Chapter 25: The Troubled

Sunday came and went.

Cecil Brookstanton, Murphy, and Dathan Rama all disappeared from Hogwarts Castle, along with a host of other students. As for James's own dormitory, he and Martin Croyle (a Muggle-born whose parents did not want him to draw attention to himself by returning home at such an odd time) were the only two left, which made for a silent, awkward room indeed. Croyle was an outgoing sort that always seemed to have something to do or someone to spend time with when he was not studying, eating, or sleeping, had temporarily lost most of his friends. So Monday morning, in the gap between breakfast and lunch (too long a gap with nothing to do, James thought as his stomach murmured), found Croyle relaxing on his bed and working some sort of multi-colored cube. From what James could tell, it was made of smaller, movable squares that could be rearranged – to what end, James had no idea.

So James, bored of the lack of conversation with a human being, finally asked. "Oi. Croyle. What is that thing?"

Croyle, a tall boy who usually had his light blond hair gelled into a spiky peak atop his crown, sat up and tossed the cube into the air, then caught it and held it aloft. "You've never seen a Rubik's cube before? Last time I was in Wheezes, they had one like this – except it was a trick cube where the squares on the faces changed color, so you could never really solve it." James did not know any of this. He hadn't had a close look around his uncles' shop in a while. Croyle lowered the cube and started investigating it with a leery eye. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's exactly what my parents had sent me."

"Your parents sent you that?" asked James.

"As a birthday gift," Croyle said, punctuating his answer with a scoff. "Hell of a gift, right? It's supposed to be some sign of intelligence or something… guess that's what you get when both of your parents are teachers. My dad's a professor, actually – at a Uni in London. Just got the job a couple of years ago."

"What about your Mum?"

"She favors a younger crowd," Croyle explained. "Much younger. Like 'nursery school' younger. Home's a strange place when one parent thinks everyone at the dinner table understands advanced physics and the other one talks to you like you're still a four-year-old. But I guess I don't have to tell you about a weird home life, right?"

James tilted his head. "What do you mean by that?"

Croyle was wrong-footed. "Sorry. I mean… I guess I sort of assumed. You're James Potter, of course. Your parents are sort of a big deal in the wizard world. What's that like?"

James shrugged his shoulders. "Normal… I guess? What does everyone think it's like?"

"Well, your family's rich, obviously," Croyle said. "I heard a rumor said you got seventy-five Galleons for your birthday in February."

"Wow… what?" James laughed at how absurdly wrong this was. Seventy-five Galleons was a hefty sum of money to be giving a fourteen-year-old. "It was seven Galleons – one for every two years. And my birthday was last month."

"Oh. I just turned fourteen last month myself. So what day was it?" Croyle asked.

"The fifteenth," James answered.

"Ides of March – day for born fighters. Or so Trelawney says. Not sure I put much stock in stars or tea leaves myself," Croyle replied. Frowning, he added, "You're also older than me – I was born on the twenty-seventh."

"It's all details," James replied. He'd long passed the age where measuring one's age against another was a measure of how much more grown up they were.

"I really don't know that much about you, Potter," Croyle commented.

James shrugged. "Well… that'd follow. You never talk to any of us, really."

"My own fault, I guess," Croyle admitted. "The Hat put me in Gryffindor – after thinking about it a while, but I always felt like I get on better with Ravenclaws." James didn't have a hard time buying that. And, now that he remembered, it had taken the Hat quite a bit of time to place Croyle two years ago. "My two best friends are Ravenclaws. They were the first wizards my own age I met. But things are kind of awkward now."

"Awkward?" asked James. "What's that mean?"

"I wouldn't guess you'd know Mark Albertine, right?" asked Croyle.

There goes that name again… James thought to himself.

"Sorry, what?" Croyle queried quickly. James stammered – he supposed he must have been 'thinking' more out loud than he thought.

"Nothing," James muttered. "I've seen him around."

"Yeah, well, he somehow got Starr Reynolds to go with him to the Valentine's Social a couple of months ago," Croyle explained. "Not that Mark's not a nice bloke, it's just – it was sort of random and he and Starr didn't know each other well. They didn't hit it off great. But then he went to ask out Hadley Stretton, who's, well…"

Croyle sighed. James recognized the name. Hadley Stretton was one of Serra Paxton's roommates and the younger sister of the current Head Girl, Heather Stretton. Hadley and Heather were both blondes; whereas Heather was drawn up and overly serious, Hadley was a bit of a bubbly gossip. James remembered her giggling last year when Serra put Malcolm on the spot in Defence class about his involvement with Professor Gladstone.

"Hadley and I have been friends ever since my first year here, and I really thought…" he trailed off again and shook his head. "Mark knew that. He's the only one that knew that. Hadley didn't even know yet. He's the only one I ever really told. And for him to go and do something like that, well… I guess you find out who your real friends are."

James thought this was stupid. After all, Hadley or whatever her name was, wasn't Croyle's property. Neither was Mark Albertine, for that matter.

