Firebrand18: Thank you! The second film definitely toned down his cockiness, I agree. His attitudes weren't really the focal point and didn't add anything to the plot, as the film had a limited number of scenes to add.

No matter how many times they tried to avoid Lockhart, he always seemed to pop up. It was maddening, and Alexander almost missed Quirrell, the noseless psychopath included and all. Occasionally, he heard giggling and dreamy sighs happening whenever Lockhart flashed a smile as he walked down a corridor. Hermione, thankfully, did not do this, but she did go rather pink in the face when the obnoxious idiot happened to smile in her direction. Defence lessons were the worst for this.

Colin Creevey was just an irritation as Lockhart was. The first-year seemed to have memorised Harry's schedule and would be seen close by when Harry went to his same lessons. Although Colin was harmless, Alexander was fed up with seeing him every time he talked to Harry. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, 'All right, Harry' six or seven times a day and hear, 'Hello, Colin' back. Alexander sensed Harry's exasperation but knew that Harry was too kind-hearted a person to tell Colin to go away. Alexander, however, had no such problem.

Colin was blocking their way in a crowded corridor to say hello. People were jolting them without a care and Colin was making it worse by standing still. Impatience bloomed in Alexander's chest.

'Can you move out of the way – Don't you have a lesson to go to?' he snapped harshly, after witnessing Colin peer with a nervous yet awe-stricken glance at Harry's face. Harry himself was trying very hard not to notice the tiny first-year as he nudged his way through the cluster of students.

'Alexander!' reprimanded Hermione, then in a quiet tone hissed, 'don't be so rude.'

Colin's burned red to the tips of his ears as Alexander's callous tone startled him. Colin was finding it tricky to meet the stares of the four second-years and fidgeted with his camera, that hung around his neck. It was one thing to be genuine friends with Harry, which Alexander had no problem with, but it was another to make his friend feel uncomfortable simply due to his status, which Colin seemed to unknowingly do.

Alexander sighed and said more levelly, 'Look, can you please move, you're kind of in everyone's way.'

Colin shuffled to the side, clearing the narrow path. He appeared close to tears. 'Sorry, I-I didn't mean to.' Colin was then jostled by a few upper-year boys and, with panicked eyes, his frame would have fallen over if Alexander weren't quick to grab him. 'T-thank you,' he stammered.

'Just don't get in the way again,' said Alexander, finally becoming free of all the shoulders that were pushing and shoving against them.

Colin nodded, then with a final peek at Harry, he walked off in the opposite direction and became consumed by the crowd until he was no more than a sandy-haired dot.

'He's weird midget, ain't he,' professed Ron, as they made their way to Charms.

'Ron, you can't just call someone that,' scowled Hermione.

'Oh, come on, Hermione, he's always there wherever Harry is, and he's been doing my head in ever since. You have to admit it's not normal.'

Hermione didn't look as if she disagreed. 'Still, it's not very nice to call someone that.'

'If you ask me,' frowned Alexander, 'that first-year is way too obsessed with Harry. Even more so than Malfoy.' He said the last part with a tiny snort of laughter.

Harry gave him a pointed glance as they neared the Charms corridor, where the rest of the Gryffindors were waiting. Alexander waved at Neville.

'I wish you'd stop going on about that – Malfoy hates me,' said Harry.

'Yeah, probably,' acknowledged Alexander, 'but there's no denying that Creevey has some sort of creepy fascination with you.' He shrugged. 'Who knows maybe he has a crush on you, just like Hermione does on Lockhart.'

Harry turned to stare at him with a look as if he'd been hit with a bludger to the back of the head. Ron burst into laughter as Hermione protested, though not very firmly much to Alexander's disgust. Before any of them could talk anymore, Professor Flitwick's lesson had begun. Charms lessons were distinctly easier for Alexander than the rest of the Gryffindors (much to Hermione's envy) because the spells were easier for him now that he'd practised frequently.

Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself by shooting out of his hand in Charms and hitting Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. Ron spluttered apologies while Alexander fought to stifle his giggles. Good-humoured Flitwick waved off his apologies and dismissed the class as he rushed off to the Hospital Wing. Safe to say, Ron was in a foul mood by the time they made their way to lunch in the Hall.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Before Alexander knew it, the weekend had arrived. The four of them were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Alexander had missed the friendly giant over the summer and was looking forwards to pet Fang, the loveable dog, again.

Early Saturday morning found him coming out of the shower, drying his wet hair with a towel, when he noticed a figure in a scarlet uniform stood looming over one of the beds, which he recognised to be Harry's. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky; the birds were making a racket with their hooting. As usual, Alexander was up before any of the other boys and was planning to get a few chapters of reading done before going down for breakfast. As he neared the figure, Alexander identified him to be Oliver Wood, who was shaking Harry awake.

