Chapter 4: The Lion's Gain
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Albus
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"MCLAGGEN, DESMOND!" the Sorting Hat roared.
Albus watched as the tall, robust boy from earlier walked – or more like strutted – up to the chair. He turned on his heel (with a showy and completely unnecessary flip of his robes) and sat down slowly as if he were assuming a throne. Gladstone's face remained impassive throughout this whole display, and when he was ready at last, she slowly lowered the Sorting Hat over his head –
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Seriously?!" Albus heard Rose blurt out next to him as the Gryffindor table applauded. The Hat had scarcely touched Desmond's greased hair before announcing its decision. Albus watched the Gryffindor table. Tommy Jordan had jumped up to greet Desmond, but Desmond passed him by and seemed (or at least pretended) not to notice the gesture. Tommy stood there awkwardly for a moment before retaking his seat.
Albus glanced at the Slytherin table for the third time. Everyone was taking turns talking to Phillip Bletchley. Aside from Marsha Flint, who was scowling down into the table, the Slytherin students were all lavishing their attention on the newcomer.
"NOTT, TELLIUS!" the Hat shouted. A stringy boy with dark hair now sat upon the chair with the Hat over his face. It took a moment, but not a particularly long moment – "SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table roared again in celebration. What's so bad about them, really? Albus found himself thinking. Even as another cheer rose from the Gryffindor side as "O'Connell, Elizabeth" was added to their house and Albus realized that his name would be coming up soon, the dread in his heart had started to shrink, like a plant shriveling in dry desert heat.
"POTTER, ALBUS!"
Rose gripped his arm for a moment and then let go. Whispers and murmurs followed him up the dais, as he knew they would; he'd always known. It wasn't enough that his father's accomplishments during his own school years had become the stuff of legends and childhood bedtime tales; but the Potter name still carried much weight in the wizarding world today. Harry Potter was the Head of the Auror Office, and after about a decade on the job, thought to be one of the best to hold that position in years. His battling abilities had been precocious as a teenager; two-plus decades of experience in defeating and capturing Dark wizards had honed him into a master duelist with perhaps the quickest wand draw in all of Britain.
The hundreds of faces staring at Albus Potter all disappeared into darkness.
I knew it was only a matter of time. The Sorting Hat was speaking to him. Albus's parents had warned him it would do that as well. This time around, it still made him nervous. Another son of the great wizarding hero –
My name is Albus, he thought in reply, already annoyed at the Hat. Albus Severus Potter.
Albus Severus Potter, the Hat repeated slowly. There was a slight tone of amusement in its voice. With a name like that, wizardkind's hopes for you must be high indeed. How, might I ask, do you expect to meet them? As you must know already, I am duty-bound to… strongly suggest which House would help you on that road…
It's all the same to me, Albus responded, a bit more confidently than he felt. Put me in Slytherin if you really want. I don't care.
You don't mean that, do you? the Hat replied cajolingly. You care more than anything. It's been on your mind for weeks – months, even.
It doesn't matter, Albus thought. I'll make my mark wherever I go. That's what I've decided.
Count me impressed. To face your fears at so young an age… and to truly master them, if only for a pivotal moment… that shows courage – courage that could only be worthy of – "GRYFFINDOR!"
Another bomb of sound exploded in the Great Hall. As the Sorting Hat came off his head, Albus sat frozen on the chair for a moment. So prepared had he been to hear any one of the other three Houses, the Sorting Hat's selection truly caught him off guard. It was only after a gentle pat on the back from Professor Gladstone that Albus moved from the chair. The Gryffindor table was going absolutely mental with celebration. Some of them had begun to raise sideways fists into the air. Eventually, enough of them followed suit that it looked like the majority of the table was giving the same gesture. A chorus of repeated roars rose forth from the Gryffindors. Albus noticed some of them were holding their wands in the air, almost as one would hold a sword.
Albus, with a jolt, turned his head to the end of the staff table as he realized what was happening. Professor Neville Longbottom was half-standing, sheepishly patting the air to try to calm his House. Albus watched Professor Longbottom smile at the Gryffindors and descended from the dais.