But then a nasty little voice rang in his head. Ah, it said, but what if Murphy asked out Brynne now that he and Serra are done with?

Murphy's not interested in Brynne like that.

But what if he did? How would you feel?

Feel? Well, what the hell would I be able to do about it?

…Maybe beat him to it?

What? Merlin's balls. We're not in competition, let alone over Brynne.

But didn't Bletchley swoop in because you didn't have the guts?

I don't have time for this.

"Misser Potter?"

A squeaky voice joined James's self-conversation, followed by a loud yell of, "Oi, what the—" and a word James couldn't imagine Croyle's parents would be happy about him knowing.

James saw it as he peered over the side of his four-poster. It… he… she? (There were females, right?)… was the size of a small child, with long, pointed, batlike ears and wearing a somewhat unkempt toga-like garment with a Hogwarts crest.

It was an open secret now that Hogwarts employed (that particular word being very important) several dozen house-elves for cooks and caretakers – because several hundred adolescent wizards obviously couldn't be trusted to keep their dormitories looking livable. Yet they tended to do their jobs as invisibly as possible – James had been here nearly three years and had only seen a Hogwarts house-elf once or twice.

As for this one, it was not nearly as old as Kreacher had been. Its eyes were much larger than Kreacher's and its eyelashes rather longer. James, if he was forced to guess, would have said that this was a female. In any case, she had appeared right before his four-poster, holding a piece of paper.

"You are Misser Potter, are you not?" This house-elf must have had a speech impediment. James could only compare the slurring of her words to Uncle Ron trying to talk at the Christmas party after he'd had one bottle of firewhisky too many. Elves didn't drink, did they? Could an elf get drunk? Beside the point. What was she doing here?

"Yes," replied James finally.

"I've got a message for you from House Slytherin," she said slowly, holding up the parchment, which appeared to have been folded several times.

James took it, and then—

POP!

James looked up. "Wait! Who—"

Nothing. The house-elf was gone.

James frowned at this sudden exit.

"Well, that was rude, wasn't it?" asked Croyle.

Ignoring Croyle somewhat, James set to unfolding the parchment. It looked like it had been folded in half more times over than should have been physically possible – almost as if the sender wanted very badly to keep its contents secret. After a rather frustrating amount of effort and wondering whether he should try to magic it open somehow, he finally unfurled the parchment to its full size. Inside was a cryptic message.

TICK TOCK, Five of two

When you are losing time, where do you go to find it again?

TICK TOCK, Five of two

James braced himself against the short brick sill, steadying himself and making a mental note never to try to run up that many flights of stairs, that fast, again.

He winced as an awful clangor reverberated through the space. He supposed, as he covered his ears to keep from going deaf, that a chime loud enough to be heard clear across the castle would be uncomfortable this close up. Thirty seconds, ten chimes… and then it was done.

He lowered his arms, and everything was silent for a moment.

"So you got it."

That voice… James swallowed hard. So much had happened the last two months. He turned around.

"It wasn't hard," he said with a smile. "I'm more clever than I look."

There was a brief, pregnant pause.

"He's gone home," Brynne Walter finally said.

"What?"

"Phillip," she replied. "I knew what you were going to ask. Not that it would have mattered anyway."

She continued toward him.

"How are you doing?" James asked, fully aware of how stupid it sounded – trying to make small talk when she had probably invited him up here to talk some sort of business. That, it seemed, was Brynne nowadays – all business.

"Well enough," Brynne replied, not sounding entirely convinced herself.

"So…" James broke the next silence. "Howell and Lena Urquhart."

"What about them?" Brynne asked, somewhat stiffly.

"I was about to ask you that," James said. Brynne walked over to the windowsill and sat in front of the inside of the clock face. She let her legs dangle, unable to touch the ground because she was so short.

"Howell's the child of a Muggle and a Squib," Brynne said. "Doesn't say much. Sees a lot. A bit like Tellius, really. And I thought you knew about Lena already."

"I know she's Scorpius's cousin," James answered. "I don't know her."

"She's been friends with Stephan Vaisey all the way back to the cradle, almost," Brynne replied. Then, frowning, she added, "Vaisey and Phillip don't see eye to eye on… well, anything, really. And the way Phillip and some of the other Slytherins have treated Vaisey… it's hurt Lena's friendship with him. They've known each other for more than ten years and don't even speak anymore."

Brynne's lips were pursed as she stared down at her dangling feet.

"So what do you want with them?" asked James. "I thought your whole point was to bring Bletchley back from whatever madness had got hold of him. Or have you given up on that?"

"No," Brynne replied, looking up at him, her tone suddenly frigid. "Not now – not ever. I know you don't like him. I'm not asking you to. But he's a good person. He's my friend and he doesn't know what he's doing."

"Do you know that?" asked James. "Everyone assumes you don't know what you're doing, but you do. I don't think you're giving him enough credit."

Brynne heaved a sigh. "James… do you think some people are just… evil? I mean… born that way? Can't change?"

