Title: Hogwarts, Class of 2024: Year Three
Setting: Hogwarts; September 2019 to June 2020
Summary: Albus Potter and Rose Weasley find their own way in the world during their seven years at Hogwarts, taught by Professors Neville Longbottom, Gabrielle Delacour, and Teddy Lupin.
Author's Note: The start of the third year! Let me know what you think.

Hogwarts, Class of 2024
Year Three

Chapter One

It was funny–Albus Potter always enjoyed summers in the past, but he was uncharacteristically bored this year. Perhaps it was the loneliness. He had grown so accustomed to Gryffindor tower, constantly surrounded by his friends, that life in Grimmauld Place seemed a bit dull by comparison. It didn't help, of course, that his father, the famed Auror Harry Potter had been recently moved to head the Department of International Magical Cooperation–"Where the Ministry sends their political opponents to shut them up," Ginny Potter had confided Albus on one occasion–and was spending the summer visiting other Ministries of Magic around Europe.

Ginny, too, had been hard at work for the Daily Prophet, being dispatched to Dublin for the British Isles Quidditch Cup last week, and she took Albus's brother, James, with her–after all, he is the biggest Quidditch fan Albus has ever met. Ginny, of course, didn't want their sister, Lily, staying home with only Albus for two weeks–so she was sent off to the Burrow to spend time with her grandparents, as much as she protested that, in three weeks time, she would be at Hogwarts, staying by herself. Albus chose to stay at home, thinking that, perhaps, he would be able to have a bit of alone time, or at least find something fun to do in the city.

But that was not the case. His cousins, Rose and Hugo, had gone to Australia with their Muggle grandparents, who inexplicably held a fondness for the faraway country, and Teddy Lupin had gone with Victoire to France to visit the Delacours. Even his friend, Oliver, who was expected to visit hadn't come, as his father had snagged him a last minute ticket to the British Isles Quidditch Cup. But as bored as Albus was, he kept busy; he helped Kreacher kill the doxies growing in the attic, and he was midway through a tall stack of textbooks that he had already read in preparation of the school year–not to mention, he knew Rose and Teddy would be getting back in town any day now.

Even so, he was not expecting any visitors. But a visitor is what he got.

Brendan Finnigan–looking more disheveled and tired than he had ever seen him before–knocked on Albus's window, hovering outside the house on his broomstick.

"Are you mad?" Albus greeted. "There are Muggles living all around us."

Brendan threw himself through the open window, grabbed his broom, and hoped no one had seen anything–it didn't look like it. It was too hot for people to gather out on Grimmauld Place.

"What are you doing here, Bren?" Albus asked.

"I–I lost track of time," he said. "I told my parents I was coming here last week, and I told them I would just stay with you until the start of term–and I didn't realize it was still a whole week away."

"Why'd you tell you parents you were staying here?"

Brendan looked a bit sheepish, down at the floor–and Albus realized.

"Have you been transforming?" he whispered.

Brendan only nodded a bit, still looking down at the floor. "Every full moon." He had been bitten by the infamous fugitive, Fenrir Greyback–a dangerous werewolf–at the end of last term.

Albus pulled him down onto the bed, looked around a bit–even though he knew no one was in the house to hear them. "Are you–are you sure?"

"Pretty damn sure," Brendan snapped.

"I–I didn't mean that," he replied. "That came out wrong–what are you going to do during the school year? You can't tell Professor Weasley; the Ministry put a ban on werewolves attending Hogwarts."

"I know," he replied. "I was thinking we could Professor Lupin."

"Teddy?"

"Yeah," Brendan said. "He said his dad was a werewolf, remember? And his dad went to Hogwarts–so he must know how they kept him safe, right?"

"My dad knows, too," Albus replied. "I heard them talking about it once."

"You can't tell your dad," Brendan said. "He works for the Ministry."

Albus grinned. "He's not in the Ministry's best favor right now, as I'm sure you heard."

"Everyone heard. My dad and mum were livid–they think Minister Weasley is undoing all the work your dad did to fix the Ministry."

"My dad thinks so too," Albus said, "but he hasn't said anything; he doesn't like to talk about unpleasant things with us. He hasn't even told us about how he defeated You-Know-Who; all we know we've read in all those Rita Skeeter biographies–and you can't separate fact from fiction with her."

"Has he mentioned anything about Greyback?"

"Not a word. But I reckon he knows what Greyback's after."

"What's he after?"

"How the hell should I know? I told you; Dad doesn't tell me anything." He narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly remembering a question he forgot to ask. "Where have you been transforming?"

