**Thanks for your patience. It's super hectic here with the holidays. The first week of school has come to a close and our intrepid characters are getting to know new people. Which will be friends, and which will be foes? Note: This is a work of fiction. Tip o' the nib to the great J.K. Rowling for her characters.

"Ahem…" Albus cleared his throat and licked his lips as he watched Scorpius disrobe. His pale skin appeared ethereal, and he traced a finger over the cool glass of the mirror. "I, erm…" His hand drifted down to the bulge in his crotch, and he sighed softly.

"Are you alright?" Scorpius asked. He picked up his mirror to see the other wizard biting his lip, eyes heavily lidded.

"Yeah," Albus breathed. He slipped his hand into his trousers.

"Albus."

"Wha—yeah—erm…yeah." Albus abruptly sat up and cleared his throat again. "So, erm…I'm gonna go jump in the shower. See you?"

"Er…riiight. Okay, well good night," Scorpius reluctantly replied, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He summoned a night shirt from his dresser.

"Night, Scorpius." Albus blew him a kiss, and closed the mirror compact. "Fucking hell!" he exclaimed breathily, slumping against his pillows.

He rolled onto his stomach, a move he instantly regretted, and quickly pushed himself up. He made his way to the en suite bath, where he turned on the shower and hastily stripped off his clothing. He stood in the spray of warm water and took himself in hand, bracing his other against the wet tile as he relieved the tension below his waist, pressing his lips together in a futile effort to stifle the moan threatening to escape his lips.

"Oh!" he gasped. "Oh, shit! Shit!" he panted with release. Albus quickly washed up and donned pyjamas before brushing his teeth and settling under the covers. He pulled the duvet up to his chin, and the scent of coriander and the balsamic sweet fragrance of frankincense wafted into his nostrils. He closed his eyes and burrowed into the downy bedding, inhaling deeply as he imagined a certain blond who lay just beyond his own domicile borders.

"How do we even know that he can be trusted?" Frank Mathers eyed the man who leaned casually against the bookshelf in the vestry of Second Salem Church, where a small committee of members was gathered. He returned his scrutiny with a cool gaze.

"You don't," the man replied, pushing away from the shelf. Sinclair Purfield was tall and slim, with wavy golden hair and pointed features that lent him an aristocratic bearing. "I could be a charlatan, here to tempt you with some fancy sleight of hand trickery," he said, his voice bearing a slight southern lilt. "Or…" He waved his hand and the dark blue walls turned to red.

"Oh, my!" one woman exclaimed among the many gasps that went up around the room.

"I could in fact pose a threat to you all." The corner of his mouth curled upward, and he drew his wand.

Leviosa!

He rose suddenly into the air, and the occupants of the room reacted with wonder and shock!

"My God! Mercy! Father Almighty!"

"It's proof!" exclaimed Tarquin. "Magic does exist!"

"Frank! How could you bring this—this person into our midst?" Thom Parris objected loudly. There were murmurs of agreement around him. "He represents the very evil and corrupt beings that our movement seeks to expose and eliminate!"

"And how exactly do you propose to do that?" Sinclair descended, tucking away his wand and crossing his arms. "What powers do you possess that are capable of defending against magic? A witch ball? Prayer Tests? Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

"Do you see what I mean?" Thom Parris leapt to his feet. "To be protected from you this magic charm I will do with these words. I bind thee for you to let me be protected from your harm—"

Langlock! Tom suddenly gasped and fell back into his chair, clutching at his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"My God! Thom! Thom! What's happening to him?" Melissa clapped her husband on the back in a panic.

"Are you serious?" Sinclair chuckled. "No-Maj voodoo does not work against real magic! Relax. He ain't choking."

Finite!

Thom inhaled deeply, as his tongue was unglued from the roof of his mouth.

"Why you—" he lurched forward, but stopped short under the challenging stare that Purfield gave him, and sank back to his seat.

Sinclair placed his hands squarely upon the tabletop and gazed intently at each person seated around it, his silver eyes assessing each countenance, noting the apprehension on each face.