"…No," James answered after a second's deliberation. "I think people can choose what they want to be."

"But they have some things chosen for them, don't they? You and I… if we'd been born to different families, we'd have completely different lives," Brynne said. "You being a son of Harry Potter, me the daughter of someone named Carrow. Your name was loved and mine was hated."

James's default when someone mentioned about his being a son of Harry Potter was to retort with how much pressure it was and how he often felt the eyes of all of Hogwarts watching him… but it rang sort of hollow with Brynne, given how her mother had been murdered because of her name. James stayed silent.

"Is there anyone in Gryffindor besides you and Murphy that realizes what's happening?" asked Brynne. "Have you told anybody?"

"No," James said emphatically.

Brynne stood. Her face was serious. "I know how you want to earn your own way. You're proud to be your own person. I admire that. There's honor to it, I guess. But you do have influence because of your family. People respect them… maybe even fear them a little bit. If it were me… right now… I'd be putting that to use."

James frowned. "It's not that simple. It's because I have a family that I can't. I can't risk them getting involved. Albus and Rose most of all. I'm supposed to keep an eye on them…"

"Albus is already involved," Brynne replied. "Or did you forget that Malcolm tried to force us to duel each other?"

James froze.

"He knows what's – no," Brynne interrupted herself. "I think 'senses' is the better word. He doesn't know what's happening, but he senses that something's off."

James had gotten that same feeling from talking to him a couple of days ago.

"Hell of a job, James," he muttered savagely to himself. "Hell of a job."

"Don't blame yourself," Brynne said. "Trying to protect someone while you make sure they don't notice you're protecting them from something… usually, it means the other person has to be a bit stupid. Albus isn't stupid."

"No," James said blankly. How many times had he heard that one? "No, I guess he's not."

James continued to stare down at the ground. He heard Brynne's footsteps approaching him lightly.

"I heard a rumor," Brynne said. "About Garrick Claudius."

James frowned. Claudius was one of the two Slytherin upperclassmen that had beaten Stephan Vaisey in January. The heads of both Houses, to their credit, were united in their outrage about the incident, and Claudius was still serving out a school-sanctioned punishment to this day. It was because of all of that, that James figured any rumor Brynne had heard about him couldn't have been good.

"What happened?" James asked.

"I don't know this for sure, but…" Brynne uttered. She trailed off then, as if unsure. Blinking fast, she said quickly. "The rumor is that Professor Longbottom made him scrub down one of the castle bathrooms. By himself. No magic. The whole thing."

James frowned. "You don't think that's fair after what he did?"

"He deserves to be punished – not humiliated!" Brynne exclaimed suddenly, as if she'd been waiting to get this off her chest for some time. "I know Longbottom's a friend of your family, but I think he's wrong. Not because Claudius doesn't deserve punishment, but… this isn't the way to go about it. Not if he really wants to teach him a lesson. Of course, it's said that Longbottom was bullied by Slytherins through most of school, and he's taking this opportunity to get some sort of payback—"

"No," James said firmly. "He's not that petty. It's been twenty years since was a student here, Brynne. You think he'd hold a grudge for that long?"

"I've learned not to underestimate how long someone can hold a grudge," Brynne answered darkly. "Some people even pass it down to their children if they can. Isn't that how this whole thing got started in the first place?"

She folded her arms across her body.

"The students… we have to be the ones to put a stop to this. Not when we get out of Hogwarts and get older, and we can tell our children 'do as I say, not as I did'…. We have to stop it. Now, while we can still change people's minds."

James finally asked. "Is that your plan?"

Brynne nodded. "I realized I could do more good if I reached outside my circle of close friends. I'd become too… comfortable… where I was. And that scared me because… usually the right thing isn't comfortable. That's what my aunt tells me all the time, at least…"

Somehow, that comforted James. "So, Bletchley…"

"Why are you so concerned about him?" asked Brynne.

James was infinitely glad he had enough sense to not say what he was thinking. Because I'm afraid he's going to steal you from me. What a horrible, awful thing to think. First off, Brynne didn't belong to him. He didn't own her. She could do what she liked – and, normally, she did. "It's nothing."

"…Stop doing that," Brynne said, with some urgency.

"Doing what?" asked James.

"Shutting me out!" replied Brynne, now raising her voice. "You're always shutting me out and it always makes things go wrong – like when Serra asked you to the Social and you agreed to it just to make Murphy jealous. If I'd known that, we wouldn't have gone without talking for the better part of a month. And I'm sure you've got about a hundred other things you've been keeping from me. That's why I called you up here."

She went silent again. James sighed, wondering where to start.

"Malcolm and Gladstone," he finally said, "they're going to—"

"—be married soon," Brynne interrupted. "They're considering running off to Spain to do a secret wedding, maybe as soon as this summer. Gladstone's going to keep her maiden name, and the students aren't meant to know much, if anything, about it."

