Scorpius' Fear

"Each year have their own dormitory, which they keep throughout their time at Hogwarts," he explained while leading his boys up the small staircase to the boys' dormitories." So your dormitory last year still housed the seventh-years. Your bed is where your luggage is. You may change if you like to, but not before tomorrow."

Albus was one of the first to enter the dormitory, whose decoration was dominated by the Slytherin green and silver. Each student had a four-poster bed with the green curtains still open but drawable on all four sides and decorated with the Slytherin silver snake.

He instantly found his suitcase, took his pyjama and washing kit, quickly got ready for bed and already drew his curtains while some of his classmates were still trotting to the washroom and Roy, who had to stay with them on the first evening so that the first-year students could address him with their questions, was supervising them with a stoic face.

Kind of cool, a four-poster bed like that, Albus thought, when the curtains are closed and you have your own realm in no time.

The bed next him belonged to Scorpius.

"Er, Roy?", Albus heard him ask shyly.

"What's up?"

"Are you very mad at me?"

"No, why should I?" asked Roy, sounding puzzled.

"Well, about that expression."

"Oh, just forget it!"

"You're not offended?"

"Nope. You didn't mean to offend anyone, and with offending, it's the intent that matters. By the way, I used to have to listen to harder stuff at my former Muggle school, so I'm hardened."

There was a small pause.

"But it was quite stupid to say I didn't want – Muggle-borns around, wasn't it?" asked Malfoy.

"It was," Roy confirmed. After a moment, however, he added: "Though it wasn't quite as stupid as it sounds. You know, I'm glad to be here, but the wizarding world could exist well without Muggle-born wizards, and I know it could. I am thankful to be here, but on the other hand, to give any Muggle with any wizarding skills or even without them access to the wizarding world, would mean the end of this world. Hence admitting Muggle wizards must be and must remain the exception to the rule. So you were a little bit right in being wrong. Or vice versa."

"Can you be a little bit right?" asked Scorpius in surprise. "My dad says something is either right or wrong, and there's nothing in between."

"Mostly that's true but ..."

He seemed to be looking for words. Albus heard the last students come out of the washroom and disappear behind their bed curtains.

"Suppose," Roy said, "you were in the woods to come across an animal that you didn't know whether it's dangerous or not. What would be wiser: Thinking it's dangerous or thinking it isn't?"

"Thinking it's dangerous," Scorpius answered spontaneously.

"Yes, but ninety-nine out of a hundred animals in the woods are quite harmless."

"Sure, but if I think it's dangerous while it's not, I'll only run away once for nothing," Scorpius said. "But if I think it's harmless, and it's actually dangerous, I'll end up as its dinner."

"Exactly. You would be wrong in ninety-nine cases, but you would still be more right in this error than someone who was right ninety-nine times. That's what I meant by 'being right when you're wrong'. But now we have philosophized enough for the late hour. Sleep well now!"

"One more thing, please!" Scorpius' voice trembled as he hesitantly asked: "Is it true that this will be reported to the Ministry?"

Roy sighed. "Well, that's the rule."

"If my dad finds out, he'll bite my head off! He always says that if we say something like that, it will come back on him and he has a hard enough time in the Ministry because the Minister doesn't like him very much from earlier."

Well, he contributed quite a bit to that, Albus thought.

"Not anything sent to the Ministry ends up on your father's desk. It will probably be seen by some officer and then be filed away," Roy tried to comfort him.

"Yes, but maybe the Minister does read it – since it's so important to her, otherwise she wouldn't have expressly mentioned Hogwarts, right? You yourself said this is quite unusual. And then she will rub it in to my dad. Anyway, my dad says that the Ministry never forgets anything because everything is in the files. What if one day I want to work there, and somebody is drawing out this file?" Real fear was speaking out of him.

There was a pause. Roy seemed to be struggling for an answer that was both honest and reassuring.

"You're just eleven years old; a lot of time will pass before you start working in the Ministry. Files are kept, yes, but most gather dust in the basement. And don't forget: There are Slytherins in the Ministry as well. They won't let you down."

"I don't know," Scorpius said in a low voice. "I think Patricia would."

"But the others wouldn't."

"You wouldn't let me down, would you?"

"No," Roy confirmed. "Not you, and not any of the rest of you. – And now don't worry about something that will probably never matter again. Good night!"

Albus heard Roy walk to the door and then say into the room, quietly so as not to wake those already asleep: "Good night everyone!"

"Good night," replied two or three voices. Then Roy shut the door behind him.