"All right, all right," Flitwick's magically-magnified voice squeaked through the din. "Yes, we are appreciative as always of Professor Longbottom. However, there are other students to be Sorted, and as I'm well aware you Gryffindors will likely celebrate your newest additions later tonight as only Gryffindors can, I should thank you to hold yourselves in until then."
The noise died down to an appreciative murmur. Albus finally caught the eye of Professor Longbottom, who gave him a nod and a grin. Next to him, Hagrid had pulled up a corner of the table cloth and was dabbing clumsily at his face with it.
The Gryffindor table was still buzzing when Albus arrived. He determined not to look at anyone. For the moment, he wanted to be with family. He had tonight and at least a whole year – perhaps seven whole years – to meet other Gryffindors. James was already on his feet when Albus arrived. Wordlessly, he shifted over a few feet, allowing Albus to settle in between him and another boy.
"Gryffindor," said James, smirking. "Never doubted it for a second, Al."
"Oh, shut up," Albus replied, a bit louder than he'd intended; Freddy and Roxanne laughed. All of a sudden, Albus found a hand being shoved into his face, asking to be shaken.
"Al Potter." The speaker was the boy directly to Albus's right. Albus wasn't personally acquainted with any Irish people, but he'd heard the accent enough times to recognize it immediately. Albus took the proffered hand and shook it. "Rick Murphy's the name. I'm a mate of your brother's."
"Yeah, I remember James talking about you," Albus responded, recognizing that the name rang a bell.
"I thought I'd finally meet you and Lily this past summer, but…" Murphy trailed off. "Well, we know each other now, so no harm done, right?"
Albus smiled.
He happened to glance back up at the table, looking for Hagrid and Professor Longbottom's eyes again. He did not find them. Looking straight at him, however (as a vaguely foreign-looking girl by the surname of Rama became a Ravenclaw), was a bespectacled wizard. The expression he was wearing seemed a bit unpleasant.
"What's wrong with him?" Albus muttered. "James… hey, James?"
James had been preoccupied with the arrival of "STANTON-ELLSWORTH, MATILDA!" into Ravenclaw House and hadn't been paying attention.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Who's that guy?" Albus pointed him out. "Two to the right of Neville."
"Oh…" James frowned.
It was Tommy instead who answered. "That'd be Professor Malcolm. He's been the Defence Against the Dark Arts guy for… oh, about two, three years now. Not that he's not competent, but… if the Board of Governors had its way…"
"Dad would be here instead," James finished, not sounding very pleased about the idea. "Like Tommy said, Malcolm knows what he's doing, but…"
"Shut it, you guys!" snapped Roxanne all of a sudden. "Don't you know who's getting Sorted soon?"
"VAISEY, STEPHAN!"
A boy – at least Albus assumed so by the name – had seated himself on the chair. He looked a bit like one of those angel children; his hair was golden blond, only a shade darker than Professor Gladstone's – but very nearly as long.
"Ravenclaw House for sure," he heard Freddy mutter. "The Sorting Hat never talks about it, but Ravenclaw picks for looks just about as much as for brains."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"What?" Freddy uttered before he could stop himself. The applause seemed stilted, as if the Gryffindor table didn't quite know what to think of this particular newcomer. Albus looked toward the throng of first years, only to find that it no longer existed. It had dwindled down to a handful of witches, Rose's bushy hair obvious among them. His brain drifted for a moment; with no boys left, he now knew the names of the three wizards with which he would share a room for the better part of the next seven years:
Rowan Lester, Stephan Vaisey, and (Albus winced at the thought) Desmond McLaggen.
Well, he thought, they can't all be gems…
"WALTER, FRIEDA!" A girl approached the Sorting Hat, her loosely curled, dark red hair tied back in a ponytail. "SLYTHERIN!"
She yanked off the hat and tried to run down to her new table. However, her robes decided to fight her – on the second step from the bottom, she toppled, letting out a clipped squeal. So loud and emphatic was the collective gasp, Albus thought for a moment that all the air would be sucked out of the Great Hall.