James's brain was scrambled. "Wh-what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Last night on the Astronomy tower, after I saw Malcolm propose to her," Brynne said casually. What was left of James's jaw nearly hit the ground. Once he was able to retrieve it, he mouthed an oath to himself. "Stroke of luck, really. That's where I go when… well, you know… when I need to think. And I ran across them. Malcolm was in such a good mood, it didn't even occur to him to punish me when I got caught eavesdropping. Of course, I was a blonde at the time, so he probably didn't even recognize me…"

"You're not worried about that?" asked James.

"I'm worried about what it'll do to Gladstone to find out her fiance's a traitor," Brynne answered. "If I'd known about it beforehand, I'd have thought it was a power grab by Malcolm. But, for what it's worth, they do seem to really love each other. I guess even villans and fools get to be happy once in a while."

James felt like he was fishing now. "…Murphy and Serra broke up."

"Really? That's too bad," Brynne replied. "I mean… I'm not sure I'm shocked. Serra can be really overbearing… but I didn't think Murphy would mind much."

Brynne continued to stare at James silently.

"Beal and Laurel Cross are planning to sell out Malcolm in the end," James said.

This one did shock Brynne. She took a step back. "What?"

"Just wait – it gets better," replied James. "Beal needs him for some sort of project outside Hogwarts… so he figures the only way to get him away from Hogwarts is to get him sacked as a professor."

Brynne's expression didn't change. It seemed even she was having a hard time wrapping her brain around this one. "So Beal's going to betray him so he can use him as an ally?" She frowned. "I guess Beal's so twisted, it actually makes some sort of sense to him."

"Beal says things are going to get really bad between the Houses by next year," James said. "If his plan works… whatever that is. He says that Malcolm, then, is going to want to be the one that saves Hogwarts."

"…by putting out the very fire he started," Brynne mused to herself. "There's nothing worse than a villain that tries to set himself up to look like a hero."

"I can think of something," replied James.

"Really? And what's that?" Brynne asked.

"…What do you think Beal wants with Malcolm?" asked James.

"Does it matter?" asked Brynne. "I mean… not that I'm being insensitive, but Beal's just one person. He doesn't even have half the reputation or influence Tom Riddle had, and it took Riddle years before he reached the peak of his power. The people in power back then couldn't see through someone like Riddle. We're smarter than that now."

Somehow, this did not entirely calm James's fears. "You hate Malcolm. I get it. I don't like him, either," he said. "But I get the sense that him being in here – at Hogwarts – is less dangerous than him being 'out there'… wherever 'out there' is. Here, he'd have a job, a wife… those things are important to him. If you take them away from him…"

"Malcolm cannot become Headmaster," Brynne cut him off with a feral snarl that made James immediately pull up short. "He can't."

"Why not?" asked James. "I'm not saying it's a good option. I'm saying it's better than him getting sacked and joining up with Beal to do whatever the hell Beal intends to do. Am I really the only person that gets it? That Beal's the biggest threat?"

"Not at Hogwarts, he isn't," Brynne said.

"You're talking about a school," James retorted. "I'm talking about the whole of Britain."

"Hogwarts is Britain," Brynne replied sharply. This was so profound and took so much contemplation that James's train of thought was frozen in its tracks. "Think about it. How many wizards and witches that became anyone in Britain didn't come here as students first? What do you think happens to Britain if Hogwarts shuts down or gets taken over like it did in the last war? Nothing good. I can tell you that much."

Brynne turned her back on James and stomped over to the clock face.

"I talked to Professor Ambrose months ago," she said. "Asking him for advice – even though he didn't know it. Or maybe he did, he's clever… He let me sit at the staff table. You can see the whole Great Hall from there. I realized something that day. I realized how important this place is. The next Minister of Magic could be in one of those seats. The next Headmaster. The next head of… anything, really."

James watched as Brynne paced for several moments.

"It's easy to be a good puppet when you don't know someone's working the strings," she said cryptically. "I am not going to be Malcolm's puppet. I won't let anyone I care about be, either. Some people aren't going to mind it as much. But maybe, if they're by themselves and realize how alone they are, they'll wake up, too."

And – in somewhat a roundabout way, mind – Brynne had explained her plan. Malcolm and Beal wanted Slytherin and Gryffindor to erupt into violence against one another. Brynne's plan was to push that violence to the fringes – two small gangs of students didn't have nearly the impact. And it wouldn't look quite as impressive if and when Malcolm chose to swoop in and save the day. To that end, Brynne had spent the last few months trying to gather allies within her own house – not for a fight, but for the sole purpose of not fighting.

James wasn't sure which was scarier – the fact that Brynne had managed to devise all this, or the fact that he understood what she was doing without her directly saying it.

But then, Slytherins were cunning, after all…

Not just cunning.

Brynne was cunning, ambitious and brave… and clever, and loyal. A Sorting Hat's worst nightmare, really. She could have worn any colors she wanted, and they would have fit.

