A/N
Thanks for all the reviews, my awesome readers! It really helps when I see how much you like the story. Hopefully it will be finished soon, there really aren't many chapters left to go.
Thanks again!
- Anna
Chapter Twelve: A Phoenix Breath
"Albus! Wait!" Rose hurried to keep up with him, stuffing leather and paper into her satchel as she ran, her hair frizzing out madly around her. Albus didn't listen, hurrying to the Slytherin common room almost manically. His cousin tugged at his sleeves impatiently, eyes pleading.
"Al, come on. We need to go to see Strauss…" She trailed off as Albus disappeared into the common room, leaving her behind to stand against the wall awkwardly. A burly seventh year stepped past her, glancing curiously, and she smiled weakly, fiddling with the catch of her bag for something to do.
Inside the common room, Albus was pulling the Advanced Potion Making book from his bag as he ran to the dormitory, frantically searching for a place to hide it. Seizing his bedding, he pulled the corner of his mattress up, placing the book beneath it before slamming the mattress back down. As he stood back from the bed, he shook his head - what was he doing? - before turning back to the common room, and running to meet Rose once more.
She was stood outside the door, looking impatient as he knelt to breathe beside her.
"What were you doing? Oh never mind, come on." She stormed off in the direction of the headmistress' office, and Albus clattered behind her, the overwhelming feelings of guilt washing over him in never-ending waves.
What had he done? Scorpius was his best friend - had been, anyway, until this had happened. What if the blond were to try and get him expelled? Worse still, what if he never wanted to speak to him again? Just ignored him for the rest of the school years until he faded into obscurity beyond the castle walls…
"Albus!" Rose called from the top of the steps, and he mentally shook himself, before following her up the stairs, to bring them before the imposing statue that stood as the entrance to the headmistress' private offices.
"May we please enter?" Rose stood before the gargoyle, and after a moment's pause, it swung to the side, to reveal an aged spiral staircase, seemingly endless.
The statue had long ago been activated by passwords, but since many students had found ways of guessing the codes used, it had been changed to be activated by a charm; only those with honest intentions could now enter the rooms, and then again, only by Strauss' discrimination. Albus took a breath, and hurried after Rose, nearly slipping on the worn edges of the stone steps.
As they arrived at the top of the staircase, an ancient wooden door appeared before them, upon which was set a small doorknocker in the shape of a phoenix.
As the right of passage looms, the phoenix fire dulls, and no more shall be heard.
Albus shivered as the words of the "prophecy" rang through his memory, and he pushed forwards to knock the door, preferring to merely rap sharply on the wood, ignoring the glistening golden phoenix head profusely.
"Enter!" A voice called from within, and the two third years glanced at each other uneasily. Wavering at the threshold of the door, Rose turned to her cousin, nudging him forward before her nervously. He stumbled as he pushed the door open, tripping slightly on the uneven flagstones.
As he entered the room, he found himself stifling a gasp; he had never once entered the head teacher's offices, normally only being reprimanded or awarded by his head of house. He vaguely heard Rose enter behind him as he stared around the circular room - strange objects lined the outside of the room, glittering metal machines that occasionally emitted whistling sounds, or the odd knocking boom.
The walls were coated in hundreds of portraits of past headmasters, and Albus gaped, unashamed, as he took in the lavishness of the room. His gaze fell upon the desk before him, behind which was seated the rather tired looking headmistress. Strauss had taken the position over from Professor McGonagall a number of years earlier, though Albus had met the imposing witch several times over the summer breaks as she visited his parents.
The woman sitting before him now was the old headmistress' niece, though she did not appear much younger. Age lines crinkled her face as she perpetually frowned, and her soft grey hair was falling loose from its bun. As she looked up at the two cousins, she sighed, leaning back in her chair, tired.
"Potter, Weasley. Sit, sit!" She brandished her wand perhaps a little over zealously, and a pair of chintz armchairs appeared opposite her beside the desk. Glancing at his cousin, Albus chose a seat, and faced the headmistress grimly. Lines were creasing her forehead, and she rested her chin on her clasped hands sternly.