"Blimey!" exclaimed James, his jaw agape.
A red head bounced up from the ground, the rest of the girl following it.
"I'm okay!" she squeaked. Appreciative laughter filled the Great Hall as she settled into a seat at the Slytherin table, her face now as red as her hair.
But Albus's attention was turned to another redhead –
"WEASLEY, ROSE!"
Even Dominique's head perked up and she turned around, her eyes trained on the dais where Rose was settling down into the chair. Albus felt a slight nudge from his brother.
"You realize she'll probably be Ravenclaw, right?" he heard James whisper.
Albus's heart sank, because James was absolutely right. It wasn't to say that Rose wasn't brave at all, but… she wasn't exactly what one would call 'tough'. She was a bit timid around others and could be a bit weepy. At any rate, her mind was her greatest strength by far.
Oh, well… Albus thought. At least she'd have Victoire…for a year.
The more Albus thought about it, that wasn't such a comfort. Victoire, being so much older, wasn't particularly close with her cousins.
"Poor Rosie," Roxanne murmured. "This is taking a while, isn't it?"
It had indeed been over a minute, which Albus could only imagine felt like several eternities to Rose, who was gripping the seat as if it were a lifeline, whilst the Hat remained silent.
Whispers started to permeate the Hall. Albus wondered how many of the whisperers were using the word "Hatstall". Albus could have sworn that he saw the Sorting Hat's brim-mouth contort in a pensive grimace, then –
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Roxanne let out a squeal and started clapping along with the rest of Gryffindor House. Rose jumped up and cast the Sorting Hat aside, obviously eager to be out of the spotlight as quickly as possible. Unlike her predecessor, she kept her footing and came down along the far side of the Gryffindor table at a dead sprint. Albus looked around for one of the witch Prefects, wondering if Rose would even stop to be greeted. They were standing up further down the table, but Rose seemed to have no intention of going anywhere near them. She made a beeline straight for Roxanne and nearly knocked her to the ground with a half-hug, half-tackle. Roxanne patted her on the back of the head as she sobbed quite audibly. The boys all exchanged awkward smiles. Tommy slid down, allowing Roxanne to help Rose into her seat. What little Albus could see of Rose's face was very red and contorted.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted hoarsely and with an obvious sense of relief. A young witch with dark skin and somewhat high cheekbones went over to join the Slytherin table. She and Marsha Flint eyed each other with an air of distaste for a moment. A tall, black-haired witch Prefect, perhaps sensing danger, came to escort the dark-skinned first year to another spot at the table. Albus watched her settle down between the Prefect and Frieda Walter, who had just been sorted moments before.
"And with that," Flitwick's voice announced, "this year's Sorting is complete."
Albus looked back behind himself as he stood near the head of a small group of students as all of them walked toward Gryffindor Tower. The senior prefects had been sent ahead with the second- through seventh years. The two junior Prefects (Tommy and a fifth year girl named Greta Stanford) were to follow a few minutes behind, leading the new Gryffindor first years up to the common room.
A relatively new tradition that had started – apparently after the war and after his father's time here – was for the other students of each House to throw a Welcoming Party for the new first year students and the new Prefects. James (standing next to Albus) had been allowed to stay behind as an immediate family member of a new student.
"Now, it's gonna be loud, so brace yourselves," Tommy called from the front of the line as they approached the portrait of a lavishly dressed, very fat woman.
"Password?" she asked in a faux-regal tone.
"Old Toby!" exclaimed Tommy confidently. The portrait swung open –
A loud rush of noise assaulted Albus's embattled eardrums for the umpteenth time that evening. Gryffindors of every year were crowded around this circular hole, most of them with their fists in the air with the same pose he had seen after he was Sorted.
"Get out of it, you lot!" Tommy yelled, suddenly annoyed. "I've got about a dozen behind me, give us some room! Pike, turn that bloody thing off for a second!"
Loud music that had been among the sounds exploding forth from the Gryffindor common room suddenly went silent.
"Most of you lot know me already, I'm Thomas Jordan," he announced whilst James, Albus, and the other first years waited outside.