She was a singular soul – a dance all her own in a world where everyone else seemed to be marching to the beat of one drum or another. And if there was any one student that could rescue all of Hogwarts from certain disaster, it was her. But she couldn't do this by herself. And James was sure of that, because…

"I can't do this on my own," Brynne admitted sadly. "And even if I could, I'm not sure I would. I'm no match for a ghost. If you could help on your end…"

Brynne trailed off and nodded.

"That's all I wanted, really," she murmured, not meeting his eye now. She began to walk by him, and he panicked; some compulsion, some voice in his head – as mad as that sounded – something prompted him to reach out and grab her by the wrist. She turned. "James…?"

"Dance with me." He felt like a madman – and she was looking at him like one – but it made sense in the moment.

"W…what?" She was obviously confused. "Why?"

"Because I should have…." James gave a half-statement and had no idea how to finish it. I should have asked you to the social in the first place. I should have asked you at the social, with Bletchley standing there. I shouldn't have let you try to shoulder this on your own. I should have been there, at least given you the chance to send me away instead of just not showing up.

"But…" Brynne said matter-of-factly. "There's no music."

James's entire consciousness went numb. He had no idea until this moment that he could physically feel his soul break into pieces. The shock of it nearly felled him. Worst of all, he couldn't figure out why.

Whatever small, intangible thing was heartbreaking about that mundane statement, Brynne must have felt it even worse, because she repeated it in a state of shock – "There's no music… there's no music…"

James reached out for her but she recoiled. He tried to call her name, but she was oblivious to it. She darted from the clock tower, leaving the echo of a sob behind her.

James stood there for a moment – contemplated what had just happened… or, rather, what he had just learned. There were two fears he'd had for a while with Brynne. One of them was stupid and selfish, and the other appeared to have come true.

He was always afraid – a bit like any boy that fancies a girl, really – that when he finally worked up the nerve to tell her, she would not feel the same way. Stupid and selfish. Like she had no right to choose someone else – or, for that matter, no one.

He was also always afraid that the burden she had of trying to help the world around her – trying to save it from itself – would crush her underneath its weight. He knew that underneath all that lofty talk and ambition was a young girl that would have enjoyed being just that. She was the type to smile with no reason, to dance with no music, to innocently ponder the mysteries of the world around her and realize with no grudge how small she was in the grand scheme of things.

And she was, if not dead, then buried. And the world – his world – was a shade less bright for it.

Did Malcolm or Beal know? That they were killing souls, forcing children to grow up too quickly?

James descended from the clock tower in a red haze. As he stormed toward his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, it took all he had within him not to scream and punch the nearest anything or anyone in frustration. He threw the door open to the dormitory…

"James?" a boy – not Martin Croyle – sat up from his four-poster, throwing aside a bit of parchment. "What's going on?"

He'd gone all the way to the fifth-year dorms… and suddenly, as if by some late revelation, realized that he'd meant to come here all along.

"There's a charm that copies things," James said breathlessly. "You happen to remember the incantation?"

Freddy Weasley frowned for a moment – probably bewildered by James's sudden entrance and the strange question. "Gemino. But what's—"

James whisked from Freddy's room without a further word.

Albus

By the middle of the week, Albus had already started regretting his decision to stay at the castle instead of going home to see Lily and his parents. Scorpius (after celebrating his birthday) had been as good as his word, studying most of the time and appreciative of the peace and quiet that McLaggen's departure had given them. He had allowed Albus a go on his broom, though. Albus, not used to flying and even less used to handling something the caliber of a Nimbus, nearly crashed, and immediately decided he'd had quite enough fun for that afternoon.

The family time he had counted on spending with James and his cousins never materialized. The twins were busy with homework and studying for their upcoming O.W.L.s, Dominique was never around, and Rose was somewhat old company. Given that they took every class together, there was hardly anything new to talk about. Rose, when away from her books, had brief moments of lucidity. But even those moments, mostly over meals, she spent agonizing over the decision that awaited her as it related to their third-year electives (for the moment, it was Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, but that was subject to change) and occasionally asking odd questions, like whether he thought she had gained any weight. She was suddenly concerned for some reason that the availability of good food at Hogwarts was doing her figure no favors. "Plumpness runs in families, too. You've seen my dad…" she once commented furtively in reference to Uncle Ron, who was not exactly fat, but had earned a respectable belly for his eating habits.

Albus was quite relieved when the following Sunday came around. He finally pried Scorpius and Rose away from their books long enough to go down to the courtyard that evening to see the rest of Hogwarts come back from the holiday. He was expecting Sylvia to emerge from the throng with a spring in her step and perhaps a very late birthday gift or two from relatives. He expected her to whinge a bit about how little she liked Muggle London and lead the four to the Great Hall for supper.

All of the above happened; however, in the middle of it, Albus had to deal with Sylvia emerging from the crowd at a full run and nearly knocking him over with a hug. It was almost like she'd really missed him or something.

Sylvia had news from the Muggle world. Apparently the Muggle Prime Minister had been replaced.

"Has he met with Shacklebolt yet?" Rose asked.

