Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction using the characters from the Harry Potter world. The Harry Potter characters are created and owned by J.K Rowling, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Harry Potter world.

I only claim ownership of any OCs. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For anyone who has stumbled upon this, this is Book Two. Spellbound is Book One which you may need to read first.

Extended Summary

Trouble is yet again brewing in Hogwarts for Alexander's second year. What should have been a normal year is anything but. His questions about his grandfather's past grow more and more. Why is Grandfather so secretive about everything? And why won't he tell Alexander about his mother?

And if that's not enough, additional fresh torments mount including a horribly conceited new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, and a bothersome ghost named Moaning Myrtle.

However, real trouble emerges when someone - or, perhaps, something - lurks inside the school, aiming to kill Muggleborns. Suddenly, students are turning to stone and his friend begins to hear sinister voices in the shadows.

Mostly follows plot.

EPIGRAGH

❝Nobody can stay in the Garden of Eden.❞

— James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room.

A dark-haired twelve-year-old boy sat on the smooth ledge of his bedroom window which perched open. He gazed out into the far distance. Trees swayed in the evening's breeze. The summer sun set in the sky like fresh colours brushed upon an artist's canvas. The orange-gold stretched far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines, which reminded him of the Gryffindor common room. Alexander was waiting for Apollo, his owl, to return with letters from his friends.

'Alex,' called a deep voice. Eliot appeared in the doorway, and he was so tall that he had to bend down to enter. 'Are you dressed and ready? Your Grandfather's almost finished.'

'Do I have to go?' he grumbled, then in a pleading tone asked, 'Can't I just stay at home?'

Eliot raised an eyebrow in amusement. 'Moaning already? Cheer up, it'll only be a few hours.'

'I still don't see why I have to go.' He sighed and scrunched his face in a tiny scowl. 'It's so boring, like always.'

'Because sometimes we have to do things we don't want to, Alexander,' said Eliot in a breezy tone, crossing his arms which caused his white shirt to tighten across his upper arms. 'Now, you only have a few minutes left, mind,' warned Eliot, 'your Grandfather doesn't like to be late. So when he calls, you come.'

Alexander nodded glumly, and Eliot left to go downstairs. He still didn't understand why he had to go. People only wanted to see and talk to his Grandfather anyway, not him. In every formal event, he would just be tailing Grandfather, tuning out tedious business conversations or small talk.

Alexander was peeved as he hadn't been allowed to visit Ron's house when the redhead invited him during their last letter; Grandfather told him that he could only go after this ministry event.

He reached up to tug at his bow tie, seeing as he couldn't touch his combed, slicked-back hair in case of ruining it. He had been wearing suits every time Grandfather hosted an event or attended one throughout his life. Part of Grandfather's role was knowing people and building relationships and this meant that Alexander was forced to attend as Grandfather's only living relative. He's worn formal clothing so many time that he knew how to wear a bow tie or secure a tie without Eliot assisting – it became second nature.

These stupid parties were a waste of time. The worst part about Grandfather's job was being invited to every little event that someone hosted. As Grandfather was well respected and wealthy, he was expected to attend every single one of them. Alexander hated going and being introduced to Grandfather's associates who sneered at his young age and inexperience in the world. They would never fully outright display it but Alexander could sense their spurious behaviours in a way where they would loudly praise him to Grandfather, which was evidently fake. If it were up to Alexander, he would choose to remain home with Eliot instead.

This evening's wear, however, was different from the usual suits. They were still expensive, of course, but they were dress robes, commonly worn in the wizarding community.

This specific type of formal event included those who worked at the ministry. As a diplomat for the British and French Ministry, Grandfather could not decline the invitation, and in turn, Alexander could not refuse to come. He had asked why Eliot could not join them and Grandfather claimed that Eliot had not been invited. The worse thing was that Alexander couldn't even take a book with him as Grandfather had forbidden it. Something to do with bad manners and making a good impression. So, safe to say, Alexander would be having the worst evening.