"What you need is an ally. You need people like me, wizards and witches who recognize that the proliferation of magic is a blight on proper society. If there is anyone who knows the magicosm, I know it. I know it like I know, not just the lines on my palm, but every square inch of my beautiful body. I know them. I know witches and wizards better than they know themselves because they refuse to be honest about who and what they really are. It's why they hide among you! They have made families such as mine outcasts for choosing to fraternize with you! Why? They fear you! They are still bitter over the persecution your ancestors imposed upon them—the trials, the burnings—after we'd shared our magic with you!" He began to pace the room.

"My father named me Sinclair, which means, bright, clear, pure. He gave me this name to remind me always to repent, like Simon, who had dazzled the people of Samaria with his magic, such that they believed him to have the power of God. However, when Philip came and preached the good news of Heaven, even Simon became a believer. He was baptized. He was made pure. It is our duty to safeguard our community against the scourge of magic, and those who would seek to reap destruction and disappear without a trace!" He returned to the head of the table, leaning upon it once more. "I can help you. I can bring the allies you need."

"Ginny, you have to work this out!" Ron insisted.

"Oh, just shut it, Ron!" Ginny stormed out of the library and headed up the stairs, her brother on her heels. "It's my life and my bloody marriage, and I don't need any advice from you!"

"It sounds to me like that's exactly what you need!" he yelled.

"Fucking, Merlin! I can't believe Hermione told you!" Ginny pushed open the door to the master suite and flicked her wand, summoning a valise from the closet. Another flick of the wand, and clothing began to fly into the suitcase.

"Well, curse me for having a marriage without secrets! And for the record, she didn't tell me, I walked in on your floo call!" He stood in the center of the room with his arms crossed. "Do Mum and Dad know you're getting a divorce?"

"Who said anything about a divorce—and I swear to GOD, Ronald, if you tell Mum, I will turn you into a duck!" she threatened.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll risk it! How can you just leave, Ginny? After all that you and Harry have been through—"

"First of all, I'm not leaving. I'm going to Egypt to cover the World Cup. Second—would you fucking look around? I'm the one who's still here, Ron! I didn't run halfway around the world and take our youngest son with me! It's just like he did with you," Ginny muttered. She shrank her suitcase and tucked it into her shoulder bag.

"With me?" He followed her back down to the library.

"I'm always the one who's still here! I'm always waiting for my conquering hero to return! For what? When he is here, he isn't here!" Ginny gathered up fresh parchment and self-writing quills, placing them into a leather folio.

"Ginny—"

"I have to practically Imperious him just to get some intimate affection! He barely even noticed me throwing obvious hints in his face! Do you know, he's more worried about Gordon's feelings for me than how I—" she broke off midsentence.

"Gordon?" Ron gave her a suspicious look. "How Gordon feels? Ginny, what are you—Merlin's balls! Are you having an affair?"

"I—" Ginny kept her back to her brother. She bit her lip, steeling herself for his response.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley-Potter! You fucking cheated on Harry?" Ron bellowed. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Wretched blood-traitors!" screamed Mrs. Black, from behind the veil that covered her portrait. "Have you no respect for a decent home? You and your uncouth caterwauling—"

"Oh, shut up, you wretched old bat!" Ginny spun around, pointing her wand. "Silencio!"

"Who the fuck is—" Ron's eyes grew large. "Wait a minute! You didn't—you shagged Gordon Horton? Gordon fucking Horton, Ginny?"

"Ron—"

"I can't—you fucking slag!"

"What did you call me?" Ginny shrieked.

"You bloody well heard me!" Ron yelled.

"Furnunculus!" she cried. A jet of golden light sprang from her wand. Ron blocked the jinx.

"You unbelievable bitch!" he spat.

"I am your fucking sister!"

"You cheated on my best mate with my fucking favorite player!"

"That's what you care about? I—you—get out of my house, Ronald!" She pointed her wand at him again, her eyes filling with water. "Get the fuck out, before I do something you'll regret!"

"With pleasure!"