'Whassamatter?' said Harry groggily, craning his head up and squinting with one eye open.

'Quidditch practice!' boomed Wood. 'Come on!'

'Morning, Wood,' greeted Alexander, grabbing a hairbrush and gently brushing. 'Cutting it a bit early, aren't you?'

Wood promptly glanced up at his interruption then peered down to ensure Harry was awake. 'New system this year, Laurent. Have to if we're going to win the Cup.' Wood's eyes were glinting with a crazed enthusiasm that could be seen even in the dim light of sunrise.

'Oliver,' Harry croaked through his sleep-infused haze, 'it's the crack of dawn.'

'Exactly,' grinned Wood. 'It's part of our new training program.'

'Let me guess – it's your idea,' Alexander raised an eyebrow, as he was finished with brushing. His black hair was slicked back and his fringe away from his eyes.

'Of course, it is. I'm going to make sure Gryffindor wins this time – no matter what it takes. So come on, Potter, up on your feet. You should've been up at the exact time Laurent was.' He gestured with a thumb at Alexander.

Harry groaned quietly and shut his eyes again but Wood wasn't having it.

'Come on, grab your broom, and let's go. None of the other teams has started training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year.' Wood paused then turned a curious eye at Alexander, looking him up and down in interest. 'Hey, Laurent, fancy trying out? You seem a decent flier and you're able to get up early.'

Alexander peered up, surprised, from the book he was flicking through. 'What? Oh, uh, thanks for the offer, but, ah, no.'

Wood appeared offended as if Alexander had insulted his whole family. 'Why not?' he demanded. 'We could have a reserve on the team.'

Alexander looked away uneasily. 'It's just that sports aren't really my, uh, thing. And I don't want to be bogged down by training sessions. I want to focus on my lessons really.'

Wood sighed. 'Suit yourself. But if you change your mind . . .'

Alexander smiled awkwardly and gave a curt nod.

Wood reached out to shake Harry again. Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry finally climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

'Good man,' barked Wood. 'Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes.' He nodded goodbye to Alexander then left the dorm room.

Harry gave a long stretch as he yawned then scurried to find his team robes from his trunk. He pulled on his cloak around himself. 'Would you mind telling Ron where I've gone?' asked Harry.

Alexander shook his head. 'I doubt I'll be here by the time he wakes up. Better to write him a note to make sure.'

Harry scribbled a quick note. When he finished, he glanced longingly at the other snoring boys and Alexander, who was sprawled out comfortably on his bed with an open book.

'Well, good luck with the training. Can't say I envy you, mate,' grimaced Alexander, imagining the cold September air that Harry would soon be flying in.

'Me either,' sighed Harry. 'Anyway, I'll see you later.' He shuffled out of the dorm, his Nimbus Two Thousand swung on his shoulder.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Alexander, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the field after breakfast and went to sit on the stands. Hermione clutched a book in her hand, which she was planning to read while they waited for Harry to finish. Remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. The sun now dazzled brightly over them and caused them to squint as the Gryffindor team came out with their scarlet uniforms.

'Look, there's Harry,' pointed Hermione to the shortest figure with messy hair and glasses.

'Wood must be really taxing on them,' remarked Alexander with a shake of the head, 'I bet none of them has even had breakfast yet.'

'Aren't you finished yet?' called Ron out to Harry in disbelief, as they came nearer to the area where they were sat.

'Haven't even started,' said Harry, eyeing the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall.

'Oh, Harry, that reminds me – here.' Alexander offered a napkin filled with two pieces of toast, his hand outstretched over the bar of the stand, 'Figured you might be hungry. It's not much but I hope it's something.'

Harry's eyes lit up hungrily and he rushed to grab it. 'Thanks, Alex, I really appreciate it, mate,' said Harry in between bites.

Fred and George noticed the toast that Harry was eating, then turned an indignant expression to Alexander.

'Oi, Alexi-boy,' called Fred, 'how come you didn't bring us any toast?'

Alexander raised both hands. 'Sorry, guys, I didn't realise.'

'Merlin, this new training program of Wood has been a pain for all of us,' sighed George tiredly.

Apart from Wood, Alexander noticed that most of the team were exhausted and close to falling from drowsiness. Katie Bell, a chaser, leant against Alicia Spinnet and her eyes were drooping as Wood avidly spoke to them. He doubted they were retaining a word of Wood's.

'Learnt anything?' asked Ron.

Harry nodded, dusting off the last bits of crumbs from around his mouth. His expression was now much more relaxed. 'Yeah, Wood's been teaching us new moves. Look.'

Alexander watched as Harry then mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. Fred and George grinned at the trio then took off after him. Harry and the twins soared around the stadium at full speed, with Harry racing Fred and George.

'Woah,' breathed Ron, his hand over his eyes to block the sun, 'that's wicked!'