While Grandfather was getting ready, Alexander had been waiting for Apollo to arrive back with the letters he sent to his friends. He'd been writing throughout the holiday and most of them had written back. Hermione described her time abroad with her family. Neville informed him about the various plants he dealt with and how his Gran kept nagging him. Ron wrote about the pranks the twins did, particularly against Percy, the snobbish Weasley brother; the games he played; the food he ate. Yet, Ron didn't mention much travelling except to the nearest village.

From Harry Potter, however, he heard not a peek. It appeared that Harry had written to neither him, Ron, nor Hermione. Alexander knew that Harry was receiving his letters because Apollo was coming back empty-handed, so he must have received them in some way. Alexander speculated what he had done to make Harry upset. That must have been the reason why his supposed friend wasn't replying. He dismissed this idea quickly, however, because Harry was not the type of person who would ignore them like this.

In his last letter to Ron, Alexander worried that Harry's relatives were keeping his letters from him. The way that Harry's uncle had treated him, on the Platform going home, made Alexander think that perhaps his theory wasn't too far from the truth.

Just then, a loud screech and the familiar sight of his treasured companion caused him to rise from his seat on the ledge. Apollo flew into the room and tied on his right leg were a bundle of letters. He removed the letters and stroked Apollo's head with two fingers. The owl gave him a gentle nip before taking a sip of water from his cage.

Alexander flicked through the letters and, with a sinking heart, Harry's letter was yet to be seen. They were all from Ron, Hermione, and Neville. He spun around at Apollo with a questioning stare, as he had clearly stated for the owl to not come back until Harry wrote back, but Apollo had already tucked himself in and fallen asleep. He sighed then with a glance at his watch realised he had several minutes left before leaving. He tore open Hermione's letter first, her neat, joined-up handwriting inscribed on the parchment:

Dear Alexander,

This ministry ball you told me about seems intriguing. It sounds like such a great opportunity for you to meet important individuals who work within the ministry. It would be an invaluable learning prospect for the future. I'm sure you could ask about the different careers and paths after Hogwarts, of course. I've been reading about various departments and their dynamics. You really should get a chance to read the book yourself because it is so dense and complex to explain in a mere letter. I have to admit I'm slightly disappointed I won't get a chance to see for myself, but I presume you'll write back to me and tell me everything, right?

Alex – you don't mind if I call you that? – I'm beginning to get worried about Harry. None of us has heard from him since the train back, and I think there's something rather foul at play. I do hope his relatives aren't too harsh on him. My parents are calling me, so I have to cut this short but tell me if you hear anything from Harry. I'm sure we'll get a chance to meet at Diagon Alley. Write back soon.

Love from Hermione.

His lips quirked up in a fond smile. Typical Hermione to think of this as something to learn from. He'd be too busy counting down the minutes until he could go home. Besides, he's probably too young to think about his future career just now. He slid her letter to the bottom and the next one contained Neville's fairly short scribble:

Hey Alexander,

I'm sorry but Gran and I won't be attending. She says I've got to focus on my studies rather than go to parties. But you'll be fine. It's just shaking a few people's hands, smiling, and wishing them well. Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it. Also, Trevor's gone missing again. I've tried to find him everywhere but he won't stay in one place.

Neville.

Alexander couldn't help feeling disheartened – he'll be alone with just Grandfather. Usually, he would have been delighted to spend more time with his Grandfather but not like this, surrounded by strangers he's never met. The final letter was from Ron. Tearing open the envelope, a crumpled sheet fell out. He's been waiting for Ron's reply for a few days now:

Alex mate,

I think you might be right about Harry's relatives. I told your theory to Fred and George and we decided we're gonna go and rescue Harry. We're gonna take Dad's car and go during the night. It's enchanted so it won't attract too much attention. The bad thing is that Mum doesn't know. Hope she doesn't find out. It'll be a great adventure. Wish you were here though.

Ron.

His mind was racing. Alexander briefly wondered how the Weasley brothers were going to drive to Surrey, the place where Harry's relatives lived. Ron and the twins might already be on their way to Harry. It might have been easier to take the train but they didn't know enough about muggle transportation to fully use it. Alexander was slightly gutted that he couldn't go as well. He chewed on his lip as he read again, hoping to hear from Ron soon.

'Alex! Time to go!'