"Dunno," Sylvia replied. "I imagine we'll see something about it in the next Prophet issue.'

Apparently, anytime there was a chance at either Minister position – Muggle Prime Minister or the wizards' Minister of Magic – the two ministers were to meet and be introduced. If the Muggle minister was the new party, this usually involved his or her hearing for the first time about the existence of the wizarding world. From what Albus had heard, these meetings used to be a source of worry for wizards, but Kingsley Shacklebolt was – for a wizard, anyway – well-connected within the Muggle government. He'd actually worked in secret as a former Prime Minister's wizard bodyguard when the last war reached his peak. So he was rather good at dealing with them.

"Oh – and my aunt Celie's engaged," she mentioned, as if sure no one would care.

"That's so exciting!" Rose exclaimed.

"For you, maybe," Sylvia answered cynically. "I'm just now meeting this bloke she's been seeing for all of six months. Don't particularly like him, either. I'd rather it be Uncle Seamus."

"Uncle?" repeated Rose. "I thought you said your dad only had sisters?"

"Well, he's not my real uncle," Sylvia clarified. "He almost was. Dated Aunt Celie years back. But things got awkward, and… anyway, he's actually my godfather. Your parents should know him. I'm surprised you haven't been introd– well, no. Wait. Actually, no, I'm not… Uncle Seamus is… well…. he's a bit out there. And it doesn't help that things tend to go 'boom' when he's around, either…"

She grimaced, almost as if sorry she'd bought the man up in the first place.

"I got to see him, though," she said. "He seems like he's doing alright. But, God, I hope nothing ever happens to my parents. I couldn't picture going to live with him in Belfast… him and all of his magic bombs…"

Scorpius looked at Albus and started to mouth, "what the—"

"Magic… bombs?" Rose repeated, meanwhile, jaw somewhat agape.

"They're what they sound like," Sylvia replied simply. "He's got a business with a cousin of his… well, making magic bombs. He's actually well-off. Gringotts and other private diggers use his stock for when they hunt for artifacts. But he's constantly getting hounded by the Ministry to make sure he's not selling them to anybody dodgy. Every other time something blows up, they send someone from MLE to his place to question him."

Rose grimaced uncomfortably, and Albus knew why; as one of the top people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and an old acquaintance of Seamus's, Aunt Hermione was probably the one doing the sending of said 'someones'.

"You lot talking about Finnigan and Reed's?" asked an Irish voice. Albus looked up and over his shoulder and saw James and Richard Murphy standing above him. Sylvia looked at them.

"You know about them?" asked Sylvia.

"I'm from Belfast. 'Course I know about them," chuckled Murphy. "My mother always made sure Cole and I stayed far away from the place."

"Murph – no time. We gotta go do the thing," James said cryptically.

Murphy raised his eyebrows. "Duty calls, I guess."

The two older boys left the Great Hall.

"Where are they going off to so early?" Rose remarked. Albus shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for an answer.

So Sylvia continued to regale them with stories from a holiday she claimed was 'rather boring', but sounded much more interesting than the time Albus had spent at the castle – or indeed, most parts of Albus's life, full stop. A younger cousin, a seven-year-old, had lost his first tooth. Another cousin, aged ten, had also lost a tooth – playing football. Scorpius wasn't familiar with football. Rose and Sylvia had a short argument over who got to explain football to Scorpius. Sylvia won the argument somehow. It sounded like chaos – one ball, a massive field, eleven players to a side. She brought up something about "West Ham". Albus had heard of football, but he wasn't sure what or who West Ham was.

Eventually, bellies grew full and new topics of conversation grew scarce, so they decided it was time to leave the Great Hall for Gryffindor Tower.

The sight that greeted them in the common room was peculiar, to say the least. Prefects stood around, bewildered, while a large number of Gryffindors crowded the room, which had been littered with what looked like confetti. Apparently, someone had thrown a party in their absence.

"Pike – what the hell!?" Greta Stanford screeched.

"I swear on Merlin – this wasn't me," a confused-sounding Isaac Pike answered. "I never had time. I just got back on the train this evening and went straight off to supper."

"He's right, you know," his little sister, Coraline, piped up. "We only got back just before you did."

Large-scale practical jokes were at least a monthly occurrence in Gryffindor. A good half of them could be traced back to Isaac Pike. Rarely, if ever, did they cause this sort of stir.

"What's the big deal about confetti?" asked Sylvia, becoming one of many to start to pick up the small slips of white parchment. "They write swears on it or something?"

She flipped the tiny strip over and investigated it.

"What's it say?" asked Rose.

"It says, 'wake up'," Sylvia said, glancing at Albus and Rose for an explanation. Neither had one. "What's yours say?"

She was addressing Scorpius, who had snatched a floating one out of the air. "Mine says 'courage.'"

Albus figured, since they weren't exploding yet, it was probably safe to pick up one of his own. He unfurled it and saw a somewhat deliberate scrawl…

His heart may have stopped for a second.