"There's a tiny little island," he said, "in the Irish Sea. My grandpa owned the whole island–just big enough for a little house, you see–but it's been shuttered for years, all boarded up and all. I've–I've been telling my parents that I've gone to see you and Oliver, and then I flew there a few nights before the full moon, and–" He paused, becoming a bit too emotional to continue. He dabbed his eyes, broke his stare with Albus, and became suddenly interested in the floorboards. "I just don't know what I'm going to do at Hogwarts. I can't leave for a whole week every month. Everyone would be suspicious. And they can't find out, Albus–not even my parents know. And I'll be expelled for sure."

"And that's why you want to tell Teddy."

Brendan gave a sad little nod. "I just think that's–"

The door swung open, and Ron and Rose Weasley stood there.

"I heard you were staying home alone, Albus," Ron said, "so I wanted to come by and make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, Uncle Ron," Albus replied. "This is Brendan Finnigan."

"Brendan!" Rose gasped, looking quite thrilled. "Albus didn't tell me you'd be here."

"It was a last-minute thing," Brendan explained quietly.

"No, Teddy–you have to go back," Victoire said, giving him one more swift kiss. "You have to be at Hogwarts soon, you know? You can't stay here forever. You told Kingsley that you'd be at his place for dinner tonight."

"I'd rather stay here with you," he said slowly, looking around the two-bedroom flat that Victoire had rented in Paris. "I–I can't believe you're not going to be at Hogwarts this year."

"I graduated," she answered. "You weren't expecting me there." She sighed when he saw his pouty face. "Teddy, we talked about this already. We'll talk every night, you know? You just poke your head into my fireplace, and we'll talk. Every night."

"Promise?"

"Of course. But now, you have to go."

"What if," he said, with a bit of a grin, "we talk about the wedding?"

She flushed red, a bit smile appearing on her face. He knew what he was doing–that she was sure of. She had spent the whole summer, after all, talking about nothing but the wedding. "Five minutes."

Teddy had heard enough about the wedding–but he didn't mind kissing her neck as he pretended to listen to another long-winded story about whether the centerpieces should be made from flitterblooms or roses. She didn't really expect him to listen, nor did he intend to. He would just nod along, add an occasional, "Yes, Dear," to conversation, and continuing nibbling her ear while she planned the wedding. It was a system that seemed to work for them.

The door swung open, and a handsome Frenchman stood there, a big grin on his face.

"Victoire, c'est un plaisir de vous revoir. Il a été trop long."

Teddy didn't understand French–but he sure as hell didn't think that sounded very good.

"Louis!" she exclaimed, as he kissed her on both cheeks. "Teddy–this is my roommate, Louis."

Teddy frowned–glared, even–at this newcomer. "I thought you said this was Chantal's apartment."

"Eet eez," Louis interjected–and Teddy was suddenly disgusted by the French accent that made Victoire's eyelashes inadvertently flutter. "Chantal eez my sister."

"That's right," Victoire replied. "Chantal is on a dragon dig in Africa for the year, and she's subletting me the apartment for the year. I told you that, sweetie."

"You didn't tell me Louis was also subletting."

"He's not," she replied. "He just–he always lives with Chantal. And he's not going to Africa, so–"

"All right," Teddy answered huffily. "Now I see why you were so keen on getting me out of here, that's all."

"Teddy!" she gasped. "You know that isn't true."

"Fine, fine," he replied coldly. "I just think you should've told me. I might not have been so willing to let you come to Paris if I knew–"

"Excuse me," she interrupted. "You wouldn't have let me come?"

He winced at the repetition of his words. "All right, that wasn't the best way to put it." He forced a grin onto his face, and said, "You know I trust you, right? So nine o'clock at your fireplace?"

She gave a bit of a grin, too–though it was just as awkward as his–and agreed, "Nine o'clock."

Brendan and Albus spent the rest of the week with Rose, who was thrilled to be back in the wizarding world, having enough of the Grangers to last her quite a while. They spent most of their time hanging around Grimmauld Place, playing Exploding Snap and gobstones.

Ginny Potter wasn't due back at Grimmauld Place for another two days–but she and James came into the house, late one night, when Brendan and Albus were sleeping.

"Albus!" she hollered. "Albus!"

Albus woke up with a start, hearing his mother's voice–and suddenly realized that something must be wrong. Brendan was still asleep, and he figured he'd leave him like that–so he grabbed his dressing gown, tied it around himself, and came downstairs.

Ginny and James stood in the foyer, both whispering to each other, inaudibly and quickly.

"Is your dad home yet?" Ginny called when she saw Albus appear at the top of the stairs.

"He's not supposed to be back for another week," Albus replied. "Why–what are you doing home? It's two in the morning."

"He's not back yet?" Ginny gasped. "Damn it–I thought he would."

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Watch your mouth, Albus," his mother snapped sternly. Her face suddenly lost all frustration, and instead looked quite sad–to Albus's surprise and horror.

"What's wrong, Mum?"