Grandfather's voice sounded from two floors down, causing Alexander to break from his thoughts. He placed the three letters on his wooden desk, then shut the window with a soft thud. His chance to reply would come later. He smoothed down his black dress robes, making sure there were no crinkles, then descended downstairs. He couldn't wait for this to be over.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The ministry ball was hosted in a luxurious garden because the rare seasonal weather beckoned for it. A lake ran alongside the edge of the grass. Alexander didn't know the name of the host nor did he care to find out. Gentlemen in various colours of robes and ladies in distinct shades of dresses flocked the scene. A large white tent was constructed and inside was one of the largest halls he's seen. It had two to three floors accompanied by a twisting staircase. Bright lights had been charmed to hang in mid-air; the floor and walls were marble; chatter and twinkling laughter chimed.

Alexander had yet to see any children. He's spotted a couple of older teenagers near the lakeside who drank cups of what appeared to be water but the sparkling bubbles led him to suspect alcohol.

During the time that they had arrived, Grandfather made Alexander stand by his side throughout and introduced him to numerous people, where he had to shake their hands and answer their questions. He had already forgotten the names and faces of some as there were too many of them. One or two, however, he recognised from previous parties. Most of them treated him as if he were an eight-year-old child, which prompted irritation to flare up inside him despite his effort to conceal it. He must not have done a satisfactory job because Grandfather threw him a stern pointed glance when no one was looking.

Finally, after what seemed like decades, Grandfather mentioned that he wanted to introduce him to the last few people and then he was free to do whatever he wanted. And so, Alexander plastered a charming smile as Grandfather steered him up one floor where two men – one shorter, the other taller – were stood leaning against the bannister overlooking the ground floor. But, to his horror, it wasn't just two men. Next to the tall man with long blond hair was a familiar pale-faced boy with a pointy chin. Alexander bit his tongue hard to suppress the groan that longed to burst from his throat. Here I was thinking that this evening couldn't get any worse, he thought despairingly, and it actually did.

'Antoine,' beamed the shorter man. 'There you are. We've been waiting for you.'

The short man was odd-looking; he had rumpled grey hair and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, and pointed purple boots. On his head, lay a lime-green bowler, and he clutched a glass of alcohol. Alexander stared at the man's curious expression at him as they approached. Malfoy's pinched ferret face pierced into him but Alexander didn't want to give him any satisfaction by acknowledging him.

'Good to see you, Fudge,' greeted Grandfather with a curt nod.

Fudge turned his small eyes at Alexander. 'And who might you be?'

'Sir, I would like you to meet my grandson,' replied Grandfather, and standing behind, he placed both hands on Alexander's shoulders. 'Alexander, this is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.'

Alexander cleared his throat and amped up his polite smile – the one that mothers and older women couldn't resist being enchanted with – and in a pleasant tone said, 'Hello, sir, I'm Alexander Laurent. It's nice to make your acquaintance.'

Fudge beamed in delight. 'Ah, I should have known – no one else could have such good manners like you, Antoine,' he nodded good-naturedly, 'taught your grandson well, amirite?'

'As well as I can,' smiled Grandfather, stepping beside Alexander and crossing his arms behind his back.

The tall man smiled silkily at Grandfather. 'Good to see you again, Antoine. Busy as usual, I presume.'

The resemblance was striking; he had the same pale, pointed face as Malfoy and identical cold, grey eyes. Oddly, he held a cane and Alexander doubted that its purpose was for walking.

'Very demanding, yes Lucius. I noticed your wife's not with you.'

Malfoy waved a glove-covered hand. 'Narcissa's around here somewhere.'

Grandfather nodded respectfully, 'Give her my good wishes if you will.' His lips tugged into a courteous smile as he turned to the ferret. 'Good evening, Draco, how are you this evening?' asked Grandfather.

Malfoy puffed his chest out and drawled with an arrogant smirk, 'I'm good, Mr Laurent. Thank you very much for asking.'

Alexander resisted rolling his eyes. Prick. He then felt his skin crawl as those empty spheres of Mr Malfoy's landed on him.

'And young Mr Laurent. What a pleasure to be introduced this evening, I am certain you'll agree.'