Why…?

His slip said, "THINK FOR YOURSELVES," but that was not what concerned him. He recognized this handwriting – knew it, perhaps, as well as any quill other than his own.

Rose had evidently picked up one. She discarded it and picked up a second. "We are not enemies."

"What?" uttered Albus, still in shock at what he had seen.

"That's what this other one says," Rose answered with the eyes of all her friends on her. "'We are not enemies.' Look."

She handed it to Albus, who hadn't asked for it, but took it anyway. She was indeed right. What was more, this particular slip had a squiggle on one edge that Albus couldn't place for a moment. After looking more closely, however, he realized it was meant to be a snake…

"Who came up with this rubbish?" a boy's voice snarled. "This someone's idea of a joke?"

The voice was nearby – closer to the portrait hole. Albus and the others whirled in that direction. It was Stephan Vaisey, who had apparently been forced into a barber's chair to trim back his wild, careless shock of blond into a neat, mature-looking short cut.

"'We are not enemies.' What kind of…" Vaisey seemed angry beyond coherence – yet the expression on his face was mild amusement. For about the millionth time this year, Albus wished he didn't have to share a room with this guy. "This your idea, Potter?"

Albus didn't answer.

Scorpius finally spoke up. "Lena wants to—"

"Tell her to piss off already." Vaisey interrupted, his lip curling in disgust.

Scorpius frowned. "I hope you realize how little you deserve a friend like her. Talking about her like that when she's been worried sick about you for months."

"Oh, you're so protective now." Vaisey rolled his eyes. "You didn't even know she existed until this past fall. Listen, whatever friendship we had… that all changed when she got Sorted."

"You're lying to yourself," Scorpius answered. "You cared about her. Probably still do, deep down. That's not gonna stop because of what some old hat says."

"Slytherins are treacherous, vile, and cruel," Vaisey said. "What are the nice, friendly, little words the Hat uses to make it sound like it's not so bad…? 'Ambitious.' 'Cunning.' What that means, Malfoy, and I shouldn't have to explain this to you of all people – is that they'll stab their best friends in the back if necessary if it means getting a leg up. And they're bullies. The lot of them."

Vaisey squinted strangely and put a hand vaguely around the skin under his right eye, seemingly unconsciously, like a nervous tic. The spot must have been tender to the touch, because he winced immediately. His expression shifted from one of pain to an awful glare of anger for a second, and then became stoic again, almost as if he knew that this wasn't the time or place to address whatever had made him so angry.

"What happened to your face?" asked Rose.

"Got hit by an angry Slytherin again," Vaisey said with a chilling detachment in his voice.

"You shouldn't joke like that," Rose advised. "Seriously."

"I wasn't joking," Vaisey answered darkly, brushing past Albus and starting toward their dormitory. "Move!" He snarled at young, tinier-than-his-age first year Ethan Adams, who had bent down in front of him to investigate one of the small paper messages.

"If he's looking for sympathy, he's doing it wrong," Sylvia remarked once he was out of earshot. "Really, really wrong."

"If someone from Slytherin's still bothering him, why doesn't he tell someone?" asked Rose. "Professor Ambrose – anybody…"

"Too proud, I guess," Scorpius replied. He shut his eyes. "And I'll bet it was Marsha Flint or something. He wouldn't want to admit he was punched by a girl."

"Wait… but how?" Sylvia asked after a moment of mulling over the issue. "Vaisey was on the train with us. He went back home. And what's more, you can't mill about in the train corridor anymore. It's not allowed. You've got to be in a compartment."

"Fights seem to find him for some reason." Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Don't be so callous," Rose said. "What if there's something really wrong?"

"Look, I'm not saying he deserves all of what's happening to him – but he's no saint, Rose," Scorpius reminded her. "He's always looking for a fight. Don't you remember last year with Albus?"

But Albus was not in the mood to reminisce. "Can we stop bringing that up at any point?"

"I'm just saying," Scorpius answered, nevertheless looking uncomfortable. "Now he's gone on after people who actually fight back, so I'll give him that…"

Sylvia called after Albus, but not even that was enough to assuage his sudden desire to be as far away from his friends as possible.

He stood for a long time at the landing outside the common room, staring at the moon through the huge window. So much was happening – so much, he felt, completely beyond his control. And people wanted to keep things from him, as if he couldn't handle it. Even his own friends thought he couldn't handle it. It was maddening. But what was he to do? Turn into someone like Vaisey or McLaggen, who seemed all too eager to prove their strength to other people? That wasn't him.

"Why'd you run off like that?"

Albus recognized Sylvia's voice and heard her footsteps, but didn't turn to acknowledge her. He didn't try to run away, either – she was coming down the stairs too fast, and an echoing stomp sound indicated that she may have jumped the last few.

"Albus. Look at me," she said. "Rose is really letting Scorpius have it. He didn't mean anything by it, but he shouldn't have said that—"

"Brilliant – now she's gotta stand up for me, too?" Albus finally snapped, turning to look at her. "I don't need my 'friends' reminding me how weak I am. I already know. Trust me."