A sudden clicking noise rang near them, loud enough to gain everyone's attention in the stadium. What the –? As he turned to discover the sound, Alexander stared as Colin Creevey beamed widely up in the air. He sat in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound loudly magnified in the deserted stadium.

'No way,' gaped Alexander, 'Colin Creevey, again.'

'Look this way, Harry! This way!' cried Colin shrilly.

'What?' exclaimed Ron and turned around to peer upwards. 'You're right – it is him. What the hell is he doing?'

'I don't know. How he even know Harry's timetable?' Alexander voiced incredulously.

Harry had also spotted Colin. He had finished talking to Fred and George had put on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from the stand and Colin. It appeared that Wood had also identified Colin. He narrowed his eyes, frowning in suspicion, then soared towards Harry on his broomstick. The two had some sort of conversation that none of them could hear.

'I can't make out what they're saying,' squinted Ron. 'I wish I had binoculars with me.'

'Wood's not happy,' pointed out Alexander, 'he just pointed at Colin. He probably thinks the first-year is probably a spy.'

Wood was gesticulating widely towards Colin's direction, who hadn't stopped his efforts and was clicking away annoyingly on his camera. Alexander couldn't make out Harry's expression but knew that he was not pleased. Just then, a cluster of green uniforms appeared on the pitch, broomsticks in hand. They were tall, beefy, and imposing with sneers on their faces.

'I don't believe it!' sputtered Ron crossly. 'What are they doing here?'

'It's obvious, isn't it,' said Hermione, gazing up worriedly from her book at the Slytherin team. 'They're here to train as well.'

Wood was positively outraged. He was glaring at the Slytherins and shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.

'I smell trouble,' mumbled Alexander, 'Wait here, I'll see what's going on.'

He left the stands and approached the two teams, who were stood on opposite sides, both glowering. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had heard the commotion and made their way over as well. There was no sign of any girls on the Slytherin team, and the three Gryffindors were just as fierce as they stared down the boys. Alexander heard Wood bellowing at what appeared to be the Slytherin Captain.

'Flint! This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!'

Marcus Flint, a sixth year, was larger than Wood and was smirking as Wood fumed. Alexander wondered if Flint had relatives that included trolls as he appeared to have trollish features.

'Plenty of room for all of us, Wood,' mocked Flint. 'Who says it's yours?'

'But I booked the field!' spat Wood with rage. 'I booked it!'

Flint smirked maliciously. 'Ah, but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.'

'Well, you can throw that paper in the bin right now,' scoffed Alexander. 'It's completely useless.'

Several pairs of eyes turned at his sharp tone, some in hostility, others in curiosity.

'What are you talking about?' Flint raised an eyebrow. 'Are you trying to say a Hogwarts Professor's word is useless, Laurent? Tut tut, I wonder how Professor Snape would make of it if I told him.'

'You heard me,' Alexander crossed his hands behind his back and straightened his posture. 'Professor Snape has no authority over the Quidditch pitch – only Madam Hooch does. I guess you couldn't figure that out.'

Flint's expression hardened. His hand flexed and the Gryffindor took a step forward and the Slytherins followed in response. 'You talk quite a lot, Laurent. Careful, it could get you into trouble.'

Alexander was tense as he narrowed his eyes at Flint, waiting for any movement of a wand. But Flint did something else. He took out a single sheet of paper from inside his robe and spread out the note with a flourish.

'It clearly counts, Laurent, as clearly stated, "I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker." Proof enough for you?'

'Did you not hear me?' said Alexander. 'It – does – not – count. You might as well use that note as extra toilet paper.'

Flint loomed over him angrily and Alexander stared him upwards, daring him to make a move. Harry tensed next to him. Alexander's hand was close to grabbing his wand but Wood interrupted.

'You've got a new Seeker?' inquired Wood, distracted, as he tried to discover which of the heavyset figures was the Seeker. 'Where?'

And from behind the six large figures came a small boy with a pale, pointed face.

Alexander instantly groaned. 'Oh, of course – it just had to be you. This obsession of yours, Malfoy, is starting to become unhealthy.'

Malfoy merely smirked in response as puffed his chest out proudly. 'The uniform suits me perfectly, don't you think so?'

Alexander shrugged. 'Like a ferret in a tutu, sure.'

Malfoy's eyes flashed furiously and his jaw clenched as the Gryffindors laughed.

'Wait, you're Lucius Malfoy's son,' stated Fred, eyeing the ferret in dislike.

'Funny you should mention Draco's father,' said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled more broadly. 'Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team.'

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. They were highly polished and had fine gold lettering that spelt the gleaming words Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Though Alexander hated to admit it, the brooms did appear to be slick and excellent for Quidditch. Wood's face flickered with worry for a second but he was quick to conceal it before Flint noticed.