"Tell me what happened, Potter." She spoke firmly, her tone severe, and he felt himself quailing at the thought of his father's book, nestled between the bed covers down in the Slytherin dormitories. Closing his eyes to banish the thought, aware that the woman could be practicing legilimency that very second, he breathed deeply, feeling Rose fix a gaze not dissimilar to the headmistress' upon him.
"I… well, we argued. That is, me and Scorpius - uh, Scorpius and I. He was taunting me about a friend, and I think I just got annoyed. We've been arguing a little lately. I think… I just… well." He trailed off, and she fixed him with a discerning gaze, unwavering as he looked down at the floral pattern of the armchair.
"Where did you learn such a spell, Albus?" Her voice softened, and he looked up at her, surprised. Her eyes were calm, perceiving, and he blocked his mind immediately.
The axeman he hacked and he whacked and he thwacked,
"Won't be too long", he assured me,
But quick it was not, and the bone-headed clot,
Took forty-five goes 'til he floored me.
He thought of a song he had heard one of the Hogwarts ghosts singing only days ago, and sighed with relief as she gave a barely noticeable nod. He looked back up at her, and smiled grimly.
"I think I must have read it in a book, professor. I didn't know what it would do, I swear. He's… he's my best friend. Is he going to be okay?" He felt hot tears begin well, and she gave him one last look before nodding. He felt relief flood him, and he made to leap up before thinking better of it.
"Could I… well, could I visit him?" He looked at her pleadingly, and she nodded, a small smile flickering over her expression.
"There were two other boys at this school once, Mr Potter. Very similar to you and Mr Malfoy. Very similar indeed. This has happened before, and I am thankful to say that this time, the reactions on both parties are much better than before. I am glad to see you care for your friend. Your predecessors were not so empathetic.
There is still the matter of punishment however. Such acts must not go undisciplined. I expect you to attend a detention each Saturday night for the next month, Mr Potter. Please attend to Professor Hagrid's tasks as well as you can." She gave a small smile, and Albus grinned at the punishment, realising that it was not as bad as it could have been.
Expecting to be dismissed, Albus was surprised to see the headmistress turn to Rose sternly.
"Now, Miss Weasley, could you please tell me how you managed to get your hands on half of the school's supply of Dittany?"
The corridors were quiet as Albus wandered through them; most people were in their common rooms as it was so late. Rose had abandoned him as they left the headmistress' office, scurrying to the Ravenclaw common room as fast as she could. She wasn't used to being in trouble, it seemed, and having her entire stock of Dittany confiscated, whether ferreted away from the hospital ward, or sent in by her paranoid grandmother counted as trouble in her mind.
His footsteps echoed as he trod the now familiar path to the hospital wing. He thought back to the times he, himself had spent time there, from first year's Mandrake Root incident, to second year's wizard duelling club accident. He winced at the memories, rubbing his head ruefully as he stepped closer to the hospital wing. Guilt once again had taken over, the feeling in the pit of his stomach overpowering as he picked his feet reluctantly to see Scorpius.
As the doors appeared before him, they swung open to admit him, and he stood in the centre of the room, the vaulted ceiling above seeming hundreds of miles away.
Feeling sick, he walked slowly over to the farthest bed, the spray of white blond hair on the pillow marking who was occupying it. He neared the still-sleeping Scorpius, and held back a gasp of horror as his eyes took in the sight; the Slytherin looked tiny against the expanse of white sheets, pale and small and insignificant. Albus swallowed hard as his eyes grazed his friend's body - the boy was shirtless, multiple bandages encircling around his pale chest. Where the cuts weren't as deep, they had been left uncovered, the red welts looking painful even after what Albus expected were generous lashings of Dittany. He sat down slowly on the seat beside Scorpius, gazing at his broken body, downcast. He heard somebody moving around in the office, but ignored it, preferring to sit solitarily in his guilt.
The blond was pale, paler than he ever had been, and Albus reached out a hand to touch his. The skin was warm, feverish, and without thinking, Albus leant to kiss the boy's forehead.
"I'm sorry."