Sylvia visibly deflated for a moment. Albus wasn't sure he'd ever seen an expression of heartbreak on her face before, but it flashed there, if only for a second.

"You're not still thinking about the fire, are you?" she asked. "I told you to stop doing that."

Albus had listened – but now that he thought about it, he should have saved her instead of the other way around.

"No," he admitted, feeling horrible about it. "It's just… everything. Everyone always has to stand up for me. Everyone's always keeping things from me, like I can't handle anything. And they're right… aren't they? When Vaisey hit me last year… sure, it was a cheap shot, but it never occurred to me to actually fight back. I just laid there with my hands over my face, hoping he wouldn't hurt me too badly…"

His voice cracked, and he could no longer look Sylvia in the eye.

"I'd like to change it," he said, once he was sure he could talk properly. "But I don't like fighting. You know that."

"I know," Sylvia confirmed.

"It's not like I'm being constantly picked on – most people just leave me alone," Albus said despondently. "But that's because they're all scared of someone else – you, Scorpius, my brother, my dad…"

"Do you want people to be afraid of you?" she asked seriously.

"I…" He stopped short. "It's just, sometimes I wonder if I really belong here. In Gryffindor, I mean. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave."

Sylvia chewed on her lip for a second.

"Maybe there are different kinds of courage," she finally said.

Albus murmured, "I don't think there's anything brave about getting your face pounded into mash…"

"God, that was over a year ago!" Sylvia exclaimed suddenly. Albus flinched, then hated himself for doing so. "Why are you so hard on yourself? Who gives a damn if you're not James or your father? Why do you think you have to be like them to be worth anything? There's nothing wrong with you! If you were somebody different, you wouldn't be you, and I—"

Her eyes widened – then she stared at the ground, mouth somewhat open, as if relieved her rant hadn't gone any further. A long, awkward…. really long, really awkward… silence… followed.

"Sylvia?" Albus's mouth was dry. "There was something I wanted to tell you."

"Really?" Sylvia looked up almost immediately. Then her eyes darted sideways, toward the window, where the full moon shone in from outside. "It's not that you're a werewolf, right?"

"No," Albus replied, unable to completely fight down a chuckle.

"Yeah, that'd make this kind of awkward, wouldn't it?" Sylvia laughed. She seemed to get closer.

"Make what awkward?" Albus muttered somewhat senselessly.

"OI! You two! What the hell are you doing?!"

Albus's heart, which had been hammering, skipped a beat as he jumped a foot into the air, having to clutch a new stitch in his side in the very next instant.

He looked to his left. Tommy Jordan was halfway down the stairs. "Get back into the Common Room! It's three before nine and Greta's already in a mood."

Sylvia didn't look like she needed telling twice. She darted up the stairwell past the Gryffindor prefect while Albus was left there to stare at her.

"Potter!" groaned Tommy, clearly annoyed. He was close enough with the Weasley clan that he usually just called all of the cousins by their first names, no matter the situation. "Let's go! You'll have another chance later."

Albus followed Tommy at that point, left to wonder what Tommy meant by that, all the way up to his dormitory.

Almost predictably, when he entered the room, he found Desmond McLaggen standing between Scorpius and Vaisey – probably to hold the latter back more than the former.

"And if you had any decency at all, you wouldn't have anything to do with her, either," Vaisey said sharply. "With any of them!"

" 'Any' of them?" scoffed Scorpius. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm no friend of House Slytherin. You're probably right about most of them – Bletchley especially. But Lena's nothing like him. You know that better than I do. And she's my family. I will not abandon her. I don't just up and leave the people I care for. That's not how my father raised me."

"Oh, and now your father's some sort of shining hero," Vaisey drawled sarcastically.

"He is to me," Scorpius said unabashedly.

"Must be nice for you," Vaisey replied venomously, breaking away from the confrontation and flopping into bed.

Vaisey, Albus thought as he changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed, really needs to talk to someone and work out some of his issues.

The room devolved into uncomfortable silence – Vaisey, muttering awful oaths and insults in his sleep about someone or another, was the only background noise for a moment. After a while, even that stopped.

"Hey… Al."

Albus, who was dozing off at that point, barely heard the question. "Hmm?"

"Sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to make it seem like…" Scorpius trailed off. "It's not a bad thing, necessarily, that you don't like fighting back… means you're probably a better person than most."

"It's fine," Albus replied.

"I shouldn't do that to you," Scorpius went on. "It's got to be so annoying how everyone expects you to be a fighter just because your dad's this legendary duelist… it's almost like how everyone thinks things about me just because of what my father and grandfather were. It's sort of a drag, honestly…"

It was at that moment, for some reason, that he remembered a conversation he'd had with Vaisey a long while back. Vaisey had told him that he should be thankful he had a father at all…

Albus sighed sadly, glancing at Vaisey's four-poster. "Yeah. A drag..."