'Very latest model. Only came out last month,' informed Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. 'I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount.' He sneered at Harry, who glared right back. 'As for the old Cleansweeps' – he smiled spitefully at Fred and George – 'sweeps the board with them.'

'You couldn't get onto the team normally, could you, Malfoy? You just weren't good enough, I suppose,' Alexander shook his head, 'dear me, it seems daddy dearest had to help you out as he always does.'

Malfoy flushed heatedly and snarled, 'At least I've got a dad, Laurent. You don't even have parents, and everyone knows your grandfather only tolerates you. I bet he wished he didn't have you as a grandson.'

The Slytherin team sniggered delightedly, and Malfoy was smirking so much that his cold eyes were reduced to slits. Alexander craved nothing more than to watch Malfoy's face crumple in pain, but Fred, who was close, swiftly gripped his sleeve. The look in Alexander's eyes caused Malfoy to swallow the next remark he was making.

'Oh, look,' observed Flint. 'A field invasion.'

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass as Alexander had taken too long to come back. Hermione had her book clutched under her arm and they both eyed the group apprehensively.

'What's happening?' Ron asked Alexander. 'Why aren't they playing? And what's he doing here?' He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

'Take a guess,' muttered Alexander, 'Malfoy obviously paid his way onto the Quidditch team.'

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven magnificent broomsticks in front of him.

'Good, aren't they?' boasted Malfoy smoothly. 'But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.'

The Slytherin team howled with laughter like a pack of ugly hyenas. It was sickening to listen to.

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' rebuffed Hermione sharply. 'They got in on pure talent.'

Alexander grinned broadly as the smug look on Malfoy's face flickered and his laughter immediately died away. Nothing had ever been so satisfying since. Take that you overgrown ferret.

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,' spat Malfoy.

There was an instant upheaval. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Alicia shrieked. Hermione, however, appeared bewildered and uneasy. It was clear that she didn't understand the word, same as him. And yet, anger stirred within Alexander. He felt the venom that came from Malfoy, fully; it was as if his words were spraying vitriol on Hermione's face. Though he didn't exactly understand the meaning, he wasn't about to let this pale ferret talk to one of his best friends like that. Especially not Hermione.

Alexander whipped out his wand and pointed it at Flint, who was busy trying to protect Malfoy with his large body from the twins to notice the blue-coloured spell that rushed towards him like a rocket ship.

'Alexander, no!' Hermione shrieked near him.

But it was too late. The spell smacked through Flint's chest, came out the other end, and struck Malfoy as well. Both Slytherins' eyes widened in sudden shock. It was strong enough to blast them off their feet backwards then land on the grass with a nasty thud. There was a sudden silence as everyone was too stunned at what had just happened. The rest of the Slytherins were peering dazedly at their two teammates, unsure of what to do. Alexander's gaze was fixed right on the blond ferret who groaned in pain. Satisfaction ran through him and he let out a tiny smile.

'You'll pay for that one, Laurent,' hissed Flint through gritted teeth, as he stumbled to his feet. 'I'll make sure of it.'

'Go on, Flint,' warned Fred, impassive, with his wand pointed, 'try it, I dare you.'

But Flint was too much of a coward to face anyone. He clenched his jaw and snorted angrily at the Gryffindors, which sounded almost like a troll's grunt. Malfoy, flushing red at his humiliation, shot a purple-coloured spell from under Flint's arm, which looked like some horrid jinx. Alexander jerked backwards. Wood instantly conjured a type of shimmery protection spell in front of Alexander that looked like a shield.

'Are you alright?' said a worried Hermione.

Alexander nodded yet his irate haze at Malfoy lingered.

Ron plunged his hand into his robes, incensed at the underhanded tactic of the ferret, and pulled out his wand, yelling, 'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!'

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.

'Ron!' yelled Alexander, finally finding his voice. 'Ron – are you okay?' He rushed to Ron, who had a peculiar expression on his face. 'What's wrong?'

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was usually pale and looked as if he was about to be sick. Instead, he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. Alexander moaned in disgust and jumped back quickly to avoid being hit by the slimy substance.

'Oh God, Ron, what have you done?' he groaned.

Ron couldn't answer. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up; Malfoy was howling. Alexander arose, ready with his wand, but Harry grabbed his arm, pulled him back down, and gave a hard look. Alexander then hauled Ron to his feet, jumping back to avoid the sudden slug spray.

'Come on, Ron, we need to get you help,' ordered Alexander.

'We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest,' suggested Harry.

Hermione nodded bravely, and Alexander and Harry carried Ron on either side by the arms while Hermione trailed after, nervously biting her lip.

'What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?'

Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Alexander gritted his teeth. The last thing they needed right now was the irritating pest that was Colin Creevey. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

'Oooh,' said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. 'Can you hold him still?'