"Can he do this when we get in?" McLaggen's voice –
"Oh, stuff it, McLaggen!" …and there was the curly-haired girl again. She'd been sorted into Gryffindor, but Albus hadn't been paying attention at the moment and didn't realize it until the first years broke off into this group.
"This lovely beauty of a witch here is—" Tommy went on, but the female Prefect cut him off.
"Thanks, Jordan, I can introduce myself. I'm Greta Stanford," she said. "And we're honored to serve Gryffindor House as its two newest Prefects this year."
Raucous applause followed Greta's statement. Tommy must have found some way to get the Gryffindors quiet again, because he soon said, "But enough about us – you know us already. Let's meet the real reason we're all here – our newest batch of Gryffindors!"
The explosion of noise that had stopped so suddenly on Tommy's cue had restarted, up to including the wizard rock band that had been playing in the background. Tommy turned his head and nodded. Albus made to move forward, but he was bumped—
"Oi!" shouted James as the largest of the first years clambered through the portrait hole. James stared at Desmond's rear end mutinously for a moment before climbing in himself, beckoning Albus to follow behind him. The Gryffindor common room was just as James had described it to him – warm and inviting, with a fireplace standing out among its many furnishings. Red-and-gold flags and drapes – more than usual, Albus had a feeling – hung down from the high ceilings. A large House crest seemed to be plastered to the ceiling, alternating sparks of light in matching colors.
It was quite crowded, with most, if not all of the Gryffindors gathered inside. Albus found himself being slapped on the arms and shoulders by random, reaching hands. An almighty beast's roar came from the left. James jumped into Albus, nearly knocking him over. Albus yelped as he caught sight of the large head of a lion. It took a moment (and James shoving the head away) for Albus to realize it was a fake, attached to a quite human body.
"Whoa!" he heard his older brother exclaim, looking startled. "Wait… that's wicked! How'd you do that?"
And with that, James was gone.
The illusion of order had long since been abandoned. First years were scattered everywhere in the common room, all introducing themselves to each other or older students.
"You know, my dad ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet once," he heard Desmond McLaggen chatting to a bunch of older students, who seemed to be looking at him with genuine interest. "Ended up in the hospital wing for a week… but he won the bet."
"Potter! Albus Potter!" one of the older students noticed him. He winced. He didn't mind talking to older students, but he wasn't too keen on being near Desmond. Reluctantly, he trudged over in that direction. Most of the students seemed to be in the second- or third year range. The boys in particular towered over him.
"Em…" Albus stammered.
"I was Muggle-born," said the older student, "so I didn't know a single spell when I stepped into Hogwarts. Not – one – effing – spell, you hear me? I envy guys like you. I bet you got here knowing about fifty brilliant curses, didn't you?"
"Dad didn't teach me many spells before this," Albus admitted. "Only the one. Ex—"
"The Disarming Charm?" Desmond sighed, rolling his eyes. "As if that's gonna help anyone in a real fight."
"Well…" one of the older students murmured, "you can't curse someone if you don't have a wand in your hand."
"Oh, you can," another student replied. "You just have to be good. I mean, really good. Like, Flitwick-level good."
"Oh, but Flitwick wouldn't curse anybody!" a girl piped in.
"Just 'cause he wouldn't doesn't mean that he can't."
"So do you play Quidditch?" another student – another girl – asked.
"I have, but…" Albus murmured.
"What position are you going out for?"
"You gonna be a Seeker like your dad? I mean, I've seen pictures of him in the trophy hall – you two look just alike –"
"His mum played, too. Gryffindor went back-to-back for the Cup with her on the team."
"OI!" Desmond snapped. Everyone looked at him, which seemed to have been his aim. "I'll be going out. I'm more the Beater type, but my father was the best Keeper Gryffindor had seen in years."
