Death Eaters
The next morning, Albus woke up earlier than the others. Since it was Saturday, they were allowed to sleep in, but he was immediately wide awake, washed, slipped into his clothes, put on his robe, took the letter to his parents, and headed for the owlery. Leaving the Slytherin common room, he remembered that he didn't even know where the owlery actually was, only that it had to be in one of the towers. So he decided to go to the Great Hall first. A few early birds would probably already be there to give him directions.
In the Entrance Hall he spotted Victoire, who had perhaps just completed her last nightly inspection tour.
"Good morning, Victoire!" he called, but when she turned and recognized him, she didn't seem to be pleased at all.
"Good morning, Slytherin!" she replied, not without spite.
Albus stared at her. Victoire too! "What's all this good for? My name is not Slytherin!"
"You are one of them."
Albus felt tears trying to make their way. No, I am not crying now! He struggled for a few seconds, then regained his composure and said as cool as he could:
"Can you cut that rubbish? I didn't ask the Sorting Hat ..."
"The Sorting Hat sends everyone where they fit and belong. He must have had good reasons for sending you" – her tone became icy with contempt – "to that one of all houses!"
"Victoire, you know me, I ..."
"Maybe I don't. I just thought I knew you."
For a moment Albus was speechless. Then he pulled himself together:
"Can you at least tell me the way to the owlery or would that already make you a traitor to Gryffindor?" he asked sarcastically.
Victoire glanced at the letter in his hand. "Would be too interesting to know how you explain that to your parents," she said, but still, albeit grumpily, told him the way, then headed off for the Great Hall without another word.
"I can tell my parents anything!" he defiantly called after her. "They seem to be the only ones in the family who are no stupid dumbasses!"
Victoire stopped dead, then turned slowly and said, even icier than before: "Ten points off Slytherin!"
She moved on.
What a start! He was barely a Slytherin and had already lost his new house points. He had believed being talking to his cousin but received the reply of a hostile house's Prefect.
On his long way to the owlery he worked himself up about his anger. What did they really know about Slytherin? He had been welcomed there with open arms and had found only pleasant peers so far. There was even a nice Malfoy. Probably, Victoire also believed that Death Eater rubbish. Why? He thought of the conversation with Roy on the Hogwarts Express: Because EVERYBODY talks like that!And he decided to boundlessly despise them for that.
Don't believe I'm going to suck up to you!
Finally, he reached the owlery, stroked his owl Athena, who was obviously enjoying it, attached the letter to her claws and sent her on her way. While watching her go, he tried to imagine how his parents would take the news of having a Slytherin in the family. He could almost see his dad's amused grin. They would unshakeably stand by him. He tautened. And to hell with the other Gryffindors!
He went straight to the Great Hall to have breakfast. There wasn't much buzz yet, the few students already enjoying their breakfast were sitting individually or in pairs at the long tables. He saw Roy and Julian, engrossed in conversation while occasionally biting a piece of toast off. He didn't want to sit next to them. Big boys usually didn't like an eleven-year-old seeking their company. James, though just thirteen, had often enough made clear to him that he had to bunk off when he was sitting with his friends. He decided to take a seat a little apart from them.
No sooner had he sat down than a rich variety of platters, bread baskets, plates and bowls appeared on the table just in front of him. Although Albus knew that eating at Hogwarts was excellent – he had experienced it himself last evening – but it still stunned him, though in the most pleasant way. However, he was not very hungry and was content with a toast with butter and a mug of cocoa.
The hall gradually filled up. He would wait for the other first-year students, who were no doubt too excited to sleep for long and have a chat with them. He looked towards the portal, through which James and Rose just were coming in. Determined now to act for his part as if they were not there, he looked at Roy and Julian when Roy happened to look up, saw him and seemed to invite him with a glance to join them. Then he insistently gestured with his head: Now come on!
Albus felt flattered. Roy didn't seem the type to invite just anyone.
"Hi," Roy and Julian welcomed him simultaneously when he sat down next them.
"Hello," he replied.
Professor Longbottom was just walking along the Slytherin table. As usual, he was lost in thought and shuffling a bit. Albus cheerfully called to him: "Good morning, Professor!"
He knew Longbottom well, for he was a close friend of his parents. Outside he was simply Neville to him, but at Hogwarts they were expected to address their professors formally.
Longbottom looked up, startled. Then he recognised Albus, returned his smile and said: "Good ..." His smile froze "... morning". Roy and Julian had turned to him just to see whom Albus was greeting. The "morning" Longbottom had only breathed. Without another word, he shuffled past the perplexed Albus and on to the staff table.
Roy seemed to pay no attention to the scene. "Well," he asked, "have you already absorbed the shock of being a Slytherin?"
"Oh, well," said Albus. He stopped staring after Longbottom and turned to the two older boys. "It's a little weird. The Slytherins were so excited yesterday that it was almost scary to me."
Roy and Julian exchanged a meaningful smile.
"You have a very sensitive instinct," Roy said. "Anyone else would have just loved it and not given it a second thought."
"Well, but why are they so glad?"