Alexander glared and shoved the tiny first-year with sufficient force for him to stumble to the side. 'Get out of the way!' he snapped coldly.

It was probably a bit harsh for him, but Alexander would apologise later. All he cared about now was the three of them focusing on getting Ron help. They supported Ron out of the field and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

'You stupid imbécile,' frowned Alexander, 'you know your wand is faulty – why would you take the risk?'

Ron's response was three slugs falling out of his mouth. His light blue eyes had a slight shine to them from all the slug vomiting.

'Nearly there, Ron,' reassured Hermione. 'You'll be all right in a minute – almost there.'

'When I get a hold of Malfoy,' scowled Alexander, gripping Ron's arm tighter.

Hermione huffed. 'You shouldn't have taken the bait. Malfoy wants a reaction – you should have left it alone and ignored him.'

Alexander turned to stare incredulously at Hermione, who was next to Harry. 'So, I was supposed to just let Malfoy speak to you like that?'

'You would have gotten into trouble!' Hermione's voice was rising. 'What if Snape came round the corner. Then what would have happened? The Slytherins could still tell him, you know. How would you like that?'

'I don't care,' he scowled. 'I'm not letting that ferret speak to you like that. Like – like you're dirt beneath his shoe.'

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve, came striding out. Alexander sharply exhaled. The universe hated him today for some reason.

'Shut up, both of you,' hissed Harry, putting an end to another retort from Hermione. 'Quick, behind here.' Harry dragged Ron and Alexander behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly, though Alexander didn't know if it was because of him or wanting to meet Lockhart.

'It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!' Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. 'If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one – I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!' And he strode away toward the castle.

'He has to be everywhere, doesn't he?' grumbled Alexander, then under his breath, so Hermione didn't hear, whispered, 'Pompous crétin.'

They waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. Alexander pounded his fist urgently. Hagrid appeared at once, looking incredibly sullen, but his expression brightened when he saw them.

'Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me – thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again.'

'We need help, Hagrid,' said Harry bluntly, 'Ron's had an accident.'

Hagrid nodded, stepped to the side, and waved with his large hand. 'Come in, come in – let's see what I can do.'

Alexander and Harry supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed hut. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as they lowered Ron into a chair. Hagrid then plunked a large copper pot in front of Ron.

'Not a problem. Better out than in,' he said cheerfully. 'Get 'em all up, Ron.'

Ron bent over the pot and they all heard him heave out the slugs in large amounts. Alexander watched in disgusted amazement at the extent that Ron was throwing up. He was a tad disappointed that the spell didn't strike Malfoy instead. It would have been a great sight.

'I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop,' said Hermione anxiously.

'That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand —' Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was panting happily up at Alexander, who was petting him gently with a soft smile.

'What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?' asked Harry.

'Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well,' growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. 'Like I don' know.'

Alexander smirked as he scratched behind Fang's ears. 'I take it you don't like him.'

'No, sirrah. An' he was bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle.'

Alexander grinned at Hagrid's criticism of his least favourite Professor. It was out of character for Hagrid to disparage anyone, which caused a type of delight for Alexander. He was glad that other people disliked Lockhart just as much as he did.

Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, 'I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job.'

'Yeah, well, there's a reason Dumbledore wears spectacles,' murmured Alexander, gaining a dirty look from Hermione.

'He was the on'y man for the job,' retorted Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle toffee, while Ron coughed squelchy into his pot.

Alexander grabbed one happily and placed it into his mouth. He watched as Hermione frowned disapprovingly at Hagrid's comments. Hopefully, she would see that he wasn't being biased. Lockhart really was a complete and utter idiot.

'An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now.'

Alexander leaned forwards in the armchair, ears pricked with interest. He could almost believe that the job was cursed. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for a school that taught magic. Why would curses spanning generations be an exception?

'So tell me,' said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. 'Who was he tryin' ter curse?'

'Malfoy, he tried to curse Alexander behind his back and Ron drew out his wand to get him back,' explained Harry.

Hagrid turned to Alexander. 'Fightin' Alex? That's unlike yer.'

Harry furrowed his brows confusedly. 'Malfoy called Hermione something – it must've been really, uh, bad, because everyone went wild. That's why Alexander threw a spell at Malfoy and Flint.' Harry turned to him with a raised eyebrow. 'Great spell, by the way.'

Alexander smirked proudly, jutting his chin upwards. 'Thanks, I was waiting to try it out for a while now.'

'Oh, Alex, yer didn',' complained Hagrid, tone worried, 'yer coulda got into big trouble fer that.'

Hermione gave Alexander a pointed look as if to say, 'I told you so.' He shrugged carelessly. He would do it again if given the choice. That ferret had everything coming to him.

'It was bad,' said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. 'Malfoy called her "Mudblood," Hagrid.' Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance.

Hagrid looked outraged. 'He didn'!' he growled at Hermione.

