Kill the Mudbloods!

The next morning Albus, who anyway had slept little and poorly, was awakened very early and rudely by Roy's loud shouts.

"Everyone up at once and off to the common room! Hurry up!"

The first-years blinked sleepily at each other, then put on the first thing they could find and shuffled to the common room, where Slytherin Head Professor Charles Whiteman was waiting for them with an portentous expression. It was extremely unusual for a Head of House to visit the common room, something bad must have happened.

Everything about Whiteman – from the parting of his hair to his sense of duty – was one thing above all: correct. Of all Hogwarts' residents, he was the first to get up in the morning because he thought a teacher, and a Head of a Hogwarts house in particular, had to give his students an example in every respect, and therefore, he was also the last teacher every evening in whose office the lamps were extinguished. That's how he wished his students to be: dutiful, disciplined, loyal.

When they all had gathered in the common room – some in their bathrobes, some with their robes hastily pulled over their pyjamas, all with dishevelled hair and small eyes – he started:

"Last night," he thundered, pausing threateningly, "the slogan 'Kill the Mudbloods!' was painted on the wall in the corridor leading to this common room, and with it – I hardly dare say it! – the Dark Mark, the sign of the Death Eaters! Who among you has anything to tell me about this?"

No one had. The students looked at each other in dismay. Only Albus looked down.

"Well?" called Whiteman.

"Excuse me, Professor," Roy replied. "What makes you think one of us is involved?"

"Isn't that obvious, MacAllister?"

"Not at all," said Roy, "on the contrary, I think it is completely absurd that anyone in this room should be stupid enough to give the Ministry and its press such an opportunity to stir things up! Whoever it was wanted to feed the Ministry's propaganda at the expense of Slytherin. I would look for the offender most likely among the Gryffindors."

Whiteman looked at him with indignation. Roy MacAllister was one of the best students he ever had and Whiteman was fair – he would say correct – enough to acknowledge his accomplishments. For the rest, however, MacAllister embodied everything Whiteman hated: He was insubordinate, cross-headed and badly brought up. A prole. A rebel.

"If you and your friends are in ill repute with the Ministry and the press, MacAllister, it is probably due to your own behaviour more than to anything else!"

"Certainly it is," Roy replied. "I would be downright embarrassed if it wasn't." Some students chuckled, which upset Whiteman even more. "However, that doesn't change the fact that none of us have an interest in compromising Slytherin with foolish slogans, while others do have it."

"I have to agree with MacAllister," Patricia now supported him. "With respect, Professor, I think it is quite unlikely to have been done by a Slytherin. And as long as there is no evidence, we have to formally refuse such accusations. I am asking you, as Head of Slytherin, to defend us against this."

Whiteman's expression became even more disapproving – especially when he saw MacAllister smiling almost tenderly at her and Patricia let her beautiful blue eyes shine back for a moment. Patricia Higrave had always been his favourite student – ambitious, hardworking, loyal and from a good family. He had already been shocked when she announced Slytherin's boycott of classes. And now again she was opposing her Head of House! She was definitely under a bad influence. Higrave and MacAllister – what a Mésalliance!

On the other hand, he had to admit that she wasN#t wrong.

"Be assured, Miss Higrave, that I'm well aware of my responsibility to the House. If any of my colleagues were to blame Slytherin, I will ask him for exactly what you have just asked for, namely evidence. This applies to the outside. But it requires that I have done my job and done everything possible within the house to convict a potential offender from among your ranks. If it was one of you," he called in an even more energetic voice, "he now has the last chance to reveal himself. If he is doing so now – but only in this case! – I will do my best to ensure that he is not expelled from school despite what he has done. – Well?"

No one was moving.

"All right," said Whiteman, "let us assume, then, until proven otherwise, that the culprit is to be found outside Slytherin. I wish you all a good day." Having said so, he turned around and disappeared through the exit of the common room.

While they went to breakfast, Scorpius whispered to Albus: "You could prove that it wasn't one of us."

"How?"

"Why don't you ask the serpent, it must know who went in and out last night!" Scorpius seemed quite excited about his idea, talking so loudly that Albus had to remind him with a "Shush!" that his Parseltongue knowledge was a secret.

"That way I wouldn't prove anything, because since no one speaks Parseltongue but me, no one can check my translation, but I would have revealed I'm a Parselmouth."

On the way, they noticed that Death Eater slogans and Dark Marks had been smeared on the wall not only in their corridor, but all the way to the entrance hall.

The Great Hall was buzzing with heated discussions.

While Gryffindors and Slytherins, firmly convinced that the dauber was from the other house, fought heated arguments at the entrance before separating to head to their own tables, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were in a frenzy of betting: "A Galleon it was a Slytherin!", – "You're on!"