Ron disapparated and Ginny sank to the floor, tears pouring from her eyes.

"…and Potter will start in the second half. Any questions?" Coach Garcia scanned the faces of his players. "Alright then, dismissed. Oye! Parris! You and Stevenson help get the equipment back to storage!" he called out as the boys disbanded, heading for the locker rooms at the end of Friday's practice.

"Not bad, Potter." The dreadlocked boy from his P.E. class clapped Albus on the back.

"Oh, erm, thanks," he replied. "You're er, Belton, right? Jacob?"

"Yeah. You sure you've never played soccer before? You picked it up awfully quick."

"Never. One of my classmates at school in England plays girls' football, and I've attended a few of her matches, but we never had it at our school."

"Well, bro, your moves are like magic!" Jacob exclaimed. "I could swear that you stopped the ball before it even reached you!"

"Heh! No, of course not!" Albus nervously chuckled. "So, erm, you wouldn't happen to be related to Marcus Belton?" he asked, by way of changing the subject as they entered the athletic complex.

"Yeah. That's my brother. You know him?"

"Met him the other day in the orchestra studio."

"Oh, yeah? What instrument do you play?" Jacob opened a locker on the opposite side of the aisle from where Albus fumbled with his lock.

"Oh, I-I don't. I was meeting m-my best mate, erm Scorpius Malfoy."

"Dude! My brother told me about him. His dad's the new maestro! It's all Marcus talks about. 'Maestro Malfoy's the real deal! His son's got a Strad! I'm gonna ask him to join me for Solo and Ensemble.' He's totally in love with your boy—I mean—not like in love—love—just like—well, music is a pretty serious passion for my brother." Jacob pulled a face of embarrassment. They headed for the showers.

"I-I think I know what you mean. Scorpius is pretty impressed with Marcus too. He seems to think Professor Malfoy will choose him to be concertmaster." They entered adjacent stalls.

"Wow! Marcus would totally lose his shit. He loves music more than crew or sailing."

"Yeah? What about you?" Albus asked.

"Meh." Jacob turned off the water. "My interests tend more towards art forms not typically taught in schools."

"Oh?" Albus rinsed and turned off the tap. He grabbed his towel as he exited the shower.

"So what was your old school like?" Jacob asked, ignoring the obvious question in Albus' response. Albus shrugged.

"I dunno. I suppose not much different than here, except for a few special subjects, and no sports."

"No sports?" Jacob pulled on his shoes.

"Well, I mean. W-we didn't have the same type of—"

"Ohh, you mean like you guys played—what's that sport with the funny balls—uhh?"

"Quid—er—cricket!" Albus hastily answered.

"Cricket! Right!"

"Yo, Jake!" They looked up to see Marcus at the end of the row of lockers. "You ready? Hey, you're Scorpius' friend, right? Al…bus?"

"Yeah." Albus sat down on the bench that ran between the banks of lockers, and put on his shoes.

"Jacob told me you'd made the soccer team."

"Garcia's got him starting second half in the game against Elk Valley."

"Cool. We gotta go. I promised Mom that I would help Mémé with the birds. You got a ride, bro?"

"My dad's picking us up." Albus nodded.

"Bet. Scorpius told me you guys are coming to the regatta on Sunday."

"Hopefully. My dad says we can't go until after church." He tightened the laces of his shoe and stood.

"Yeah, I get it. I get it. Our mom can be like that sometimes too. Aight, man. Later."

"Later." Albus watched them go, and retrieved his book bag before securing his locker and turned to exit.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is, bro." Tucker blocked his exit. He was accompanied by Hunter and two other boys whom he didn't know. "Britain's best and brightest, come to teach us how to win at soccer."

"No, football!" Hunter affected an English accent. The group of boys laughed.

"I have to go." Albus attempted to side-step him.

"I thought I told you that Bella was off limits, Potter." Tucker blocked his path again, poking him hard in the shoulder. Albus took a step back to maintain his balance, and pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I got the message loud and clear, Tucker." He gripped the strap of his satchel.