'He did,' she said. 'But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course.'

'It's about the most insulting thing he could think of,' gasped Ron, coming back up. 'I'm not sure if Alexander even understood it entirely.'

Alexander frowned thoughtfully. 'I don't,' he admitted, 'fully understand it, I mean, but I have a general gist that he wasn't exactly complimenting her.'

He remembered the disgusted and twisted expression of Malfoy as he spat the word at Hermione and, specifically, the way she jerked backwards in shock while her face flinched. Alexander clenched his fingers and sharply inhaled. He hated that Malfoy made her feel that way.

'Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggleborn – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call Pureblood.'

'Well, that's a huge pile of merde,' scoffed Alexander.

Ron gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the pot and continued, 'I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville – he's Pureblood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.'

'Neville's a good wizard.' Alexander's tone became stern. 'But I get what you mean. Hermione's the best witch in our year. Way better than anyone else.' He grinned at her.

Hermione flustered for a second, 'Well, I don't know about that . . .' she mumbled quietly.

'An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do,' supported Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a deep shade of magenta.

'It's a disgusting thing to call someone,' grimaced Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. 'Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out.'

Alexander felt a wave rush over him, red-hot and burning. His expression darkened. 'Hermione doesn't have dirty blood,' he growled. 'I should've done something worse to that smug ferret.'

'No,' came Hagrid's stern and gruff voice, 'yer've already done en'ugh. Both yer and Ron. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son.'

Ron retched and ducked out of sight again, the thud of more slugs hitting the pot. But Alexander wasn't so easily shaken. His grandfather was worse than anything Lucius Malfoy would throw at him.

'He won't – Malfoy's a coward,' he leaned back into the armchair, 'he doesn't want people to know how easily he was beaten.'

Hagrid sighed. 'Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, yer and Ron.'

Alexander saw Harry try to open his mouth but was struggling. It was probably Hagrid's treacle toffee that had cemented his jaws together.

'Harry,' said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. 'Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?'

Alexander snorted with amusement. He'd forgotten about that. Harry, however, was furious at this suggestion.

Harry wrenched his teeth apart by force and said hotly, 'I have not been giving out signed photos. If Lockhart's still spreading that around —'

Hagrid was laughing. 'I'm on'y jokin',' he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face-first into the table. 'I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'.'

'Oh, I bet that really bothered him,' smirked Alexander, 'good of you to put him in his place, Hagrid.'

'Yeh, it did,' nodded Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. 'An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?'

'No thanks,' replied Ron weakly. 'Better not risk it.'

'Come an' see what I've bin growin',' said Hagrid, standing up as they finished the last of their tea.

'Um, it's not dangerous, is it?' asked Alexander warily. Hagrid was kind but didn't have the best judgement.

'Nah, it's harmless.'

They followed Hagrid to the small vegetable patch behind the hut. Alexander spotted a dozen of the largest pumpkins he had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

'Woah,' said Harry, eyes wide.

'Gettin' on well, aren't they?' replied Hagrid happily. 'Fer the Halloween feast . . . should be big enough by then.'

'What have you been feeding them, Hagrid?' asked Alexander, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone. 'Well, I've bin givin' them – you know – a bit o' help.'

Alexander narrowed his eyes at Hagrid, who was doing his very best to avoid eye contact. He noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the hut. A tiny smirk crept on his face.

'An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?' demanded Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement.

Hagrid sheepishly nodded, shuffling on his feet.

'Well, you've done a good job on them. It's an impressive sight, Hagrid,' said Alexander, and Hagrid beamed.

'That's what Ron's little sister said. Met her jus' yesterday.' Hagrid looked down at Harry, his beard twitching. 'Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house.'

Alexander grinned teasingly at Harry's embarrassed face. 'How sweet,' he crooned, and Harry scowled at him.

Hagrid grinned and winked at Harry. 'Yeah, if yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed —'

'Oh, shut up,' retorted Harry.

Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

'Watch it!' Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his treasured pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime, and Alexander keenly felt his stomach rumble. They all said goodbye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccuping occasionally, but only bringing up two tiny slugs.

'I never got to thank you,' Hermione quietly muttered next to him, as they strode up the grassy path to the castle.

Alexander glanced sideways at her, the light breeze ruffling his hair. She was staring straight ahead, where the turrets and towers came into view. Harry and Ron were slightly ahead of them while they lagged.

'For what?' he asked.

'For defending me against Malfoy.' She finally looked at him. 'So, thank you, Alex.' Her tone was soft, and there was a teeny shine to her eyes that he couldn't quite make out what.

Alexander suddenly felt embarrassed. 'It was, uh, nothing really,' he said with an awkward smile. 'Besides, the ferret was practically begging to be put in his place.'

'Even so, not many people would have done that.' She frowned slightly. 'Though your method was entirely reckless and you could have gotten into trouble —'

Alexander breathed out a tiny laugh and interjected, 'It would have been worth it, I promise you.'