"I heard Gryffindor got flattened in the match where your dad played Keeper –"
"I didn't say he won the most games," said Desmond, his ears turning red. "It's not his fault the other members of the team were incompetent –"
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" a loud shout caught the entire group's attention. Albus's heart leapt – a strange sort of lurching leap that made him feel all at the same time happy and sick. The curly-haired girl was stomping over to the group, her dark, somewhat heavily-lidded eyes locked on Desmond in a stare of pure venom.
"I said that the other members of my father's team were incompetent," Desmond snapped.
"Well, my father was part of that team," the girl said, her hands on her hips.
"That's too bad, isn't it?" hissed Desmond, staring down at her imperiously. "Maybe that's why he became an arbiter and not a player. But then, we may never know. A certain Quidditch captain liked to play favorites, so your dear old dad got stuck as a reserve, too."
Desmond looked up at the others.
"Come talk to me if you're ever in the mood to get your head out of the Potters' arse," he said, his lip curling nastily. He stalked off. The throng of older students began to disperse, too.
Albus felt all the wind sucked out of the party and had half a mind to leave in order to try to find his bed. However, the curly-haired girl turned to him at last, smiling brightly.
"We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" she asked, extending her hand. "My name's Sylvia. Sylvia Thomas."
Albus shook her hand, a bit confused. She was speaking as if she expected the name 'Thomas' to jog something in Albus's memory.
"Your parents know my dad," she explained. "Actually, your mum knows him pretty well."
Albus's brows furrowed. The girl rolled her eyes, seemingly astounded that Albus didn't get this hint.
"What I mean to say is," she went on, sounding exasperated. "They were together once. Involved. Romantically, I mean."
Albus's jaw dropped in shock, but he managed to turn it into a short utterance of "…Oh."
"I've seen pictures of your dad – everyone has, I guess," Sylvia said. She'd taken to twirling some of her curly, black hair around one of her fingers. Albus thought it was quite distracting. "You look just like him, you know."
"I get that a lot," he muttered, not meeting Sylvia's eyes. Her announcement that his mum, Ginny, and her father had once been an item had instantly made this conversation quite awkward. He didn't know what she'd meant by it, telling him that right off.
"So, that Rose girl…" Sylvia said. Albus looked up at her, his jaw tightening a bit as he remembered something.
"You laughed at her earlier," he said. "As we got on the boats."
"You sure can hold a grudge, can't you?" she asked. "So I guess I was right. Her name's Weasley, and your mum's birth name was Weasley – so you're kin somehow, right?"
"She's my cousin," Albus replied.
"And everyone else named Weasley, too? I've met three others."
Albus nodded, realizing that she was probably talking about Freddy, Roxanne, and Dominique. "All my family."
"You sure are lucky," she said, staring at a spot in the common room. Albus (despite himself) followed her gaze and realized it was where James, Rose, Roxanne, Freddy, and even Dominique were gathered in a small group. "All my cousins are Muggles. Oh, well. I guess I'll see you some point soon? We have all our classes together."
"Yeah," murmured Albus distractedly.
The party burned itself out after about an hour or so. Students began dispersing up to their bedrooms. Albus (on direction from Greta – Tommy had been called out of the common room) had ascended a quite long staircase to find a door adorned with a Gryffindor crest. Under the crest was a gold-plated placard, engraved with the words "FIRST YEARS."
A bit gingerly, Albus pushed the door open. Several four-poster beds were arranged in a rough circle around the room, all of them with Gryffindor-themed bedding and curtains. One of these beds was currently being pounded underfoot by a small, thatch-haired boy, who was laughing.
"Wow!" he cried in delight as he threw his feet out from under himself and hit the bed rump-first. "This is way better than my bed back home!"
"Hey…" a boy on the other side had sat up. Despite his appearance, there was just enough trace of masculine tone in the boy with the long, blond hair, now that Albus was hearing him talk for the first time. "You're Albus Potter. Harry Potter's son, right?"
Albus nodded. He'd learned not to be uptight about people greeting him that way. After all, he'd always told himself, it's what's going to happen, so you might as well get used to it for a while.
"And you're, um… Stephan Vaisey?" he asked. The boy nodded.
"Who's Harry Potter?" the small boy on the bed to Albus's left asked curiously.
