CHAPTER SEVEN

THE EIGHT THAT ARE ONE

Break-ups suck! Thank goodness I have you loyal readers. All three of you. (Yes you too, Mom.)

Due to my many remarkable experiences I have become something of a fountainhead of knowledge and wisdom. To such an extant, in fact, that many of my cassual throw-away comments have become well known adages. (You are probably familiar with, 'Never trim a troll's toenails before lunch' and 'You may be as old as you feel, but you look like you feel terrible'. (For more wisdom, go buy my other book.))

Which brings me to my most important and oft disregarded saying: Friends are like semi precious stones, whereas real friends are like rare gems, for they are few and far between. (I admit, throughout the mud heap of life I have accumulated a lot of dirty little pebbles.)

And it happened that Albus, at this particular point in his life, was very fortunate to have found a friend in me (as one could say I possitively glitter) and what's more, he himself knew how fortunate he was to have me by his side.

(Of course he knew he was fortunate. I told him so. Several times.)

And so it was that on our very first morning at Hogwarts I found myself immediately thrust into my friendship duties, for although the whole of Slytherin House had adjourned to the dining hall, Albus, who no doubt had experienced a sleepless night, had not yet risen and I had decided to dawdle in the common room in order to wait for him. (That was indeed the reason. The fact that I was unnerved at the idea of facing Avery and his gang alone was simply a happy coincidence.)

My mind being the nimble, razor-like modern wonder it is, it should come as no surprise to you that I could not abide inactivity and so I utilized my time of solitude by exploring our common room. And I must say, it was truly magical. Among the stylish decor I found an old cheat-quill meant to be used during exams, (though it didn't seem to be functioning at optimum performance, unless the capitol of France is Pismo Beach,) a Weasley wand that turned into a penguin and slapped me, a broken frisbee that tried to bite me and some ancient pellets with a 'Zonko' label that smelled oddly like dung.

I also discovered a rusted lantern that threatened me with an emerald dagger and asked if I was 'pure', and an ugly portrait of some creepy old guy that I could swear was staring at me when I wasn't looking and would quickly divert his eyes when I looked at him.

I was just about to investigate a locked cupbourd off the fireplace when something exceedingly strange happened.

At first I thought it was some sort of furless monkey (which would have been strange enough) but on second glance it reminded me more of some sort of naked infant and on the third glance I finally fully observed it, and wished I hadn't.

It floated out from within the locked cupbourd, almost completely divested of any corporality or substance but, sadly, still visible. It had the porportions of a human child whose skin was raw and rough and flayed looking, but whose face was horribly mutated and snake-like. It appeared to be completely unaware of its surroundings as it floated about the room, wimpering pathetically and incessantly, even as it passed swiftly through the far wall and out of sight.

I know I should have felt sympathy for whatever that...creature was, but, for some odd reason, all I felt was disgust. A shiver ran through me, for I knew, however unlikely it may be, that little wraith was evil.

I stared at the spot on the wall where it had vanished, lost in thought (on matters of which I am sure are far too deep for you) for...I don't know how long, but I was abruptly pulled back to the present by the words, "Hey, spacey. Fancy some breakfast?"

Albus was finally up, though to say he was 'awake' would have been a stretch, as the great, big, purple bags under his eyes attested. "Morning, Albus. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surpriesed. You looked like you were far away."

"I was. I just had a disturbing experience."

"That's odd."

"How so?"

"Well, after eleven years you ought to be used to your reflection."

(What did he mean?) "...What do you mean?"

"What, seriously? Nothing, it was a joke!"

"Oh, very funny." (I still don't get it. Must have been a lame joke.) We started walking up to the dining hall. "Anyway, you seem to be in a better humor."

"Yea, I had a long talk last night with...well yea, I do feel better."

"That's good." He obviously didn't wish to discuss the matter so I didn't pursue it.

"So tell me, Silv," His voice suddenly became casual and upbeat. "What was this 'disturbing experience' you had?"

"Are you making another joke?"

"...No."