He swallowed. Perhaps because it was his relation to the ferret but, despite Mr Malfoy talking to him with nothing but cordiality, there was something about him that unnerved Alexander.

'Alexander?' prodded Grandfather, and that's when he realised, he'd simply been staring with no answer for longer than necessary, 'What do you say?'

'Thank you, Mr Malfoy. It's nice meeting you, too,' he replied. Grandfather seemed satisfied.

Mr Malfoy swept a hand haughtily towards the ferret. 'Have you met my son, Draco? You two are in the same year, I heard.'

Mr Malfoy hinted at a sneer but it was so quick that Alexander wondered if he had seen it in the first place. The ferret smirked from behind his father.

'We've met,' he answered flatly.

Fudge didn't seem to notice the awkward atmosphere that settled, as he stared at the contents of his drink before bringing it up to his lips.

Grandfather broke the silence. 'Enjoying the party, gentleman?' he questioned.

'Very nicely done, I may say,' responded Fudge jovially. His cheeks had two red splotches that were rather prominent. 'Lucius has enjoyed himself as well, I think.'

Mr Malfoy jerked his head as if he were giving a slight bow.

'Drink, Antoine?' Fudge gestured to the people walking around with silver trays filled with glasses of sparkling liquid.

'No, not for me, thank you,' declined Grandfather graciously.

Fudge shrugged then signalled to a nearby person who carried the glasses. 'Ah, well, each to their own.' The servant approached nervously, tray balanced on his fingers. Fudge took one before taking a sip. A trickle escaped from his puffed-up cheeks and ran down his three chins.

Grandfather stared down at Alexander and quietly muttered that he could leave but would call him when it was time to leave. He said a quick, courteous goodbye to the Malfoys and Fudge, then went downstairs to sit in one of the tempting chairs. Thankfully, Malfoy didn't go after Alexander, though his eyes followed him.

People strode across the hall and servants filled the room with their white dress robes. His feet were aching after being dragged to say hello to what seemed like every person at this event, and his limbs sighed in relief as Alexander finally sat down.

His eye caught the only other person at the table. It was a man in a shabby dress robe that looked inexpensive and had seen better days. His hair was muddy brown with streaks of white in it and his face was drooping with either age or exhaustion – it was hard to tell. His eyes were red; the man was decidedly drunk or tipsy at the very least.

Alexander was happy to ignore him and closed his eyes for a minute, feeling calmness overtake him. He let out a contented breath until the man spoke up. His voice was deep and bitter.

'Enjoying yourself, lad, I bet you are,' he muttered.

Alexander felt irritation at being disturbed. He glanced at the mysterious man who was staring fixedly up at where Grandfather and the others stood talking.

At first, Alexander's voice cracked as he spoke up but then cleared his throat. 'Uh, I beg your pardon, sir?'

The man kept silent then gave a scornful laugh. 'Damn them,' he spat. 'Hypocrites and liars, the lot of them.'

Alexander blinked. 'I, uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir.'

The man threw him an annoyed glance, causing him to bristle in response. Before he could say any retort, the man spoke again. 'No, ya wouldn't know. I don't even know why I came to this damn thing. I suppose that's what's expected for Ministry workers and their families.'

He felt discomfort arise and he shifted in his seat. He wished he never sat on this table but was too tired to even see the man in the first place. Now, it would have been rude to immediately stand up and leave and so he remained seated, bouncing his right leg up and down.

'Don't work for the ministry, d'ya hear me, lad?' The man locked his serious gaze onto Alexander, his stare piercing like shards of glass. 'Be anything else – be a stupid fairy for all I care or whatever you kids are into.'

Alexander wetted his lips. He doubted this was the type of career advice Hermione would have appreciated. Trust his luck to sit near some crazy drunk fool. This was undoubtedly one of the worse evenings he's ever had.

'You think I'm crazy, don't ya?' The man tugged his lips up in a self-deprecating smile. 'I'm saner than anyone here, I'll tell you that.' The man turned to glare as Grandfather's laughter and Fudge's loud snorts sounded. 'Damn Fudge, and damn Antoine Laurent,' he spat.