"My dad," answered Albus with a chuckle. After all, that's how Albus knew him, no matter what anyone else said otherwise.
"You don't know who Harry Potter is, Rowan?" Vaisey seemed astounded. "My dad tells me about him all the time!"
"That's just it," the young boy said. He jumped off the bed. "I was raised by my mother and grandmother. They weren't… you know, like us. Muggles, I think you guys call them…"
"Ah," Vaisey nodded understandingly. "That'd explain it. So you're Muggle-born, then?"
"What, does that matter?" Rowan asked nervously.
"Heck, no, it doesn't matter!" Vaisey replied fiercely. Albus smiled – he liked this guy already. "I was just curious."
"Muggle-born means… both your parents were Muggles, right?" Rowan asked, turning to Albus, who nodded. Rowan, conversely, shook his head. "Strange, that… my dad died when I was a baby. Never told my mum he was a wizard. I just got my stuff yesterday – wand and everything. Mrs. – er, Professor – um, the Sorting lady took me through Diagon Alley."
"Professor Gladstone?" uttered Albus. "Well, that was nice of her."
"But I don't know any magic!" Rowan cried, and it sounded like he was about to break down.
"You'll be fine," Albus said. "Listen…"
Albus walked over to a bed close to a window and sat down on it. The moon's light was coming in white and pearly. With a quick jolt of the heart, he remembered his father telling him that his bed at Hogwarts had been next to a window. Had this been the same bed? "My dad was raised by Muggles – mean ones, too – and he turned out alright."
"What? Harry Potter was raised by Muggles?" It was Vaisey who had spoken. Albus looked back into the room. Both Vaisey and Rowan had sat bolt upright on their beds, eyeing Albus with expression of wonder. He felt, not for the first time that evening, as if a spotlight had been shone upon him.
"Well… yeah – you didn't know that?" he uttered.
"No," Vaisey said sincerely, shaking his head. "I always assumed another wizard family took him in or something."
Albus smiled. "One did… sorta… but that was only after he came to Hogwarts."
"So you're telling us, your dad, the great Harry Potter, came up as a Muggle, came to Hogwarts not knowing anything about magic, and turned into… well… the great Harry Potter?" Vaisey asked.
"I guess, yeah," Albus answered. Vaisey's eyes went wide.
"Wicked!" he whispered in wonderment. "Guess that means there's hope for anyone, then."
The door swung open. A tall boy came in, staring directly at Albus. The smile Albus had been sharing with Vaisey quickly came off his face. He'd forgotten about him…
"Oi, Potter, what d'you think you're doing?" the boy asked. "Geroff my bed – now!"
Albus looked down. He hadn't seen any names on the beds, but a group of belongings clearly not belonging to him was arranged at the foot of the four-poster.
"Oh…" Albus uttered as diplomatically as possible. "Sorry. Didn't know…"
"Yeah, you'd better be sorry," Desmond McLaggen growled as he approached the bed. Albus walked back to the center of the room, looking around for his things at one of the remaining two empty beds.
Wait… why were there two empty beds?
"Hold on," muttered Albus. "Something's off."
"What do you mean?" asked Rowan.
"My aunt – my aunt Hermione – she's got Hogwarts, A History pretty much to memory," Albus murmured. "She said that Hogwarts is a living castle, and that it can remake itself based on need."
"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Desmond impatiently.
"It means," Albus replied, "that either Hogwarts made a mistake, or we're supposed to—"
The door opened again. In stepped the Prefect, Tommy Jordan.
"Bedtime, guys!" he announced. "You've got the whole weekend to talk to each other."
"Hey, Tommy." Albus stepped forward. "Something's weird with our dorm room."
"What seems to be the problem?" Tommy asked.
"Can't you see?" Albus uttered, thinking that this should have been obvious. "There are four of us, but five beds."
"Nope, there's five of you, that was the other thing I came up here to tell you," Tommy answered, as if he'd seen this coming. Stepping aside, he said, "Meet your new roommate."
Staring back into the room and straight at Albus was the pale, pointed, blank face of Scorpius Malfoy.