Hermione paused for a second, closing her mouth. Then she spoke, 'Well, what I'm trying to say is that not many people would have done that, especially not for me.' Her cheeks were reddish. 'I haven't had many friends in my life – true friends – so I really appreciate it.'

Alexander bumped her gently with his shoulder. His tone was firm and assured as he declared, 'And I'd do it again. It's what best friends do.'

Hermione gave a brilliant smile, her large front teeth on display. It was genuine and left Alexander with a warm feeling inside, like toasted marshmallows over a campfire, as they approached the castle with Harry and Ron.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, 'There you three are, Potter, Laurent, and Weasley.'

Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. Alexander shared a glance with Harry and Ron. What had they done now?

'All three of you will do your detentions this evening.'

Alexander fought the urge to groan, not wanting to get a severe lecture from the Transfiguration Professor. His face probably gave his displeasure away. He'd forgotten all about the detention that was scheduled due to their actions with the flying car. He'd originally planned to complete some of his homework but now it seemed he wouldn't get the chance.

'What're we doing, Professor?' asked Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

The Professor looked down at them from behind her glasses. 'You and Laurent will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch,' told Professor McGonagall. 'And no magic – elbow grease only.'

Alexander and Ron shared a miserable glance. A whole evening with Argus Filch, the caretaker, who was loathed by every student in the school, was completely horrid. What could be worse than that?

'And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,' said Professor McGonagall.

Apparently, it could be a lot worse. Alexander breathed a small sigh of relief. He was suddenly feeling very grateful for the turn of events and felt waves of sympathy for Harry, who would be stuck with the blond idiot. Harry's horror was evident on his face.

'Oh n – Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room, too?' pleaded Harry desperately.

'Certainly not,' stated Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. 'Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, all three of you.'

Alexander patted Harry comfortingly on the shoulder while he and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom. Hermione was behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. He threw her a not-helping look.

'Filch'll have us there all night,' complained Ron heavily, staring sullenly into his Shepard's pie. 'No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. We'll never finish in time and, I'm no good at Muggle cleaning.'

'I'd swap anytime,' countered Harry hollowly. 'I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail . . . he'll be a nightmare.'

Ron turned to glance gloomily at Alexander. 'How come you look so content all of a sudden. You also have to deal with no magic.'

Alexander swallowed his bite of pie and shrugged. 'I just remind myself that at least Filch won't be rambling about all the voyages and battles he's accomplished anytime soon.'

Neither Harry nor Ron looked any happier but Hermione did scowl at him for his remark.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was time to make their way to their respective detentions at eight. The three of them dragged their feet until they had to separate.

'Well, good luck, Harry. You'll need it,' said Alexander to a glum Harry.

'Thanks, Alex,' mumbled Harry and hunched off to the second-floor corridor.

Alexander and Ron reached the trophy room where Filch was waiting with grim satisfaction, holding a lit lamp in his hand. Alexander inwardly sighed. This was going to be a long evening, he could tell.

'Evening, boys. Got ourselves into a little trouble, did we?' leered Filch. 'Thought you could break rules and get away with them?'

Ron peered at his feet, downcast, while Alexander stared straight into Filch's slimy eyes.

'Professor McGonagall wants you two to clean the trophy room, but mark my words,' said Filch, 'if it were up to me, rule-breakers would be hung by chains upside down in the dungeons . . . it really is such a pity that no one takes punishment seriously in today.'

Alexander gave a tiny roll of his eyes as Filch turned his back on them to open the door of the trophy room. He went inside, and immediately the scent of polish smacked them in the face. The trophies were lying in their cases in rows, gleaming. Alexander knew they were clean enough and this was merely a task for their detention with the worse person.

'Right, you two, I want the whole place so spotless that my face sparkles in the trophy cups,' instructed Filch, his tone smug and demanding. 'What are you waiting for, off you go, and no magic.' He pointed to a bucket that had two pieces of cloth attached to them.

Alexander and Ron picked up a cloth, dipped it into the polish, and set to work cleaning the trophies. They weren't allowed to talk, not with Filch breathing down their backs every second. After the first two hours, Alexander's arm muscles were starting to ache. Ron's wasn't doing much better, not when his slug problem persisted. Ron threw up three slugs on the trophy he was cleaning and Filch made Ron clean it again several times to his satisfaction. It was the worst evening of his life in Hogwarts so far, and he couldn't even talk to Ron to pass the time.

Filch eventually had to leave the room after Peeves threw several waterbombs nearby. He hobbled out, grumbling and cursing Peeves but warned them to continue polishing the trophies because he'd be right back and they'd better not even think of making a sound or they'll be sorry.

Alexander sighed and stretched his body for a long while, feeling his muscles take a breather. 'I really loathe Argus Filch,' he grumbled to Ron.