"Oh," (It was so hard to tell with him.) "Well, I'm not sure myself what I saw." And so I related to him the weirdness of the common room apparition.

Albus listened quietly and his face became contemplative. "Sounds like it was some sort of ghost." he said. "But then-"

HHHSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

We had just stepped into the dinning hall when we were deluged by what sounded like by a very loud, slow leak. The next moment I realized that it was indeed a slow leak, and it was emanating from the Gryffindor table. (Well it only stands to reason: Gryffindor's heads are generally so full of hot air they were bound to burst eventually.) "Oy, look everyone!" a voice rang out. "It's the little Slytherin!" The pronouncement came from James, whose eyes were filled with spiteful malice and were at that moment directed at his little brother. The other Gryffindors his age answered his call with renewed hissing and I saw the newly mended humor of Albus shatter as the light expression was sucked from his face.

Along the Gryffindor table I noticed the pink forehead of Rose Weasley, who was studying her oatmeal with the most intence dedication. (I'm sure, if the oatmeal were alive it would have been very uncomfortable.) I was glad to see she had not joined in with her gang of flat tiers but I did notice that she refused to meet Albus' eye.

"C'mon," I heard a female voice say. "Let's get some food into you." It was Agnes who had appeared by Albus' side and was tugging his elbow in the direction of the Slytherin table. Looking quite miserable, Albus allowed himself to be led by the curly haired, dirty blond, Hufflepuff girl.

It then occurred to me that Agnes planned on joining us at the Slytherin table in an effort to minister moral support to Albus. All at once, upon reflecting on the welcoming additude my house often displayed to strangers (witness last night) I felt compelled to disuade her from this course of action as much for her safety as for ours. (But primarily for ours... Oh, all right! It was entirely for ours. I didn't realy care about her safety.)

"Er, Agnes?" I began. "Agnes?"

"Ms. Murehead to you!"

"Right then. Ms. Murehead, I couldn't help notice that...er...you-"

"Do you have some sort of problem, What's-Your-Face?"

"It's Zed." Albus supplied.

"I won't remember that. Anyways, what's your handicap?"

"Well-"

"Make it fast, I can't be your shrink today!"

(Definetely not for her safety.) "I just had this silly notion that you were going to sit at our table and was going to say that that might not be the best idea-"

"He's right." Albus affirmed, glumly. "Our 'mates' won't have any mercy on you. Best if we just get on alone."

At this, Agnes' eyes burned and her voice took on a hard tone. "What a bunch of prats the two of you are!" she said as she clapped her hands on Albus' shoulders and pushed him to sit on the Slytherin bench. "I'll have the both of you know that I eat wherever and with whomever I wish and I neither need nor desire the permission of a whole- OH SHUT UP, YOU BUNCH OF NURBDANKLES!"

A group of Slytherins, including chubby Damon Devon and pointy faced Allison Smyth, who had just opened their sneering mouths to remark, suddenly jumped back in surprise.

Still growling to herself, Agnes took a seat beside Albus while the rest of the house inched away, giving her a wide berth. (Almost as much as they gave 'Windy', actually.)

Albus, who was himself a bit shell-shocked, said, "Well, I guess I'm glad I'm not eating with all those hissing slow leaks anyway. What's for breakfast?"

"Boiled leaks."

"That's not funny."

"Good, Because I'm not joking. Eat." She said, ladling a large helping of the soggy vegetabes onto his plate.

Off to my left, I once again saw Damon and Allison put their heads together and this time talk in hushed conspiratorial tones. (The tone of the voice lends the gossip more credence as it imbibes subjects of the utmost banality with a sense of mortal urgency.)

"Did you hear the mouth on that one?"

"Thinks she owns the place!"

"Muggle-born hussy,"

"I tell you, this place is going to the dogs."

"Well let me tell you..."

(Dear me, this is trite. Hushed tones don't help the content at all. Disregard that previous lecture.)

Beyond them I saw a whisp of silvery whiteness. It gestulated furiously and I recognized it to be a ghostly transparant hand. Leaning forward, I saw that it belonged to the ghost of the Bloody Baron who was at that moment in earnest conversation with the other Hogwarts ghosts. It looked as though they were all ganging up on him and he appeared to be furious at the situation. (Then again, he always appeared to be furious so don't take my word.)

