Mudblood

The common room was deserted as the older students were still sitting in the Great Hall. His father had snuck in here man years ago, so he knew that the Slytherin common room was below the water level of the lake.

Before he could take a closer look at the room, the door opened behind him and Scorpius entered. He had never been here before either and looked around with interest. The huge, long room was filled with club chairs and sofas with side tables, the walls were lined with bookshelves, interspersed at regular intervals with small desks, and several hundred floating magic candles similar to those they had seen in the Great Hall cast a homey soft light on the entire room.

"They don't have the green lighting anymore," Scorpius commented, "that's fine, my dad says it always made you look a little sick."

The intervals between the students coming in one after another now became shorter, since there was no more need to explain the procedure to them, and soon everyone was in. Roy and Patricia were the last to enter.

"You're going to bed in fifteen minutes," Roy explained. "Until then, you can look around a little more."

Some of the students made themselves comfortable on the armchairs, others looked around curiously, still others stood together in groups and talked in a low, but then increasingly lively voice. Albus, who didn't feel like talking, went to one of the shelves to look at the book titles. They seemed to be placed in a random order without any recognisable system: The inevitable "Hogwarts, a History" in de luxe edition was right next to "Makeup Tips for Young Witches" and some Auror mystery stories.

"With respect to you, we have removed the collected works of Lord Voldemort," a voice murmured to him. It belonged to Roy, who winked at him with a grin. Albus had to laugh:

"It's okay, I got it. No need to tease me about it all the time." Still, he found Roy's banter somehow more enjoyable than James', probably because Roy was pulling his leg but not really trying to annoy him. "Come to think of it, maybe it's a good thing to be in a house where you don't have a big brother."

"There's something to be said for that", said Roy, suddenly looking a little sad. Yet before Albus could say anything, Hor-Hor – Horatio's nickname had caught on in a flash – hastened to Roy, very excited: "Er, Mr. Prefect, er, sir ..." Apparently, he was unsure how to address such a dignitary.

"Save the 'sir' for the profs," Roy said, "and call me by my first or last name, just as you like to. My name is Roy MacAllister."

"Horatio Horn," Hor-Hor replied politely with a slight bow, but then immediately pointed accusingly at one of his classmates standing a few feet away. "The skinny one there has said 'Mudblood'." It was Scorpius Malfoy.

Roy's face abruptly became stony: "And the one with the jug ears has snitched," he growled gruffly, turning away to leave him standing. But now Patricia, like grown out of the ground, blocked his way:

"Don't you think you should follow up on this incident?" she asked coolly.

Roy paused for a moment, then said: "Nope."

He tried to get past her, but again she blocked his path. "If you don't, I'll do!" She sounded waspish.

Roy looked at her in disgust for a moment, then with a sigh turned and went past Hor-Hor, who smiled smugly, to Malfoy, who tautened on his approach. He kept his head stiffly upright and looked firmly into Roy's eyes. He really did his very best to keep a stiff upper lip, but one could see his knees tremble.

"So, Malfoy?" asked Roy, without feigning over-commitment. "Is it true that you called someone a 'Mudblood'? If so, whom, why, and in what context?"

"I didn't call anyone that, and I certainly didn't mean to offend anyone. I just said that I was glad there are no – well – Mudbloods in Slytherin."

Roy looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then said, now more emphatically:

"Scorpius Malfoy, this is one of the world's most prestigious schools of witchcraft and wizardry. Here, we don't use to express ourselves in such a vulgar manner. Say what you think, but do so in accurate and appropriate words. If you're talking about wizards of Muggle descent, call them that. By the way, there actually are wizards of this origin in Slytherin, either. I am one of them."

And while Scorpius was turning dark red, MacAllister strode off quickly, pretending he had to hurry to the boys' dormitories. Apparently, he was trying to escape Patricia, who kept close on his heels, caught up with him just before he reached the stairs to the boys' dormitories and grabbed him by the arm:

"You are aware you have to report this?" she asked sharply.

"Have I?"

"Don't play stupid! You know the Ministry of Magic's decree against discriminatory speech in public institutions."

"I rebuked Malfoy, that's more than enough for such a trifle."

"The decree," continued Patricia stoically, "lists a number of expressions that are explicitly forbidden and subject to reporting, and 'Mudblood' is at the top of the list."

"O yeah," Roy replied with grim irony, "I know the decree of our wonderful Minister for Magic, it was one of Hermie's first acts when she took office."

"So you also know it applies to Hogwarts as well. Hogwarts is even expressly mentioned."

"Sure it is, otherwise it would have been invalid at Hogwarts. With that, Hermie has earned the dubious credit of being the first Minister for Magic since Thicknesse to interfere directly in Hogwarts affairs. My opinion is she has exceeded her authority."

"Nobody is interested in your opinion because it's not up to you to decide. The decree explicitly specifies that such incidents have to be reported to the Headmistress."

"Who then has a duty to immediately inform the Ministry. And that's exactly why I won't report it."

"Roy! What will they think of us when this becomes known?"

"They will think that we are no informers."

"They won't! They will say Death Eater ideas are still tolerated and covered in Slytherin!"

"First of all," Roy growled, "a swearword, even directed at Muggle-born wizards, doesn't imply Death Eater ideas. Secondly, the thoughtless babbling of an eleven-year-old is hardly to be called an idea. And thirdly, I'm not prepared to jump through the hoops of people who are unscrupulous enough to call us 'Death Eaters' by habit, but faint with sensitivity when some stupid boy says 'Mudblood'."

"Don't you understand? Our colleagues from the other houses may be able to turn a blind eye, but we cannot! There is still a stigma on our house. Slytherin needs to clear itself!"

"Of what?" Roy got loud. "Of the shame of having brought about the world's best wizards for a thousand years, without which the wizarding world would probably have ceased to exist?"

"No, but for the other thing. Slytherin needs to redeem itself."

"At the expense of a little boy?"

Patricia, realising that she was not getting anywhere this way, changed her tactics:

"Roy," she purred, "don't be such a pighead." She beamed at him with her blue eyes and moved close to him until her face was inches from his and he could smell her scent.

Albus, who had followed them both as discreetly as possible and had listened excitedly to their conversation, saw Roy blush. He really did seem to waver. Yes, Albus thought, she must really have Veela blood.

Then Roy pulled himself together, resolutely took a step back and glared at her even more grimly than before. Obviously he was annoyed about having shown weakness for a moment. "No!"

"If you don't report it," Patricia snapped, switching off her charm as abruptly as she had turned it on, "I will. So your silly defiance doesn't change anything at all."

"It changes that I can still look at my mirror image without being ashamed."

He was fed up with this conversation and summoned the boys among the first-years to lead them to their dormitory, so Patricia had no choice but to do the same with the girls.