Alexander swallowed heavily, taken aback at the hostility that spouted from the man's voice. People usually liked his Grandfather as they flocked towards him in search of praise or merely being associated with him. This, however, was definitely a first.

'What's, um, what's wrong with them?' asked Alexander in a hesitant tone.

The man gave a derisive chuckle. 'Fudge is an incompetent fool, that's what's wrong. Everyone knows that it should have been Dumbledore for the job,' he stated. 'And that Frenchman came here several years back with his big ideas – I remember it like it was yesterday. Believe me, Fudge may be Minister but it's Laurent who advises him on the real decisions.'

The more the man spoke the more confused Alexander became. It was as if the man was speaking to himself.

'But I know what he truly thinks about us types of wizards if no one else does,' muttered the man darkly, 'I knew it during the last war. Bet he would have loved it if You-Know-Who had won instead.'

A thousand questions erupted within him, yet before he could ask, the man abruptly stood up from his seat and walked away without a second glance. Alexander felt as if he'd been hit by a bludger. Big ideas? And the man mentioned something to do with that noseless psychopath. What was that all about? It nudged at his brain but he felt too tired and bewildered to demystify it properly.

Alexander left the tent, craving to feel fresh air on his face. His collar shirt suddenly felt tight against his throat. He longed to remove his bow tie but didn't think Grandfather would like it. He sauntered towards the small lake that ran adjacent to the garden. The teenagers he spotted earlier had disappeared, and there were only a few lingering pairs who were either smoking pipes and cigars or drinking.

The lake-side air was pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. Alexander stepped closer to the edge and sat down on the stone ledge. From the surface was an opaque green, but it was clear enough to see the plants and life below. If he squinted closer, he could see the fish swimming in a bundle together. They were tiny and numerous, each about as long as his pinkie finger. He gazed across to the lily pads, their white or magenta petals catching the breeze. Whoever owned all this must have had time and money on their hands. He inhaled slowly. The shabby man's voice had already faded into a muted silence in his mind.

'Alexander?'

A familiar and gentle voice came from behind him. Helen eyed him with a surprised yet happy appearance. Beside her was a nervous boy, possibly a year or two younger than Alexander, who visibly fidgeted, his eyes anxiously shifting from Alexander to Helen. Helen wore a knee-length dress and her blonde hair was curled into waves. A wave of warmth settled below in his stomach. Her face somehow looked different though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. All he knew was that she looked . . . pretty. He internally frowned. It was a somewhat weird thought.

'Helen?' His tone was astonished, and he instantly rose from the stone seat. 'What are you doing here?'

'I came with my parents – they're inside right now. Did you, um, come with your Grandfather?'

'Yeah, I did.' He turned his inquisitive gaze onto the boy. 'Is that your brother?'

'Hm, oh, yes, this is my brother. I'm supposed to be looking after him right now.' She nudged the boy who glanced uneasily at Helen before giving an uncertain smile and an awkward wave at him.

'Hello, I'm Sullivan Fawley.'

He gave a small half-smile. 'Alexander Laurent. Are you a first-year?'

Sullivan shook his head and stared at the ground morosely. 'No, next year,' he mumbled quietly.

Alexander nodded, not quite knowing what to say next. He rocked back on his feet and ran his hands down his robes. Luckily, Helen put him out of his discomfort.

'You look different with your hair like that,' she smiled, dimples appearing.

Alexander swiftly reached up to graze his hand over the said hair, feeling a tad self-conscious. 'Is it bad?' he asked, alarmed.

'No,' Helen shook her head with a mellow laugh, 'no, it, uh, it suits you, I think.'

He breathed a tiny sigh of relief. 'Oh . . . good.' He watched Sullivan chew on his bottom lip then tug on Helen's wrist and point towards the tent.

'I have to go now, but it was nice to see you, Alexander,' she waved from over her shoulder.

He mindlessly waved back, watching her figure disappear as she entered the tent, which reflected an orange glow from the outside.

Welcome to the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm rather excited about this book because the Chamber of Secrets was my favourite book out of the original series despite many people not liking it. It had that mystery element to it.