I was suddenly struck with inspiration and ran over to him, catching the last bits of their conversation as I approached. "...I'll have you know, this is a libel!" the Baron was bellowing. "A dirty libel !"

"Now really, sir!" a nearly headless wraith responded in a voice drenched in lofty indignation. "That little monster has pulled one prank to many. He has gotten away with it all these years but it's high time we face the fact-"

"In all my years," the Baron roared, "that little fellow has neven been anything but the non-embodiment of curtesy and politeness!"

"To you, perhaps." came the soothing reply of an overweight friar. "But we must learn to walk in the shoes of others. Others who are less fortunate-"

"Quite right!" the nearly headless one cut in. "You've been oblivious to the real state of affairs to long now. Wake up! Take heed! Look alive!"

"'Look alive'?" the Baron said. "Well that's a bit rude there, isn't it?"

"It's just an idiom."

"Who're you calling an 'idiom'?"

"Now really, sir!"

"Ahem," Everyone stopped and looked at the friar, who in turn looked pointedly in my direction. "I think it would be best if we continued this discussion later. Baron, I believe he's one of yours?"

"Yes, yes." he said, impatiently. "But mark me, we will finish this. And what do you want?" The Baron's eyes turned slightly red as he faced me.

I gulped audibly (because of those chewy leaks, not out of fright, you understand.) and related to him my experience with the mysterious little wraith. As I described the creature, the ghost's face became somewhat serious and he nodded from time to time. (He almost forgot to look baleful.) "...And so I thought that you might be able to explain what it is that I saw." I ended.

He just looked at me for several minutes, gathering his thoughts, and then spoke. "Yes, I know of what you speak. There are actually eight of those things floating around the school, though they especially drawn towards the Slytherin sections. Believe it or not, they are actually a single entity."

"What? But then what is it?"

"Something that is beyond anyone's help. Something that while in life feared death so much that even in death it still fears it."

And on that enigmatic note, he floated on through me before I could ask another question, leaving me puzzled and shivering. That was exceptionaly unhelpful. On my way back to the table I made a mental note never to ask a ghost for directions.

"...But you see, she was only hurt that you didn't confide in her." Agnes was explaining to Albus as I sat back down. "Rose feels awful about this whole mess, you know. Maybe even more than you."

"But I've already told her," Albus said, "I can't tell her who I met in McGonagall's office."

"Oh, I understand." Agnes said, quickly. "And believe you me, I respect your privacy. I'm not one of these nosey people who thinks everything is their business. Personally, I don't care what you were doing in there or with whome. Unless you were snogging someone. Were you snogging someone?"

"What? No!"

"Something, then?"

(The pumkin juice I was drinking was suddenly spewed across the table. (I don't know what Allison Smyth was so upset about. She looked better for it.))

"I wasn't snogging!" Albus nearly shouted.

"Alright, alright. No need to get uspet about it. You'll get your chance to snog eventually."

Albus just grunted.

"No snogging, then."

"Right."

"So what were you doing?"

"Agnes!"

"Hey, hey! I already told you I don't care. I'm not one of these big nosey people you see around." (She looked directly at my nose for a moment.) "People- not me, mind- but people are wondering about the person who talked to you. Was she nice to you?"

"'She'?"

"A 'he', then?"

"You're being very obvious, Anges."

"Hey, hey! I already told you-"

"Drop it."

"Alright then. But you should know, Albus: Your family doesn't care that you're in Slytherin. You're still the same person."

"Albus Severus Potter!" The voice was both stern and soothing at the same time and beautiful in a way that only certain female voices could be. I turned and saw that the owner of the voice matched it unquestionably.

She was a seventh year with shining blond hair that flowed down to her hips and seemed to be drawing the attention of every puberty-hit boy in the vicinity. At that moment she was paying them no attention as she was glaring down at Albus with eyes full of disapproval.