Unlike the other first-years, Albus had slept through half the afternoon on the train, and while the others fell asleep immediately, his excitement was still stronger than his need for sleep. Probably this had been the most eventful and confusing day of his life. First, this nightmare on the train, which even now was giving him the creeps. Then the shock of actually being sorted into Slytherin. Then the surprise that the Slytherins were happy about it, and almost a little too much. Then Roy, who with his Death Eater jokes made fun of Albus' prejudices about Slytherin, but whose views were still somehow – strange. Roy was even a bit weird to him, though Albus had to confess to himself that he liked him. But, on the other hand, the icy contempt with which he had called Hermione "Hermie" had caused him a pang.

Albus loved and adored Hermione for as long as he could remember. As a toddler, he had loved to sit on her lap, cuddling up to her. She was the one he used to go to when he had done something he didn't dare to tell his parents, and then she accompanied him to them, thus giving him the courage to confess his little misdeeds. She always had good advice and comfort for him when he needed it. She was his best friend and the most intelligent person Albus knew. No wonder she was the Minister, who else could be? Roy, however, spoke of her as if of stinking slime.

Yet he didn't know her at all, only her decrees, and those could – he knew – have come from any staff. That squealing decree Roy was so upset about was definitely not from her. Surely it had been Uncle Percy who worked for her at the Ministry. That decree was just like him!

Until tonight, he had been firmly convinced that the Gryffindors were the good guys and the Slytherins the bad. Now he was a Slytherin himself. Was it perhaps the other way around, and the Gryffindors were the bad guys? Or was there some good in evil in Slytherin, just as Roy found it possible to be right in wrong? Or were there no "bad guys" at all, just individual bad guys over here and over there? Is it perhaps not about good or evil at all, but about us or them, and each group loathed the other just because it was the other? Albus couldn't sleep, his thoughts were riding a roller coaster with him.

Aunt Hermione once had given him the advice: When I'm confused and my thoughts are spinning senselessly around and around, I pick up my pen and write them down, then they sort themselves. Writing! Albus jerked in his bed. He had to write to his parents, or they would hear about it from James. That mustn't be! His owl had to arrive at home earlier than his brother's. He had to write to them right now and go to the Owlery very early tomorrow morning.

He hung out of his bed and fingered his wand, a sheet of parchment, a book as a writing pad, and – a ballpoint pen out of his suitcase. The pen had been a gift from Grandpa Arthur. Sometimes these Muggle things were really useful, with a ballpoint pen he didn't run the risk of staining his bed with ink. He put it all on his lap, raised his wand and whispered: "Lumos."

A faint light glowed at the tip of his wand, just enough for writing. Albus proudly became aware that for the first time he had done magic at Hogwarts.

"Dear Mum, Dear Dad,

it really happened: The Sorting Hat sent me to Slytherin. I hope you are not too shocked. I was, because I believed Slytherin was full of Dark wizards and Death Eaters. But actually, they are very nice, at least they were very happy that I came to them. They even cheered so loudly that I was almost embarrassed. The only bad thing is that none of the Gryffindors have spoken to me all evening, not even James and Rose. I hope they will calm down.

Scorpius Malfoy is also here (of course!), and promptly he got himself into hot water for saying Mudblood, though to no someone special. The Prefects bickered about whether they had to report it. The boy (Roy MacAllister) said No, the girl (Patricia Higrave) said Yes. In fact, it is forbidden to say such things, and has even to be reported to the Ministry, because Aunt Hermione decided it has to. That's why Roy didn't want to report it. I guess he doesn't like Hermione very much because he hates such decrees. Yet he doesn't know her in person, to him she's just any politician in London, far away from common people whom it's easy to get angry with. Apart from that, he's a cool guy.

Imagine the Sorting Hat refused to sort a student into a house, he wanted him sent back to the Muggle world. He is the son of the Muggle Prime Minister; his name is Bernie Wildfellow. I think the hat didn't want him because he can't do magic. He told me he had been sent to Hogwarts with a special permission from Aunt Hermione and that without her wizards he wouldn't have got through the barrier to the platform. But any wizard is supposed to be able to do that, even as a child, aren't they? Professor McGonagall then sent him to the Hufflepuffs.

One more thing: In the entrance to the Slytherin common room is carved an enchanted cobra, and I would swear it said something to me. But the others only heard it hiss. Dad, you're a Parseltongue. Do you think I am that too?

It's very late now, I will send another letter as soon as possible.

Love

Albus"

Writing had tired him out and done him good, it was a bit like having his parents with him. He stowed the letter and writing utensils back in his suitcase, laid down and immediately fell asleep.