"It's George," she said slowly. "Your Uncle George. He's–not well."

"Not well?"

"They rushed him to St. Mungo's," she continued. "He's–he's not going to make it."

And that was all anyone needed to say; the foyer immediately fell silent, so silent that you could almost hear Kreacher snoring, three rooms away. George–dying? Albus was shocked–but not surprised. His poor uncle–too many hardships for one to handle. He had always known his uncle as a slightly serious but good-natured man–but he hears that, before the death of his twin, he used to be a lot more whimsical, happy-go-lucky, and comical. But the death of Fred Weasley had hit him hard–and he was never the same after that. And Albus remembered what had happened at the funeral of George's son–also named Fred–at the end of last year. George had fallen apart. Now that he thought of it, Albus scarcely wondered how George had lasted this long anyway.

"What happened?" Albus finally said slowly.

"He drank a bottle of bubotuber pus," she whispered. "He–he–tried to–" She started to sob; she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence–but Albus and James both knew how it ended. And it was too terrible to even think about–but it made sense, as morbid and terrible as Albus thought that sounded.

The first time Teddy had seen any of the Potters during the entire summer was at George's funeral–and admittedly, that wasn't the best place to swap stories about their vacations. Teddy had never seen a more subdued group of people than those paying their respects to George. No one said anything; no one even knew what they could say. He scanned the crowd–a sizeable crowd, at that–and looked at George's poor widow, Romilda Vane–and, rather pampered as she may be by years of her husband's riches, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her; her only son and her husband, dead within months of each other. It was tragic. But Teddy felt even worse for Molly Weasley–who seemed to be making the only noise in the entire cemetery, sobbing uncontrollably onto Arthur's shoulder. She hadn't stopped in an hour–and, with each passing second, Teddy felt worse and worse for her. Harry had told him, once, about her boggart–and nothing more needed to be said. Two sons and a grandson now, dead.

Almost everyone returned to the Burrow shortly after the funeral, for a more intimate setting to visit, to share condolences–as with any funeral. But it was still so quiet in the house that Teddy couldn't stand it. He went outside to the garden–where he was surprised to see Charlie and Romilda, sitting in the potting soil next to Mrs. Weasley's vegetable garden. Romilda, for the first time that Teddy had known her, didn't seem the least bit concerned with the fact that she was getting dirt all over the back of her black silk dress robes.

"It's just–so unexpected," she was saying. "Just–I never would have expected George to do such a thing."

"None of us could have," Charlie replied, a bit somberly. "If you had told me, before Fred's death, that–"

"He was different before Fred's death," Romilda said, "and we all knew that." She shook her head. "A widow, at thirty-six. Can you believe that?"

"I–I'm sorry." He paused for a second. "You'll be all right, won't you? Financially, I mean."

"More than all right," she answered. "George left me I-can't-tell-you-how-much gold. Five branches of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? I'll be fine. Still wealthier than the rest of you other Weasleys combined. No, it's not money I'm concerned with."

"Because," Charlie said, through gritted teeth, as if he would rather say anything else, "if you ever needed anything, I'd help you out. Any of us would."

Romilda gave a thin smile, then said, "That's sweet of you–especially since I know you don't like me very much."

Charlie looked a bit taken aback. "I–I–"

"It's fine," she replied. "You think I'm spoiled, and that I only married George for his money–and that he only married me because I was a Gladrags model when we met."

"I didn't say any of that."

"I know you didn't," she replied. "But it's written all over your face. And I know you've said it before–to Bill, at my wedding. I heard you. Well. I may be beautiful, but I'm not stupid, you know." She stiffened a bit, brushed a bit of dirt off of her knee, and said, "You don't like me, though, can we agree on that?"

"Well, I–well, no. That's neither here nor there," Charlie replied. "My brother's dead. I may have had my share of–grievances–against you, but can't we just put everything behind us?"

Romilda was quiet for a minute. "You're right," she said finally. "You're right; it's behind us." She forced a bit of a smile onto her face. "And thank you for the offer, anyway."

"Any time," he said. "I know George would have wanted to make sure you were–provided for. He made me promise him, long ago, that I would make sure you were okay." He rolled his eyes a bit. "God only knows why he couldn't have chosen Ron, Percy, or Bill." Romilda pretended not to hear that last part.

"I am okay," she replied. "And, even so, I wouldn't expect anything from you."

"No?"

"Because," she replied, "as much as you dislike me–well, I'm not too fond of you, either." She grabbed onto the picket fence, pulled herself up, and quickly brushed off her dress robes. "And I shall see you next term."

"Pardon?"

"George was a Governor of Hogwarts," she said, with a bit of a sly smile on her face. Leaning down so low that she was just inches away from Charlie's nose, she whispered, "So, now, that means I am."