Burts says with disgusts, stabbing at his eggs with a little more force than necessary.
"What?!" Alexander protests loudly, his head whipping around to face Burts. "Is that true?" he asks the others.
"Our current Minister's pretty spineless, according to my father," Jerson states, looking almost reluctant to do so. "But the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has gotten a lot better apparently."
Charlie snorts. "Your name is Jerson, right? Figures your father'd know all about Fudge being spineless, wouldn't he?"
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Jerson replies, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Nothing," Charlie shrugs innocently.
"That didn't sound like nothing," Jerson continues, glaring into Charlie's unrepentant eyes.
"Thomas, please," Mason asks at the same time as Tonks adds, "He meant that your father was involved in some pretty big scandal a couple years back and that Fudge helped him out of it in exchange for some compensation."
The way she rubs her fingers together and winks, hair turning from its more usual pink to a bright shade of yellow for a few moments, leaves no doubt as to what the 'compensation' was, and Jerson reddens in anger.
"Wait, I know you," Morgan blurts out suddenly, and George has never been more grateful for an interruption before.
Tonks turns toward the boy with a questioning look. "Oh?"
"Yeah, from the family meetings that are only every five years for some reason." Morgan nods to himself. "You're Nymphadora-"
"Don't say that name," Charlie interrupts with panic.
"-Tonks. My...cousin? I think? Something like that anyways."
Nymphadora's eyes lighten up. "It can't be! Little Hercules! Last time I saw you, you were convinced that Grandpa Tonks was actually Merlin disguise."
Morgan ducks his head down. "Come on, I was five!"
"Six," Tonks corrects with a smirk. "And what an adorable six-year-old you made too!"
Morgan turns bright red and turns to the others with a look that translates to don't you fucking dare, but he is saved from more embarrassment when Layla sits down next to him, proclaiming "Morning!" with a smile on her face that is way too huge to be appropriate.
Nothing new, then. At least not in this regard.
Layla looks around and scans the new faces. "Who are these guys? And why are we sitting here? Not that I'm against sitting with more people who look like they have stupid but fun adventures, but give a gi-" she stops and corrects herself "a person some warning next time."
"Next time?" George didn't mean to let that panicked whisper escape, but it did nevertheless.
Just like Morgan, George too is saved by Layla talking - honestly, now that he thought about it, she reminded him of Alexander and oh no.
She has noticed the letter - letters? With Alexander, who even knows - and the question that follows is: "Aren't you a first year? How do you already write that fast."
Alexander snorts. "Please, if I were to use pen and paper, I'd have at least three pages more, but I need to readjust to quills somehow."
George's heart skips a beat. Had Alexander just said that…?
"There is something that allows you to write even faster?" Burts questions, sounding honestly afraid - which is the only proper reaction to this piece of news if you ask George.
Everyone of them who has been reincarnated looks rightfully afraid.
"I'm missing something," Charlie declares.
Tonks and Layla nod in agreement.
"Does it have something to do with that thing?" Tonks questions, wiggling her eyebrows.
George nods voicelessly.
"Oh, they know?" Mason inquires.
Layla frowns. "Know what?"
Charlie seems to understand suddenly. "Oh, you mean - wait, is it a secret? Should we speak about it here?"
"I wouldn't say it's a secret," Eliza states. "It's not like any of us have made any attempts to hide or plan to do so."
"Hide what?" Layla questions, looking confused.
"And even if we did try, I'm pretty sure we'd fail," Lawrence adds with a shrug. "But on the other hand, who would believe us?"
Morgan and Mason make noises of agreement.
"Believe what?" Layla sounds both annoyed and insulted now. "And am I the only one here who had no idea what you are talking about? Angie, I thought we were supposed to be friends!?"
"We are!" Angelica quickly replies, sounding offended at the mere suggestion of anything else. "But this is something a little more... complex."
"Insane, you mean," George corrects, because somehow he still hasn't completely processed who he is, was, whatever.
"I'd say both fit," Burts speaks up.
Alexander groans and moves his hand to his face. "Of course you avoid arguments!"
"There is nothing wrong with that!"
"Can someone please tell me what the actual fuck is going on?" Layla requests. She's not quite screaming, but it won't take much more until she is.
"We're reincarnated," Eliza answers calmly.
"All of you?" Layla asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Not me and Tonks," Charlie replies. "At least I don't think so."
"I wish," Tonks says with a wistful sigh. "And you haven't even heard who they were yet."
"To be fair I'm not even sure I believe it," Layla admits.
"Neither am I and I am one of those with memories," Mason laughs.
"Well, I do believe these memories are real," Jerson comments. "It sounds more likely than all of us - and just us - hallucinating upon meeting."
"He's right," Lawrence points out and Alexander looks at him in a way that is betrayal and approval at once.
"Anyways," Morgan says, preventing an argument (probably). "The fact who we are the reincarnations of is even less believable. I may not have become very famous in my last life, but the others...well…"
"I bet you all the money I have on me that you've heard at least one name," Lawrence inserts, grinning widely.
"I don't know," Mason says, looking at Layla up and down. "Are you a Pureblood? Because then I'd take that bet," he adds in Lawrence's direction, who winces.
"You can't be serious," Alexander says and the disappointment in his voice is almost tangible. "They have to have advanced past the 1700s." He turns to Charlie. "Are you a Pureblood? Can you please tell me that you heard at least of George before he remembered?"
"Yeah, I'm a Pureblood, but I'm also a 'blood traitor'-" Charlie makes air quotes around these words "-so I may not be the best person to ask. But, yes, I did know who George Washington was before."
Layla screeches. "What?!"