"So, then what's this I hear about you taking her to Elena Gomez' party?" Tucker closed in on him. Albus stood his ground with the taller boy.

"I don't know. I never said I was taking anyone anywhere." He shrugged. "I'm surprised you even had time for gossip, what with your hands full of Callie Jones' tits," he muttered. Albus made to move around him once again.

"Dafuq you just say to me, bitch?" Tucker grabbed him by the arm, when suddenly the lights overhead popped with a blinding white light, startling the teens, who shielded their eyes.

"Argh! Shit!" Tucker cried out, releasing Albus. "What the fuck?" He held his hand, pacing with his face screwed up in pain.

"What the hell was that?" Hunter exclaimed.

"Potter fuckin' electrocuted me, man!" Tucker screamed.

"Shit!" Albus cursed under his breath, backing towards the door.

"Everyone alright?" Coach Garcia jogged into the locker room. "I think the electrical panel blew. Use that door; I don't want anybody touching anything, in case you're wet." He pointed to the open door which he'd just passed through.

"Parris got shocked when he patted Potter on the back!" Hunter lied.

"Lemme see." The coach rushed to examine Tucker's hand. "Potter, you alright?" he asked. "Potter?"

Albus sprinted out of the gymnasium and kept running until he reached the main entrance. He found Scorpius and Lilac sitting on the front steps.

"Hey, Albus." Lilac smiled.

"Hey." Scorpius noted the strained expression on his face. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Y-yeah. Erm. Yeah. Fine. There's Dad." He pointed to the Land Rover turning into the parking lot.

"Hi, guys. Where's Draco?" Harry asked.

"He had a meeting," Scorpius replied.

"Ah, right. Well, I've got to get back to the shop for a while. You're welcome to come along if you like. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Lilac," said Albus. "Is it alright if she comes too?"

"Sure. Hop in."

"Wooow!" Lilac exclaimed a few minutes later, when they entered the shop. "This is amazing!" She let out a gasp, and ran to the counter, gazing at the myriad glass jars, on the apothecary shelves. "You have dried Mandragora root! I'll have to let my dad know. He always complains about ordering them by mail."

Harry, Albus and Scorpius stared at her in surprise.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked, nervously.

"Ah, no. I-I just don't know too many young people who are able to immediately identify Mandrake root, particularly by its plant genus. I'm impressed."

"Oh, well, my dad is kinda into herbal remedies and stuff," Lilac shrugged. "Drives my mom crazy. She insists that it's potion-making and ma—I mean—un-Christian." She admired the flower display. "Dad swears by it though."

"Right." Harry nodded, giving her a smile. "Well, tell him to drop by any time. Al, why don't you show Scorpius and Miss…"

"Snape. Lilac Snape."

"Er…Snape…right. Sh-show Lilac the physic garden." Harry struggled to maintain his composure, just as the bell sounded at the door.

"Right. C'mon." Albus led Lilac and Scorpius through the doorway at the end of the counter, and Harry turned his attention to the customer who had just entered.

She was a mature black woman with a striking mane of silver hair that framed her face in a halo of tight coils. She glided across the room, her full, gauzy skirt swishing about her ankles as she moved.

"Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

"Hi. What are the odds that you would happen to have any fresh dittany of Crete?" the woman asked with a smile. She leaned casually over the counter, her wooden bracelets clinking against the polished countertop.

"Well, madam, I think the odds might be very good. Are you seeking fresh or dried dittany?" Harry asked, smiling back at her.

"You have it fresh?" The woman's eyes grew large.

"Oh, yes. I grow it on the back wall. It gets the best light." He led her outside.

"A physic garden! Oh!" she exclaimed. "Ma mère had one in the corner of our yard when I was a little girl. She used to say, 'Ne faites jamais confiance à un apothicaire que vous n'avez pas rencontré.' Never trust an apothecary you haven't met!" The woman gave him a conspiratorial wink.

Sinclair Purfield...will he have the allies Second Salem is looking for? Who is the mysterious woman looking for dittany?