"Hi, Victoire."

"Don't you 'Hi, Victoire' me." she said, scathingly. "I am very disappointed in you, Albus. To think, after the sacrifices and legacy that your father has made for you, to stab him in the back in such a way. It is unconscionable. You have shown yourself to be young beyond your years." She lowered her voice and spoke the next words gently. "You should be very ashamed of yourself." She then gracefully spun on her heels and elegantly stalked off.

The boys around us seemed to come out of a stupor while Agnes still looked as though she were speechless. "I can't..." She tried again. "I cannot believe her! What a...What a...big...ugly...a..."

"Nerbdankle?"

"Yes, thank you, Zed. I mean, I cannot believe her! Who does she think she is?"

"My cousin, I'm afraid."

"Disown her!"

"I think she just saved him the trouble." I offered.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyy, Albus old buddy!" It was Marcus Felonios who was striding towards us with his arms flamboyantly outstretched, as though in anticipation of greeting a long lost relative. (Though, why anyone would want to flamboyantly greet any sort of relative is beyond me.) "Little buddy! Where've you been hiding from me?"

[Now, I must take a moment to describe this Marcus Felonios. (Even if the wizard psycologist have already devoted mounds of parchment to his case.) He was a prefect in the same year as Ursula Qualm and I have neglected to mention him until now because he simply did not take his prefect duties as seriously. In fact, in many ways, he was the exact opposite of Ursula Qualm. He was open and gregarious while she was stone-like and forbidding. He was easy going and relaxed while she was rule abiding and acted as though someone had shoved a nimbus 2000 straight up. You get the picture.

Suffice it to say, Marcus was well liked and popular while Ursula ruled with an iron fist. I can only assume the faculty paired the two of them together in the hopes that they would balance each other out, but like so many others, that plan was in the process of descending into glorious failure.]

"Alby, Alby, Alby," he said, combing a hand through his red hair. "I didn't realize you knew the magnificent Victoire Weasley."

"Related, actually."

"Even better!"

"But I've never met you before."

"Well you have right now. Glad to know you. Any chance of you setting us up?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that to you, Marcus." Albus replied. "You havent' done anything that bad."

"Ahhh, I see." Marcus said, slyly. "You'd only set us up in revenge. Ok then, what do I have to do to get on your bad side? I could always give you lines."

"You'd be a bit late." I said. "He's already got lines."

"NO!" He looked aghast. "She doesn't wast any time at all, that Ursula." He then screwed up his face and launched into a surprisingly accurate immitation of his fellow prefect. "Rules are rules, after all. One may not break the rules under any circumstances, unless the rules are for one to break the rules in wich case stand back while I have a nervouse breakdown. Now give me 26778 lines: 'I will not have nervous breakdowns in class'- Oh hey there, Ursula."

Ursula suddenly appeared behind me, glaring icily at Marcus. "Good morning, Mr. Felonios. Having much fun?"

"Oh, tons." he replied, completely unabashed. "You shoud try it some time."

"Thank you for the advice." The warmth seemed to be draining from the air around us. She thrust some parchment at Albus and me and said, "These are you class schedules. See that your not late. Albus, I'll expect your lines tonight. And you," she pointed at Agnes. "You don't belong here. Better head off to your own house table." And she turned and continued handing out schedules to the first years, not noticing Agnes stick her tongue out at her.

Marcus sighed. "Charming as ever. It's a wonder I've never gone out with her. Oh, well. If you change your mind, Potter, give me a ring." and he went back to his breakfast and friends. Off at the end of the table I saw Avery and the gang of fifth years who attacked Albus the previous night. They were following Marcus with their gaze and shooting hate filled daggers at him. He might have felt awkward had he noticed.

"What have you got today?" Agnes asked Albus, who was perusing the schedule. "Anything with Hufflepuff?"

"Let's see, Transfiguration...A History of Magic...Oh, and here we have a class together."

"What is it?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." he said, slowly. "With Professor Maim."

I don't know why, but I suddenly felt a shiver run through me.

By the way, I made a slight update to the end of chapter six.