"I guess everyone has his own reasons. Some people already met you on the Hogwarts Express. I said to Julian that I would like to have you with us and that the Gryffindors don't really deserve you," Roy said, while Julian nodded confirmingly.
"Really? But our talk was quite short," Albus wondered.
"It was just a first impression, but this kind of impression is often the most reliable. I think relying on it is usually a good idea."
"But most of them didn't know me at all but still cheered."
"When the Gryffindors are looking dumbfounded," Roy smirked, "and they did, that alone for many of us is a reason to cheer, admittedly not a very noble one. Well, and besides that, your name is Potter."
"Thought it had something to do with my dad," Albus grumbled glumly. "Let's be clear: I'm an average Quidditch player at best, I'm not very good at magic either, and I have no desire or talent to fight basilisks, dragons and other vermin."
The two big boys laughed. "Well, at least you are honest," Roy replied. "I meant something different. Something more subtle." He thought for a moment. "You overheard my dispute with Patricia last night, didn't you? She thinks Slytherin needs to – how did she say ..."
"Redeem itself," Albus interjected.
"Exactly. You know what this means?"
"Well, kind of making up for what was done formerly, to become respectable again."
"Something like that, and even particularly appropriate in this context. The fact that Slytherin had brought about many Dark wizards and Death Eaters and didn't participate in the defence of Hogwarts ..."
"How could we? We weren't even given the chance!" Julian shouted excitedly, as if he had been there.
"Be that as it may," Roy continued, "it left a lasting blemish to Slytherin's prestige. Formerly, Slytherin used to be the most respected of all houses, but today Slytherin students are disrespected and even insulted. However, many Slytherins come from the old wizarding upper class and feel their pride hurt by this. They would love to go to other houses, but the Sorting Hat doesn't allow them to. Some of them now think they have to 'keep up with the times', which means to float with the tide. They now want Slytherins to demonstrate with particular zeal that they have no prejudice, they don't discriminate against anyone, they treat all Muggles as brothers and sisters, and so on."
"Well, but that's a good thing, isn't it?" Albus interjected.
Roy hesitated. "You know, Albus ... first of all, the mere opposite of something wrong needn't necessarily be right, and you can ruin even something good and turn it into something bad simply by carrying it to extremes. Secondly, it makes a difference whether you do something out of conviction or just because you believe you are expected to. In this case it's worthless. What you – in all conscience – are convinced to be the right thing to do is what you have to, no matter whether it leads you to a Minister's chair or a cell in Azkaban. And this, thirdly, is exactly the naive miscalculation of all the Patricias: You notice the dishonest and corrupt nature of their attitude. You feel that it is a mere means to an end. With this ambiguity, they even give the Gryffindors a good conscience when calling them Death Eaters. And fourthly: As overzealous submissive behaviour is their response to insults, slander, and subtle blackmailing, it is a matter of course that they continue to be insulted, slandered, and blackmailed."
Albus wasn't sure he understood it all, but it sounded pretty wise.
"I was welcomed almost as enthusiastically as you at the time," Roy continued, "because I was the first purely Muggle-born person in Slytherin for generations. Meanwhile, there are a few more, though not many. Half-bloods had often been here, but on a true Mudblood some hoped to demonstrate how much Slytherin has" – he wrinkled his nose – "cleared its character. Some have considered me kind of Slytherin's poster Muggle, so to speak, whose presence would give them an alibi. But only until I started using my own brain for thinking. How disappointed they were about me!" He smirked smugly. "Long story short: Having a Potter, the son of the man who defeated Voldemort, is a kind of a godsend for them. Look, we even have a Potter, that's how thoroughly we've cleared our character!"
"Being liked for such reasons is daft," Albus grumbled.
"Well," Roy agreed, "nevertheless, being liked for daft reasons is better than being hated for daft reasons. But please don't get me wrong: Not everyone thinks that way, and not even most of us."
"But how can I distinguish those who sincerely like me from those for whom I'm some kind of, er, poster Potter?"
"Just rely on your instincts."
"That poster Potter thing doesn't work anyway. I have a brother and two cousins in Gryffindor, and they are treating me like the dirt under the nail now I am a Slytherin. I've ..."– he hesitated for a moment – "Slytherin lost already ten points because of me."
Roy didn't seem particularly appalled; in fact, he grinned a little. "No mean feat so early in the term. What did you do?"
"Victoire pretty much tore strips off me out because I'm a Slytherin now. That's why I called her a stupid dumbass."
The two older ones snorted with laughter. "That should be worth ten points to us, don't you think so, Mr. Prefect?", Julian chaffed.
"My point exactly. Slytherin will survive it," Roy said serenely. "Let's consider it your baptism of fire for your new house."
"Thank you. But you kind of feel caught between two stools when your family is picking on you."
He looked between Roy and Julian to see Rose and James at the Gryffindor table putting their heads together. James pointed at Albus – no, actually at Julian – and excitedly whispered something in Rose's ear. Her face suddenly froze. She frowned. She glared at Albus for a moment, then she looked away.
"Are you afraid of what your parents might say?" asked Julian. He was earnest now and sounded genuinely concerned.