When Albus entered the hall, he gave his brother, who had already taken his seat at the Gryffindor table, a sharp look, which he ignored. Instead, Albus ran into Rose.

"Well?" she said insinuatingly. "Do you still think you're in the right house?"

"More than ever," he growled. Rose shook her head and turned away.

"I don't think it was a Slytherin," he heard a Ravenclaw exclaim. "Of all the Slytherins who could do such a thing, none would dare without the Incorruptibles' consent." – "That's the point," another replied, "it was probably just one of them." – "Come on, that's not MacAllister's style at all." – "You'll see!"

Albus sat down, but he didn't like the breakfast.

In the evening, the first training lesson that the Incorruptibles already called "DA meeting" as a matter of course, took place with his dad. Since McGonagall had lifted the protective spells against Apparating for their special room, they were practising for an hour and a half with Harry and Ares as their instructors. At the end of the lesson, almost all of them made it, though only to a distance of one yard. All – but Albus.

"Never mind." Ares, who enjoyed his role as assistant instructor, patted him on the shoulder. "You're our youngest, normally no one of your age learns Apparating, so don't worry." And he turned back to Arabella, who had learned the fastest and was trying to Apparate at two yards.

Now Harry took his son aside.

"I'm sorry, Dad!" said Albus.

"Come off it, you needn't feel sorry for anything, Ares is quite right. I just feel like something is on your mind and that's why you're unfocused."

Albus nodded sadly.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?"

"Well, because of Hermione – and ..." Albus faltered.

"And?"

"Nothing else. Just Hermione."

Now Harry took both his son's hands, looked him firmly in the eyes and said: "We'll get our Hermione back, I promise you! That's why we're here."

Albus nodded.

"And for the rest," Harry continued insistently, "there's nothing you can't talk to me about. You know that?"

Of course he knew, but it did him good to hear it again. He smiled. "I know. Don't worry!"

Tuesday started almost like Monday. After Flitwick had removed all the graffiti the day before, new ones had appeared overnight, and again, the roar of heated debates filled the Great Hall, this time, however, fuelled by the Daily Prophet, who had been informed about the incidents of the previous day – no one knew by whom – and was unrestrainedly ranting and raving: against Slytherin, against McGonagall, against her allegedly too lax attitude in fighting the Death Eaters. Prantice, in a fuming comment, called for the Ministry to intervene and to replace the Headmistress.

Roy was talking himself into rage at the breakfast table when someone suddenly tapped him on the shoulder from behind. It was Albus.

"May I talk to you in private?"

Roy, who did not like to be interrupted, grumbled sullenly: "Must it be right now?"

"Yes, it's really important and it must be now."

Roy sighed, but left his breakfast and stood up. Both of them left the Great Hall and looked for a corner where they could talk undisturbed and unheard.

"Well, what's up?"

"I don't know what to do," Albus started, "I couldn't get to sleep the night before last, you know, the thing with Hermione and all. Well, anyway, at some point – it must have been around midnight – I pulled out the Marauder's Map to distract myself. Just for fun, I wanted to see where the Prefects and the caretaker are doing their patrols at night. That's when I saw who it was. It must have been him because he stopped exactly where we found these graffiti yesterday."

"You know him, and you're telling me this only now?" asked Roy, stunned. "Who was it?"

"Well, that's my problem. I'm afraid that if I tell on him, he'll be expelled from school."

Roy frowned at first, then gave him a long, pitying look. "James?"

Albus nodded. "Do you think he'll be expelled if this gets out? You said the other day that Hogwarts is much milder than it pretends to be ..."

"Normally, yes, but in this case ... Not only did he smear those slogans, but he also tried to lay the blame for it on innocent people, and that's the sort of thing that McGonagall can become a fury about ... Why didn't you tell your dad?

"Mum and dad will give him hell, and then I'm the terrible little brother again who told on him. I was hoping he would leave it at that one time and then stop so I wouldn't have to snitch on him. I also cannot go to McGonagall, for I don't want to be responsible for my own brother being kicked out of school! I considered telling him that I knew to make him stop. But then I would have to admit that I've got the Marauder's Map, and that's what I'm supposed not to do. What the hell can I do now?" Albus was really desperate.

"First of all, we both make use of our brains," Roy said. He mused. "Well ... It has to get out! It has to be known that it was a Gryffindor, there's no way around that! We just have to do it in such a way that you keep out of it and he isn't kicked out of Hogwarts. That's about what you have in mind, isn't it?"

"Can you manage that?" asked Albus hopefully.

Roy grinned. "Don't worry."