Ron glanced miserably at him, pausing to clean the slime off his trophy. 'Yeah, smarmy git. I can't believe we're doing this instead of writing letters for Lockhart.'

'Uh, you're on your own there, mate,' said Alexander, shaking his head as he finished another trophy. 'Lockhart is a thousand times worse.'

'Yeah, probably, but it beats doing this,' moaned Ron. 'Filch is honestly a nightmare.'

It was silent for a few minutes, each of them concentrating on their task. Just as Alexander was about to dip his cloth into the polish for seven hundredth time, Ron's voice echoed loudly around the chamber.

'Hey, Alex, come look at this.' Ron was beckoning him to another case of trophies, pointing animatedly.

'What is it?' asked Alexander curiously, as he approached. He peered into the glass cover and his eyes widened.

'Look, right there,' said Ron, 'It has your last name on it, yes?'

'Yeah, it does,' nodded Alexander dazedly.

In front were several medals, plates, and trophies for all sorts of subjects from Quidditch to Special Services to Hogwarts, and all had a common factor; on a gold plaque was written the name: Amelie Laurent.

'They belong to my mother,' he stared mindlessly, mouth dry.

'Woah,' breathed Ron in amazement. 'Alex, your mum was a Quidditch champion. That's wicked!'

Alexander shook his head in a haze. 'I . . . didn't know . . .'

Here was something tangible that belonged to his mother, something he hadn't known. She had played Quidditch and received several awards and medals. Alexander swallowed heavily. Why wasn't he aware of this? He barely knew his mother and anything he learnt about her caused him to feel surprised. It was wrong; he wasn't supposed to feel like this. Grandfather knew everything but wouldn't tell him, leaving him in the dark. He tamped down his irritation. Why wouldn't he just tell him? Why did everything have to be a secret with Grandfather?

'Hey, mate, are you all right?' probed Ron confusedly.

'Hmm, what, oh yeah – no, I'm fine.' Alexander turned away and picked up his cloth again. 'Let's finish this quickly before Filch comes and makes us stay overnight.'

That was enough to get Ron to swiftly agree and continue polishing the medallion, face scrunched up.

Alexander wetted his lips. 'Hey, Ron . . . thanks for showing me that.'

Ron shrugged. 'You're welcome, mate.'

For the rest of detention, Alexander was glad no one spoke to him apart from Filch, who mostly growled at Ron's attempt of polishing. He was free to focus on his task. Before he would have been glad to learn things about his mother, but now he didn't know how to think or feel. It just reminded him of how Grandfather kept stuff from him, as proven from last year. How ignorant he is of his parents and Grandfather. How he lacks compared to Ron's family.

By the time he and Ron finished their detention, it was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty, apart from two or three seventh years. Both their muscles were aching from the polishing, and Alexander couldn't wait to lay down. Harry was already in his pyjamas and was waiting for them in his bed.

Ron was nursing his right arm with a grimace. 'My muscles have all seized up,' he groaned, sinking on his bed. 'Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch Cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off.'

Harry was pale and this mouth set in a thin line. Ron noticed this and inquired, 'How was it with Lockhart?'

Harry glanced to the side, to make sure that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were asleep, before speaking in a low voice. 'Listen, something weird happened. I heard a voice. It was strange . . . it felt sort of ice-cold.'

Alexander lifted his head, paying attention to Harry's unease. 'A voice?' he repeated. 'Are you sure you weren't just imagining it?'

Harry forcefully shook his head. 'No, no, no. This was real, I could tell. Lockhart couldn't hear it, I asked him.'

Alexander was unsettled. Harry's strange voice didn't signify good news. Hearing voices was extremely unusual, especially ones someone else couldn't hear.

'What was the voice saying?' he pressed.

Harry appeared scared for a slight second. He swallowed and replied in a hesitant tone, 'Well, it was saying . . . "come to me". . . . "Let me rip you", I think . . . and something to do with killing.'

Alexander felt a chill crawl down his spine. He and Ron shared a nervous glance. He wasn't even the one to hear the voice and even he knew how sinister it sounded. He could imagine how Harry was when he heard it.

'And – and you said Lockhart couldn't hear it?' uttered Ron, frowning in the moonlight. 'D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it – even someone invisible would've had to open the door.'

Harry bit his lip. 'I-I don't know,' he hesitated, 'But I don't think so. His reaction seemed genuine. No one could fake not hearing that voice.'

Alexander flexed his hands, feeling the dull ache linger. 'I don't know what to tell you, Harry. This all sounds very suspicious.'

'I know,' said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. 'I don't get it either.'

'I think the only thing we can do is wait and see what happens.' He fell backwards on his four-poster bed with a soft thump. 'Merde. And here's me thinking we were about to have a quiet year.'

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