"No, I've already told them in my letter. At King's Cross, my dad expressly said he wouldn't mind if I came to Slytherin."
"Cool guy, your dad," Julian said appreciatively, though even a little enviously, and sighed. "When I wrote that to my old man back then, not a single letter came from him for three months, and at Christmas we only argued. Actually, we've kept arguing ever since. No fun. He should have expected it; after all, almost everyone of our family but him had been a Slytherin."
"He is a Gryffindor?"
"No, he wasn't at Hogwarts at all, but at Beauxbatons. He grew up with distant relatives in France. He was a little boy when his parents were arrested and taken to Azkaban."
"Azkaban?" asked Albus in horror.
Julian started, then he seemed to understand: "Oh well, I should introduce myself. My name is Julian Lestrange."
LESTRANGE!
Albus flinched. Roy and Julian gave each other a quick glance.
"Then you are the son, no the grandson of – of ..."
"Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, that's right."
Albus wanted to answer, but he had a lump in his throat. Lestrange was a name mentioned in his family only with horror and only in the context of crimes of monstrous cruelty. It was completely beyond Albus' imagination that an apparently quite normal and even likeable boy could have this name. He stared at Julian, who raised his brows a little in surprise, but calmly returned his gaze. When the silence was becoming awkward, he turned to Roy, asking him with played concern: "I hope you didn't mention to him that I use to torture a House elf every morning and a Muggle on Sundays?"
Roy answered, deadpan: "I've been as silent as a grave."
After another long second, all three of them let out a snort of laughter, the awkward silence was broken. Still, Albus couldn't suppress a certain doubt in his voice when he half stated, half asked: "Surely you don't think like your grandparents!?"
Julian became unsmiling: "How should I know what they actually thought? I never got to know them. Not even my old man does remember them. He basically only knows what his French relatives told him. All his childhood he was told he was the son of the evilest criminals of all time. It's really been drummed into him that he must never become like them, and that he had to make any effort not to, because, after all, he's their son and has the Death Eater in him by his very nature, so to speak."
He paused.
"Well, and then he applied this fabulous educational concept to me. When I was six years old, some Muggle boys bullied me into imagining them with elephant ears in my anger. Which then promptly grew." He grinned, but his eyes looked sad. "When my father found out about it, he fumed. 'It starts with elephant ears and ends with the Cruciatus curse' he yelled at me and gave me a horrible beating. To make matters worse, I had to apologize to the Muggle boys, the evilest sods in the neighbourhood. There was no need at all to do so because he had to cast a Memory Charm on them anyway, but he wanted to teach me a lesson. 'You won't become like your grandparents, you won't!'" Julian mimicked his father's raging tone as best he could in a hushed conversation. "Then he banned me from doing magic altogether. Of course, I continued to as best I could. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, as is the way with wizard children. Once it worked pretty well. The Muggle neighbour who used to yell at us from his balcony because we were too loud for him when we played football ..."
"You played football?" interjected Albus in surprise. Football was a Muggle sport, wizards played Quidditch.
"The old man made sure I had as much contact with Muggles as possible. In order not to get any prejudices," he snorted scornfully. "Yes, of course I played football with the Muggle boys, I was even pretty good. So this neighbour who always complained about us suddenly had his hair and beard growing at two inches a minute." He chuckled for a moment, then the laughter was wiped from his face. "I was eight then. This was the first time he called me a Death Eater."
Albus suddenly felt that someone was staring at him from the staff table. He wheeled around, spotting Neville quickly lower his head back over his cereal.
"I can't even count how many times he's called me 'Death Eater' since then, so I don't care at all when others call me that. In any case, I am determined not to waste my life trying to prove that I am not, as my father does. Sometimes I even think that if I'm supposed to be so similar to the Death Eaters, this implies that they must have been similar to me, and in this case they can't have been so bad. I know," he added, seeing Albus' aghast expression, "our history books teach something different."
Albus felt uneasy, but he didn't feel up to a debate. He just said: "You don't look like your grandmother at all."
"No, I inherited my look from my Breton mother. Ancient Celtic Druid nobility," he added, not without pride. "It's also thanks to her that the old man stopped beating me up, but she had to threaten him with divorce to manage it. And that I'm still at Hogwarts. He would have loved to take me out of school after I got to Slytherin. – Well, it's time. Quidditch tryouts are today and tomorrow, and Slytherin is first up in an hour. I am the Captain and have to prepare. Are you applying too, Al?"
"I don't know, I don't think I'm particularly good, and I don't have a broomstick either."
"Well, you can hardly embarrass yourself, your brother has been applying for the Gryffindor team for two years to no avail. With your eleven years, you are not expected to make it at the first attempt, even if you are a Potter. But I would be a little bit disappointed if you didn't at least try. And as for the brooms: Draco Malfoy bought a whole set for the team to celebrate his son's school enrolment. Firebolts. They are still unrivalled. They will be used for the tryouts."
The prospect of being admitted to a house team before James was had some appeal to Albus. The chances were slim, but Julian was right: He had nothing to lose. And as a broom rider he wasn't too bad. "OK, in one hour in the Quidditch pitch."